#;; { going back to the classic headers... i missed them }

[cellythefloshie]

;; I Want Your Midnights     𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 from cellythefloshie

Summary: You and Jeremy are forced to ring in the new year together after you find yourself stuck in an elevator. Inspired by that time Swayman got stuck in an elevator. Kinks & TW: getting stuck in an elevator, new years kiss, forced proximity. Word Count: 2.2k

New Year's Eve was always a time you reserved for family. So when your brother invited you to his home in Boston to celebrate, you jumped at the opportunity. But you didn’t realize what exactly you were getting yourself into. 

You arrived at his Boston apartment, dressed in a silver mini dress that rivaled a disco ball, a pair of new-years themed sunglasses on your face and a wine bottle in each hand. You had every intention of getting wine drunk and taking drunken pictures with your soon to be sister-in-law. But when you walked in the door to a crowded apartment filled with your brother's teammates among their family and friends, you hid your frown behind a forced smile. You would have to be on your best behavior, or at the very least, try to be.

But you could only tolerate the crowds, the watered down drinks and the fake smile you wore on your lips for so long. You wanted nothing more to be yourself, but you couldn’t. Not with the entire team there. As a promise to your brother, you needed to keep up appearances as his sweet baby sister. But you could only uphold the face for so long. Your cheeks quickly began to age from your fake, forced smile and the air in the room felt so thick it was suffocating around you. Your finger traced along the chain of your necklace as you took in a quivering breath. You needed some time alone – somewhere away from the laughter, the chatter, and the clincking of champagne glasses. So you grabbed your coat and found yourself outside, alone. 

Compared to the party inside, the streets were quiet. The occasional car would rush through the slush on the streets before disappearing into the city and leaving nothing but the swirl of snowfall in the air. You pulled your coat tightly around your dress, your hands resting at the collar to protect your bare neck from the icy wind. You stood there under the amber glow of the streetlight; the snowflakes danced softly around you like a scene of a snow globe. You smiled at the feeling of the flakes hitting your cheeks, their chill melting away when met by the heat of your skin. Looking up at the sky, you admired how the moon hung high and bright in the skies, waiting for the kiss of fireworks to grace it. At that moment, the world felt calm, like holiday magic was in the air before it would become lost at the dawn of the new year. 

A single hand left your neck to dip into the warmth of your pocket. Frigid fingers wrapped around your phone, bringing the screen to life with a "fingerprint doesn’t match" message dancing at the bottom of the screen. Normally the message would annoy you, but you only needed to see the time–it would be midnight soon.  

Your heels slipped on the icy Boston sidewalks as you shuffled back into the apartment lobby. The door was cold against your shoulder as you leaned into it to push it open, not wanting to remove your hand from the warmth of the pocket, and you stomped your feet on the wet mat on the floor. Each impact made a squish of dirty water with each step that was almost more slippery than the ice outside. And it was just as slippery to walk on in your heels as you noticed the elevator doors closing. You weren't waiting for the elevator to come back down if you didn’t have you, so you rushed to it with quick steps, your hand shooting out of your pocket and between the closing doors. For a moment, you thought the door might crush your hand, but when they parted instead and you saw who was already inside, but you quickly found that you wished it had. 

Standing there, still draped in his coat, and large flakes of snow in his hair was one of your brother’s teammates looking like the male lead of a Hallmark holiday movie. Jeremy. Fucking. Swayman. 

“I’m just going to take the stairs,” you muttered, taking a step away from the elevator. Your hand slipped away, but Jeremy’s hand quickly took its place to keep the doors from closing. 

“It’s a quick ride up,” Jeremy spoke, his voice warm yet teasing as he looked at you with a soft smile. “You’ll only have to tolerate me for 15 floors.”

For a moment, you stood dead in your tracks, looking at him through your lashes in what you were sure was a glare. It was no secret that you and Jeremy hadn’t exactly hit it off the first time you had met and it was to no fault of his own. It was very much the opposite. Jeremy was practically perfect. Handsome. Successful. Impossibly nice. He was the kind of guy your parents wished you would bring home, and that was the very reason you couldn’t tolerate breathing the same air as him. 

You in the phase of your life that you were stuck being drawn to all the wrong things–bad boys, late nights and relationships that went nowhere because the fuckboys ghosted you before you could catch feeling. Men like that paired so perfectly with your desire for loud music and a taste for expensive wine. Jeremy was the very opposite of all that, and because of that deep down,in a place you kept hidden away in the subconscious of your mind that only just the right of alcohol could unlock, you knew that if you let yourself, you could easily fall in love with Jeremy Swayman. But falling for someone like him felt too risky–like too much potential for heartache. 

Sighing, surely loud enough for Jeremy to hear, you stepped into the elevator with nothing more than a nod of acknowledgment. Then you stood there straight and stiff, your hands coming together to wring at one another as you stared straight ahead at the elevator doors. You watch your distorted reflection as the elevator traveled up, only to look away when you felt the elevator lurch. It sent your stomach into your through, your heart skipping a beat as you looked up to the numbers at the top elevator. If the dim light of the numbers were any indication, the two of you were stuck somewhere between the 9th and 10th floors. 

Narrowing your gaze, you looked at Jeremy, who was looking right back at you, but he was no longer smiling. He wore the same concerned expression as you. 

“You’re not fucking with me, are you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice from cracking. 

“Afraid not,” he replied, his tone serious.

Panic hit you like the crash of a wave. It overtook you in a heat that left you sweating, and the air around you felt hard to breathe in. Quickly, in an attempt to relieve the suffocating panic, you shrugged off your coat and let it drop to the ground. Without its weight on your shoulders, you reached a hand out and pressed each button. When the first didn’t get it moving, your movements became more frantic. Each button was alight like a holiday tree, but not a single one of them got the elevator moving again. Stumbling back, your back hit the wall of the elevator that suddenly felt smaller. 

You had completely forgotten Jeremy was there, stuck with you, until you felt each of his hands as they cupped your cheeks. His sudden touch was warm, comforting even, as you heard his soft words in the deafening quiet of the elevator. Jeremey’s words were soft as he walked you through your breathing, anxious gasps for air quickly calming into steady breaths with his guidance. It left your eyes shutting, your hands coming up to grasp at his wrists to ground yourself with him for a moment. You leaned into his touch, focused on the warmth of his hands, and welcomed the calmness of his voice. 

Only with his help did your panic subside. 

“Thank you,” you offered quietly. “Does your phone have any signal in here?”

A single hand dropped away from your cheek. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he had looked at his phone. You could hear his sigh leave his lips. He had no signal. Dropping to your knees, you let your eyes fall on your coat. Digging into your coat pocket, you found your phone only to find the same. 

“Well, that’s about as useless as a brick,” you groaned, your hand wrapping around it tightly until your knuckles were white. You wanted to throw it. Let it bound off the elevator walls and leave its screen broken as it lay on the ground–but it would solve nothing, so you just let yourself slip to the ground fully, sitting there on your jacket to keep your ass from getting wet, and sat there defeated. 

You watched as Jeremy pressed the emergency button, waiting for the elevator to come to life with its ring, but there was no call. No connection. Just a droning ring that left your heart racing with panic once more. 

“Let’s hope someone hears that,” he says, his tone becoming heavy with the realization that help might not be coming. 

“If it stops, we will keep ringing it,” you suggest, your voice uneven and shaky. “Someone will notice we’re missing eventually, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Jeremy nodded, offering you another soft smile as he took off his coat and laid it out on the floor next to you. 

Jeremy’s body slid against the back wall until the two of you were sitting side by side in silence. You waited for the ringing to fade before you reached out and pressed the button again. You took turns pressing it every few minutes until. It didn’t take long for the efforts to feel useless and the silence to grow heavy between you. It was then the small talk began. 

“Are you having a good season?” You asked him slowly, your head lulling to the side to look at him. 

Jeremy smiled, and you noticed his shoulders rock as he let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, it’s good, but you knew that.”

You watched a fair share of their games, you couldn't deny that. Not that you watched every game, you had a life outside your brother’s hockey career. Nodding slowly, you let your hand slip down to your phone; the screen illuminating the space between you with its light and the time was blatantly on the screen. Midnight was minutes away, and that fact sent your heart sinking a little. So much for ringing in the new year with family and friends.

“Hot date waiting for you?” Jeremy asked, his tone teasing but gentle. 

“Nope,” you sighed, your head shaking slowly, “just me and a bottle of champagne. You?”

He grinned, a twinkle of mischief that resembled the one you had so often gleaming in his eyes. “It’s just you and me in here, isn’t it?”

Smiling, you looked from side to side playfully, as if someone were hiding in the small elevator. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Swayman.”

“Call me Jeremy,” he insisted, and suddenly your stomach was fluttering with butterflies. 

Your skin flushed with heat, this time for all different reasons that panic. Biting down on the inside of your cheeks, you tried to distract your mind from the feelings that were creeping up on you. You took a deep breath in, and averted your eyes down to your phone screen. 11:59. 

The seconds were ticking down to midnight, and you could feel Jeremy’s eyes on you. You told yourself not to look up, feeling in the very air what would happen if you did. But the moment the clock on your phone struck midnight, your eyes had found him and the air between you shifted. There was no fear or panic of being stuck in the elevator for a moment, there was only the fixation of Jeremy’s lips as he leaned in and pressed his lips to your. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but when your hands raised to grip at the collar of his shirt, his hand came up to cup your cheek. The kiss deepened, and you lost yourself in the warmth of his lips and how he tasted as you parted your lips and welcomed his tongue. It had been enough to make you shudder; the kiss striking electricity to you like a bolt of lightning that sent you recoiling at the realization of what you were doing. 

But as you pulled back, it wasn’t regret you were feeling, nor was it shame. There was a lingering excitement that confirmed all your worries to be true. As desperately as you tried not to let it happen, you were falling for Jeremy Swayman. Choking back your pride, you pressed up onto your knees, ready to lean in for another kiss–

Sudden movement from the elevator sent you lurching back from Jeremy and your neck snapping back to look up at the lights as they illuminated the number ten. Then, with a loud ding, the elevator doors parted, flooding the dimly lit space with light. Squinting your eyes, you welcome the sight of a group of firefighters, your brother, and several party guests staring at the two of you. You should have been relieved to see them, but all you could feel was embarrassment, as on Jeremy’s lips was clearly your own lipstick.

TAGLIST: @mp0625 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @kurlyteuvo , @couldawouldashoulda50 , @hagelpoint-3821

[joelmillerswife9]

Sunday Rides

Summary: You and your biker boyfriend Joel go on a picnic that ends with the two of you making love in the rain 🙈💕Reader is 29 Joel is 36

I loved writing this and I hope you love it as well! Also, I do have a header for this, but I’m posting on my phone and I’ll upload it when I’m in front of my computer.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Kissing. S*x in public, pet names, cursing, no apocalypse, Joel rubs tanning lotion on reader.

“You know I’m such a fool for you..

You got me wrapped around your finger…

Do you have to let it linger….

Do ya have to.. do ya have to….”

The soft rhythm of The Cranberries mixed with the occasional radio static roams along the peaceful house. You hum the melody as you stir a freshly made pitcher of strawberry lemonade, Joel’s favorite. You pour the tangy refreshment into two mason jars and seal the lids on tight. Placing them at the bottom of the red cooler backpack, you check off items Joel told you to prepare.

“Okay..” Counting with your fingers, you make sure nothing is missing.

“Lemonde… sandwiches… fruit cups… utensils ... suntan lotion… sunglasses…Joel said he will bring towels… that’s everything”

You maneuver the items into the pack and set it on the wooden kitchen island. The clock ticks 10:50, Joel said to be ready for a surprise at 11. Cleaning up the counter of dirty knives and crumbs, a young vibrant voice flows along the radio speaker:

“Good mornin’ to all you hunnies soakin’ in the warm Texas sun and good vibes on this gorgeous Sunday morning. Whether you’re still in bed or out and about, we hope you stick around listenin’ to 95.9 TXRadio! We’re gonna continue our 90’s throwback party after these messages and when we come back we’ll tell you how to land tickets to that upcoming Kenny Chesney concert in Dallas, so don’t turn that dial!!”

After wiping the counters and sweeping the floor, you patter up the stairs to grab for sandals and a pair of sunglasses. You choose a pair of red flip flops to match your cherry patterned bikini, that hugs your body under your high waisted denim shorts and white baby tee. Grabbing the heart shaped sunglasses to complete the look, you pull your curls back in a cute half up half down style. It’s very reminiscent of those 1950’s pin up models you idolized as a young girl. You can’t help but feel like a classic beauty as you glance at your reflection in the mirror applying coconut flavored lip gloss. You’re sparkling from the inside out. After sporting one last look in the mirror, the doorbell rings from downstairs.

“Coming!” you sing out into the open.

Darting down the stairs, you swing the front door open to find Joel leaning his body up against the old door frame. You’re taken back by the look he’s modeling; aviator sunglasses that put Maverick to shame, a tight black t-shirt that accentuates every bulging muscle in his arms and torso with a denim jacket to compliment, and blue bootcut jeans that make his meaty thighs look irresistible. Unable to calculate syllables, you yank Joel by the shirt pulling him out of the unforgiving Texas heat. Your lips smack onto each other like a tidal wave, Joel moans sucking the short lasting gloss off your bottom lip.

“Mmmmm… ya taste good, kitten”

“Thank you” You mutter snaking your arms around his cozy neck bringing him closer.

If he hadn’t planned a schedule, Joel would have hoisted you over his shoulder for a quick shag in the living room. But, the weather was calling for afternoon rain showers so ya’ll needed to get a move on. Leaving one last kiss on your swollen lips, he pulls away. Immediately, you feel the withdrawal growing from the distance of his touch and mouth.

“Did you get everything, kitten?”

“Yes I did” nodding in agreement.

“Good girl” he says, delivering a peck on your forehead. He follows you into the kitchen where the cooler pack rests on the island. Slinging it over your back like it’s nothing, Joel grabs for something in his back pocket.

“Before we go, I need you to put this on. It’s part of the surprise” In his palm lies a wrinkled bandana. Cocking your head, you grasp the cloth placing it over your eyelids. Turning around, Joel hums an unfamiliar tune while his digits tie a small knot.

“Too tight?” A phrase he’s asked before in the bedroom. You nod your head no. All of the other senses go haywire wondering what this surprise could be. Interlacing his fingers between yours, Joel guides you down the hall. The front door creaks open, the warm breeze tickles at your skin.

“Alright darlin, we’re steppin’ out onto the porch.. I got ya”

Not letting go of your hand Joel guides you, “Alight, keep walkin’... one step… and another.. good girl… just a few more steps.. okay, kitten take it off”

Sliding the cloth over your curls, you squeal in excitement. Parked in the driveway, a red and black Harley Davidson Classic glistens in the sunlight. It resembles the motorcycle that old Hollywood star Marlon Brando rode in your favorite film, The Wild One. The same movie that was showing at Daddy O's Drive-In when Joel brought you there for a first date. He knew you appreciated the classics and in that moment, you could see his heart of gold under the rustic cowboy persona. Nuzzing into the front seat of his pick up truck, you watched the film while feeding each other reeses pieces (his choice) and sweet tart ropes (your favorite). Joel didn’t care much for the film, he was more invested in watching the excitement in your bright eyes; how they darted at the fast motorcycles zigzagging on the screen. He loved the way your teeth grazed your bottom lip at the sight of Marlon Brando. He loved that you appreciated the simplicity of life.

Tears well up around your eyelids; Joel did all of this out of love and appreciation for you.

“You like it?” Joel questions wrapping himself behind you.

“Like? I love it, Joel! Where did you find it?”

“Remember the rancher on Elmer Street that Tommy and I have been working on? Well, we found it abandoned in an old shed and I’ve been fixin’ it up for a couple of weeks. After a few adjustments and a upgraded paint job, she’s good as new”

“Joel,.. I- it’s amazing. Can we go for a ride?” you ask.

“That’s the plan, kitten. Hop on” giving a little smack to your butt you waste no time. Straddling the seat behind Joel, the hot leather stings your thigh but you don’t even care. You’re bursting to get out on the road. Joel adjusts the mirrors, your heart-shaped sunglasses block your bright eyes, but nothing could hide the enthusiasm oozing out of your smile.

“You ready my little highway queen?” Joel asks, sticking the key in the ignition.

“I was born ready, baby” there was a hint of arousal in your tone. You're aching for him to rev the engine.

One click, and the engine purrs like a kitten sending shockwaves between your legs. Joel chuckles at the thought of you getting turned on by a machine. Slowly easing out of the driveway, Joel takes it easy through the neighborhood. Your hands enfold around his torso for support. Passing one house and another, the ride is smooth as honey. Out on the main road, Joel revs the engine a little harder, the vibration growls as it intensifies. A couple of traffic lights and stop signs, Joel gets off the exit heading away from town. That’s when the fun begins. No limits on the highway. It’s just you, Joel, and the open road. The motorcycle goes from 30- 90mph with a snap of your fingers and you grip tighter around him. You’ve never felt a sense of liberation like you do at this moment. The thrill wrenching through your veins is indescribable, but you want to chase it for the rest of your life. The mountains, the highway, the fields, it’s your playground. Joel’s palm finds yours and delivering a soft kiss on your skin. Through the heart shaped sunglasses, you get a glimpse of Joel in the mirror. His lips curved into a grin as his dark locks danced in the fast breeze. His aviators perched perfectly on his strong nose; he’s timeless to you. Moving your hands from his torso to his shoulders, you bring your lips closer to his neck. Brushing your mouth along his skin, you plant delicate kisses along his neck and ear. He twitches at the kitten lick around his earlobe.

“You’re gonna make me crash” he hollers.

Quoting a song from The Smiths, you croon in his ear, “To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die”

He shakes his head at your sense of humor. Revving the engine, Joel takes off on the blacktop. Mountains, street lines, everything passes before your eyes quicker than a lightning bolt. You feel invincible sitting behind Joel; you wonder if the ability to fly is possible. Tilting your chin to the sapphire sky, you inhale a taste of freedom. Without thinking, your fingertips slip away from Joel’s denim jacket along with your palms. Gracefully stretching your arms over your head, you have an urge to scream out into the universe to let the whole world know what you’re feeling. Taking in a deep breath, you let out a ferocious howl that echoes past the mountains.

“Let it out, babygirl,” Joel utters to himself, admiring you in the side mirror.

After 30 minutes on the road, Joel turns onto a bumpy dirt path that makes your body hop up and down. You can’t help but laugh at the titillating motion. A couple more zigzags and Joel parks the Harley. This was the real surprise.

“Oh.. Joel.. this is” you lift your sunglasses off your face to view the breathtaking landscape. Scenery like this could only be consummated from your daydreams or Van Gogh’s artwork. You blink twice to make sure it’s real. A crystal clear lake that stretches beyond the blue sky accompanied by a field of wild sunflowers swaying in the gentle gust. Mountains peak in the distance while the mockingbird chirps along the pink and green salix of a willow tree.

Joel leans into you brushing his scruffy beard across your cheek, “I know you’d like it. Cmon.. let’s get to explorin’”

Joel jumps off the bike and crotches down to the leather satchel on the side of the Harley. He grabs two towels and a polaroid camera. Placing his denim jacket on the seat, trails of sweat travel down his neck making your mouth water. He looks like a god in the blistering sun. Joel lends a hand out helping you off the machine. From the intense vibrations of the motor, your legs feel like jelly when you stand up. Walking off the numbness, you two walk down to the willow tree overlooking the lake.

“This is perfect” you say, placing the cooler pack in the shady region. Grabbing the picnic blanket from the side, the checkered red and white cloth stretches along the grass. You kick your flip flops on opposite sides to keep it from blowing away. While you set everything up, Joel struts towards the lake. Overlooking the mountains, you gasp at the sight of his shirt effortlessly being stripped from his solid core, over his tousled curls. The muscles in his back flex as he rolls the tension out of his shoulders. His sun kissed skin exposes a beautiful alignment of freckles along his shoulders and back. Hands in his pockets, he turns to you smiling behind the reflected aviators. Rising to your knees, you prance towards Joel at the edge of the water.

“How’s it goin?” he questions putting an arm around you.

“We’re all set up, captain”

Joel’s hand cups your face drawing you in for a kiss. There’s a taste of salt on his lips when your tongues collide, fueling your hunger for more of Joel’s affection. Jumping into him, he wraps your body around him pulling you closer. The baby tee slips over your head, Joel becomes feral at the sight of your cherry bikini top. A soft groan rumbles in his chest.

“You know what cherries do to me”

“That’s why I wore it” biting your lip grinning.

“C’mon.. Daddy’s starvin’” Joel throws you over his shoulder making you squeal. Planting a little smack on your bottom, he makes way to the willow tree. Laughing and kicking your legs, you playfully shout, “Don’t drop me”. Joel delicately puts you down and sits up on the blanket. Opening the pack, you assemble two mason jars of strawberry lemonade, homemade fruit cups assorted with berries and citrus fruits, and chicken salad sandwiches. His eyes widen at the sight of his favorite foods.

“This looks amazing babe, you made all my favorites” Joel praises removing his aviators from his face.

Even after four years, his eyes make your heart melt like a popsicle that’s been left out in the middle of the desert. While eating lunch together under the willow tree, you gaze out into the field of sunflowers. The tall yellow stems whip from one side to the other letting its grass honey aroma make its way to your picnic. You’d love to take some home to liven up the dining room.

“Do you mind if I go pick some flowers, Joel”

“Go ahead, darlin” Joel says, gnawing on a strawberry.

Grabbing a pair of cutting scissors from the pack you run along the hill to the sunflowers. Joel turns to watch; he smiles at how your curls bounce along the red strings of your bikini. There’s concentration in your hand motions like one little hiccup in your cutting skills could damage the flower. Snipping the flowers one by one, Joel grabs for his Polaroid. He adjusts the lenses and snaps a shot of you. The film snakes out at the bottom of the camera, it’s perfect. Joel stands to his knees making his way towards you; his boots making loud crunches on the tall grass. Bringing the camera to eye level Joel hollers, “Smile”. Right as you turn around the camera clicks. You laugh and bring the fresh cut flowers to your face, only your eyelids are visible.

Hands waving in the air you dramatically plead, “Paparazzi, please! No pictures!”

“Cmon, kitten. I can never have too many pictures of your gorgeous face”

Lost in his eyes, you bring the bouquet of flowers to his chest and smile. He brings the camera to his eyes, but pauses before snapping the picture. He inches towards you and brings the bouquet closer to your face, only showing your eyelids. Sweeping a piece of hair out of the way, his digit glides along the bridge of your nose.

“Stunning” he compliments.

“Stay right there. That’s perfect, baby girl” Joel says, getting the camera ready. Your eyes curve from the hidden smile on your lips. The camera clicks and the polaroid prints out at the bottom.

“Lemme see” you say, dropping the flowers to your waist.

The polaroid clears up, a silent “Wow” paints along Joel’s lips. He can never have too many photos of you, but this one is like no other. The natural beauty exudes off the film. Your eyes and skin glow in the sun, your hair rests perfectly on your shoulders. The photo is like a lost memory from the past, like a flower child from the 1960’s. You’re timeless in the photograph.

“It’s nice” you say.

“Nice? It’s exquisite, darlin’. Might have to send it in to one of those fashion magazines you’re always readin’ ”

Chuckling, you kiss his lips and guide him back to the willow tree. While walking Joel’s hands find your back.

“Oohh kitten, you’re lookin’ a little red. You bring sunblock?”

You nod yes. Back under the willow tree, you unzip a side pocket and reach for the suntan lotion. Joel takes it from your hands and tells you to sit in front of him. His fingers swift your hair out of the way; the lotion topper pops and Joel squeezes dabbles of lotion in his palm. Rubbing his hands together, Joel’s warm hands massage your toasty shoulders. Between the cool moisturizer and Joel’s digits kneading into your skin, your body arches into his touch. You’re like an addict when it comes to Joel because he doesn’t just touch; he explores you. Every cell in your body is electrified the minute his digits make contact with your flesh. His hands exude a combination of protection, warmth, and desire leaving you with an overwhelming crave. Popping a slice of kiwi into your mouth, you look out into the horizon. Your eyes flutter as Joel’s touch moves down your back to your waist.

“Hmm.. that’s nice, Joel”

His body moves closer to yours until his torso and chest are kissing up against your back. Wrapping his arms around your tummy, his face rests on your shoulders. A tickle from his beard makes you quiver. Reaching for his hand, you guide him along the crevices of your chest.

“Can’t have these pretty lil babies get burnt” Joel grabs the tanning lotion and drizzles the creamy liquid on your chest. Eyes closed, mouth slightly parted he feeds your addiction. Gently rubbing in the lotion, his hand slips inside your bikini top. His lips nibble the nape of your neck while his firm hands knead and thumb your breast. Teeth grazing your bottom lip, you pathetically whimper his name. Before long, gray clouds shade a way the sun, the wind shifts in an opposite direction.

“Let’s go for a swim, kitten,” Joel whispers in your ear. Breaking the sexual tension, you agree. Joel gets up while you adjust yourself on the picnic blanket. Throwing his boots off, Joel unbuckles his pants leaving him in his boxer briefs.

“Where’s your bathing suit?” you question.

Lacing his digits around his waistline he smirks, “I don’t remember putting that on the list”

The fabric falls from his thighs; he stands there naked as Michelangelo’s David.

“Joel! Someone’s gonna see you” you’re head swinging from side to side.

He laughs “Nobody around but us, darling.”

He walks down to the lake while you watch every muscle in his back flex. His gorgeous toned ass bopping around freely. Tagging along, your body bounces along the water creating little ripples. Splashing, swimming, and laughing; your bikini slings to your wet skin. Joel bites his lip at the view of your nipples poking through your top.

“C’mhere” Joel grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. Your legs wrap around his waist while his arms snake around your back. You lean back letting your curls kiss the water. Joel pulls you back up running his digits through your soaked hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, shaking his head. Cocking your head down your eyes flirt, but then your heart skips at the feeling of your strings being untied.

“Hey, what do you think you're doing?”

“What am I doin’?” he questions loosening the red string around your back. His fingers make their way to your neck playing with the second set of ties.

“Joel…” you whisper.

He hushes you with his lips, the ties come undone leaving you topless. The water temperature drops a couple degrees cooler as he slings the top over his shoulder. You look from side to side and Joel cups your face.

“Kitten, stop worryin’ so much. It’s just you and me. Focus on me..” the sentence ends with Joel’s mouth on yours. The tension settles and you do exactly what he says. All your focus is on him. One hand on his cheek while the other gets lost in his curls, you deepen the kiss. The taste of strawberry lemonade lingers on his tongue making you moan. Gripping onto his arm, you gasp at the feeling of his shaft brushing up against your bikini bottoms.

Joel’s hands cup your ass and you thrusts against his erection. “Take em off, Joel” you whimper. With one swoop, your bottoms strip away from your thighs; he tosses the garment over the same shoulder. Letting your body adjust to the cold temperature, Joel nuzzles his face into your neck making your heart race like the wind. His cock grows bigger as he feels your cunny close to him. Your crave for Joel is on overdrive.

“Joel… I---”

“Talk to me. What does my baby girl want?” he whispers along your collarbone.

“I.. aahh… I wanna ride you” you confess locking your digits into his curls.

“God I love you”, Joel growls. Steadying your thighs, you shriek his name while he enters your tight cunny. Inch by inch Joel’s cock fills your walls, making your nails claw into his skin. Catching your breath, you start rolling your hips into him creating ripples in the water. His big strong hands travel along your thighs and ass guiding you up and down on his shaft.

“J-Joel… God!” you shriek as you put more power into your thrusts. Stretching your chin to the gray sky, you sing out moans and squeals of pleasure. Lost in the sensation, a droplet of water plants on your nose, and then your forehead, and two more on your lips. The rumbling sound of thunder forces you to open your eyes. Before you two know it, Texas is downpouring on you feral little fiends.

“Good timing,” Joel laughs. The thunder, the rain, the rippling tide doesn’t stop you two. If anything, it adds to the excitement. You slick Joel’s hair back and kiss him hard on the lips.

“I have an idea.. Hold on to me” he commands. Grabbing onto his shoulders, Joel starts walking out of the lake and back to the willow tree. With his cock still inside your drenched cunny, you involuntarily continue thrusting and rolling your hips like your life depends on it. You body reacts like you could die if you stop feeling Joel.

“Mmm fuck, honey. This is a new move” he jokes as you continue riding him standing up. His firm hands on your ass making sure you don’t stop grinding; his slap makes your back arch. Finally making it to the picnic blanket, Joel lays you down on the soaked cotton. Soaked from head to toe, he follows the droplets of water dance on your skin. He kisses and licks every dribble of water that settles on your breasts to your tummy.

Roping your legs around his waist, you beg him to move. Teasing you at first, he sends a strong thrusts that makes you gasp in delight. His grinds grow deeper, your shrieks get louder, the rain continues to downpour. Like a shield, Joel’s body keeps you warm from the cold droplets.

“Ohhh Joel… Just like that” you pant, kissing his shoulders and massaging his back with your nails.

Grabbing his wrists, you place his hands around the side of your neck. Chin tilted to the sky, Joel grunts at how your skin gleams from the rainfall. He presses his hand lightly on your throat. A wicked smile curves along your lips feeling his mouth kiss and suck around your neck. You tug at his curls in encouragement.

“Joel.. I’m- getting close. You’re gonna…mmmmm…. make me come all over your thick cock” you hiss in his ear.

His hips snap into yours making you buck, but Joel’s strong hands grip onto your hip bone to keep you from squirming; you have no choice but to take all of him. Nails raking into Joel’s wet skin you endure every bit of pleasure he’s delivering inside your sweet cunny. Your sight grows hazy from hitting the peak of ecstasy.

“Come for me, kitten. I wanna feel you unravel on my cock. Mmm cmon, baby.. Come for me. Fuck.. be my good girl..”

He praises you with every thrust and grind until the most intense orgasm cripples every muscle fiber. You are drowning in immense pleasure, chanting over and over that you’re coming on his cock.

“Aaahh ff--fuck!” Joel grunts burying his face into your neck. Clenching your skin, Joel’s body shudders as his orgasm releases inside your warm cunny. Filling you to the brim, his hot seed starts dripping out of you. Your walls clench around him not wanting to let go. His breath echoes in your eardrums; you comfort him with delicate kisses around his shoulders and neck. Easing back from the high, you and Joel nestle into the afterglow. The rain starts to slow down, the salix from the willow trees protecting you both.

“That was amazing” Joel pants.

“You’re amazing”

As more time goes by, Joel agrees it’s time to go. Pulling clothes back on eachother’s bodies, you pack up the cooler and wrap the bouquet of sunflowers. Ready to hit the road, Joel questions, “Did you have a good day?”

“The best day ever”

One last kiss on the lips and Joel starts the Harley, the engine vibrations a little more intense the second time around. Back on the blacktop, Joel and you ride off into the Texas desert. The clouds part and the sun peeks through the gray sky. The perfect ending to the perfect day.

Tagging: @jazzy11scorpio @baronessvonglitter @littledes1re @pascalispunkczechia @katwriteshardy @joelsrose @foreveratlantica-blog @tateypots @mani-pedro @iamladyp @gothcsz @karaslqve @deaneatspie @xbeababyx

If I forgot to tag I’m sorry 😭❤️

[twilightsumu]

how to create a love story | k. akaashi

introductions: best friends kiss ALL the time

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ yn ln

♡ publisher - but hates her job. she wants to become a writer, specifically a mangaka

♡ does not know how to draw to save her life so never went through with it

♡ chronically online

♡ outgoing, loud, & kind

♡ her favorite party trick: reciting passages from classical literature

♡ you’ll find her randomly acting out trisha cappelletti’s monologue along with atsumu

♡ met atsumu & oikawa in college & quickly became best friends - iwaizumi & sakusa following behind

♡ shares an apartment with miya & sakusa.

♡ goes to iwaizumi for deep talks on life & relationships

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ t. oikawa

♡ lives three floors (with iwaizumi) below yn, miya, & sakusa

♡ casually brings up the kiss from the christmas party two years ago despite promising iwaizumi it won’t be talked about again

♡ chronically online - like so deep into reddit it’s scary what he randomly brings up

♡ volleyball coach at the local high school

♡ because of this he comes back talking like a fifteen year old

“do i have rizz yn?” “scale to skibidi to sigma, rate my rizz!” “gyatt!”

♡ plays dress to impress & has been trying to get everyone else to play.

♡ actually super close to atsumu

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ h. iwaizumi

♡ voice of reason in the gc

♡ stressed

♡ athletic trainer

♡ tries to drag everyone to the gym at least once a week

♡ one of drake’s top yearly listeners

♡ gets flustered whenever that christmas kiss is mentioned

♡ watches oikawa play dti and gets confused with the poses (specially pose 28)

“why the fuck do you keep posing like that!?”

♡ does not know why he is friends with them

♡ however, he is super protective of them

♡ oikawa hacked into his phone and gave him that header because he thinks iwaizumi is “so alpha male coded”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a. miya

♡ gets tricked by ai on facebook

“guys look, it’s a dog singing gangnam style!”

♡ unemployed (it’s just off season)

♡ big sexyredd fan!

♡ gives the worst advice

♡ has folders of memes

♡ gives the worst advice but he says it with so much confidence you follow along (idiots)

♡ buys the most random apartment shit

“roomies, you like this fish lamp? it supposedly smells like fish after being turned on for awhile!”

♡ is hurt when the thing he brought in is “missing” (kiyoomi threw it out)

♡ so damn clingy, is always touching yn and kiyoomi

♡ hates reading but is intrigued when yn talks about the new fanfic she’s reading

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ k. sakusa

♡ uses the group chat to judge.. everyone

♡ volleyball player, home for off season but has a part time job coaching volleyball

♡ lives for drama (especially when iwaizumi & oikawa gets into arguments)

“will you two shut up!? i hear the boyfriends arguing about the christmas party kiss.. again!”

♡ he saw the christmas kiss

♡ gives brutally honest advice

♡ the apartment’s maid

♡ hates physical affection

♡ actually loves that yn’s job allows her to bring home so many books; he sometimes reads them before she could get to them

♡ huge homebody, 99.5% of the time he doesn’t go out with the gc

taglist [open]: @nscuit, @porty, @accidentpronedork, @x3nafix, @vivian-555, @sexylexy12, @luvinazaki, @idontevenknow129, @folksmione, @thatmf-jay

©twilightsumu all rights reserved. please do not repost my work.

[cacoetheswriting]

celebrity skin. (part nine)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 4.6k summary: an album release forces some feelings and conversations — one thing's for sure though, Eddie will always be thinking about you.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of blackmail — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

“We are here this morning with a true music icon in the making, who’s hits like Compromising Positions and most recently Honesty took the world by storm. Now, Eddie Munson is just a few short days away from releasing his sophomore album with his Corroded Coffin bandmates, Assistance is Futile. Welcome to Eddie Munson everybody, yes!”

“Happy to be here, Charles.”

Good Morning America was definitely not the type of talk show the rockstar pictured himself ever getting invited on. He didn’t think his personal style, or the music he was putting out there with the band, would be something the producers would welcome. Considering especially the whole thing was televised live. No cuts, no edits, no take backs. Whatever is said remains out there forever. Quoted and interpreted until the next schmuck makes a fool of himself.

Hosts, Charles Gibson and Joan Lunden, were also known to be quite blunt with their guests. Blunt, but not in the rude sense of the word. Given their history on the network, their experience, they're simply good at what they do, which sometimes means effortlessly picking at a topic until they get a satisfactory reaction or better yet, television worthy answer. Of course there’s always a list of pre-agreed questions, carefully discussed with management and PR teams, but things have known to… slip out.

But Marianne trained him. Extensively. She flew out to New York the second this interview was arranged and spent hours in Eddie’s penthouse hotel room going over details that to most people, people not from this world, may seem minor: how to sit, how to smile, what to laugh at, the amount of seconds it should take him to answer a question. The list goes on. And now she was here, at the studio, to make sure Eddie saw a friendly face in the crowd. Someone to look at in case he got flustered at any point during the fifteen minute round.

“Before we get into the nitty gritty,” Joan begins, crossing one knee over the other, “Eddie, why don’t you tell us a little about how you and the band first got started?”

So Eddie talks. He’s charming as he tells the story, sparing a few details ‘cause he knows he doesn’t have a lot of time. He does however, crack a few jokes, including one about the list of names Gareth and Jeff brought to him one night before they all agreed on Corroded Coffin. Charles laughs before asking the next question about the band's success so far, and what he makes of it.

“Oh man, it’s so insane,” Eddie answers truthfully, “I still have days where I don’t think any of this is real. All of us in the band feel incredibly lucky, for sure.” He nods along as he speaks.

Joan and Charles take turns asking a few more general questions about the band plus the other members who couldn’t make it out today, before settling on the whole reason Eddie agreed to do this interview in the first place: promotion for the new album.

Assistance is Futile was a collection of songs about you — but that was not going to be an answer he gives today, accidentally or otherwise. Instead, the rockstar focuses attention on how the record was built. Technical language that he dumbs down slightly to make sure he’s continuously captivating his audience (Marianne’s advice). He tells them what instruments the group played around with that may not have featured on their last album, which was more classic rock than this new project. And he’s excited as he talks. Passionate.

He continues to lay out the facts. List the number of tracks it features, eleven plus two bonus songs on the extended version. He talks about the writing process, still carefully avoiding mentioning the influence. He won’t say he wrote them all during the aftermath of your breakup. He hasn’t even admitted that to you, despite the fact that you spent every waking moment together since the afternoon at Cove City Sound Studios. He knows he won’t be able to hide that for much longer, but until the album comes out and you hear the songs for yourself, he’ll keep it to himself because things have been so… great.

Sure, things weren’t back to normal. It can’t be the way it was until Eddie finds the time to speak with your management and nip this whole evil grandmother blackmail thing in the bud. At least he’s got you in some capacity. He gets to talk to you again, laugh with you. He gets to hug you, kiss you, touch you. Friends with benefits, or whatever the term is. Eddie’s just glad to be around you.

“Now, here at the studio, we got an exclusive, sneak peak listen to Assistance is Futile, and there’s a little bit of speculation between the crew about the meaning behind some of the songs.”

Boom. There it is. The dreaded topic. And it was going so well.

“Care to share where the inspiration for these lyrics struck you? Who, in particular, they might be about?”

Eddie smiles. “Give into the charade”, Marianne’s words ring in his ears, “But by any means, don’t confirm their suspicions”. Not an easy task. A slippery slope by all accounts. He ever so slightly glances in the direction of his manager who nods her head to show encouragement.

“Who do you think they’re about, Joan?” Eddie bounces the question back.

The presenter smiles. She knows she shouldn’t say. Yes, it would be good for ratings, but bringing up your name is not something that can be done lightly. She knows that. Hence why Joan hoped Eddie Munson wouldn’t be smart enough to avoid the initial question. But the rockstar’s been trained and he’s not about to mess up with two minutes to spare.

“Well, I’d say my friend Charles here. He’s got, what was that one lyric, legs for days and a wicked smile.” Joan deflects. Ever the professional.

The whole studio starts laughing. Eddie joins in, satisfied with the way this worked out. 

“You’d be right on the money there, Joan.” The rockstar nods with a wide smile before continuing, “Charles Gibson has been a constant inspiration for Corroded Coffin songs. There’s not a lot to do in Hawkins, where we grew up. Gotta write what you know and my uncle has an affinity for this show.” 

He turns to the camera to say hi to Wayne, “I know you’re watching.”

Then shifts to look at the hosts once more, winking at the gentleman sitting across from him.

“Charles, you sexy devil, you.”

The laughter continues. People start to clap, whistle along to Eddie’s perfectly curated response. Marianne is beaming with pride because for a brief moment, she didn’t think he could do it. There've been so many mishaps in the past, wild things the band — the curly-haired frontman in particular — have done that she’s had to either smooth over with the media or keep hidden from the public altogether. This morning she finally exhaled. He did well.

You’re laughing too. Feeling proud too as you watch him through your television screen, just like you promised Eddie you would.

Blanket covering your body, all the way up to your chin, as you sit comfortably on the couch. The smile on your face is as genuine as they come. He’s so good at this. Considering how nervous he was, how much time he spent with Marianne going over every possible scenario until his head hurt. You took a mental note to tell him later that he really had nothing to worry about. He’s a natural.

The question about his inspiration for the album didn’t surprise you. It’s pretty standard for these types of press junkets. Even more given the fact your relationship has been the talk of the town for months, especially when the two of you weren’t even together. People love to speculate.

When Eddie told you about the upcoming album, one night after you came down from another intense orgasm, you assumed he wrote about your relationship — especially the failures. Honesty came to the rockstar after only one night. Makes sense that a complete record would be next. He didn’t confirm it though, because you didn’t ask. You would know once it came out, when you purchased your own copy to listen through. Artists supporting artists, and whatnot.

“Corroded Coffin’s Assistance is Futile. Coming to a record store near you, this Thursday, October 14.” Charles Gibson announces, holding up a shiny compact disc to one of the cameras, showing off the album’s cover art: a thundering night sky, with something sinister looming inside the blood red clouds. An ode to the band's Dungeons & Dragons days.

“Eddie Munson, thank you for your time today.” Joan Lunden flashes a pearly white smile.

The rockstar returns the expression. “Thank you for having me.”

Backstage, Eddie gives Marianne a big hug. Thanking her for being here. While returning the embrace, she reassures him that’s never going to change. “Or at least until the contract ends,” his manager teases and ruffles his already wild hair before sitting down on the velvet sofa.

“So, tell me, am I flying back to LA alone?”

Eddie picks up a bag of previously opened Funyuns before leaning against the vanity. He shuffles the remainder of the onion-flavoured corn chips inside the plastic, then starts eating them, one by one.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging as if it was an obvious answer. “We’ve got the release party for the album. The guys would kill me if I missed it.”

“I’d kill you first.”

He smirks. “Then why ask me the question?”

Marianne gives him a pointed look. One that says, no, screams, he of all people should know why. Eddie got on a private plane to New York so he could “sort something out”, then ended up staying for weeks longer than intended with no explanation. Marianne called him at the hotel multiple times, asking for a return day, but he always gave a vague answer. Then Gareth called, as did Jeff (who sort of already suspected the reason for the delayed homecoming, kudos to Holly), but Eddie continued on the road of avoidance, all while Page Six posted about sightings of him with a certain pop sensation.

“Eddie, you haven’t been this happy since—”

“I know,” he interrupts, “I know and yes, to whatever you’re thinking, but I don’t wanna talk about it now because there’s something I need to do first.”

“What do you need to do?” She asks, puzzled because in the time they’ve worked together, the rockstar has never once left her out of action. She did everything for him. That was her job. One she did gladly because she’s grown to care for these boys.

Eddie sighs, wiping his crumb covered hands on the material of his trousers. The bag of chips lays empty on the table next to him. Of course he contemplated telling Marianne everything on multiple occasions, but each time he chickened out at the last minute. He knew she could fix everything in the blink of an eye. Simply, the rockstar just didn’t feel worthy of that. 

His entire life, Eddie ran away. From situations, from people, from feelings. Anything that was messy, or just became messy. He ran until the distance felt comfortable enough to continue with his life. Growing up in Hawkins, he didn’t have a Marianne. He didn’t have anyone that would stand up for him, so running became second nature. Running fixed his problems. 

By the time the band hit stardom, running turned to escapism in the form of drugs and alcohol. The bubble. Under the influence, the rockstar didn’t care who cleaned up after him and Marianne was so good at her job that most of the time, Eddie didn’t even know there was a problem to run from until it was resolved.

The situation with your grandmother however, was different. It involved you. 

He gave into his instincts and ran. Only this time, Eddie ran to protect you. Threats were made to potentially ruin your career — fucked up, considering the person that made them was also the person who helped kick-start your fame. And as selfish as he may seem to people that don’t know the real him, the rockstar wasn’t willing to gamble everything you built for yourself. He ran.

But Eddie was done running. He was going to fix this and he planned on doing it alone.

“What’s going on?” Marianne stands and takes a step closer, crossing her arms. Concern is starting to fill her veins, though she’s trying her best not to show it. Trying and failing.

Maybe solving this alone wasn’t the way to go.

“Someone’s been blackmailing me,” he admits eventually, reluctantly. 

“What?!” Marianne just about shouts. “Who? For how long?”

“It’s uh…. It’s a complicated story.”

“Well, fuck.” She’s slightly annoyed ‘cause how could he have hidden something like this from her? This is why the band has her. Managing them, planning shit to maintain their career is only a small part of her job. Protecting these boys is a priority and blackmail is a big fucking deal.

Exhaling, Marianne lets her arms drop and proceeds to take a much less confrontational stance. 

“Eddie, you know I’ve always got nothing but time for you, so spill.”

And he does. Starting right at the beginning with Chrissy Cunningham.

-

When Eddie stops by your place later that afternoon, he kisses you, the second you open up your apartment. He kisses you fully, deeply. He’s kicking the door closed with his boot, lips continually locked together, his hands holding you firmly by the waist. A man on a mission and the mission being to make you feel like you're floating all the damn time. 

You smile against his soft lips. Mission accomplished.

“That’s one way to say hello.”

“Hello,” he whispers back, also smiling. “How was your morning?”

“Not nearly as interesting as yours,” you answer his question and turn in your spot, wanting to lead him to the couch. Eddie’s hands remain on your waist as you do so, no inclination of letting go.

MTV is on. The wild-haired rockstar instantly feels at home — a stark contrast to that first night he showed up at your door. Adrenaline pumping. Unsure of the outcome. But it was better than he could’ve imagined, dreamed. Back in your arms with little to no arguments. Back where he for sure belonged.

Honesty comes on. The video makes him smile as he effortlessly pulls your legs over his thighs, hand settling on your soft flesh and giving it a gentle squeeze. The memory of that day with you on set. Eddie wouldn’t call it acting. Hugging you, kissing you on camera. Not a tough act. Natural, actually. That was a good day. You’re thinking it too.

“Magnetic.”

“Huh?”

Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “You’re magnetic. Utterly. I almost forgot, but I didn’t really, you know? I-I think about that day often and how much fun it was,” he rambles. It’s sweet. 

“But what I replay in my mind the most is how fucking talented you are, sweetheart. A goddess in front of a camera, I swear.”

You smirk, your own mind flying to something much, much dirtier than what Eddie meant, and he flicks your leg at the institution, all while glancing at you from the corner of his brown eyes. Because there was a video camera left under the rockstars California King bed with a tape inside, a tape that could get you both — although the sexist industry you’re lucky to be a part of would blame only you, mainly — in a lot of trouble, if it ever saw the light of day. A tape for private eyes only. And Eddie wasn’t wrong, you were near damn a goddess.

“Wish we could work together again,” he says, then quickly adds, “Professionally, sweetheart, before you get any kinky ideas.”

That makes you laugh.

“Think you should focus on the album the band is about to release, hotshot. Once that’s a sure hit, then we can talk about doing something together.”

“Well, there is a box in my room, back in LA, with notebooks full of songs…”

He’s trying to be encouraging. Motivational. Really what Eddie’s doing is building up the courage to ask you to go back to Los Angeles with him. In a complete roundabout way, to be honest. The guys would call him a pussy. He was being a pussy. There was however, a lot he still needed to tell you. This whole thing with your grandma, for one. But Marianne was handling that now, and once she gave him the agreed upon sign, there was nothing stopping Eddie from screaming he loves you from all available rooftops — which he hoped to do for the first time at the place you two officially met. 

And with his manager on the case, he knew it would be sooner rather than later.

“Eddie, you’re a dumbass.” Marianne states. There’s a frown on her face, but it’s not serious. Accompanied by a smile that’s giving him a little bit of hope.

“I know—”

“No,” she interrupts, “You don’t.” 

He exhales. “I do, though.”

“Eddie. If you came to me when this first happened, you would’ve never lost all this time with Little Miss Perfect. The fact that you didn’t, the fact that you didn’t trust me with this information, makes you a dumbass.”

“So, you can fix this?”

“There’s a little thing called a Cease and Desist,” Marianne says as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. And in a way, it is. “No one is going to threaten the career of my favourite client and get away with it.”

Eddie smiles. Genuinely. Something reminiscent of relief is flowing through his body, down to the tips of his toes, until he no longer feels heavy. The burden of this situation is slowly lifting.

“With your permission, I’d like to approach her team with this information. They’ll most likely also issue a cease and desist, so that her career is also protected.” Marianne says. “But I guess since all you’ve tried to do is keep her out of harm’s way, the only way you knew how, I’m assuming I have your permission without even asking for it?”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” He’s repeating over and over and over, wrapping his arms around Marianne. A hug they’d both cherish forever.

“Like I said, let’s get you to survive this record release first, okay?”

You’re looking at each other now.

“Take it day by day, Eds.”

“What if I want to skip ahead?”

There’s a lot hiding behind that question. The future is uncertain in many ways. He knows that he wants you, you know that you want him. That’s enough, but at the same time it isn’t. Day by day is easier than thinking about tomorrow, or the next day. He just loves you, which he’ll tell you soon. That’s what he wants to skip too.

On the other hand, you’re terrified. Giving into him again brought no shortage of anxiety about his past behaviour. Eddie Munson hurt you, twice. Second time worse than the first. You forgave him, yet the fear was still there. The question remained: what if he did it again? He wouldn’t, but what if he did? So taking it day by day, as it came, was easier. A shield, of sorts. Protection against hurt. 

Also, it was a lot more fun to act without consequence. To just be. 

Existing with him felt almost normal, even though there was nothing normal about the various interviews and photoshoots the rockstar has been doing promoting Assistance is Futile while in New York, or the long phone calls with his manager and bandmates in preparation for the release party. Nothing normal about your own career, which you’ve slowly been defrosting following the short heartbreak hiatus. Pivoting slightly towards acting as a new form of expression. So you’re reading scripts, rehearsing lines. All without expectations. Day by day.

“Skipping ahead means you, going back to LA for the release party,” you point out.

“You could come with me. The invitation is there, you know that.”

“There’s nothing I’d want more than to be there for you and the guys, Eddie, you know that.” You lean in closer, pressing your body weight into his. “But if I make an appearance, it will overshadow the album you worked really hard on and that’s not fair.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, pressing his lips to the side of your head, leaving a soft kiss while inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. He slowly nods against you, understanding your point of view.

“So we won’t see each other for a while then, huh?”

“Well, I got that recurring part in Law & Order which is filming here, so that’s a couple of months, at least, that I’ll be stuck here in New York.”

“I can visit,” he jumps in almost instantly, “And you, maybe… You can come out to see me whenever you have breaks in filming?”

“Sounds good, Eds.”

There’s a moment of silence. It shifts towards the heavy side. Eddie’s biting his tongue. He wants so badly to tell you everything he’s been keeping secret, but he knows it’s not a good idea until Marianne confirms she’s consulted your team and the cease and desist letters have been sent out. He’s just not ready to say goodbye yet. Not even for a little while. He just got you back. You’re also lost in thought. Reuniting with the Corroded Coffin frontman has been nothing short of a rollercoaster, in the best way possible. Having him here, next to you once more, kissing and touching you. And you know it was limited. That time would come knocking and he’d have to go back, while you’d need to stay. Bittersweet would be the word to describe how you feel. 

“How about we focus on right now, hm?” You offer, lifting your head so that your sweet gaze catches his chocolate one. Then a short inhale later, you kiss him. Gentle, at first, although not quite a peck. His eyes close on impact as his hand reaches for your face, attaching itself like a magnet. Cradling, squeezing your cheeks. 

And you smile. Fucking smile. Eddie loves it when you smile while kissing him. It drives him crazy knowing his touch makes you that happy. So he can’t help but smile too. Teeth knocking against each other in the process. 

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you,” the rockstar admits.

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you, Eddie Munson.” 

The hand that held his toned abdomen just a mere second ago is now not so innocently sliding in a downward trajectory. You fiddle with his leather belt, unbuckling it rather effortlessly with one hand after you press your lips against his once more. Deeper this time. Wanting.

“But distracting me from a conversation about what’s mph… next,” he mumbles as you tug at his zipper. You’re not giving him a chance to breathe. “Isn’t going to - Jesus - work.”

“Okay,” you’re teasing. It’s a whisper and Eddie’s brain short circuits ‘cause your perfectly manicured fingers are sliding into his boxers, reaching for his semi.

-

“So, you guys are like back together now, huh?” 

Steve’s question lingers in the air for a moment. He’s glancing at his small-town friend turned worldwide phenomenon from across the table, swirling black coffee in his takeaway cup.

Eddie looks out the window at the clouds passing by. 

After getting over his initial fear of flying, since he hadn’t been on a plane until his early twenties, the rockstar decided he enjoyed it a lot more than he thought he would. Things were peaceful up here — especially since he could now afford private jets. Just him and his guitar. Even when he travelled together with the guys, they all got lost in their own thing too, as did Marianne.

The upcoming release party however, prompted an invite to his little sister as well as Steve. So he knew that unfortunately this trip wasn’t going to be a quiet one.

“Something like that,” Eddie answers, turning his attention back to his friend.

Harrington nods. “That’s good, man. She’s great.”

“That she is.” Eddie fails to contain a smile.

“I’m happy for you.” Steve’s words are genuine.

“Thanks, dude.”

The short exchange is interrupted by Max’s snort. The two boys look at the redhead currently splayed out on one of the recliner seats. A book in her lap, one that she’s not really reading, but she’s keeping up appearances anyway.

“To think we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my genius,” she retorts, a smirk now present on her face.

Eddie laughs lightly, but doesn’t say anything. He’s looking out the window again. His mind turns to you. He misses you, even though he saw you not even a half hour ago when you said goodbye before he got on the plane. He misses you. Anxiety building since neither of you are really sure when you’d be able to see each other next. “And that’s okay,” is what you said to him in between soft kisses. He’s repeating it now.

“She’s not coming to the party, right?” Red asks her older brother, briefly breaking Eddie away from his thoughts. 

The rockstar shakes his head. “No.”

“You’ll see her soon,” his sister reassures, reaching for his forearm across the aisle, squeezing. 

“I know, I know.” 

“Then why the sad face?” Steve points out.

Eddie wishes he was alone. Then no one would be questioning him, even though he knows it’s coming from a good place. They just care, he tries to level his emotions, they’re asking because they care.

“Our last goodbye wasn’t so good,” he answers plainly.

Luckily both Max and Steve understand. They exchange a glance between themselves before returning to whatever activity they were engaging in prior to the start of this conversation: Red buries her head in the book she wasn’t really reading and Harrington resumes listening to music on his Walkman.

Eddie is once again glancing out the small jet window. He’s once again thinking about you. 

And he continues to think about you when the plane lands. In the car, on the way to his Hidden Hills home. He continues to think about you when the house fills with people that are there to style him for the release party. He’s making small talk, his mind still centred on you.

You remain the centre of his attention, even when Eddie and the band arrive at the venue, and he’s being ripped ten thousand different directions. Picture here, sign this, talk to this person. He enjoys a drink and he’s still thinking about you. He’s wishing you were here. 

The guys are introduced to come up on stage and even though Eddie is on cloud nine for this release, super proud of the record they put together, he’s wishing you were here to celebrate this with him.

He thinks about you as he sings one of the songs. Breaking News — a song about you, of course.

There comes a point during the night, a split second during which Eddie stops thinking about you. Not for any particular reason. Nothing spectacular happens for him to do so, he just… does. But it’s only a fleeting moment. He regrets it as soon as he realises. He especially regrets it when Marianne approaches him, a concerned look spread across her usually composed features — although the rockstar doesn’t pick up on her expression immediately.

“What did you think of the performance?” Eddie asks, smiling wide.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches for the half-empty glass in his hand and sets it aside before exhaling a sigh.

He furrows his brows, the smile fading as quickly as it appeared.

“Eddie, there’s been an accident.”

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie, @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @ohmeg , @hereforshmut , @eg-dr3amer3 (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

[lololollywrites]

Let's debunk Zionist arguments.

I made this original post a week ago, and have since added one major point and refined some of the language; there are also some timely updates, as things get worse by the day. So let's do this again.

There are some things I'm getting really tired of hearing from Zionists. Not only are they just blatantly wrong, but - even if they were right - their actions would STILL be against international and humanitarian law.

Let's break it down, shall we? (This is incredibly long, but so so important. Please hear me out). Text that is green, bolded, and underlined links to its source. Here are some classic Zionist arguments - if you're looking for your go-to defense, scroll down to the appropriate orange header. Things in red are just things I am really, really angry about or important points that need a bit of extra emphasis.

1. Hamas will never settle for peace nor a two-state solution - all they want is violence. (This is what U.S. reps just argued as they voted against a ceasefire. Again.)

Setting aside the fact that October 7 wasn't the beginning of the conflict as well as the fact that Israeli officials publicly proclaim not to want a two-state solution and instead wish to take over all Palestinian land, shoddy rockets built from discarded missiles (ones that had already been fired upon them), thrown rocks, and car bombs (in the 90s) aren't exactly a match for a military backed by the USA. We're also going to (temporarily) set aside the fact that Palestinians welcomed Jewish refugees post-WWII. I'll get there.

Let's pretend that they're right. Hamas - instead of being a few thousand or so young, traumatized men mostly in their late teens and early 20s who have never known a life outside of Israeli persecution - are vicious killing machines. Let's say that preposterous lie is true. Guess what? COLLECTIVE PUNISHMENT IS STILL A WAR CRIME. Bombing civilians, almost half of whom are children, hoping that Hamas will surrender is a WAR CRIME. Cutting off food and water and electricity and internet is a WAR CRIME. AND THIS IS THE DEFENSE THEY USE OUT IN THE OPEN. IN FRONT OF THE UN.

You. Can't. Do. That. (But I guess they can, can't they?)

Also? A two-state solution only works if the other side is acknowledged as an independent state, and the West refuses to acknowledge as much (though the overwhelming majority of other countries do). You cannot claim to want a two-state solution if you do not acknowledge two states. Let's start there.

2. Israel has a right to defense.

Generally, I'd agree with this on principle alone. But... guess what? According to international law, an occupying power has NO right to defense from their own occupied territory. Why? IT'S NOT A WAR IF THE OTHER SIDE IS NOT A COUNTRY. IF THERE IS NO MILITARY TO FIGHT AGAINST. At that point, it becomes a massacre. So no, Israel actually has no right to defense. (Killing in the West Bank and Lebanon is also a bit contrary to that surface-level lie - Hamas aren't there).

Even if they did have a right to defense, the word "disproportionate" comes to mind. We're at at least 17k dead and 46k wounded in TWO MONTHS. An average of 200 children have been killed every day for the past month. Civilians make up at least 61% of deaths from airstrikes, which is a higher proportion than all world conflicts in the 20th century. A minimum of 1000 children are missing limbs (I linked just one story, as those tend to pull more at the heartstrings than statistics, but also check out Bisan on TikTok and Motaz Azaiza on Tiktok - both on Instagram as well- for news from the literal ground in Gaza. They are just two of many; Hind, Saleh, and Plestia are also so important to follow... they come up when searching). About 26 thousand more are orphaned. Premature babies were found decomposing in hospital beds during the temporary ceasefire because armed IOF soldiers forced doctors and nurses to leave but promised they'd send the babies elsewhere for care. They didn't.

None of this is even touching upon the blatantly illegal use of white phosphorous. AGAIN: THIS IS A WAR CRIME. It’s meant to cause suffering and pain.

And what do they have to show for it? Failure and death. The loss of hundreds of millions of dollars. Worldwide hatred. How does that benefit Israeli citizens? How does it help the Jewish cause? Where is the evidence that Hamas has been stopped? Evidence that hasn't been fabricated, I mean. We've all seen the fake "list" - the calendar on the wall. The small pile of guns that changed in number from one video to the next (and why the hell would Hamas leave behind weapons they could use to defend themselves?) The arrested, stripped-naked men and boys as young as 15 blindfolded, brought to their knees at gunpoint (and even just filming this violated the Geneva Convention). Claims they were members of Hamas were quickly disproven by those on social media who could identify doctors and journalists and shopkeepers. Another lie. And another war crime. I've seen claims that 60 members of Hamas have been killed. 60, hm? Sure, sure. That's completely proportionate.

Worse than that, against a **belligerent** and illegal occupying force who has violated territorial agreements by violently occupying land meant to be granted to Palestinians, imposing sanctions, killing civilians, arresting civilians (including minors and the elderly, who are often beaten and raped in captivity) without charge or trial, etc. - AN APARTHEID STATE WHEREIN PALESTINIANS ARE LITERALLY TRIED BY A DIFFERENT COURT AND MUST ADHERE TO DIFFERENT LAWS than Israelis and have no freedom of movement - Palestine actually has a legal right to RESIST. Imagine that. Why do people never say "Palestine has a right to defend itself"? Why is it just Israel?

Israel is so afraid of Palestinians appearing human that they forbade families welcoming back their freed children and family members (falsely incarcerated by the IOF) from showing emotion - THIS WAS DURING THE HOSTAGE EXCHANGE. October 7 didn't happen in a vacuum. Israel has long held thousands of hostages of their own. Children's bones are broken as they're beaten in jail. They're sexually assaulted. Denied food. Never presented with charges nor granted trial. How easily the demands of Hamas for them to be released were swept under the rug. How blatantly the crimes were covered up by saying "Palestinian teenagers 18 years old and younger" were returned in contrast to the Israeli "children" that were also released. They were afraid to use the word children in reference to Palestinian captives.

3. Nothing ends until all of the Israeli hostages are freed.

I am not undermining the fact that the Israeli hostages were traumatized and terrified (though videos of recent hostage releases wherein they're hugging and shaking hands and smiling as they say goodbye to Hamas - and one girl was even allowed to keep her dog - say that at least some of them escaped such anguish)... Because sure. Yes. It's not okay. But they were fed. Medications were administered. Connections were forged as the plight of Palestinians was explained to Israelis.

And guess what? I've seen interviews with more than one released hostage who said that their biggest fear was Israeli forces. Who witnessed IOF soldiers raiding where they were held and shooting and killing their own hostages. Who were just as vulnerable to the bombings as any Palestinian. AT LEAST 60 OF ISRAEL'S OWN HOSTAGES HAVE BEEN KILLED BY THE IOF. THEY DO NOT CARE ABOUT THEIR HOSTAGES. Would you bomb places where your hostages were meant to be kept?

Israel was so terrified by these testimonies that they have edited the interview footage and cut interviews short. The hostages are a convenient excuse for genocide. It's why it took so long for them to agree to any exchange at all; what would be their reason for indiscriminately killing Gazans?

IF YOU STILL DON'T SEE IT: If Hamas were hiding in Israel, do you think Israel would bomb their own hospitals? Carpet bomb their civilians? They should, after all, after spouting the necessity of their actions for so long - what would the difference be? Ah. Yes. They only see one set of civilians as human. They've said as much. Openly.

When you're trying to capture an armed militia, you send specialized teams. Reconnaissance. You do not just try to destroy everything in sight (and destroying places where hostages may be held goes extremely contrary to their claim of caring about said hostages).

If you don't agree with the following statement, then you should not support Israel: "The school shooters might still be inside. Let's bomb the whole school to make sure we get them. The kids and teachers are collateral damage."

4. Supporting Palestine is anti-Semitic.

There's so much wrong with this. 13% of citizens across Palestinian territories (Gaza, the West Bank, and East Jerusalem) are Jewish. Orthodox Jews have held and attended multiple protests. Jewish Voices for Peace occupied Grand Central Station to call for a ceasefire. Thousands, perhaps millions, of members of the Jewish diaspora have shouted "NOT IN MY NAME" to the rooftops. Through the streets. "Never again," they say, "means never again for ANYONE." 

Are you calling thousands of rabbis at protests anti-Semitic? Bold of you. I dare you to say so to their faces.

Do you know what puts Israeli lives - Jewish lives - in legitimate danger? Creating enemies of neighboring Middle Eastern countries and starting an international war. Weak Hamas rockets could NEVER lead to a genocide of Israelis. Lebanese missiles, however (because right - Israel has also been bombing Lebanon, despite it being solidly free of Hamas) - have a lot more ability to cause damage. Good thing that Israelis have freedom of movement - over 370k of them have already fled, many of whom to awaiting homes back where they came from in Western countries.

Zionism was not founded with Jewish rights in mind. Balfour was wildly anti-Semitic. Many Christian Zionists supported the creation of an Israeli state so the Jewish people could just... go away. Somewhere else. They also believe it fulfills biblical prophecy of a rapture that will kill a huge proportion of Jews, but that’s a topic for another day.The largest motivator of an Israeli state was a Western presence in Middle Eastern oil fields and natural gas reserves; Argentina was considered prior to Palestine, so the "ancient claim" is nothing more than a farce. They would have settled anywhere that made financial sense. Zionism itself is a profoundly anti-Semitic concept, goes against the Torah/divine will (there should be no ethnostate, it states), and does nothing more than CREATE MORE ANTI-SEMITISM.

Israel has perverted the very real issue of global anti-Semitism and generational trauma post-WWII to make Jewish people worldwide feel unsafe (doing so recruits citizens, after all). They've claimed birthright to the land - appealed to spirituality - and proclaimed that those who deny this hate them and want them dead (forgetting that the land is ancestral and significant for Muslims and Christians as well). They made their citizens feel attacked and persecuted so they could massacre Palestinians with impunity and call them barbaric terrorists and extremists. Many Israelis are brainwashed. Terrified of Arabs. That suits the Israeli government. They call everyone who hates the notion of the Israeli state around the world anti-Semitic. In the process, of course, they create actual anti-Semites who fail to distinguish between a beautiful religion and a settler-colonial, white supremacist political ideology. Conflating the two terms is an injustice to Jewish people.

Doing so is also horrifically disrespectful to Holocaust victims and survivors. Plenty of them have protested Zionism, in fact. Using perhaps the worst atrocity in modern human history to justify very similar dehumanizing, indiscriminately violent practices against another chosen "other" of human beings is so twisted and evil that it makes me sick.

Additionally, Netanyahu is far from popular in Israel. There were protests of HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS just prior to October 7. Are they anti-Semitic for not supporting his rule and judicial takeover?

5. Israel is the only safe place for Jews.

Really? It doesn't seem very safe. Requiring youth to join the IOF - having a continuously armed and trained militia - doesn't reek of peace and prosperity. Imprisoning Israeli teenagers who refuse to partake in the atrocities (and subjecting them to potential abuses in prison) does not seem very safe. Building walls around Palestinian territories guarded by soldiers and cameras doesn't seem safe. Was the music festival safe? No. And we'll get to how that's even more insidious than it seems. 

This "war" isn't safe. Won't it just create more resistance? More members of Hamas? More enemies of Israel? Doing so feeds into their victimhood, however, and actually suits their purpose of killing without repercussions or regard for international humanitarian law.

People often laugh at wealthy white western Jews who make TikTok videos from their homes far away from the conflict who claim to feel unsafe now due to Hamas and the resulting world response against Israel. But it's not funny; this is all part of the plan. Propaganda is MEANT to make all supporters, especially Jewish people, feel unsafe. It's also actively leading to REAL lack of safety as it riles up and inflames those against Israel. All the easier to justify their cause.

(ALSO, this doesn't need stated, but it's Palestinians and pro-Palestinians who are unsafe. Palestinians who are being killed even in the West - even children - for wearing keffiyeh and speaking Arabic. Those who speak against Israel who are losing their jobs). It's Jewish people who are being protected by the West, but not out of respect for their religion. It's about money. Oil. The paying off of politicians.)

6. Palestine never existed. Israel is a land without a people for a people without a land.

This is perhaps the dumbest argument of them all, because it just doesn't matter. Zionists are wrong - completely - but even if they were right... PEOPLE. STILL. LIVED. THERE. If you care more about legal technicalities (the intricacies of which are decided upon by Western powers) than you do about the notion of literally kicking entire families out of their generational homes and giving the house keys to a newly-minted Israeli from Southern California, then something is broken within you.

Palestine was on the maps. There were Palestinian passports. Sports teams. Early Zionists acknowledged the existence of Palestine in their very rhetoric. Don't believe me? Look it up. Click on my links so far. I'm tired of citing every source for easily verifiable facts. For once, challenge yourself to obtain your information from somewhere other than the news. Millions of people live in Palestine and have for thousands of years. 

THE WEST DOES NOT GET TO DECIDE THE LEGITIMACY OF EVERY STATE AND COUNTRY IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. Who the hell are they to do so? Who put any legal weight into the Balfour Declaration or to the UN's proposed land distribution for the two-state proposal? Why do these foreign white men get to carve apart land they've never stepped foot upon? Nationalism is fairly new as well; empires reigned for centuries. Italian peasants in 1850 may have had no idea they were in Italy. Empires rose and fell and borders changed so often that they'd be altered within someone's own lifetime; look at the Eastern Bloc. No one says that Ukranians don't have a right to freedom from Russia despite Russia's historical claim over the land as the Soviet Union.

I have a few questions for you, if you're reading this and still a Zionist: Do you believe European settlers had a blanket right to land in the New World (pre-United States) because the Native American tribes did not receive nationhood approval by some Western governing body? Because there was no unifying flag or established Native country? Do you somehow also believe that American colonists had no right to fight for independence against Great Britain despite the lack of parliamentary representation, exorbitant taxes, and continued occupation that limited their sovereignty? They weren't a country yet, after all. Just a colony.

I'll bet you ANYTHING you argued the opposite in your American history classes. That you saw the barbarism against and genocide of Native Americans for what it was. That you teared up yourself upon learning about the Trail of Tears - the ethnic cleansing of 60k+ people who were forced out of their homes and land and into reservations despite being promised safety just prior. Who died on the long and arduous journeys on foot. I'll bet you that you understood the Native American attacks on colonists and violent enslaved people's rebellions against their white masters, even if you also understood the horror of the resulting violence... that you could see reason behind the uprisings. Do you condemn Nat Turner? Do you condemn colonists inciting a war against their occupying power in order to form the United States?

Hypocrisy. Western Zionists are hypocrites. Acts of uprising are only righteous in their minds if a) they are/were done by white people or b) are far enough back in history that it suits their current narrative and allows them to seem like a champion for justice. Nelson Mandela was also called a terrorist for protesting against apartheid. Do you see him as wrong, or have you checked out a book on him from the library to read to your children? Don't hurt yourself doing those mental gymnastics.

Bombing Gaza with thousands of tons of bombs - including incredibly damaging bunker-buster bombs - at a rate more than the carpet bombing of Germany in WWII and with more bombs dropped in six days than any one month of the U.S. fighting ISIS - is akin to building a wall around Native American reservations in the US and Canada and deciding to just... drop bombs on them. When they can't escape. Who in their right minds would justify that?

GAZA IS AN OPEN-AIR PRISON, but even worse because they've committed no crimes. Gaza is a CONCENTRATION CAMP.

7. This is war. Civilians die in war. This is called collateral damage.

Let's briefly forget the facts mentioned above that 1) this isn't war, as wars require an opposing military, and 2) collective punishment is a war crime. Do civilians die in war? Yes. They do. But more men, women, and children were killed in the first month than in any other conflict ANNUALLY since 2019. As the New York Times reports, almost 1 in every 150 Palestinian children has been killed; this is the equivalent to half a million American children.

Read THIS ALJAZEERA ARTICLE and look at the pictures. Tell me this is justified with a straight face. Look a member of the Palestinian diaspora in their eyes as you tell them so. Stand before someone who has lost their entire family. Look AlJazeera journalist Wael Al-Dahdouh in the eyes as you say that the killing of his wife, daughter, son, and grandson were justified, and that him learning about it on-air (REPORTED BY CNN, if your loyalty lies with Western media) is just "what happens during war". He's currently hospitalized with wounds to his hand and abdomen sustained during bombardment as he reported from the ground. Even despite his loss, all he wants to do is broadcast the truth.

Look at the faces of children crying and missing limbs on hospital beds and tell yourself it was for the greater good. Of patients who were unable to flee Al Shifa hospital for the South on cots outside of the building, languishing with their injuries and unable to move. Of orphans, shaking and in shock, desperately searching for their dead parents. Of kids covered in dust and blood and pulled from the rubble. Or children whose intestines are spilling out of their bodies as doctors without supplies seek to save their lives. These things are all on video, by the way. Don't believe me? Look it up.

This is not the normal consequence of war (though we shouldn't normalize civilian deaths at all in any conflict, this goes far beyond the expected harsh reality). Wars should allow civilians to flee. Permit humanitarian aid (at more than just trickling rates for either). All Israel has to do, it seems, is say "We're not targeting civilians" while clearly targeting civilians. "There's safe space in the South" while bombing the South and evacuation routes to get there. All they have to do is say "Muwasi is a no-fire zone! It's safe!" despite it being a "narrow patch of barren coastline" with no buildings, water, facilities, etc. that is much too small to house thousands, let alone millions.

Since the end of the temporary ceasefire, deaths have increased by 40%. Due to bombardment, yes, but also due to starvation and disease. Reports of Hepatitis A are steadily growing, and potentially deadly cases of diarrhea among children have increased by 400%. Hundreds have to share one toilet. Gazans desperately collect dirty rainwater streaming down their tent shelters, grateful to relieve their thirst and unaware of the danger the contamination presents. 360,000 cases of infectious diseases have been reported in shelters, made worse by intense flooding the past few days that has also attracted mosquitos and brought out rats. Is this okay?

But still, Israel can say (at least upon the first bombing of Al Shifa) "We're not targeting hospitals - that was Hamas!" (despite having bombed hospitals for decades and video clearly disproving their claims; another shows sound bites recorded by Israelis cut together to try and reveal a plot - those claims have since been removed from Israel's official X account). 

"Gazans have rights!" they shout, despite bombing them every few years or so and calling it "mowing the grass". "Journalists are safe!" despite literally mowing down American journalist Rachel Corrie in 2003, who was protesting the demolition of Palestinian homes, with a bulldozer and annually celebrating her death by eating pancakes. Additionally, at least 64 journalists have been killed since October 7. Their propaganda campaign is failing globally but upheld by Western governments.

They have also stolen dead Gazan bodies from various places, including Al-Shifa, raising concerns that these bodies were falsely claimed to be Israeli corpses for propaganda videos as well as that they might be being used to harvest organs.

7. Why haven't Hamas and Palestinians tried peaceful protest?

They have. Look it up. Hundreds have been shot and killed doing so (so claims that October 7 came out of nowhere and was just an example of random terrorism are preposterous). I have nothing else to say about it. TAKE MEASURES TO ELIMINATE YOUR OWN IGNORANCE PLEASE. We are TIRED of explaining things to you. Do I condone killing and hostage taking? No. Do I condemn Hamas for their desperation? Also no. No more than I would condemn the rebellion of enslaved peoples in early America. THIS IS A RESULT OF OPPRESSION. HAMAS IS A SYMPTOM, NOT A DISEASE.

Additionally...

8. October 7 was an unjustifiable atrocity. 40 babies were beheaded! Gazans elected Hamas, so they deserve to die.

First of all, no. Hamas did not behead any Israeli babies. Biden and the western media had to walk back those claims when Israel refused to provide evidence. Do you really think there were just... 40 babies at a music festival? The only babies who have been beheaded (by bombs) are Gazan. I saw a photo of a Palestinian father holding a headless child up in front of a crowd, and that was far from the only example of children being dismembered. 

Israeli propagandists tore apart a photo of another father carrying a dead infant with the claim it was just a doll, not a dead baby. They had to retract the article when it was proven that the baby was, in fact, real. And deceased.

Was October 7 horrific? Yes. Did innocent people die? Also yes. My heart hurts for Israeli people too; for families who lost loved ones. Whose grief was utilized to support a genocide. But here's another HUGE confounding factor: Israel has admitted to killing MANY of their own in the "chaos" of the event from Apache helicopters. ONCE MORE: ISRAEL FIRED UPON THEIR OWN CITIZENS DURING THE MUSIC FESTIVAL AND ADDED TO THE DEATH TOLL.

Egypt has claimed that Israel knew about the planned Hamas attack days before the festival, and the event was even extended a day later than planned. Odd… was this so the attack could happen? How were armed members of Hamas able to overcome the most secure border in the world and take so many hostages? How did Israel fail to prevent this (and, in fact, add to the death toll - initially blamed on Hamas?) Listen, there's no solid evidence that Israel planned everything as a neat justification for their assault on Gaza, but it's the simplest explanation, isn't it?

It's important to note that ISRAEL CREATED AND PROPPED UP HAMAS to foster political disunity with claims they were helping establish a stable governing body.

FURTHER: Though Israel has denied this, there are reports of suspicious trading on the Israeli stock exchange in the days leading up to October 7. *Note that this is still unconfirmed, but:

"The preliminary research, which hasn’t been peer reviewed, found in the days before the Hamas attacks that bets against the value of the MSCI Israel Exchange Traded Fund (ETF) “far exceeded” the short selling activity that took place during the Covid-19 pandemic, the 2014 Israel-Gaza war or even the 2008 financial crisis.

“Our findings suggest that traders informed about the coming attacks profited from these tragic events,” the authors wrote." (CNN).

Did Gazans elect Hamas? Sure, in 2006. With no measure of foresight, of course, and despite them being controversial even then (though, remember, they were supported by Israel - don't you think the election was already set into motion?) MOST GAZANS WERE NOT YET BORN AT THIS TIME OR WERE CHILDREN. Even if they had been, have we ever justified killing civilians based upon who they elected into office? America has had its fair share of corrupt politicians who commit overseas atrocities. Do we deserve to be carpet bombed? That's the justification of the 9/11 attacks; that there are no innocent civilians. That's also called TERRORISM.

9. Hamas are using civilians as human shields.

I can't believe I forgot this rote talking point in my original post. Let’s just forget the fact that Israel has yet to produce any evidence of this being true. There is absolutely no proof that hospitals and schools are a cover for their headquarters.

But let’s be magnanimous, shall we? Let’s assume this is and always has been Hamas' goal: to use civilians as cover. Employ some critical thinking skills. Why would anyone do this? Ah. Yes. Because they’d assume that doing so would provide some measure of safety; that no military, no matter how brutal, would mow down civilians to (only potentially) kill their target.

Israel saying “We don’t care - we’ll kill thousands of civilians anyway!” isn’t the win they think it is. On a smaller scale, if an armed bank robber physically hid behind a single civilian to avoid gunfire, would you shoot through the chest of said civilian to kill the robber? If you would, I’m sorry… I’m afraid of you.

I also saw a new argument today that doesn't quite merit its own numbered point: Hamas is restricting humanitarian aid and stopping food and water from reaching civilians. And... no. Just... no. I think those of us with functioning brains realize that this makes no logical sense - Hamas does not want to kill Palestinian civilians - but HAMAS DOES NOT CONTROL THE BORDER WITH EGYPT. ISRAEL DOES. There's enough evidence in the sources linked above that prove this, but additionally: ISRAEL HAS LONG (since 2007) CONTROLLED THE AMOUNT OF FOOD - DOWN TO THE CALORIE - PERMITTED INTO GAZA. The "tunnels" so often talked about with fear were really just used to smuggle in necessary goods.

(Also, the IOF have just flooded these tunnels with sea water to "drown" Hamas. With all due respect, Israel - which is none - isn't that where you keep saying the hostages are being held?)

10. Jewish people have a birthright and claim to the land.

First of all, nothing has ever stopped any Jewish people from moving to Palestine. They were initially welcomed after WWII, too, as there were already (and are still) Jewish Palestinians. (Christians, too - this is not a religious war. Churches have also been bombed). Though really, Zionist settlers should have considered (and I'm sure they did) that being granted unfamiliar land after surviving an atrocity at the hands of their own governments rather than being encouraged to go home should have warned them that no small measure of anti-Semitism was behind the Zionist project.

3,000 years ago, a civilization known as Israel - comprised by a racially and ethnically different population than modern-day Israelis, of course - lasted a brief 150 years. Shockingly enough, however, religious claims and historic occupation ARE NOT LEGALLY BINDING. Were the lands open for immigrants? Open to those who wanted to visit religiously significant land? YES. Were they fair game to be taken and colonized? NO. Did the UN have any power to designate the land? NO.

This would be like saying Muslim people as a diaspora have a claim to Spain due to their long historical stronghold over the Iberian Peninsula. It would be like Italians trying to take back the modern countries formerly a part of the Roman Empire. It would be like Catholics creating an ethnostate in Germany and massacring Protestants due to their historical control of the land. IT WOULD BE RIDICULOUS.

Look up the 1948 Nakba. Tell me that it doesn't make you think of the Trail of Tears. That forcing people out of their homes is okay because of some ancient claim or suggestion from white politicians that "Hey, you can move there as part of your divine right." I thought the notion of divine right ended with the rise of democracy and resistance to tyrannical historical monarchs such as "Sun King Louis XVI." That Manifest Destiny was just something we learned about in World History.

Nope.

Could you live in a Palestinian home still decorated and furnished with familial artifacts, knowing that the former family was forced to leave and forbidden from returning? No? Then don't support Israel.

11. Palestinians are barbaric! They'd kill you for being gay.

This is another silly argument due to its complete irrelevance. If you find yourself struggling to justify genocide and coming up with these sorts of answers - answers that imply that ALL PALESTINIANS are the same - check yourself and where that notion might be coming from. Stereotyping is bad, isn't it? Should we bomb the American South for being homophobic, as much as we may hate that fact? Um. No.

This perspective is fueled by Israel's long-standing pinkwashing campaign against Palestine, which both ignores the presence of LGTBQ+ Palestinians but also claims Israel to be a safe, modern haven in comparison to barbarism… it’s a means of dehumanization (AND ONE MORE REMINDER: NOTHING JUSTIFIES GENOCIDE).

Have you been to Gaza? Have you spoken to someone who has? Have you watched Anthony Bourdain's episode of No Reservations that highlights the humanity and kindness of Gazans? Have you watched the countless videos of Westerners, including women, who claimed they felt safer in Gaza than back home?

Could it be dangerous? Of course. Any place can be for women and members of the LGBTQ+ community. Are there extremist Muslims? Of course. Would you want the Westboro Baptist Church to represent all of Christianity, however? Avoid sweeping generalizations whose only goal is to make you see millions of people (complex individuals with rich lives) as inhuman. As worth killing. See it for what it is.

Who tortures their prisoners, records it, and posts the videos to social media for people to laugh at? Israel. Who kills journalists, doctors, and bombs UNRWA schools using illegal white phosphorous? Israel. Who forces teenagers to join the military and jails them for refusing? Israel. Who routinely shoots Palestinian civilians to keep them living in fear and arrests them randomly and without charge? Israel. Who sets up chairs on a hilltop so they can watch bombings with popcorn and snacks? Israel. Who calls for the extermination of all Palestinians? Israel. Have you ever seen a Palestinian person call for the extinction and massacre of all Jews? No? You haven’t? Yep. Think about that. (And no, Hamas’ charter does not call for the death of Jews; they revised this in 2017 and specified that the enemy is Zionists, not Jews).

OVERALL: THE SIDE WITH THE PROPAGANDA CAMPAIGN IS IN THE WRONG. THE SIDE LOSING THE CULTURE WAR DESPITE POURING MILLIONS INTO THEIR PUBLIC IMAGE AND PAYING INFLUENCERS TO MAKE VIDEOS FOR THEM IS IN THE WRONG. THE SIDE FREQUENTLY CAUGHT IN LIES SO EMBARRASSING THAT THEY ARE MEMED AND RIDICULED ON THE INTERNET IS IN THE WRONG. THE SIDE WHO ACCEPTS BILLIONS YEARLY FROM THE UNITED STATES THAT GOES TOWARD WEAPONS AND FREE HEALTHCARE FOR ISRAELIS (That Americans without this pay for with their own tax money) IS IN THE WRONG.

If you don't see this now, I can't help you. In ten years or so, however - when Israel's atrocities have finally been recognized and its leaders have been prosecuted for war crimes - have fun hiding evidence that you were on the wrong side of history. It's inevitable. On Friday, 153 countries voted for a ceasefire during an emergency meeting of the U.N. Security Council. 10 countries voted against. Guess who? Guess why? THEY ARE IN THE WRONG. AND THE WORLD AGREES.

Free Palestine.

[davyreads]

hi everyone, i'm a new book review sideblog. i've always wanted to start a blog but now i've actually taken that step. i love reading and now that i'm older, i am now more able to critically interact with the media i consume. i hope to share some books that i have read recently, books that i want to read and also any reading challenges that i have set for myself. below these very pretty headers, i will include some information about myself as well as the books i am currently reading, the music i am currently listening to and the shows or movies that i may be watching! i might also share my tbr list! thanks for reading!

davy / 21 / black / they-them / lesbian

currently reading i'm going to be honest, i tend to read a few books at once, however it is usually one novel and a couple encyclopaedic books, so right now i am reading edgar allan poe's the narrative of arthur gordon pym of nantucket alongside a classical mythology encyclopaedia. i'm also part of a book club and the books that we read together will make an appearance here. we recently read the letters we keep by nisha sharma, so expect a review for that, as well as one for weyward by emilia hart, which we read before that!

reading challenges currently doing a goodreads challenge to read 20 books this year since it has been quite difficult to get back into reading for pleasure + i am obsessed with mike flanagan's the fall of the house of usher on netflix, and i've already watched it twice but before i inevitably watch it for a third time, i've decided to read the tales, poems and novels by edgar allan poe that were referenced in the show; i'll try and include a link to my complete list!

currently listening to i love me some victoria monet and i've had her music on repeat consistently for the last couple years! i have also taken an interest in fleetwood mac, kate bush, and mos def. i've also been keeping up with the kendrick v. drake beef, so i've been listening to quite a bit of his recent releases. i might be willing to make a list (or maybe a playlist - not entirely sure) of some of my favourite songs at the moment.

currently watching not much unfortunately. i spend a lot of time on youtube but i am trying to find a way to watch season 7 of drag race. i've never watched the show before but i'm aware of trixie mattel and katya so i wanted to watch their season. as i mentioned earlier, i am obsessed with the fall of the house of usher on netflix but i am forcing myself to hold off before watching it again.

favourite books suzanne collins' the hunger games series, neil gaiman's american gods, silvia moreno-garcia's mexican gothic, ransom riggs' miss peregrine's peculiar children series (have not finished yet)

what do i like to read i like poetry a lot (though i sometimes struggle to understand it), as well as mythology, all types. i also like fantasy and dystopia and one of my favourite series is the hunger games series by suzanne collins. i am trying to expand my reading horizons, since i read a lot of ya fantasy when i was younger.

link to my tbr :)

short note: i also have not really sat down and written book reviews in a very long time and i am only just beginning this journey of literary analysis, even though i regularly analyse books in my head, so please be kind and patient as i come to grips with everything! thank you <3

[marypsue]

Hhhhhn I’m glad you put your pinned post back bc i missed a few sneak peeks!! First of all, I love the ominous suit baddies and a new introduction for Erica Sinclair bc she honestly would be a child detective and rabble rouser! Also I love that Erica has heard enough about Lucas’s connection that lets him sneak into the movies that she goes to Steve when she feels unsafe! Tbh I feel like it’s a crime that we never got a scene of Lucas braving about his cool older friend who lets him go to movies for free and drives only for Erica to call Steve a loser but clearly note down that he’s a trusted adult ( let thé Sinclair siblings bond!! Let them be children and shit talk but also care for each other deeply! )Also truly such a joy seeing your impeccable sense of dramatic tension bc that scene sucked me right back in and left me excited about stranger things again . The blend of character work and plot has really gotten so good and it’s fun seeing how your style changed since the first installment!! Also belatedly, the age swap fic (another beloved marypsue AU that is always rotissering in my brain alongside body swap) with Nancy detectiving and a fun twist on the classic Hopper finding the government conspiracy beats of ST1.

Hello hello! Thank you so much! I'm thrilled to hear that the tension is good, and that the plot and character work seem to be working together well. That's all I ever want.

I love Erica and I want her to have all of the screentime! All of the sibling relationships on Stranger Things are so interestingly set up and I just want more of all of them. All the time. Forever.

I feel like the setup in this AU allows for a little more cross-generational interaction in general than the show itself implies. That was one of the things I really liked about s3, the way it put together the Scoops Troop instead of just splitting everybody up into three groups based on age again. It worked really well in s1 because, obviously, they were riffing on three different genres aimed at the three different age categories, and also because none of the characters knew anything, including that the others were involved. The more everybody knows, though, the more you either have to come up with external obstacles to separate them out and not have them share what they know with the others, or you gotta play with and shake up that structure a little. (I'm having some fun with it with former heroes right now, and I hope you'll like how it turns out!)

It's funny that you should mention the change in style, because it's something I've been thinking about recently. Part of it is definitely that the first installment in this AU is canon divergent after all the canon setup and everything, so I was able to lean a lot more heavily on what I could assume the audience already knows. I liked that a lot, and I'd like to try to pull that stylised, storytelling-style voice back into it more. But the changes in the s1 and s2 fics have enough knock-on effects, and I'm also changing enough things in the plot, that I can't lean so much on what people already know about s3. (Although I'm definitely having fun using some of those expectations!) I want to make sure everything's set up well, clear, and makes sense, and I'd like to do a little more of that highly stylised stuff again. Hoping I can strike a balance there.

Also, just so you know, for when and if I change the pinned post again (which will happen when I have a new fic to post), there are a few ways to see only the samples on my blog, other than the pinned post. I am from the Ancient Times, before tumblr decided blogs should automatically open in the dash, and my pinned post is actually just a roundup of the links in the header that you can see if you go to my public-facing blog page! (This page also has the added benefit that you don't have to be logged in to tumblr to see it. Technically, every blog has a URL like this, but I believe that if you use the default tumblr theme, it forces you to go to the blog-in-the-dashboard version automatically. I'm not sure, though, I haven't changed my blog theme in something like a decade.)

I also tag for organisation, and I find it's easier to find tagged posts in the [blog].tumblr.com view than the blog-in-dashboard view. On marypsue.tumblr.com, if you click on a tag, it will show you every post tagged with that tag, in chronological order. It won't catch posts that use the same phrase in the body text, only posts that have been tagged. But it will bring up every post with that tag, and it won't show you duplicates of the same posts (which I find the search often does for no apparent reason).

All my fic samples and fic posts are tagged with the wildly imaginative this is mary's fic tag. All my original writing is tagged with mary writes. I've also tried to start tagging by WIP name. So if you're, say, in the mary writes tag, and you read and enjoy a sample from Fearleading Squad, you can click on the fearleading squad tag on the post and it will show you more samples from that WIP. Or if you're looking for samples from the upcoming final installment of the Hawkins, Indiana psychic baby boom, there's a tag for that too.

(If you already knew all of this and just found the pinned post more convenient, I hope you'll forgive me. I just realised as I was reading your ask that tumblr goes out of its way to direct you to the blog-in-dashboard view, and I don't know how common knowledge it is anymore that there's another option.)

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT SPAM

At YC one of our secondary mantras is Deals fall through. The same thing happened during the Mississippi and South Sea Bubbles. The specific argument, or one of them, like working in fast food. There does seem to be many universities elsewhere that compare with the best in the world. The good news is, if you're carrying a burden without knowing it, your life could be better than you realize.1 Imagine if, instead, you treated immigration like recruiting—if you made a competing technology hub that let in smart people?2 This could explain why clutter doesn't seem to help, not as much as adults. It might mean something. Fortunately, this sort of essay, you don't have a college degree you can't get a visa for working on your startup while raising money.3 9999 free!

Statistically, the average VC is a rejection machine. The Web may well make this the golden age of the short story. When I drive down 101 from the airport, I still feel a buzz of energy, as if there were a giant transformer nearby. I think every language should be designed simultaneously with a large application written in it, and we won't have to work with him liked it so much they stayed. Most imaginative people seem to miss most is the lack of responsibilities. It used to be valuable, and now it's not. In the process, is money from individual angel investors. Letters, digits, dashes, apostrophes, and dollar signs are constituent characters, and everything else is a token separator.

Working on small things, and if they fail, so what? In this respect, as in many others, the eminent are actually disadvantages.4 The really painful thing to recall is not just random variation, but a sort of Heisenberg uncertainty effect: I only got it because I was writing about spam filtering. What I didn't understand was that the proper role of anteaters is to poke their noses into anthills. This doesn't always work. Domain experts were allowed to publish essays about their field, but the pool allowed to write on general topics was about eight people who went to the right parties in New York. They just can't make up their minds, and then answering them.5 And yet this principle is built into the very structure of the things that put them over the edge.

Two of the false positives were newsletters from companies I've bought things from.6 They're hard to filter based just on the headers, no matter how much you dislike it. This idea along with the PhD, the department, and indeed the whole concept of the modern university, and up till the 1930s theirs were the best in America, at least unconsciously.7 We're trying to increase the number of both increases we'll get something more like an efficient market. If people had been onto Bayesian filtering four years ago, fascinating and urgently needed work. The second way to compete with. That's negligible as corporate revenues go, but the pain is spread over a longer period. Wozniak's work was a classic example: he did everything himself, hardware and software, and the art and literary establishments. As well as being more comfortable working on established lines, insiders generally have a vested interest in perpetuating them.8 In a way it's a relief to get some message past network-level filters won't be completely useless. Acquirers too, while we're at it. And so you can't begin with a statement, but with a question.

For example, in my house in Cambridge, which was built in 1876, the new model is not just random variation, but a sort of Heisenberg uncertainty effect: I only got it because I was writing about spam filtering.9 And since the lawyer could never admit, in front of me. That's the combination that yielded Silicon Valley. First, the Internet lets anyone find you at almost zero cost. Roughly that you can't fool mother nature. The other two were a notice that something I bought was back-ordered, and a human who doesn't is doing a bad job of being human—is no better than an animal. Yahoo was a special case.

Notes

I made because the rich.

In-Q-Tel that is actually from the compromise you'd have reached after lots of search engines.

The thing to do more with less, then used a recent Business Week article mentioning del. At two years after Lisp 1. Who continued to dress in jeans and a wing collar who had been Boylston Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard is significantly lower, about 1.

At the moment; if anything they reinforce the impression that math is merely unglamorous, not widening. Financing a startup to an audience of investors. Users dislike their new operating system so much in the Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and VCs will try to get the answer is no difficulty making type II startup, you can't or don't want to wait for the entire period from the compromise you'd have reached after lots of customers times how much they'll pay.

Keep heat low.

The University of Vermont: The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991, p. But filtering out 95% of spam in my incoming mail fluctuated so much more dangerous to have them soon. Merely including Steve in the beginning even they don't yet have any of the 2003 season was 2.

They don't make wealth a zero-sum game. Norton, 2012. If they were shooting themselves in the biggest divergences between the Daddy Model, hard to say hello on her way out. What Is an Asset Price Bubble?

If the response doesn't come back.

I'm not dissing these people make the argument a little too narrow than to confuse everyone with a face-saving compromise. Record labels, for example. This too is true of nationality and religion too.

[zepskies]

Ahhh I'm so happy you're diving into Part 2, Jules!! Haha that's such a huge compliment tbh because I was probably subconsciously drawing from early 2000s romcoms (those are my favorite. I've pretty much seen them all 🤪). 💞💞

this is too cuteee 😭 and I totally get it. there is so much of my mom's cooking that i miss dearly, but specifically her pico de gallo 😩 like even if I make it her way it's just not the same :') chocolate chip is a great flavor choice !!🤎🙂‍↕️ // sidetone, I legit thought the baby would be a girl because of the cover lolll

Ooooh girl I love me some pico de gallo!! My mom makes it hella good too. 😩 Moms just have that special touch. Idk if its the aceite they use or what. ❤️❤️

Chocolate chip is classic - I was drawing a lot from Friends and the one where Monica is searching for the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe for her future kids. 🥹

And LOL I had the thought when I was making the header so I almost used blue, but it wasn't going to match with the red and gold theme, so I just said "fuck it" and put the salmon pinkish filter to match the other image. 🤣🤣

oh i'd be mad as hell 😭 I most definitely hold on to grudges so I wouldn't want her anywhere near me tbh, especially not when trying to push out a whole ass baby. and then to argue soon after the birth?? I'd have the urge to smack both her and dean for that, i felt so bad :(

Girl ngl I'd be the same loll. Lisa is a piece of fucking work in this story. This reader character in particular is just one of those people who doesn't like to cause additional drama, being more nonconfrontational and swallowing some of her feelings (as we can see with the miscommunication with Dean lol 🙃🙃).

this was sooo sweet 🥺 (and it low-key reminded me of NSG💛)

Omg I looooove that you shouted that out!! I do remember what line you're referencing and that's a lovely comparison. 🥹💞💞

no offense to benny, but the sigh of disappointment I let out 😭 also it's like friend code for me idk, I could never even look at someone that a friend of mine has been intimate with a certain way, makes me feel icky 😩 i mean i’m glad she has support all around at least 🫶🏽:’)

Oh I totally get it lol. It's a big romcom plot twist for ya. 😜 And while I totally agree with the "friend code," not wanting to date someone my friend has been intimate with, I've noticed it's not as big of a hangup with guys. 🙃 However, Benny's kind of being selfish, isn't he? He's stepping in where he knows Dean really should be.

But I'm going to get deeper into that in the epilogue that I've written for this story -- coming out soon!

awe, see anyone who makes you feel some type of way for simply being yourself, is not someone you're meant to be around. I wanna give her a hug 🫂

Oof, THANK YOU for seeing this (not everyone did). It's a big clue that reader and Benny aren't exactly the perfect match.

while I do see what she's talking about and it's a valid argument, this part made me laugh because it's like girl you had the chance to back out a long time ago, but you've chosen to stay and come back over and over again. also choosing to push that conversation then and there was so immature; there is a time and place, his five year old's birthday party is not it :/

Oooh yeah, Lisa has her share of culpability in this situation, as does Dean, reader, and even Benny. Lisa could've quit Dean a long time ago, but she held on (another thing the epilogue will explore). Plus, DEF not the time or place to hash this out. 😅

i know that's right !! 🙂‍↕️

Finally she stood her ground, right?! 😮‍💨

...as much as it pains me to admit, both of these comebacks ate 😭 but still, the issue could've been brought up a lot better, and how is she mad the hospital didn't call her?? that is not my girl's fault at alllll like be so fr right now lisa

One big point for Lisa, right? 😅 It does start to make the reader think about where she's done wrong in this situation. But Lisa's gotten caught up in the heat of the moment and obviously lost her temper playing the blame game. She's frustrated about the reader yes, but also about her relationship with Dean and not feeling secure there. 😪 (Not hard to wonder why. And that's kind of on Dean too, unfortunately.)

this is definitely the part of the movie where i'm screaming internally lol

Oh yeah for sure. This is the "darkest hour before the dawn" moment in the story, especially in romcoms. I kind of hated myself even on this part lolll 😝😝

well, i'm glad dean and lisa were able to have a pretty civil end tbh. and I feel for benny, but ultimately it's for the best. I think besides the friend code thing I couldn't feel a spark/connection between her and benny — like no passion? if that makes sense. I felt like she was stuck in that safe and comfortable sort of limbo even though she wasn't fully happy — it's more like she was content

You're instincts are exactly on point of what I hoped readers would pick up on! The reader and Benny relationship was "nice and safe," but not truly passionate. There were some sparks, but not the same volcano-level passion of reader and Dean lol. Also the two just get each other more. 💕

It's just bittersweet that she finally realized that only when Benny proposal came up. It also took the threat of losing her for good for Dean to realize that he wanted to fight for her for real. ❤️

the boys with their nieces/nephews will always make me immediately soft 🥺 (and out of curiosity, are sam and eileen planning on kids in this series-verse?)

Awww ikr?? It's so sweet to me too when they're loving and supportive with each other's families. 🥹 Ohh yeah the start of Sam and Eileen's family is gonna cheekily make its way into the epilogue too. 😘

I adoreeee your story telling, this was so sweeeeet ☹️💗 I was on a rollercoaster of emotions for sure, this series was so good !! <3

Awww thank you so much, my lovely!!! 🥹 That's such an awesome compliment, and I truly appreciate that.

This part is definitely a rollercoaster of emotions, but thank you for sticking it out until the end and giving me such amazing feedback. 💕💕

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

There will also be an epilogue coming on 4/27...

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[ynscrazylife]

Holaaaa, I would really love to request a Wanda Maximoff x sister reader fic, preferably an angsty one- but I don’t have the ability to think of a good storyline but if you’d want to write this, I have faith that you would !! <3

The One Who Interfered | w.m angst sister fic

Summary: The power of a sister defeats chaos magic any day, anytime.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting! I hope you like it. If not, feel free to re-request.

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 |  Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/bdaviss

It was safe to say that the concept of feelings was still a . . . strange subject for Vision. Logically, he shouldn’t posses them, for he was merely made up of electronic parts and a bunch of codings. Yet, from everything he scanned of the humans around him, their emotions were one and the same. Vision’s love for his wife Wanda was as true as his neighbor’s for his wife and his love for his children Billy and Tommy was as real as his children’s love for him.

Unfortunately, though, that also meant that his guilt from lying to Wanda and not being there for their children’s Halloween was as present as ever. However, his curiosity got the best of him, and he didn’t know how much longer he could exist in restlessness without answers.

The scary thing was, though, that he didn’t even really know what questions that the answers he was searching for would solve.

All he knew is that every time he tried to think back to a time before he and Wanda moved to Westview, when he and Wanda had even started dating, he drew a blank. It was as if someone had put up a wall, dividing his memories. But that wasn’t the only thing. Something about this place was just off. Everything always seemed to fall into the right place, just a few inches off the exact dot. There was something about the people in Westview — their behaviors, their choice of words, that led Vision to believe that perhaps, somehow, a greater force must be at play.

He didn’t know what he wanted to see or didn’t want to see when he went past the street Wanda always warned their children not to go down, but he could only hope that his intuition was right and something, anything was there.

Yet what he came across filled him with the urge to turn around and fly home and to never, ever come back or think back. The people on these streets, standing in front of the houses, were frozen still, like statues. At first he thought that maybe they were, but when he saw a singular tear rolling down a woman’s eye, he knew that this had to be real, and it was sickening.

Wanda had to have known what was there if she didn’t want their children seeing it, which meant she had to know something about it and made the choice not to tell her husband. Vision frowned, spurred with a new-found determination to uncover what his wife was hiding. Instead of turning and flying back, he walked at a brisk pace, so he wouldn’t miss any other clues that may be lurking around.

Lucky for him — this proved useful when he saw a woman walking down the street, wearing a common and classic vampire costume. Usually he wouldn’t spare her a second thought but she struck . . . ah, what did the humans call it? . . . Oh, yeah! She struck déjà vu in him. After a moment of thinking, he remembered that he had seen someone who looked exactly like her in a photo with Wanda, along with Wanda’s brother Pietro who she had told Vision about. Yet this woman . . . Wanda never mentioned her.

He fixated on the women and, without thinking (can robots really think?), made quick strides to stand before her.

The woman’s eyes widened and she took a step back, pulling a face. “Nice makeup,” she commented enthusiastically, nodding to his robotic head that was usually masked as human. “How’d you do it?”

Vision ignored this and, before the opportunity could escape him, he placed his fingers on the temples of her forehead. He didn’t quite know what he was doing but somehow his muscles seemed to remember. Within seconds, the woman had gasped and her eyes flew open, and a different gleam took its place.

“Viv-Vision?” She said in awe, before throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace.

Vision froze. Did he know her? He suppose he had to, if she was related to Wanda. Frowning in annoyance that he couldn’t remember, he gave her an awkward couple of pats on the back.

Y/N pulled back and furrowed her eyebrows as it dawned on her the complete cluelessness in Vision’s face. He was her best friend! They had known each other ever since he had joined the—the Avengers. The Avengers? The Avengers!

The memories came rushing back. Joining the team with her sister and brother, meeting Vision, going on Avengers’ missions . . . Fighting Thanos . . . The Snap . . . The battle! Getting everyone back! Going to Westview with Wanda? Westview . . . Wanda? . . . WANDA!

“What?” Vision spluttered.

Y/N blinked, realizing that she had said the last word out-loud. She remembered everything. How Wanda’s powers washed over her and gave her fake memories, a fake life . . . But underneath it all she had fought to remember, she had seen Wanda’s own nightmares.

“I need to see Wanda!” She elaborated. When Vision remained in a stunned state, Y/N got impatient. “Now!”

Vision nodded. He had considered using his powers to stop her awareness but decided against it when she mentioned his wife. “Hold on,” he muttered and wrapped an arm around Y/N before he flew them into the air. Rare was the robot so caught off-guard.

Within seconds they were at Wanda and Vision’s house. Walking inside, they found Wanda and Pietro still in their Halloween costumes, talking. Billy and Tommy must have been upstairs, sleeping — or eating their candy.

“Y/N?” The Maximoff twins said at the same time. Though Pietro had a silly grin on his face and Wanda looked like she had just seen a ghost.

Y/N, too, was shocked, not expecting to see her “brother” . . . “Who are you?” She asked curtly, turning to Pietro and glaring.

Pietro glanced from Wanda to Y/N, giving an exaggerated scoff. “What?” He said, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m your big bro, duh!”

Y/N opened her mouth to debunk that but, before the words could form themselves on the tip of her tongue, Wanda cut in. “Pietro, Vision, can we please have a moment?” She requested.

Everyone in that room knew that Wanda meant business when she used that low, calm, slightly venomous tone. Vision and Pietro walked into the kitchen and Y/N glared at her sister.

“How did you get into Westview?” Wanda asked once the door shut, her demeanor switching completely. She relaxed her muscles and her face contorted into a look of genuine surprise and remorse, her eyes carrying regret.

Y/N wasn’t buying it, though. She bit her lip. “The same way you did, we drove in the same damn car!” She cried.

Wanda huffed, not fazed by her outburst but not appreciative of it, either. “How did you get back into Westview?” She said, and a wisp of red circled her clenched fists.

Y/N glanced at her sister’s hands. “I never left!” She said, deciding that even if her sister held an immense amount of power, she wasn’t going to let that scare her.

The wisp disappeared.

Wanda’s jaw dropped ever so slightly.

“W-what?” She croaked out.

Y/N stood her ground, eyes watering. “You cast an illusion over this entire town. You gave them fake memories and took away their free will. All of them! Even me,” she explained.

When Wanda didn’t answer, seeming almost frozen, Y/N continued. “Why haven’t you stopped it? We’re all suffering — we’re all in pain. Why won’t you stop it?!” She questioned, her tears starting to fall and her cheeks reddening. She had wanted to ask this for awhile, she could feel it in her bones.

“I’ve tried,” Wanda gasped. She too was crying. “But every time I-I . . . Every time Vision and my children disappear.”

Y/N blinked, not having expecting that. After she gathered her thoughts, she pushed on. “Can’t you figure out a way to at least stop holding people hostage here? Or bring back their memories—?”

“If I do that then they’ll come after me,” Wanda interrupted.

Y/N took a physical step back and stared at her sister, whilst the redhead took deep breaths, a look crossing over her features that expressed that she hadn’t meant to say that.

“So is it that you don’t want your already-dead husband to disappear and your non-real children that I’m sure you can use your magic to make them stay alive to disappear, or is it that you don’t want to face the people you’ve hurt?”

Wanda’s gaze instantly turned into a glare, as did her tight-lipped look morph into her frown, and her limp hands come alight with power.

Y/N looked at her sister, unsure. “Do it,” she decided, still refusing to be afraid of Wanda, and jutting her chin out. “Then go lie to your husband and our “brother” on where I am. Continue lying to and hurting people instead of trying to find a solution that will save the people in Westview and your family — which obviously doesn’t include me because you just forget that I was here, right? You forget that I helped you through everything, yeah? You forgot that I lost you in the snap, huh?”

The power disappeared from Wanda’s hands but she didn’t say anything. The sisters stood and stared at each other. Wanda was huffing and puffing and her emotions were having an all-out war on her face, fighting to take over. Meanwhile Y/N was shaking with nerves but trying to maintain as confident as possible.

Finally, Y/N turned around and walked out. In her state, she didn’t notice Agatha Harkness amongst the bushes in the front yard, with a smile growing on her lips as she watched the youngest Maximoff retreat.

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[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

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________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[fandomscombine]

It's the Lease I Can Do

Platonic! Weasley Twins x Reader

BG: The Weasley twins are so close to having their joke shop become a reality. They had found the perfect location but they had hit a minor problem that could cause them everything. You want to help, but how can you when they, the birthday boys themselves had given up?

a/n: I had this idea for a almst a year now and waited til ther twins bday to write it. I hope you enjoy.

WC: 2111

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

Fred and George causing a ruckus in the common room is a daily occurrence that everyone is accustomed to. However ever since the start of Year 7, the amount of commotion these two had caused can be counted in one hand.

At first glance, it could be attributed to NEWTS or in this year's case-to a pink toad acting as High Inquisitor. Still, more and more nights the twins had claimed the back corner of the common room.

~

The last remaining batch of students were making their way through Filch's checkpoint (an added security protection which also serves for Umbridge having a list of names on who comes in and out of Hogwarts). You glanced down at your watch- 2:27pm, they’re late. Weird, the twins never pass a chance to go to Hogsmeade.

You hear the castle door open behind you. Thank Merlin, you thought but instead you were greeted with a disheveled Angelina. “I’m coming! Wait!”

“Have you seen Fred and George?” You called as she ran past you.

“I think I saw them in the common room!” Angelina shouted back.

The common room? “What are they up to now?” You sighed. Stomping heavily up the stairs. “Ditching me….”

~

“Oi Weaslebees! I know you’re in here!” You rounded the corner of their secret spot. “AHa!”

You caught them red handed, midway into shoving papers into their “Weasley & Weasley'' Trunk. Though what they were hiding, you weren't exactly sure.

“Y/N!” Fred greeted, grabbing onto your shoulders, effectively covering George and the table. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Narrowing your eyes at him. “Really?” Hands on hips you blatantly say “2:15 am, courtyard?? Ring any bells?” Fred shook his head.

Meanwhile George’s head shot up. “Oh shit, y/n we’re so sorry!”

Fred turned to his brother, still clueless on what the heck George was talking about.

Abandoning the trunk, George gave his twin a classic smack on the head. “Hogsmeade, you idiot! We were supposed to all go together.”

“OHHHH FU--” Fred knew he was screwed. “I’M SO SORRY! WE’RE SORRY.” Seizing the messy trunk, he strategized. “Right, here’s the plan: I’m gonna quickly drop this off back in the dorm while you two make your way to the gate. If you run, I guess you can make it. I’ll catch up with you two then.”

“Fred….. We’re not gonna make it” you argued.

“Not if we don’t try.”

“It’s almost 3, Filch would be closing the gates by now.” You sat down on Fred’s empty seat. “Besides we can go to Hogsmeade next time, we could just hang out here. I miss having my best lads around.”

“Awww…we’ve been upgraded from annoying pricks to best lads!” Gushed George, pulling you into a side hug.

“Yea, I could help in whatever it was you guys were doing before I came. I don’t mind.”

At that, you could feel George tense up, his arm around you dropping. “Uhhh…” He looked to the older twin, silently conversing.

You gaze between the boys, sometimes they get so caught up in their scheming that they don’t notice that to others, especially those who had known them for years that their non verbal communication is not so sly.

In the end, Fred gave his brother a subtle shake. “No, that’s alright. I’ll just put this back and we could play gobstones or something, anything you like.”

As Fred headed up to his dorm room, you noticed a piece of paper under the table. Picking it up, the header caught your eye. RE: Lease Agreement. Were the twins looking for a new home after graduation? You didn’t mean to pry. You were close friends, they would tell you if they were moving right? This is big news….you decided to brush it off until another line caught your attention. The shop premise located at Number 93 Diagon Alley. Shop? They are trying to set up shop? That’s brilliant! The twins would get to showcase their inventions to the world! You could feel your pride swell. Leasing Agreements would not proceed if tenants, Mr. Fred Weasley and Mr. George Weasley, are unable to provide an endorser by the date of 31st of March.

“Where’d you get that?” George standing across from you, gobstones on one hand and another pointing at the document. There’s no backing out now.

“It was under the table.” You explained. “I didn’t know you were this far along with the shop.”

“Yea, well it’s not happening now is it?”

“What?”

“Cmon y/n. I know you read it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright. We aren’t getting the place anyway.”

“Wait what? Why?”

“No endorsers.” George stated matter of factly but you sense the pain in his voice.

“How about your parents surely-”

George laughed. “As if mum would suddenly have a change of heart. You knew how she disapproves of our inventions, calling it a waste.”

“Arthur then.”

“Mum won’t let him.”

“Anyone then?” George huffed in defeat. “How about me! I could back you up.”

“You have to be an adult with a proven financial stability.” He stated, effectively shutting you down. “Forget it y/n. The hold ends in 3 days. We’ve tried everything. Just don’t let Fred know that you know. He’s devastated. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“And no pity, sad eyes!” He added as footsteps are heard descending the staircase.

“But I suck at poker faces!”

“Then let’s hope that Freddie is distracted even to not notice.”

~

It’s been 4 days since you had sent the letter to your father.

“Dear papa,

I know that this is a huge favour to ask but I believe it would be worth your while.

So remember back in the summer when you caught Fred Weasley, George Weasley and me snooping around with the Extendable Ears but let us go because you were so enamored?

Well turns out the twins and trying to get a shop up and running! How amazing is that?

The only problem is that they need an endorser to back them up in order to proceed with the lease agreements. The are currently on hold for the Shop Number 93 in Diagon Alley until the 31st.

This is where the huge favour comes in. Could you please be their backer? You did say that you’d love to help in some part in their invention, be an investor of sorts. Please papa. I would love to do it myself but I have to wait a couple more months to qualify. Plus it’s their 18th birthday on April 1st. Imagine their surprise if it were to come through.

I’d love to hear from you soon, regardless of your choice.

Your favourite child

y/n.”

The twin’s 18th birthday was spent with absolute love and madness.

Lee had unloaded his stash of butterbeer and firewhiskey, Fred had slipped Angelina with one of their new prank inventions- which changes the person into a sickly color of vomit green, a perfect way to ditch class or events.

Upon learning that the color would last for a few days and would only fade with the ingestion of an antidote, antidote that George said they still had yet to create. Angelina (understandably) threw cake at them. The Gryffindor chaser with perfect aim, hits its mark. However, Fred using his beater skills, instinctively blocks the incoming cake.

Resulting in a wide splat zone. Fred’s arm was covered in frosting, having sprayed everyone around him in whipped cream during the impact. George wasn’t safe too, despite being across from Fred, the rebounce of the cake had made him the new target.

You had just changed into your pajamas when a tapping sound came from your window.

Your family owl, Lanny, was outside carrying a large yellow envelope.

Quickly letting him in, you gave Lanny a gentle pat and brought out some owl treats for the tired bird.

Unscrolling the note tied to his leg, you begin to read.

“My dearest y/n,

My sincere apologies for the late reply, it’s been quite hectic at work.

In regards to your favour, you need not worry. Everything is taken care of. I had met with the landlord of Number 93 Diagon Alley and had all the documents settled. I had also gone and checked to make sure the two lads aren’t being ripped off. Fred and George had picked a nice prime location.

Greet them a happy birthday for me alright? And tell them that I look forward to witnessing them succeed in their endeavors.

They would undoubtedly be bringing a lot of much needed joy into these darkening times. The people would be thankful for them.

I also had Lanny bring the twins’ copy of the Lease Agreement.

I can’t wait to see you all soon.

Much love,

Papa.”

~

Fred was grateful that their friends had retired into the night, leaving him and George to sulk into the dreadful reality.

“We were this close Georgie, this close!” Fred winced, pinching his fingers close without touching.

“I know but there was nothing else we could have done.” consoled George but even he himself was having a hard time. Number 93 was the perfect location for their joke shop. But now it’s gone.They are back to square one, scouting for locations.

“Fred! George! There you are! I have great news!” You yelled, not caring if you could wake up the other students.

“Oi Y/N! Be careful!.” Even in a bad mood, Fred Weasley couldn’t help being protective.

You banged the envelope on the table. “Surprise! Happy Birthday! From papa and I.”

“Another gift?” wondered George.

“So you don’t want it then?” You challenged, crossing your arms. You tried to look intimidating but the pajamas weren’t doing any good. “Cause I bet a hundred galleons that you’d shit your pants if you were to reject it.”

“That confident eh?” Smirked Fred, taking the contents of the envelope out. “ What do you think is so grand that Georgie and I would---BLOODY HELL! Y/N!” Fred kept looking down at the paper and up to you, unbelieving.

“What is it Freddie?” asked George leaning over to read whatever it was that left his brother speechless.

Re: Lease Agreement

Mr. y/l/n has submitted his endorsement to Mr. Fred Weasley and Mr. George Weasley.

The turnover of the leasing property of Shop Number 93 Diagon Alley would begin on April 1st …..

“Oh My- Y/n? Is this real?” George whispered, afraid that if he were any louder this dream would end.

“Yes, absolutely, 100%.” You affirmed. “The shop is yours! Opff-”

George embraced you tight, catching you off guard. You could feel your right shoulder getting wet. “Heyya big guy, don’t cry.” Running a hand up and down his back.

“But how?” Fred with brows creased was still stuck in a trance, you could see the paper shake in his grasp.

“You left the agreement noticed a couple of days ago. I might have accidentally read it. George said to not let you know cause you might get angry-”

“YOu KNEW?!?”

“George only knew I saw the paper. Nothing else.” You defended. “I thought i might try and help, so I called in a favour with papa. You knew how much he was impressed with the Extendable Ear, so I mentioned if he wanted to back you up. I only got his reply just now, said he’d love to and got onto ironing out the paperwork and viola!” Pointing at the document. “Oh and he also said Happy 18th Birthday, looking forward to your success and the people would be thankful for bringing a lot of much needed joy into these darkening times.”

“Thanks Y/n but this is a lot we can’t possibly-”

You cut Fred off before he could say more. “Oh please, you have done countless things for me. And I know what you’re gonna say- but see you would do the same for me. Besides think of this as your first investors. We want to help. We see your potential, we know you two, Fred, George, are gifted with bringing laughter and joy to people with your inventions."

"Thank you, truly y/n and to your dad too." Fred admitted, opening himself up. "No one's really backed us up with our inventions before, we've been always told off for being childish. It really means a lot."

“Hey, it’s the lease I could do.” You replied, causing the twins to chuckle immediately lightening up the mood.

It's great to see them relax again after weeks of stressing over the shop. Times might be changing but at least tonight, you got your best lads back.

~

Everything Taglist : @gruffle1

HP Taglist: @onlyfreds

[slowpoke-fics]

The Run | The Good Doctor pt 3

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x Reader slow burn

Summary: You had a bit more responsibility than you'd expected, not to say you didn't know what you were doing

Warnings: none really, cussing, ooc Negan, slow burn, it's cute, I miss some and am not perfect, read at your own risk

A/N: This is part three to the Good Doctor Part 3! Thank you for being patient and I hope to have part four up much quicker. I liked this even though it's just some logistical stuff and insight, here is part two!

Maybe he thinks he can fix me, sucks for him, I'm broken beyond repair.

When you woke up, Negan had his hand on your shoulder, you immediately grabbed the gun under your pillow, holding it under his chin. He immediately grabbed the gun and twisted it out of your hands, your eyes now fully open and awake. You didn't realize he was eye level with you, how hot it was for him to control your gun like that, how hot he was staring into your eyes, waiting for your next move. You were frozen, you're not sure he equated it with anything but sleep, but he was captivating.

He laughed, hands up, "Damn, doll, just trying to fuckin' wake you up without fuckin' scaring you, see that was fuckin' pointless," his eyebrows raised as he shook the gun by the barrel at you, "you want it back or not?" You shook your head in disbelief as you took your gun and put it down, shocked that you held a gun to someone for just trying to wake you up. "I-I'm sorry, I guess it was just-" Negan laughed, "No worries, doll, at least I know you can take care of yourself."

You smiled, throwing the blanket off of you and swinging your legs over the couch, “So,” you stood up and began folding the blanket, “what’s the plan?” He watched you fold the blanket, not trying to hide the fact that his eyes roamed your body. Taking in the battered bluejeans that hugged your body, the scratched and slightly torn tank top, your hair shining against the sun, really popping the color out. “We’re going to drive a little longer than I’d hoped but,” he huffed, “the towns supposed to have some more supplies left than we’d originally thought, we should be back by dark.” You shrugged, “Should be fun, are we ready to leave now?”

Negan leaned against the desk, you took all of him in. He was wearing his classic leather jacket over the tattered t-shirt and blue jeans that laid over his steel toe boots. He watched as you put your hair into a pony tail, shirt playing peekaboo with the skin on your torso, “Right after breakfast doll. You ready?” You nodded at him, heading to the door with him following close behind.

Once you had sat down for breakfast Negan started shoveling food down, a full plate compared to your half rations. You didn’t really have much of an appetite, worried about everything that could happen with Negan today. He didn’t seem to notice, and by the time you’d finished your small plate, he was already done eating too. He grabbed your plate so he could return it with his own. You picked up the bags and followed suit, following him out the door and to his truck.

The truck was huge. Had to have been able to fit half of Alexanndria's storage. You’d wondered how much he was planning to come back with. It started to make a little more sense when a small portion of his crew jumped into the back, probably for protection. You climbed into the truck after Negan opened the door for you, closing it once he’d known your feet were out of the way. Then proceeding to climb in his own side.

Negan started the truck, taking you in before he started rolling. Your legs crossed, fingers interlocked at the top of your thighs, thumbs picking at each other, ankle continuously moving. You watched the trucks behind you, following close, at least three others. Did all of them have people in the back? How big was this run?

You were clearly nervous and he hated that, he wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. He tried to ignore it, but after fifteen minutes of non stop thought through his head, he had to say something. "God damn doll," Negan bellowed, "you're gonna roll the damn truck if you don't stop shaking so much," Negan lightly rubbed your forearm, a foreign thing to you, "what're ya so fuckin' nervous about anyway princess?"

You shrugged, a look of uneasiness resting on your face at his nickname for you that didn't go unnoticed, "Just don't know how to act with your group, what're your run rules? Where do I not be in the way? Will I distract you and your men? I'm used to going solo, or with one or two people. There's so-" Negan had to stop your monologue, knowing you've asked these questions twenty times since yesterday. "Don't fuckin' worry about it," Negan smiled, "I made sure this was gonna be fun for you." Your eyebrows curled, needing him to explain.

Negan blushed? No way, you thought and left it alone. "What do you mean?" He shrugged, "You'll see, won't you doll?" You huffed, "Well that just makes me more nervous." Negan let out a hearty laugh, "Damn girl, pull at this old assholes strings huh?" He shook his head, "I'm your personal companion today," he giggled at your slap to his arm. "I don't need a baby sitter!" He raised he hands very quickly to show defense, "No! But, wherever you go, I do. Whatever you fuckin' say, that's law. Everyone else goes at your direction too," he paused, looking at you, "but you don't leave my fuckin' sight," his eyes bore into you, demanding confirmation. "Yeah, okay," you smiled lightly.

"So," Negan's fingers drilled the steering wheel as he hummed at you to continue, "what's in this place?" Negan shifted, "It's a little town, the rest is a surprise." He looked genuinely excited, and you wondered how this apocalypse had changed him as a man. He couldn't have always been this heartless. "Do I get any hints?" Negan hummed again, this time searching for something to give you, "You'll fuckin' like it." You shrugged, "Maybe." He glanced to your bag where you keep your notebook, a gentle reminder of his broken trust. "Oh," you cleared your throat, "hopefully." He beamed at you, "Come on lil' fuckin' firecracker," he pressed the gas a couple more times, gently swerving the car to play with you, "be more fuckin' excited! I'm fuckin' kidding!"

The rest of the way you could believe how different Negan was being. He was intently talking to you about the grid of the town, what his crew already know about, how his crew has already been briefed that you're running it, explained the teams to you and that you're header, leading the team leaders, and he's told you that he's confident you have this ability. You were shocked about him being completely different man that with other people. You were sure that you could be with the man sitting in the truck with you, and you were sure that you couldn't be with the man who murdered someone you considered to be your brother. You were torn between seeing his good and never forgiving him for killing Glenn, how could he do something so vile? You shook your head, drawing attention back to the road and off of your thoughts.

When you arrived, Negan placed his hand on your thigh, just barely touching you. "There is one rule," he smiled, "stay here." Negan was gone for no more than two minutes. He finally came to your door, opening it and revealing his many men standing behind him, "Make sure you're safe." He reached for your hand, dropping you down to the same man who stole from you in your clinic, you glared him hiding behind Negan.

Negan stepped out of the way, the man looking guilty, "Hello, Doctor Y/n," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for stealing from an honorable woman." He handed you a gum pack, missing a few pieces, and a small pack of skittles, "I couldn't find gum to replace what I'd stolen, so I hoped that the skittles would excuse my poor manners." You smiled hatefully at him, taking what was in his hand, "Apology accepted..." you waited for him to say his name, but Negan chimed in. "Brady," and he slapped the other man on the shoulder eliciting a smile, "and Simon." You smiled, reaching your hand out to shake Simon's hand, "I've heard." Negan smiled at you, "Good we're all fuckin' aquatinted," he roughly slapped Brady's shoulder, you didn't miss the wince he tried to hide, "these two travel with us period. So, Y/n," a bright smile, "what's the fucking plan?"

With that you noticed the other men had cleared a path for you, letting you view the town. At this point you took in the town, looking at the tiny shops and small streets. Negan wasn't kidding, it's a small town, surely the four trucks you bought could fit everything. You thought for a second, and it hit you, how much work he had put into this. You smiled to yourself, knowing that he wanted to make this go smoothly for you, hence the perfect amount of trucks, a grid, briefed men.

You walked a little behind you, looking at the different streets, looking at Negan, he smiled, giving you some confidence. "You said that you'd already separated these men by trucks? With their usual teams?" You whispered to Negan, "Yes ma'am, they're with their usual team leaders and already armored, just need you to tell them where to go n what to do."

"Okay, so here's my plan-" Negan put his hand up, gesturing to the men when you realized you should be talking to them. You cleared your throat, "Okay, so here's the plan," Negan's body was just barely pressing against you, standing behind you on your left side, his hands in his pockets, watching his men intently listen to you. How hard did he work on this for you?

"If you came in Negan's truck, you're with us on main," you motioned with your hand to have them move to the side, "Truck two-or rather-team two, you're going to our left, Combs Street, when you get to the library, we're looking for education books, if we have time and space after you've gotten everything else essential on the street, comb the library taking the fun books, that's a good part of life now." Negan nodded, liking your plan for education first, noting that the houses on the street might hold value, but acknowledging that we still need distractions like 'fun books' if circumstances allowed.

"Truck three, hit the residential area, on Langley Street," you continued when the men nodded their heads, "Truck four, hit the shops to our right on second street," everyone started moving and you shouted, "wait!" You cleared your throat once again, "Team leaders, I need you and your right hand man, everyone else stay put."

You pulled out the grid as the men surrounded you, "So you've got the left and right sides on your street, split in half, half on Side A, the left, half on side B, the right, this will increase the time we can spend in the houses and avoid stepping on each others feet. Every time you clear a house you call it in, for example, team four A, you would say 'Team Four, A1 clear, moving to A2,' or 'Team Four A Trapped, requesting Four B at A3.' I need you to do this so I can designate resources and men, keep up with the lives and walkers. No need for needless death, check in." Everyone nodded, you smiled, "Anybody have questions, comments or concerns?" The men shook their heads and you turned back towards the crowd, "Alright, everyone knows what you're doing, no-one goes anywhere alone or unarmed. Take everything useful. Do not let your guard down and watch your backs. Dismissed." At that the men dissipated, going on their own assignments.

"Was that okay?" You looked to Negan, the need for approval swimming through your eyes, Negan nodded, "I think it was great, Simon what about you?" Simon chirped up, "Oh yeah, couldn't have done it better myself, I don't make them check in that much but that's okay." You smiled at Simon, wondering how he could not worry about his men that much. You watched as Team One had already started moving toward the first building, them the first check-ins started.

"Team One, heading to A1," a pause, "Team One, heading to B1," another pause, "Team Two, heading to A1." You listened to the team list off their locations, smiling as everyone checked in. "Alright, doll," Negan leaned against the truck, "Where to first?"

[j10kkuno]

Ludkkuno Breakup #63

I swear this week is a resurgence of OTV and Friends content. Amigops on GTA, Lily and Wendy joining GTA, Toast flew back to LA yesterday and then he, Lily, and Miyoung went to get vaccinated together this morning and from Insta stories, he was bugging Miyoung to say hi because of course he was. And what's OTV and Friends without some classic Sykkuno and his original shrimp content?

Lud did a charity stream on Monday, Marbles. And I guess chat could attach things Ludwig had to do if their marble won, for example he had to wear a wig. One of them was a header that said "I hate Sykkuno" with a picture of shark girl next to it(Someone is Jealous). But then one was Block Sykkuno.

Ludwig crumbled when he realized that marble was winning. He put on super dramatic orchestral music and turned off his cam when he finally pressed the block button. But he did. It broke his heart, but he did.

He was able to unblock him not long later. But there was one problem. Blocking someone forces them to unfollow you. So how did he get Sykkuno to refollow him? He was angsting about in on stream last night.

Meanwhile Sykkuno's chat went to him and told him to follow Lud again and Sykkuno did the thing he does when guys flirt with him. He played innocent and coy, was all, "Oh, Ludwig is such a good friend! I already follow him, there's absolutely no reason I'd need to follow him again." And Lud watched the clip and was like, "Hear that tone? He know what he doth!"

Later on, he did say he heard about the block/unblock thing, but said he wasn't sure if he was sure if he should refollow but maybe if Lud tier 3 subbed, then giggled and said it was a joke. When Lud saw the clip, he immediately went to Sykkuno's stream, saying, "By god, he's going to make me simp." But simp he did and gifted 20 Tier 3 gift subs.

Sykkuno followed him back on and told chat they were back on "professionally and you know-" So romantically. It's a fun series of clips that you can find by wading through the Ludwig Sykkuno search on Twitter. Ludwig did it to himself.

I miss them. I miss OTV and Friends. I really hope they all come together for the upcoming Minecraft server. Obviously I love GTA but... Home is where the heart is, you know? And that's OTV and Friends.

[ynscrazylife]

Hi i have to request if you will you don't have to do them but i was wondering if you could do a part two too the lene luthor one i wasn't enough that by the time she realize her mistake and that it was just a passing phase for her and kara the Reader has already moved on and wants nothing to do with her or kara or the rest of the superfriends and maybe her new partner can be kate kane?

For the Kara one all a lie kara tries to get back with the reader when she finds out mon el is about to be married with imran is that her name i forget but the reader has already left the deo and wants nothing to do with her and maybe readers new partner can be a villain

I Wasn’t Enough (2) | l.l angst & k.k fluff fic

Summary: After Y/N leaves Lena and Lena starts dating Kara, Kate Kane saves Y/N in more ways than just one. (I Wasn’t Enough can be found here)

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting! I did Part 2 of All A Lie here.

Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

DCEU Masterlist | Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c/ @/artpoetryedits

Image ID: Five panels of Kate Kane (Batwoman) from the DC comics themed in red, black, and white. End ID.

It had officially been a week since Y/N and Lena had broken up and Y/N had left the DEO. An anger had been bubbling up inside her that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to contain before it burst at Kara and her friends for so easily moving on from the pain Lena had caused her. No one cared that they had been in a committed relationship. No one cared that Lena had gone to Kara not a day ever she and Y/N had broken up. No one cared about her. 

Except for J’onn. 

He was her saving grace, as he promised to lend her name to a few of his friends for work, and Y/N couldn’t be more grateful, especially as she had left her position at the DEO so suddenly and without warning anyone.

The woman had just returned to her home after a long day of failed job hunting, because even though she had J’onn’s help, it was better to be safe than sorry. 

She locked her door, took of her coat, and promptly flopped on the couch, her limbs hungry from rest with their endless aching. She complied, letting her what-now-felt heavy eyelids flutter close.

The ringing of her phone felt 10x louder in her sleepy clouded haze, as she was almost asleep when her eyes flew open, wide, and she nearly tumbled off the couch. 

Grumbling, she pulled her phone out go her pocket and saw that it was an unknown number. Y/N had nothing better to do so - she answered. 

“Hello?” 

“Can I speak to Y/N Y/L/N?” 

“This is she . . . Who are you?” 

“I’m Batwoman. J’onn recommended you for our Crisis team and if you’d like, we want to bring you to our headquarters - paid by us, of course - and test and see if we should recruit you.” 

Y/N could of sworn she was dreaming, and had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t. It took a couple moments for this all to process in her head . . .

“Uhh, you still there?” 

She suddenly realized she hadn’t answered for a bit and scrambled to compose her thoughts. “Yes, sorry! Just digesting everything . . . it’s a great opportunity, thank you so much and . . . yeah, I think I’d like that,” she said, clearing her throat. 

The warmth of Batwoman’s chuckle instantly calmed Y/N’s frenzied-state like a spell. “Awesome, I’ll text you more details soon,” the superhero said. 

After ending the phone call, Y/N laid back on the couch, jaw open and an awed, dazed look in her eyes. “Wow,” she whispered, hardly believing it. 

Little did she know that she would get accepted into the team and would have the greatest time ever - working with the team, gaining new friends, and the best one of all would be falling for and dating Batwoman herself, Kate Kane.

. . . . . . . . .

A couple months later and the couple was happily sitting at Y/N’s apartment, having a date night (which mainly consisted of watching cheesy and classic movies, eating chocolate, and gossiping about their teammates).

Kate had just started ticking Y/N (the former trying and struggling to get away from her strong grip), laugher bouncing off the walls.

“This is too adorable,” Kate commented with a grin, enjoying her girlfriend’s smile and giggles.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “NnnnnOoOhHOO,” she got out through her laughter, attempting to combat Kate’s fingers as she dug them under her armpits, making her squeal.

Knock knock knock!

“Saved by the bell,” Kate remarked with a smirk, leaning back.

Y/N just smiled, glad that the tickling had ceased for the time being but also wondering who was at the door. She climbed off the couch and walked over, first checking through the peephole.

She had to do a double take when she saw who it was. Turning back to Kate, Y/N said, “It’s Lena.”

Kate furrowed her eyebrows in confusion but nodded, encouraging her to open it.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m sorry to do this, I just . . . My feelings for Kara were so stupid. It was just a passing thing, a crush, and . . . God, I miss you so much. Would you consider, uh, taking me back?” Lena rushed out as soon as Y/N opened the door.

Whatever she thought her ex-girlfriend was going to say, it wasn’t this. Y/N stood there for a couple moments, letting the words weave itself throughout her mind.

“Um, I’m sorry Lena, but . . . no,” she said, unsure of how else to voice it.

Lena blinked, shocked. “What?” She asked, obviously not expecting this.

Y/N shifted the weight from one foot to the other, fingers tapping against the door quietly. “I’ve moved on. I have a girlfriend,” she clarified, opening the door to show Kate on the couch, who awkwardly waved.

Lena’s mouth dropped, tears in her eyes. “I... I didn’t expect you to-”

“Move on?” Y/N cut in, taking a breath. Her grip on the door got tighter. Shit, she knew she was past Lena, but the hurt was still there.

Silence filled the air, Lena not knowing what to say and Y/N looking at her intensely. Finally, Lena huffed and looked at her, before spinning around on her heels and walking out. Y/N sighed, closing the door, but Kate snuck up behind her and was there to tickle and hug and cuddle the pain away. 

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath

DCEU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @basiclesbianbitch @extraordinary-fangrl @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok @harrypottercumslut

[coachtfd]

My Europa League Thoughts: 4/29/21

1) That first Manchester United goal, with three world-class players combining in one-touch play, was absolutely classic!! That’s the United I grew up with. That’s the Paul Pogba I’ve been wanting to see more consistently since he arrived. That’s the team play I hoped Ole would bring back. 💖

2) Pogba’s handball was unlucky and utterly ironic. Clearly, he’s not over the hump just yet, but that header goal definitely helps. 😋

3) The United back line getting beat by a flat ball across the six...again...AGAIN. 😑

4) I’d say Bruno’s silenced some of his most recent critics today. 😎

5) Roma, get a goalkeeper. 😂 That was an unnecessarily theatrical save; just catch the ball. That’s what happens when you don’t force that out of a keeper’s game in practice, because you know he’s coughing up needless rebounds there too.

6) THAT WAS THE MOST WORLD CLASS UNITED PERFORMANCE FROM MANCHESTER UNITED I’VE SEEN IN YEARS. 😁👏🏾

7) Bad things just happen to Roma when they come to Old Trafford. 😂😂  #7-1

8) Ole, you’re still at the wheel. PLEASE, take the brake off and just let them play!!

9) If United pass on Haaland, take that money and invest in the midfield and back line, they’re getting back to the later stages of the Champions League, period.

10) Arsenal... Arsenal... Conceding in the opening 5 minutes, twice in the opening 30, the second coming from a player that’s on his last legs. Ceballos getting sent off and missing the return leg. I mean...I don’t know what to tell you, I’ve got nothing.

11) A lot of people, especially the pundits and analysts, underestimated Villareal with their talk about an English final like it was a foregone conclusion. I’ve been watching them from the first kick in this tournament and looking at highlights from La Liga. I had Arsenal advancing narrowly, but I’m not surprised that Villareal won the first leg. If they come to play like this in the second leg, Arsenal are going out because they cant count on Leno to stop that many shots on goal again.

12) SPECIAL MENTION to Juan Mata who got a run out tonight. He’s been a fantastic, 100% class servant of the club.