#i know the comparison of extending and taking the hand was of Second To First and Izuku To Shigaraki

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Your crush on Eddie was better off a secret and a kiss that should never have happened leads you into a storm.

I wasn't happy with my first version of chapter 4. So I polished it up and added a little more dialog. Feel free to wait for the next chapter but if you'd like to read it, either as a refresher or for the very first time, please let me know what you think. XOXO-Jelly

Masterlist Listen to Fake Plastic Trees Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

A sharp chill nips at your cheeks as gusts of autumn wind blow through the amber-leafed trees surrounding Hawkins High's parking lot. You pick at the splintered wood of the picnic table beneath you, etched with initials and scribbles. The anguished croon of Placebo plays through your headphones, drowning out the sounds of the start of another school day. Shifting the pile of books on your lap, you steal a glance at where Eddie stands with his back to you a few yards away.

Lately, it’s like your best friend has purchased real estate in your brain. Daydreams resulting in hearts doodled in the margins of your notebooks a little too close to where you printed his name. His dark curls spill over the collar of his worn denim vest, shadowing the frayed edges of the Dio patch he had sown on last week. He's deep in conversation with Dan Shelter, a senior in the same class that Eddie would have been in if he hadn’t missed so much time after his mother passed. They both turn and look at you at the same time.

Eddie’s eyes narrow as his brows pull tighter into a frown. You push one of your headphones back, and the noise of everyday chatter and car engines bursts into your reality. 

"You know your girlfriend is deeply weird, Munson," the spiky-haired jock says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Girlfriend. You’ve both tried to stamp out that rumor—yet no matter who else you go out with, those sparks never last and pale in comparison to the steady flame you feel around Eddie. Would it really be so bad if it were true? The answer scares you more than you expect. 

"She’s not my girl," Eddie retorts with a swift shake of his head, his voice edged with that familiar bite of annoyance. His foot scuffs against the asphalt, the white Reebok stark against the black jeans clinging to his narrow hips. An impatient sigh pulls the fabric of his Hellfire Club t-shirt tighter across his chest, outlining his lean frame. "You in or out?" His fingers snap near Dan's face, the sunlight catching on his silver rings, "I've got other places to be, and you're not my only customer."

"Sure, whatever," Dan grumbles, extending a hand with a few crumpled bills.

Eddie accepts the cash with an easy smirk, teasing the dime bag between thumb and forefinger, letting it sway like a pendulum. Dan’s hand hovers while he glances around for prying eyes, but Eddie lets the bag drop to the ground before he can take it. 

"Oops," Eddie’s voice drips with feigned innocence before he pivots on his heel and walks away without a backward glance.

Dan’s face ignites with anger as he stoops for the bag, muttering a curse.

"Always a pleasure," Eddie calls over his shoulder, flashing a dismissive two-fingered salute. A gaggle of pink-cheeked girls from the sophomore class crosses his path, eyes trailing over him like he's their favorite song come to life.  

"Ladies." He extends an arm, waving them on, his voice as smooth as a melody. They flutter past with giggles and heated glances. Despite their whispers of 'freak' in the corridors, they all vie for a chance to climb into the back of his van when no one is looking – to be the subject of the rumors they'd later deny.

He never hides his interest when he likes a girl — everybody knows when Eddie Munson is into someone. But he’s never looked at you that way, never given you that smile meant for those he desires. And that’s something that has never bothered you. Now, it stirs something else — a green thorny vine wrapping around your insides. He’s just Eddie – your friend. The same old Eddie, you reaffirm, even as your heart whispers lies of a different tune.

Without missing a beat, he saunters over, the rhythmic clink of his chain wallet punctuating each step. He leaps onto the picnic table, landing beside you with a thud, sending vibrations through the timeworn wood. His eyes linger on the girl's retreating forms.

"You need to be careful, Eddie," you warn, tipping your chin toward where Dan is stalking off in a dark cloud of annoyance.

"Careful is my middle name, doll." He smiles a big, sly grin, dimples deepening, causing a flutter in your chest, an unexplained sensation that's become strangely frequent these days.

He nods at your leg, eyes dropping to your thigh. "What’s this?" His dark lashes make half-moon shadows on his cheek as his thumb brushes over the square field of bright white crosses covering the denim patch on your jeans.  A trail of tingles follows, unbidden and unwelcome. You disguise the shiver as a chill from the wind, even as you crave more of his touch.

"It’s called sashiko," you explain, hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin as the ghost of his touch lingers. "The art of visible mending." 

"Looks cool." His gaze meets yours, a little too intense and a little too long. Your fingers clutch your notebooks tighter, a shield against whatever this feeling is.

"Are you coming over after school?" Your voice is steadier than you feel.

"I’ll drop you off, but I’ve got to go back to the trailer after," Eddie replies, his eyes still holding yours in a silent conversation you can't quite interpret. "I’ve got stuff to do." Something in his tone suggests layers you're not ready to peel back. "Not your kind of stuff."

The house where Eddie grew up doesn't look the same anymore. Someone else has moved in – keeping the lawn perfect and fixing up all the broken things, erasing any traces of tragedy. The neighborhood has moved on, absolving themselves like they hadn’t just turned their back and let it happen. As if it wasn't their problem. Eddie's staying on the other side of town now with his Uncle Wayne in a tiny one-bedroom trailer. Wayne's heart is in the right place, even if he drinks too much, just like Eddie's dad did. But he's not bad, just... lost when it comes to dealing with an angry teen, and with him working nights, Eddie's on his own to figure out how to deal with it all. 

"I can keep you company?” You try to keep the offer casual despite the hump in your pulse.

He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. "Nah, I’ve got to stop at Rick's, then a run." There's a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

You frown and look away, hiding your disappointment. "I don’t see what the big deal is," you argue, keeping your voice low, "We smoke together all the time."

"The big deal," he says, reaching out to lift your chin and forcing you to look at him. "Is that this is business, and I don’t want you involved. Alright?" His voice is firm, letting you know he won’t budge. "I’ll pick you up later," he promises. "Movie night. Just us."

The shrill ring of the bell is your cue to retreat, to put distance between you and these feelings threatening to upend everything. You nod at him, shoving your books into your bag. His gaze holds you for a heavy beat before breaking away. There's a shift in the air, a prelude to something you can't name, like the static before a storm. Eddie's last glance sears itself into your thoughts when you part ways at the door. 

As you make your way to class, those feelings nag at you like a forgotten lyric. You hug your arms, trying to squeeze out the persistent ache that spreads through your limbs. It's a tangible pain, this longing, like a hand squeezing around your heart, making it hard to breathe.

But you push it all down, guarding it like a secret. To lock it away in the confines of your ribcage, where it can't taint the one thing you value most. The friendship you've built is too important, too rare to risk on a silly crush that might only live in your head and fade with time. It’s a gamble you won’t take. You can't lose him. You won’t watch that light in his eyes dim for you, awkward silences replacing the laughter. Without him, you’d be alone.

Cold gray days give way to dark, inky nights. The stars and moon are veiled behind thick cotton clouds, stealing the light earlier as fall edges closer to winter. Winds gust, sending wet leaves sticking to the glass of your office windows as the bare fingers of the boxwoods planted around the brownstone scratch against the house in protest.

Lowering the lid of your laptop, the light in the room dims as the brightness is trapped between the two halves. Your arms stretch over your head, loosening the tension in your neck as you push away from your desk, drifting towards the sounds of life from the living room. Steve’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise end of the couch, a Bulls game on the TV, but his attention is stuck on the laptop resting on his thighs. 

“My eyes are going to fall out my head if I stare at that screen for any longer,” you declare, rounding the corner of the couch.

“Well, then, come stare at this screen instead.” He nods at the TV, extending his arm to make space for you to crawl onto the couch next to him and fit yourself into his side. 

“You’re so warm.” You nuzzle into his chest, and his lips touch the top of your head. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for bed. I still have a few hours of work left,” he sighs, his finger sliding down the trackpad as he scrolls through a document that never seems to end. 

“Is that for the launch?” Your eyes squint at the brightness of the screen. 

He groans at the ping of another incoming email while toggling between the many windows he has open. “Yeah, we're in the final stretch. The event team is trying to finalize the details. Maroon 5 and Fallout Boy are locked in to perform, but we’re still waiting to hear back from a few other acts and about a million other details that need ironing out.”

“It’s going to be a great night, baby. Everyone will be so impressed,” you assure, the arm you have draped across his stomach tightening, trying to impress your words into him. “Everything is going to go smoothly, you’ll see.”

He scoffs, doubt clouding his voice. “I wish I had your confidence. The server's capacity is still a question mark, and we're racing to fix streaming delays. Fuck!” The heels of his hands press into his eyes. “All I need is this thing to fail at the last minute, especially with Richard and my dad watching.” He imitates his father's stern tone, “Typical. He’s always been a fuck up. Chokes right before the buzzer.” Letting his hands drop, his eyes turn to you. “I should have listened to you and not invited my parents. I actually never thought they would agree to come. Now I’m running around trying to get things ready for them too.”

“Hey,” you take one of his hands between yours, “That’s not going to happen, Steve. If the servers have issues or if there's a lag, it's just a hiccup. You've got a team to handle that. You've put in the work, and you're brilliant at what you do. Your parents will see that. Everyone will.” 

He manages a smile, but it’s just a placation.

“What can I do to help?” You ask, “I’ll make sure we have some Pellegrino stocked and that cheese your parents like.”

There's a pause as he weighs his next words. “I’ve already called the housekeeper and told them to put fresh sheets in the guest room in case they decide to stay here, but I still need to make a reservation at the Four Seasons as a backup.”

Your jaw tightens, but you curb your annoyance at how John Harrington has everyone trained to cater to his high-maintenance whims, but this is for Steve’s peace of mind. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Consider it done. Anything else?”

He hesitates, a little apologetic. "My suit... the dry cleaner closes early tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I might not make it in time–"

“No problem. I’ll make time.”

His lips lift at the corners, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I love you.” He leans forward, slotting his lip softly between yours. “I’ll put the ticket in your bag. Thanks for helping out, Ace.”

“I just have Eddie's interview tomorrow afternoon. I should have plenty of time." Standing, you tug at his hand. "Now, can we go to bed? Everything will look better after a good night's sleep.”

His mouth sets in a determined line as he shuts down his laptop, yielding to your pull as he rises. His hand finds a place on the small of your back, grounding you both as you climb the stairs together. 

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood.  The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump. 

"Hi," Eddie greets you with a soft tone from the other side of the threshold.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years. Part of you still expects the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over in the same way, like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he still see the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider, welcoming you in. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the hall. 

The lobby is in chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips, watching you take in the space. 

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling. 

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room. “Really beautiful.”

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "I thought it was a dump."

"Well, what can I say?” You spin around. “It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens with your praise. 

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans. 

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain Lolla tee you put on this morning. None of the trendy outfits you usually wear for interviews seemed to fit right today. 

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m so nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy.  “Maybe it’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

 A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me." 

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right." He says, taking a step forward, his gaze locking with yours. "After all these years, it's still you.

"Eddie." His name comes out on a breathless sigh as you look away.  The shield of anger between you is heavy and battered, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold it up. He takes another step forward, and you clear your throat. "Why don’t you show me what else you’ve done?"

He rakes a hand through his curls, "Of course." His lips tighten into a flat line as he gestures toward the stairs. "After you." 

You lead the way to the second floor, where the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. A ladder leans against a half-painted wall, and orange extension cords crisscross the carpet in the hall, winding into the studios like work has been suddenly halted.

"Where is everyone?" You look around the abandoned space before stepping inside Studio A. It's come a long way since your last visit. The deck that holds the mixing board is ready, and the wiring is underway.

"I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I told them to take the rest of the day off." His eyes follow the movements of your hand, brushing over knobs and sliders of the soundboard that's still sheathed in a protective layer of plastic. 

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, walking back out into the hall. 

"I didn’t think we needed the audience," he shrugs, walking along with you to the next room.

"I hope you don’t fall behind schedule." The walls of the small Studio B are covered with walnut slats to create an acoustic barrier while still keeping the room open, while the mixing room kept the original exposed brick.

"I’ve got time."

"Even so," you move to the window. The sun glints off the mirrored surface of the tall building across the street. "I’m sure you're eager to open. Put out that first album with the CursedSound logo in the liner notes."

"Of course I am." He comes to stand beside you, taking in the bustle of the city at midday. "It’s gonna be good to have nothin’ between me and the music. Let the artists be as creative as they want. Their management can deal with the corporate A&R people and leave me out of it."

"You never did like playing by the rules," you smile, catching his eyes in the reflection of the glass.

He turns his head, studying your profile. "Why should I?" he continues, his tone more determined, "The rules sure as hell never helped me. I'm gonna take my chances as I find them, even if I have to play a little dirty. I deserve happiness the same as the next guy."

"Of course you do." The world has done nothing but take from him. 

"What about you?" He asks as you return to the hall. "The rules seemed to be treating you well."

You raise your shoulders with a warm smile gracing your lips, one you have no intention of concealing. "I love my job. I like the city, and…I have Steve."

"You ending up with Steve Harrington," his voice curls around the name, a sneer you can almost see, "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."

Stopping, you pivot to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's a good guy, Eddie."

He sighs in a short, almost defeated breath. "I know he is, doll."

The unmarked door at the end of the hall provides a convenient distraction. "Where does this go?" You wonder with your hand closing over the knob.

"My apartment."

"You're living here?" You let it go like it burned you, swallowing the lump that has made a sudden appearance in your throat. 

"Sure. Can't beat the commute." He reaches around you, turning the doorknob to reveal another flight of stairs. "Do you want to go up?"

Flashes of that day are more vivid than they should be for memories two years old. The closet carpet is soft under your fingers as wet tears rain down on the glossy pages. Steve's voice gets closer as he calls out your name. A tightness grips your chest as you attempt to step back, momentarily forgetting that Eddie's right behind you. He supports you with a steadying hand on your hip as he faces you, seeking your reaction.

"No, that's okay. I think we're fine down here. I  wouldn't want to disturb anyone," you say, attempting to sound confident as you wipe your palms along the sides of your jeans.

Eddie scratches the side of his head as his brow wrinkles. "Who do you think it up there?" 

A hot breath passes your lips as you turn away, walking back down the hall toward Studio C. "I don’t know," you call over your shoulder, too chicken to face him. "Skyler Simmons. Rock royalty. Media darling. According to the magazines, your long-time girlfriend. The one you own a house with. Ring any bells? Isn’t she here with you?"

"My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him.

"Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling. 

"The one you’re photographed with constantly."

His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff. "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

"I know her," he offers, shaking his head, "She’s a friend. We go to the same group." 

"What group? The one for annoying assholes." 

He pauses, his arms crossing over his chest. "The one for people with addiction in their families. That okay with you?" His voice escalates. The simmering anger in his eyes mirrors the intensity of his tone. "Skyler is gay. Her girlfriend's usually hanging around, too. Does that mean I’m fucking her too? Jesus."

Frigid water clashes with your hot blood as the fight drains away. Glancing at your feet, your voice diminishes to barely more than a whisper. "Why hasn't she come out in the media?"

"Maybe because it’s none of anybody's fucking business." His piercing gaze bores into you as the sharp words land like heavy stones in the sour pit in your stomach. "Hold on," he waves a hand in front of you, "Why do you even care?"

"I don’t," your voice falters as the dishonest answer leaves you without hesitation. Your eyes trace the patterns on the floor. "It just makes for a better story, is all." 

His hands run through his hair, fingers tugging on the ends as his tone softens. "Doll," he pauses, taking a deliberate step closer. His warm fingers cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those amber swirls, always seeing beyond your surface. "No one else is in my apartment, and no one else is gonna be."

His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio.

"Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

"It looks like this one’s almost finished." You spin around the room, taking in the progress, before letting your bag slide down your shoulder and sinking onto the couch. 

Gray triangles of acoustic foam now adorn the live room walls in contrasting patterns, and layers of soft carpeting line the floor. The mixing room's mural stands completed, and the furniture has all been placed. 

His eyes move around the room, the pride evident on his face. "Just some wiring and the vocal booth, and I’ll be ready to start setting the levels."

"This one’s your favorite, I can tell," you shift, tucking a leg under you as he joins you on the couch. 

"Shhh," he hushes you, raising a finger to his lips. "The others will get jealous."

Rolling your eyes, you pull your phone from your bag, open the recording app, and set it between you both.

"How does this work?" Eddie's eyes are fixed on your phone while he rubs the back of his neck.

"Well, typically," your hand slips back into your bag to retrieve the neatly stapled pages of your notes, "I ask a question, and you provide the answer." You set the pages in your lap, drawing in a steadying breath. He’s sitting in front of you with a key to a locked door  – one that might be best left closed and forgotten, but it’s time to hear him out. 

"Eddie Munson interview, part one."

"Mr. Munson." You slip into your most professional tone. "Thank you for granting us an interview during this busy time. All of us at Stax are very excited to welcome CursedSound to Chicago."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly in timber as a much smoother, older Eddie begins to answer, "Thank you. I always have time for my favorite magazine." He winks.

Your lips press into a line as you tilt your head to the side, taking a quick glance at your packet. "In April 2003, Fever to Tell was released by a relatively new band and a completely unknown sound engineer. It went on to sell over a million copies, putting The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the name Eddie Munson on industry minds. Fever to Tell is still, to date, one of my favorite albums. Were you aware of the significant impact this record would have when you were working on it?"

"At the time, we were really just hopeful, you know? We believed in the music we were creating. Karen and Nick, and Brian flew out from New York with their last dime, and we just got to work. Karen had this kind of raw, untamed energy, and I wanted to capture that, to add an edge to the album. It was this post-punk dance-floor-friendly racket that injected a much-needed dose of authenticity into a musical era that was getting stagnant."

"It's not an exaggeration to say that record helped shape the direction of indie and alternative rock for years to come. But what I want to ask is you before all that. What was the road like moving from Hawkins to having your dreams come true in LA? Was this the path you first set out on, or were there curves in the road?"

"I think 'curves' is a generous term for the absolute shit choices I was making for myself back then," he chuckles. "As you know, I left Hawkins about a year after I graduated. That town had already decided I would never be anything more than a freak– a loser with no future. If I had stayed, that's exactly what would have happened. I was trying to outrun my past without a clue what I wanted for my future. I had my own band back then, and sometimes, we’d open for slightly bigger bands that rolled through town. One of them was about to tour and invited me to go as their one and only roadie, and it felt like a free ticket out."

"Bananafish," you interject, swallowing and glancing down at your notes.

"Yeah, Bananafish. God, they sucked. Did you know they started as a Spin Doctors tribute band?"

"No," you laugh, "And that wasn’t a red flag for you?"

"It should have been. I wasn’t with them for long anyway. I think I lasted for three weeks before they cut me loose for getting in a fight with the drummer." He pauses, shaking his head. "I never knew when to shut my mouth. At that point, they had hooked up with another band called Everly. Slightly better, but not by much. I managed to hold it together for a few months. I was high or drunk most of the time, the only reason they kept me around was because they liked the way I babied their instruments."

"I remember,” you nod. “You’d spend half an hour polishing that Warlock every day after school." 

"Got to treat a lady right if you want her to sing for you," he says with a sly rise and fall of his brows, draping an arm over the back of the couch, shrinking the space between you.

"I was surprised that you left it behind." 

Eddie's expression turns more solemn. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself."

"I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried."

"If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach. 

"Back to Everly. Why did you part ways?" 

"Oh, well, I fucked it up, of course. They had landed a spot at Bonnaroo, and I got so fucked up the night before I missed sound check. When I managed to pick myself up off the floor of the van, they handed me my duffel and a twenty and told me to pound sand." His eyes drift away, fixating on a point across the room. "I had barely been outside of Indiana, and there I was, stuck on some farm in Manchester, Tennessee, with no ride, no money, and no one to call. I was angry at the world and never felt more alone. People always talk about hitting rock bottom, I thought that was it, but now that I look back, it was more of a crossroads. If I had followed that darker path, there would have been no coming back. I was wandering around backstage where they park buses, hungover, maybe still half in the bag, and that’s when I met Max."

"Max Navarro?" You shuffle through the pages of your notes.

"Yeah. You know him?" Eddie’s eyes brighten as his gaze drops to the pages in your lap.

Your head turns from side to side. "You referred to him as a mentor in the Stones interview, but I couldn’t find much on him besides his name being listed as an audio engineer for several tours."

"That’s Max." Eddie breaks into a smile. "He’d tell you he likes flying under the radar. He was hanging out in front of the bus playing guitar with a couple of guys when I walked over like a cocky shit, picked one up, and started playing. He gave me something to smoke, and it wasn’t weed. All I know is that I woke up face-down in the dirt the next morning. I don’t know if he liked me or just felt bad for me, but he dragged me on the bus and had me start assisting him with the sound for Faith No More."

"Faith No More? Are you kidding me?" Your hands fall to your lap, slapping against your thighs, jostling the cushion enough for your phone to slide toward the back of the couch. "You had their poster in your room. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a charmed life."

"Well, even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days," he laughs.

"So Max is who taught you about engineering?" 

"Max is who taught me about everything." His voice holds a reverence when he says his name.  "He kept an eye on me. Showed me how to work the boards.  He said he could see shadows following me around, so when we got to LA, he took me out to the desert, fed me some tea, and exercised my demons."

"Did it work?" Max wasn't the only one to see shadows looming. Consequences of decisions made by others. Expectations of a community that turned its back. They clung to him like an impenetrable fog. 

"I’m not sure. I felt lighter after, but it could have been the gallon of water I sweat out," he chuckles.  "After that, he cashed in a favor and got me an internship with a small studio in Laurel Canyon. I parked cars at night and lived in a room the size of a closet at Max’s house. I worked my ass off. I went to therapy–" 

"How very L.A. of you," you chime in.

"Don’t knock it until you try it." He looks at you from under raised brows. "It’s, uh, good to talk about things. Be open, you know?" 

"No thanks. I tried that once," you tell him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me."

Your arrow hit the target. Regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–" 

"You decided to stay in L.A. and work at a studio instead of going back out on the road?"

"I like studio sessions. Makes me feel like I’m working towards something. I like completing an album and putting it out in the world. Some people thrive being out on tour, like Max. Not me," he scratches at his chin. "Too many ghosts on those old roads." 

Like the ones back in Hawkins that jolt you awake in the dead of night, murmuring past shames of a lovesick and foolish girl. Robin had seen it, and so had the entire town, but you aren’t her any longer. She lies resting beneath the frigid earth, her memory an unmarked grave. You've moved forward, and you’ll never go back, the city drowns out the remains of her cries.

"So you stayed and built your life there," you conclude, flipping through the pages of your notes, ticking off the points from your outline.

Eddie leans back, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess you could say that. I got my own place, made some great friends. Sundays are for Max's family and Chile relleno. The weather is always beautiful. But I really stayed for the music,” he shrugs. “Have you been? I could take you some time. Show you around. Max would love to meet you, the girl I won’t shut up about. I think you’d like it there."

The girl he hasn’t bothered to call in a decade. "To Los Angeles?" Your gaze rises from your notes to meet his nodding response. "I've been a few times. With Steve. Mostly for work."

"Oh yeah. Makes sense." His jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze. "Well, I guess the rest is history. Is that enough for your story?"

"Yeah." You reach for your phone, tapping the red square to stop the recording. "It will be a great opening piece for the series." You pick up your messenger, hauling its weight into your lap, tucking your notes inside. The afternoon is ending on a flat note. A stone sits on your tongue, holding back questions that you lack the courage to ask, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Speaking of history, I want to show you something." He stands up, looking towards the door and back at you, "Um.. wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute." 

"Okay-"

He holds up flat palms. "Don’t go anywhere." His eyes close as he winces, " I mean, you can wander around if you want. Just don’t leave."

"Eddie-" 

"I’ll be back." He holds up one finger as he exits the room. 

With a sigh, you push up from your thighs, rising to your feet, walking through to the live room where a drum kit stands at the ready. The snare looks a little worn, and the symbols have lost their shine. Your nails tap the high hat, and you smile at the shimmering sound.

"What am I doing?" You whisper, spinning the gold band on your finger.

The sound of the floor creaking echoes through the hall.  Eddie enters the room with the large box he's carrying obscuring his upper half.  His name written in Wayne's shaky handwriting, peeking out from underneath his fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask as he sets down the box with a heave in the center of the room and sinks to his knees, hovering over the taped flaps.

"I have no idea," he grins mischievously. "Wayne gave it to me when I stopped by last week and told him I would see you. But you know him, he never throws stuff out. It could be anything." His hand smoothes over the top as he raises a brow. "Wanna find out?"

Your hands slide over your jean-covered thighs before your feet carry you forward. "Mrs. Click better not be in there." 

His head tips back with laughter. "I make no promises," he jokes while you take a seat on the floor on the side of the box.  

His mouth quirks up, watching you get comfortable. With a fluid motion, he leans and grabs a box cutter beside the soundboard. His shirt lifts slightly, offering a glimpse of hair trailing down his belly and the sculpted muscle beside his hips. His tongue lightly grazes his upper lip as he expertly flicks the knife open, his jeans snug on the contours of his strong thighs. Exhaling slowly, you avert your eyes, scanning the room instead as you wait for him to slice the tape. 

"Score!" He pulls out the ragged-edged sheet that was folded and tucked into the top of the box. "Corroded Coffin," he reads aloud the words scrawled across it with something resembling shoe polish.

"Oh no," you laugh, your head turning side to side as you rock in your seat. 

"Hey. This is rare band memorabilia. It’s probably worth money," he defends, holding it up proudly. 

"Yeah, to the guy you have to pay to haul it away," you giggle.

"Alright, Alright," he folds it up, the smile never leaving his face as he reaches into the box. "These are yours." He pulls out a stack of comic books and hands them to you.

"Still in good shape." You thumb through the copies of Tank Girl and Witchblade.

"My campaigns." He pulls out a pile of notebooks and sets them aside before reaching back in. "Some CDs." He comes out with a hand wrapped around a stack of jewel cases, the one on top catching your eye. 

"Hey, that’s my Cranberries Cd!" Your fingers dig into the carpet as you tip forward, yanking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

"I don’t know how that got there," he scratches his head, "You must have left in the van."

"Nice try, Munson." your eyes narrow, "I checked there." You lean over the box, poking a finger into his chest, "I knew you had a crush on Dolores."

"You got me. It was the accent," he admits with a grin full of dimples, his hand closing around your finger. 

"I’m keeping it." You drop back into your seat and pick up the case to examine the disc.

"Holy shit."

You raise your head to meet his wide chocolate eyes, a look of sheer delight written across his face. "Close your eyes," he instructs, pulling back the flaps of the box, hiding whatever he's found.

"Mrs. Click?" You set the CD on top of the comics.

"Better," he says excitedly, waving a hand toward your face. “Come on. Close your eyes."

"Fine." You leave one eye open, folding your hands in your lap.

"No peeking." He wags a finger.

Your lips purse as you close your other lid, waiting for the big reveal. Plastic clanks against something heavy, followed by the rustle of cardboard.

"Okay. Open."

"Daisy!" Your hands fly to your mouth before you reach out with wiggling fingers.

He winces as he hands over the two-foot garden gnome. "How can you call something so ugly a pretty name like that?"

Taking the heavy lawn ornament in both hands, you gaze down at her droopy hat and too-large ears, which stick straight out beside her bulging eyes and porcine nose. Her rubbery lips are pulled back in a smile, showing off her buck teeth and flowery dress that barely conceals her body. 

"She's beautiful." You cradle her in your arms. "Besides, you're the one who stole her."

"You’re the one who dared me to," he scoffs. 

Your cheeks already ache with an unrestrained smile as the memories from that night surface. "I didn’t think you were going to wake up the whole neighborhood crashing into the bushes in Mr. Lawson’s yard." 

"I was drunk," he defends, his face turning red.

"You tripped over your feet and ripped your pants," you gasp for air, trying to get the words out with your laughter, "You had on those Garfield boxers with the hearts."

"Of course, you remember that." His laughter joins yours, easy and familiar. "You're the one that woke up the neighbors, making the van backfire."

"It was the first time I drove, and I didn’t have a license." You clutch Daisy tightly to your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Mr. Larson came out in his bathrobe, screaming about shooting you in the ass."

Eddie shakes his head as you laugh at his expense. "He almost caught us when you stalled out. All for that hideous thing."

"Shh," you cover her ears with your hands. "You can’t get rid of her."

"Never," he agrees, reaching out for her. "I’ll find her place of honor around here somewhere."

"Put her on your nightstand," you suggest, handing her over. 

"Ugh," he says, setting her aside, "I’ll have nightmares."

You burst into laughter once more, and his eyes ignite. He smiles like he’s savoring every sound, like your happiness is a hard-earned treasure he's been longing for. 

The shards of the past press against the scar tissue encasing your heart as if struggling to free themselves and reassemble in the present. Your hand finds its way to your chest, pressing gently on the tender center, trying to quell the ache and remain in this moment—with him.

"What else? What else?" You clap your hands, bouncing in your spot. 

"Okay, okay," he gives in, happy to indulge you. "Um, a pack of crayons, a monopoly piece." He places them aside. "Thanks, Wayne. Could have done without that. Looks like some clothes. Oh, this is yours." He tosses a ball of red fabric at you, and you catch it with both hands before he continues to search through the box.

"Is this what I think it is?" His voice brims with excitement as he pulls a rectangular tin from the box. He shakes it, and a sharp sound follows. "Yes." His tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth as he pries off the lid. 

His voice fades into the background as your focus turns to what you're holding. The fabric of your Musicland vest unfurls as you hold it out in front of you, the gold name tag still pinned to the front catching the light. A heavy sensation settles in your stomach, tightening and cramping as a sick, painful feeling creeps in and spreads — nausea churns as each inhale becomes battle. 

There’s a scrape of metal as the lid pops off. "Polaroids," Eddie declares, his attention lost to the thrill of his find as he flips through the stack of photographs.

Your heart races as the room seems to shrink. "Stop it," you whisper, your voice quivering, your trembling hands twisting the vest as if folding it small enough can make the pain disappear.

"They’re pretty faded, though," he goes on, unaware. 

"I said, that's enough!" The balled-up vest flies from your hands, landing back in the box. Adrenaline surges through your veins as you push yourself up on unsteady legs. "I need to leave."

Eddie's laughter dies in his throat as he looks up, the joy in his eyes replaced by confusion. "Wait a minute." He gets to his feet and follows you. The small pile you made topples over, forgotten as you pick up your bag from the couch. "What just happened?" He moves in front of you, blocking your path. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fun?" The word is a shard of ice. Without hesitation, you sling your bag over your shoulder and maneuver past him towards the door.

“Just hold on a minute.” He blocks your path again, hands up, eyes searching yours for answers. “Tell me what's going on.”

"What do you want?" The words slice the air, eyes locked, a bare blade of anger.

"I wanted to-" His eyes flick toward the abandoned box in the center of the room.

"No." Your head shakes, "Why are you here? Now?  After all this time? What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you." His arms cross over his chest as his voice turns softer. "I missed my friend."

"Your friend," sarcasm drips from your words as you quirk a brow, "So you show up here with a box of crap and a ‘hey doll’,” your voice lowers to mock him, "And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened and hand you a clean slate. Drop everything in my life to follow you around like a puppy because you feel like paying me some attention?"

"That’s not…I’m not asking for that." His hand runs through his curls, frustration building in his tone. 

"I'm not going to sit here with you wandering down memory lane and watch you pretend like you cared." Your eyes sting, but tears won't fall. You've shed your last one for him long ago. "Like any of it mattered."

"No one's pretending here, doll." He steps closer, his hands falling to his side, fingers rubbing at the seam of his jeans. "Of course, it mattered—all of it."

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a resounding thud, its weight matching your resolve as you push your hand against his chest. "I don't believe that for a second. If it mattered, you never could have done what you did."

"Done what?"

"Left me!" Your hand lands flat across your heart. "Without a goodbye, just some shitty mixtape full of songs that I can't listen to without my heart breaking over and over."

"You're right, okay." His voice rises to match your volume, his fingers closing around your biceps. "I was a fucking coward, and I ran. I couldn't see that look on your face again, the one you had when I told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye, but I knew you'd try to convince me to stay, and that was never going to happen. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't be sorry I left."

"Hurt me?" You push his hands away, taking a step back to control the cracking in your voice. "You didn't just hurt me, Eddie. You destroyed me."

He swallows, looking away. "You were better off."

Fresh anger surges, along with the strong desire to escape – to leave this dead and buried, maybe for another decade until the hurt isn’t so strong. 

"See, that right there is why I'll never believe you," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger his way as you step around him, your hand closing around the doorknob. But at the last moment,  you turn, wanting him to hear it. At least once.

"I didn't quit Musicland. I got fired. I was a mess after you left. I cried for days, but I clung to this pathetic hope that you’d call to explain everything. To say it wasn't the end for us. You wouldn’t just throw me away, right? Not after everything we had been through together. I wouldn't leave my room, not even to eat. I was so afraid that the second I left, the phone would ring."

There's regret in his eyes as he steps forward, getting closer until he can touch you again, one hand gently gliding up your arm.

"But that call never came, did it, Eddie? Not one. And every day that passed, I died a little. But then I wasn't sad anymore. All those tears, they turned to hate," you say coldly, locking your gaze with his. "I hated you. I hated every song that came on the radio, reminding me of you. I hated Hawkins and everyone in it. But most of all, I hated myself for trusting you. For believing that you ever cared about me. That I wasn’t alone. That's what you did to me, Eddie.”

“You made me hate myself."

"I’m so sorry, doll," his words barely crest the silence as his gentle hand cradles your jaw. “There’s so much I want to explain to you.”

His touch is hot, but inside you, a coldness lingers–inside your stone. "You kissed me. And then you left me the next day. You knew how I felt." 

"I know. I know. I’m sorry." He steps closer, trying to pull your rigid form into his arms, lips brushing your temple. "You don’t even know how much. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing. Trying to make it up to you. But you’re wrong. It all mattered. I did care. That kiss..it’s the reason…" He pulls back and looks into your eyes, "You knew me, you always did, but there were things I couldn’t tell you. Things I couldn’t admit even to myself. I was scared and angry all the time."

Your head shakes as you swallow hard. "You're not even real!" You shout in his face, your fingers clutching the doorknob behind you. Spinning, you tug hard, but his hand slams against the door above your head, keeping it shut. 

"Stop, doll," he pleads. “Let me explain,” but the push-pull intensifies. You're no match for his strength. "Stop it!" he yells. His hand pushes on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Anger flashes in his eyes, and his cheeks flush.

"I made you up.”

“No.”

“The boy I knew could never have done that. He could never have hurt me like that." Your shoulder jerks, breaking his hold as you attempt to turn away again.

His fingers wrap around the side of your neck, keeping you in place. "That boy could never have given you what you wanted. He wouldn’t have had the first clue how to handle you."

"Is that why you’re back?" You ask, still defiant even as his thumb presses into your throat, tipping your head to meet his gaze. "Dragging this all up again, ruining my life? Because you do?" 

"Damn right, I do." 

His words are a gravelly assertion, barely escaping before his mouth descends toward yours. For a heartbeat, the world pauses until your mouths finally meet — urgent and fierce. You part your lips eagerly, tongues finding their way together in a hungry and unapologetic dance. The firm pressure of his mouth moving in sync with yours is a spark, igniting a fire that seems to spread with each touch. The scent of clove and cedar leaves you lightheaded as the flames lick through your body. The scruff on his cheek is a rasp against your skin, a roughness contrasting with the smoothness of his kiss. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of coffee. This kiss is filled with years of longing, swelling and crashing like an orchestra's finale.

Minutes slip away, yet your greedy mouths remain desperate. The room falls into a hushed stillness, save for the sharp intakes of breath and the sensuous wet slide of lips. The kisses seem endless, broken only by fleeting gasps for air, compelling you to pull each other closer, savoring every taste. Your fingers tangle in the soft waves at the nape of his neck, evoking a low, guttural groan that mingles with your shared breaths when you tug. His hands trace the curves of your body, touching every inch as they follow a path beyond your hips and ass, seizing the back of your thighs. With a firm grasp, he lifts you, pressing you against the unyielding door. You gasp as he positions you just how he wants — aligning himself hot and hard against your center. 

"Fuck," he growls against your lips as his hips roll, igniting fireworks through your body. Your eyes flutter shut, and a kaleidoscope of colors burst in the darkness.

He nips at the plush of your bottom lip, teeth grazing in a tender claim, a muted buzz begins in your bag—a sharp, insistent sting—that yanks you from the haze back into the real world. His eyes remain closed when you pull away. He leans closer, chasing your mouth, but the moment is already shattered. 

Your stomach plummets as the harsh reality sets in. His kiss now tastes like the ash of betrayal. The distressed whimper escaping your throat finally has him looking at you, shock written clearly across his features. Slowly, he releases you, your body sliding against his until your feet meet the floor. He takes a step back, hesitating, swallowing, "Doll —"

"No." You shake your head, your hands covering your mouth. The gold band on your fourth finger is a cool scorch against your swollen lips. "I have to go." You spring into motion, rushing to gather your bag.

"Stay, and we can talk about this," he implores, moving one hand to his hip while the other rakes through his hair. 

"Please don’t," you plead. "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch—" But the word stays stuck in your throat, as your eyes swim with tears.

His face falls, "It's not your fault, okay? I kissed you."

"Eddie—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was me," he insists, frustration in his voice as you scrub your face with your hands. "I don't want you driving when you're upset."

"I'm sorry," you say with an aching heart, pushing past him and closing the door behind you.

The sidewalk blurs under your feet as you race to your car. Fat raindrops splatter against the concrete like a spray of gunfire, each one a cold, wet slap against your skin. The sky chooses this moment to crack open, unleashing a torrent that feels personal. Your car comes into view, a bright orange ticket flapping under the wiper. Perfect. Just perfect.

With hands slick from the rain, you fumble with your keys before throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. Snatching the ticket from under the wiper as you go and crumpling it into your fist, stuffing it into the glovebox to be dealt with later. The downpour drums on the roof, enclosing you in a watery cocoon as you search through your bag for your phone. A missed call from Steve and a text reminding you about the dry cleaning. You spill the contents of your messenger onto the passenger seat, pens and lip gloss tumbling into the footwell. "Shit!" The word is a half-sob as you clutch the receipt marked with today's hours in unforgiving black ink.

Glancing at the clock on your dash, it hits you with the subtlety of a wrecking ball– six minutes until closing. It might as well be in another time zone, given the snarled rush hour traffic and the river that the streets have become.  Your car roars to life, and you pull out onto the roadway, tires hissing on wet asphalt, windshield wipers barely keeping up with the deluge. Your skin still sings with Eddie’s touch, but it's the burgeoning storm of words—cheater, adulterer, betrayer—mixed with the soft hazel of Steve’s disappointed eyes that tattoo themselves across your conscience. This is the unforgivable sin, and you can't undo it, but you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

You're double-parked now, hazards blinking a frantic rhythm. The 'CLOSED' sign on the dry cleaner's door mocks you as you rattle the unrelenting metal handle. "Please, please, please," you whisper, pounding on the uncaring glass, your unheard pleas bouncing off the empty shadows within. A car horn cuts through the rain —"What the fuck, lady?" The other driver yells, uncaring of your predicament.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" The words are a rain-soaked shout as you slosh back to your car, drenched and defeated.

Another angry horn sounds off as you pull into traffic, carelessly cutting off a Yellow Cab in your haste. Rainwater drips from your hair, soaking your shirt. Even with the heater set to blast, it does little against the chill that has settled deep in your bones. Down the road, a bright blue sign glows like a beacon, and you jerk the steering wheel, the car fishtailing as you skid into the lot. 

The pharmacy's fluorescent lights are too bright and too sterile as you grab a small bottle of mouthwash off the shelf in the travel section and wait in line to pay, the store's generic electronic music grating against your already frayed nerves. Outside, you stand on the corner, swishing and spitting the minty liquid onto the sidewalk, repeating the process, trying to cleanse more than just your mouth. A passerby wrinkles their nose at you from under their umbrella. "This is Chicago! You've seen worse!" You snap, arms thrown up in exasperation while the rain and your regrets mingle on the cold pavement.

With pruney fingers, you pull the cardigan you had left at Stax off the back of your office chair. Shrugging it on, the material dampens from your wet t-shirt but offers a little warmth. Your phone buzzes as you settle at your desk — five missed calls from Eddie and four texts. The roar of the heavy rain and being buried deep in your bag had muffled its sound, not that you would have picked up. 

Eddie: Answer the phone, doll!

Eddie: Look, I need to know that you’re okay.

Eddie: I swear to Christ if you don’t pick up.

Eddie: Okay, have it your way. I’m driving to your place.

What? No! Your thumb presses the call button, and it rings twice before it connects. There’s no hello, just the slight hum of an engine and the rain pelting glass. 

“I’m okay,” you breathe into your phone, “I didn’t go home. I’m at my office.”

Your heart drums in your ears with each second of silence. Your eyes flutter shut, relief flooding you when he finally responds. An exhale loosens the tension in your chest.  His voice resonates in a dark rumble through the phone, "We need to talk."

“I….I know,” your voice wavers as you wipe your nose on the back of your hand. “I just need a minute here, Ed. Can you give me some time?” 

The rhythmic blink of the turn signal punctuates his heavy sigh. “Yeah. Alright. But doll,” he pauses as the sound of water splashing against his vehicle mingles with the whoosh of passing traffic, “You’re not running away from this. And trust me, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me. Think about what I said, okay? I meant it all.”

With a tight throat, you whisper, "I have to go," and disconnect the call. 

Placing your phone on the desk, you dab the raindrops off your face with a tissue. The quiet of the office wraps around you, its half-dark corners and the soft glow from the monitors creates a place for you to breathe and be still. The raging storm and the ticking wall clock echoing in the solitude do little to distract you from thoughts you’re not ready to face. With a deep breath, you lift the lid of your laptop, seeking refuge in the normalcy of work as you coax the screen back to life.

The song erupts from the speaker on the edge of your desk, a jolt of sound shattering the silence like an accusation. You grab it with fumbling fingers, scrambling to press the off button. Covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound that is equal parts sob and hysterical laughter, wondering how you ended up in this situation. With your elbows pressed against the wooden top, you bury your face in your hands.

“What are you doing here, kid?” The gruff voice cuts through your misery.

"Jesus Christ, Hopper," you gasp, clutching at your chest, "You scared the hell out of me."

"Guess we're even since Mr. Brightside nearly sent me into cardiac arrest." Hopper towers over you, standing beside your desk with his hands buried in his pockets. 

“You listen to The Killers?” You ask, surprised while he drags a chair from the next desk, its wheels screeching faintly against the concrete floor.

“You kids really think Jim Croce is the only thing on my playlist?” A chuckle escapes him as he eases into the chair beside you, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You muster a puzzled look, shaking your head in feigned denial.

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting Joyce for dinner at that Italian place on Taylor Street. Have I told you about it? I’ve been dreaming about the breadsticks. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. You dip it in olive oil,” he groans, “Forget about it. Those things knock your socks off, and I’m wavering on the main course between—”

“I need you to take me off the studio opening,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest.

“We’ve been over this. Unless you have some good reason–”

“Eddie kissed me,” the confession slips out, eyes widening in shock at your admission, hands flying to cover your mouth.

His brows rocket upwards, then draw together, his gaze sharpening, voice dipping into a low, protective timbre, “What do you mean he kissed you?” 

“No,” you clarify, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing an elbow against the desk, massaging your temple to soothe the forming headache. “I kissed him. We kissed. It was mutual.”

Hopper reclines, the chair creaking under his weight, his gaze level and unreadable. “I’m disappointed in you, kid. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”

“I know. I know. Steve…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the photo of Steve on your desk. 

Hopper leans in, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t give a fuck about Harrington,” each word gains in volume, “This is about you and everything you’ve worked for. It’s 2012. That kind of nonsense ends careers. Do you know what can happen if he complains?”

Your eyes roll. “He’s not going to complain, Hop.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his head shaking off your naivety. “These things like this have a way of coming out. That was an amateur move. Where is your professionalism? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, lowering your eyes. “We have more of a history than I let on.”

“Well, stop the presses. I couldn’t have figured that one out.” His voice lowers in resignment, “Maybe this is my fault–”

“No–” 

Your protest is swift, but he plows right over you, “I’ve babied you. Maybe it’s because you’re my favorite or because you were just a kid when you started. I let you get away with too much over the years because you’re a damn good writer. But that stops now, I’m going to treat you like all the rest of the idiots in this place.” His hand waves around the room before pointing right at you. “You’re going back to that studio, and you’re going to keep your dick in your pants and get those interviews done. If you want to play kissy face, you do it on your own time. You got me?”

Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?”

“Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?” 

Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes.

“I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

Your head shakes, but your determination is clear. "It won't."

“It better not. I don’t want to hear another word about it until that last story is on my desk. Are we clear?”

Your jaw clenches, the reality of the situation hitting hard. "Crystal."

Hopper's gaze remains fixed on you, ensuring his point has been made. "Good," he says, his voice softening, "Now go on, get out of here. Deal with whatever mess you've got going on. Just make sure it's sorted by Monday."

Your key slides into the lock and you turn it slowly, the tumblers falling into place with a series of soft clicks. You pause, leaning your forehead against the chill of the metal door, grappling with a rising queasiness that sours your stomach. 

A wave of home's warmth engulfs you, mingled with the earthy aroma of herbs and roasting potatoes. The vibrant strains of Queen accompany Steve's honeyed tones floating down the hall from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, ace. I was beginning to wonder where you were," his voice, laced with a touch of concern, greets you, “Busy day? Did you write me a Pulitzer?”

Your messenger bag slides from your shoulder, giving into gravity with a loud smack against the hardwood.

His voice grows nearer, warmer as he moves down the hall, the floor lightly creaking with each footfall. “I swung by the Athenian Room, grabbed us Chicken Kalamata, and I have a bottle of Chardonnay breathing.”

Your favorite. Your heart sinks further, receding behind your ribcage, unworthy of his care or devotion.

He stops short when he rounds the corner into the foyer, taking you in, his eyes reflecting your disheveled state. 

"I didn’t get the dry cleaning," you admit, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I was... too late."

For a heartbeat, he's silent, but his eyes remain tender. “Hey, that's alright, ace. I'll just skip the gym in the morning and swing by the cleaners before work. Are you okay?”

Traces of the day find a path down your cheeks as you sniffle and draw the cardigan tighter around yourself. "I got caught in the storm." 

“Did you forget your coat?” He draws closer as you give a small nod. His hands slide up your biceps, continuing on to wrap around you. “You're frozen.” He uses his thumb to lift your chin. “How about a hot shower, yeah? I'll keep dinner warm. You'll feel better after you eat.” His mouth begins to near yours, but you turn your face away. 

"I think I'm coming down with something," you manage, your lies teetering atop your mounting guilt. "My throat is sore."

Concern etches his features, his brows knitting together as he adjusts, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

Pulling away, you bury your face into his shoulder. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed." 

“If that's what you want,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, though his tone is threaded with disappointment. “Go on up. I'll bring you some water and a couple of Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you step away with a weight in your chest. “I'm really sorry.” 

“Don't worry about it.” He waves off your apology, his smile faint but sincere. His arms fold over his chest as he turns back toward the kitchen. 

As you climb the stairs, the music snaps off, replaced with the distant roar of a sports game, the announcers' voices carrying up the stairwell. 

The embrace of the hot shower strips away the cold clinging to your skin, but it cannot wash away the regret. Sliding down the tiles, you draw your knees close while your tears fall, mixing with the stream of water spiraling towards the drain. 

Your life is a song made up of the choices you've made, each one a different note that sounded so sure at the time, but now the harmony seems slightly off-key. The steam rises around you like a specter. It's the quiet between the chords. And you're there, just listening, trying to figure out if there's a note you'd change or if every single one was necessary. As you nestle into bed, sleep tugging like an insistent tide amidst the drift into dreams, one truth resonates clear– the music plays on.

Song 5 coming this week! Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Thanks for indulging me with this new version. I wanted to get it right. This next chapter is going to be Steve's launch party and will explore the fallout from that kiss. I love each and every one of you and I hope Torn!Eddie makes an appearance in your sweetest of dreams. -Jelly

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Light the Way - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: Angst, date rape/roofies, slight BDSM Word count: ~4k Series masterlist

Chapter summary: Starting a new job is never easy, it's even worse when your boss is an arsehole. When he unexpectedly comes to the rescue though, the relationship dynamic changes drastically.

She graduated from university a year ago with a Bachelor’s degree in PR and Marketing, and still has no idea what she wants from life, although the last twelve months of working as a barista have proven to her that a career in hospitality and customer service is definitely not it. Having happened across an online advertisement of a vacancy for the position of a personal assistant at a private law firm, she applied on a whim, never expecting to hear back. It’s not like she was qualified anyway, so she had nothing to lose

Yet, here she is, almost four weeks later, standing in the foyer of Red Keep Legal, preparing to begin her first day. The office building is sleek and modern, minimalist in decor, yet the polish of everything suggests it is incomprehensibly expensive. A handsome, bearded, older man, dressed in a sharp suit collects her from reception. She learns his name is Otto Hightower and he is a partner at the firm. They are high end solicitors and only take on the most exclusive of clients. She turns his business card over in her hands, the thickness of the smooth, matte black cardstock is high quality, with ornate golden lettering and a blood red logo of a three headed dragon. She knows she has seen that logo before, but can’t place where exactly.

“You’ll be a personal assistant to my grandson, Aemond.” Otto tells her. “He’s working on a particularly tricky case at the moment, so you’ll be responsible for ensuring he has everything he needs. I imagine he won’t ask you to do much more than get him coffee.” 

So there it was, the reason she’d gotten the job. She was hoping her coffee making days were behind her, but no such luck. She sighs inwardly, the bitter irony is almost comical.

“Anyway, if you have no further questions, I shall introduce you to Aemond.” Otto concludes.

She smiles and nods politely as he turns on his heel and leads her towards the elevator, stopping on the second to last floor. She follows him along a marble floored corridor, before he gently raps his knuckles against the rich mahogany of an office door. After a few moments the door swings open to reveal the most ethereal being she’d ever laid eyes upon. He is impossibly tall without being gangly or awkward; his long, lithe limbs flow like water as he props himself against the doorframe. His silky, silver locks are perfectly coiffed and she feels self conscious as the bright blue of his right eye scans all the way from her feet to the top of her head, analysing every inch. She notices the skin around his left eye is lightly scarred - the only indication that the realistic prosthetic that sits within the socket isn’t something he can actually see out of. The simple long sleeved top and black trousers she’s wearing suddenly feel drab in comparison to the well tailored navy blue suit he wears, and she fights the urge to hide herself. 

“Aemond, this is your new personal assistant.” Otto informs him, gesturing towards her. “Your mother and I worked hard to find this one, so perhaps you could try being a little more cordial than last time.”

She doesn’t stop to think about what that could possibly mean, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in and rushing forward, smiling wide and extending a hand. 

“Hi Aemond! It’s wonderful to meet you!” 

His plush, full lips remain unmoving, as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, not returning the gesture and continuing to study her. 

She drops her hand, feeling deflated and laughs nervously.

Clearly not picking up on the awkwardness, or simply not caring, Otto glances between the two of them, before giving a curt nod and striding back towards the elevator.

Aemond watches him go before returning his attention back to her. 

“Wonderful to meet me, hm?” he finally says, quirking an eyebrow. 

Before she can respond, he continues, “Look, I’ve told my grandfather I don’t need an assistant and I like my own space. I’m looking over some contracts at the moment, so I would prefer it if you could make yourself scarce.” He disappears from view, allowing his office door to close behind him.

She immediately feels miserable. Her shoulders slump as she stands in front of the closed door. The first day of a new job should feel exciting, especially when your boss is so breathtakingly handsome, but this guy is rude and has declared her useless within minutes of meeting her. For a moment she considers just walking out and not returning.

She spends the remainder of the day sitting at her desk that’s positioned to the outer left of Aemond’s door. No one goes in or out, and not once does she catch sight of him. As far as first days go this is undoubtedly the worst she has ever experienced. As tempting as it is to just bail and head home, she desperately needs the cash, so she watches the hours slowly tick by on the off chance her stand-offish boss may suddenly decide he needs something. By the time 6pm rolls around, and she stands to gather her things, her legs have cramped from sitting for so long and she curses herself for only stretching her legs on the few occasions she went to the bathroom.

Arriving home, she finds her flatmate isn’t back yet and breathes a sigh of relief, knowing she’d be bombarded with questions about her first day and not have a positive answer for any of them. She uses the opportunity to pace the flat, rifling through the contact sheet and paperwork she has been given. She sighs when she happens upon the number listed for Aemond - what was the point of having the number of someone who seemingly wanted nothing to do with her? She saves it to her phone anyway, tomorrow was a new day after all. Perhaps she’ll score a few brownie points if she texts and offers to grab him coffee on her way to the office. She still can’t figure out why he’d been so cold towards her. Flopping down on the couch with a glass of wine, she boots up her laptop, deciding to do some research on Aemond Targaryen, as she realises that beyond meeting him today and knowing he works for one of the most prestigious law firms in all of Westeros, she really knows nothing about the man she is supposed to be working for.

She wakes up early the next morning, armed with a plan. Her evening of wine-fuelled research had been fruitful. She’d discovered that Aemond was from a family of famous Valyrian legal, political and business figures. Her recognition of the logo on Otto’s card was because it was regularly splashed across all of the major tabloid and broadsheet newspapers. She’d read through a few old articles regarding family drama, disputes over assets, and the death of his father to get an idea of who he was, before deciding his cold demeanour is likely attributed to the combined stress of his job and seemingly endless rifts between his mother and half-sister. She decides that if she is to break down his walls then she will do so with kindness, but she also wants to look the part - if she is to fit in with such sophisticated people then she needs to start dressing like one. She slips into a pencil skirt so fitted it looks like it has been painted on, alongside a sheer white blouse and a killer pair of black stilettos. She completes the look with perfectly styled hair and a thick coat of blood red lipstick. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t vying for more than Aemond’s professional attention, but she’d try anything at this point just to get him to acknowledge her presence. Giving herself a last once over look in the mirror, she fires off what she considers to be a breezy good morning text to Aemond, before heading to the coffee shop she used to work at. “Good morning Mr. Targaryen! Hope you’re well today. I’ll grab you a coffee on my way to the office. See you soon!”

Arriving exactly thirty minutes later, coffees in hand, she is disappointed to see that she’s been left on read. Nevermind. She has gone all out with the coffee order, asking for the special roast of beans with an extra shot and foamed milk. This was sure to win him over. She knocks timidly at his office door and after a long moment is about to knock again when it swings slowly open with a perfectly poised Aemond on the other side. God, he was breathtaking.

She realises she has gone too long without saying anything when he snaps out an impatient “Yes?” She jumps slightly, stepping forward into his office without an invitation. Aemond cautiously backs away, his brow furrowing with suspicion and confusion.

She thrusts one of the cups towards him, “Umm…I text you. Did you - uh - coffee?” Great, now I’ve lost the fucking power of speech.

Aemond gingerly accepts the cup from her, without saying thank you. “Are you always this articulate?” He says flatly, before taking a sip. His nose instantly wrinkles, “Ugh, does this have milk in it? I’m allergic to dairy."

Her eyes widen in horror, "Oh gods,, I’m so sorry! I should have thought to ask, I can always get you-"

"Forget it.” He cuts her off, “That will be all for the day, before you try to poison me any further. Close the door on your way out.”

Fantastic, another day sat at my desk, except this time I’m dressed like a cheap escort. 

The confidence she’d felt when she stepped out of the door this morning had been crushed flat by Aemond in a matter of seconds. She sits with her hands clasped tightly in front of her on the desk, willing her unshed tears away. Did he want her to quit? She’d placed everything on this job and she didn’t want to give it up without a fight. Sje simply couldn’t understand why Aemond seemed to hate her so much.

After a few hours pass by, she notices it is lunch time - he has to take a break some time. She decides that now is when she’ll make her move. Standing purposefully, she sniffs back her tears and checks her make-up in her compact mirror, before strutting back towards Aemond’s door. She’ll give that arsehole a piece of her mind. It was about time he learned to respect her.

She bursts into Aemond’s office without knocking. “Just who in the hell do you think you are?!” she rants, not waiting for his reaction to her sudden intrusion.

He looks up from the documents he has been reading and stares at her, but his expression is unreadable.

He stays silent, so she continues her tirade. “I didn’t have a fucking clue who you were when I accepted this job, despite that I’ve treated you with nothing but respect and you can’t even extend me the same courtesy!” She paces as she yells at him, gesticulating wildly. There’s a part of her telling her to stop, that this behaviour will likely get her fired, but at this point it would have been like attempting to put toothpaste back in the tube. “I know you think you’re hot shit, but that doesn’t exempt you from behaving like a decent human being.” She stops and looks at him then, his face still a mask of neutrality as he gazes up at her from his seat at the desk. “Why aren’t you saying anything?!” She demands.

“Oh, are you done?” He replies sarcastically.

She throws her hands up in exasperation, eliciting a huge sigh at his complete lack of emotion. 

Accepting her reaction as affirmation, he diverts his attention back to his paperwork and mutters “Well, if that’s all, you know where the door is.”

It takes all of her willpower not to grab the nearest object and launch it towards his head. She storms outside, slamming the door as she goes. Fuck this. Walking purposefully straight to the elevator, she lets it take her to the ground floor before hastily exiting the office building. There was absolutely no way she was spending another second in this godforsaken building.

Arriving home she throws her keys a little too aggressively onto the kitchen counter and heads straight towards the fridge, grabbing for the can of whipped cream. As she loudly squirts an unhealthy sized swirl of it into her mouth, her flatmate, Rhea, looks up from her laptop with an amused smile and asks “Rough morning?”

She hadn’t noticed her sitting at the dining table, too engrossed in her own foul mood to have any awareness of her surroundings. “Think I lost my job.” She slurs without bothering to swallow.

Rhea closes the lid of her laptop and rushes to pull her into a bear hug. Finally releasing her, she smiles kindly and wipes cream from her chin, before saying “First of all, you’re gross, and second, how has that happened? You’ve been there less than 48 hours!”

“It’s a long story.” She sighs, “The short version is that my boss is an arsehole, so I yelled at him and then left the office.”

“Oh.” Rhea winces, “That’s bad.”

“What the fuck am I going to do?!” She whines, rubbing her temples.

“Well, it might not solve your impending unemployment, but we could go out tonight?”

“Are you high right now, Rhea?! The only thing I’ll be doing tonight is looking at the classifieds!”

“Come on, you were miserable for so long in your last job and don’t seem to be faring much better in this one. You deserve a little fun!”

“I dunno…”

“I’m not taking no for an answer! I’m working from home today, so having a reason to leave the flat later will keep me sane. Plus you don’t even need to get changed - you are wearing that outfit!”

“Fine. I guess one drink couldn’t hurt.”

Rhea squeals with excitement, clapping her hands. “Amazing! Now be a doll and fuck off until 7pm, I have to concentrate.”

Rhea returns to her laptop while she retreats to her room, wondering if there will ever be a point this week where she isn’t being told to go away by someone.

The bar they end up at later that evening is loud and overcrowded. Despite that, she can feel herself relaxing. Perhaps it was the second white wine she was sipping or the steady beat of the music causing her to sway your hips involuntarily, but for the first time in two days she wasn't thinking about Aemond. She sighs contentedly, draining her glass and flashing Rhea a toothy grin as she pushes through the crowd with their next round of drinks. 

“Having fun?” Rhea half shouts over the cacophony of noise. 

Nodding, she grabs her hand, dragging her towards the dance floor. She chugs her drink as they both move to the rhythm of the song playing. She feels woozy and attributes it to drinking too much wine too fast.

“You want water?” She shouts to Rhea, making a drinking motion with her hand. Rhea nods gratefully and she staggers her way to the bar. She can feel her vision shifting in and out of focus and getting her legs to work the way she wants them to is proving difficult. Changing course, she heads outside, deciding a few lungfuls of fresh air will help set her straight.

As she slides down the brick exterior of the building she barely notices the dark figure that has followed her outside. “Easy.” A gruff male voice says, though in her mind it sounds far away, “Just relax.” Rough hands paw at her as her head flops around on a neck that feels boneless.

“Get the fuck off her.” She hears a familiar voice snarl demandingly. The man is gone in a flash and replaced instead by someone crouching in front of her, cupping her cheeks and coaxing her to look up into a concerned blue eye.

“Aemond?” She slurs.

“Keep looking at me.” Aemond says, cradling her head, “I’m fairly certain that that prick spiked your drink. I’m going to make sure you get home safely, but you need to stay awake, okay?”

Her eyes are glassy and Aemond blurs and duplicates in her vision as he keeps her face tilted up towards him. “Rhea.” She mumbles groggily.

As if summoned by the utterance of her name, her room mate pushes her way out of the bar, phone in hand, looking left and right. When she finally catches sight of her slumped on the ground with a man crouching over her, she shrieks and runs towards her. “What are you doing to her?!”

“Helping her.” Aemond replies flatly, without looking away from her. “Pretty sure she’s been spiked.”

“Jesus!” Rhea squeals, kneeling at her side, before finally looking over at Aemond. “Holy shit! You’re Aemond Targaryen! Your uncle is so hot!”

Aemond rolls his eye, hooking his arms around the body of the semi-conscious woman in front of him and slowly lifting her to her feet.

“Should we call the police?” Rhea asks, slowly realising the gravity of the situation.

Aemond turns to stare at her. “It will take an hour for them to get here.” He explains. “And when they do they’ll just file a report which they’ll never follow up on. Our time is better spent getting her home, so she’s at least safe. I’m assuming you know where she lives?”

Rhea nods. “We’re flatmates.”

Aemond momentarily supports her weight with a single arm as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it and passes it to Rhea. “Order an Uber”.

“Thanks for helping her.” Rhea says, as the Uber finally pulls up to the curb. They waited in total silence and any excitement Rhea had felt at having met Aemond was rapidly dissipating into awkward discomfort. “I can look after her from here.” She moves to take her from the supporting hold he has on her.

“Because you’ve done such an incredible job of that so far.” He retorts icily. “I’m coming with you.”

He maneuveres her limp form into the back of the car as Rhea makes her way around to the other side to sit next to her. She is surprised to see Aemond fold his tall frame into the backseat beside her, fully expecting him to ride shotgun. The drive back is tense and uncomfortable. She sits unconscious, sandwiched between the two of them, her heading lolling against Aemond’s shoulder.

“So…” Rhea begins, attempting to break the silence, “You’re the arsehole boss then?”

It was intended as a joke, but Aemond’s humourless chuckle instantly makes her cheeks burn at having said something so rude. “Is it true you’re going to fire her?”

Aemond seems surprised at that. “No,” He says simply. “I won’t expect to see her in the office tomorrow, she’ll need a day to recover, but tell her to be there at 9am sharp on Thursday. And I take my coffee black.”

“Sure.” Rhea smiles meekly. By this point, the Uber has pulled up to its destination. “Would you like to uh…?” She asks, gesturing towards the block of flats.

“No, I think you’ll be fine from here.” He responds, “Goodnight.”

With that, Rhea is left to help her out of the car, which pulls away as soon as she's closed the door.

The next day she awakens with no memory of the evening before, feeling like she has the mother of all hangovers. She swears loudly as she looks at the time and realises it’s almost midday. If she wasn’t fired before, she certainly was now.

Hearing she is awake, Rhea sweeps into the room with a tall glass of water for her. She fills her in on the details of the previous evening and she listens in stunned silence. She spends the rest of the day in bed, struggling to process what has happened to her and the fact that a man she’d assumed hated her had come so valiantly to her rescue.

Thursday morning rolls around quickly and she dresses simply in black trousers and a sensible cardigan. She heads to grab Aemond his morning coffee; black coffee. No sooner had she deposited the cup into his hand had apologies begun tumbling from her lips, saying sorry for how she’d spoken to him, sorry for storming off, sorry for him having to look after her. He cuts her off, sliding a sheet of paper towards her.

“This,” He begins, “Is a list of things I need you to do for me today. Think you can handle it?”

She nods, stunned at finally being asked to help him out.

“Perfect. See you later.”

The day passes in a blur and she struggles. This is the first day she’s actually performing the job she has been hired to do and the busy, demanding nature of a prestigious law firm was worlds apart from the past two days of sitting at her desk and sulking. She gets lost trying to deliver documents to various people’s offices, forgets to seal contracts in confidential envelopes and accidentally hangs up on no less than five clients while trying to transfer their calls. It is a complete disaster.

She sits, highlighting every instance of the word “Harrenhal” in a document, feeling totally overwhelmed. How could anyone manage to be so bad at a relatively simple job?! The truth was, she kept finding herself distracted, thinking about what had happened to her two nights ago. What would have happened if Aemond hadn’t shown up? She caps the highlighter pen, resting her head in her hands and fails to suppress a sob.

Hearing his office door open, she turns to face Aemond as he exits, attempting to compose herself, but knows he has likely already seen her crying. “Sorry.” She whispers. “I’m just having a bad day. Ignore me.” She sniffles and wipes her eyes.

Silently Aemond beckons her into his office, maintaining eye contact as he does so.

She follows obediently, dread gnawing at her insides, certain he’s going to fire her.

 “Kneel.” He quietly commands, once the door is closed behind them.

“What?!” Her eyes widen in shock.

“Trust me, you need this. Kneel.” He insists.

She does as she is told, kneeling before him, gazing up at his impossibly tall frame with curiosity.

He slowly reaches out a hand, fingers gently grazing her jawline, before running a thumb over her lips. He pushes gently, parting them and meeting the resistance of her teeth. “Open”.

This time she doesn’t question his request, silently accepting the alien intrusion of Aemond’s thumb into her mouth. Instinctively she feels herself sucking on the digit and gradually relaxes. The sensation sends a throb of arousal straight to her core. She’d never experienced anything like this before, but seeing him tower over her, offering his thumb for her to suck was strangely erotic.

“Better?” He asks.

She simply nods, doe-eyed and staring at him in awe.

“Good.” He smiles slightly, stooping down until his lips are ghosting the shell of her ear. It makes her shiver. “I much preferred Tuesday’s outfit, by the way. Maybe that can make a reappearance tomorrow?”

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #modern aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #hotd #hotd smut #hotd angst #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fic

[thecameronchronicles]

A Deal With the Devil

TW: Violence, language, smut, drug use, blood due to virginity loss. PURE FILTH ;) 

SUMMARY: Every Kook party was the same. Trust fund kids taking out their ‘frustrations’ via drugs too strong and alcohol too sweet, all while comparing their latest purchases, golf scores, and recent fucks. But this had been the first time you arrived with a purpose...And that ‘purpose’ stood a few feet over six inches with his expected polo and daddy’s money rolled into a tube to use as a vestibule for consumption. 

Rafe Cameron...

WORD COUNT: 4,000

The Deal With the Devil

“Two fifty a line...” He spoke to you, not even bothering to look up at you for even a second as he fingered the string of cash given to him as payment. Meanwhile, your eyes came to the collection of white powder that seemed so innocuous in comparison to the warnings around it-much like its host. You knew its effect, you knew it was reckless, irresponsible, and plain stupid. But you came here tonight to indulge. 

Bowing forward, rolled Grant between your petite yet perfectly polished pinch, you followed suit to the same kooks who were always present at these parties. Inhaling the bitter burn of the stimulant, a rush of adrenaline from the regret of what was to come left you temporarily breathless as you corrected yourself. Yet any side effect expected of what you had consumed paled in comparison to the blue eyes having now fixated on you. 

“Well THAT was about three...” He explained, holding out his palm. The display of his long fingers forced your neglected satisfaction to conjure the most illicit of visions by his hand alone. 

“I...I only have a fifty...” You confessed sheepishly, removing the bill from your pocket as everyone around the table suddenly drew quiet. It was almost as if you had insulted him, which you would have believed, if not for the way a smile crept over his full lips. Yet his lack of response left you desperate for an apology he didn’t exactly deserve. 

“Maybe we can do an I-owe-you?” You offered, your tone peaking in hope as he scoffed before lifting his right arm. Set along his forearm, offering an unintentional flex that was purely natural from his toned physique, showcased a burn mark extending on his otherwise sun-kissed skin. 

“Nah...I don’t DO favors anymore...” He began to shake his head, leaving you fearful of what it meant to be on the receiving end of his disapproval. But the way your confidence became grated into silent fear; the furrow of your brows draining your features into worry as your bottom lip became captive between your teeth, his focus would lift to you. You were unaware that the way you appeared, needy and desperate, had been enough to quell something eager within him. 

“Maybe there IS another way you could offer payment...” He intrigued you as your eyes illuminated with wonder before feeling his eyes suddenly lower the extent of your curves. It had been the first time tonight that his attention came to the efforts put into your appearance. But you didn’t know if you should revel in this newfound focus from the kook prince himself or be terrified in it. 

“I don’t have...” You moved to object, unaware of what he was in reference to exactly, before he was suddenly close enough to you to ensure nobody else could hear the words he spoke dominantly to you. 

“You have a choice here, sweetheart. Either you get me the rest of my money by the end of the night...Or you give the rest of your night to me.” You knew it was immoral, cheap even. And yet, a part of you didn’t care. You adored the way his eyes seemed to devour you, lips parting in anticipation that curved into a smirk when he realized he held your attention. It was only then that you managed to regain some sense of confidence as you leaned slightly into him. 

“You want to...collect your payment out here?” He was amused by your bold reaction as he motioned to Topper, a blonde pretty boy half high and a quarter drunk. 

“Sort the rest of this out, yeah?” Before you could object, your wrist was pulled to follow his quick steps, each time your soles collided with the smooth wood supporting you, your nerves inflated with uncertainty. You knew the rumors of the eldest Cameron were intense, a reputation of a good but swift fuck that left those he took to his bed with souvenirs of his dominance and possessiveness. But you couldn’t lie to yourself how it excited you to be on the receiving end of this. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned as he closed the door to the bedroom, turning to find you playing with the zipper of your dress. 

“You want me to keep it on?” You questioned, confused and slightly curious about such a question. Most guys would already be halfway to their release to see any girl willing to get naked. But not Rafe. Not with you. You immediately worried he wasn’t attracted to you before finding those usually light irises darkening to you and leaving your insecurities silenced. 

“I want to savor this debt. Two fifty is more than just a quick fuck.” You fought the smirk from spreading your content lips into development as he began to run his forefinger across his bottom lip while cementing his feet in front of you. 

“But I want to know...How many other people have you been with?” Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Once again, you knew most guys wouldn’t care as long as they got the same release that you would have given others. Because of this and the slight irritation of your arousal fading from the interrogation and hesitancy, your response came out almost in a scoff. 

“You want to talk?” He answered in objection, stepping forward to you as if willing to swipe across your cheek for speaking against him. Yet he didn’t do anything but use those intimidating eyes to silence you and make you regret questioning him. 

“I want to know if I’m dealing with a slut or a goodie-two-shoes-” Your eyes narrowed to his choice of words. 

“I’m not a slut.” The usual insult would have enraged you if it had come from the lips of anyone else. But there was something about the way he spoke it that exhilarated you. And yet, you didn’t want him to know that. At least not yet.

“I know I’M clean...I just want to know-”

“Two.” You lied, wanting to stop the conversation and get to the distraction of his touch as this was becoming too intense to stomach. His close proximity and abundance of his cologne leaving you dizzy, you wanted his touch. You needed it. It’s why you were here...

“Well baby girl...” His fingers began to pull the edges of his shirt upwards until revealing his torso to your gluttonous view. You were shameless in appreciating the way his body was well sculpted in details that made him defined but not too bulked-perfect and even better than you had imagined. 

“Those two other dicks will pale in comparison to what I’m going to do to you...” You repressed the moan from leaving your lips as he returned closer to you, well aware of how just him moving in your direction had you dripping for him. 

“But...I’m going to take my sweet time...making you work for every cent...Can’t forget about interest...” He teased, that arrogant smirk occupying his clean shaven bone structure, as he moved to a chair set across the space that was suddenly too small. 

“Knees.” The simple direction spoke with the tone somehow both sweet and sultry, had you moving to obey. Dropping to the level of his waist, you were drowning in your own arousal to the way he looked at you with such darkness behind such pretty features. The mischievous smile spread across his face only fueled your ambition as you pulled apart his ensemble while he prepared your hair into a makeshift ponytail. In a way that was almost painful, his grip tightened, teetering that line between dominant and dangerous. 

“Go ahead...” He directed, your eyes coming to the bulge already intimidating you. However, you were not one to back down from a challenge. For this, you took a deep breath and exposed him to you, suddenly realizing the origin behind his consistent arrogance. He was huge. Not that you had much to compare it to, and yet, it was enough to make you look up at him with uncertainty, all while he continued that smirk. 

“There we go…” He praised the feeling of your breath hot against his domineering cock acting as a prelude to what was imminent. You knew enough from the media, literature, and your more overzealous friends to know to cover your teeth with your lips. But the way his body reacted to your actions led you to base each following motion on his tense shifts. 

“Fuck…” He breathed at the feeling of your tongue running beneath his length, the kneel of defiance you held against your own gag reflex, and the way your hand twisted at his base to make up for what you couldn’t swallow.

“Taste good, baby?” You nodded, addicted to how you pleased him. The way his eyes fluttered within the back of his head pushed you further to damn that sensitive reflex and allow him the availability of your throat. Immediately to this, his hand came into a grip behind your head, denying you breath while he pumped himself into the recess you allowed, as tears began to cascade down your blushed cheeks. 

“Look at you…crying and shit…” He scoffed as his reaction left you frozen in the fear you had suddenly lost him. 

“Did I…do something?” You questioned in shaky inquisition, eyes lowering in shame as he shook his head. 

“I told you…I’m getting every cent worth…” When your face twisted into further confusion, he moved closer to you to ensure he held your attention. His thumb and pointer finger lazily set in some form of dominance over your jaw.

“You don’t get to get me off that quickly…Not until I’ve had enough…” He noticed something in your expression that he couldn’t help but note aloud.

“You know, for someone who just deepthroated me like a porn star, you’re shaking like you’re a virgin…” Your blush worsened, revealing to him what you believed you could have hidden until this moment. That laugh behind his taunt lessened when he realized what he had just uncovered.

“You’re a virgin?” This question was somehow the most erotic thing he had asked the entire night as it left you feeling unworthy, dirty, even shameful.

“Does it make you change your mind?” You questioned, wrapping yourself into a hug for comfort as he scoffed. 

“Are you kidding? Knowing I’m the only one that gets to…” It was almost as if the thought aloud made him lose all ability to sound intelligible, not that he was exactly known for such things. However, it was enough to bring a newfound confidence to cushion your inexperience. And yet, the realization was enough to carry the excitement from his cock to his expression as it widened with agreeability. 

“Stand up.” He ordered as you obeyed quickly, feeling him pull you onto his leg. 

“Poor thing…” His fingers were unkind to your hips, and you loved the possessiveness behind it. 

“Anyone ever touched you?” He questioned somewhat swiftly as if more impatient for your answer than the action as you shook your head.

“Do you touch yourself?” You swallowed hard, shamed by society as it was ‘unladylike’ and ‘taboo’, yet you could only deny the pulsation between your thighs for so long before needing release. Each time, envisioning Rafe on the forefront of your fantasies, leading this moment to feel as more of a dream than reality. 

“There are so many things I want to do to you…” He cocked his jaw for a moment, his thumbs pulling the skirt of your dress high enough until he could feel the fabric of your panties. He began at your hip, effortlessly gliding to your core, rubbing over your cloth covered clit as you shifted from the foreign feeling of his touch. But in the moments you believed he would be kind, his hand suddenly moved to the back of your neck, fingers wrapped in dominance from one pulse point to another as the signet ring upon his dominant hand sat in contrast to your skin set on fire. 

“Gonna stretch you out for me…m’kay?” Using the grip at your neck, he pulled up upwards until you were set back on his middle finger, penetrating you where nobody had before. The sudden twist of your expression pulled his lips into a grimace as he was pleased with how you followed his guidance. 

“Gonna try two…” He narrated, bringing his ring finger to join his thick digit. “Good girl-” You released a gasp at the praise, making you both aware of your private kink. 

“You like being told you’re a good girl?” You nodded feverishly, gasping at the sudden curve of his fingers tightening a familiar pull within your stomach, a rarely exercised muscle that was being brought to life by his touch alone. Whatever anxieties you held in a reaction too over eager or novice mistakes turning him off were silenced as your body was allowed the ease of his effect. Knuckles embedded into your heat, squelching and sopping to his quickening motions, you would feel him chuckle to your desperate fingers tearing into his shoulders. 

And then it stopped. On the edge of your orgasm, speaking a mix of groans and his name, came the abrupt cessation to the greatest pleasure you had been allowed. 

“Rafe?”

“You owe ME, sweetheart…and I’m not done with you yet…” He now stood, lifting you momentarily, before placing you on your soles. However, your inability to stand up straight left you clinging to him as a devious chuckle pulled from his lips. 

“Lay down.” He instructed as you mustered the courage to move forward with your failing steps, thankful it was only a few meters, before finding him directly in front of you. Without a word, he pulled his fingers to his lips, taking the taste of you with him, while groaning in approval. 

“So fucking sweet…” Your chest rose in anticipation as he suddenly hooked your thighs until you were flat on your back and looking up at him, his curtained locks loose over his once soft eyes now perpetually sinful in the veil of lust. 

“I’ll try to go slow at first…” He was surprisingly considerate of your virginity, perhaps a form of silent gratitude for giving it to him, to which only led you further into your desire for him. 

“Please…” You breathed, unable to fathom the distance between you for another minute as he pulled in his bottom lip with his teeth, cocking his head to outline your folds, before motioning for your dress. 

“Off.” You obeyed, lifting it over your torso to reveal your body to him. His eyes began at the details concealed prior to now, adorning the way your curves were laid exclusively for him, a thought made more lustful in knowing he was the only one that had seen you this way. 

A deep breath of pleasure left his lips as his inflamed cock head was now taken between your folds, teasing the barrier that would leave you ‘tainted’ from the image you had preserved until now. Yet you couldn't care less of anything else aside from feeling him inside of you. The way you pulsed, the way you were soaked, you were too desperate to care for what you were losing in comparison to what you would be gaining. 

“Deep breath-” You obliged, stomach and chest pulled hollow to the immense pain leaving you to wince. Almost as if moving to soothe you, he withdrew, only to push beyond the confirmation of your virginity once again. 

“Ah!” You bellowed in a shriek, his girth too intense to remain silent. However, he would withdraw once more, this time, to find the evidence of your truth staining his length. His eyes found you beneath him, watching him eagerly, as he pulled his fingers to the blood before consuming it behind his lips. 

“Rafe-” You breathed, the sudden plunge of his cock silencing what would have been a plea for him to continue. The pain that began the shedding of your virtue quickly shifted to pleasure as he filled you to perfection, pleasure added by his thumb circling your swollen clit, already brought to the edge once before. 

“So fucking tight…” He grunted over you, leading your moans to release to the air around him.

“Hold on to me…” He paused for a second, pulling you over him, remaining embedded inside of you, as you now sat in a straddle over him and he was ass-flat on the bed. In a rather impressive sweep of his fingers, your bra was unclasped and he had your closest bosom between his teeth, pulling himself as deep into you as he could. His arm wrapped the width of your hips, baring down onto your skin, as he began to lift into you in motion once again.

“Bounce baby…Ride me, baby girl…” Your motivation was reignited by his words as he would guide you the first few moments until you no longer needed his assistance. With nails digging into his shoulders and knees allowing you stability to rise and fall as he requested, you would feel him submerge and pull from your own actions. 

“Rafe, I’m gonna-” You began to plead over him as his motions suddenly stopped and his hand came to the back of your neck. 

“You don’t get to fucking come.” He was breathless, wearing your claw marks as trophies, as he forced you to rise slowly and take him once again, doing so as you shook with the continuation of his thumb applying those decadent circles of both pleasure and pain. 

“Do YOU think this was worth a quarter of a grand? Huh?” He licked his lips momentarily. 

“Please…I want to…I need to…I’ll let you do anything to me..” You begged, the coil within your stomach prepared to snap as he would only laugh at your plea. 

“So desperate to come, you’re making yourself sound like a whore…”

“I’m not-” He silenced you by quickening those fingers once again, making you shudder against him. 

“You’re MY whore for tonight…This tight little pussy only mine…Yeah?”

“Yes!” You agreed with a moan. 

“All fours…I’m done being nice.” Your eyes widened to his words.

THIS was nice?

And yet, lifting him off of you, you obeyed, feeling him climb off of the bed to leave you in abandonment. 

“Rafe?” You questioned, silenced by the sting of his hand on your ass. 

“You want to take MY coke without paying? You want to be irresponsible? AND you expect for me to let you come?” He tsked his tongue, his hands suddenly pulling your hips higher until you were rounded completely to him-revealed in ways you never believed you would allow. 

“I’m sorry…”

“Little too late now, huh…” Another smack sent you forward as his grip boomeranged you back into him. It was only a second of silence before a light substance sent your head turning back to him. You watched as he had drawn a line of cocaine over the dimples of your back. 

“Sit still or I’ll fuck your throat instead.” You swallowed hard, staying as still as you could before feeling him inhale off of your skin, a breath of satisfaction leaving his focus. 

“Knees.” He ordered as you were now upright against him that your back would be flush with his chest if he were to come closer. He would, but only to where you could feel his breath over your ear. 

“This is for ME. YOU are here for me, understand?” You nodded, his fingers, holding a small mountain of coke on his fingertip, now rubbing the substance over your nipple. The numbness caused you to press your thighs together as he slapped your hip. 

“I SAID don’t move.” You nodded. 

“Sorry…”

“You will be…” He took hold of your hair, bending you back down, pistoning into you with his rigid shaft. Your need for his fingers on your clit sent yours there as consolation, only to be intercepted by his harsh grip wrapping them around your back as reins to burrow further inside of you. 

“Such a good little slut…” He commented, your heart twinging at the title that you were beginning to embrace coming from his breathlessness. “Go on, baby…cry out for me…” He grinned, hearing you groan to the pillows set before you. 

“More!” He nearly growled at your words, pulling himself deeper into you, one hand remaining over your unified wrists as the other pulled your hair backwards to him. 

“You want more? You think you can take it? Huh? Take all of me in your tight little cunt?”

“Yes! Please!”

“Tell me you want it! Tell me you want my cock.” He ordered as you were too eager to allow any remaining nerves to silence you. 

“I NEED your cock!” You corrected his command as he purred in approval. 

“Tell me who owns this fucking pussy!” He continued, his thrusts growing sloppy and almost violent as the beads of sweat accumulated from his impressive stamina connected at your spine. 

“You Rr-Rafe! You!”

“That’s it…FUCK!” He groaned behind you, pulling you upright against him as your fingers wrapped in desperation to the headboard colliding with the wall in front of you. To your gratitude, his fingers returned to your beckoning clit as he was relentless, your cries making him grin, all while he continued his own stride inside of you. 

“Beg me to let you come…” He spoke into your ear, your jaw set apart in moans. 

“Please Rafe…”

“Beg me-” He commanded through clenched teeth as something strong suddenly pulled from within you, your body shuddering against him as he bent you further forward against the headboard itself. Your first vaginal orgasm and he made you squirt…

“Shit! I’m gonna come!” You nodded to his words, your own release bringing a fresh numbness synonymous with the drug still on your nipples, as he used your satisfaction to ride out his own. Your jaw was pulled back to face him, a passionate kiss leading teeth and tongues in a clash of dominance, sending you to the side of abandonment as he suddenly withdrew from you. 

Heaving out of breath, you pulled the covers back over your body, turning to face him, walking in stride back to the edge of the bed. 

“Tomorrow…Four o’clock.” He explained, throwing your phone back onto the bed as you weren’t aware how it had gotten into his possession until now. You pulled the screen to view, finding an address that left you confused. 

“But the debt is paid-”

“I told you, sweetheart…” He licked his lips, hesitant to allow himself a breath, before continuing to speak. 

“There’s interest…” He leaned down to you, taking your jaw in his firm grasp. 

“And I thought I was fucking someone with experience…so consider this a taste of what you still owe me…” His breath teased your lips for what could have been a sweet kiss as you left you abandoned. 

“Next time…no panties.” He grinned, collecting yours as a trophy that were a mystery to how they left your hips, as he left you within the bed, recovering from your loss of virginity. 

Once you were able to walk again, you collected your clothes and redressed in slow succession while feeling the extent of the evidence left by him. In the mirror across from the bed, you found bruises from his fingerprints left as rewards of your time together, sending your content lips to pull into a smile. 

But it wasn’t until you descended the steps of the nameless kook’s house that you found the eyes looking at you in a mix of judgment and jealousy, with a few even commending you with applause and winks. You ignored the blush, looking over to find Rafe having rejoined his group, not bothering to lift a glance at you once again. But it didn’t matter. You got what you came for, slipping the collection of hundreds that could have easily have paid for your ‘debt’ to him back into the pocket of your dress and leaving with a grin of satisfaction.

#rafe cameron #rafecameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks #outer banks #obx #obx fanfiction #obx smut #drew starkey #rafe smut #outer banks fanfiction

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

Call of Duty Werewolves🐺 - Part 2!

{Author's Note} Since y'all loved the first part so much, here's a second for you to enjoy! I've included more lore and some cute werewolf snippets for each of the characters I mentioned in the first post so hopefully I managed to write them all accurately. I'll probably do a fic for one of them at some point so let me know who you'd like to see! Thank you for all the love and please feel free to write/ask for more headcanons for this AU! I'm having so much fun with it❤️ Happy Halloween! 🎃🧟‍♂️👻 >Call of Duty Werewolf AU -> Part 1 >Shadow Company Snippet by @http-paprika -> SC Werewolf AU (she's also writing her own werewolf AU fic so go give it some love👀)

~ ~ ~

>Werewolves have fangs in both forms. The human canines are replaced by longer, sharper teeth when natural werewolves lose their baby teeth. In bitten werewolves, the human canines are pushed out within their first month of being turned. While in human form, only the sharper tips are visible, resulting in fanged smiles (just imagine your favorite boy flashing you a fanged grin👀). When transforming, the teeth extend from the gums as the muzzle forms.

>Werewolf hair and nails grow faster and are usually thicker, requiring more frequent trimming, especially after a transformation.

>Werewolves heal faster than their human counterparts. Cuts heal in a few minutes, broken bones take days rather than weeks. Most tissues can be fully regenerated, except for entire limbs. The canine teeth will always be replaced if lost.

>Bones and muscles are thicker and heavier than those of humans, resulting in increased strength and stamina.

>Werewolves digest meat more easily than humans and prefer carnivorous diets. It's healthier for them to consume more meat on a regular basis.

>Werewolf senses are far more acute than humans'. They have great night vision and colors are more vivid to them, as if the saturation has been increased. Their enhanced hearing, however, can be problematic and a werewolf will often have to learn how to tune out certain sounds so they're not completely overwhelmed. Scent is also important to them as it denotes health, emotional state, and belonging. Familiar smells offer comfort, whether they belong to people, places, or things.

>While transformed, werewolves can't really speak. The fangs and muzzle tend to prevent intelligible human speech. On the other hand, their unique vocal cords allow for animalistic grunts and growls, even in human form.

>Transformations will always be painful for both werewolf types. With practice, the process can become smoother and faster but it will always have a pinch, especially as the face changes. Heightened emotions can trigger the beginnings of the change, though it takes a conscious effort to completely transform, unless a werewolf is suffering from moon blindness. Bitten werewolves tend to be more reactive but transform more slowly as it takes longer for their bodies to get used to the shift in comparison to natural werewolves, who are specially built for it from birth.

>A werewolf's transformed state is so dependent on their human traits that they don't always look very wolfish. Some can look like coyotes, foxes, or even bears because of differing body types, features, and hair colors.

>Poisonous to humans, wolfsbane also has an adverse effect on werewolves. It clouds their senses and prevents them from transforming but it won't kill them. It's often used to control a werewolf and keep them in line. However, it can also be mixed into a poultice to treat wounds caused by silver.

>Silver causes mild allergic reactions in werewolves. It only becomes fatal when enough of it pierces the skin and enters the bloodstream, which is why hunters lace their weapons and bullets with silver. Despite this, many werewolves still revere the metal for its association with the Moon.

🌙 🐺 🌙

💲Price is the fluffiest. His iconic beard remains when he's transformed, making him easily recognizable, though he has been mistaken for a bear in the past. If you laugh at that fact, he'll simply huff in feigned annoyance and lay on top of you to prevent you from escaping. Being a natural werewolf, not only does he have more hair but Price's transformations are about as easy as they can be so he'll often use his time with you to relax and catch up on sleep. He sleeps the most soundly when you're cuddled into his chest or back, your face pressed to his fluffy mane. He loves hearing about how much you love his fluff and secretly takes pride in it.

💀Ghost is the biggest. As a 6'4 mountain of a man, he's even larger when transformed. It'll take some getting used to, especially when he transforms in your living space. If you try to make the area more comfortable for him, he'll be especially grateful for your effort. More than anything, he'll just want to be close and feel your touch. His body aches after he transforms and he's more easily overwhelmed so the gentleness of your hands helps him settle into this second shape. No matter how many times you've seen him transformed, he'll always feel some degree of shame around you so make sure he knows just how adored he is.

🧼Soap is the most playful. His transformations tend to energize him rather than exhaust him so expect him to be bouncing off the walls for a bit. If you match his energy level, he'll never let you go. He'll want to chase you and wrestle around but he's hyper-aware of his own strength so any change in your attitude will make him settle down. Once he's burned through that extra energy, he'll just want to listen to you ramble about anything that comes to mind, even if he can't really respond.

🧢Gaz is the sweetest. In the field, he’s known for his level-headedness and clever quips. When he gets home, he’s nothing but a big softie with you. His favorite place to be is in your lap, his wolfish head snuggled against your stomach as you card your fingers through his hair. To know that you accept and love this side of him warms his heart and he'll let you know just how happy it makes him with plenty of cuddles and kisses. He absolutely loves hearing you giggle and does just about anything he can to get that reaction from you.

🦿Alex is the most sensitive. All werewolves tend to be very in-tune with their surroundings, especially in the military, but Alex is even more so. His job as a secret agent of sorts has honed his ability to pick up on the tiniest changes in his environment and, when it comes to you, he's even more aware of your reactions. A slight change in your scent or heartbeat will immediately have him hurrying to your side to check in. More often than not, he can tell if he's actually needed but you're always grateful for his attentiveness and respond with a reassuring hand to his head or chest so he knows you're alright. When you're not, prepare for some inescapable werewolf cuddles.

🪦Graves is the most stubborn. As the Commander of Shadow Company, one of the most notorious groups of werewolves around, he's used to getting his way. When it comes to you, however, he tends to give in far more easily, especially so when he's transformed. A simple scratch around his ears or under his chin will make him melt in seconds and he'll never be able to resist when you run your fingers through the sandy blond hair covering his neck. The usually snarling and snapping werewolf commander will want nothing more than to hold you close, peppering your skin with gentle kisses and warm huffs of breath. Just don't let his Shadows know or he’ll withhold his cuddles.

🐺 🌙 🐺

*BONUS: Werewolf features! Thought it'd be fun to do short descriptions of how I imagine the boys! This includes height, eye color, and hair color for each of them. Pretty straightforward lol

💲Price - 6'2" -> 7'2" ; blue eyes ; brown hair w/ strands of gray

💀Ghost - 6'4" -> 7'4" ; brown -> yellow-amber eyes ; dirty blond/brown hair

🧼Soap - 5'10" -> 6'10" ; blue eyes ; dark brown hair

🧢Gaz - 5'11" -> 6'11" ; dark brown -> orange eyes ; black hair

🦿Alex - 6' -> 7' ; blue -> silvery-gray eyes ; light brown hair

🪦Graves - 6' -> 7' ; blue eyes ; sandy blond hair

#captain john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #alex keller #phillip graves #call of duty #cod #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #call of duty au #cod au #werewolf au #werewolf #werewolves #lycanthropy #Ren's writing #mine mine mine

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Hollow Spark

So I'm writing a Hollow Knight/Transformers crossover and this is kind of a sneak peak I guess? Not final version, will probably add and change some stuff before posting the full thing.

Rung held his arms out, servos visible and open, doing his best to appear as unthreatening as possible. “Shhh shh, it’s ok, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The being, the child, didn’t stop trembling, but it ceased trying to shuffle backwards. It stared at him with vigilance and Rung had the silent realization that it was probably intimidated by him. That was a first but considering how small they were in comparison, it made sense. He slowly went down on one knee so that he wouldn’t be looming over them.

“Hello, it’s very nice to meet you. My name is Rung. Do you have a name?”

The child stared at him for a few seconds before it shook its head and oh, it reminded Rung so much of when he had ignited those first hot spots, with mecha crawling out of the ground and not knowing who they were yet. Hadn’t he asked the same question back then? Hadn’t he extended a servo to help them take their first steps?

He found himself momentarily lost in the memory. Mecha stumbling around, so young but already so strong, carefully planting one pede in front of the other as they made their way forward. Frowns of concentration turning into victorious smiles as they found their balance. Eventually growing overconfident and accidentally tripping over their pedes as they tried to run, mere minutes after being made.

Foolish, beautiful sparks, all of them. Always ready to go.

Nostalgia made Rung’s optics soften and it took him a second to remember where he was. He smiled at the young soul in front of him. “That’s ok, we can figure all of that out later. For now, is it ok if I get closer?” The child regarded him silently again, probably trying to determine if he was dangerous, before nodding. Rung smiled as he scooted over, careful to not make any sudden big movements that would accidentally scare the child. He noticed it clutching one of its arms tight to the side of its body. “Does your arm hurt?” A nod. “Can I see?”

A pause, then the child carefully held out their arm. Taking a closer look, Rung hissed softly. Illuminated by the light of his spark window, he could clearly make out the injury. The child’s arm was broken, bent in at an awkward angle that looked remarkably painful. The armor had been broken, with something dark oozing out of it.

Rung raised his servo but didn’t touch the arm just yet. “Can I touch it?” The child flinched and Rung hurried to ease its fear. “I just want to see if there’s anything I can do to help, I promise to be careful.”

Shuddering, the child hesitated before it nodded once more. With gentle servos, Rung clasped one servo around their upper arm and held their servo with the other. Carefully turning the arm over, he took in the extent of the damage.

The lower arm had been broken, right above the wrist. It looked like something that could have happened in a fall.

Raising his chin to look up, Rung couldn’t see very far due to how dark it was but he could make out some rocks jutting out from the cave wall.

“Did you fall while climbing?” he asked, though he had a feeling that the child would not respond, at least not verbally. Immediately, the child looked away. Its other hand dug into the earth as if it struggled with the memory. After a little while, it nodded in affirmation.

Rung found himself wondering if all of the masks had once belonged to other children also attempting this difficult climb. It was a terrifying thought. The image of small bodies falling and breaking upon impact, writhing in pain and fear in this oppressive darkness before ultimately succumbing to their wounds made him feel sick. If he hadn’t found the youngling, then would they have met the same fate?

The mere thought of it was almost more than he could take.

“You are very brave,” Rung said as he gently traced a thumb over the child’s palm, a soothing gesture meant for both of them. “It must have hurt a lot when it happened and it was probably very frightening. Yet despite this you still allowed me to get closer.” He looked up from the broken arm and stared into the dark optic sockets of the child, smiling. “That was very brave. Thank you for trusting me.”

The child stared at him, unmoving, and while Rung couldn’t make out any emotions of their mask he could practically hear the gears and cogs turning in their head as they thought.

Slowly, as if hesitant, the child reached out with its other arm as well. Its servos clenched and unclenched as if it wanted something.

It took Rung a second but then he recognized the gesture. He had once visited an alien world and seen one of the native’s young make a similar gesture toward its caregiver. A silent plea to be held.

Careful not to jostle its injured arm, Rung slipped his servos underneath their armpits and picked them up, securing one of his arms under them once he was sure that he wouldn’t drop it. He had never held someone in his arms before, at least not like this, and so he worried that it might not be comfortable for the youngling.

The child appeared at ease though. It rested its head against his chest, right above his spark window, and he could feel the tension leaving them. One had reached up to clutch at one of his armor plates, small digits digging into the seams.

#transformers #hollow knight #imagine #crossover #AU #rung #the knight #ghost

[whatacaitastrophe]

Is It Over Now - Chapter 3

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Young God" - Halsey

Chapter Warnings: Oral Sex, PiV Sex

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter Notes: i promise not every chapter starts with a flashback, and i wasn't planning on writing any of this from gale's POV, but he was like hey this is my story, too!!!

Chapter 3: Baby Girl, We're Gonna Be Legends

”I hope that wasn’t a goodbye kiss.” Fallon gently teases Gale with a pleading look in her eyes. He smiles back at her. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Gale stands up and extends Fallon his hand. “I want it to be perfect - to bond with you in the way the gods do…intertwining our spirits in visions of the Weave.” 

Fallon takes his hand and stands to face him, chewing on her lip. “I don’t need illusions. I want the Gale in front of me.” 

“Are you sure? I could conjure up anything you desire, and a few you could not. I could use The Weave to make us feel sensations beyond reckoning. I could not only woo you, I could wow you.”

“I want the real Gale - the man, not the fantasy.” 

“The old ways, then. If that is what you wish, so be it. A gesture for your comfort.” 

A four poster bed magically appears in the middle of the forest Gale has conjured, and Fallon falls back on the mattress, beckoning Gale to come closer. He obliges, approaching the foot of the bed and crawling up the mattress until he is on top of her. Fallon cups his face in her hands, and Gale is in awe. There are so many things he wants to say to her, but most of all, he wants to kiss her again. Their second kiss is far less chaste than the first, all heat and passion, like this could be the last chance they get. In their defense, it could be. Even before Mystra delivered her marching orders to Gale, every moment could have been their last. 

Gale leans forward and buries his face in Fallon’s neck, drinking in the smell of her, the taste of her skin on his tongue. The breathy moan she lets out goes straight to his cock, and he can’t help but smirk against her skin. It’s been a long time since Gale has been with someone like this. Not just in general, but without The Weave manipulating their bodies and surroundings into fantasies. Gale’s mouth begins to travel, peppering kisses across Fallon’s skin from her shoulders to the exposed skin of her chest and torso. Though he often teased Fallon for her need to loot every dead body they came across, he sure is glad that she took the time to steal her current wardrobe off of Minthara’s corpse. 

It was sinful, with the bodice accentuating her chest, and the tight leather hugging the curves of her hips and ass. Gale would be a liar if he said he hasn’t imagined slowly taking that outfit off of Fallon since the very moment she put it on, and not just because the way Astarion and Halsin stared at her body when they made camp makes Gale jealous. Gale’s hands make swift work of untying the laces on the very front of the bodice. 

“Undress for me, my love.” Gale requests, pushing himself off of Fallon just enough for her to move out from under his body and stand. Just as he’d hoped, Fallon makes a show of it all, and Gale struggles between looking back into her eyes, meeting her intense eye contact, and watching the fabric slowly fall away from her body until it’s pooled at her feet in the grass. 

For a moment, Gale is speechless as Fallon stands there. Everything about her is as perfect as Gale had imagined it would be. “You are,” he breathes. “Without question, the most exquisitely beautiful woman I have ever had the great pleasure of laying my eyes on.”

The moon is so bright that Gale can see her cream colored skin become a rosier hue when he compliments her, and Fallon laughs softly, averting her eyes. “Well, I’m no goddess.” She counters and Gale is off of the mattress and standing in front of Fallon again with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of. 

“Fallon, I need you to hear me when I say that every goddess, even Mystra, pales in comparison to the beauty standing in front of me right now.” His hands settle on her hips and he tugs her a little closer to him. “I wish you could see what I see, because standing here in the moonlight, you are absolutely radiant, and your beauty goes so far beyond your physical form.” 

Gale kisses sweetly. “You have a good heart, Fallon, and that is something that not many beautiful people can also claim. In the short time that I’ve known you, I’ve witnessed you countlessly run head first into situations that could get you killed, all because someone who couldn’t defend themselves needed your help. I’ve seen you weep when you can’t save everyone, and for innocent creatures and people who were already dead when we arrived. I see how much you care for myself and our companions every single day. It would be easy for you to keep us all at arms length and choose not to give a damn about who we are, but you do. It’s not just your physical beauty that makes you incredibly beautiful, but also your empathy for others. Your humanity.” 

“You’re just saying that.” She responds softly, averting her gaze from his again. Knowing what Gale has come to know about Fallon, her reaction is unsurprising, and it breaks Gale’s heart that she doesn’t see what he sees. He sighs sympathetically. 

“If my words aren’t enough, allow me to show you how beautiful I think you are. Allow me to prove to you how much you deserve to be adored. To be worshiped.” 

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before pulling her close so her body is flush with his and kissing her deeply. He guides Fallon back to the bed he conjured as their tongues intertwine, and when her body stops moving, Gall pulls away so he can gently push her backwards onto the mattress again. There is no pomp or circumstance as he removes his own clothes, and his still-hard cock springs gratefully from the confines of the fabric that was previously holding it back. Not that Gale is in any sort of hurry to bury himself inside of her. No, he plans to make this last, to take his time, because it could very well be the last time.

Gale is not the only person in awe of the other, it seems. “How the fuck are you real?” She asks in disbelief, taking in his naked form. Gale does nothing but smirk at her in response and walks back towards her, crawling onto the mattress after her as she moves back so the upper half of her body is partly leaning against the headboard. Their mouths connect again with heated passion, and all Gale wants to do is touch every part of her skin that he possibly can. He needs to hear her moan again like she did the first time when his mouth was on her neck. No, he needs more than that, and he will not be satisfied until the woman below him is crying out in ecstasy. 

It’s likely that Gale could just lay there kissing her until the sun comes up, but he has other plans that involve his mouth elsewhere. His mouth slowly starts exploring the rest of her skin as he begins his descent down her body. Gale comes face to face with her breasts, and he closes his mouth over one and gently massages the other with his hand. “You know, not everyone is blessed with perfect breasts but my gods it’s like you were sculpted by the universe,” he lowers his mouth to her breast again and nips gently and her nipple. The sound that comes out of Fallon’s mouth is breathy, and Gale desperately needs to hear it again. “Every time you wear that gods-forsaken outfit you nicked off of Minthara, I imagine what it would be like to have my head right here, in this spot.” 

Gale switches sides so Fallon’s other perfect breast receives attention from his mouth. Fallon makes the same sound as before and Gale’s heart sings. Slowly, Gale continues peppering soft kisses and gentle love bites down her torso, until his mouth is hovering over the apex of her thighs. He uses his hands to spread her legs further apart, ignoring her sex for now so he can give her thighs the attention they deserve. “And these,” Gale plants kiss on her inner thigh, and then the other, and Fallon whimpers. “I’ve spent many a night imagining my head between these strong beautiful legs, with my hands holding them in place.”

Gale takes a moment to look up at Fallon when she whimpers again, and he can’t help but offer her a sly smile when he takes in the pleading look on her face. His mouth works its way back up to the apex of her thighs, and he plants one single kiss just above her sex. “And here?” Gale releases her legs with his right hand so he can run his thumb over her already slick folds, still avoiding the spot her desperate moan reveals she’d like him to be most. “Well, I’ve imagined what it would be like to bury my face in your cunt and taste you since the day we met.”

Gale doesn’t make her wait any longer before he lowers his mouth to her clit and sucks on it, swirling his tongue across it in slow circles. Fallon gasps. He can feel her body shift so her back is arched and the reaction his movements with his tongue illicit only spur him forward. Gale once joked with Fallon that he had a practiced tongue, and now that he has her, he’s determined to show her exactly what he meant. The smell of her, the taste of her, it’s all intoxicating and Gale laps at her clit like a dehydrated man just offered water for the first time in a millennia. He’s so in love with this woman, it’s stupid, and if he dies tomorrow, and the sound of her name on his lips is one of the last things he hears, then Gale will die a happy man. 

Gale adjusts his body just enough so he can slip two practiced fingers inside of her, pumping them in and out of her slowly, deeply, and he relishes in the way Fallon pushes her hips forward, begging him for more. Gale is all too happy to oblige and he picks up the speed of his fingers inside of her until her legs are shaking and her moans are leaving her mouth in quick succession. It’s not until then that he comes up for air and he looks Fallon in the eyes as his fingers continue to move. “My gods, you are beautiful. I love watching you fall apart like this. Are you going to come for me, my love?” Fallon is gripping the sheets with her hands and she nods desperately. 

“Please, Gale, I’m so close.” she begs and Gale gets lightheaded. Of all the things he’d expected this evening, he wasn’t sure Fallon begging was even on the list. Crying out his name in pleasure, surely, but begging? It’s almost enough to turn him back into an inexperienced teenager who might come simply from a stiff breeze hitting his cock right. “With pleasure.” he answers, his voice rough with desire. Gale dives back in, devouring Fallon with determination to coax her orgasm from her body. 

He doesn’t have to wait very long, and soon Fallon erupts with a sharp cry. Her entire body shakes as she moans his name. Much to his pleasure, she’s loud enough that it’s unlikely their companions back at camp didn’t hear her. Good. Maybe Halsin and Astarion will back the hells off with their staring and flirty comments now that Gale has claimed her. Fallon is his, and Gale Dekarios doesn’t share. Gale keeps his mouth on her as she rides out her high, only lifting his head when her body stills. He’s sure his mouth and scruffy beard are glistening with her orgasm, but Gale doesn’t care enough to wipe his mouth across his arm before climbing up the bed to capture Fallon’s mouth again. 

A shiver runs down his spine as Fallon’s hands begin to explore his body. Her nails and fingertips scrape against his torso roughly, and don’t waste much time roaming further down to his stiff cock, and Gale’s hips stutter against his will as her warm hand wraps around him. Fallon’s free hand presses against Gale’s chest and she pulls back from their kiss. “Let me return the favor. Please.” 

There’s that word again. Please. The desperation in her voice makes Gale moan, like she needs this as badly as he does. His mouth connects with the skin of her neck, and he bites down; maybe not as gently as he could have, but his ego needs to claim her right over the two puncture marks where Astarion drank from every couple of days. “Well, who am I to deny you?” He mutters, and he allows her to push him back so his back is flat against the mattress.

Fallon swings her legs across his thighs, and Gale decides right then and there that when the time comes, he needs her on top, riding his cock. Fallon moves down Gale’s body quicker than he’d done, but she does stop to press soft, long kisses on the span of his neck and chest covered by the orb, almost like she’s offering her mouth and kisses up to the Netherese orb as an offering to not take Gale away from her. She spreads his legs slightly to settle between them, and there is no teasing or anticipation. Fallon wraps her mouth around Gale’s cock and immediately begins to move her mouth along his shaft, and he bites back a loud moan at the feeling of the wet heat surrounding his cock. 

The way Fallon sucks his cock is absolutely filthy. It’s wet and messy, a mixture of her saliva and his pre-come coat his shaft and her hand at the base of it, pumping him dutifully where her mouth cannot reach. If Gale knew who taught her how to suck cock like this, he’d send them flowers. “Fallon,” Gale breathes heavily after what couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes. The fact that it’s been a while for Gale is truly showing now, but he’s too turned on to be embarrassed. “Not to look a gifthorse in the mouth, but if you don’t stop I’m afraid I’m not going to make it much longer, and I would very much like to fuck you, lest I not get another chance.” 

Her moan, only muted by his cock in her mouth, is guttural and the way it vibrates around him nearly sends Gale over the edge, but Fallon lifts her head with a pop. There’s a wild look in her eyes as she begins to remove herself from the position she’s in, but Gale reaches out to stop her, gripping her hips. “If I’m to die tomorrow, let the one of the last visions I think about when I go be your perfect body riding me with reckless abandon until we both forget our names. Please.” 

Fallon stares at him for a moment, slack-jawed and glossy-eyed. “Sorry, I think I just almost passed out,” she laughs. “That just might be the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Gale’s laugh is low, and strokes her outer thighs with his hands. “Well then I shall endeavor to not die tomorrow so your brain short-circuits more often.” His words are playful, like he is still considering blowing himself up when they face Ketheric, but truthfully? The truth is that Gale decided against sacrificing himself the moment Fallon told him she loves him back. 

With patience Gale isn’t sure he would have been able to exude at this moment, Fallon climbs back up his body and positions herself above his hip. She aligns him with her center and slowly sinks down on his cock. They moan in unison as he fills her. Fallon sits still a beat too long, and Gale makes a face at her. He’s patience is spent, and Gale is no longer in the mood for teasing. “Fallon, please.” He does not have to ask her twice, and the gorgeous woman above him begins to ride him; slowly at first, but eventually her pace becomes as desperate as Gale feels, and the string of moans exiting her body are endless. She holds herself steady with hands on his chest as she bounces on his cock, and when she lifts one hand to run her fingers through her hair, Gale almost loses it. “You are the absolute picture of perfection. You feel perfect. If I could paint this moment, I would. Hells, Fallon.” Gale moans, and Fallon responds in kind, digging her nails into his chest, leaving little crescent moons on his skin.

Gale can feel his climax careening to the finish line, and he wants to be as close to her as possible. He sits up, adjusting their position so she is sitting in his lap comfortably with one arm wrapped around her back, and his fingers are tangled in her hair. He slips his other hand between them and caresses her clit dutifully until Fallon’s body begins to shake again. 

Gale and Fallon peak in unison, their bodies shuddering in time as they both moan each other’s names loudly, gasping for air between passionate kisses. Fallon rides him until they’re both completely spent, and it’s only then that Gale leans back again, taking Fallon with him and gently lifting her off of his lap. He maneuvers her body so she’s laying on the bed next to him. Their kisses become slower, gentler, and eventually Gale pulls back to kiss her forehead. 

Yes, if he dies tomorrow (by his own hand or someone else’s), this night is what he’ll picture in his final moments.

The memory fades and reality returns. He looks down at his spent cock and semen covered hand, almost in disappointment. Despite his best efforts, there is still an emptiness in his chest that only filled for as long as the memory lasted. Gale gingerly gets out of his bed and walks to the toilets to clean himself off. He stops long enough to look at his reflection in the mirror. A god stares back at him, but his expression is not the one someone would expect of a human who’d been given exactly what he asked for. His quest, his entire ordeal to become a god, was one giant test from Mystra herself. Would he learn from his mistakes, and hand over The Crown of Karsus to her? Or would he repeat history? 

As it turns out, the answer to both questions was “yes.” In a moment of clarity when face to face with Mystra, Gale realized there was a chance he could have both Godhood and Mystra’s favor. So he struck a bargain. Gale of Waterdeep got what he wanted, but in the end it came with a great cost. A greater cost than he could have ever imagined, but he’d been too hungry for the power. Gale sighs heavily and slowly exits the bathroom, heading for his study. There’s no way he’s going back to sleep now, so he might as well get some reading in. 

Only, he’s not alone for long. Gale senses her before he feels her arms wrapping around him from behind, or her mouth against her neck. “You’re up early.” She says softly. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” It’s not entirely a lie, but it’s not entirely true either. She presses her mouth to his neck again. “You should come back to bed then. Perhaps I can wear you out.”

Gale closes his eyes and takes a slow breath. He should have seen this coming. He should have thought of a better excuse, but even now the feeling of her mouth on his neck and her arms wrapped around him stirs something inside of Gale, even if he doesn’t want it to. 

When Gale opens his eyes, he’s mentally no longer himself. He’s a former version of Gale of Waterdeep, one who didn’t know any better, who didn’t know what it was like to experience true, unrequited love. The version that was wholly and unequivocally in love with the goddess beckoning him to her bed, not the one whose heart was torn in two.

Gale rises from his chair and turns to face the goddess, his goddess, and wraps her arms around her waist. Mystra kisses him deeply. “Make love to me, Gale of Waterdeep.” She murmurs against his lips.  

It’s almost as if she knows. Gale pulls away from her kiss and plasters a loving smile on his face. “With pleasure.”

Chapter List

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #female tav #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep #gale fanfic #baldurs gate 3 smut #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #gale smut #gale dekarios smut

[iamadequate1]

Black Pete vs Izzy (Pt 1)

I've long thought that Izzy and Black Pete are analogous like Prince Ricky and Stede. They have surface level similarities, but there is an undercurrent that sends their characters in wildly different directions. The mood has struck me to do a painstaking comparison of the two!

Starting disclaimer: Mind the "Izzy Critical" tag for realsy. I was not charmed by Izzy in S2, and I firmly view him as an antagonist all the way through. I also love Black Pete, though, and forgive all his sins.

This is going to be long and messy, but it is mine. I used to have it in one large post, but now I'm going to break this up into at least three separate posts. I have about 12 points, and it's gonna be a surprise how this develops. Let's begin!

#1: Pete and Izzy are both introduced as expressing displeasure in Stede's style of piracy

Everyone who isn't Ed seems to think poorly of Stede's pirate skills when they first meet him, but Pete and Izzy seem to be unique in that their character introductions in the series is them being most vocal about it.

Pete introduces the "real pirate" view of Stede before Stede's onscreen introduction. He gives us the first conversation of the series, and it is not flattering!

Pete: Fuck this! I'm out. Crew: Hey! Oluwande: What're you doin'? Pete: I didn't sign up to play cards. Weeks we've been out here with nothing to show for it. I should have... 20 kills by now, at least.

First of all, "nothing to show for it", and the screen is focused on Lucius. Petey, you gain a hubby from this, but you just don't know it yet!

Anyway, Pete's introducing right away that Stede is not up to real pirate captain standards when viewed by outsiders. After their first (and truly epic) raid, Pete is the first one to clearly criticize Stede:

Stede: Here it is: the spoils of battle! Woo-hoo. Congratulations on today's raid. I do have some notes, though. Uh, opening speech went well. Very inspiring. Uh, oh yes, I guess the big note is more energy! We're swashbuckling, we're looting. Let's have fun with it. Pete: Stealing a plant is hardly swashbuckling.

Like Pete, Izzy's very first scene in the series, he's not at all impressed with the Eccentric Pirate Bonnet and his savage, insane, vengeful pirate horde.

Izzy (also talking to historical Israel Hands): What kind of fuckin' idiot runs his ship aground? And this lot managed to take English officers hostage.

As a bonus, Izzy's disdain for Stede extends to Stede's entire crew! Upon meeting the entire crew in 1x4, we get Izzy's assessment to Ed:

Ed: Let's get to it. What've we got here? Izzy: Well, the ship sustained some damage in the crossfire, and the crew's completely useless, bottom of the barrel.

When Izzy is forced to partake in the teaching raid at the beginning of the next episode, he says:

Izzy: Crew of Revenge, you are not to engage. You are simply here to observe how real pirates function in the real world. Pete: Uh, we are also real pirates in the real world, so.

Yes, Petey, stand up for yourself! He was the "real pirate" in the pilot, but as the first season moved into its second act, the show starts to demonstrate more of how The Revenge is an anomaly in the pirate world even with the character who is the "real pirate" at the start. (Also, weird that we don't see Izzy on the raid that directly follows! How were they supposed to learn??)

#2: Pete and Izzy start as anti-soft

They both start the series with tinges (to very different degrees) of toxic masculinity: a push to being "manly" and dominant, minimizing emotional vulnerability, derision of the feminine or "weak." Nigel is the beginning example of this in the series as he calls Stede weak and mocks him picking flowers. On the crew side of the cast, Pete and Izzy are the ones who display these traits the strongest.

In the first episode, Pete is the most disdainful of Stede's super sweet flag activity, using misogynistic language.

Stede: Now, each of you will create a flag. And we'll vote for the best one, and that will be the official flag for The Revenge. Pete: I'm not fuckin' sewing. That's women's work. Stede: Oh, Black Pete, come on now. You know that's not true.

After their encounter with the British in the same episode, he makes disparaging remarks about a soft approach when attempting to fool the officers:

Roach: It's always the quiet ones. Frenchie: I thought that was fairly badass. Swede: You got to admit, he pulled it off. Pete: Pulled what off? Making us dress up like a bunch of fancy boys?

He doesn't make any comments as aggressively anti-femme after the pilot, but as we move along, we see him in a tender scene at the end of 1x6 when he gives Lucius the wooden finger and confesses that this feelings are deeper than a quick hookup:

Pete: So, uh, listen, I, I thought I was going to lose you. Lucius: Oh, yeah. Well, you nearly did 'cause I had a really bad infection, so. Pete: Exactly. And, uh, and, death, you know, I'm used to death, but, um, but not, um, your death. Uh, so anyway, I, uh, made this for you. It looks like a thumb, but it's a finger. I whittled it. It's, it's dumb. You don't have to wear it. Kiss: *happens, awwww* Lucius: I love it, and I didn't know you whittled. Pete: There's a lot you don't know about me... actually, that's kind of it.

At this point, we had seen Stede and Ed open up about some of their insecurities (see: Ed's bathtub confession just before this, or Stede talking to the therapist in 1x2), but this is the first scene we get a character confessing their feelings about someone to that someone in series. It's scary, it's vulnerable, and even though it's couched in violent language, it's very soft. It's also the round about confession phrasing similar to what we have with Oluwande to Jim in 1x7 or Ed to Stede in 1x9. Pete in the pilot would not have believably played this scene.

Pete progresses through the season, but in the last episode of the first season, instead of shaming him, Pete claps and makes (awkward) supportive comments to Ed's breakup song and even willingly dresses up as a "fancy boy" in the resulting talent show.

He's trying! Going into Season 2, he doesn't have a reaction at all to a woman (Zheng) calling him soft, and he just rolls with it.

Izzy, on the other hand, keeps his gendered insults throughout S1. In 1x4, we get "I'm not dying. Not for that ponce and not for you." In the next episode, we walks in on Lucius and Pete having a hookup with Wee John in the room taking a nap. He lashes out at all of them, but...

Izzy: You're all getting specific duties. Lucius: No thanks, Iggy. I only take orders from my Captain. Izzy: My name is Mr. Hands, First Mate Hands, or God as far as you're concerned, and I've got just the job for you... bitch.

Sure, it's funny in a pathetic way (the tagged on ineffective "bitch" is a big lol for me), but he ignores the disrespect Pete and Wee John give him and targets the most feminine one in the room and tosses in a "bitch" for good measure. In the end, Izzy tries to shame Lucius for being a "seductress," and it backfires as Lucius easily makes a fool of him. Izzy used the gendered insults ("bitch", "seductress", whatever that Oh Daddy thing was) as a power move, and it failed.

The next episode, he's calling Stede Ed's "pet" since they're developing a healthy friendship, and he makes sure to bring up Ed's past words re: pets that Ed is now "weak," what is a horrible, horrible thing.

This derision against the soft/weak/femme culminates in the S1 finale with Izzy's threats against Ed.

Izzy: I'm going to speak plainly. Ed: Wonderful. You know we share our thoughts on this ship. Izzy: I should've let the English kill you. This, whatever it is that you've become, is a fate worse than death. Ed: Well, I am still Blackbeard, so. Izzy: No. This, this is Blackbeard. Not some namby-pamby in a silk gown pining for his boyfriend.

(This show is awesome. The Blackbeard caricature from 1x4 has no face, but the one in 1x10 has a face and a lighthouse beside him.) Anyway, Ed is showing human emotions at having lost love, so Ed is ruined in Izzy's eyes. As mentioned above, Pete at this time was supportive of Ed (to the extent he can give), but his character mirror buddy is doing the opposite.

The beginning of this outburst feeds into the theme that will keep coming up with how deceptive and self serving Izzy is: the English were there because Izzy called them on Ed and his boyfriend. Izzy was already in the process of punishing Ed for being "weak" and having a "pet," and he thought Ed should have been punished far more harshly because he didn't immediately behave how Izzy wanted him to. The ship and crew weren't in danger from Ed and Stede sailing the seas happily, but they were in danger from Izzy. "Let the English," like he was a protector instead of the one that led them to The Revenge in the first place.

In this mocking, Izzy also continues with the derisive language. "Namby-pamby" by itself isn't a crime, but it is the same loaded language that Izzy used throughout the season, and "pining for his boyfriend" is said in a cruel mockery of the deep heartbreak Ed was going through. Ed was mourning the loss of an entire life he wanted, not the loss of a silly puppet he could scamper through meadows with when the mood struck. Izzy minimized these deep emotions so he could keep his control.

Izzy and Pete both began the season as angry against the softness, the weakness, that Stede was bringing into their worlds, but Pete dropped it much more quickly, while Izzy doubled down to the extreme. Pete got the soft affection confession, while Izzy angrily lashed out at someone having soft affection at all.

I should add as the last Pete and Izzy parallel that Izzy did also have his "fancy boy" moment in 2x6, but it felt more like a farewell for Con O'Neill than something that was organic or meaningful around Izzy. It's a parallel nontheless!

This is continued in Part 2!

Preview: They both wanted Stede dead at certain points! They both have a thing for the Legend of Blackbeard! They both are terrible pirates! Tune in next time. Same bat time, same bath channel!

Series: Part 1, Part 2, Buttons tangent, Part 3, S2 Izzy reaction GIF

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd meta #black pete #i just think black pete is neat #i super believe in the dread black pete #lucius x black pete #lucius x pete is a god tier ship #lucius + pete have the chemistry if max wants to spin off ofmd #they can solve crimes! #black pete and izzy are both great comedy characters #but i don't understand at all where some people's interpretations of izzy comes from #i just want to enjoy izzy without weird ass takes plaguing the poor man #stede's hair is my favourite character in the show and it kept distracting me as i took screenshots #screw it #izzy hands #izzy critical #just a bit #it's just canon #black pete and izzy comparison

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

would u write the after care portion of the “eddie likes when ur mean” oh my god it was so cute :)

Continuation of this.

.・。.・゜✭・

"C'mon, sweet boy," you say, tugging at Eddie's hand, trying to get him to at least sit up so you can start to walk his sated, tingly body to the bathroom. Eddie's tongue appears for a split second before vanishing, dark eyelashes still fanned across the tops of his cheeks.

"Stay for a minute," he mumbles, wiggling on the mattress like a cat searching for the warmest patch. "Want a cuddle."

"We can cuddle in the bath when you're less sweaty."

He pouts, one big eye opening to glare at you unconvincingly. "You made me sweaty. That was you."

Chewing the inside of your lip to hide the grin, you crawl up the bed to his side, rest your chin just below the spider at his collar. Eddie's pink, damp hairs sticking around his face. And he's right. You made him like this. It makes you warm all over to think about.

You push back the hair at his forehead, hear his content hum at the relief to the hot skin while you card your fingers through the frizzing curls. Unable to help yourself, you kiss his pretty lips, feel his lazy smile against yours.

"Okay. You've convinced me. Temptress."

Just as you thought he would, just as you wanted, Eddie watches you run the bath in quiet satisfaction. Yawning and rubbing his eyes occasionally, fine now that his nails are stuck dry, but never taking his gaze from you.

He tries a salacious, flirty smirk when you strip down bare like him, lets loose an airy whistle. But you know he can't make good tonight. You wouldn't want him to. Satisfying the worst ache between your legs would still pale in comparison to this.

You check the temperature once, twice, three times before you get in. You sink back, feel the soothing burn of the water, and extend your arms out to the boy still blinking at you with a goofy smile on his face.

Eddie makes a soft uncomfortable noise at the first dip of his feet, caused by the cold toes that have found your ankles almost every night since you first found Eddie. Once those are used to the steaming water, the rest of him follows at once. That the water only splashes over the side rather than tipping past the ridge in a wave is a testament to how many times you've ended up here together. How much water, how hot, how to sit most comfy with Eddie's head on your chest; it's all second nature to you now.

You play with his damp curls to your heart's content, twirling locks of it round your fingers, gently pulling at stray remaining coils, watching them bounce and break.

"You wanna let me wash your hair, Eddie?"

"Mm."

You help him sit up in front of you, directing his hands to his forehead to keep his eyes free of the water you tip over his head. "Which shampoo, beautiful boy?"

"Yours. Wanna smell like you."

Eddie, sleepy and out of it, hair plastered to his head and neck, makes your heart pound without even trying.

You watch the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as you wash him, the slow relaxed breaths of a boy made soft and comfortable. You ease conditioner through each frizzed clump, smooth out every tangle so gently he doesn't feel any tugs.

When his hair is sleek and soft, smelling just as yours does after a shower, Eddie's head finds your chest again.

You'll have to get out soon. You can feel more heat in the air than the bath, now.

"Thanks for taking care of me."

Eddie glances up at you, neck angled back so you can get a glimpse of his forehead and his soft brown eyes.

You kiss that forehead till those eyes close again. His chest fills and empties in a long, happy sigh.

"Of course, Eddie. I always will."

#eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #ask #request #anon

[beebotea]

hey, are you listening? — part 03

pairing : college au!xiao x f!reader . summary : in which uni students decipher vague tweets and emotions... + ie: second-year students y/n and xiao are forced to work through their term project (and feelings) as their friends attempt to meddle with their love lives ‘for the greater good’ . cw : swearing, slut-shaming, suggestive, reader she/her pronouns, alcohol, mentions of substance use .

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03. into the night

act 1, scene 1

—

act 1, scene 2

Y/N watched as Xiao stood up from the table and excused himself from the conversation. It wasn’t long until Hu Tao & Venti and Yanfei & Heizou began their own respective conversations, leaving Y/N and Scaramouche to sit there in silence.

“Oh, um… is he alright?” Y/N said, as she watched Scaramouche finish sending a text from his phone.

The Inazuman ruffled his hair in slight frustration before setting his phone down. “Oh, Xiao? He said he was going to the washroom. I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s not great with big crowds unless he’s on stage with his bass.”

“I see… I thought he didn’t really like me or something…”

“Yeah, ‘or something.’”

“What?”

“What?”

Y/N took a second to take in his appearance. Delicate and soft features carefully defined and enhance by his red eyeliner and the way his fringe framed his face. He was a very pretty young man… it seemed to run in the family considering Xiao was quite easy on the eyes as well, although quite intimidating.

“So are you done admiring me yet, or…” He seemed to catch on to her spacing out, smirking at her as he spoke up.

“Oh… sorry I didn’t mean to stare.” She looked away, feeling her cheeks heat up from being caught red handed.

“It’s fine. You wanna grab a drink with me at the bar over there?”

“Oh, sure alright.” Y/N accepted his extended hand. Scaramouche helped her out of her chair, before promptly letting go when she got to her feet.

“So, how come I’ve never seen you around campus until now? It seems we have a lot of friends in common.”

“Oh, I mean I guess I only really know Aether, Childe, Cyno and maybe Heizou from your side… it’s more like we have friends of friends in common. I’m not in too many extra-curriculars either.”

“Yeah I suppose that’s true. You’re in marketing right? How’s that going for you.”

“It’s fine, I suppose it’d be a lot simpler than Mechatronics Engineering…”

“Eh, maybe. But they’re totally different so I wouldn’t try to make a comparison.” He smiled at her.

“I’m not going to lie… you’re a lot nicer than I expected.”

“Really? What makes you say that? You thought I’d be more like Xiao or something?” He raised his eyebrow curiously at her.

“No, well yes but not entirely. My friend Mona didn’t seem to excited when she saw you and Childe show up so I just got the impression you wouldn’t be so fun to talk to.”

“Is that so? Did she tell you why?”

Y/N shook her head in response and tilting her head to urge him to continue.

“Hah, we’ll do I have a story to tell you.”

“Please, do tell.”

Before Scaramouche could continue, he received slew of notifications. “Oh, sorry one second,” he pulled out his phone to respond to whoever was bombarding him with messages. Shortly after, he slipped his phone back into his pocked and looked back at her to continue where he left off.

“Sorry about that, where was I… oh right. I went to a Snezhnayan private high school for the first three years. So in my third year, Childe and I were on the soccer team and we were playing against Monstadt City Academy. She was on the cheer squad for their school or whatever and there was like a small problem with their formation or something. Anyways, long story short, she fell off their pyramid right as a break was called and Childe and I almost pissed ourselves laughing at her.”

“No way!”

“Yep, it happened. You can even ask her, although I probably wouldn’t want to be there to see you get scolded… she’s quite the prideful one.”

“Yeah… I think I’ll just take your word on it then.” The two laughed together about the memory of the great Mona Megistus falling on her ass. “You must be really good at soccer then. Are you on our Uni’s team?”

“Oh yeah, all of our band members play together often after practices. We’re all on the team. The season is over now but you should definitely come watch our games next year. Who knows maybe Xiao will finally talk to you then.” He smirked at her and nudged her with his elbow.

He was met with widened eyes and incomprehensible stammering. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to talk to him~ Too bad… I was hoping I’d be the one to catch your eye. Oh look, speak of the devil himself.”

Y/N looked into the direction he nodded at and saw Aether, Kazuha and Xiao approaching.

“Hey, Y/N! Having fun? This is Kazuha, our band mate and you already know Xiao.” The male twin waved at her as the three joined their group of two.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Kazuha smiled as he extended and arm to shake her hand. “So what are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know, we were talking about how Y/N—ow.” Y/N elbowed Scaramouche in the side to stop his teasing before it got out of hand.

“Soccer! Scaramouche was telling me about how you guys are on the soccer team!”

“Yeah, we are!” Aether explained how Scara and Heizou played forward, Xiao and Kazuha often took up the midfield, while he and Venti usually played as part of their defense or goalie. “Some of other guys in our friend group, like Cyno and Childe, are on the team too,” Aether continued.

“Well recently Xiao has been playing forward, right?” Kazuha spoke up, patting the black and teal haired man on the shoulder to encourage him.

“Yeah, strikers are usually the fastest on the team. It’s just that I’m bad at aiming it into the net…” Xiao shyly chuckled at himself. It was a first for Y/N to see him smile, or to see any expression on him at all (other than a scowl).

“I’m no expert at soccer but I’m sure you’ll be the a pro w practice right?”

Xiao granted her another smile accompanied by a nod.

Since then, the atmosphere in the group began to change. They continued to exchange opinions and ideas during their conversations while also asking each other about their experiences with common friends and acquaintances.

Xiao had even seemed to loosen up a bit after a drink given to him by Kazuha and adding his own short quips.

Eventually, Scaramouche was called back to his table by Venti. Not long after, Aether and Kazuha also returned to their table after witnessing Xiao ask a whole conversation-starting question on his own, leaving Y/N alone with him for the first time that night. Luckily, the alcohol in their blood made it significantly easier for the two to speak to each other and loosen up even when they were left alone.

“Sorry for being a bit… uptight earlier this evening. I was kind of nervous coming to this party.”

“No worries, I get like that too sometimes. Meeting new people can be overwhelming, right?”

“Yeah… especially when they look like you.”

“What?”

“Oh I… I didn’t mean to say that our loud—like I meant—”

“I think you look great too, Xiao.”

Before Xiao could respond, Y/N got a call from Hu Tao, who was outside with Yanfei, preparing to leave.

“Sorry, I have to go now… I’ll see you in class on Tuesday! It was really nice finally being able to get to know you. Bye!”

“Yeah, no worries. You too… bye.”

He watched as she ran to their table to grab her things before hurriedly waving to everyone and made her way to the door. He was starting to wish the night was longer… or that he drank the alcohol earlier that evening.

—

act 2, scene 1

—

a/n: lots of words mb… hope you enjoyed!

—

taglist  —

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#[smau — hey are you listening?] #genshin impact x reader #genshin smau #genshin college au #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #xiao smau

[literatureatthebowofnails]

A/N: Finally got around to finishing this one.

Series masterlist

Pairing: Loki x reader

Summary: The Avengers conspire to keep love alive

You stand on the train exhausted, travel mug hanging from one hand, your second cup of coffee gone before its time. Head lulling against your arm, you're jostled against fellow commuters as you mentally review your "To Do" list.

Two weeks left to decide whether or not to renew your lease. You're seeing a couple of places after your shift. One's in the South Bronx, just a few stops down from your current place. It would make these early morning commutes direct and reduce travel time to Avengers Tower, where you spend most nights when Loki's between missions.

The second place is higher rent, but it's waking distance to the cafe and about half the ride time to the Tower. If you manage to get either, it would be an improvement, though moving is always a headache in and of itself.

Your keys jingle as you unlock the shop and turn on the lights. You make yourself a third cup of coffee before beginning the morning routine. Ovens preheating, kolaczkis waiting on their baking sheets, register filled, counters and tables wiped down. You're just sliding the first sheet of pastries into the oven as the owner, Bramborslav, arrives.

The warm, stocky man greets you in his jovial manner. His Slavic accent is thick, and you have yet to witness him in a bad mood. On the whole, he exudes the comforting nature of well-seasoned potatoes.

"I have someone coming in for a meeting about an hour after we open. I trust you can handle the end of the rush on your own?" he asks.

"Of course," you slide a second sheet of kolaczkis in the oven with the first. "What's the meeting about?"

"Some sort of proposal. He hasn't said much beyond that." He unlocks the front door and sets out the sign before disappearing into the back to continue food prep.

As things slow down, the last person you expect saunters into the cafe. "Tony?" your greeting is rife with confusion. "Is there something I can get you?"

"Ah, hey princess. Thought I'd find you here."

"You know I work here, right?"

"Exactly. I'll take a double expresso, and you can tell Mr. Kaschak I'm here."

Your eyebrows draw together. 'Bram's meeting with Tony? What on earth could they have to talk about?'

"Uh, sure, I'll go get him." You poke your head into the back. "Um, Bram? Tony Stark is here for your meeting?"

☕

A couple hours of hushed muttering pass before the men stand and shake hands.

"I'll extend the proposal to our third partner today," Tony gives Bram his signature charming smile. "Assuming everything goes as planned, the notaries should have the paperwork signed and sealed by the end of next week."

Bram seems pleased and Tony takes his leave with a wave in your direction. "Later, princess!"

"What was that about?" you ask Bram.

"He's investing in the business."

☕

After work you walk to the Yorkville apartment. The manager, a curvy woman in her early 30s, keeps a running monologue as she shows you through the building and into the unit.

A tiny studio that hasn't been updated since the 70s, the industrial space features original hardwood floors and slanted ceilings. A slim loft for storage, efficiency kitchen, and a bathroom in dire need of scrubbing.

The barred windows look into an alley, providing an impressive amount of natural light. You'd be able to keep a few plants on the sill; might even squeeze in half your living room setup.

When you get up to the South Bronx, you find the unit there is almost twice the size of the first. The owner is brusque, walking you through the unit, asking about your credit, listing the rent and amenities as though he's late for a much more important meeting.

The space is recently updated by comparison, sporting late-90s granite countertops and a subway tile backsplash in varying shades of brown. Commute aside, it would be significantly more comfortable than the Manhattan suite.

You're still pondering your options with a yawn as you unlock the door to your apartment. A text beeps from your phone.

Loki: Mission concluded early. See you tonight?

You grin despite your exhaustion and tap in your response. Just need to grab clean clothes and a few necessities.

☕

Upon your arrival at the tower, you find a construction crew working on the ground floor. You wave a hello and make your way to the elevators, wondering what Tony's latest addition entails.

FRIDAY lets you out on the Avengers' common floor to find the whole team standing around a transparent projector screen.

"Hi?" you look around at the group, "Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all, darling," your lover strides out from around the display.

"We have a proposal for you," Tony announces, pulling up a model of the tower. Two points glow orange against the otherwise blue display.

"It's come to my attention," he continues, "that the tower is lacking. Missing something coffee pods cannot compensate for."

Pepper cuts in, swiping all but the ground floor from the screen. "I've had some designs worked up, which I think you'll be pleased with.

"We would like you to open a Domácí Kuchyně location here." She expands the view of the lobby.

"A cafe?" your eyes widen and you turn to Tony, "Is this what your meeting was about?"

"That's right, princess. And you're going to manage it."

"Now, if you accept the proposal," explains Pepper, "we'll of course have to work out all the details. We spoke with Mr. Kaschak, and he's agreed to make you a partial owner."

"This is," you gape. "An owner? I can't believe you did all this for me."

You walk around the model to get a better look. After you've had a moment to get a sense of the design, Loki comes up behind you. He holds one arm around your waist, the other reaching out to pull the upper floors of the tower back into view.

"Darling, I do realize the business Stark has proposed would significantly lengthen your commute. I've been thinking about this for a while," he expands the other orange area, "and I'd like you to move in."

You turn to face him. "Loki, I..."

"We've set aside space on the 43rd floor for you," Pepper notes, drawing your attention back to the screen. "The two of you can design it to fit your needs, and when you're ready, we'll send a team to help you move."

"A team?" you laugh as heat seeps up your neck. "I don't know what to say. This is...thank you! Thank you so much." Tony pops behind the bar and you throw your arms around Pepper.

A/N: Thanks as always for reading. Feedback and reblogs are the greatest blessings.

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Next part

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#loki x reader #loki #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki/reader #admiral at the bow of nails #loki x you #loki layfeyson x reader #mcu loki #14 doses of delirium drabble series #loki marvel #loki imagine #loki x y/n #loki smut #marvel loki #loki god of mischief #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki of asgard #loki x reader smut #loki/you #loki drabble series #loki drabble

[heavens-moonlight]

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟧 | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟩

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬!! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐨𝐧𝐞 🤭♡

“Come on!” Cheong-San gently, but promptly, tugs you along by your wrist, instantaneously noticing how your other hand clutches the opposite shoulder, grip tightening as you try to fight off a wince before it makes way onto your face. He turns his head to the side fleetingly to check on you, concerned, but before he gets the chance to question it, out of nowhere, a zombie springs forward from an adjacent classroom, practically flying catatonically as it knocks both of you to the ground. The precious phone and possibly last hope for a lifeline in Cheong-San’s now-loosened hold skids across the floor and he clambers to have it back in his possession. You make it to your feet first, and cursorily lead Cheong-San downstairs into the library after he recollects himself.

On second thought, it probably wasn’t the best idea aiming for a seemingly scot-free location, the vicinity sprawling with zombies upon approach, but somehow, the zombies pale in comparison to Gwi-Nam. After all, the undead don’t hold grudges, and neither do they use it to fuel their dogged determination.

Cheong-San helps lift you onto a table, urging you to run across the surfaces of the closely oriented wooden desks, hastily giving you a boost onto the top of a bookcase thereafter before he too, follows suit, heaving himself up next to you.

The two of you find yourselves face-to-face with a fellow schoolmate you’ve never once met before, desperation etched clear as day on his face and fear simmering in his eyes. “Were you bit?” He looks from Cheong-San to you, and back again. “You had to have been, right? There’s no way you two made it here unharmed…”

“No, I—" Cheong-San stammers, but without another thought, the male student forces him off, his body hitting the floor with a thump.

“You next.” You scoot backward as much as you can without throwing yourself off accidentally and deflect the guy’s hand. In your peripheral vision, a brief form in green flashes by, and you know with certainty Cheong-San will be alright.

“I don’t think so.” Avoiding another grab, you stand up from your squatting position and leap onto the next bookshelf over, stretching your legs as far as they’d go, landing safely.

Thinking over your options, not that there are many when you’re trapped in a library, you glance down, observing as Cheong-San dashes in-between rows of shelves, dodging zombies every which way. At last, he throws himself onto the bookcase opposite yours, madly kicking at those grabbing his leg and restricting necessary movements.

You jump forward twice, and then sideways once, trying to get as close to Cheong-San as possible in case he needs any extra help.

“Quick! Over here!” You extend your non-injured arm, kneeling at the very edge, in time to see one despicably clever zombie scaling its own horde to reach Cheong-San. The aptitude, however, fizzles out when it miscalculates human positioning, and rams itself into the overhead light, sparks flying as it breaks, taking the ceiling fixture with it.

Cheong-San grasps your hand and hurdles over just as the glass door of the library is violently thrown open, Gwi-Nam making his way effortlessly across, heartlessly throwing the bespectacled student from earlier into the mouths of looming zombies down below.

“How does he always manage to make it out alive?” You grumble as you follow Cheong-San again, vaulting over bookcases repeatedly, Gwi-Nam mirroring your actions across the aisle.

“Hopefully it’ll apply to us all the same.” Cheong-San wraps his hand around your forearm as Gwi-Nam stares him down. Zombies are still running in between the two, an undead sea parting the two boys, the parallel between good and bad.

“Can’t you stop here?”

“Not until you give me the fucking phone.” Gwi-Nam sneers evilly. “Y/N too.”

“Never.” Cheong-San moves you behind him defensively, at least as much as he can with the limited space, seething. “You killed a person. You don’t deserve anything, murderer.”

“What did I say to you before? I always get what I want, and if I have to destroy you to obtain it, I won’t hesitate.” Gwi-Nam chuckles menacingly, pointing a bloody finger. “You’re the one who made me kill the principal. Didn’t I prove I wasn’t a loser, then?”

Cheong-San looks upon him with utter revulsion. “Crazy bastard.”

Seeing as Gwi-Nam would leap at any second, you turn and lug Cheong-San back in the direction you came in from, the entrance slowly but surely growing closer. You don’t look over to the side or back, the only thing serving as indication that Gwi-Nam still hasn’t given up the chase is his pounding footsteps keeping in time with yours and Cheong-San’s on his respective column of bookshelves.

Regrettably, with Cheong-San being on the inner side, Gwi-Nam dives and knocks him off his feet. Cheong-San’s head slams against the edge of the bookcase hard, his hand slipping through your fingers no matter how much you hold on. You watch with trepidation, heart in your throat, seeing Cheong-San facedown on the floor. Gwi-Nam is also looking down, waiting to see whether his plan paid off.

No zombies in sight yet, Cheong-San springs to his feet again, almost spiritedly so, and goes back to climbing another bookcase a few rows away from you, unbelievably agile. You let go of the breath you weren’t aware you were still holding and head in his direction, Gwi-Nam not far behind.

Of course, you’re not as fast with your shorter strides, and Gwi-Nam reaches Cheong-San first. Trying to kick the latter proves useless as Cheong-San clamps his hands down tight onto Gwi-Nam’s feet, preventing him from progressing with the motion. You silently praise his quick thinking, for if Gwi-Nam used any more force to counter the block, he would send himself backward. Realizing that fact, he clutches Cheong-San’s sweater vest, purely for mutual self-destruction as the two target each other’s throats.

There’s completely no room for you to hop over, and even then, you getting into the middle of their tussle on minimal space probably wouldn’t help Cheong-San out in the slightest. If anything, you’d just be extra baggage and you can’t afford to burden him like that, especially not with his life at stake.

With all the noise, zombies flock quickly to the action, waiting for another meal. They hang onto Gwi-Nam’s pant leg, incessantly holding on.

“Let go!” Gwi-Nam can only curse at the zombies, but can’t seem to shake them off in his precarious position.

Your eyes meet with Cheong-San’s and you stealthily point up. Getting your clue, he resolutely swings a ceiling light with all intent to smash it against Gwi-Nam’s head while the bully is distracted. However, his opponent is no easy match. Gwi-Nam unexpectedly ducks, using his back to break the impact from the bulbs. It still smashes to bits, but he turns out well and alive, to your dismay. Cheong-San gets his feet swiped out from under him once again, Gwi-Nam dangling his head down to the zombies below without hesitation.

“Do you want to live?” He laughs maniacally, the sound reverberating over the groans of zombies as he shoves Cheong-San down further. “Beg for it, then. Beg me to take pity on you.”

You scamper to the right and then one more bookshelf forward, now perpendicular to them. It’s near impossible for you to intervene, despite how badly you wish to.

“Fuck you.” Cheong-San glares back with defiance, much too confident at the threshold of death.

“Your call, then.” With that, Gwi-Nam repeatedly punches Cheong-San in the face with one hand, the other pinning him beneath for better leverage, regardless of not wanting to drop him just yet.

You clench your teeth at the pure joy on his face, clearly in love with torturing others just for the sake of it; enough to kill their soul but not their body. Cheong-San passes out soon after from the repeated blows, and Gwi-Nam straightaway goes to steal the phone from Cheong-San’s pants pockets, fiddling with the device for the wretched evidence that would incriminiate him.

“Let Cheong-San go!”

Gwi-Nam whips his head toward you, eyes crazed, teeth pulled back in a snarl as zombie blood drips from his face. “Why should I? What’s in it for me?”

You see Cheong-San slowly come to, but don’t make any indication that you’re aware of it.

“I’ll go with you. I’m trading myself with Cheong-San.” You shift your eyes imperceptibility, realizing Cheong-San has finally opened his eyes, but he’s still somewhat dazed.

Gwi-Nam narrows his eyes and tilts his head at you, appearing to assess whether you’re serious or if there’s a catch. You bite hard on the inside of your cheek, almost hard enough to draw blood, maintaining a poker face in spite of the way your skin crawls at your blatant lie. No matter how untrue, they disgust you to no end. You can only hope you sound convincing, even if to your own ears, it isn’t inherently so.

“I said I was in your debt before. Consider it repaid.”

You silently thank whatever being is looking out for you because apparently, you had bought enough time for Cheong-San, who slaps the phone out of Gwi-Nam’s hand with his left and catches it with his right as it flies in an arc, suspending it over the zombies’ heads.

Gwi-Nam resorts to choking, and in true Cheong-San quick thinking fashion, the latter slams the phone’s sharp corner into the former’s eye socket with purpose, the squelch of a ruined eyeball unmistakable as blood gushes out.

In the midst of Gwi-Nam screaming in horror mixed with obvious pain, you surge forward at the same time that Cheong-San throws the entire weight of his body to send Gwi-Nam falling straight over himself and down into the waiting arms of starved zombies.

The force of it sends you backward, and you squeal as you can barely hold on to the edge of the bookcase, hanging on for your life.

“I’ve got you!” Cheong-San catches your hand just as you lose strength in your tenuous fingers, and helps draw you back up to the top, folding you into a half-hug of sorts, both of you out of breath, running purely on adrenaline.

“Cheong-San! Fuck!” Gwi-Nam screams as zombies tear into him. “Please!”

Ironically, he ended up being the one to beg for his life.

“Y/N! You saved me that time. Can’t you save me again?!”

Once was once too many, you think to yourself.

Cheong-San ultimately diverts his gaze, but you watch to the end, seeing pure hatred burned into the depths of Gwi-Nan’s eyes, blazing with the deep-seated promise of revenge even as he’s being eaten alive.

There’s no time to stay and confirm Gwi-Nan’s turning, but the uneasiness from encountering him since the initial run in at the principal’s office doesn’t dissipate, even knowing you and Cheong-San had tossed him to his death.

Still not fully satisfied, the zombies who weren’t busy feeding on Gwi-Nam scramble over one another, flocking to the foot of the bookcase, upending it with their gradually increasing weight.

“Let’s go!” Cheong-San pulls you to your feet, and the two of you take off running again even as the short-lived surfaces beneath you crumble, a domino-effect in motion as shelves topple onto one another in rapid succession.

When you’re about to reach the entrance, a zombie runs head-first, disoriented, into the one you and Cheong-San just landed on, and flings the two of you sprawling to the ground, slamming into the floor with a thud. The lack of carpeting makes it hurt like hell, more so when your still injured shoulder breaks your fall.

Before the bookshelf crushes you entirely, Cheong-San maneuvers himself to partially cover you protectively, but when the impact never comes, you realize the slanted way in which the bookshelves are leaning horizontally on one another gives you two a bit of leeway.

You clamp a hand over your mouth seeing zombies walking near, but between being shielded by Cheong-San and a fallen bookshelf, plus the zombies’ blindness, you’re undetected.

There’s minimal space, barely enough to crawl out of, though even with yours and Cheong-San’s combined strength, it’s not enough to lift the heavy wooden slabs pieced together. Frustrated, Cheong-San continues to shove with all his might, but it doesn’t give, the creaking sound of wood obnoxiously loud. The zombies might be blind, but they’re certainly not deaf.

“Shh,” you try to hush Cheong-San, your whisper tampered down, much too afraid of drawing any more attention. There’s a brief moment of silence before you see a zombie head peering through the empty shelf devoid of books scattered on the floor. It bares its teeth, trying to stick its head in further in hopes of biting you both. You’re too scared to even yell as blood from its mouth drips onto the side of your face as you turn away, crouching and crawling out at the same time. Cheong-San isn’t far behind, bringing up the rear and muzzling zombies with books so they have something else to bite on as you kick away zombies approaching from the front. With the wall to ceiling windows, more zombies plaster themselves against the glass, unable to simply pass through. You and Cheong-San make use of chairs within close range to smash against any much too near for comfort.

You sprint as hard as you can and fling the double glass doors of the library entrance open, Cheong-San closing them in record time after he also passes across the threshold. Soulless eyes of the multitude of zombies left behind stare back at you, but unable to open doors on their own accord, they opt to smear their bloody hands with abandon, staining the once pristine glass.

“Now how do we get back?” You walk alongside Cheong-San, still trying to catch your breath. Pressing your back against the wall, you lean your head out to the left, peeking around the corner of the hallway. Only a few zombies were milling around, the corridor eerily empty.

“Over there.” Cheong-San points to the panel where the water detector is located. “That’s our escape.”

You follow his line of sight. “That’s all metal.” Turning to Cheong-San, you mumble quietly. “If it’s locked, we won’t be able to break through.”

“We have to try.” He pats your head softly and tenderly, encouraging you to not give up just yet.

“Where’d you get all this courage from?” You smile lightly. “If I knew chicken made you this brave, I’d have eaten more.”

Cheong-San snorts. “It can’t get any worse than this. Might as well go all or nothing.”

“Alright, I trust you.”

He takes the lead and you follow quietly but quickly, not wanting to waste precious time or draw more zombies than necessary. Inevitably, the metal panel being yanked accessible has zombies whirling in your direction. Cheong-San jumps in fast, and you mimic his actions, hunkering into the small space.

You stick an arm out to shut the latch, but quickly retract it hearing the pandemonium and growling of zombies. Narrowly evading, you begin to ascend, except one stubborn zombie is hell-bent on keeping you rooted.

“Kick it!” Cheong-San doesn’t have any room to grapple back down and assist you.

“I’m trying, but the bastard refuses to let go!” You hang by your arms and with your free leg, you throw your heel back into the zombie’s head repetitively, hearing grotesque crunching sounds. Somehow, you go from being held captive to being freed, the zombie suddenly jerking backward to the ground at the last minute. Whatever happened, you weren’t going to stay and find out. Even more zombies are climbing on top of one another, vying to get through the slot, and you leave closing the door as a lost cause.

“Are you alright?” You can’t really make out Cheong-San’s face in the dark, so you decide against nodding, knowing he’d be worried either way.

“Aside from all the bruises I’ll have by tomorrow and blood that’s definitely not mine on me, yeah, I’m fine.”

You continue climbing the pipelines, squinting against the sudden bright light shining in your eye. Not a moment later, Cheong-San nearly drops the phone, scarcely managing to catch it in the lick of time.

“Is there enough to make a call?”

“There’s no Wi-Fi, no signal, and it’s at 7%.”

“Maybe try the emergency call? I’m pretty sure those can go through without a network signal.”

“Calling now.” Cheong-San presses the phone to his ear, clutching the phone hard enough as if it’ll make a difference. “It’s not going through,” he says, as you can hear the deep monotonous beeping, sorely missing the familiar sound of the default operator message. “I’m going to climb higher to see if it works.”

The longer you wait, the longer you know it’s fruitless. Cheong-San’s scream of frustration only confirms that.

“Fuck! Why is it not connecting?!” His rage slowly dwindles into despair, and you can hear him sniffling, though he tries his best to hide it.

“Cheong-San…” You place a hand on his back, hoping it’s somewhat comforting. “You’ve done everything you could the whole time I was with you, and that includes keeping me safe.” You sigh. “The government most likely shut down all forms of communication since this is practically a national emergency. We don’t even know what’s going on outside, but they’re probably acting in their best interest to maintain security, even if it’s not in our best interest. I hate it as much as you do, but we don’t have a choice, and it’s not our fault.”

Cheong-San breathes out shakily on an exhale, gradually nodding. “Thanks, I needed that reminder. We should find a way out of here.”

“Do you see an opening?”

“Hold up.” Cheong-San shines the phone flashlight on the topmost panel. “Damn it!”

“What?”

“You called it earlier. This door is locked and it doesn’t open from the inside either. I don’t know how to break it.” Cheong-San pushes on it a few times, testing to see if it’ll give way to no avail. “Those creatures are on the other side too. I can hear them.”

“I believe in you, Cheong-San.”

He pauses briefly before seeming to make up his mind, his leg jerking out firmly, denting the thin panel with the force of his kick.

You hear zombies groaning as they’re smacked in the face, knocking one another over like bowling pins. Cheong-San forces his way through, striking and tossing zombies out of the way, clearing a path for you to climb out. Any remaining zombies that close in, you shove away.

“FUCK THIS!” Cheong-San hollers as he veers down the hallway, evading every zombie with unimaginable speed.

He’s right though. It’s either fight for your life or lose it. You kick and punch until your muscles are sore, eventually managing to catch up with Cheong-San. The other end of the hallway is no better, infested with even more zombies who come stampeding at you.

“Change of plans!” Cheong-San drags you by the arm in the opposite direction, and you elbow a zombie hurtling toward him out of the way.

“The classroom!” You yell out as he catches on and slides a random one open, you closing it rapidly, just in time before the group of zombies from earlier get to you.

You collapse on the floor, thankful it’s your legs that give out before your heart does. Cheong-San immediately brandishes a guitar as a makeshift weapon, but the room is downright unoccupied.

“We’re in the music room,” you breathe out, turning in the direction of piano keys playing by itself. “Don’t tell me there are ghosts on top of zombies, because I’m this close to throwing myself out the window.”

Cheong-San grabs a chair and raises it, only to lower it soon after. “There’s a zombie trapped beneath.” He throws the chair haphazardly to the side, sets the guitar on a desk, and plops down next to you, leaning his head back against the door.

The two of you sit in silence for a long while, listening to the bad rendition of whatever tune the zombie is playing against its will, growling in acapella. You nudge Cheong-San’s foot with yours.

“Remember how when we were kids, you and Su-Hyeok both treated me like the third boy of the group? I kept following you guys around and all I got was a broken arm that took forever to heal. I still can’t believe I was foolish enough to let you guys convince me that standing on a moving swing while you pushed me was a good idea.”

“Yeah, you were pretty dumb as a kid.”

You glare at him. “Says the one who thought my arm was flexible enough to bend the bone back into position.”

“I was six! You hadn’t even taught me about popping bones back into sockets before. I thought they just magically returned to normal. Homeostasis or whatever.”

Despite the situation, you find yourself laughing. “That’s not what that means,” you say in between giggles. Cheong-San tries, and fails, to shove you over. When your laughter dies out, you both return to sitting in a comfortable silence, side by side as zombies groan outside.

“Cheong-San…if we get out of here—"

“When,” Cheong-San corrects, looking at you. “When we get out of here…”

You nod, trying to be even half as optimistic as him. “When we get out of here, let’s go ride the swings again. I’ll let you push me even if I fall off.”

Cheong-San gives you a small grin, and it’s that brotherly one you’ve always gotten to see for as long as you’ve known him. He reaches out his hand towards yours, and you do the same, meeting halfway for a handshake. “Deal. We’ll make it out of here and I’ll let you bother me until we’re old and hobbling.”

“You better.”

»»———————————————-————-————-———————-««

“What’s that sound?” You look around, trying to discern where it’s coming from.

Cheong-San looks at you like you’re crazy. “The zombie hasn’t stopped playing the piano since we got here.”

“No, you fool, I mean besides that.”

“I don’t hear—"

The speakers emit cacophonous static sounds and then familiar voices float through.

“Who wants to do it?” Joon-Yeong asks.

“I’ve never done it before,” Dae-Su replies reluctantly.

“It’s just talking. Somebody do it—anyone can, actually.”

“Fine, I will.” You hear shuffling before Dae-Su’s voice comes back on. “Ah, ah, ah, ah,” he clears his throat. “Mic test: 1, 2, 1, 2,” he breathes loudly into the microphone. “Cheong-San and Y/N, are you there? We—"

“What are you doing? Move.” Another voice change happens and you can’t tell them apart due to the jumble of speech patterns and lack of order. “Do you guys hear us? It’s Su-Hyeok.”

You exhale, more than relieved he got back to the others in one piece. “We’ll come to you, so stay put. Got it?” There’s a passing intermission before he whispers, but it’s clear everyone can hear it. “I’m sorry for coming back by myself, but I’m not going anywhere without you from now on, Y/N. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“You’re going to make things worse, dummy. Don’t come here,” you plead to the air, knowing full well he can’t hear you. Even if he did, he’d still run to you anyway.

“I already know what you’ll say, but I can’t hear you from here, so I’ll pretend I don’t know what you’re thinking. Nothing’s going to stop me.”

“You can’t.” You approach the speaker, shaking your head, everything you want to say suspended in the distance between you two.

“We’re leaving right after this. Please, just stay—for me.”

Dae-Su cuts in again, and the moment is over. “Can we get out of this booth now?” His voice sounds distorted, like how someone would if they plugged their nose. “The smell of poop makes me want to vomit.”

“Yah, it’s your poop,” Wu-Jin chides.

“It’s not all mine,” Dae-Su grumbles.

“Yes, it is.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“These idiots,” Cheong-San mutters, but it’s said out of fondness.

“But they’re our idiots.” You smile at the childish nature of the argument, the voices reassuring, irrespective of the topic.

Cheong-San shifts beside you and looks out through the window, though you can see the hallway is vacant. He has his hand on the door, ready to leave.

“You’re going to go? They told us not to exit this room. What if we go to them and they try to come here? We’d miss finding each other then,” you reason.

Before Cheong-San can reply, On-Jo’s soft voice echoes through the room.

“Cheong-San, please stay still. I know you’ve never listened to me in all the years we’ve been friends, but just this once, listen to me. I mean it, gopher.” The endearing nickname makes Cheong-San become teary-eyed. “See you later, Cheong-San.”

“See you later, On-Jo.”

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟧 | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟩

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Ｔａｇｌｉｓｔ

@american-sataness @ashrocker123 @baxdra369 @bigtuffswordboy @cosmicwintr @crimson-butterfly16 @darlingimafangirl @dayfyre @dramasmarvel @elicheel @ellesalazar @elysl1an @eternallyvenus @gangsterranger @gardenwn @girlontheblock @heartsforhyeju @huang-the-geek @l-ryuzakitwenty-four @ikissvernon @imonlyhereforfanfic @imvivian @itsmesofia @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @iwachansupremacy @izrosei @jaxavance @jisangtome @kaitsubaki @kayleenjinnie @kierd @laugh-like-the-moon @lexaa01 @lilithdame @lovepoisons @luvelyxp @maimaidene @meliade-ot @missmollya @musicshylover @nostalgisters @oldiezbutgoodies @onlythebest-106 @rmeddar123 @sageknoxious @sanaenjoyyer @smoooore @snow-strawberry @suminnature @sunaispretty @sunweee @superbfishhumanoidweasel @supersanelyromantic @teenagefunfury @tenkos4lifer @thege3k @tita004 @tsukibabyy @underlinedkasis @vesrin @voidcupidz @winchester-petrova @woderfulkawaii @yourwonderbelle @4risu

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐱’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢��𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

#suhyeok x reader #su hyeok x reader #lee su hyeok x reader #all of us are dead #aouad #aouad x reader #lee suhyeok #suhyeok fanfic #lee su hyeok fanfic #lee suhyeok fanfic #x reader #reader insert #female reader #zombie apocalypse #gone in the morning

[wafflesandkruge]

hello, wraith (kanej 3+1)

3 times Kaz hears Inej behind him and 1 time he doesn't.

ao3

a/n: hiiii if the premise sounds familiar then you've probably read the original ficlet which i posted a few years ago (a real fan ty). after sab s2 (ew) i wanted to revisit some of my old kanej fics and rewrite them bc i noticed a lot of changes and edits i wanted to make so they're less,,,cringe. original can be found here if you want to do a comparison (pls don't). the plot is exactly the same, but (i hope) the writing has improved, so pls enjoy ✌🏼

The first time Inej entered his office through the window, he heard her coming. Her cheap boots scratched along the rough brick of the Slat’s exterior wall, and Kaz was alerted before she’d even reached the second floor below his office. He set his paperwork down with a sigh and pushed the window open for her just before she could reach for the latch. “Hello, Wraith.”

Inej clambered through the window, frustration evident in every movement, and pulled her hood down. In the soft candlelight of his office, her skin was luminous brown, the light catching the gold in her ears and the gleam of the knives at her waist. It had only been about a week since she’d left the Menagerie, and Kaz was pleased to see her color had improved somewhat. But her spywork needed improvement if she was to be of any use to him. “I could hear you a mile away.”

Inej pursed her lips, taking his criticisms silently. He could have said that it wasn’t her fault, that her boots were the problem, or her inexperience with the cityscape. But he was not kind, and Inej was not made of glass that would shatter under the slightest pressure. He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a small, wooden box.

“Don’t come back here until you can do it soundlessly. With these on.”

He tossed the box at her. She flipped the lid open and a combination of displeasure and anger flashed across her face. Kaz knew what she was seeing—metal anklets with dozens of little bells strung on them, not unlike the ones she’d worn at the Menagerie. 

It was a test, and a challenge, in a way. Kaz watched as she stared at the anklets for another moment, then snapped the box shut. Her lips were pulled into a scowl, but still, she nodded mutely and left his office without a word.

-

The second time had been about a month after the first. Kaz had been worried—Inej had disappeared for long stretches of the night, only to reappear at the Slat early in the morning. When he’d put a tail on her, they’d all reported the same thing: she was practicing climbing in the warehouse district. Why she thought that was safe, he had no idea. He’d posted a Crow there to watch her discreetly, then put it out of his mind. Either she would learn, or he’d overestimated her. And Kaz Brekker was rarely wrong.

He smiled to himself and set his paperwork aside. It was always nice to be right.

“Hello, Wraith.” 

Inej paused, half of her body still outside the window. 

“How did you know?” They were the first words Inej had spoken to him in almost two weeks. She pulled herself through the window and stood to the side of his desk, each movement as silent as shadow despite the anklets clasped around her boots. She looked well rested despite her late nights, her countenance more confident and self-assured than ever. A new knife, one with a simple bone handle, was strapped to her forearm. He’d seen Jesper purchasing the same one from a street vendor during one of their trips to Fifth Harbor. Inej making friends among the Crows would be useful to him in the future. 

He leaned back in his chair and folded his gloved hands together. “I don’t let the same person get the drop on me twice. But you passed. The anklets.” 

He extended a hand, and he could see the way Inej’s gaze was drawn to his leather gloves, a thousand unasked questions in her dark eyes. She unclasped the anklets and placed them carefully in his palm, her fingertips brushing against the leather for the briefest second. Kaz’s breath hitched at the slight pressure. Although it was impossible through the thick material, he swore he felt a lick of warmth from her skin. His skin went cold. 

He pushed past his body’s panic and threw the anklets into the fireplace. Inej’s gaze was finally averted from him and he could breathe again. She watched them burn with a small curl of her lips, then was gone as quickly as she’d appeared.

-

The next time, Kaz was busy working on the Crow Club’s monthly accounting. He hardly looked up when he felt the telltale change in the air. “Hello, Wraith.”

Inej made a small noise of acknowledgement, then crossed his office to the small cabinet of medical supplies he kept around for emergencies. There was some clattering around and a few muttered words in Suli, then Inej plopped onto the chair in front of her desk and dumped supplies onto his desk.

Kaz looked up, peeved. “Inej, what– Ghezen!”

She’d tracked bloody footprints all over his office, from the window, to the cabinet, to the chair where she now sat, wincing, as she cleaned the cut and blistered undersides of her feet. “Don’t worry,” she said, in that unnervingly calm way of hers, “I’ll clean it up.”

“That’s not–” Kaz bit back a curse, not sure why he felt so irritated. “What the hell happened? Was it another gang?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug as she began wrapping bandages around her foot. “My boots wore out. I climb better without shoes anyways, but I am not used to Ketterdam yet.”

“Don’t be stupid, you’ll contract some disease before the day is out,” Kaz growled. He wasn’t about to lose his investment over something as foolish as an infection. “Borrow a pair from someone downstairs until you get paid.”

“As you say.”

As soon as Inej was gone, his office clean as she’d promised, Kaz paid a visit to a grisha fabrikator.

-

Years later, Kaz sat at his desk, a blank page in front of him. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders and put his pen to the paper. Greatly esteemed Council of Tides…

If there was one thing Kaz hated more than kissing up to people, it was not getting what he wanted. He gritted his teeth as he used his most flattering language to ask for a blind eye at a certain berth, then signed the letter with a flourish. He stuffed the scrawled letter and a promissory note for an ungodly amount of kruge into an envelope and prepared his wax seal. Just as he started to melt the wax, his candle blew out with a gust of wind. Kaz paused.

“Hello, Wraith.”

The wind whistled on, but the voice he so desperately wanted to hear was missing. Kaz glanced at the window just to be sure. There wasn’t a soul in his office other than his, and that was debatable. Swearing softly to himself, he relit the candle and sealed the letter. He was losing his touch.

On his way to the Council of Tides, he passed by The Wraith’s berth. It was empty, as it had been for a month. Kaz glanced at the gray horizon. It wasn’t quite enough for him just to know she was out there somewhere, bringing down justice to those who deserved it. At every moment, he craved her silent presence next to his, her bright smiles, even her Suli proverbs. It was selfish, he knew. But he couldn’t help wanting. With one last glance, he continued on his way.

After a relative success of a meeting, he walked back through the harbor towards the Slat. Night had fallen, but the docks were still busy with wandering crews and raucous laughter. Kaz’s cane clicked against the ground as he turned his collar to the wind and resolutely went on his way. Perhaps there’d be an interesting brawl tonight, or Jesper would pay a visit. He passed by berth twenty-two. Then spun around. It was occupied, the crew already busy unloading by the dim streetlights. A voice came from the dark behind him. 

“Hello, Kaz.”

#mmm still a lot i'm not satisfied with but i also don't have the energy to completely take it apart and rewrite it #soc #six of crows #soc writing #kaz #inej #kanej #my writing #shadow and bone

[galacticwildfire]

Fire Meet Gasoline | Poe Dameron

Three

Poe Dameron x Solo Original Character

Hope Solo’s haunted by the night the temple burned. Having gone rogue she hunts the First Order in search of answers until a fateful encounter with Poe Dameron brings her back to the Resistance and Leia puts her daughter under his command to find Luke Skywalker.

Word count: 10k

Tags/warnings: simp poe, exhausted leia, (those may as well be permanent tags), the meet cute, Poe giving oc an existential crisis with his jawline alone, flirting, attempted x-wing race, ego's, rizzpoe, resistance command having a panic attack, mentions of war crimes/systematic kidnapping and indoctrination of children, trauma, first half is sexual tension second half is angst. Leia trying her best to be a good parent to a traumatised child. They will make up I promise.

All my stories are written for adults with adult themes, I use appropriate tags but read at your discretion.

A/N: I have three chapters of the prequel published on ao3/wattpad. the story kicks off properly in this chapter.

~

~

~

Hope

By late afternoon the hanger's quiet enough that I can work on my x-wing in peace, which thankfully hasn't been repurposed. Although Mom knows if she ever gave my x-wing to anyone I'd probably blow it up out of spite, and she knows this because I'd threatened as much.

Major Brance ducks in and out of the entrance several times in the hours that pass as I run maintenance, as if ensuring he isn't hallucinating and looking disappointed each time he realises he isn't, speaking with greater levels of panic into his comm each time.

"We had six months of peace after she left and then Dameron was recruited. Now there's two of them," I hear him ranting as he exits the hanger again, thinking I'm out of earshot. "Two of them!"

I can't help but smile to myself a little in intrigue, finding myself growing increasingly curious about this commander who seems to give Brance the same headache as I do. That might just be enough for me to overlook his rank. Almost.

His ship sits on the other side of the hanger, the orange and black paint noticeably standing out from the rest, and I'm chuckling to myself in satisfaction at noticing the paint's been touched up since I called it beaten up. Although now mine is the one that needs a touch up by comparison.

The next time Brance comes in Statura accompanies him and gives me an awkward wave from across the hanger before pulling Brance back out, thankfully that's the last time I see them. 

"Gee R2, you'd think they weren't happy to see me," I remark as I get to work installing the new parts after finishing general maintenance and he beeps at me. "Alright maybe I'm enjoying it a little."

At least my infamy's still feared by high command, even if that doesn't extend to a commander who should very well know exactly who I am. All things considered I should be more concerned by the thought that Mom could arrive here at any moment, but I can put off that anxiety for a little longer. 

My hands are stained with soot and engine oil, but my mind seems to quieten as I tinker. Something I always thought came from my father, until my grandmother's surviving handmaidens told me it also came from my grandfather, among other things. Thankfully with the years I've found some level of acceptance with that fact, even if the memories sharpened with Ben taking the mantle Vader left behind. At least Lando can share my humour at calling him Grandpa Vader even if Mom looked like she wanted to hit me over the head the first time she heard it. And every time afterwards. Turns out dark humour only goes so far.

My mind's focused on the adjustments to the thrusters, transferring over the parts I'd taken off my N-1 at the lakehouse so the modifications are similar, making it far faster than ties and any other navy starfighter. Faster than any other x-wings on base as well. I was tempted to get R2 to pilot the N-1 here for me but considering what I've been using it for I thought it best it stays in storage on Naboo. I'd forgotten how old these x-wings are in comparison to the newer models of ships, my N-1 was average in comparison to the models I grew up flying, but still newer than these. So while some of these parts might be a little overpowered for my neglected x-wing I can make them work, it'll make it highly illegal, but fast. 

Just how I was taught.

At least I don't have to pay to replace the proton torpedo I'd used up now, it might have been a bit overkill considering they're generally used to attack larger capital ships or freighters but I'd always wondered what would happen if I shot them into a bunch of tie-fighters and now I know.

I'm quite content working while talking to R2 until a now slightly familiar voice calls out to me in the empty hanger.

"Need any help up there?"

"No," I answer automatically, too caught up in what I'm doing to take any real notice. R2 chides me for being rude like he isn't worse and I realise Threepio's yet to talk my ear off which means he must be with Mom, wherever she is. "But since you're offering toss me up a wrench will you?"

He chucks it up and I catch it before tightening the last bolt and only then do I recognise the voice. Suppressing a smile I look down and see him standing back, trying to figure out what I'm doing. "Problem? Because I can tell you those parts have too much kick for a T-70."

"That's the point," I reply, swinging my legs over the edge of my ship so I can take him in and find that he immediately recognises me from the stunned look that crosses his face, the look in his eye leaving me pleasantly surprised after all the wary stares of the afternoon. Although I'm more surprised by the immediate effect his face has on me now that I can see it properly. I don't expect to like it as much as I do, pegging him as the type that's ridiculously handsome and knows it, although it's certainly not without reason. "Once I'm done my baby's going to have more engine power than any of the newer models, might need some reinforcements but I'll make it work."

He shakes his head, grinning up at me with white teeth that stand out against the shadow of a beard on his certainly well-chiselled face that reminds me of the statues that adorn Naboo's art museums, but it's his dark eyes that take my attention as he studies the engine and my other modifications, recognising them with equal surprise and respect. "You know those mods are illegal right? The type you can only find in blackmarkets in the Outer Rims."

"I should know since that's where I found them, but considering this is faster than any of the New Republic's ships, and yours, I don't have to worry about that do I?" I smirk a little too proudly and find myself saying. "I see you gave the General my regards."

He looks at my ship and then to his with the slightest jealousy after mine had outrun his in the field and I just smirk to myself from my ship. 

"I did," he says, something about the look in his eye drawing me in. He still doesn't realise I'm her daughter, that much is clear, and so I play coy. "I told you I could put you in touch didn't I? But just a warning, we might be a paramilitary but she doesn't like us breaking too many New Republic regulations."

Oh, he has no idea and I can't help but tease "If you're going to report me for breaking regulations don't bother because she's already given up on me."

"I take it the two of you have some history then?" he gathers and despite the curiosity in his eyes he still doesn't put it together, which means Mom has definitely lied to the Resistance about where I've been for a commander to have no idea who I could be, but I shouldn't expect anything else by now. 

"Let's just say I've done some work for the Resistance, had some disagreements and ended up where you found me," I explain simply, revealing just enough. When I'm used to everyone knowing my name it's almost nice to be a mystery. "So illegal modifications will be the least of her worries."

He makes a surprised sound, running a hand through the almost black curls atop his head. "The General must like you then to let you get away with this type of stuff." He looks me over with slightly nervous eyes before putting on a charming smile. "You must have been stationed on the Raddus because I know I would've definitely remembered meeting you before."

A self-satisfied smile comes to my face at his attempt at flirting and find myself amused, but more surprised by the fact that I don't actually mind it. "I've been on this base far longer than you have commander, you're the one who's new here."

"General recruited me a few months back from the Republic Fleet," he says and my eyes narrow now, wondering how the hell a new recruit could possibly be made a commander when I never was after years of service. But I swear behind his self-confidence there's a sincerity to his words as he says "You know, if you were new to base I was going to offer to show you around."

"Really?" I say, leaning forward from the edge of my ship in intrigue, giving him my full attention as I look him up and down. Somehow only finding more things to like much to my own surprise considering I've never been the type to be partial to a flyboy, or much to men in general.

"What can I say?" he shrugs but the look in his eyes is a little less carefree than what he's trying to portray as he returns the gesture, tongue running over the seam of his lips as he takes me in. Leaving his intentions maybe a little less innocent than his sincerity. "You're a hell of a pilot, one of the best I've ever seen. You left an impression to say the least."

I can't help but feel warmth come to my face at the look in his eyes that I've never quite seen in anyone else's and turn my head, not knowing whether to be frustrated he's actually having an effect on me or flattered I have a commander standing here flirting with me, but I do like the attention. As for flattery well... that's something I've always received little of.

So maybe I'm being a little bit of an asshole, but I genuinely don't know how to do anything but rebuff him considering it's second nature by now. "What was your name again?"

I remember it, but I want to see how he reacts to his ego being bruised. Somehow he's not put off and just challenges "You know now I think of it you still haven't given me yours."

Wanting to get a little closer I hop down from my ship to find that he has half a foot on me, maybe a little more although it's not exactly hard when I inherited my mother's height. His face is closer now and somehow even more striking up close much to my frustration, a problem I've never had before or at least not to this degree. The sudden proximity leaves me a little more bashful than I'd anticipated but I may as well enjoy the moment considering it'll be over once he learns my name, for a multitude of reasons.

"You can call me Captain," I state. I might have had that title stripped away with every other privilege I had when I was grounded but if she wants me back she's going to have to make compromises.

"Captain?" he repeats back in surprise but respects it. "Alright Captain..." he trails off for a moment, considering his options but inevitably deciding to go with one of the riskier ones. "How long have you been away from base for?"

"Almost a year," I answer, curious to see if that leads him down any trail of thought but he doesn't seem to be using his head to think, although unfortunately for me that face makes up for it. He's older, late twenties,  a man who clearly takes pride in his appearance judging by his hair. Again, he has good reason too and even more unfortunately I'm too susceptible to that damn face. 

"Then let me give you a tour of the new and improved facilities," he begins before changing tactics, his voice deepening slightly as he leans closer. "Or I could take you out to a spot just outside base with a clear view of a constellation I think you'd like, and maybe by the time we make our way back you'll like me enough to be on a first name basis." His eyes are kind, but there's a mischief behind them that draws me right in. "If that's alright with you?"

It takes me a moment to register what he's saying let alone asking, and when I do I'm convinced that surely I've misheard him or definitely misinterpreted his words. But his interest is something I definitely I haven't misread, intentions are another matter, but this... this was the last thing I'd prepared myself for when I returned to base. I've had passes made at me sure, but certainly never this.

It leaves me speechless for a moment longer than I'd like, but I manage to quickly regain myself and my dignity. I've been back here for five minutes and I'm blushing over some flyboy's pickup line, a flyboy who holds the rank I'd sought for longer than he's been a part of the Resistance. 

Oh no this, whatever it is I'm feeling, this won't do.

"Alright commander," I say, making sure whatever happens next is on my terms. "I'll consider it, but first how about you show me what you've got and finish what we started in the field."

"What I've got?" he repeats as I look at the x-wings. "Sweetheart you're speaking to one of the best pilots in the galaxy."

"Sweetheart?" I repeat and actually laugh knowing it didn't end well for the last guy that tried to call me that, and he momentarily panics before seeing the glint in my eye, only more determined to put him in his place before I can consider maybe, just maybe, taking him up on his offer. "Alright then flyboy, get that ass in an x-wing and prove it."

He's tempted, tongue running across the seam of his lips as he leans down and crosses his arms over his chest. "As much as I'd love to do that, I don't want to get put on probation in my first few months and neither should you."

I whistle, taking pleasure in taunting him. "I got the big ego part right but I didn't take you for a pussy."

Now I've got him. "Oh no, I'm not a pussy."

I look down at his astromech who beeps at him knowing it's a bad idea, just as R2 gives me a beep of warning to not get myself in trouble but I've already made up my mind and so I look back up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Really?"

His dark eyes are locked onto mine with determination and I find a spark in them that's the same as mine. "Really."

Knowing I must have some effect on him I tilt my chin up, smirking as I challenge "Prove it."

I must look like a hot mess after hours of maintenance with my braid falling out and the top of my white blouse unbuttoned and stained with oil, my body's covered in engine grease wiped off my palms and smells like it, but he seems to like that.

And I definitely like his face.

Maybe I was right in coming back to base after all.

"Alright," he agrees, physically closer than I've let anyone come to me in a long time. "But you'll lose."

"Fifty credits," I bet knowing I've certainly returned a lot richer from my exploits, even if most of it's gone into my ship and weapons, and he doubles it.

"Hundred."

"One fifty," I challenge to raise the stakes and see that same restless excitement in his eyes. Pilots, people who live on risks and rushes of adrenaline, they're a disaster waiting to happen when it comes to gambling. "You on?"

"How about this, I win and you let me show you around base," he says, the glint in his eye proving to me he might be more of a worthy opponent than I'd originally taken him for. "You win and you're the one who gets to show me around."

He knows he's got me there, and I'm shaking my head with a stupid smile on my face knowing it too. It's a win-win situation for him although I'm curious to see if it would be the same for me, silently cursing how something in his eyes makes me electric. He might be a flyboy but he's one smooth bastard and I've got to get him back. "Alright then hotshot, first one to circumnavigate the planet's atmosphere and land back here wins."

"Atmosphere?" he repeats, knowing atmospheric flying in one of the more dangerous thrills a pilot could partake in, but he only grins back at me with that spark in his eye. "You're on."

"Let's see what you've got then commander," I say, waiting for him to realise he's screwed with the work I've done on my ship but again, he's thinking with anything but his head, and I tease "Then we'll see about me showing you around."

I'm not the only one with a stupid smile on my face and his eyes follow me as I walk back to my ship. Maybe I'm guilty when it comes to liking the attention, I've had my fair share of it not that I've ever entertained it, but none have ever looked like him or had that spark in their eye. I go to pull the ladder over, considering using the force to leap up might give him a little bit of a shock, and hear him call out "Need a foot up?"

"Piss off," I laugh and he flashes a teasing grin at me that only feeds my own determination. "You know you're going to lose right?"

"Don't worry I'll go easy," he promises as if he's doing me a favour.

I raise an eyebrow, not afraid to pull a dirty card to throw him off his game. "Because I'm a girl?"

"Oh no, no, no," he quickly corrects with a nervous laugh, his momentary panic only confirming that he isn't that type of flyboy. There shouldn't be any of them on base considering who the General is but you never know, I mean she did marry one after all. But still, I find an awful amusement in how quickly he refutes it. "Women are just as capable in a cockpit I can promise you that, but as damn good as you are you haven't seen me in action yet."

"Because I'd taken care of all the action before your slow ass ship could get there," I reply and he's all the more ready to try to show me up and my ego meets his as I smirk. "Don't worry I'll go easy."

The droids beep at each other in question as to whether or not they should get involved as he takes on the challenge, jumping up into his x-wing and I climb into mine, only for another ship to suddenly appear in the atmosphere as our droids get into their respective astromech ports. I blink in confusion at the ship, only to sense her before I begin to register who the ship belongs to. "Shit."

He looks at me as to ask if I'm ready to take off and he flashes a confused look as I give him the fall back gesture and shrink back into the cockpit as the ship lands, seeing the same look of panic on his face when he realises who's caught us.

I'm wearing a guilty smile as Mom comes out of the ship, walking with purpose but stopping in her tracks the moment she senses me, whatever emotion fills her face is quickly replaced with exasperation as she looks up at me, and then to the commander, shaking her head at us both.

"Get out of those x-wings."

The commander panics as we both climb out of the x-wings and I come to stand in front of Mom for the first time in almost a year. She wears the familiar expression of frustration, but thankfully I still see the fondness amongst it. I open my mouth but find myself lost for words as I suddenly clam up. 

"General," Poe stammers beside me. "I was just-"

"I'm not blaming you, Commander," she sighs and turns her head towards me. "I know my daughter has a habit of causing trouble."

He does a double take, one I've seen often when the men on base have realised they've attempted to chat up the General's daughter. Although none have admittedly been as successful as him. "Daughter?"

Mom just gives a slight shake of her head as she sighs, as if she hadn't expected anything else. "Commander Dameron meet-"

"Hope Solo," I say shaking his limp hand, he's stunned as I meet his eye and for just a moment I see the faintest flicker of recognition amongst the pure mortification. "General's daughter."

"Unfortunately for my sanity," Mom remarks and shakes her head at me as Brance rushes into the hanger to meet her only to go unignored as she asks "Did you seriously try to drag my newest commander into an x-wing race?"

Brance looks between the commander and I at those words and suddenly seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he marches back out of the hanger as quickly as he came. Again, Mom looks as if she hadn't expected anything else.

"Maybe," I admit as Poe scratches his head, clearly more than a little blindsided. She looks at my x-wing, mechanically literate enough to realise the parts I've put in aren't cheap or legal and I try to smile and exploit the big eyes that seem to work on everyone else but her. "Miss me?"

She raises her eyebrows in warning and I quickly shut up.

"Commander, considering you've already become acquainted with my daughter you can be gracious enough to escort her to intelligence where she will hand over the information she has on the First Order outpost she destroyed before Snap could gather data on it," she says, barely reigning in her frustration with me but it's the disappointment in her voice that stings. "Then you'll meet me in my office, Hope."

"Yes General," we both say in unison and she shakes her head as walks past out of the hanger, leaving the commander and I standing there in shared awkwardness. While I feel guilty he's purely mortified, and I actually feel slightly bad now.

It's silent until he breaks it. "I'd say you were trying to set me up if she wasn't so happy to see you."

"Yeah," I say, his sarcasm being nothing but truthful. "Won't lie, I was hoping for a warmer welcome back but it could have been worse."

He looks at me now with his own eyebrows raised, standing there in a state of barely constrained panic. "It could have been worse? Worse for you you mean?"

I look at him in surprise. "A flyboy who actually cares what his commanding officers think of him, how rare."

"When my commanding officers are war heroes, yeah I care," he says defensively, incredulous that I don't share that sentiment. The tension between us is just as thick as it was moments ago but different now.

"Well commander, you'll come to learn your heroes are quite human," I assure him, knowing how every person on base reveres my mother, which is fair as she deserves every bit of it, but their reverence for Luke and my father is less justifiable. "Legends are often disappointing."

If I'm the last hope for my family then I'm only proof of that.

He looks at me now how they all do when I don't live up to the expectations they have of their heroes, little do they know their own heroes don't even live up to them.

But my own reputation? Well I can certainly live up to that.

He takes me in more carefully now, with equal caution and curiosity, but also with the slightest bit of wonder in his eye as he says "So, you're Hope Solo."

"That's me," I say, shrugging my shoulders despite knowing the weight my name carries. "Am I missing some grand reputation I'm meant to be living up to?"

From the way he stammers I know I am and it usually falls into two categories, a Jedi or a political scandal. My reputation as a pilot clearly isn't as prominent as I'd like it to be despite my stint as a racer.

"Well," he begins and I can tell he's not quite sure what to make of me. "I- you aren't what I expected."

I'm intrigued now as I take him in, sensing nerves beneath that cocky exterior. "And what did you expect?"

I don't miss the way his eyes skim over me and so I return the favour, somehow still quite liking what I see despite his fleeting defensiveness. "Well-" he coughs to try to cover himself. "Not you."

That's an answer I don't quite mind and I laugh under my breath. "Acceptable."

"So," he continues, keeping a respectable distance from me as we continue through the base, suddenly taking a very different approach towards me now he knows I'm the General's daughter. A fact that inevitably scares off anyone who looks at me how he did, although I can't quite say anyone has, not like that at least. "How did the General's daughter end up rogue in the Outer Rims?"

"That's quite the story," I say, realising what I did must have stayed classified outside of high command. "And not a pretty one."

"Alright," he says, he doesn't push but asks "So what did you do here before that?"

That's the question.

"Well I'm the General's daughter," I say, repeating what everyone else does with some embellishments. "Best damn pilot here, but considering I prefer blasters to negotiating they tend to keep me out of the loop."

He raises an eyebrow, a glint of almost childlike excitement in his eye as he asks "Not a lightsaber?"

And there's that one final legacy that Luke left me when he went into exile, that of the last Jedi. When the news of the temple's destruction broke they all looked to the supposed sole survivor for answers, but some looked at me as a suspect. The Jedi Killers grandaughter being the only survivor of a fire that killed all of the Jedi... that's one other legacy I've been left with.

But he only looks at me with an awestruck curiosity, not too dissimilar to how I'd look at Luke and the other students before I'd started my training, back when the Jedi were still mysterious to me. I can't quite remember anyone looking at me that way however, not until now. 

"Oh I've got my lightsaber but I've been frequently reminded that it isn't a good look for the Resistance to use it for combat," I explain as we walk through the hanger towards intelligence, not quite sure why I'm still speaking to him when I'm about to get torn to shreds by my own mother but he's listening and perhaps I don't mind the sound of his voice. "And then there's the fact we aren't meant to engage the enemy first."

"That's a big one," he says keeping his tone light, playful even, but I can feel a mutual frustration there. "Something tells me that's part of it?"

"I might have gotten a bit carried away once or twice," I admit, something tells me with an ego like his he has as well, but not to the severity I did. "But there's nothing like practice."

He meets me in the middle there. "As frustrating as it is not being able to engage the Resistance is better when it comes to action than the Navy, I can promise you that."

"Yes but be warned commander, a little too much action and you'll get yourself grounded," I say with a bitter edge to my voice. "I would know."

"Too much action or insubordination?" he asks in amusement and if his face wasn't enough to take a liking to him that's sealed it. 

"Well there's no point committing insubordination if there's no action," I remark and he laughs, something tells me he's no stranger to it either.

"I like the way you think but I'm glad I'm not your commander."

"I prefer to work alone so rest assured you won't have to deal with me," I say as we reach intelligence but something in his eyes tempts me against my better judgement, strikes a boldness in me I had never quite realised was there until now. "Unless you want to?"

But as expected he's suddenly hesitant. It's typically seen as disrespectful to even look at your superior's daughter that way and well no one wants to disrespect the general, but it's a little late for him to pretend like he wasn't quite interested just a few minutes ago.

He quickly becomes nervous, trying to laugh it off before not so subtly changing the subject. "So uh- I guess I will be then if you're going to be flying?"

"I will be," I state as he clams up, putting on his friendliest face and the gives me an awkward thumbs up of all things before guiding me inside the command centre. Usually I wouldn't care, usually I'd laugh when I'd watch them suddenly clam up, but it seems this one's left an impression, for better or for worse. 

Brance stands there as we enter the room and hesitates at the sight of us. "The General said you had some reconnaissance data about First Order patrols?" he swallows and I can't recall what I did to make him like this, but he's in charge of intelligence. He knows exactly what I've been doing. "Around Tatooine I presume?"

There's judgment in his voice upon mentioning Tatooine, but Brance's judgment's only a fraction of what I'm about to get from Mom. 

"Well, I don't exactly have it," I say looking at R2 but he's hardly been collecting any. "I saw an outpost and I blew it up, twenty four tie's in total including the ones this commander saw me take down, three squadrons, not much else to say." I turn to the commander now, since these patrols should be his area of jurisdiction, but mostly because I don't like to walk away without the last word. "But if you'd like a report on all the First Order outposts I've cleared in the outer rims you can come and find me."

Poe stops and blinks at me in slight alarm. "Cleared?"

"Cleared," I confirm and leave him to put together what I mean as I dismiss myself with a sly smile. "Commander." I nod my head to Brance who's turned pale. "Major."

Both their eyes follow me as I leave the room, forcing myself to keep a straight face as I willingly send myself to the interrogation chamber.

~

The encounter still plays on my mind as I wait to speak with Mom, it's almost a welcome distraction from what's waiting for me. But it's hard not to dwell when it's left a bitter taste in my mouth. 

I'd once joked to Lando that no one would be brave enough to take a chance on me with who my family is, little did I know then just how true it would be, and that was before the entire galaxy found out I'm the heir of Darth Vader himself. In the public's eyes Mom was never a Jedi, she as far as they know can't wield the force. They could throw every accusation of treason and conspiracy against her but that, the claims of being a danger to society because of our blood was reserved for me and Luke and Ben. 

Not to mention I've become the sister of a pretender. 

But he's not the one accused of being the Jedi Killer, how can he be when much like Anakin Skywalker the galaxy believes he died with the rest of the Jedi. Like Luke he left me to bear those accusations alone. To carry this name that's only gotten heavier with each passing day. 

But for a moment I liked being a mystery, and I liked it even more when he still looked at me with awe instead of apprehension after learning my name. Poe Dameron. I hate to say it but unlike the other flyboys that come through here I actually like this one.

Wait.

"Are you fucking serious," I whisper under my breath in irony into the empty space of Mom's office and remember where I've heard his name.

It was just days before everything went to hell. I'd travelled to Theron to be with Dad after I'd gotten myself expelled from university after a rather dramatic display that I'm still quite proud of. Lando and I sat watching the Five Saber's races when a man had caught my attention in the stands below, or if memory serves me the force had drawn my attention to him. Not that it would have mattered to Lando, all Lando saw was his niece staring at some guy.

"Oh no, now I know for a fact pretty boy down there's too old for you," Lando had laughed.

I'd just reminded him about how much older Dad was than Mom when they met and he laughed with me while trying to hush me. I don't know how the conversation had descended into what it had, with me expressing to him my juvenile worries no one would ever want to take a chance on me with who I was. Perhaps now I don't care about something as silly as love, I've experienced enough of it to know how it ends, but back then I did, what sixteen year old doesn't? He tried to ease my worries, giving me the sort of pep talk only an uncle can give, Mom had echoed similar statements not long after but Lando's words stuck with me over the years.

I'd thought that had been the end of it until I'd sat in the cantina as Lando went to the bar and I watched the same man introduce himself. Growing up with war heroes for parents, especially Han Solo, I was never a stranger to having aspiring pilots wanting to meet their heroes and so I'd watched from a distance as they spoke, happily out of sight.

"General Calrissian," Poe Dameron had said shaking his hand. "It's an honour."

"General?" I heard Lando repeat in amusement. "No one's called me that in a long time."

"You fought with my parents on Endor," he'd said and I'd been slightly more interested.

"Wait don't tell me, I know that face," Lando had said and laughed in realisation. "You're Kes and Shara's boy aren't you?"

He'd given his name "Poe Dameron."

I'd recognised his parents names, particularly his mother's since she'd defended Naboo during Operation Cinder. More than anything I just remember being confused by the strange nagging I felt, almost as if I knew him, or rather that I would know him. It seems my intuition was correct.

All things considered, that day is something I'd all but forgotten about until now and it leaves me unsettled. Nothing good ever comes when the force starts throwing these coincidences at me, or rather as it seems wrapping up loose ends. There was more to the conversation I struggle to recall, conversations about the navy and whatnot, but I do remember them talking about his mother. 

As an aspiring pilot I'd taken an interest in the women who flew such as her and Hera Syndulla. Dad would often feign offence when I'd beg Mom to be able to come with her to meetings with General Syndulla since they'd had a friendly rivalry back in the day. Although Hera never abandoned her kid despite him being force sensitive so I know who I like more. Wherever he is I'm sure he's glad he was grown up by the time Luke began taking students, with Ben's age group having been the oldest ones he trained. The youngest however... that still pains me to think about. 

I'd disappeared before Lando could introduce us, so at least some of my anonymity remains intact. While I'm vaguely familiar with him, all he knows of me would be reputation and that's how I prefer to be known. 

Although the force isn't finished with me yet, the lingering tension from the last time I sat in this office still remains, bringing back other more uncomfortable memories.

"What do you mean I'm grounded!" I raged at her after coming back from what I thought was a successful mission. "I did everything you asked me to-"

"I sent you to run reconnaissance not to engage!" she yelled, as beside herself with anger as I'd ever seen her. "Instead you used the force to interrogate an officer and not just that, you engaged an entire squadron of stormtroopers with a lightsaber-"

"And I took them out!" I reminded her, proud of my accomplishment even if she was horrified, or at least proud in the moment. 

"And potentially started a war!" she snapped and slammed her hand down on the table. "What is the one rule I ask you to follow, the only damn rule that matters!"

Still I didn't care. "How are we meant to stop them if we can't fight them-"

"We stop them through these missions you think are pointless, through collecting data and using it to secure whatever funding we can get from the very few allies we have in the senate," she tried to make me understand and she grit out "Hope, we do not have the numbers or the facilities to enter into a war. The Rebellion was thousands strong, we have less than a hundred and the Resistance cannot afford to lose the only Jedi we have because she decided to go rogue and take matters into her own hands with the very weapon that should never be used for such violence."

Those words rubbed me the wrong way "So that's my role, the one symbolic Jedi. Not a pilot, not a fighter, not even your daughter-"

"Don't go there," she warned, the mother-daughter relationship we'd finally forged during the scandal with Vader having worn away with every disagreement over strategy. "I am speaking to you as your general, not your mother, and it's time you learned the difference. Which is why you aren't just stripped of your rank, you are grounded until you can pull your head in and not endanger this entire resistance on a whim. You tortured a man Hope." The way she looked at me made me sick. "You used the force to torture a man like-" she cut herself off but we both knew damn well who she was comparing me to. "For someone who can see the past you sure as hell don't know how to learn from it."

"He mentioned Ben," I ground out and she couldn't meet my eye. "He's calling himself Kylo Ren and has made himself the First Order's enforcer. Did you think I was going to let that officer go without finding out everything I could about what my brothers been doing!"

"I'm more concerned about what you've done," she said, terribly pale. "Saving those children at whatever cost, that I could excuse, that I would have even promoted you for. But the carnage you left behind and giving the First Order grounds to attack us I can't excuse. Using the force for that- as the last person with any authority to tell you how the force should be used... I am disgusted Hope."

But not as disgusted as I was at what I'd seen. "He was dragging children screaming from their homes-"

"And what intelligence did you torture out of him?" she asks me and that's when I clamped my mouth shut. "You could have asked where they were to be taken, how many, where their battalion is stationed, but no. You weren't just reckless you were selfish. If you were going to take your anger out regardless you could have given us something useful instead of chasing after Snoke. Tell me how did you rationalise the thought that a low ranking officer would know where either of them are?" I opened my mouth but she cut me off sharply. "Every single member of high command across all of our stations has petitioned for your demotion and an official court martial which has never happened before in the entirety of this organisation. They want you not just grounded permanently but banned from any Resistance operations and frankly I agree."

I gaped at her, betrayed. Command could believe whatever they wanted, but this was my own mother. "You think I'm dangerous?"

"I think you have been nothing but angry and spiteful these past years," she confessed to me as I stood there with tears burning in my eyes. "I understand you went through something horrific, I understand why you're acting out, but right now I can't trust that-"

"I won't end up like Ben?" She still couldn't meet my eye and I felt more betrayed by her in that moment than I ever did when I discovered the truth about Vader. "You think I'm like him?" But I knew there was something else. "No, you don't think I'm like Ben. You think I'm like him. Your father."

There was a bite to her voice. "Don't call him my father and don't you dare think for even a moment I would believe you could become what he did."

"Then why?" I whispered, tears of anger wetting my cheeks. "Why don't you trust me?"

"Because as of this moment you are too unstable to be trusted with important missions, or any mission for that matter," she said carefully, but the words hurt just as much. "I can't protect you from the law if you decide to let darkness take control, which is why you have to work where I can keep an eye on you. I want you to go to Hosnian Prime to work with the few allies we have left in the senate, Varish will look after you. You spent years being educated for a career in politics and I gave you your title so you could take my place in the senate. If I can't trust you in the field then that is your assignment."

I shook my head. "No." She was leaning over her desk, head hung in distress. "If you won't let me fight then I'm not staying here."

"Hope," she argued. "Please for once in your life think before storming out."

"I have," I said. "If you don't trust me then I'm going to find the one person who does." She looked up in fear, and I knew what she assumed. "Not him, Dad."

She sighed. "Honey, your father-"

"Is out there," I said, tired of failing to live up to her expectations. "And if I'm too much like him for you, or any other man in this damn family, then I'm going to find him!"

I'd stormed out with hot tears running down my cheeks, now I sit here cold as she enters the room and sits down across from me without a word, neither of us knowing what to say until I break the silence.

"Am I being court-martialed?"

"No," she answers shortly, her voice difficult to read.

"Lando convinced me to come home," I say, unable to calm the defensive tone in my voice. "I was hoping for a warmer welcome considering the speech he gave about how much you've missed me, how worried you've been."

"I was worried," she says, struggling to hold back her frustration. "I was worried sick that you were hurt or out of your mind but no, I find you the same as ever going off to race x-wings whilst I've been in the core worlds doing the job I'd asked you to do." I just shake my head to try to fight off the guilt and look away until she relents and asks "Did you find Han?"

"No, but Lando will keep looking," I answer stiffly and get to business. "He said you had a mission for me."

She nods, but if I thought she was going to let the past be the past I was wrong. "We will get to that, but now enough time has passed I hope we can speak honestly now about what happened so let me begin by saying what you did horrified me Hope. My barely nineteen year old daughter torturing an enemy officer and committing a massacre beyond what was necessary to protect those children. Even after they were off the planet you went back to finish the job to ensure there was no one living to testify to what you did. You committed a war crime, several I might add."

Against my better judgement I retort. "Legally it's not a war crime if we aren't technically at war."

She shakes her head, having not expected any different. "A cold war is still a war and it's only getting worse."

"Which is why-"

"Why you've been hunting the First Order for sport?" she finishes and I'm glad Snap gave me a warning. "Commander Dameron told me all about your encounter before you decided to come back and try to- what- what the hell were you even doing?"

I put it simply. "Trying to prove a point."

She just sighs and puts her head in her hands. "Hope you've been back five minutes and you're already giving me a headache."

"You asked me to come back," I remind her, wishing I'd stayed gone. "Sent Lando to beg me to come back-"

"Yes because you're my daughter and I love you despite how infuriatingly stupid you've been," she says bluntly and pure anger suddenly fills her eyes. "Working for Boba Fett?"

Shit.

Despite my panic I hold my ground. "He pays well."

"He pays well?" she repeats. "I should think so considering the money he got from giving your father over to Jabba the Hutt."

"Well that's his own fault for making shitty deals and not following through," I say, knowing well enough by now how it works. "You say I don't learn from the past but he's the one repeating it."

"And you should be smarter than to get into the same mess for the sake of spiting him," she lectures. "Because that's why you did it in the first place isn't it? To spite your father and when he didn't come back to drag you off Tatooine you decided to take the credits and take your anger out on tie fighters."

I remain unremorseful. "Would you rather me use a lightsaber?"

I'd almost forgotten that like myself, she gives as good as she gets but it's a comparison that doesn't phase me anymore. "Like Vader did?"

"I was once told Anakin Skywalker was a war criminal," I say, remembering that history lesson on the Clone Wars after years of Luke making our grandfather out to be the ultimate hero in Ben's eyes. "It only seems right I continue his legacy."

She does not like that answer. "Alright then I was wrong, you haven't matured enough to take on this mission."

She gets up to leave and I relent "Wait, Mom." She looks at me expectantly and we've been through this enough times I know what she wants to hear. "I'm sorry."

She still waits. "For?"

"For being a smartass about committing a war crime, no matter how justified it was, and running away for a year," I say and watch her inhale deeply to keep herself calm. "And for being a smartass now."

She sits back down and leans back in her chair. "A year Hope. I would have thought being gone that long running around the Outer Rims would have matured you at least slightly."

I actually scoff. "You really thought that after being married to Dad?"

"For one single minute can you not be a smartass," she pleads and raises her index finger. "Just one."

I wisely keep my mouth shut and nod, knowing it won't last.

"Long enough has passed I believe I can convince command you've grown up and have seen the error of your mistakes," she begins, moving to negotiations. "Now we both know that's a load of crap but if you want to get back in the field they need to believe it. I might be the General but there is only so much I can do to help you because I can't be seen giving my daughter or any member of this Resistance special treatment. While you've been gone I've done my best to try to rebuild your reputation for the day you inevitably came back, most of the base believes you've been studying politics on Naboo and completing your education."

I scoff in offence and suddenly it all makes sense why a commander would see someone pull off what I did and never even think of my name. "That's the best lie you could come up with, that I willingly went back to university after they expelled me for arguing with that old Imperial bitch?"

"Yes," she states and my frustration only grows, that I'm only known as the spoiled princess sent off to Naboo instead of what I've worked hard to become.

"So you discredit the fact I'm the best pilot in the Resistance so everyone believes I'm just some spoiled princess playing politics at some prissy university to the point your shiny new flyboy can't even realise who I must be and thinks he's actually better than I am?" Her eyebrows shoot up at that remark. "That's your solution to rebuilding my reputation? By utterly falsifying it and discrediting the one thing I've worked hard to be." I stick a finger into my chest as I grit out "I started flying when I was a child, I begged and pleaded to join the starfighter corps when I was just twelve years old and have spent my entire life working damn hard to be the pilot that I am. It's bad enough everyone just dismisses me as being Han Solo's daughter when I'm a better pilot than he ever was, but for no one to even recognise me as a pilot and just think I'm off prancing around Naboo-" I have to cut myself short. "How could you do that?"

She sees I'm genuinely hurt but remains firm in her decision. "How do you think they'd take it if I said you were running around with pirates and hunting the First Order on some mad vendetta?" 

"They'd think I was actually doing something worthwhile," I say and she blinks at me incredulously. "You might think I've been acting like an idiot but I've been smart about it."

She's unimpressed and bites back. "Words right out of your father's mouth."

"I made sure even if people pieced together I was the one in that starfighter they couldn't do anything about it because I was being legally contracted to defend a system from an unwelcome force, hell I had an invitation to the bounty hunters guild that I didn't accept because I knew it would be a bad look for the Resistance and for you. But I've been damn good at what I've been doing and I'm not going to apologise for it."

"Congratulations," she deadpans. "In trying to piss off your father you've become him, running away from your family for the thrill of making credits and blowing things up."

That finally shuts me up, Vader I can take being compared to, but not him. Not when I know she looks at me and sees him more than anyone else. She suddenly looks remorseful and reaches for my hand.

"Hope, you are my daughter and I love you more than you could ever know," she says and I wasn't prepared for those words, looking away as I force back tears. "But you need to realise your actions have consequences, if your father's situation isn't evidence of that I don't know what is. Luck inevitably runs out."

"It hasn't for you."

Her eyes are sad. "It ran out a long time ago, but yours hasn't. Not yet." I don't expect the ache when she reaches for my face and forcing back tears has not felt this hard in a long time. "You've grown up."

"Yeah well, that happens," I say curtly and she withdraws her hand. "I know you think I ran off like Dad did but you didn't give me a choice."

"You had a choice and you made it," she says gently, the love in her voice only making it worse. "But now I need you to own up to it and make better ones."

"If you want me to be ashamed of what I've done and apologise for it I won't," I say and finally she listens. "I did make my choices, and don't think I wouldn't make them again."

"Alright," she says upon seeing this won't go the way she wants. "Do you want to hear the truth?"

Believing there's nothing left she could say to hurt me I shrug. "Shoot."

"I never believed it when I was told the Skywalker blood ran strong in you, but I should have. When Sola and my mother's handmaidens told me you reminded them of my father I didn't listen. When Luke warned me dark things would come of your training I should have listened but I didn't and you were nearly killed as a consequence."

"Mom-" I immediately whisper at her blaming herself.

"I knew something was wrong between you and Ben, I knew something was wrong with him, but I sent you back to Ossus with him regardless," she says as if Ben gave her a choice in the matter. He'd taken me as his apprentice, and his eyes his authority overuled our own mother's. "Days later everything was gone. Ben, Luke, eventually Han. Everything was lost in that fire except for you." Her voice breaks. "I have tried in every way I know how to help you Hope, but you aren't helping me. It is a fact that you share many similarities with your grandfather, more than Ben ever did. Everyone who's ever lived to know both of you has said as much. I am aware of the darkness that's clung to you ever since you discovered what he became and I want to help you Hope, but I need you to let me."

My throat's tight. I've always shrugged off the comparisons, but they've never come so strongly from my own mother, the one person in the galaxy who has the most cause to despise him. Yet in my travels I've only found more people who've confirmed what I've tried to deny for years. "So that's why you can't stand me, because I take after him?"

She shakes her head in disbelief that that's the conclusion I'd come to, voice incredulous as she whispers "No, Hope that's not what I'm trying to tell you."

"Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to live up to you?" I ask her, remembering now just why I ran. "Trying to live up to a perfect hero but no matter how hard I try I'm told time and time again that I'm my father's daughter, or worse that I take after Anakin Skywalker. Never you, never Padmé Amidala, only ever them." Frustrated tears burn in my eyes that she truly can't fathom. "I don't want to hear that, I don't want to live up to anyone's legacy. I've spent years training to make my own path, I've spent another year out there in the Outer Rims not even recognising myself in the mirror trying to make a name for myself just to have all these powerful people look at me and tell me I'm just like a man I never knew. Desperate for validation, living up to a self-imposed prophecy, the one to restore balance and save us all only to lead the slaughter. Or worse that I'm like the father who abandoned me."

She quickly becomes unnerved at the cynical laughter that escapes me along with the tears. "Hope-"

"I don't want that, I just want my family but I can't have that," I say with a barely contained primordial rage burning in me. "All because of a voice in Ben's head." She's deadly quiet as I finally look her in the eye. "So if killing stormtroopers is as close as I can get to killing Snoke then that's what I'm going to do."

For the first time I sense a deep fear within her and she again reaches for my hand only for me to sharply pull it away. "I need you to listen to me."

"No!" I yell, a trembling mess as I slam my hand down on the desk. "I need you to listen to me when I say that if I can get my hands on Snoke I can end this! Or if I can just find Ben I know I could bring him back or convince him to turn on Snoke, but to do that I need to get my hands on these First Order officers and-"

"And you'll what, torture information out of them?"

The answer's simple in my mind. "Why not?"

"Because it's torture hope!" she yells. "For the love of-, you are not going to be torturing anyone for information. I know how much you loved your brother, I know how close you were and you are not the only one who wants him back." There's tears in both our eyes now. "But you are simply not prepared to take on Snoke."

"Luke took on the Emperor didn't he?" I retort. "He convinced Vader to turn on him and so will Ben. I know him better than you ever did Mom as much as you hate to hear that. I know he was screwed in the head and delusional, hell I know that better than you ever could and I have permanent scars to remind me of it every day!" There's nothing but pain in her eyes. "But everything he did was to protect me as twisted as it was and he would never let Snoke do to me what he's done to him. I know if I bring him back we will destroy Snoke."

She tries to steer me away from the subject, to de-escalate, to distract me from the spiral I'm heading down. "Someday yes, but for now I need you focused on proving to the senate what the First Order is truly doing so we can prepare. I promise you the day will come when you can use your saber but until then we need to build up the Resistance before starting a war we can't win and you are only one person. We need the support of the New Republic and the senate-"

"When are you going to realise we need to damn what the senate says and go after them ourselves?" I exclaim and it's then I fess up. "Do you have any idea how many of those bastards I've killed before they could gain a foothold in the Outer Rims?" Her face turns to stone. "How many outposts I've destroyed-"

"I don't want to know," she says hoarsely. "I don't want to know how many people you've killed or how many outposts you've blown up. I just want you to do what I'm asking you to do."

"What are you so afraid of?" I ask her at a complete loss. "I am capable-"

"You are too capable and you know it which makes you dangerous," she states factually and years worth of anger finally comes out. "You think you're smarter than everyone else in the room, but you're not. You think you are better and that you know better but you don't and it's past time you heard it. You don't do what is asked of you, you either go too far or disobey. You have always been all or nothing Hope. You run away for a year and now come back asking for me to trust you but I can't. You're impulsive and rash and not in the way we need. You don't think before acting and still refuse to do what is asked of you. You always have and I had hoped you could be mature enough to sit down so we could both apologise and move forward so I could give you this very important mission but no, you're too defensive and too defiant to even listen to me without interpreting me trying to get through to you as an attack!" Her voice breaks and for one of the very few times in my life I see tears running down her face. Three times I've seen it, but never solely because of me. "I love you, but I cannot trust you when you're like this."

Her words hurt, they're true, but they still hurt.

No, they don't just hurt, they tear me apart and I've never craved to be back in my bedroom on Hosnian Prime so badly. Back when I was still a child, back when I was still young enough if I cried I knew someone would come to comfort me, whether it was her or Dad, or most often Ben. Back before everything went to hell, and I can't stop the tears from coming now.

She goes to take my hand again but I pull it away, shaking my head as I stumble back out of my chair away from her, my flight response taking over. "Hope!" she calls out as I head for the door. "Wait-"

I'm already out the door and halfway to the hanger when I slam into Poe Dameron as I round a corner, he catches my arm and goes to ask if I'm alright but I pull it free, not stopping to make conversation as I rush to find R2 so we can leave.

For good this time. 

#poe dameron #poe dameron x solo!oc #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x oc #sequel trilogy #poe dameron x original character #solo original character #skywalker original character #solo!oc #poe dameron x solo original character #star wars fanfiction #star wars original character #sequel trilogy fanfiction #poe dameron x f!oc #poe dameron x female original character

[ouranbutworse]

Anime-Manga Comparisons, episode 23.

You know Tamaki’s imagine spot that happens a few minutes into the anime after Kasanoda is threatened? In the manga it happens first, with the dinosaurs and volcano exploding and the waves crashing and him falling into space. And then we see Kasanoda’s syndicate worrying over him and deducing that he’s in love. With a boy! Gasp, shock and horror, etcetera. Kasanoda’s plucking a flower and finally accepts that Haruhi is, indeed, a girl, and then he cringes about how he’s a pervert and we get a flashback to earlier in the day when the club caught him.

The scene plays out the same in both, except because we already saw Tamaki’s mental anguish at the beginning; he's just a hollow shell of a man. Hikaru tells Kasanoda that they refuse to deal with him when he’s like that. Kyoya’s threat only extends to his own family and the families of the rest of the group, and the rose motif is a Tamaki exclusive in the manga, so he’s just accompanied by sparkles. The anime twins question if he’s in love, and anime Tamaki falls into space.

The anime has a more linear plotline, so instead of a back and forth between flashback to present, now we get to see the Kasanoda syndicate worrying over their master. I find it adorable that Tetsuya is accepting of him being gay. Ritsu’s imagine spot of Haruhi being cute and flirty is another anime exclusive. Renge does appear in the host club scene in the manga, but it’s another cameo for her, unlike in the anime where she’s kind of like the leader for the fans. It’s cute how the others come up to her with questions.

Haruhi serves tea, and the manga twins run in to literally tip over the cups, because they’re rude like that. They take a backseat in the anime to whine at Mother instead, who does nothing to assist. Manga Hikaru calls Kyoya stupid and a mongrel (in the anime both twins call him a money grubbing enabler), but gets away with this. Presumably. The anime adds an extra scene of the girls fawning over how in love Kasanoda is, and one girl calls Kurakano to come by and witness it, it’s a cute detail hinting that she stopped visiting the club because she got together with class president Kazukiyo.

Before the club can get to interfering, there’s a cute little scene in the manga of Ritsu and Haruhi, he expresses concern about Tamaki, who’s still shellshocked and has the club and guests circling him, and then he questions if Haruhi is really alright with the hosts, because they’re so different to her. Haruhi tells him they’ve been really nice to her, gifting her things like a bracelet with miniature photos of them all on it (which she says is too nice for her to wear),sending a fancy ham to her, with a chef to cut it! (which she couldn’t enjoy because she was so shocked) and Tamak giving her free tickets for ‘pats on the head’ and ‘carry the bride rides’ (the second of which I’m sure he’ll do in the future)

Kasanoda asks if she’s confused, and she admits she is, but she feels better now. And then the twins toss Tamaki her way. It’s basically the same scene, but he walks and talks like a robot in the anime, and in the manga he’s just in a daze. Also he doesn’t inflate like a balloon, deflate like a balloon, and then get caught by Honey like a wet sock in the manga, he just faints backwards and the group (minus Kyoya) catch him and drag him off to recuperate.

His realisation scene (should I put that in quotations if he goes back on everything by the end?) also goes the same, except we have to see that fucking carriage again. These last three episodes may kill me at this rate. Anime Kaoru has the incredible power to manifest small jack-o-lanterns into his waiting hands when faced with words of extreme stupidity.

Haruhi accidentally rejects Kasanoda in the same way in both, and crushes poor Ritsu’s heart by just being her sweet, simple self. At least it gets him a lot of other, snivelling friends.

While Kyoya reassures Tamaki, in the anime the scene’s left off with him staring out at Haruhi, but in the manga he’s easily reassured and laughs it off, and Kyoya thinks he’s an idiot. We also see some male classmates befriending Kasanoda, and his syndicate supporting his romantic aspirations. We never see them all playing kick the can, but we sure do in the anime, as we see Tamaki kick that can again (I assume it hits Akira Komatsuzawa again, too), and Kasanoda goes off to count while Tamaki takes Haruhi by the hand and they hide in the stone pavilion thing (no, I didn’t bother figuring out what it actually was since all the way back in episode fourteen) and they’re intruded upon by the twins and Kyoya, I assume since they’re all bratty siblings that’s why they’re fine squeezing into the pavilion together just to stop Tamaki from being alone with Haruhi. The twins also do a cute giggle in response to Kyoya disagreeing with Tamaki.

Mori and Honey’s conversation happens in a tree in the anime, but as a simple observation in the clubroom in the manga, as they watch the others talk with Kasanoda, who’s visiting again. They’re kind of like omnipotent observers. Honey makes the same points in each, about Hikaru and Tamaki, and then Kaoru and Kyoya. I get what he actually means, but I always think he’s implying feelings between Kaoru and Kyoya, especially since we don’t see any Kaoru feelings towards Haruhi in the anime. Anime Honey also wonders if anything big is going to happen before they graduate, while in the manga he just wonders if there’ll be any progress on the relationships before that happens.

Finally, we see the others squabbling and shoving, and Haruhi tells them that she doesn’t belong to anybody. We’ll see, hun.

Episode 23… what comes nex- OH GOD NOT THAT EPISODE!

#ohshc #ouran high school host club #manga tag #comparisons series

[ofainur]

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ pre corrupt!vanimóre ⠀〳 navëquen⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. eager to see his counterpart for being tardy — the last thing vanimóre expected was to be standing there, caressing his hair

· ⊰ note. I'm so obsessed with these two please. if you want to know more about navëquen, check out this post. he is my darling friend @cilil 's oc, the maia and attendant of námo ~ I love him so much<3 I thought I'd give these two some fluff since their story absolutely breaks me

♡. — 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅

‘Where could that pesky creeps be?’ 

Raking a hand through dark hair, Vanimóre groans from the strain in his legs and arms — still heavy with the weight of lingering sleepiness. He has always been the ‘slacker’ of the two, as Navëquen put it. In Vanimóre’s humble opinion, his counterpart was a workaholic and thus made him look bad in comparison. He took breaks when needed and indulged in slumber; many would assume he was the Maia of Irmo rather than older Fëantur. 

That aside, Vanimóre now scoured for his other half with pursed lips and a small irritation in his crimson eyes. Navëquen was typically the first one sitting in their shared office. However, upon entering the other found him nowhere to be seen. Granted, it was rather early but was the creep not uselessly good at his job? One would expect him to be there in that blasted, favourite chair of his at the onset of a new day. 

‘Maybe he is still sleeping?’ The thought crosses his mind as he approaches a particular cobblestone corridor. A tickle pricks at his fëa. A brief tug. A melody seeping into his own. Vanimóre thus glances in the direction of this allure and realises the aforementioned Maia’s room is right down the corridor. He must still be there — their bond tells him so. 

“Hypocrite. You’re still in your fifth dream I bet.’’ Clicking his tongue he steers his steps down the hallway and makes a beeline for the room. To think, the one time he shows up early the criticising voice that always buzzes in his ear is in fact late. Oh, Vanimóre simply could not let him live this down. He’d do anything to drive both his colleague and closest friend up the wall. Even if it resulted in the other giving him the silent treatment for a few good hours. It mattered not to Vanimóre, he knew that Navëquen couldn’t resist him for long. 

“Creeps!”

His voice echoes the hallway as long-nailed fingers wrap around the doorknob and fling it open carelessly. Hoping to startle the Maia awake and witness his spout of dishevelled panic. Eager to tease the poor thing on being ‘tardy’ when in reality neither of them was to start shift yet. 

Yet that was not the sight that awaited Vanimóre’s eyes. At the far end of the room stood a man. Tall and of fair face. In front of a silver, full-length mirror with a brush in hand and viridian ribbons wrapped around his wrist. It took a second for Vanimóre to recognise this man as Navëquen. Which many would deem strange at first — but the reasoning behind it was far too valid. For not only did Vanimóre behold his closest friend in a dishevelled state, but with his hair, which was typically fastened in a tight braid without a strand out of place, now framing his stunning — ahem. . . pale face. 

Ebony tresses lay loose and extend down to his waist. Messy, yet perfect in every way. It was certainly a rarity to see Navëquen’s hair open, let alone a little all-over-the-place. But coupled with those deep grey eyes and his porcelain-like face staring back at him, Vanimóre could only find one word to describe him in this moment. 

‘Gorgeous.’ 

“Vanimóre — How many times have I told you to knock?”

The spluttering tugs him from his brief haze and only then does Vanimóre take notice of the flustered, almost panicked expression spread across Navëquen’s face. His cheeks give away his embarrassment with a soft pink tint and Vanimóre cannot help but think it adorable. 

“Ah, when do I ever listen to you?” He coughs, hoping that his own cheeks did not mirror the blush of the other. Nevertheless, he attempts to brush it off with his typical, sharp-toothed grin. Yet it trembles, and barely reaches the likes of a smile as he takes a small step forward. “I was wondering where you were. I arrived early only to see that you’re slacking off.’’ He chuckles at the click of tongue he receives in response and watches as Navëquen shuffles back to the mirror. Ignoring — or at least trying to ignore — his presence. 

An awkward silence sets upon them like a heavy sheet. Neither Maiar utter a word despite stealing each other small glances through the mirror; if only to avert their eyes swiftly once caught. Vanimóre fumbles a little, taking a gander at the door and wondering whether he should head back to their office. Instead, his own words betray him as he takes another step towards the chest of drawers displaying the mirror. 

“Would you like some help?”

The question stiffened Navëquen’s brushing movements and struck a lump in Vanimóre's throat. Grey meets crimson through the reflective glass and for a few, silent seconds, they aimlessly stare at one another. Pink faces and surprised expressions galore. 

“. . . Or I could just —”

“Yes.’’ 

Vanimóre swallows the lump in his throat at the acceptance of his offer. His fána moves on its own accord and he soon finds himself directly behind Navëquen who continues to eye him through the mirror. “Alright then,’’ Vanimóre mutters, motioning to the seat in front of the vanity, waiting for Navequen to adhere to his instruction before he takes a hold of the dark locks. 

So soft, he almost mutters, but manages to bite his tongue at the last second. For awhile he gently rakes his fingers through the silky strands — if only to be handed the brush. 

“Ah,’’ he blushes. “Sorry. Forgot about that.’’ Chuckling to quell his own fluster, Vanimóre sets to work on brushing through long hair. Admiring each and every inch of it. So soft, silk-like. . . stunning. It felt as though he was holding his breath for the entire styling process and had to practically scold himself to set the brush down and actually fasten the hair into its signature braid. 

Much to the surprise of the common eye, Vanimóre was expertly skilled in the art of hair-styling. He recalls the number of times his little sister would run to him with pink ribbons and dazzling eyes. Tugging at his sleeves and begging him to try a new style she had learnt of. All those times of endless brushing and ribbon fastening paid off. Vanimóre recounts that she too preferred her hair in a braid, so it was something he could do blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back. 

From the corner of his vision he sights the faint specks of pink on porcelain skin. A quick stolen glance would confirm that Navëquen was indeed still blushing. 

‘How cute.’ He smiles to himself. If not only to immediately mentally reprimand himself. ‘Damnit, Vanimóre. Would you give it a break? His heart’s not yours.’ 

The smile on his lips falters at the reminder — only emphasised when he takes the viridian ribbons from around Navëquen’s wrist and works on fastening them into the braid. The soft silk of the ribbons felt like a burn on his fingertips. For he knew what this specific colour choice represented. Their lord’s preferred colour.  A certain swell spreads throughout his chest, and Vanimóre is unable to stop his sigh which escapes into the air. 

“What’s the matter?” Navëquen’s quick question prompts him to curse at himself as he finishes the braid off with a neat, viridian bow at the end. “It’s nothing.’’ Vanimóre quips and brings his gaze back to the mirror where pools of grey await him. The arch of a brow and the shine of disbelief tells him that Navëquen was not so easily fooled. He should be aware of that. Navëquen knew him well.

Navëquen knew him most. 

“It’s just. . .’’ releasing the braid, Vanimóre cannot escape the awaiting eyes of his counterpart. With another sigh, he shakes his head. “I was just thinking that you actually look quite. . . pretty,’’ a brief pause. “With your hair down.’’ 

‘Why do I feel like this? It's just a braid.’

Red not only shined itself on Navëquen’s face but on Vanimóre’s as well, and the latter immediately backs off and starts making his way towards the door with a few coughs. “Anyway, I’ll see you back at the office. Lord Namo’s probably already looking for us.’’ Escaping not only his own embarrassment, but his true feelings once more — Vanimóre scampers out of the room without another word, leaving Navëquen all by his lonesome. 

Cheeks still burning with blushes, Navëquen timidly glances back at the mirror. His hair was back to its average stature — yet something felt different. The warm, fluttering feeling within him told him so.

Subconsciously, he shifts the braid over his shoulder and glances at the Maia’s handiwork. Not too bad, he thinks before bringing his gaze to the mirror once more.

Was that a smile?

He blinks. 

Indeed it was. One that only grows with fondness as he relives the recent encounter. . . Who knows when he’ll bring himself to unfasten his hair again. 

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#— ꒰🌸꒱ 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒔 ៸៸ vanimóre ❀˙ ˖ #vanimóre #vanimore #navëquen #navequen #navëmóre #vanimóre / navëquen #vanimóre x navëquen #the silmarillion #tolkien #tolkien oc #the silmarillion oc #ainu oc #maia oc #writing

[sigyns-drafts]

This is just another request but can I please ask for Thor with kianna komori

Like in this scenario he meets her during Ragnarok and ends up confessing his feelings but Adam intervenes and refuses and kianna

( also this is an au where Adam wins against the Zeus)

Doesn't say a word but agrees with Papa Adam because she knows Papa Knows Best and if it means walking away from someone that she loves then so be it since she doesn't want to get hurt again and because Papa Knows Best

A/N: Hello, yes of course! I'd love to take another request, we love some protective Papa Adam!! ✨😼

Papa knows best 🤍

Adoptive daughter of Adam OC x Thor

➩ During the second round of Ragnarok, as Thor watches from afar at the fight. A young mortal woman caught his eye, filled with only worry for her father Adam. The woman was dressed in so much white it was almost hard for Thor to look away.

And worse enough, fate had decided that he would finally feel something he had never felt before, was this love? After the fight is over and Adam triumphantly wins. While the gods are outraged Thor walks off, promising he'll only check on the girl he had seen.

➩ Reader type: OC x RoR!Thor

⚠: Rejection to love confession, a parent rejecting their child's love intrest, a character being badly injured, overprotective father.

In the midst of Ragnarok's chaos, Thor, the god of thunder, found himself face to face with Kianna Komori, a mortal girl dressed adorned with white roses in her dark brown hair and along her long flowing dress as well.

Bows and jewels of the matching colors of the purest color. That is probably why the thunder got had noticed her in the first place.

She stood out amidst the fights between God and men, the poor girl watching with worry in her golden eyes as her father, Adam father of humanity fought for his children.

She prayed that he would emerge safety as the blonde man fought Zeus out of all the gods and eventually.. He had won!

Their eyes met when Kianna started to cheer, tears falling down her cheek. Something stirred within Thor's heart, it made him feel something he had never felt before, not for someone like her..

After the fight ended, Thor did something that was very much unlike him.

While the gods were outraged that they had lost the second round, Thor distanced himself and went to go find this woman he had met eyes with.

He swore he just wanted to make sure everything was alright, nothing more.

Kianna and her mother Eve, together with her two older brothers had just visited their father and husband heal up within a strange glowing tube.

The breathing mask and many wires that were attached to him was a difficult sight.

So much so Kianna needed to step outside for a bit, despite what she had just seen and experienced, she couldn't have been more relived on her fathers behalf.

It was just a very overwhelming situation..

"Are you alright, mortal? This battle is fierce and can be difficult to watch.."

Thor spoke quietly as he approached the shorter woman, larger in comparison to her.

Kianna turns quickly to face the long red haired man and jumps slightly, her heart beating hard and her eyes widening.

She wondered why a god like her was even here at this time?! Why was he so concerned about her out of all people?

"I... I'm fine. Just trying to calm down after what I've just witnessed.."

"During these times, that is nothing compared to the bloodshed I've seen.

But fear not, for I shall protect you with all my might if you wish me to.."

"Protect me..?" Kianna questions, blushing slightly at this random offer.

As Thor extended his mighty hand to Kianna, a voice echoed from behind, halting their moment.

It was Adam, Kianna's adoptive father who had emerged from his healing station, his threatening gaze stern and protective!

Still covered in bruises, injuries he halts over to them, dragging himself with all his strength. "Stay back, Thor. My daughter's safety is not your concern."

Chaos could be heard coming from inside the labs where Adam had been resting not long ago, the screams of panic from Eve and his sons could be heard, realizing he was missing.

But Adam had to care later!

Thor raises an eyebrow and grunts, having not expected Adam a mere mortal to be up and going after such a fierce fight. Barely anyways as his state hadn't improved a lot.

"But I mean her no harm..I only wish to ensure her well-being amidst all this.."

Adam lifts his arm and stands in front of Kianna to shield her.

Kianna herself being as shocked as her family at this point, barely had time to react!

"P-Papa what are you-!?"

"I appreciate your intentions, but Kianna's safety is my responsibility. She doesn't need to be involved with gods and their affairs."

Kianna embraced her father from behind and remained silent, torn between her affection for Thor and her loyalty to Adam.

Thor realizing Adam was going to be in the way of them ever speaking together again, for the first time in his life did something on impulse! He needed to reveal his confession!

"Kianna, I must confess something to you. Amidst all of this, I have found myself drawn to you in ways I cannot explain.."

Kianna's heart raced at Thor's words, but she dared not speak, knowing her father's disapproval was for certain.

Yet, she found the thunder god to secretly be such a sweet guy for offering himself to protect her, when they didn't even know each other. It was a rough situation.

Adam having heard enough grew inpatient and turns to Kianna, grabbing a hold of her, only for the poor girl to be holding him up so that he would not collapse onto the floor.

"Enough you cruel god.. Kianna, we must leave and go back inside." The man groans, trying to stand up and lead them.

"Papa please, you didn't have you do this to yourself!" Kianna expressed with worry.

She nodded obediently at her fathers words, her eyes betraying her inner turmoil as she reluctantly turned away from Thor.

Thor watched as Kianna and Adam disappeared into the lab rooms again, a heaviness settling in his chest.

He knew this had been a bad idea at the start and that he had to let her go, for her own safety and happiness.

As Kianna walked beside Adam, she stole a glance back at Thor as he too turned around and was about to walk off, barried within his own dark and deep thoughts.

Kianna's heart was heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

But she trusted Adam's judgment, believing that he knew what was best for her, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness and possible future life she could've had with Thor.

After all, Papa knows best.

#writing #record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #angst #rejection #cannon x oc #ror thor #snv thor #ror thor x oc #snv thor x oc #protective father #ror adam #snv adam