#[ Saturday night is alright for fighting. CRACK ]

[are-we-really-doing-this]

WHAT’S FRESH, DICKHEADS???

[im-sleepdeprived]

do u think u can do a Peter Parker x reader where reader is gone for a while and has her phone off, and Peter gets super scared only to find out she’s alright?? I love ur work u’re the best xx

'No location found'

pairing: peter parker x reader

a/n: thank you for the request !!!! i had this written, then I decided to rewrite it lmao. I pictured college pete but Im not sure if I specified, also not sure if anyone saw my post abt writing a fic inspired by ‘peter’ by taylor swift but i think im going to start working on that and that its gonna be a mini series👀.... so stay tuned and request something in the meantime !!

warnings: none

masterlist, requests are open !!

“That’s not what I said!”

“Oh? Well, that’s what I heard.”

You two had been going at it for a while now. Peter had missed yet another date you’d both planned. It’d been a while since you both spent time together, and you thought he was finally going to change that. Until he just stood you up again. 

You’d thought after moving in together, you’d see him all the time. The opposite was true. He was always out, either on patrol, at Stark Tower, or wherever else his Superhero duties took him.  The problem was, that place never seemed to be with you.

“Y/N please-”

“No, Peter! I’m sick of it! I try to be understanding, I really do, I try to give you grace, but every time I do it’s like you just make it worse.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “Honestly at this point, it feels like you don’t even care anymore.”

His face fell. “Come on baby. You can't seriously think that! It was just a mistake, I won't do it again.”

You nodded, “Right. Think I’ve heard that one before.” You turned around and walked towards your shared bedroom.

“Woah, hey. Wait a minute, where’re you going?” His voice was hurt, and you almost felt bad for turning your back.

Shaking your head and looked down at your dress. You’d gotten all dressed up, expecting a nice dinner followed by a walk in the park. You said, “I’m tired, I’m gonna change and get ready for bed. Sorry, but hey, at least now your schedule is freed up,” you gave him a weak smile, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Y/N you know it’s not like that. Look you’re all dressed up,” he reached for your arm, “we can still go out. Please, let me make it up to you”

Looking into his eyes, it took everything in you to pull away. 

“Peter,” you whispered, voice so quiet, yet so full of emotion. 

“I don’t want us to fight,” he begged. 

'We’re not fighting, not anymore. I just want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He nodded, but still kept his hand on you, reluctant to let go. “I’ll sleep on the couch?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice right now.

He deflated. He wasn’t exactly expecting you to object, but still. It hurt that you wanted to be away from him so bad. 

“Good night,” he muttered, watching you walk towards the door with sullen eyes. “I’m right here if you need anything.”

You gave him the tiniest tip of your head, not even bothering to turn around, “Night.”

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight.

You slept in that day. It was Saturday and you didn’t feel like doing anything. Even after you woke up, you stayed in bed scrolling on your phone, heart pounding a little harder when you saw messages from Peter pop up, before effectively sliding them away.

After a few hours of doomscrolling, you stepped out of the room. You could see a throw blanket neatly folded on the couch, you have no idea if he’d even used a pillow. Your heart thrummed with guilt and you decided that tonight he was definitely sleeping on the bed. Or at the very least, you’d sleep on the couch. 

Walking into the kitchen, you noticed a tray with a note sitting atop a covered plate. When you got closer, you saw that the note held a cheesy breakfast pun. So Peter.

I love you a waffle lot! With a bunch of hearts around it. You couldn’t help it, you cracked a smile. He was such a dork. And you loved it. 

You heated up your breakfast and had gotten well into eating when your phone started ringing. Was it Peter? You didn’t really want to speak to him, not yet at least. You’d kind of hoped you wouldn’t have to until tonight-

You picked up your phone and almost let out a sigh of relief when you realized it was just one of your friends, Maddie. Then you felt bad for feeling relieved. 

You answered the phone. “Hey Mads, how's it going.” 

“Hi Y/N! Good! I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out tonight? Listen, before you say no-”

“No that sounds great actually,” you cut her off quickly, eager for an excuse to get out of the house. You’d been canceling plans for way too long in hopes of spending even a moment with Peter, and it seemed as if even your friends had noticed. But no more.

“Really? Great! So there's this raging new club,” she went on, giving you all the details of who was going and who might be there and you listened but barely felt a hint of excitement. You weren’t sure if it was because it was a frat party, and those things rarely appealed to you, or if it was lingering feelings from your argument with Peter. Which reminded you why you’d wanted to go out in the first place. 

“We’re gonna pregame at my place though, so stop by here and I’ll take you!” She finished, making you smile. Maddie was always sweet, a little more wild than you, but that’s what made you like her. 

“Sure Maddie, thanks for the invite.”

“Of course, can’t wait to see you, I feel like it's been forever since we went out together.”

You let out a small laugh, “I know what you mean. But we’re gonna change that tonight. 

You said your goodbyes and hung up. You needed to start getting ready soon, despite you just eating breakfast, you’d stayed in all morning and it was pretty late already. 

You got ready quietly, only a playlist you’d turned on droning in the background as you did your hair and makeup. You walked over to the closet to pick out an outfit and felt a little sad. Usually, Peter was here during this part, helping you pick out something, annoying you when he said you looked beautiful in everything. 

“Peter! I need real criticism!”

“Well, I can’t help it if my girl looks stunning in everything!”

You picked out a nice outfit you deemed fit for clubbing before grabbing a pair of heels and stepping out of your room. Looking around at the empty apartment you realized you should probably let Peter know you weren’t going to be home tonight. You didn’t feel like calling him though, and if you didn’t want to open his messages from earlier either so you decided to take a page out of his book. 

Grabbing a sticky note, you wrote down the briefest of explanations, before sticking it on your fridge and leaving. 

He had sent texts saying Good morning!, Do you need anything?, and another explaining he’d be out for a while but he’d made you breakfast, all in hopes of you responding to him. You didn’t, but that wasn’t too shocking to him. It didn’t make it hurt any less though. 

He knew he fucked up. He knew he’d disappointed you again, let you down again. He knew he deserved this and more. He should be grateful you weren’t giving him the more. And he was! But he couldn’t help the small selfish part of him that just wished you would let him take you out tonight, or give him something else he could do to make up for it because there was nothing he hated more in the world than when you were mad at him. And he did not want to sleep on the couch again. Sure it was uncomfortable but that was the least of his worries. He hated not sleeping next to you.

That had been his favorite part about the two of you moving into your own place, that he got to hold you every night. After a rough night of patrolling, or working too long on his studies, or a new gadget, he got to go home and hold you, get lost in your touch, and that always made everything better. And it killed him to know you were just down the hall, and he wasn’t with you. 

He tried his best to rush everything, trying to get all his work done for the day so he could spend the whole night with you. He was planning a movie night, bingeing all your favorites. He was gonna give you a proper date, soon, but right now, all that mattered was you two spending time together. 

On his way home, he stopped at a corner store to grab snacks for the two of you, making sure to get all your favorite ones. He even stopped at a flower shop not far from your apartment to grab you a bouquet and his heart fell when he realized how long it’d been since he’d done this. He definitely deserved the more. 

He knocked on the door of your apartment a few times and his heart fell as he realized you were either dead set on ignoring him, or you weren’t home. When he pulled out his keys and let himself in, he realized it was the latter. 

Sighing, he set down the bags of snacks and placed the bouquet down as he ran a hand through his hair as he walked around. He entered the kitchen and felt a little better when he saw the dishes he’d used to plate your breakfast were washed and on the drying rack, meaning you’d eaten. 

He was about to pull out his phone to see if he’d missed a text from you when he saw something on the fridge. 

“Went out. Be home late.”

His brows furrowed as he read. He didn’t know you had plans. Hell, he didn’t even know if you had plans now, your note barely explained anything.

All he could do was wait until you came home to sort everything out.

Peter could handle the silent treatment (barely), but what he couldn't handle, was not knowing if you were safe or not. No. That wouldn’t fly. 

He’d sent you a text when he got home, letting you know he got your note and to have fun and be safe. 

An hour later, he sent another text. Just as a little check-in. Still no response. 

It had been about three hours since he’d gotten back when he noticed that his messages had lost the little mark that indicated they were delivered. Weird. 

He tried to call you, he’d refrained from doing so before because he thought he should let you have your space (which was why, he assumed, you’d left in the first place) but it didn’t even ring, he just got sent straight to voicemail. 

What made him really start to panic, however, was when he went to check your location, which he felt so stupid for not doing before, and it wouldn’t load. It kept saying ‘no location found’ making his heart beat harder.

This was worse. You were ignoring him, his messages and calls weren’t going through. Something was wrong, was your phone off? Were you mugged? Or even worse-

He stopped himself before he could spiral too hard. That wouldn’t help, right now, he needed to figure out where you were and if you were okay.  He knew you weren’t the kind of person who would go out to bars or parties alone. Maybe you went out with a friend? Or maybe you were at a friend's? It was a place to start. 

He started calling your friends, people he knew you might go out with, and on the fifth call he finally got answers. Or…something like that. 

“Hello?” Maddie yelled into the phone, making Peter pull his phone away. 

“Hey Maddie, it’s Peter.”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s dude,” she slurred. 

“Yeah, yeah, Y/N’s dude. Hey listen, is she with you? She went out tonight but she forgot to tell me where, and now my messages aren’t sending.” His pulse was racing. It sounded like Maddie was out, if the blaring music in the background was anything to go off of, and he was desperate to know you were okay. 

“Sorry Patrick, what’d you say,” she asked making Peter’s brows furrow. They weren’t exactly friends, but he’d met Maddie a few times. Enough times for her to know his name was not Patrick.

He shook his head, that didn’t matter right now. “Y/N. Is she with you, do you go out together?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed as if she’d just remembered something. “Yeah, she is!”

Peter let out a sigh of relief. 

“Or, she was.” He held his breath again. 

“What do you mean ‘she was’? Where is she?”

“I dunno, she left I think.” Maddie let out a little hum as if to say ‘too bad!’ and Peter was sure she must be extremely intoxicated, otherwise there was no way she could be so casual about something like this. He could barely keep himself together.

He ran a hand over his face as he tried not to raise his voice. This was getting frustrating. “She left? Where’d she go? Where are you right now?”

“I don’t know…she was bored I think. She was off today. S’shame, she looked so hot.”

His heart clenched when he realized the reason you were off, was because of him. You didn’t have fun, so you left, now he had no idea where you were and it was all his fault. 

“Where are you, Maddie?” He repeated. 

“That new club on 27th! Get down here Paul, it's so much fun!” She gushed and Peter rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. 

He hung up quickly, not bothering to say goodbye before he got up to put his suit on. He couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you because you were upset and distracted because of him. That you weren't even speaking to him.

There was no way he was going to let anything happen to you. 

You were walking outside, up and down the sidewalk. You knew it wasn’t the safest decision but you didn’t really care. The club was stuffy, humid, and way too loud. You just needed to breathe, and then you’d go back. Maybe. 

You considered hailing a cab and going back home right now. You’d send Maddie a text, but she probably hadn’t noticed you’d left in the first. She’d been having a blast, unlike you, drinking shots and dancing with every guy she felt like. You weren’t sure she remembered you stopping her to tell her you’d be gone for a bit. 

On second thought, you were kind of hungry. You hadn’t eaten anything other than Peter’s waffles for you that morning and there was an amazing smell floating from a food cart at the end of the block. You could help yourself to something before going home. 

Before you could reach the food cart, you were flying. Or rather, swinging. You knew who it was right away. 

Just as fast as he’d snatched you up, Peter put you down on an isolated rooftop, leaving just you and him high above everyone else.

You were about to reprimand him, about to demand an answer as to why he’d just done that, but there wasn’t a chance before he was pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Pete?” Your voice was soft, you sensed there was something wrong and suddenly any anger or annoyance you held, from now or the night before, disappeared.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled as if that was his way of an answer. 

Your brows furrowed. “Well…yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He pulled away then, taking off his mask, and you saw just how terrified he looked, scaring you as well. There might’ve even been a little red rimming his eyes, making you wonder if he was holding back tears. “I came home and I brought snacks and flowers and I thought we could spend the rest of the night together but saw your note. So I texted you and I get that you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not,” you said, and you meant it. You weren’t mad at him, especially right now, seeing him all shaken up like this. “But what's wrong?”

“My texts weren’t delivering, my calls went straight to voicemail, and I couldn’t track your location. Y/N, I got so scared something happened and you weren’t talking to me.” He sniffled and your heart broke a little. 

You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, but when you tried to turn it on—dead. 

“God sweetheart, never do that to me again. Please.” He looked at you desperately, “Yell at me. Fight with me. But please never ignore me anymore, I can’t stand it.”

“I’m so sorry Petey, I had no idea my phone died. I would’ve said something I swear. I never want you to worry like that.” Your hands went up to hold his face. 

He brought a hand to hold your wrist. Gently running his thumb up and down your hand he said, “I always worry about you sweetheart, it’s my job.”

You shook your head, “You worry about all of New York, I don’t need to add on to that.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking offended you’d even say that, “No. Never think like that. You are the most important thing in my life, okay? You’re my first priority and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that I don’t show that or say it enough.

“But I’m going to do better, I promise. I’m going to make it up to you because I can’t lose you, I need you Y/N.”

You didn’t reply, instead just smashed your lips onto his. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you tight. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of second chances, and new beginnings.

He pulled away first, but not before pressing multiple kisses all around your face. “Heels off baby,” he said as he knelt down and started working on your heel straps, lifting each foot onto his thigh before undoing each one. You didn’t even realize how much they’d been hurting until they were off. “I’m swinging you.” He picked you up swiftly, one arm wrapping itself around your ribs.

You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Peteyyyy. You know the wind tangles my hair too much.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over to kiss you on the top of your head, “I’ll be careful, c’mon.”

You move your head to peck his cheek and then hug him tight, “I love you.”

He grinned, pulling you in closer. “I love you more sweetheart.” He leaned back and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Hold on tight, Spider Monkey.”

You burst into laughter, “You did not just say that!” 

“Oh I totally did,” he gave you the goofiest smile, making you laugh again. 

“Ok, just…don’t let me go,” you said as you wrapped your arms tighter around him. 

“Never,” he replied, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t just talking about swinging. 

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.17)

Chapter Seventeen: “The Hellfire Club™”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

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Previous Chapter: Chapter Sixteen: “Sanctuary in the Storm” Next Chapter: Chapter Eighteen: “Man Flu”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Seventeen: “The Hellfire Club™”

The apartment smelled like toothpaste and burnt toast.

Somewhere between brushing your teeth in sync and fighting over who finished the last of the coffee- him, obviously, the afternoon had settled into a kind of half-snoozing comfort- sunlight breaking through the rain clouds in lazy slants across the windows, a breeze slipping through the cracked pane above the sink, and the low hum of Sabbath from the record player Eddie insisted wasn’t crooked on the shelf.

You were both in pajamas- yours were actual pajamas, his were just yesterday’s boxers and a threadbare Dio tee that probably predated the Reagan administration. His hair was doing that post-shower fluff thing that defied gravity in every direction, and you were pretty sure he’d stolen your hairbrush again.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, barefoot and smug, sipping the last cup of coffee like it was the elixir of life. You stared at him over your empty mug.

“I’m just saying,” you drawled, “if there’s no more coffee in this house, and you mysteriously disappear later, the authorities will know who to question first.”

Eddie took another sip, dramatically loud. “Sorry, sweetheart. I need it to sustain my genius.”

You gave him a slow blink. “Your ‘genius’ left the toast in for too long again.”

He looked toward the toaster, where two charred slices sat like fossilized regrets. “Those are… rustic.”

“They’re an arson attempt.”

“An edible arson attempt,” he countered, walking them to the trash and scraping them off with a butter knife like he was diffusing a bomb.

You grinned, leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching him flail around like a man trying to prove he could survive a cooking competition on sheer charisma. Your gaze drifted past him, into the living room- finally back to its original layout after the Great Rearranging Fiasco of two nights ago.

The couch was back by the window. The coffee table no longer blocked the closet. Eddie's throne of chaos- a patched-up recliner draped in a Corroded Coffin hoodie, had returned to its place of honor. The living room, finally restored to its pre-feng-shui disaster glory, gleamed like a war crime had been quietly erased.

“Y’know,” you said thoughtfully, “for two people with no real furniture-moving experience and no adult supervision, we did alright.”

Eddie peeked around the fridge door, now scavenging for something not burnt or expired. “Speak for yourself. I pulled a muscle in my soul.”

You padded barefoot into the living room, flopping sideways onto the couch, stretching out in the sunbeam like a housecat. “Poor baby. Need me to kiss it better?”

From the kitchen: a suspicious silence. Then- “I mean, if you insist.”

You heard him rummaging, then the familiar sound of dice rattling in a metal tin.

“What’s with the dice?” you called, head resting on a throw pillow.

Eddie appeared in the doorway, holding the tin like it was the Ark of the Covenant. “Inventory check.”

You raised an eyebrow. “...It’s Saturday.”

He gave you a slow, smug grin.

“I know,” he said, cradling the tin of dice to his chest like a gremlin who’d just unearthed a long-lost artifact.

You rolled onto your back with a groan. “Oh god, don’t tell me you double-booked another band rehearsal today. You promised there wouldn’t be any more near-death experiences involving Gareth and that amp cord.”

Eddie snorted. “Okay, that was one time.”

“You bled.”

“Barely!”

You pointed an accusing finger at him, but didn’t get up. “Your shoelace caught fire.”

“Allegedly.”

“Your shoelace was on fire, Eddie.”

“I maintain there was no definitive proof it was mine.”

You narrowed your eyes, lips twitching, and he grinned at you, teeth flashing, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said, shaking the tin lightly for dramatic effect. “This isn’t band stuff. It’s… Hellfire stuff.”

You blinked at him, waiting.

“Dungeons & Dragons, my club?” he clarified, clearly delighted that you hadn't put it together yet.

“Ohhh,” you said, slowly sitting up, intrigued. “Inventory check and dramatic lighting. Sounds intense.”

Eddie’s grin deepened. “Gotta make sure I’ve got all my dice, my notes, my evil little NPCs. The usual.”

You tilted your head. “Are you prepping for your next campaign?”

“Mhm,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Tonight’s a big one.”

There was a flicker in his eyes just then- like maybe he was trying to act casual, but something more was brewing behind the bravado. And then he dropped the bait, like it was no big thing.

“You should come,” he said.

You blinked. “To Hellfire?”

He shrugged, overly nonchalant, tin of dice still clutched to his chest like a teddy bear. “Yeah. Just to watch. Sit in the corner, observe the chaos. Maybe bear witness to some epic dice rolls. You know. The usual.”

You smiled slowly. “You inviting me into your secret nerd dungeon?”

“Pfft. Please. It’s not secret. It’s held in the drama room at Hawkins High. Public domain, baby.”

“Still sounds like a secret nerd dungeon.”

Eddie walked over and dropped to one knee in front of you dramatically, holding the dice tin aloft like a knight presenting his blade. “Come watch me destroy lives and crush dreams.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean roll dice and yell a lot?”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

You laughed, the kind that bubbled up from your stomach and made his eyes soften immediately. He leaned in, nuzzling the edge of your knee with his nose, gaze flicking up to meet yours with a quiet kind of nervous pride.

“I want you to see me do this,” he admitted, voice lower now, more sincere. “The guys… Hellfire, they’re like family. And DM’ing? It’s… it’s my thing. My weird, hyper-nerdy thing. But when it’s working, when the table’s locked in and they’re all hooked on the story? It’s magic.”

You reached down and brushed a hand through his hair, letting your fingers linger at his temple.

“I’d love to watch you work your magic,” you said gently.

That look on his face? Pure Munson- pride, excitement, a little self-doubt trying- and failing, to hide behind a crooked smirk.

“Hell yeah, you would,” he said, standing up with a stretch. “C’mon. I’ve got prep to do. Gotta make sure the map isn’t sticky this time.”

You stared after him as he padded off toward his bedroom, muttering to himself about initiative trackers and whether Gareth still owed him a d4 from last month.

The smile that bloomed across your face was involuntary, helpless.

He was a dork. A complete, lovable, irredeemable dork.

And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

By late afternoon, the apartment had transformed into a sacred battleground- or at least, that’s how Eddie was treating it.

The living room table was buried under maps, graph paper, his old DM binder reinforced with duct tape and stickers, and a dramatic scattering of miniatures in various states of paint and dismemberment. He paced back and forth like a commander reviewing his battle plan, mumbling to himself while sorting through a tangle of dice bags and loose snack wrappers with alarming intensity.

From your perch on the couch, sipping a drink and trying not to laugh, you watched as he held a chipped orc figure up to the light, squinting like it had personally betrayed him.

“No, no, no… you’re the backup orc. You’ve got weak knees and your axe is missing.” He dropped it in a plastic container labeled FODDER in sharpie, then turned to his dice bag like it held the secrets of the universe.

It wasn’t until he stomped into the bathroom that you realized just how serious he was taking this.

You leaned sideways and called down the hall. “Are you… curling your hair for a dice game?”

“It’s not just a dice game, sweetheart,” he called back, full of righteous indignation. “This is theater. This is art. This is life and death. This is- wait, where the hell’s my eyeliner?”

You grinned. “Top drawer. Next to the nail glue you pretended wasn’t yours.”

“Lies and slander!” His voice was muffled now, as was the sound of him rooting through your shared bathroom stash. A moment later: “I’m borrowing your curl cream again!”

“Of course you are,” you muttered with a laugh, already knowing which one he’d pick- your good one, the expensive bottle with the fancy pump.

By the time he emerged again, he was a vision: curls a little more defined than usual, a smudge of dark liner around his eyes, his favorite Dio tee tucked into his black jeans, a long sleeve flannel button up tossed on top, and enough chaotic energy crackling off him to fry a lightbulb.

He held out his arms and spun slowly. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re about to propose to a bag of Cheetos in character voice.”

He beamed. “Perfect.”

You laughed as he flopped down onto the floor in front of his spread-out materials, legs crossed, papers in his lap, tapping a pen against his lip while he muttered under his breath.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. “You always this extra before game night?”

He paused. Then, without looking at you, said, “Not usually.”

You smiled quietly.

It wasn’t just Hellfire he was prepping for- it was you watching him lead it.

And that made tonight feel different.

Special.

Sacred, even.

You didn’t say anything. Just watched him work, letting his nervous energy fill the space between you while the clock ticked down to game time and the last bits of sunlight slipped through the blinds.

Eddie, in his element. Performing, planning, dreaming.

And for once, not doing it alone.

The sun had dipped low enough that everything outside was bathed in soft gold and dusky lavender by the time you and Eddie loaded up the van.

He carried everything like he was hauling sacred artifacts- binder hugged tight to his chest, dice bags in one hand, a mismatched box of snacks in the other. You grabbed the spare lawn chair he insisted was “absolutely necessary in case of overflow or dramatic fainting,” which you were pretty sure translated to: "I forgot if someone said they were bringing their cousin again or not."

The van door slid shut with a satisfying clunk, and you settled in as Eddie threw it into reverse, already humming under his breath to whatever metal track queued up on the mixtape.

“This is so unnecessarily dramatic,” you said, watching him adjust the rearview like he was about to launch into warp speed.

He shot you a crooked grin. “Sweetheart, I live for unnecessary dramatics. Drama’s the lifeblood of fantasy roleplay. Besides- tonight, I am not merely Eddie Munson.”

You raised a brow. “No?”

He slammed on the brakes at the stop sign with theatrical flair and gestured to himself with a flourish.

“Tonight…” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief, “I am Dungeon Daddy.”

You choked on your drink. “I’m sorry- what?”

“Dungeon Daddy,” he repeated, dead serious. “Master of maps. God of snacks. Bringer of chaos and tragic backstories.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then cracked first, grinning ear to ear like a man possessed. “C’mon, tell me that’s not at least a little hot.”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh. “It’s… concerning. But also… yeah, okay. A little hot.”

“Thank you!” he shouted, pounding the steering wheel triumphantly. “Validation acquired. Confidence buff: +2.”

You shook your head, smiling as he navigated the familiar backroads toward Hawkins High, his fingers drumming on the wheel in time with the music. The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the fields, and the air had that particular warmth that hinted at the tail end of summer.

Eddie glanced sideways at you once or twice during the drive, quieter now. Still humming, still smiling- but you could tell the nerves were kicking in beneath all that bluster.

He wanted tonight to go well.

Wanted you to see him in his element. The storyteller. The weaver of fates and dice-roller of doom.

And you did see him.

You always had.

As the van pulled into the backlot of the school, headlights sweeping over the familiar brick exterior, he killed the engine and sat in the quiet for a second, eyes on the building.

You reached over and touched his knee.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Dungeon Daddy’s got this.”

He turned, grin creeping back across his face, eyes full of something warm and electric. “Damn right I do.”

You eyed the school as the van rolled to a stop, the building looming ahead. Still as boxy, brick, and weirdly menacing as ever in the twilight.

“Wait,” you said, as Eddie started grabbing supplies from the back, “how exactly are you getting into the school? It’s a Saturday.”

Eddie smirked, all too pleased with himself. “Ah. A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Eddie…”

He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice like he was about to share state secrets. “Let’s just say… the custodial staff has been known to accept certain herbal bribes.”

You blinked. “You bribed a janitor with weed?”

“Not just any janitor- Big Mike. Real chill dude. Likes Pink Floyd, hates authority. Gave me a key last year in exchange for a ‘lifetime supply of mellow.’”

You laughed, glancing at the very much locked front doors. “So you’re just walking around with an illegal key to Hawkins High like it’s normal?”

“Sweetheart,” he said, pressing a hand to his heart as he slid the key into the lock, “nothing about me is normal.”

The door clicked open like it had been waiting for him.

Inside, the halls were dim and echoey, washed in that sickly yellow glow only old public school fluorescents could manage. Every step echoed a little too loud, your sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as you followed him past rows of empty lockers and faded motivational posters.

“Man, I forgot how weird this place feels when it’s empty,” you murmured, glancing around.

Eddie nodded, his boots thudding softly. “Right? It's got... energy. Like a stage before curtain call.”

“Haunted high school chic.”

“Exactly.” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming. “Adds to the ambiance. Gotta set the mood for imminent doom.”

It was only when he pushed open the double doors of the old drama room that you felt the shift.

The lights were off, but even in the dark, you could make out the familiar layout- desks pushed into a wide U-shape around the raised platform where sat Eddie’s throne, chalkboards scrawled with game notes, maps pinned to corkboards like war plans.

You flipped the switch by the door.

A few of the overhead fluorescents buzzed to life with a dim hum, flickering a little as they settled. Everything was cast in warm shadows and long angles. Quiet. Still. Sacred.

Eddie set his gear down slowly, eyes sweeping the space.

For a second, he didn’t move.

Just stood there, drinking it in.

You walked up beside him, shoulder bumping his. “You okay?”

He smiled softly. “Yeah. Just… love this part. Before it starts. When it’s all still possible.”

You looked at him. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

He turned to face you fully, brushing your cheek with his knuckles. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. This is your stage.”

His gaze dipped to your mouth, lingered there. “You make me want to kill off a major NPC just to show off.”

You grinned. “That’s the nerdiest threat I’ve ever received.”

“Not even my final form, baby.”

You laughed, brushing a curl behind his ear, and let the quiet settle around you again. The fluorescent hum, the smell of dusty chalk, and decades of spilled pencil shavings. It was just you and him and the first breath before the story began.

He exhales, long and slow, like he’s savoring the moment- the calm before the storm of dice rolls and dramatic gasps. His fingers twitch at his sides, restless with creative energy.

"Alright," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, rolling his shoulders back. "Time to set the scene."

He moves with purpose now, shedding the last of his nerves as he transforms the space. The battered folding chair by the head of the table next to- his throne he drops into it like it was made for him. His binder slaps open with a satisfying thwack, pages fluttering under his fingertips as he flips to a dog-eared section.

You watch, mesmerized, as he arranges his dice in neat little rows, each one a different color, each one with its own history. He catches you staring and winks.

"These bad boys?" He holds up a shimmering blue d20, rolling it between his fingers like a magician with a coin. "This is the one that killed a dragon last campaign. Gareth still hasn’t forgiven me."

You snort. "You sound way too proud of that."

"Damn right I am." He sets it down with reverence, then leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That dragon had three health bars. Three. And this little bastard?" He flicks the die, sending it spinning across the table. "Nat twenty. Right in front of God and everyone."

You grin. "You’re such a dork."

He beams, unrepentant. "Your dork, darlin’."

The door creaks open behind you, and Eddie’s whole demeanor shifts- shoulders squaring, chin lifting, fingers steepling under his chin like some kind of evil overlord welcoming his minions.

"Ah," he purrs, voice dripping with theatrical menace. "The first victim arrives."

Gareth pokes his head in, wild curls bouncing as he scans the room. His eyes land on you, widen slightly, then dart back to Eddie. "Uh. Hey. Didn’t know we were having an audience tonight."

Eddie waves a hand, dismissive. "Relax. She’s just here to witness greatness."

Gareth shuffles in, dropping his backpack with a thud. "Right. So. Same deal as last time? No fireballs around the NPCs?"

"No fireballs near the NPCs," Eddie corrects, wagging a finger, "unless it's dramatically appropriate and you're prepared to face the consequences." He leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head with a shit-eating grin. "And by consequences, I mean my wrath. Which, as we all know, is swift, merciless, and usually involves a tragic backstory reveal at the worst possible moment."

Gareth groans, rubbing his temples. "Dude, last time you made Jeff's paladin cry."

Eddie gasps, clutching his chest like he's been shot. "I made him cry? I didn't force him to swear an oath to protect a village of orphans only to burn it down in a freak alchemy accident!" He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "Okay, technically that was the dice's fault. But the narrative? That was all me, baby."

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Gareth mutters something about "emotional damage" and starts unpacking his own dice- a jumbled pile of mismatched plastic that looks like it’s been chewed on by a dog.

Eddie watches him with the fond exasperation of a parent whose kid just brought home a C+ on a math test. "Gare, my guy, we’ve talked about this. You can’t keep using the free dice they give you at the comic shop. They’re cursed."

Gareth scowls. "They’re fine."

Eddie turns to you, dead serious. "They’re not fine. Last session, he rolled four natural ones in a row. Four. Statistically, that’s not just bad luck… that’s a vendetta."

You raise an eyebrow. "So what you’re saying is… his dice hate him?"

Eddie nods gravely. "With the burning passion of a thousand scorned liches."

The door swings open again, and the rest of Hellfire Club trickles in- Jeff with his usual armful of suspiciously greasy snacks, Grant already mid-argument about whether halflings should be allowed to dual-wield greatswords: "They’re small, not weak, you racist-", and a couple of other members who eye you with a mix of curiosity.

Just as Grant and Jeff start arguing over whether wizards should be able to homebrew magic items without DM approval, the door bangs open like a scene from a buddy cop movie, and in storms Dustin Henderson- late, out of breath, and already mid-sentence.

“-I’m just saying, Erica cheated, and I want it on record- oh!” He skids to a halt as his eyes land on you, blink once, twice, then side-eye Eddie like you didn’t say your girlfriend would be here, what the hell, man.

You offer a little wave. “Hi.”

“Uh, hey. Cool. Cool-cool-cool.” Dustin nods stiffly, like he’s been caught walking into a job interview in a Slayer t-shirt.

Eddie, completely unfazed, twirls a pencil between his fingers like a baton and calls out, “Henderson! You're late.”

“You know my mom makes me go to temple with her on Saturdays!”

Eddie gasps theatrically. “The gods are watching, Dustin, and they are displeased with your tardiness!”

Dustin flings his bag onto the nearest chair. “The gods can suck it. I brought Cheez-Its.”

There’s a brief cheer from Grant, who’s somehow managed to get into another debate- this time about halfling height stats being inherently prejudiced against short kings.

Eddie points to you dramatically. “Watch yourself, Henderson. We’re on our best behavior tonight.”

Dustin furrows his brow. “Why’s that- ohhh. Oh. Right.” He glances between the two of you and suddenly smirks. “You’re Dungeon Daddy-ing for your girlfriend tonight. Got it.”

Eddie freezes mid-dice toss. “Don’t call it that. Only she can call it that.”

“Oh, I’m calling it that forever now.”

Grant snorts into his Pepsi. “Dungeon Daddy Munson.”

“That’s enough!” Eddie slaps the table, standing like he’s about to deliver a Shakespearean monologue. “I will Tarrasque your asses if you don’t show some respect.”

You’re laughing so hard you have to cover your mouth, and Eddie shoots you a betrayed glare that doesn’t quite hide the grin tugging at his lips.

Dustin elbows you in solidarity. “He gets real extra before a big session. Once wore eyeliner and a cape.”

“That was for ambiance!” Eddie cries.

“It was for attention,” Gareth mutters.

Eddie raises both middle fingers in retaliation, then sits back down, visibly trying to chill himself out but still sneaking glances at you- gauging your reaction to every chaotic moment like a guy mid-tightrope walk.

You lean over, kiss his cheek, and whisper, “You’re doing amazing, Dungeon Daddy.”

His face ignites. The boys groan in unison.

Gareth makes a gagging sound. “Okay, yeah, no more of that. I’m begging.”

Eddie clears his throat, flustered but buzzing. “Right. Let’s begin.”

And So It Begins…

The folding chairs squeal against the linoleum as everyone finally settles in. Backpacks dumped, dice prepped, character sheets unfurled like sacred scrolls. The buzz of pre-game chaos fades into a low murmur. All eyes flick to Eddie- who, for once, looks eerily still.

You watch from near beside him, curled up on a desk with a can of Cherry Coke and a plastic bag of mostly stale popcorn Gareth found in the AV closet. The lights overhead still hum fluorescent and a little sad. But Eddie... he's practically vibrating with anticipation.

Then he moves.

One swift hand reaches under the table. You hear the click of an ancient cassette tape being jammed into his wheezing boombox, and then-

“DUN. DUN-DUN. DUUUUUNNNN.”

A bassy, synth-heavy fantasy score kicks in, clearly recorded from some off-brand VHS of Legend or Conan the Barbarian, complete with a slight tape warble. It's perfect.

Without a word, Eddie stands.

He strides to the overhead light switch, flicks it off with a dramatic flourish, and returns to the table as the room sinks into a warm gloom. Only the soft glow of the desk lamps they dragged in remains, casting moody shadows like some medieval tavern.

He drops into his seat- his throne, with the kind of slow, reverent motion you’ve only seen from priests and lead singers at arena shows.

The dice stop clicking. Jeff even stops chewing. Absolute silence.

Then, Eddie leans forward.

His voice drops- deep, slow, rumbling with that faux-British flair he busts out when he’s trying to sound “fantasy serious.”

"The fires have gone cold in the Vale of Dagger’s Edge. Storms churn across the eastern mountains. And in the cursed ruins of Dol’Thiran, something... ancient... stirs."

Hell yeah, he rehearsed that line in the mirror.

You sip your soda and mutter just loud enough for the others to hear, "Ominous. I love it."

Eddie’s eyes flick to you for just a second, and you catch the twitch of a smile he’s trying so hard to suppress.

He clears his throat, continuing with deadly earnest:

"Our tale begins in a smoky tavern- The Witch’s Kettle. The floor is sticky, the ale is warm, and a cloaked stranger watches you from the corner…"

“Is he hot?” you ask, innocently.

The table erupts in laughter. Dustin cackles. Gareth’s head hits the table. Jeff chokes on a Dorito.

Eddie shoots you a sharp, narrowed glance. "You’ll have to roll to find out, darlin’."

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Roll for thirst check?”

Eddie groans, running a hand down his face. “You’re heckling a literal God right now, sweetheart.”

“And you’re loving it,” you shoot back.

He’s smiling now, wide and unguarded. “Yeah. Yeah, I kinda am.”

Then he snaps right back into character like a pro, waving a hand over his notes like he’s conjuring ghosts.

“The stranger leans forward, and you glimpse a flash of silver beneath their cloak- a dagger etched with the sigil of the lost kingdom of Veirthal…”

Dustin’s eyes widen. “Wait, Veirthal? I thought that realm got swallowed by the Hellmouth in the Black War?!”

Eddie points a finger in triumph. “Someone’s been studying their campaign lore. Gold star, Henderson.”

Dustin pumps a fist while Gareth just groans, already scribbling furiously on his character sheet.

“Before you can react,” Eddie intones, “the tavern door slams open with a blast of icy wind. And in walks-”

“Please say it’s the hot stranger’s evil twin,” you whisper.

Eddie sighs so dramatically it sounds like he’s dying. “If you want to write your own horny fanfic of my NPCs, we can talk later.”

“Already on chapter two,” you quip.

He laughs, full and honest, shaking his head as he lets the next scene unfold. The energy in the room is electric. You can feel it- every player locked in, drawn forward like moths to a flame. But even as Eddie spins his tale, voice rising and falling like a practiced bard, you catch him looking at you again.

Not for approval.

Not even for the jokes.

Just... to see if you're still watching.

You are.

Propped sideways in your chair, chin balanced on your palm, soda can sweating against your knee. There’s a soft little smile tugging at your lips- not mocking, but mesmerized. Because even if you don’t know the full lore of Veirthal or why Jeff’s barbarian has beef with a sentient tree, you know Eddie.

And right now? He’s glowing.

The table's lit with a warm lamp from the AV cart, casting golden pools across their character sheets and worn dice. Eddie is a silhouette in motion- his rings glinting as he gestures, voice shifting effortlessly between grizzled dwarves and whispering demons.

Every now and then, one of the guys will shout or laugh or groan at a bad roll, but your gaze always finds its way back to him.

You catch yourself smiling. Like... really smiling.

Because he’s in his element. He’s brilliant. Magnetic. All-consuming in the best way. And he doesn’t even realize it.

He catches you watching again- eyes flicking your way with that half-lidded, smoky kind of look he wears when he’s trying not to grin.

You raise your can in a little salute. “You’re killin’ it, Dungeon Master.”

That earns you a wink. “Stick around. Haven’t even released the kraken yet.”

Grant groans. “There’s a kraken?!”

“There might be a kraken,” Eddie says smoothly, like a magician keeping a trick up his sleeve. “There might also be a possessed scarecrow, a cursed heirloom, and a puzzle that requires knowledge of ancient Elvish poetry. Depends on how well you guys behave.”

“Jeff’s barbarian can’t read,” Dustin deadpans.

Eddie slams his palm to the table like a judge with a gavel. “Then you’d better make friends with someone who can!”

The table bursts out laughing again, the energy infectious, electric. But you’re still watching him- not just the Dungeon Master, but the man beneath the performance. How he radiates joy. How he checks in with each player, makes room for every voice. How he pulls them into his world like it’s the only place that’s ever mattered.

You take a sip and murmur, mostly to yourself, “God, you’re so cool.”

Eddie hears it.

His hand pauses mid-page. His smile falters- not out of fear, but... surprise.

Then he looks at you like you just said something holy.

And for a moment, the tavern fades. The fantasy melts away. It’s just Eddie, flushed and breathless, trying not to look too stunned that the girl he loves just called him cool during the nerdiest moment of his life.

He clears his throat, flipping back into character with a shaky little smirk.

“The cloaked figure rises, their eyes glowing violet beneath the hood. They say... ‘I’ve been expecting you.’”

Jeff whistles low. “Oooh, it’s about to go down.”

You settle back in your seat, resting your chin on your palm again, eyes on Eddie like he hung the damn moon. “Hell yeah it is.”

The guys wander out of the classroom in a tumble of laughter and chip dust- talking loudly about their next move, whether Grant’s rogue should try seducing the warlock’s familiar… again, and who’s turn it is to do the snack run. Eddie throws out a half-hearted warning to not come back with orange fingers this time, but his voice trails off when the door clicks shut.

And just like that, the room is quiet again.

You’re still curled in your chair, but now he’s watching you. His game face gone soft, relaxed, like he’s slipped out of character and into something even more vulnerable.

He stretches, arms above his head, shirt lifting just enough to tease you with a flash of that pale skin and soft trail of hair beneath his navel. His binder closes with a muted thump.

“You good?” he asks, tone quieter now. Not playful- earnest.

You smile and stand, walking over to where he’s leaning against the table. “I’m better than good.”

His eyes flick to yours, searching for sarcasm. Finding none, he lets out a breath and dips his head, grinning against the floor.

“You were amazing,” you say, a little softer now. “Like, I know you love this stuff, but watching you actually do it? Run the whole room like that? It’s hot.”

That gets his attention.

He lifts his gaze, eyes darkening with a spark of something heady. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, stepping between his legs as he sits on the edge of the table. 

“You’re kind of a genius when it comes to this. You made up an entire political system for imaginary goblins, babe.”

“Bold of you to assume the goblin senate isn’t real,” he says, deadpan- but his fingers are already sliding around your hips, drawing you close.

You smile against the kiss he presses to your temple. “I mean it. You’re brilliant. I don’t think you realize how cool it is, what you do. The way they all look at you when you’re in the zone? You’re like a rockstar in here.”

His smile softens into something more intimate, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. “You’re the only one I wanted to impress.”

You lean into him instinctively, forehead brushing his. “Mission accomplished, Dungeon Daddy.”

He groans dramatically, burying his face in your shoulder. “God, never say that while we’re in a classroom together. That’s how you’ll get me arrested.”

You laugh, hands slipping up under his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“You’re evil when you’re sweet.”

And then he kisses you- slow and heady, the kind of kiss that makes time feel irrelevant. There’s nothing frantic or desperate about it, just heat and confidence, like he knows you’re already his, and he’s savoring the proof.

His thumb strokes the curve of your cheek. You let your hands slide down his chest, slow and lingering, until they rest at his sides.

When you finally part, his nose brushes yours, voice barely above a whisper.

“You gonna stick around and watch the rest of the session?”

You hum. “Only if I get a front row seat and another kiss when you kill someone with a puzzle.”

He smirks. “Deal.”

And just as the door swings open again- Dustin leading the pack, loudly debating whether or not “mystical owlbear dung” counts as a viable ingredient for healing potions- Eddie gives your hand a final squeeze, and slips right back into Dungeon Master mode.

By the time everyone’s trickled back in- snacks in tow, sodas cracked, dice re-organized into their various totems of power, the room is buzzing with that wild kind of energy. The kind that always settles in right before everything goes sideways.

Eddie doesn’t sit right away.

He stands behind his chair, both hands planted on the backrest like a king surveying his court. His rings catch the flicker of fluorescent light as he slowly looks from face to face. Dramatic pause. Then-

“Roll for perception.”

The room groans collectively, half-laugh, half-worry. Jeff nearly chokes on a Twizzler.

“Already?” Grant whines, clutching his mismatched dice like a prayer. “We just got back!”

Eddie just arches a brow. “You think evil takes a snack break, Grant?”

You stifle a laugh behind your soda, eyes locked on your boyfriend as he paces in front of the whiteboard like a war general.

“I knew it,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been waiting all session to ambush us.”

Mike, finally speaking up, squints down at his character sheet. “Wait… do you mean perception like, general awareness or-”

“I mean,” Eddie cuts in, “roll. For. Perception.”

Lucas narrows his eyes. “This better not be another mimicked treasure chest, dude. Last time you did that, Gareth nearly rage-quit.”

“I don’t rage-quit,” Gareth mutters.

“You threw your dice at the window,” Jeff says dryly.

“They bounced,” Gareth defends.

Eddie’s smirk deepens. “What you’re perceiving… or failing to, might just decide the fate of the entire realm.”

There’s a flurry of clattering dice.

Dustin lets out a triumphant whoop. “Nat twenty, baby!”

Lucas squints at his own roll. “Four.”

“Sixteen,” says Mike, scribbling a note in the margins of his character sheet.

“Thirteen,” Gareth sighs.

Jeff frowns. “One.”

Eddie’s smile turns downright feral.

He slinks back into his chair and folds his hands like a Bond villain about to monologue. “Alright. Henderson, your cleric is the first to notice… the smell.”

Dustin leans forward. “What kind of smell?”

“Burning wood,” Eddie says, voice dropping an octave. “Burning flesh. And when you turn the corner into the forest clearing-”

He slaps down a pre-drawn map with a flourish that earns an actual gasp from Mike.

“-you see the village of Windmere in flames. Ash in the air. Bodies in the snow.”

The room goes dead silent. Your stomach flips.

Damn. He’s good.

Eddie continues, voice soft but deadly. “Children crying. Horses screaming. And at the center of it all... your warlock’s familiar, standing over the body of the town’s priest, soaked in blood.”

Dustin blinks. “Wait. My warlock?”

“No, his,” Eddie says, pointing straight at Lucas.

Lucas nearly flips his character sheet. “DUDE! What the hell?!”

“Your familiar,” Eddie says with wicked glee, “has betrayed you.”

You whistle, low and impressed. “Yikes. That’s some John le Carré-level betrayal right there.”

Lucas groans, forehead hitting the table. “Why is it always me? First the cursed armor, now this?!”

Eddie shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “You guys wanted to ignore the cryptic warnings of the blind old man in the tavern. This is what happens.”

“I tipped him!” Grant shouts. “I gave him two gold pieces!”

“Yeah, and you mocked his accent,” Eddie fires back. “Actions have consequences.”

You lean toward him, voice low. “You’ve been sitting on this twist all week, haven’t you?”

Eddie gives you a side glance, pleased and smug. “Maybe.”

You bump his shoulder gently. “You’re evil. It’s hot.”

He practically preens at that.

As chaos erupts at the table- arguments flying, character motives questioned, backup plans frantically constructed- Eddie just sits back in his throne, arms folded, watching it all unfold like a god satisfied with the storm he’s unleashed.

You sip your soda, gaze lingering on him, your heart a little too full.

Yeah, okay.

Watching him do what he loves, surrounded by friends, commanding the room with nothing but his voice and imagination?

You were absolutely smitten in the best way possible.

His fingers drum against the tabletop, rings clicking softly against the wood as he watches the chaos unfold with the smug satisfaction of a man who just pulled off the perfect heist. The boys are in full panic mode- Dustin’s flipping through his spellbook like it holds the secrets of the universe, Gareth’s muttering about "betrayal arcs" under his breath, and Jeff’s barbarian is currently debating whether or not to just eat the familiar in retaliation.

Eddie leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head with a lazy grin. “Y’know,” he muses, voice dripping with amusement, “this is exactly why you don’t trust tiny creatures that can turn invisible on command.”

Lucas groans, rubbing his temples. “Dude, you gave him to me!”

“And you named him ‘Mr. Snuggles,’” Eddie fires back, deadpan. “You deserved this.”

You snort into your soda, shaking your head as you watch the carnage. Eddie’s eyes flick to you, warm and playful, like he’s sharing a private joke with just you. His foot nudges yours under the table- you seeing this? -and you press back, grinning.

Dustin slams his hands on the table. “Okay, okay, new plan -we find the warlock, we tie him up, and we make him tell us why his stupid cat just committed war crimes.”

Gareth nods sagely. “Interrogation. Classic.”

Mike squints. “Do we even have rope?”

Jeff’s barbarian grunts. “Use his own robes.”

Eddie’s grin widens. “Roll for intimidation.”

The collective groan is beautiful.

By the time the session wraps- Lucas’ warlock narrowly avoiding being sacrificed to a shadow demon, Dustin’s cleric accidentally adopted a traumatized village child, and Jeff’s barbarian somehow winning the loyalty of a disgraced owlbear- the room is a disaster of crumpled notes, empty chip bags, and at least three different dice that rolled under the table and were never seen again.

The guys pack up in a flurry of excited chatter, already theorizing about next week’s session. Eddie leans against the whiteboard, arms crossed, watching the chaos with a satisfied smirk. His hair is a little wilder now, strands escaping the loose tie at the nape of his neck from all the times he raked his hands through it during dramatic moments. The sleeves of his flannel are pushed up to his elbows, revealing the faint smudges of ink where he’d hastily scribbled notes mid-session.

Dustin slings his backpack over one shoulder, still animatedly debating the ethics of owlbear ownership with Mike. "Dude, it’s basically a bird bear with swords for hands -how is that not the coolest mount ever?"

Gareth snorts, shoving his dice into a worn leather pouch. "Yeah, until it gets hungry and decides you look like a snack."

Jeff, ever the pragmatist, just shrugs. "I’d feed it a bandit. We’re good."

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as the guys file out, their voices fading down the hallway. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving the two of you in the quiet hum of the empty classroom. The overhead lights flicker slightly, casting long shadows across the scattered papers and abandoned soda cans.

For a moment, he just stands there, exhaling like he’s finally letting go of the Dungeon Master persona, shoulders loosening. Then his gaze lands on you, still curled in your chair, watching him with that same soft, knowing look that’s been unraveling him all night.

He pushes off the whiteboard and steps closer, fingers hooking into the belt loops of your jeans to tug you gently toward him when you stand. "So," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges from hours of doing voices, "was that enough of a show for you, or do I gotta pull out the real magic tricks now?"

You grin, tipping your head back to meet his eyes. "Depends. You got more where that came from?"

Eddie’s smirk curls, slow and dangerous, as he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Sweetheart, I’m just getting started."

The classroom door rattles suddenly- someone forgetting their jacket, probably, and he groans, forehead dropping against your shoulder in defeat. "Christ, we gotta get outta here before Henderson walks in on me doing something that’ll scar him for life.” Laughing as he pulls back, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Let’s make a break for it before the Hellfire Club decides to stage a revolution over that cliffhanger. My van’s out back. I’ll drive, you navigate."

He snags his leather jacket off the chair, shaking out a handful of stray dice that had gotten tangled in the lining. One bounces off your boot- a nat twenty, gleaming smugly up at you.

Eddie grins. "That’s an omen if I’ve ever seen one."

The hallway’s empty when you slip out, the school eerily quiet now, just the hum of fluorescents and the distant sound of a janitor’s radio echoing from the gym. Eddie’s fingers lace with yours as he tugs you toward the side exit, his thumb tracing idle circles over your knuckles.

"Next stop," he murmurs, pushing the door open with his shoulder, "somewhere with fewer witnesses and a working lock."

The night air hits you- cool, tinged with the smell of rain and distant bonfires. His van’s parked crookedly under a flickering lamppost, the passenger door already unlocked like an invitation.

Eddie turns, walking backward now, grinning like he’s got the whole world on a string. "So. You gonna help me defile this noble steed properly, or what?"

~~~

Eddie’s van is rocking suspiciously in the parking lot, with the sound of his laugh muffled against your neck, and there’s a distant, horrified scream of Dustin Henderson realizing he left his favorite d20 behind.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin

Masterlist

[missmaymay13]

no peace - w.eklund | w.smith | m.celebrini

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

w.eklund x fem!oc | w.smith & m.celebrini x oc platonic

a one shot from the original - close to you

masterlist | series masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

At first, Eky thought it was a joke.

A one-time thing.

A moment of temporary insanity.

But then—

It kept happening.

⸻

It was 7:00 AM on a Sunday and it was one of the first times that William decided to spend the night at Junes apartment.

He and June were still half-asleep, cuddled up in bed, when—

The door creaked open.

Eky blinked awake.

And there, standing in the doorway like a feral raccoon, was Will Smith.

Eky froze.

Will didn't say a word.

He just walked in, lifted the covers, and climbed into bed next to June like it was the most normal thing ever.

June barely stirred.

"Mmm, morning."

"Morning, Junie," Will mumbled into the pillow.

Eky?

Absolutely horrified.

"NO," Eky shot up. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?"

Will just stared at him.

Then—sighed dramatically.

"I need girl advice."

Eky threw his hands up.

"I—WHAT?? GET OUT."

June yawned, patting Will's arm. "It's okay, babe. Just go back to bed."

Eky looked at her like she had just confessed to murder.

"THIS IS NOT NORMAL."

Will, completely ignoring Eky: "Okay, so there's this girl..."

Eky's soul left his body.

⸻

Two weeks later, it happened again.

This time?

Macklin.

Eky woke up to the bed shifting.

He cracked an eye open, already filled with dread.

And sure enough—

Macklin was there, comfortably sprawled out next to June, stealing half the blankets.

Eky sat up immediately.

"MACKLIN??"

Macklin, unbothered: "Yo."

Eky looked at June.

June, still half-asleep: "Morning, Macky."

Macklin grinned. "Morning, Junie."

Eky was going to lose his mind.

"What—WHAT IS HAPPENING."

Macklin sighed, rubbing his face. "Okay, so I need girl advice..."

Eky collapsed back onto the pillows.

"I hate my life."

⸻

By the time it happened a third time, Eky had stopped fighting it.

He had accepted that this was his fate.

That Will and Macklin had no boundaries.

That June was never going to stop them.

But even he wasn't prepared for both of them to show up at once.

It was Saturday morning.

Eky and June were asleep, peaceful, cozy.

Then—

Two sets of footsteps.

Two human-shaped gremlins appearing in the doorway.

And before Eky could even process what was happening,

Will and Macklin climbed into bed at the same time.

June didn't even blink.

Just sighed and rolled onto her side. She moved over to make space for the two new bodies on the bed, but there was none left. There was 4 of them trying to fit in a king sized bed and 3 out of 4 of them played professional hockey.

William was essentially pushed off of the bed.

"Mornin', boys."

"Mornin', Junie."

Eky stared at the ceiling.

"This is my hell."

Macklin got comfortable. "Okay, we need you to settle something."

Will nodded. "It's important."

Eky exhaled. "Of course it is."

June stretched. "Alright, what's up?"

Macklin pointed at Will. "Who would survive longer in the wilderness? Me or him?"

June blinked.

Eky groaned.

"I'm done. I'm leaving."

Will grinned. "Nah, Eky, you're stuck with us forever."

Macklin patted his shoulder. "Yeah. Congrats, man."

And that's when Eky finally accepted defeat.

Because this was his life now.

Forever.

[klaudiaxsturniolo]

Almost Was (part 3)

The Break In the Light

series masterlist:

Warnings: argument, cursing , angst, crying, lmk if I missed anything!

summary: you and Matt have been best friends since you were born, he always had feelings for you but never told you because he was scared of losing you, until you both got paired for a group project and he was going to confess to you at a party but then he sees you kissing someone else..

It had been two weeks since the kiss in the garage.

Two weeks since everything changed.

You and Matt weren’t calling yourselves anything — not together, not just friends either. It was that quiet space in-between, where feelings ran deeper than definitions but silence could still ruin everything.

At first, it was good.

Late-night calls again. Coffee runs. A drive to the beach just to sit in silence and watch the tide.

But with every good moment came something darker creeping under the surface — things unsaid, things unresolved. Matt was quieter than usual. He didn’t joke as much. He held your hand like he was afraid you might let go.

And you?

You kept trying to fix it without knowing what it was.

---

One Friday Night

You came over after dinner, like old times. Chris let you in and gave you a look.

“You guys alright?” he asked.

You smiled too fast. “Yeah. Totally.”

He didn’t look convinced.

You found Matt upstairs, editing something on his laptop. The blue light of the screen lit up his face, but he didn’t smile when he saw you.

“You busy?” you asked.

“Just finishing a video,” he said, not looking up. “You can sit.”

You did, feeling the shift immediately.

“Is something wrong?” you asked after a minute.

“No.”

You frowned. “Matt.”

He sighed, closing the laptop.

“I just… I don’t know what we’re doing.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this. Us.” His voice tightened. “It’s like we picked up where we left off, except we didn’t talk about any of the stuff that mattered.”

“I thought we were trying,” you said quietly.

“I am trying,” he snapped, then softened. “But it still feels like I’m the only one hurting.”

You stared at him. “You think this hasn’t hurt me too?”

“I don’t know!” he said, standing up. “That’s the thing — I don’t know what you’re feeling half the time. You kissed someone else, Y/N. I told you I loved you, and you kissed someone else that night.”

You stood too, heart pounding. “And I’ve apologized! I didn't fucking know you were going to confess to me on a random Saturday night!”

“But do you love me?” he cut in, eyes burning. “Or do you just feel guilty?”

The words hit like ice water.

You took a step back. “Is that what you think this is? That I’m with you because I feel bad?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Matt admitted, voice cracking. “I want to believe you. I want to trust this. But every time I see you laugh with someone else, every time you look at your phone and smile ��� I wonder if you’re gonna forget again.”

You were quiet for a beat, then said, “You don’t trust me.”

He looked away. “I’m scared to.”

“Then why did you kiss me?”

“Because I’m still in love with you!” he shouted. “Even when it hurts. Even when I know I probably shouldn’t be.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you held them back. “You say you love me, but you won’t let me prove that I love you too.”

“I want to,” he whispered. “But I don’t know how to stop being scared.”

You stepped toward him, slowly. “Then be scared. I am too. But we can’t heal if you keep throwing the past in my face every time things get hard.”

He looked at you then — really looked. And the fear in his eyes shattered into something softer. Something broken.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he whispered.

“You won’t,” you said. “But if we keep doing this — loving each other and then punishing each other for it — we’re gonna destroy everything we have left.”

Later That Night

You left without kissing him.

Not out of anger. But because you both needed to sit with the silence this time. Let the weight of the fight settle. Let the truth sink in.

You cried on the walk home.

Matt stared at the ceiling all night.

Both of you were afraid. But neither of you wanted to let go.

a/n: posting part 4 tommorow!

[cowgurrrl]

You're My Only Hope for Heaven

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: oh bitch I'm having a fucking blast with this dynamic the slow burn is slow burning

Summary: An unlikely patron saunters into your bar [3.5k]

Warnings: one (1) creepy guy, one (1) fake marriage, lots of flirting that’s not flirting but it’s not not flirting, one (1) kiss

You try not to make it a habit of picking up bar shifts during the week. Not only is it almost always slow, and you barely make any money, but it's hard to go from teaching for eight hours directly to another job. You'd much rather be at home, grading or doing something for yourself for the first time in weeks. But you couldn't say no when Katie called you, almost in tears, begging you to take her shift so she could deal with a burst pipe in her house. You don't regret doing her a favor, but you do regret other things as you stand behind the mostly empty bar as whatever game is happening plays on the screen above your head. You think it's a UT game. Or maybe A&M. Or any of the other SEC Texas schools with an absurd football budget. 

You're basically yawning your way through your shift and working through your newest painting in your head, trying and failing to not think about school until absolutely necessary. Principal Martinez is cracking down on the stupid minutiae the school board demands of its teachers, and you spent most of your afternoon writing student objectives on the board. On top of that, your art club kids have been begging you to plan a field trip to the local art museum for weeks. You finally relented, but the paperwork is mind-numbing and requires much more work than you thought. Between working, making art, and trying to live your life, you barely have time. 

Another reason you hate working weekdays is the creepy regulars. Normally, you can ignore them on a busy Saturday night, but it's harder when it's as dead as it is. You have no idea how Katie deals with them on a regular basis. It started with a guy at the bar, you think his name is Steve, asking you progressively invasive questions. "How old are you?" "You gotta boyfriend?" "What time do you get off?" One right after each other, even after you made it clear you're not interested. Fake laughing and making excuses to run to the back or change a keg don't throw him off. 

"Keep it up, and I'll cut you off." You finally threaten after he asks you why you're being a bitch. You roll your eyes when the bell above the door rings, probably admitting yet another asshole who's gonna make your night hell. When you turn toward the door, the words leave you before you can stop them. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Now, is that any way to greet your customers?" Joel chuckles, and you sigh as he sits down in front of you. Thankfully, his brother is not in tow, and you can save yourself a little embarrassment. "I didn't know you worked here."

"I don't," you say. "Whatcha drinkin'?" 

"Looks like you're workin' to me." He smirks and you shoot him a look.

"You wanna free drink or not?" 

"Shiner," he answers quickly. You hum in acknowledgment, not even bothering with the POS system and going right to the fridge to pull a bottle out for him. You pop the cap off and place a napkin under the beer before sliding it to him. "Are you bribin' me?"

"You've gotta be faster with your questions, Miller. You've already accepted it. Might as well enjoy." You say, and he laughs. 

"Well, alright, then," he says, raising his beer to you before taking a quick sip. "So, what's this, then? You moonlightin' as a bartender?" He asks, and you fight yourself on how to answer. What if word gets back to parents? Administration? They couldn't reprimand you for that, right? You know plenty of other teachers with second jobs, so it can't be that taboo. Still, you're hesitant to open up to Joel. Out of all the people who could've walked into your bar tonight, it had to be him.

"Something like that." You settle on, wiping a sticky spot on the bar to avoid his gaze. If he feels anything negative about you having a second job, his face doesn't show it. He has a soft smile on his lips and a slight sunburn across his nose, highlighting the freckles living there that previously went unnoticed. You want to tease him about not wearing sunscreen, but the joke dies in your throat when he rests his elbows on your bar, showing off those stupid biceps you can't not look at. He catches your eyes lingering near the short sleeve of his shirt and opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but a grating voice from the other side of the bar cuts him off.

"Excuse me, sweetheart! You've got other patrons over here!" Steve yells, and you feel your eye twitch at his attitude. Joel notices.

"What's wrong with him?" He asks quietly, leaning forward over the bar to get closer to you. Looking into his brown eyes and confused expression, an idea forms.

"Pretend you know me." You say, and his eyebrows knit together, every emotion visible on his face. 

"I do know you."

"No, I mean," you sigh. "That guy over there is a regular on Wednesdays, and the girl who usually works is married, so he doesn't try anything with her, but I won't give him my number, and he's making me fucking miserable. So, just... pretend to know me." Joel is bigger than Steve. Much bigger. Probably a whole head taller and much broader than the man on the other side of the bar. One word from Joel, and he might actually shut up or, better yet, leave altogether so you can finish your day without any more hiccups.

"Okay," Joel agrees, and you reflexively reach out to touch his thick forearm and squeeze. You don't even realize you did it until he smiles like he won a staring contest or something.

"Thank you," you say before turning and bracing yourself to deal with Steve. "What can I do for you, sir?" You ask, but before you can even finish your sentence, he holds up his empty beer bottle and waves it in front of your face like you're stupid. 

"Another beer." He says, and you bite your tongue. 

"You got it."

"Finally," he groans. "You'd think for such an easy fuckin' job, you'd be better at it." 

"What the fuck is your problem?" You ask, refusing to move from your spot to get him his beer, and he scoffs.

"My problem is that you're bein' a fuckin' bitch and ignorin' me when I didn't do nothin' wrong." He's slurring his words together at this point, and you wordlessly go to the POS system to close his tab and send him on his way. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" He yells after you.

"Hey, man, why don't you leave her alone? She's just tryna do her job." Joel speaks up from the other side of the bar, and Steve straightens up in his seat as he assesses Joel. 

"This isn't any of your fuckin' business. Stay out of it."

"It's my business now. That's no way to speak to a lady. I think you owe her a mighty big apology." 

"I don't owe her shit," he spits, and you look over to see Joel setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. "Why's this even matter to you, big shot?"

"That's my fuckin' wife you're mouthin' off to," Joel says without hesitation, and you quickly school your expression. Wife? You asked him to play along, but you didn't think he'd say that. "So, if you wanna keep the rest of your teeth, I suggest you apologize to her, leave her a nice, big tip for dealin' with your sorry ass, and get yourself a ride home." 

Steve is silent as you take the empty bottle away from him— just in case things get really ugly— and slide him his card and bill. He eyes Joel carefully for a few tense seconds before picking up a pen, signing his check, and leaving without another word. The second he's out the door, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders and sigh at the relief. You scrub a hand down your face and look over at Joel.

"You okay?" He asks gently like you're a spooked horse, and you nod. You take a few minutes to get yourself together, putting in Steve's 30% tip and cleaning off the empty bar before returning to Joel. "What?" He asks when he catches you smirking.

"At least buy a girl dinner before you call me your wife." You say, and he laughs, shaking his head. 

"You said the other girl is married. I just took it and ran," he says. "And I already tried to take you to dinner, but somebody said no." 

"School regulation says it's unethical." 

"Well, we're not at school now, and you're certainly not a teacher right now." He says smoothly, vaguely gesturing to your all-black outfit, and you give him a look. "What time d'you get off?"

"You're gonna get me in trouble." You whisper, and he leans forward across the bar. 

"All I did was ask you a question." He whispers back, playfully mocking you. It could be the smile on his face, the relaxed humor behind his eyes, or the fact that he stood up for you because you asked him to, but you glance between him and the clock and take a deep breath. 

"I get off at 12. Unless it stays dead like this, then I'm closing early," you say, and his smile grows. "But this is not a date." 

"'Course not." He chuckles, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"I'm serious. I need you to say it's not a date, so I know you won't come after me if your kid fails my class." 

"Is my kid failing your class?"

"No, she's amazing. But for my own mental well-being, I need you to say that this is not a date." You say, and he grabs your wrist to stop your anxious wringing. 

"Let me buy you a drink. That's it. Nothin' more," he says, squeezing you. "This ain't a date." 

"Thank you." You sigh, and he nods. 

You spend an hour or two idling between conversations with Joel and trying to look busy for any manager who might care enough to check the cameras. You're pretty much done with all your closing duties by 10:00, and you wait until it's been a full hour since anyone else came in to flip the closed sign and do a few last-minute things. When the bar is completely clean, empty, and ready for the next shift, you slink back behind it to make yourself and Joel a drink before sitting beside him. 

"You feelin' proud of yourself for getting us here?" You ask as you clink your glass against his and take a sip. 

"Yeah, I've got the prettiest girl in the whole place sittin' by me," he says, and before you can even scold him, he throws his hands up. "Not a date." 

"Not a date." You repeat.

"Still true, though."

"Don't make me regret saying yes to you, Mr. Miller." You say, and he gives you a look. You like teasing him, especially since you can always see exactly how he's feeling. He's not particularly subtle, contrary to what you're sure others think about him. 

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Joel?" 

"As many times as it takes, I guess," you shrug. "You also clearly have an aversion to being called Mr. Miller."

"My dad was Mr. Miller." He says, and you roll your eyes, groaning and half-folding in on yourself dramatically. 

"Oh, my God, do you know how many men have said that to me since I've become a teacher?"

"Well, it's true!" He says. "Are you sayin' other people are tryna tell my wife to call ‘em by their first names?" He asks, and you laugh. 

"Believe it or not, you're not the first single parent to ask me out." 

"Am I the first one you said yes to?" 

"So far." 

"So far?" He asks, raising his eyebrows, and you hum. "I'll take it." 

Unsurprisingly, Joel is really easy to talk to. He asks questions about your life outside of work, where you went to school, and what made you want to be a teacher. You ask him about his job and family and, somehow, end up talking about the latest cheesy action film he's seen. When both your drinks are empty, the glasses sit there, the ice slowly melting as you talk into the night. Every time a hint of anxiety creeps up your spine, he makes you laugh or tells you an interesting story from his past and distracts you from it. You lose hours sitting there, and you don't even realize it until your phone pings you with a reminder, and you suddenly see it's past midnight.

"Oh, shit," you mumble, showing Joel the time. "I gotta lock up."

"And you have school tomorrow." He says, and you groan as you stand and grab your glasses. 

"Don't remind me. I've got like five million things waiting to get done there." You say. He watches you step behind the bar, leave them in the sink for the opener to find, and no doubt send a catty message in the group chat asking who closed the night before. His eyes don't leave you even when you reach up and grab your bag, your sleeve falling down just enough to reveal a nasty bruise.

"Woah, that looks like it hurt," he says, gesturing to your arm. "How'd you get that?"

"Promise you won't laugh." Your response does nothing to clear up his confusion, but he raises his right hand and makes a cross over his heart.

"I promise." His tone is gentle and even, but you're still hesitant to actually admit it.

"I fell off a table." 

"I told you!"

"Hey!" You scold. "You promised you'd be cool about it!"

"I promised not to laugh." He says, and you roll your eyes. "They still haven't come to fix it for ya?"

"Would I be climbing on tables if they did?"

"Fair enough," he shrugs. You find the bar keys at the bottom of your purse and walk over to where he's still sitting, your hand resting on the back of your chair. He shifts forward until he can catch the edge of your sleeve and roll it up to see the bruise in all her glory. His fingers are warm, and his touch light as he traces the edge of it, not firm enough to make it ache but enough that you feel the pads of his fingers. You freeze like your stillness will be enough for the feather-light touches to continue, your eyes meeting for a split second. He clears his throat and rolls your sleeve back down for you, drawing his hand back. "Tell you what," he says. "I gotta buddy who gets me a good deal on some spare parts. Let me see if I can track down the part you need, and I'll come fix it myself. Free of charge."

"You don't have to do that." 

"And let my wife fall off tables?" He asks, a smirk pulling on his lips, and you shake your head. "It's the least I can do for the free drinks and, ya know, teachin' my kid." 

"Fine, but don't make it a thing. The maintenance people already don't like me. I can't imagine seeking outside help will make them like me." 

"I won't make it a thing," he promises, leaning back in his chair as his eyes travel up and down your body. He sighs heavily and sucks his teeth like you're suddenly too much, and you smile. "It's a damn shame this wasn't a date."

"What'd you do if it was?" The question borders on dangerous, but you can't take it back now that you've said it. It seems to have piqued Joel's interest, too, because he raises his eyebrows at you.

"You really wanna know?" He asks, and you nod.

"I really wanna know," you say. "How does Joel Miller end a successful date?" He gets a little bashful at the question, a blush creeping up his neck, and you knock his knee with yours to get his attention. "C'mon, don't get shy on me now."

"Alright, alright," he grumbles. "If this were a date, and we were gettin' ready to go out separate ways, I'd walk you out to your car, open the door for ya 'cause a lady should never open her own doors," his voice is slow and low, and he watches your face as he speaks. "And I'd kiss you. Nice and slow so I don't scare ya off or anythin'. I might put a hand on your waist or bite that pretty lip or somethin'. And right when I can feel you wantin' a little more, gettin' a little desperate, I'd stop, say goodnight, and walk back to my truck." His words have a devastating effect on you, and you can't look away from him. The heat rolling off him in waves makes you too warm and flustered. His gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips, his own tongue darting out to wet his plump bottom lip, and you have half a mind to think he's looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. You have half a mind to let him. 

"You're right," you finally breathe. "It's a shame this isn't a date." He nods and stands, his broad chest grazing yours as you look up at him. You're not a science teacher by any means. If you were, you might be able to explain the magnetism you feel toward Joel or what stupid chemical in your brain makes you wonder what tricks he keeps up his sleeve. But you're not. You're an art teacher. So, the only thing you can focus on is the deep brown of his irises and the heavy lashes and crow's feet that frame his eyes. And the swoop of his salt and pepper curls, the tint of his slightly pink forehead and strong nose. You want to capture his image in the dim lighting of the bar, but you settle for committing it to memory to scribble in the margins of your notebook for the rest of the week. Why couldn't you have been a science teacher?

Neither of you says anything as he finally steps away, giving you the space to turn off the last of the bar lights and push through the haze he created in your mind. He lingers by the door and opens it for you when you go to the front and step into the humid Austin night. You lock the doors and give him a small smile when you turn around to see him rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

Then, just as he said, he walks you to your car and opens the driver's side door for you. His truck, the only other car in the parking lot, is parked a few spaces away from yours. It would've been so much easier to just ignore you, get in his car, and drive away, but here he is, being the gentleman he's always been toward you. You step into the space created by the open door and throw your bag in the passenger seat, but don't get in the car. Not yet. He sighs heavily, like he's in physical pain, when you meet his eyes again, and his hand flexes around the edge of your car door. 

"Thanks for my not date." You mumble, and he nods. You're close (and weak) enough that brushing his lips would just take a strong breeze. It freaks you out how okay you are with the idea of "accidentally" kissing Joel Miller. You should be panicking. Alarm bells should be sounding in your head, but the only thing filling the cavernous space is the echo of his voice explaining what he'd do if this were a date. Idiot.

He leans on your door a little more, and your heart quickens, thinking he might actually be the one to make the move. His head ducks just a little, and you get a strong whiff of his cologne, your eyes fluttering shut at the scent. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you're all but pushing up on your toes when he swerves past your lips and presses a chaste, firm kiss to your cheek. His beard scratches your soft skin pleasantly, and you keep your eyes closed until he pulls away, looking like he just won a prize.

"Get home safe." He says as he steps back, still holding your door open. You sigh and fight a smile as you look at him— cocky, vindicated, and knowing exactly what he just did. 

"Goodnight, Joel." You manage to get out before sitting down and letting him gently shut the door for you. You wait until he gets in his truck to roll your window down and shout his name until he does the same. "I'm gonna get you back for that."

"Oh, I'm countin' on it, darlin'."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3

[channiehyungandhanniehyung]

Stolen cookie

Lees:Hyunjin,Han

Lers: Chan, Hyunjin, Han

This is a tickle fic! If its not on your search history… then the door is open.

It started off innocent. Just another lazy Saturday at the dorm.

The sky was grey outside, a soft drizzle pattering against the windows, and the mood inside was chilled—socks, oversized hoodies, and a battle for the coziest blanket on the couch. Chan was on the floor, laptop open, messing with some new beats. Hyunjin was sprawled like a starfish over half the couch, scrolling mindlessly. Jisung? He was on a mission.

“AHA!” came the dramatic shout from the kitchen. “My baby, my sweet, sweet cookie. I’ve waited all day for you.”

Hyunjin barely looked up. “You talk to food more romantically than people.”

“That’s because food doesn’t break my heart,” Jisung shot back, cradling the cookie like it was made of diamonds.

He walked back toward the living room, holding it up for dramatic effect. “Last one. And it’s MINE.”

That was his first mistake.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked up, and without warning, he lunged. It was a blur—Jisung yelping, the cookie flying, Hyunjin snatching it mid-air like a true thief, and then that fateful crunch as he bit into it with the smuggest smirk known to mankind.

Dead silence.

Jisung stared. Chan paused his music. The rain even seemed to stop for a second.

“…You did NOT just eat my last cookie.”

Hyunjin shrugged. “I mean, I did.”

“Do you know what this means?” Jisung said, stepping forward slowly, eyes wild. “You’ve declared war.”

Hyunjin laughed. “What are you gonna do, write an angry diss track—AH!”

Jisung tackled him like a gremlin possessed, and they both crashed onto the floor with a loud thud. Jisung immediately climbed on top, pinning Hyunjin’s arms.

“Where are your weak spots, you dramatic giraffe?” he hissed.

“No—WAIT—JISUNG—”

Fingers met ribs, and Hyunjin exploded.

“AAHAHAHAHAHA JISUNG YOU LITTLE—NOHOHO—NOT THE RIBS, I SWEAR I’LL DIE!”

Chan, still on the floor, raised an eyebrow. “Hm. I should stop them,” he said casually, not stopping the music production one bit. “But this is better than drama night.”

“CHAAANNN! HEEELP!” Hyunjin howled through laughter, writhing under Jisung’s relentless fingers.

Chan didn’t move. He simply took a sip from his mug and smiled, letting the chaos unfold like a proud dad watching his kids fight over LEGOs.

Jisung laughed maniacally. “This is what happens when you mess with destiny—and desserts!”

Hyunjin shrieked when Jisung scribbled under his arms, legs flailing everywhere like a kicked spider. “OKAYOKAYOKAY I’M SORRY—UNCLE—COOKIES ARE HOLY—PLEASE—CHANNNNNN!”

Chan sighed dramatically. “Alright. Enough chaos.” He stood up slowly and walked over.

“Finally,” Hyunjin gasped. “Save me—”

Chan reached out, patted Jisung on the shoulder.

Then flipped the betrayal switch.

Suddenly, Chan tackled Jisung, dragging him off Hyunjin in one smooth motion. Before Jisung could even protest, he was pinned, with Chan’s smug face inches from his.

“You think I’d really save someone who wastes their last cookie moment by starting a war?” Chan said coolly.

“WHAT?! YOU—NO NO NO—CHAN-HYUNG PLEASE—!”

And then it began.

Chan’s fingers were unfair. Ruthless. Trained in the ancient arts of tickle combat. He dug into Jisung’s sides and ribs, found every spot that made him squeal, and activated them with terrifying precision.

“GAHAHAHAHAH STOOOP—HYUNJIN HELP ME—YOU BACKSTABBING SINK GREMLIN—”

Hyunjin, now safely off the ground and still catching his breath, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Now that’s justice.”

“I’M GOING TO—AHAHAHA—GET YOU BOTH FOR THIS!”

Chan grinned. “Doubt it. You’re too busy wheezing.”

Jisung was nearly crying from laughter now, twisting and writhing like a fish out of water. His hair was a mess, hoodie riding up, and his voice cracked with every squeal.

“STOP! STAHAHAP—CHAN—OHMYGOD—”

“Ticklish much?” Chan teased, giving his sides a quick squeeze that made Jisung shriek and curl up instantly.

“GET AWAAAY—YOU’RE A MONSTER—”

That’s when Hyunjin, ever the drama king, stood tall and declared, “I have risen from the ashes of betrayal, and now, I shall deliver justice!”

“Bro what—” Jisung gasped between laughs.

Hyunjin leapt in. Round two commenced.

This time, both of them were attacking—Chan and Hyunjin teamed up like a villain duo. One on his knees, the other at his ribs. Jisung was gone.

“AAAHAHAHAHAHA—NOT TWO OF YOU—THIS IS ILLEGAHAAHA—CHAN HYUNJIN I WILL GET MY REVENGE!”

“Sure you will,” Chan chuckled, not stopping.

And then—

click.

The front door creaked open.

Three heads whipped toward the sound.

Felix stood in the doorway, umbrella still dripping rain, eyebrows raised so high they were practically in his hairline.

“…Did I just walk into a horror movie or…?”

Jisung, a flushed mess under two giggling men, pointed at him like a dying soldier.

“LIX… RUHUN.”

Felix blinked. “Yeah, I’mma go back outside.”

He turned, shut the door behind him.

Silence.

Then—

“GET HIM!” Jisung roared.

Chan and Hyunjin turned in sync.

“Oh yeah,” Chan grinned. “Next victim..”

[the0retically]

The Suckening #8: Sins of the Father:

Just my thoughts :)! Spoilers below!

- It is 11:33 pm Saturday night and I’m just now starting this episode let’s goooo

- Condi isn’t a fan of sucking anymore??? He’s no longer allowed

- Oh they’re trying to teach Charlie the ways of blowing but in his words “it’s not even good” “I love suck, I love suck”

- I say it everytime but GOD THE MUSIC IS SO GOOD THANK YOU NATHAN HANOVER!!!!!!!

- Arthur traveling in first class, posh boy

- “What a plane” ARTHUR PLEASE

- Arthur has been in America that long?? 1918 is when he left, holy shit that’s so long

- “It’s not in black and white anymore” CHARLIE PLEASE

- Charlie and Grizz doing the British accent is SO BAD OH MY GOD

- ……..Arthur’s home isn’t going to be the same at all :(

- Charlie this accent is incomprehensible?????

- Grizz is fighting for his life!! during this convo oh my god

- Arthur got NO SUCCESSES???? He’s just peering through the window in plain view oh my god

- THAT SCREAM????? CHARLIE PLEASE

- He’s just wiping the sunscreen off??? JUST BOOKING IT TO THE DARKNESS??

- This is going So bad, Arthur please get out of there, he just scares a little girl, runs into the shadows, gets caught by the mom and Waves at her fucking hell arthur what are you doing??

- “Are there cops in the UK?” Charlie??

- He’s just running oh my god?? Arthur PLEASE

- He’s in the forest now?????

- Oh god he’s just trying to see his family that he buried :(((

- ARTHUR IS LIKE JACK THE RIPPER???? AS IN LORE

- no ok I agree with bizly that the legend of the Bennett family would make this family more on edge

- Arthur :(

- Oh semi unmarked graves so that people wouldn’t notice them :(

- …….why does he want the shovel though, please don’t dig up your family

- Grizz is gonna make me cry, the way he listed what Arthur’s siblings are good at and that they would be great at those things and he still doesn’t know what he’d do and what he’d be good at

- Charlie is cruel for the Christmas photo of the Bennett family :(((

- Oh Arthur was kinda like emizel, he was more of a punk, a delinquent

- :(((( the memory of the photo :((((

- Oh god the cops are here?? At least he got out of there but oh my god

- ……oh no the sun “you took a cab out here, what’s the plan??” “There’s always hitchhiking” “I’d pick you up!”

- ………………is Arthur going to steal this kids bike YES GRIZZ LETS GOOOOO THE IMAGE IS TOO GOOD TO PASS UP

- HES A SPEED RACER ON THIS LITTLE BIKE!!!!!

- Climaxxx London……Charlie Please

- A camera for void?? Arthur is becoming a spy! Spy arc!

- ARTHUR HAS AN APPLE WATCH????

- Spy gear kids cam on void!!!!

- I hate how quiet it got after Charlie told the boys that vampires need to spend a blood point to cum

- I love how the other two always play random NPCs for the one person’s scene

- Spirits touch is SO COOL!! I love it

- “:((( how do you get behind a wall?? I have a stupid money brain that just wants to blow it up” GRIZZ

- It’s so interesting that the Bennett’s, or at least Arthur’s father, was a vampire hunter, like it’s just so tragic

- HAHAH GRZZ YELLING ABOUT ANOTHER WALL PLEASEEE

- CHARLIE HAS PHYSICAL THINGS FOR GRIZZ?? THATS SO COOL!!!!

- Charlie you scare me whenever you do the horror dm voice

- 5 pairs of footsteps??? Goodness that’s a lot

- NO CHARLIE BRINGING UP THE CLOCK MECHANIC FROM BITB AND CONDI IMMEDIATELY KNOWING WHAT IT IS TOO AND JUST SAYING GOOD LUCK GOODNESS AHHHHH?????

- HE ROLLED A TEN THAT QUICK??

- YEAHHHHHHH ARTHUR IS CRACKED!! HES ROLLING SO WELL!!!!

- The music is so beautiful and stunning, I love it

- “Bro you dress pretty vampiric” hahah Arthur really does

- CHARLIE HUH???? HOW DID HE ROLL THAT MANY SUCCESSES

- Grizz is Stressed out and so am I

- Also Jumpscare every time one of them uses a others real name, like Zach?? No that’s bizly

- FANTASTIC MONOLOGUE GRIZZ I LOVE THAT

- They have ear protection though??? WHAT THE HELL

- ……Arthur what are you doing to this cab driver??

- SHADOWS AND JUST DRINKING HIS BLOOD ALRIGHT!

- No way Grizz rolled a ten oh my god that’s perfect ARTHUR IS GOING BACK TO LA WOOOOOO

- …..Arthur please you’re on a plane please just be ok

- HAHAH HE JUST HAS TO BE IN THE BATHROOM FOR THE REST OF THE FLIGHT??? NOOOOO POOR ARTHUR

- THE TWINS!!!!!! THEYRE HERE!!

- Brothers being brothers!

- They’re making a board for all the heavy players!!

- :(((( shilo talking about his mom!

- “It’s the only way if we’re going to take care of Edward Twilight”

- FIRST STOP IS THEO???????

- “‘Yes my prince!’ I love Grefgore :)” I DO TOO!!

- Just going to fucking rehab to get Theo im so—

- Emizel suggested to go to Walmart and feed—NOW THEYRE IN WALMART??

- I never knew I needed to see Shilo in a Walmart

- CHARLIE MAKING DOG NOISES RETURNS!!

- Grefgore in a Walmart is Chaos!!

- Theo Door, PLEASE?? Condi :// Theo Collins is SICK THOUGH LOVE THAT, I really hope I heard that right cause that’s a cool name

- HES DRINKING WATER!!!!!! LETS GOOOO THEO!!!!!

- “Yes that is in the baja past” I just burst out in laughter that was so funny

- Theo being so happy to see Emizel but pissed off at Shilo is so fun, it’s just like Deacon liking Shilo and disliking Emizel

- “Can we dap up?” “No” Theo’s Anger towards Shilo oh my god

- “I look at my brother, I look at Grefgore” PLEASE :((((( I LOVE THAT :((

- Lol the brothers and their boyfriends out for an attack

- LETS GOOOOO EMIZEL!!!! Killing the eye bat with the water bottle in one shot!!!

- Gotta stop because it’s 2:07 am and I have a show later today and yesterday was a two show day and rehearsal, I’m exhausted

- Ok time to keep going

- LETS GOOO THEYRE STEALTHY

- Damn the boys are thwarted by a wall and no door again

- This plan is so convoluted and complex like boys please be smart and safe cause like Vex and Viv are insane and they’re not safe at all in this situation

- Shilo :((

- “Cause a ruckus and I’ll be able to get out, don’t worry about me” :( Emizel “worst case I’ll just kill myself” PLEASE????

- “I’m going to look at him, my eyes glow, and go ‘shush’” SHILO HOLY SHIT

- Vex….You intrigue me

- Oooh emizel is filming this

- I agree with Grizz I Also love Vex and Viv

- Backrooms backrooms backrooms backrooms

- GOD IS HE CAUGHT?? Ok thank god he can hide

- 10 SUCCESSES LETS GO EMIZEL

- Never say it’s going well cause then it’s gonna go shit

- “Shamiashma is back!” GOD I LOVE VEX AND VIV THEYRE SO COOL

- I love how Angry they are about Emizel and how they’re just enemies

- Oh god???? The sire is here???

- “Shamiashwho??” “ShamiashYOU!”

- Oh god Shilo please please get out of there

- LETS GO THEO?? PLEASE PLEASE

- YESSSS BLOCKED BY THE FIRE!!!!

- The sire has a gun??? What????

- God I love the banter between emizel and the sire

- Emizel botched???? Dudeeeeee

- “Is there a cliff nearby?” “Roll, difficulty of 8” “there’s a cliff” “oh god damn it”

- The chanting for vex to fail was SO good

- This is insanity I love it

- This campaign is so so good I love it

- “Don’t thank me, thank my prince” WOO

- EMIZEL IS GOING FOR THE CLIFF!!!!

- Let’s gooooo I’m shocked that they were able to get the people out but !!!!!

- THE SUCKENING!!!!!!!!!!! LETS GOOOOO

- YEAH EMIZEL!!!!!! HE LIVES THROUGH THIS EPISODE!!!

- These hounds are so bad oh my god

- SO GOOD!!!! LOVED THAT

[kisskissbanggang]

Disavowed - pt. 3

[5.3k Words/20min. Read - Priest!Chris x Reader - NSFW/Smut - Church, What Are You Doing?, Disgusting Old Men, Jisung is... Nice, Something Feels Off, Harrowing Guilt, Guilty Pleasures, Self-Doubt, Priest Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Hand Jobs, Fellatio, Confessional Sex, Outdoor Sex, Uncomfortable Moments]

[a/n: ty to @therhythmafterthesummer and @magicficwriting for beta reading and previewing 💗]

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Come Say Hi!]

Maybe you were wrong. 

Maybe Jisung was annoying. 

All you’d asked for on Monday was a place to hang out on your breaks, but today Jisung brought you a cup of tea while you hung out in the library. You’d been searching for a little peace and quiet, but the reverend was far too polite to leave you alone. 

Was he being nice? Or was he “being nice?”

This was crazy. You were being crazy.

That bite mark from your first night together still wasn’t gone.

You’d been veritably losing it since Chris kicked you out early on Saturday morning, after you'd attempted to sympathize with him. He apparently saw right through you. You’d tried to feel bad, but no one made him sleep with you. 

Twice. 

He kicked you out right after that. 

“I think you should go.”

You didn’t even try to fight it. Instead, you marched right out to your car parked outside and drove the humbling 30 minutes home before attempting to ignore your fellow boarders curiously watching you come home at the crack of dawn. 

Church was so awkward on Sunday. 

And now you were hiding out in the library again. The front office felt cramped even though it was only you and Roberta, the elderly school receptionist. It was more than likely the presence of Sister Judith looming in the background at all times, lurking in her office, or the occasional intrusion of Father James. The old man had greeted you on Sunday before mass, patting your shoulder but not saying hello. You would’ve preferred it the other way around, but instead you let it go. 

Unlike this whole fiasco with Chris. 

When you weren’t busy wondering how you could make Chris do the right thing and turn himself in, you were hideously consumed with the thought of making him crumble again the way you did on Friday night. He’d been so eager, so overcome and willing to succumb that you were convinced he’d do anything you wanted. A part of you wondered why you were so rabid about this, but another part of you thought that seemed pretty obvious.

You used to never be like this.

Or, at least, you used to be pretty sure that you’d never been like this.

Jisung slid into the chair across from yours, startling you where you were tucked away in a back corner of the library. “Enjoying your break?” the reverend asked chipperly. He gestured at the mug in front of you. “You’ve hardly touched your tea.”

You helplessly shrugged. “It’s not a chamomile type of day, I guess,” you fibbed.

“I have a whole stash if you’d like to try,” he quickly offered, holding up a hand to count. “I got black, jasmine, green, Earl grey–”

“That’s alright, Reverend–”

He humbly waved you off, a gesture that looked oddly familiar until you realized you saw Chris do it the week before. “Oh, please, call me Jisung–”

“Jisung,” you interrupted him in return, “thank you. But I should get going back, shouldn’t I?”

You were lying through your teeth. Shameful. Sister Judith hardly ever left her office, so she’d never know you were missing, let alone care. The only evidence of your overly long breaks would maybe be security tapes, but it’d already been explained to you that footage was wiped every 24 hours. You got up, thanking Jisung again before trotting out of the library and finally relaxing–

Until you rounded the corner and ran into Father James. 

You didn’t know much about the old man. He was fairly friendly and kind, and he admittedly had a decent sense of humor. However, there was no one at school he seemed to spend time with, no members of the congregation that he chatted with after mass. You supposed he lived a lonely life.

Father James looked down at you, brows raised in surprise before he let out a chuckle. “You scared me, lamb. Are you out for a stroll, too?”

“Oh, no,” you panicked, feeling caught. “I was just, uhm, stopping by to say hi to the reverend on my way to, uh, pick up some attendance reports.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Maybe you’d like to escort me to the courtyard? It’s time for my break.” The father patted the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. You looked down the hall. The courtyard was between the church and the walkway to the church, out behind the gym–

The gym.

What a good escape plan. You’d gracefully leave the father’s company, and get to see how Chris was doing. Father James cheekily offered you his arm and you hesitated before taking it. For an older man, he had a surprising definition of muscle under his shirt sleeve. This made you shiver for some reason you weren’t quite in the mood to unpack just yet.

“I’ve hardly met you, lamb,” Father James smirked. “I hear you’re staying in Mr. Kim’s boarding house with all those rowdy young men. Is his grandson treating you kindly?”

“Er, you mean Seungmin?” you asked. “He’s great. All of them are gentlemen, honestly.” You were confused. Rowdy wasn’t exactly the word you’d use to describe the boarding house and its inhabitants. The most commotion you’d witnessed was a betting pool fiasco for some dating show and discovering who was shirking their dishwashing in the kitchen. 

“And you moved here all by yourself?” he continued. “Not looking to find a beau here, are you?”

You nearly visibly gagged on this new set of questions. “Uh, heh, no,” you babbled, “I mean, yes, I moved here by myself, but–”

“I’m joking, lamb,” the old priest condescended. “That’s you and your business. But if that’s actually one of God’s gifts for you, you’d be wise to accept it.”

“What about you?” you curiously asked. “Do you ever wonder if it was originally one of God’s gifts for you?”

Father James shrugged, his bicep brushing uncomfortably against you and making you take a sidestep as you walked together. “I don’t worry myself with that anymore. I can enjoy plenty of God’s gifts from right here where I’m at.”

That shiver was back, and you’d never been more happy to see the gym before in your life. You craned your neck to see as you passed by the door and sure enough, there was Chris, supervising his class doing sit-ups. Although you’d done nothing to announce your presence, he happened to look up from his clipboard right at that moment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his eyes widened at his notice of you.

“Excuse me, Father,” you giddily apologized, “Father Chris was one of those teachers I needed attendance reports from.”

“Would you like me to wait for you?” he asked.

“No thank you,” you insisted. “You should go take your break.”

Father James nodded benevolently, watching you leave before resuming his casual stride out to the courtyard. You strolled into the gym, trying to contain how satisfying it was to see Chris be visibly alerted by your presence.

He held your gaze, unyielding as he blew his whistle. “Five laps outside,” he announced to the class, gaining groans in response.

He was cute in his joggers and hoodie. You both waited until his last student trudged outside before he finally let out a sigh he’d been holding.

“Can I help you?” he asked, half depleted, half resigned.

“I’m just seeing how you’re doing,” you innocently answered.

“Friday night should not have happened.”

“Well it happened,” you shrugged, “so now what do you suggest I do? Because I have half a mind to report you for misconduct–”

“You do not have to do that,” Chris blustered. “What are you getting out of antagonizing me like this? Last I checked, it takes at least two to… Do that.”

“Last I checked,” you bit back, “only one of us took vows to not do that. So, again: what would you suggest I do?”

Father Chris reeled, about to snap his clipboard in half. “Go to confession and let it go, would you?!”

You folded your arms indignantly. “Good idea. Thanks for the tip.”

Chris watched helplessly while you ended the conversation before he expected and sauntered out of the gym. Judging by his bewilderment, he was prepared for you to dig your heels in again. But you weren’t interested in keeping up a petty confrontation when you knew you could very well turn in Chris of your own accord. The whole point was to make him do it himself, really turn this around and do the right thing. That was the hard part here, the nuance to this entire debacle that made it so impossible for you to “let this go,” as he put it.

You loved that for something seemingly so easy to you, he was well and truly struggling with it. Despite his vows, he wanted you and he wanted you bad enough to fuck up twice. That was too crazy to move on from.

Not without going to confession first.

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

Confession at Pinewood Falls Church was held on Wednesday nights, after choir practice and youth group. Your housemates were confused, to say the least, when you grabbed your coat after dinner to head back out.

“You’re going… to confession?” Felix ogled. Seungmin smirked in the background, amused. Felix, apparently, ended up in Pinewood Falls filling in for the local librarian.

“What could it hurt?” you nonchalantly asked. “I’m trying to be part of the community.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to confession,” Minho thought out loud, not even looking up. He was reclined on the window bench, paging through the newspaper. From what you knew, Minho was some sort of accountant by trade, but he deemed his work too boring to talk about. “I don’t even know how it works, come to think of it.”

“It’s terrible,” Jeongin moaned. The youngest of all of you, Jeongin was Seungmin’s cousin and worked a blue collar job at the local post office. “You sit in a tiny room alone with the priest and tell him everything.”

“You never had a screen?” asked Hyunjin, sounding distant while he did the crossword from Minho’s newspaper. He was a full-time artist, a job that seemed too simple to ever be easy. “There was always a screen between me and the priest when my parents made me go.”

“You guys never just went to confession?” Changbin butted in on his way from the kitchen, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves after washing dishes. As it turned out, Changbin also worked at a school, but not Pinewood Prep. He actually worked in Briar Bay, humorously enough, at the public school there as a math teacher. “I sort of liked confession, before I ever learned what therapy is.”

“Well I’m going,” you shrugged. “It’s an experiment. I’m trying new things.”

“Have fun then,” Seungmin grinned, humoring you. “Stay out of trouble.”

Fair enough. It seemed that when Chris was involved, that was a good warning to give. You drove your trusty little beater back to school, parking behind the dumpsters by the gym where no one would easily spot you. Chris’ truck was parked right by Father James’ closer to the building, the two sporting annoyingly matching vehicles with eerily similar paint jobs. It was almost like Father Chris was chemically made in a lab to make the old man love him as much as humanly possible, and that made his betrayal of his morals that much more wild to you.

The crowd inside the chapel was beginning to thin by that point. You’d made a distinct effort to come near the end of the night, if for no other reason than to reduce how many people saw you there. A fair line of students and a few choir members still remained so you lingered. Minutes passed, and you watched penitents intermittently enter and exit the two confessional booths. Being left to stew like this was agonizing. For as self-assured as you felt, it was hard not to hook on one thing. 

You’re so bad for me.

He’d said it in the heat of the moment, but the sentiment was driving you, ever since Chris kicked you out on Saturday. You were “bad” for him but he let himself have you nonetheless. The power in that felt formidable. Chris wanted you bad enough to be tested by you, and you wanted him to be. You didn’t fully know what to do with this so it sat, tugging at you.

Father James eventually exited the confessional on the left, sliding a little “closed” sign into place over the door handle. You pivoted, with the rest of the remaining parishioners, to join the line on the right, making sure to pull up the rear now that you knew the right way to go. You counted heads in front of you while you tried to hush your stubbornly persistent thoughts. Finally, you were next, and no one else was around. 

Your breath wavered for a second before you opened the confessional booth door. As much as you wanted to carry this out, there was still some intimidation. Maybe your conscience was trying to get through to you. 

Inside the dimly lit booth, it was clear that it had been, at one point, a traditional set-up where the partition wall was once a screen and the priest and penitent would be in their respective halves. In its present state, this booth was cramped, small with its two chairs facing each other. Chris was seated in the far seat, head bowed in reflection. He was fully robed, and a rosary was wrapped around his hand, currently holding a bible in his lap. 

When he lifted his gaze, you could tell he typically didn’t look all the way up so he could give some grace and privacy, but he did this time. 

And he was nervous. 

You were enjoying this too much. 

Chris swallowed a lump in his throat before motioning for you to sit. You set down your bag and coat. He crossed himself, leading you to mirror him. 

“In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

He waited, perhaps patiently, for you to continue. Thankfully, you did know this bit. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession in a pretty long time.”

You didn’t bow your head. Instead, when Chris looked up from his lap, he found you looking right at him. The young priest cleared his throat a second time and nodded for you to proceed. “Whenever you’re ready,” he assured you. Or maybe himself. 

You were so oddly at peace. Maybe it was his dread energizing you. 

“I unknowingly slept with a priest,” you stated, clear and concise. 

Chris nodded with a frown. “I see.”

“And then I did it again,” you clarified.

“Why’s that?”

You crossed your legs, catching Chris’ eye as if you weren’t just wearing the same skirt and blouse you’d worn to work that day. The move pushed your modest high heel under his robe. 

“You’re not supposed to ask questions,” you chided. 

“I just want to know why you did it,” he defended, dropping any professionalism left by now. 

“I’m more concerned with why he did it,” you challenged. 

“Why do you think so?” asked Chris. 

What a terrible question. 

The priest watched helplessly as you slid your patent leather pump higher under his robe until you were at his knee. 

“Maybe he’s lonely,” you thought out loud, teasing your foot higher up his thigh. 

Chris’ grip on his bible grew tighter.

“Maybe he’s desperate,” you continued. The sole of your shoe now pressed gently against the unmistakable bulge in his slacks.

Father Chris winced when he twitched in response to your touch.

“Maybe,” you emphasized, “he has some regrets that he’s working through.”

“That is more than enough–” he tried to argue, except he was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Chris’ eyes widened, if not for the intrusion then for you capitalizing on it, slipping onto your knees in front of him in the dim confessional.

“Christopher? You’re not still seeing anyone, are you?”

Father James.

You met Chris’ eye, and he silently begged you to slow down with a firm shake of his head. However, you continued toward your objective, lifting the priest’s robe enough to access his belt and zipper. He was egregiously warm in your hand.

“No, sir,” he finally coughed out, “everyone’s gone for the night. I was just doing some, er, reflecting on my own.”

“Ah,” came Father James through the door. “Will you be much longer?”

Chris stared down at you, silently cursing and nearly ripping his bible in half when your tongue delicately extended to tease his length. “Nh-no,” he half-moaned, half-answered. “I’ll finish what I’m doing and lock up.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

The two of you locked eyes in excruciating silence while waiting for the old priest to leave.

At least, it was excruciating for Chris.

“Why are you doing this?” he feebly asked, curling in on himself enough that he dropped his bible. His hand extended, the rosary wrapped in his fingers leaving little prints on his skin when he fought between wanting to push you off of him and wanting to pull you closer.

You cocked an eyebrow and leaned down to kiss the leaking tip of his erection. “Why’d you lie?”

“This is your confession,” Chris persisted. “What’re you getting out of this?”

There was the question again, only rephrased this time. What were you getting out of this?

Aside, you supposed, from how satisfied you felt watching this man crumple for you.

“What does it matter?” you answered, aloof. “I told you how to make it stop. You like following your calling? You want to make it up to the powers that be? Maybe start with your own confession.”

You got up then, dusting off your knees and coolly grabbing your bag and coat. Chris gaped at you, a myriad of emotions running through him as you abandoned him, hard and aroused in the confessional booth.

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

For all intents and purposes, you were doing great now. It truly felt like, for the first time since you met him, that you had the advantage over Chris.

You only wished, then, that you weren’t in such a terrible mood.

This was Father James’ fault this time. You’d brought the old man his mail, a task Jacqueline used to do, all the way at his office in the back of the chapel. 

“Shame the weather’s turning,” he’d lamented. “But I thought that’d mean you’d start wearing those sweaters you were wearing when you first started again. They were so flattering on you.”

You could’ve puked, and there was still acid in your throat in the thirty minutes that had passed since then. There was something off about that man, something that didn’t sit right with you. No, you were in a horrid mood. 

Which meant it was a terrific time to see if Chris had taken your suggestion to heart.

You strolled into the gym with 15 minutes to spare in his planning period. Finding the gym empty, you checked his office next. 

However, the office was empty, too. You hazarded a quick look around, though, your curiosity getting the better of you. For such a warmly received man, Chris had no photos hanging in his office. Aside from his computer and phone on his desk, he had a filing cabinet, a clock radio, and a bookshelf. From here, however, you could see that the door to the boys locker room was open. You were about to peek inside, when a hand on your shoulder startled you.

Chris looked as pissed as he seemed to typically be lately. He had on his cute sweats and hoodie again.

“Can I help you with something?” he sighed.

“Well, I can see you still have a job, so I’m guessing you haven’t turned yourself in.”

The priest groaned in frustration. “Would you stop toying with me?! Is that all you want, for me to lose everything?”

“What can I say?” you shrugged. “Doing the right thing isn’t always supposed to be easy.”

“Right,” Chris said, “but you’re not exactly making it any easier.”

“You could always admit you just want me instead,” you offered. “That should be easy. You did it just fine last week.”

However, as simply as you said it, this stopped you in your tracks. This was never on your list of demands. Your objective, so far, was to torment Chris until he finally gave up and turned himself in.

But, no.

Something about him. 

You’d accept devotion, too.

Chris glowered in opposition to you. “James was right,” he growled, “you looked better in those sweaters you were wearing.”

The audacity of the remark caught you off guard, and you were suddenly on edge. Not only had Father James made the ridiculous comment in the first place, but he’d also shared the sentiment with Chris?

The sensation of acid in your throat returned and you turned heel at once, prepared to walk out and try to calm the hell down. 

But you barely made it out of Chris’ office before his hand was on your wrist and reeling you back inside.

“Wait wait wait,” he pleaded, “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that–”

He’d already herded you onto his desk, the paperwork there getting shuffled off as he feverishly kissed you all over, your lips down to your neck and back.

“Chris–!” you gasped, your hands balled in his hoodie. “You fucking asshole, why should I–”

“I said it in the heat of the moment!” he backpedaled. “You make me so angry but fuck–”

“You want me?” you taunted, even while Chris shimmied your skirt up around your hips. He pulled your panties aside but paused then.

“I do,” he pathetically nodded, “let me have you, I need you so fucking bad.”

You mercifully nodded, letting out a small, sighed moan when Chris sank into you.

“I swear to God,” he groaned into your shoulder, “I haven’t always been like this, there’s just something about you…”

He trailed off then, lost in how he was fucking you hard into his desk, enough for the surface to rattle and creak. Chris was interestingly quiet. It was as though he were convinced someone would come at any second, or that he’d waste his shot too soon if he didn’t focus. That didn’t mean you couldn’t coax him along, of course. Again, there was something about the way he gave into you that energized you. You threaded your fingers into his hair, whispering sweet little taunts and praise in his ear while you wrapped your legs around his hips. An orgasm didn’t seem to be on the horizon for you, not with how little time left you had in the class period, but it was fun to see how much you could rush him. Soon enough, Chris cursed harshly under his breath into the crook of your neck, his hips shuddering against you as he came.

You held him for a moment while he caught his breath.

Maybe affectionately, you humored.

“I need to see you again,” he murmured into your skin. “Come see me tonight.”

You considered this. That same uneasy feeling returned.

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

Why you said yes was beyond you. 

Day by day, you were playing more and more with fire and close to getting burned for it. 

Not to mention it was a school night. 

But Chris looked amazing in the low light of the Trawler.

He’d even picked you up at your place. Not with flowers or anything, and it’s not like he was going to risk being recognized by coming to the door, but still. The boys that were home at the boarding house were all peeking from around corners or through the front window to see who you were leaving with, but Chris had opted to wear another ballcap tonight for good measure. You definitely aroused your roommates’ curiosity in the first place, however, with how you’d opted for a cute dress to wear under your cardigan. Even now, after all this time, you were still patting concealer on the love bite between your breasts in case anyone accidentally saw down your chest. And as for your ride, Chris’ truck was far more comfortable to ride in than it was to fuck in, but you humored that that was probably the case for most vehicles. 

The worst part was that this was a good time.

Chris wasn’t pushy. He wasn’t gross or crude. When you arrived at the Trawler, he pulled out a chair for you and went to order drinks.

This was terrible. It was like getting a hint of what this could really be like if you were actually willing to keep this charade up any longer.

Because you weren’t going to keep this up.

Right?

Eventually, Chris pulled off his hat and rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, the heater in the bar and the rosiness in his cheeks finally getting to him. He was maddeningly cute, his curls flattened by his cap and the lighting in the bar highlighting the dimple in his cheek.

“How long have you lived here?” you asked. “I know you’re supposed to be moving to Pinewood Falls, but how’s Briar Bay been for you?”

“Gosh,” chuckled Chris, “it feels like a lifetime ago. I love it here, though. And maybe I won’t move to Pinewood anymore.”

“Why?” you questioned, too surprised.

“Because you live there,” he laughed. “And apparently you’re trouble for me.”

The night transitioned to a walk that you knew wouldn’t end up back at your room at Seungmin’s boarding house. He’d been the one to ask, and you accepted.

He held your hand, gentle yet steadfast as though he were afraid you’d leave if he let go. You still couldn’t get much information out of him, but you begrudgingly loved everything you learned. Chris loved studying interpretation theory in seminary. He wanted to live in Briar Bay because of how close it was to the water. While you strolled through neighborhoods, he said he loved the way you glowed in the moonlight.

So he even had a little romance in him.

Your walk led to a field behind the house Chris rented the upper floor of. This was clearly a sanctuary for countless teenagers over the years, with an old bench seat of a truck and a few milk crates laid out in a clearing of the tall grass. This was how you ended up making love to Chris that night, right there on the ratty, beaten bench seat underneath the dark blue sky.

Chris took his time with you, savoring this like either of you might forget again. He brazenly tasted you, an appetizer for him that left you exposed to the night air, and already had you gasping and aching by the time he crawled up in between your legs. Your warmth accepted his own, smoothly stretching to take him deep inside you. It was like you were a few years younger, more naive, simply enjoying each other in the moment. He was generous with his kisses in between thrusts. If he pulled away from your mouth for too long, his lips were cold from the chill of the night, so he simply kept kissing you.

To try and keep yourself from reaching a peak too soon, you kept your eyes fixed on the attic window of the old house. Frankly, you’d been thinking about why Chris had been weird about it off and on for the past week, but now it was a convenient distraction. The window was fogged with dust, further obscuring anything inside, forming a neat little void in your limited vision under the stars. There was a small bit of movement, but you quickly decided that there was a loose shingle in the roof, letting in a breeze that was shaking an old curtain.

“I’m sorry,” Chris suddenly said, jarring you out of your train of thought.

“What?” you worriedly asked, cupping his face and causing him to minorly adjust his angle, making the both of you gasp with an incidentally improved position.

“I said I’m sorry,” groaned Chris. “I shouldn’t even fucking tell you this but I feel like I love you. Is that okay?”

You stared at him, mouth hanging open while you processed this.

This was far too much.

Beyond acceptable.

But you adored it.

“Yeah,” you nodded hungrily, still holding his face in your hands and kissing him again. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

You didn’t wake up alone the next morning this time.

This time, you woke up alone in the middle of the night. 

Same room, same dim light coming from the kitchen. This felt more like a dream. You slipped out of bed, not surprised to find yourself clothed. This time, you distinctly didn’t remember doing anything following your tryst in the field behind the house, so the only gap was from there to here.

Your footfalls felt muted when you stepped into the kitchen. Really, it felt like your ears were full of cotton, like you had a sinus headache. “You’re not kicking me out again, are you?” you lightly teased, only to find that you were alone. 

In fact, the light wasn’t even coming from the kitchen. It was coming from above you.

From the attic.

Yeah. This was a dream.

You spied an old folding step ladder sitting by the refrigerator and dragged it over. The way it creaked and flexed when you opened it didn’t make you feel confident, but you set it under the attic door nonetheless. Whatever it was making your hearing feel muffled was worse, now sounding like a low tone being played in a physician’s office for privacy.

The step ladder felt shaky under your feet. You gingerly pushed up the attic door, peeking inside. The hushed roar of sound raised to the volume of a jet engine.

But there was Chris.

And there was the light.

What a weird dream.

“It’s not fair!” Chris argued, almost whining, his voice strained as though he were choked up. “I’m not as strong as you think I am! I want this, I honestly want all of it–”

"̴̫͕̪̔͐͒Y̵̠̘̦̿̽ó̵̝͚͎̈́̈́u̴͎͖͓̔͆͠ a̴̡̠͕̿̐͠r̸̙̘̓̕̚͜e̸͇̻̓́͑ n̴̦̘͒͆͘͜o̸̘̞͇̓̀̿ b̸͕̟̓͒é̵͖͎̐̀͜t̴̝͖̐͝͠t̴̡̙͍͛̈́͝e̵͔̠͇͘͠͝r̸̼͖̘͑̀͠ t̴̫͍͊̓̈́h̴̘͓͖̔̔͋a̵̟̫͓̾̔͠n̸̡̠͙̓͋͋ a̴̢͉͋͒͘ p̵̢̻̫̐͊͒e̸̘̪͙͑̚͠t̴̟͔͚́̓͋u̴͎͉̐̽̒l̴̞͔͖͘͠a̴͓͙͎̽͊͝n̵̙͉͔̒̓͊t̵̪̘͓̒͛͊ c̵͚͓̘̒̈́h̴͕̪̝̓͠͝i̵̡̘̼͑͊̐l̴̡͎̝͌͛͌d̴͉͔̺̓̓͠.̵͇͉̈́͛͝ T̸̡͎̙̽͝ḧ̴͎͇͔́͆͝é̸͇̺͝ p̸̞̞̘̽͑̿a̸͙̪̪̽͊t̵̙͚͑̚͝h̸͉̼̟̓͌͘ w̵̫͎̺̾̔͒i̴̘̟͊̈́͘͜l̵͕̻̻͆̕͝l̴̪͖͕̒͐ r̵̘͚͛̔͒u̴̝͚̘͐̿n̸͇͕̦͋͝ i̸̪͔͓̐̕͝ẗ̴͚͚̫́͝͝s̸̫͍̓̓͋ c̵̼͙̻̿̐o̵̡̘͌̈́͜͝u̸͇͇͎̚͝͠r̸͎͙̻͆̐͘s̵̠̘̝͒̓͊e̴͓͔̼̐͛͘ t̵͍͓̪͆̽͆o̵͎̻͉̓͐̾ ẗ̴̪́̓̀͜h̸̺͔̽́͒e̸̙͍̺̽̔͠ é̸͓̙̪̕͝n̴̟̙͎̒̿͝d̸̞̼̝̔̚̚.̸̻̫̠̐͛͐ I̴̦̺͎̓͊̚t̵̫̠͙͒͋͝ w̵͔̞̞͑̓͒í̵͙̙͘̕͜l̴̟͓̦̓̿͘ĺ̵̢̺͖̐̽ e̵̢̪̼̓̿̽i̸͍͍͇̐͐̚t̴͕͕͕͌͌̚h̴͚͕̼̔͝͝e̸͖͚̫͐͑͘r̴͔̪̓͌͜͝ s̵̡̺̟͋̽̚u̸͚̪̔̚͜͝c̵͔͔͙̈́͛̈́c̴͎̟̒́͌e̴͉̦͖͐͐͋è̵̪͎̠̔d̸̪̘̼͊͆̕ ò̵͇̼͚̈́̒r̵̠̘͙̈́̒͠ f̸̡͙̺͋̈́̈́a̴͓̼̽͑̈́͜i̴̡̘͖͑̓͝l̵͎̟͉̽͐̚, a̵̺̝̾̕͠n̸͇̘̪̽̓̀d̸̦̫̔͘̚͜ t̴̞͓̟͒͆̾h̸̙͓̔͒͊a̴̢̫̙͐͘̚t̸͉̻͑͋̈́ i̸͓̪̽͝s̸̞͖̦͆̈́̚ a̸͙͉͎͛͋̓l̴͙͇͔͋́͒l̴̢͔͖̈́̓͋.̴͖̝̼͛͑͆ B̸̪͇͌͆̚u̸͓̙̐͒͝t̴͉͚̙̓̓̽ i̴͙̻̘̔̚͝f̴͉͍̘̓͋͑ y̸̢̢̠͊͋͘o̴̡̺͉͊̈́͝u̵̞͎̘̓́ s̴̪͙͙͐̐͐ǘ̵̦͙̘̾̓c̸͎̼͓͛̔̔c̴̝͖̙͐̚é̴͖̠͉͛̿e̸̠̫͉͛̔͑d̸̘̦̪̾̀, y̵͉͔͑̈́͝ó̸̟͕̪̓̚ǘ̴̡͓̝͊͠ w̵̙̻̺̿͒̐i̸͙̟͚͛̀̕l̸̠̻͔̔͛̕l̴̪͓͙̐̚͝ b̴͚͕̦͆̀͌e̵̠̻̓̚ r̵̫̟͚̕͝͠e̴͙̞͚͛͆̕w̸͓̠͕̓͌͑a̵̦̪͊̓͑r̴̼̪̔͜͝d̸͉͓͎̓͠͝é̵͙͓͖̔̒d̵̢̘͉̓̔͝.̴͙͍͖̓͝"̸͎̻͋̀̽͜

“Rewarded? But how?!” Chris begged the voice. The labored gasps of tears marred his stubbornness. How were you so understanding in the middle of such a vivid dream? The attic window shined, almost like a Christmastime storefront, as if it were simply a spotlight recessed in the wall. “I can’t stand it, I feel sick, I can’t sleep, I’m weak and hurt–”

"̸̡̡̠͊̔͒C̴̦͚̘̿͘ë̴̼̟̪́͛a̸͎̪̝͛̀̚s̴͙͕̪̈́̈́͝ë̵̡͕̼́̽͐, m̸̡͓̫̈́̐y̵̪̝͓̿̓ é̴̢̙͉̈́͝ń̸̙͖͍̈́͒t̴͕̝͖͑̾r̸̫͎̝̓̀̕u̴͕͉͋́̾s̵̢̻̻̈́̓̈́t̵͔͙̠͑̾͝e̸͙̻͎͛̈́͠d̴̙͖̪̔̀͠.̴̙̫̙́̔͘ Y̵̡͉͖̽́̐o̴̼͕͊́u̵͓͎͖̓̈́̈́r̴̡̞̓͒͋͜ f̸͓̼̝̔̽͝a̸̢̫̝̓͛͠i̴͖͉͙͑̿t̴̻͇͎̒̈́̕h̸̠͔̪͆͝͝ i̴̢̙͘͠͠s̴̼͕͙̾̓̓ ẅ̸̫̪́́͝a̵̡̻͛͆͝v̵͖̞̽̀͘ë̴̢̘͎́̈́̒r̸̞͍̻͊͒͝i̵̻̞̐̚͠n̸̺͍͖̐̓͠g̸̡̦̘̀͑͘.̸̡͖̻̾͝͝ Y̸̡̝͎͆͘o̴̢͉͉̓̿̾u̴͇͖͓̓̓͘ c̴̼͖̓͐͠ä̵̺̟́͋̐͜n̸͓̼̞͋͌̈́n̴̠̙̐̿͒o̸̙̦̼̾͌͝t̴̙̪̓̾͝ s̸͔̦̔͒̽e̴̞͚̪͑̐͆e̸͔̫̦͑̒͝ t̴̞͖̦͒͊̚h̴͍̘̐͒͝e̵͕̫͍̓̈́̐ r̴͎͓̞͆́͝e̴͍͕̽̾͘͜w̸̟̙͐̔͛á̵̘̼͚͛͐r̸͔͇͎̀̓͝d̵̡͎͙̽̒͘ b̸̼̪̝̽̓̕e̴̟̺͚͋̚͠c̵̡̼̽̒̿à̵̝̼̟͘̕ǘ̵̡͚̘̽̀s̵͚͙͍̽͑̿e̸͓͎̦̿͑͠ y̸̢̪̓́̈́o̴͇̙͛͆̚͜u̴̺͚͖̾͐̽ l̴̪͛̕͜͝á̴̡̢̻̈́̾c̵̢͕͍͐̒̕k̵̙͙̘̔̀͆ r̴̫͖̘̓͋e̴͓̫͖͊͌̀s̸̝̫̻͒̒̀o̵̝̠͐̔͠l̴͙̪̻̿̈́͘v̵̡̦̔͐̾e̴͔͚̼̐̈́̚.̸̢͙̦͑͘͘ Y̴͎͍͉̔̽̚o̸̫̘̘͛͊̓u̵̫͎̘̾͆͠ k̴̡̢̝̽̚͠n̴̝̪̫̈́̿͘o̸͔͉͕͊͋̓w̴͉͎̼̒̚ t̵̟̝̟̿͠͠h̵̘̙̘͆̚͘e̵̝̠͕͊̽̐ r̵̡͙͓͐̀̈́e̸̢͇̻͊̒͠w̴̠̟̙̓͛͝a̵̙̻̟͋̓͘r̴͇͔͋͋͒d̸͓͚̽̕͜͝.̵̪͕̘͒͝ Y̴͓͉̠͊̈́͝ó̸̺͕͓͛̀u̸̟̞͑̿͜͝ w̴̼̘͔͑̓̓i̵͓̠͎͑̓l̵͙̻̪͛̓͝l̸̺̝̘̀͠ ḧ̵͕̟̪́͋̾á̴̫͍̼̽̓v̸̡̼̙͊̈́̈́è̴̪͓͓̒̕ i̵̡̟͙̿̒t̸̘̟͊̈́̿ a̴͚̝͕͐̽̔l̵̙̫̙̓͛̓l̵̞͐͜͠, e̴͎̪͍͊̽̿v̸͓͎͖̐́e̵̢͖̓̈́̽n̸͉͍͔̈́́–̵͎͙̀̈́̒͜"̴͔͇̻̐͌͋

Me. The voice is telling Chris that he can win me, but I don’t understand. There’s a pit in my stomach, like I’ve learned a terrible secret. 

Because I have. 

I feel watched but no one is looking at me. I can’t feel my fingertips. My skin feels like it’s made of static. There’s perspiration on my brow that’s turned to ice. I feel a sharp pain in my chest, and I realize it’s because it feels as though I can’t fucking breathe. My haphazard stance, tiptoeing on the old stepladder, dangerously falters, and I clutch onto the attic door with a pathetic cry. 

Chris looks right at me, gaze snapping in my direction and he looks terrified, pallid and ill and like I’ve caught some small animal running from a bear. 

And I fall

right

back

to

sleep

[amaretigris]

Knock-down, Drag-out

Taglist: @luna2034 @hopeisrising @notagreekgal28 @daydreamerwithnohobbies @freyagallileaevans @mylittlemermaid221 @justagirlthatlovedtoread

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Ch. 2 | 1.7k words | Angst

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The next Saturday night, you were back at the arena again. Walking in with your bag slung over your shoulder, you were stifling a yawn with your hand.

"(Y/N)," Ariel waved.

"Great to see you back," she smiled.

You smiled in return.

"Hi Ariel. How are you?"

You approached her desk for a quick chat. You were here early again. It made no sense to drive home after your EMT shift when you were coming to the arena an hour later, so you just opted to be early.

"I'm great! Do you know who's fighting tonight?"

She seemed giddy as she awaited your answer. You chuckled.

"Uh, I'm afraid I don't. Who is it?"

"It's Jonah and Flynn! They're rivals!"

You scrunched your brow.

"Oh, okay. You're excited to see them fight?"

Ariel scoffed.

"Who cares about fighting? They're both insanely hot," she sighed, placing her chin on her fist.

You chuckled again.

"Oh, I see. Don't they have cauliflower ears?"

You grimaced.

Ariel blushed slightly.

"Well, yes, they're rough around the edges. But that's what makes them so hot. Who doesn't like a bad boy?"

She shrugged.

You giggled at her reaction, placing your hand atop hers on the desk.

"Relax, I'm only teasing. I'm sure they'd pay plenty of attention to a beautiful young woman like you," you smiled.

Ariel's eyes brightened again.

"You really think so?"

It was your turn to shrug.

"Why not? They're just fighters. They're regular people, too."

Ariel smiled at you.

"Thanks, (Y/N)!"

You smiled again.

"Anytime. Anyway, I'm going to go take my seat. See you later," you waved as you walked off.

You took your place down by the cage again, and waited for the stands to fill. The arena was pretty packed tonight; more so than last Saturday. You could only spot a handful of unoccupied seats. When the lights went down and the music started, you listened to the announcer reading off his card.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. We've got a special Championship fight for you tonight!"

You stifled another yawn, cracking open your canned energy drink among the noise and chaos. You didn't hear any of the fighters he announced, except for the last two, as you sipped your drink.

"And for our final round, the Championship fight you've all been waiting for ladies and gentlemen, you'll be treated to The Cruel Prince vs. The Guppy..."

The man barely got the words out before the crowd erupted in cheers.

"Wow," you thought, "I wonder if those are the guys Ariel mentioned?"

Whoever they are, they seem to be popular.

The spectators finally quieted down as the first fights began. Yawning through them, your eyes were watering. By the time you reached intermission, you practically ran to the bathroom. You quickly used the facilities and washed your hands, splashing your face with some water. You had to stay awake just a little longer. Dabbing your face with a paper towel, you exited the restroom.

"(Y/N)!"

Hearing your name startled you, and you turned to see Seb jogging through the crowd towards you. He gently grabbed your arm, guiding you back to the arena.

"I just wanted to catch ya before the final round. You remember how I told you that some of our fighters aren't so clean?"

You gulped and nodded.

"Well, just be ready. One of the two fighters coming up is usually pretty nasty. We've warned him before, so hopefully he'll keep it tame tonight, but there is no guarantee."

You nodded again.

"Which one is it?"

"It's Flynn, a.k.a. The Guppy. He's a newer kid to the sport, eager to prove himself. But don't worry, Jonah is no pushover. He can hold his own against him."

When you looked at Seb's eyes, he smiled at you.

"You got this, (Y/N). Just be ready in case we need you," he patted your shoulder one last time before the two of you entered the arena and went back to your respective seating.

Bouncing your knee as the next two fighters came out, it didn't take long to tell them apart.

Flynn was young and blonde, bouncing on his toes, and throwing jabs as soon as he came out. The crowd was screaming. He definitely had to be the one that was anxious to prove himself.

The next fighter to come out held a much calmer demeanor, even as the crowd exploded in cheers. With piercing blue eyes, and black, curly hair, he was strikingly handsome. His face was serious, but instead of trying to show the crowd everything he had on his walk up, he was simply stretching.

Your eyes stayed glued to him as he approached the cage. He shed his robe and bounced on his toes a couple times before stepping in, and you watched his pecs bounce. Since when did you look at guys' pecs?

Rolling your eyes at yourself, you shook your head, and refocused. You had to be ready, like Seb said. Apparently this young rookie would go out of his way to put on a show.

When the fighting commenced, you saw the drastic difference between the fighters. While Flynn was throwing both left and right hooks, swinging with everything he had, Jonah's moves were much more calculated. After Jonah let Flynn get his initial burst of adrenaline out, he went to work. From dodging his haymakers to skillfully jabbing Flynn's ribs, it was clear that Jonah was in control. When the bell sounded for the end of the first round, you breathed a sigh of relief.

The next two rounds went by in much of the same manner, with Flynn trying to whale on Jonah, and Jonah skillfully evading while being patient with his strikes. At the end of the third round, you instinctively clapped, excited that the fight was over. This was the first fight that you'd really paid attention to, or had any kind of stake in. When they didn't announce a winner, you were confused. The fight was still going? What did the announcer say? That this was a championship fight. Maybe championship fights are longer, you reasoned.

Sucking in a nervous breath as the fourth round commenced, you watched the same pattern for the whole five minutes. The fighters separated into their corners, and the announcer shouted over the speaker.

"Final championship round, folks! Who will win it? Will The Cruel Prince keep his title? Or will The Guppy swim away with it?"

The crowd went crazy once again, but quieted once the fighters reset, and the bell sounded once more.

Your fingers clenched your pants leg nervously. Why did you even care about this fight in particular?

Watching much of the same, the five minute round passed by agonizingly slowly. It wasn't until the clock ticked down from five seconds that you unclenched your hands.

The buzzer sounded and the crowd went wild. Throwing his hands up in victory, Jonah turned from his opponent to wave to the crowd. Flynn looked enraged, and quickly brought up his fist to land a blow on the back of Jonah's unguarded neck. Immediately gasping and jumping from your seat, Jonah had hardly hit the mat before you were in the cage.

"Move, move!"

You screamed, running towards the injured fighter.

Unzipping your medical bag, you got on your knees beside Jonah's head. You were trying to gently pry his fingers away from his neck.

"Hey, hey. Shhh. It's okay. Can you let me see? I know it hurts. Please let me see," you whispered down to Jonah.

His head turned slightly towards you, and although he didn't open his eyes, Jonah released his clutch on the back of his neck.

You worked quickly to examine the area for swelling. Crunching up an ice pack from your bag, you moved to sit Jonah up slowly, holding the ice pack to his neck.

"Here. How does that feel? Are you okay?"

Jonah's eyes that were squeezed shut finally relaxed, opening to find you.

"Yes," he finally spoke.

His voice was low and gravelly.

"Yes, I'm okay. That scared me is all," Jonah winced.

You felt your temper flare.

"Yeah, if he had hit you any lower on the neck he could've caused a spinal cord injury. Are you sure you're okay?"

Jonah nodded.

"I'm sure. Thank you."

Before you realized what you were doing, you were up off the floor, marching towards Flynn who was pouting in his corner. When his team spotted you approaching, Flynn turned to face you. Your finger was suddenly poked directly into his sternum.

"How dare you! You should be banned. You could've caused spinal cord damage with a direct blow like that. You're just a sore fucking loser," you spat in his face.

You were suddenly being pulled back from Flynn, whose face was astonished, not to mention beet red.

"Whoa, whoa! I appreciate your spirit, but let me handle it, (Y/N)," Seb tried to calm you.

"Go back to your patient. I'll take care of him," he assured with a nod.

You straightened your shirt, and turned back to Jonah. He was on his feet with the ice pack to his neck, looking quite amused.

"Are you alright? Do you feel okay standing?"

You immediately went back into EMT mode. Jonah practically snorted.

"Oh, I'm more than alright. I was just watching a 5'4" woman about to beat a grown, 5'11" man's ass," he laughed.

You felt heat rush to your face. Seb was suddenly back at your side, and you met his eyes, sputtering out an apology.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be unprofessional, but that hit could have been serious. And he did it after the bell. That's incredibly unsportsmanlike."

"I know, (Y/N). No worries. He's been banned from fighting here ever again. Thank you for looking out for my fighters," Seb grabbed your hand to shake it.

You shook it, smiling in return. It wasn't until Seb left the cage that you looked back at Jonah. Shit. What did you say now? You felt incredibly awkward after taking up for a man that you didn't know at all.

Jonah's eyes were still amused as they studied you.

"Can I keep this?"

Jonah lifted the ice pack to show what he was talking about.

Your throat felt incredibly dry, so you nodded.

"Okay. Thanks again. I'll see you around," Jonah smiled before turning to the announcer and his crew.

After accepting his belt, he exited the cage, grabbing a towel from one of his corner men. Why was that smile, along with that perfect pair of dimples, seared into your brain?

[purplewitch156]

I'm very curious about the Demon Cat Lord Tom and Vampire Rock Band! Can you tell us more?

It’s thanks to Deimos that Demon Cat Lord Tom is gonna be a thing. Because Harry spends a portion of time trapped in the body of a cat in Deimos, naturally conversations have arisen about what would Tom be like as a cat. And the answer to that is awful. He would be awful. The worst cat in the world. He would destroy furniture. He’d spray artwork. He’d never eat the same thing twice. He’d bite and claw without provocation.

This is what I’m thinking:

Harry moves into an old house that is a STEAL. It’s such a steal that he can’t refuse. It’s practically free. And he should be suspicious but he needs a place to stay so he takes it. The only thing that he’s told is that the ‘cat comes with the house.’ He’s all, okay. Cool. I’m good with animals. I can look after a cat. But this cat is hell, which Harry soon discovers, but he still tries valiantly to befriend it.

One day, a group of intruders break into the house, tie Harry up, and start digging in the basement. They’re looking for the ritual site (or something like that) so they can summon their demon Dark Lord. (I’m on a kick with demon summoning lately.) While this is happening, Harry’s going to come to the unnerving realization that his highly temperamental cat is this Dark Lord, though the intruders don’t seem to be aware of this.

This story feels pretty silly to me. It’ll probably be a crack treated seriously kind of thing. I imagine that Harry’s dating life will go severely downhill once he moves in. He’ll be trying to get it on in the bedroom and all of a sudden, the cat strolls in and promptly starts coughing up a hairball.

>>> 

I have a thread here that goes into a lot about Vampire Rock Band Harry, but I haven’t really talked about Tom.

He’s (surprise surprise!) trying to summon a demon. (This is really starting to get out of hand.) I imagine he wants this demon to grant him immortality. That kind of thing. And the demon is perfectly happy to do so once Tom gives him the soul of the individual he loves most. And that person just happens to be Harry.  

This puts Tom in a serious pickle. He really wants immortality but he also doesn’t want to kill Harry. He nearly goes through with it, but backs out at the last second, which Harry is grateful for. I like to imagine that what follows is a massively chaotic fight with the rest of the cult members or maybe the demon’s minions (not sure yet) attacking them because Tom didn’t go through with the deal. Harry’s boombox gets jostled and Elton John's Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting clicks on.

Harry and Tom are going to have a strained relationship up to this point. They will be childhood friends who experience a rift, but they end up living together as adults. They both have unresolved feelings for each other, mutual pining, and just being dumb. Because Harry will be a vampire, once he discovers how Tom really feels about him, he’ll point out rather cheekily that he could always bite him if he wants to live forever,

[onestormeynight]

The First Saturday Night Dinner

"Burgers for dinner? Annalise, this isn't like you," Darion said, enjoying the burger regardless.

"Quite right," Annalise sniffed. "This is carnival food. I didn't pick this. Penelope said she would handle dinner and now we have to suffer through this disgusting meal."

"You could have just said thank you, but sure, you're welcome, Mother." Penelope had to fight not to roll her eyes. She offered to make dinner, she made dinner, she did not understand what the problem could possibly be.

"Now, Penelope, it's important to choose what food you place in your body with great care. 'Let food be thy medicine, thy medicine shall be thy food.' So says Hippocrates, and so say I."

"So SaYs HiPpOcRaTeS. It's a burger, Dad. One burger. One time. Could we all maybe just lighten up? We can go to the pharmacy and pick up some chill pills if you need, I'll even pay for them myself."

"Do not speak to your father like that!" Annalise snapped. "He is teaching you a valuable life lesson. But of course, you can't be bothered to pay attention to anything unless it's accompanied by that terrible alternative music you blare into the night. Show some respect at this table!"

"This is outrageous! I made a joke! I volunteered to make dinner, I made dinner, I don't understand what the problem is! I was just trying to do something nice and then I just cracked a joke. It was a joke, mom!"

"Your jokes are tired, Penelope. Go to bed, I'll have the maid clear the table of this garbage. Maybe the racoons will like it."

As Elton John once said: "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting."

((Next))

[cryptidsurveys]

Friday, July 12th, 2024.

Do you ever have days where you just don’t do anything? Saturdays are pretty lowkey. All I do is clean my bedroom and make art.

Have you ever been extremely tired but refused to go to sleep? Yeah. Like, sometimes I'll resist taking a nap because they tend to make me feel worse. I'd rather just stick it out for a regular night of sleep. Past reasons may have included waiting for a phone call or reply from someone.

What is your favorite episode of True Life, if you have one at all? I think I've only seen a few episodes, a long time ago. I don't have a favorite.

Have you ever experienced something paranormal? Possibly. The experiences were so subtle that it's hard to determine if they were "real" or just my mind playing tricks on me.

What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been stuck in traffic? Not that long. I used to have appointments in Denver for my eating disorder, and depending on what time we headed home, traffic could get a bit backed up there + in Springs; but I don't recall experiencing anything too terrible.

Best field trip experience? The overnight trip to Cheyenne Mountain Zoo in 5th grade.

Have you ever been to New York City? No.

If so, is it all it’s cracked up to be? Even if it was exactly what it was cracked up to be, it's just not a destination that interests me. I'm just not a big city person. However, oddly enough, I do feel like I would enjoy a trip to Tokyo.

What is the most amount of money you’ve spent on a meal before? I'm not sure.

What museums have you visited, if any? The natural history museum in Denver, plus one other…although I forget the name of it. It was for an eating disorder inpatient group field trip. I don't remember much about it, but the first floor was mainly Native American art/artifacts, the top floor was dedicated to Chinese art/artifacts, and there was one room somewhere along the way that was filled with various styles of chairs. It was actually kind of trippy. Oh, and I've been to the Sangre de Cristo art center here in town, but I guess that's more of a gallery than a museum…? Come to think of it, I've never really considered the difference before this moment…

Have you ever had a group project and one of your partners bailed on you? I'm not sure.

What’s your worst traveling experience? The trip out to Georgia to see Nick wasn't all that fun. Like, seeing Nick was alright, but I just haaate road trips.

Have you ever dealt with noisy neighbors or roommates? How did that go? Yeah, while living in a duplex with my mom as a teen. The people next to us were college kids and one of them would stay up really late and play the same few chords on his guitar, over and over and over again.

Who was (or is) the teacher that gave you the hardest time in school? Mrs. Garcia.

Best muffin you’ve ever had? Idk about the absolute best, but I do enjoy blueberry, cranberry/orange, banana nut, and double chocolate chip.

Have you ever taken a woodshop class? Yeah.

If so, was it required? I don't recall whether it was required or not.

How much time do you spend on Facebook, if you have one? I haven't used Facebook for about a decade now.

What area of math are you best at? Worst? I was okay at geometry and algebra I, but rather confounded by algebra II/trig/calc.

How do you feel when you meet someone with the same music taste as you? I've never met such a person.

What is the strangest thing you’ve ever seen outside of your house? A group of teens/young adults from a party down the street, standing on the corner outside our house, about to get into what seemed to be a pretty nasty fight. Also, on a different night - a vehicle drove by and fired a gun (at someone…? possibly not intending to hit them, but to scare them…?); I didn't see that, but I heard a brief exchange, the gunshot, etc.

Do you believe in luck? Why or why not? In a sense. Sometimes you're just in the right place at the right time, or "the stars align." But as a force, not really.

How often do you “half-ass” things (put little effort in)? Eh. Here and there. It just depends.

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? Occasionally/slightly.

Has a teacher ever made you hate yourself/your work? No.

How reliable is your internet connection? It's pretty reliable.

Have you ever missed a meeting/event that was required/necessary? Yeah.

What’s something that makes you incredibly nervous? It's not nearly as bad as it was in the beginning, but driving can still make me a little nervous.

What’s the latest you’ve ever stayed up to finish homework/a project? I'm not sure.

If you don’t have glasses, how would you feel if you had to get them? I do have glasses, but I only wear them when I'm driving.

If you do have glasses, how would you feel if you didn’t need them anymore? That would be nice.

How many vegetarians do you know? One of the people I work with at the animal shelter is a vegetarian. Idk about anyone else I know.

Have you ever considered going to art school? No.

Is there anyone in your life who consistently angers you? Not really. Sometimes I'll feel annoyed, disappointed, sad, or whatever, but I try not to blame other people for my emotional response. Instead, I'll look inward and wonder what's going on with me that's making me react in such a way. (Ofc, it depends on the situation; like, if someone was being truly terrible, I probably wouldn't try to make it a "me thing," but you know!)

What is the worst thunderstorm you’ve experienced? We had some pretty bad storms last summer.

How quickly can you write an essay? That depends.

Have you ever had problems falling asleep in class? No.

Have you ever been on the barrier or front row at a concert? I don't even think there was a barrier. It was a relatively small concert for a 4th of July celebration up at the university.

If you have a job, who is your least favorite coworker/manager? I don't think I have a least favorite…or a favorite, for that matter. I tend to get along with pretty much everyone.

Favorite episode of Spongebob? Idk.

Do you have any silly/odd emotional connections to anything/anyone? Oh, sure.

What bug frightens you most? I'm not really all that frightened by bugs.

Are your parents supportive of you? Yeah. My dad is extremely supportive. i just got back in touch with my mom last summer after years of estrangement, but she's fairly supportive as well. I don't tend to share too much with her, though.

How often do you take the train to go places? I've never taken a train before.

Do you play with your phone in awkward situations? Not really.

Have you ever participated in a mock trial, or a real trial? No.

[annieintheaair]

Love is everything it's cracked up to be.

Greeting passengers just might be my least favorite part of my job. Usually, I’m ignored. People don’t say hi back, smile, or even acknowledge me. That is unless I’m flying to Oklahoma. Tulsa people especially reply and even ask how you are. Most of the time, I reply saying I’m good or alright but what if I said fine or worse, “I could be better.” I mean, how would anyone respond? Sometimes I feel like this job makes me a liar, constantly leading people to believe that I’m doing well when I’m not. I hate having to put on a face when inside I'm hurting.

Last night, I even put on red lipstick, thinking that if I felt like I looked put together, maybe I'd feel put together. In all truth though, it didn't really work but I was happy to be working with my friend, Jackie.

While passengers boarded and deplaned last night and this morning, I tried to hand out compliments. Maybe one complement would make their day better; maybe they were hurting inside too and a few kind words made them feel better.

One of the maintenance guys in Tulsa always meets our flights when we arrive at night. In the morning, even if we don't see him, he has a pot of coffee brewed and a sweet note letting us know what time he brewed the coffee and wishing us a good day. The back of the card says something about kindness and passing it on. Last night, when I was chatting with him during deplaning, I made sure to let him know how much we appreciate what he does and I think it made his night. His face lit up and I felt for a moment that even if I couldn't make my own day better, maybe I could make someone else's.

There was an elderly couple in my cabin on one of my flights during my trip and I looked at them, holding hands, wondering how long they had been together. Had they faced issues before? Or was their relationship smooth sailing? Do you ever get to the point in a relationship, even when you're married, where you no longer fear the other person leaving you? After 50 years or so together, do you just know that they'll never desert you? I'm not sure that I'll ever find out the answer to those questions for myself.

I was home by 7am this morning, which was nice since it was much earlier than normal. There wasn't even traffic. I did some work for my side job and then laid on the couch with the dogs to take a nap and watch TV before yoga. I even read some of my devotionals.

Yoga today was better than yesterday. Stephanie always does a good restorative class and it was just what I needed. Even though I was annoyed with the parking situation, I was glad I went. I thought about going to Trader Joe's or Costco afterward but then realized that the crowds would likely be bad and decided it was better to just go home.

I haven't felt good all week. I felt crappy on Saturday morning and have been worse since. I tried to eat yogurt this morning and even that made me feel nauseous. It has been a week mostly spent on my couch napping. I'm trying to tell myself that that's ok because sometimes that's what we need but I'm not 100% sure right now.

Breakups are hard, especially when you know you loved (and still love) the other person so much. How do you get to 50 years or so with someone, like the couple on my flight, and still want to be with them and fight for the relationship every day? I remember with other guys I've dated in the past that I'd get annoyed at them being there too much.

As much as I enjoyed my time with James, I remember one fight we had where I finally told him that I needed him to go work somewhere else on Tuesdays and Wednesdays when I was off because he was in the way of me getting things done. It was kind of nice when he would venture out to play golf with his friends or take a weekend trip down to San Antonio to visit his parents.

Of course, I don't always talk about the shitty times with him, because I think in the end we like to see things with rose-colored glasses, but ironically, it was Halloween weekend that year when we got into a fight on our way to San Antonio to visit his parents. He wouldn't stop for breakfast tacos before leaving Dallas and I was so hungry. We stopped for gas and I was so mad that I said I didn't even want to go on the trip and he offered to turn around and go back home. We ended up going anyway and eventually stopped at Jersey Mike's in Waco. It turned out to be a great weekend but I probably would have enjoyed a weekend at home without him. The ironic part of this is that yes, I do get hangry when I want to eat and am denied food.

Even with Dan, we knew that we both needed space from time to time. We'd hang out with our own friends separately sometimes and it just worked for us.

This time felt different for me. I felt like even though we had the weekends, it was never enough. I hated when Monday came and I had to go home and be away from him for days again. I was really looking forward to moving back up there to be able to be with him more often. My whole week felt sad and lonely without him and I literally lived for Fridays. This Friday just feels extra sad and lonely.

Years ago, when I was hanging out with Joe (we weren't dating), I remember telling Dan about him and he was immediately like, "Nope nope nope. You deserve better. He's not good enough and he's too old." As it turned out, Dan was right. Joe was never someone I could be with and I wasn't even upset when we stopped hanging out because I just knew he was so self-absorbed. Sometimes, I wish Dan could call me on the phone and tell me those things again to make me feel better. He always wanted the best for me.

During the years after Dan and I broke up (and even the times between our relationships in college), we'd be texting or he would call me and he would say, "So, you're saying there's still a chance?" At the time, I laughed and told him absolutely not. Sometimes, I wish I had given him one more chance before he died because, after nearly 15 years, he was the one person who never gave up. Deep down, I know that it never would have worked with him, and sadly, the only way I was ever able to move on was because I had no other choice when he passed away. I had so much guilt and regret in my heart from letting go of someone who cared so much. We had been through a lot together but always forgave each other and realized that even if in the end, all we could be was friends, at least we knew that we had that one person in our lives who really knew us -- each other.

After he passed away, I felt like I'd never be able to even consider meeting anyone or putting myself out there again. The pain of losing him from this earth ripped my heart apart.

Nearly a full year after Dan died though, I thought I had finally found happiness again, and I was so sure that I did. While the love I had for Dan would never go away completely, the love I grew for this new person was something that just felt so much better and different. I felt like I had finally found my new best friend and every day felt better with them in it. I loved the good morning and goodnight texts and the check-ins throughout the day. I loved how he was there for me, made me laugh, and was always down to check out all of the new places and events that we found. I loved having that person for all of the adventures and was looking forward to so many more.

To say my heart is broken now is the understatement of the century.

I'm not sure if I've ever posted it here before but my favorite quote, by Erica Jong, which I actually made my high school yearbook quote was this:

Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.

I remember discovering that quote when I was younger, and clearly knew nothing about love. While I'm no love expert now, I still really believe in that quote. Love is hard work and it's a choice that you make every day. The couple on my flight clearly makes that choice every morning when they wake up and with whatever fights they may have.

The thing is, I know I made some mistakes and I think there was a lot of misunderstanding due to communication issues but I know I love him and I'd do anything to be able to fix it at this point. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more. I feel like not taking the risk of working through it at this point is the bigger risk. While losing Dan was hard, it's even harder to lose someone that's still here. Love is effort and commitment, and it is 100% hard work. What I wrote on Facebook may have been unintentionally hurtful, but I do believe that it's important to be with someone who means it when they say they love you. I don't know about him but I do know that I meant every word I said-- I did, and still do, love him.

Erica Jong was right-- if you don't take that risk for love, you risk even more.

xoxo

Annie

[newswayz]

Macron dances at Elton John concert as France burns amid ongoing violence

New Post has been published on https://newswayz.live/macron-dances-at-elton-john-concert-as-france-burns-amid-ongoing-violence/

Macron dances at Elton John concert as France burns amid ongoing violence

New video posted to social media caught French President Emmanuel Macron enjoying the Elton John concert in Paris on Thursday while the city and the country witnessed another night of violent protests over a fatal police shooting. 

The video, shot at the Accor Arena where Elton John played for three nights as part of his Farewell Yellow Brick Road tour, showed Macron tapping his foot and smiling while listening to the hit song “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting.”

The star had also played “Burning Down the Mission,” according to the Independent, around the same time that Paris itself was burning in some quarters.  

French President Emmanuel Macron attended an Elton John concert while police arrested hundreds and Paris burned.  (Getty Images/Reuters)

The tour played at the same time that protests broke out across the city following the death of 17-year-old identified only as Nahel during a traffic stop on Tuesday. Video of the incident shocked the country and caused an uproar in housing projects and other poorer neighborhoods. 

FRENCH OFFICER KILLS 17-YEAR-OLD DELIVERY DRIVER NEAR PARIS, VIOLENT PROTESTS ERUPT AMONG ANGRY RESIDENTS

French President Macron and wife, Brigitte, pose for a picture, Thursday with Elton John and his husband David Furnish in Paris, France. Instagram: DavidFurnish

Over the following three days, police arrested hundreds while also suffering many injuries to their officers – all while Macron and his wife, Brigitte, enjoyed the concert.

Elton John and his husband, David Furnish, also posted a photo on Thursday showing them meeting with the Macrons. 

An ambulance passes by burning car in Nanterre, outside Paris, France, Saturday, July 1, 2023. French President Emmanuel Macron urged parents Friday to keep teenagers at home and proposed restrictions on social media to quell rioting spreading across France over the fatal police shooting of a 17-year-old driver.  (AP Photo/Lewis Joly)

Opposition ministers, such as Thierry Mariani of National Rally, called Macron “totally irresponsible” and noted that “while France was on fire, Macron preferred to applaud Elton John.” 

CRACKING OF ENCRYPTED PHONES IN EUROPE LEADS TO SEIZURE OF HUNDREDS OF TONS OF DRUGS

Firefighters use a water hose on a burned bus in Nanterre, outside Paris, France, Saturday, July 1, 2023. (AP)

Ministers met Thursday and decided to quadruple the police presence in Nanterre, where the shooting occurred, flooding the streets with 45,000 officers in what Interior Minister Gerald Darmanin called an “extremely firm” response to the “professionals of disorder.” 

The police officer who fired the fatal shot has been charged with voluntary homicide after an initial investigation led local prosecutor Pascal Prache to conclude that “the conditions for the legal use of the weapon were not met.”

People look at burning tires blocking a street in Bordeaux, in south-western France, on late June 29, 2023, during riots and incidents nationwide after the killing of a 17-year-old boy by a police officer’s gunshot following a refusal to comply in a western suburb of Paris. (Photo by Philippe LOPEZ / AFP) (Photo by PHILIPPE LOPEZ/AFP via Getty Images) (Getty Images/Philippe Lopez)

Rioters shot fireworks and threw stones at police officers, who responded with volleys of tear gas. The violence spread to other towns and cities over the week, with rioters setting fire to schools, police stations, town halls and other public buildings. 

DRUGS RAIN DOWN ON FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE AFTER FIGHTER JET INTERCEPTS SUSPECTED SMUGGLER

Demonstrators clash with police after a march protesting the shooting of Nahel, 17, by a police officer in the Nanterre suburb of Paris, France, on Thursday, June 29, 2023. French authorities charged a police officer with homicide in the shooting of a teenager earlier this week as the country braced for another night of violent clashes over the killing. Photographer: Benjamin Girette/Bloomberg via Getty Images (Getty Images/Benjamin Girette)

Protesters held a peaceful march Thursday afternoon, but after sunset unrest gripped the country as the demonstrators erected barricades, lit vehicles on fire and continued to clash with police in various towns.  

Darmanin said that 170 officers had been injured in the unrest, but none had sustained life-threatening injuries, The Telegraph reported. That number rose to 200 over Thursday night, with 667 people arrested on Thursday night alone, Darmanin said Friday. Roughly 300 of the arrests occurred in Paris. 

Burned buses at a RATP bus depot in Aubervilliers, damaged during night clashes between protesters and police, following the death of Nahel, a 17-year-old teenager killed by a French police officer in Nanterre during a traffic stop, near Paris, France, June 30, 2023. REUTERS/Sarah Meyssonnier (Reuters)

On Thursday, following the emergency meeting, Macron called the clashes “absolutely unjustifiable.” 

“The last few hours have been marked by scenes of violence against police stations, but also schools and town halls … against institutions and the Republic,” Macron told ministers. 

Police patrols in Nanterre, outside Paris, France, Saturday, July 1, 2023. French President Emmanuel Macron urged parents Friday to keep teenagers at home and proposed restrictions on social media to quell rioting spreading across France over the fatal police shooting of a 17-year-old driver.  (AP Photo/Lewis Joly)

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Secretary-General of Unite SGP Police FO union Grégory Joron claimed that the police “haven’t seen such urban violence in 18 years in so many cities around France.”

The French foreign ministry did not respond to a Fox News Digital request for comment. 

Fox News Digital’s Caitlin McFall and Chris Pandolfo contributed to this report. 

Peter Aitken is a Fox News Digital reporter with a focus on national and global news. 

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[withoutshield]

“Just because I even said it, doesn’t mean you can just pester me all day about the topic”. He should had never said that line. ‘America’s ass’ yeah right.