#YEAH THANKS TO THE GUY WHO GOT IT FOR ME BY THE WAY AND HAD IT PLAGUE MY MIND EVER SINCE

[goldenbrowns]

ABYSS KISS ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪࣪|| clark kent x fem!reader || oneshot

other pairings: inexperienced!reader x clark kent

summary: You and Clark Kent had always shared something unspoken — a quiet safety. Long before your relationship, he was the one who listened to your rants about failed dates and your fears around intimacy. You’d told him everything: how romance never quite fit, how sex had become a distant memory. But Clark saw you. He always had. Now, after months of slow, growing affection, you’re finally together — though physical closeness still feels unfamiliar. He knows that. So one quiet night, with trust hanging in the air as you cuddled under a blanket watching a movie, you get a little squirmy from the close contact, and he noticed, offering to help.

word count: 7.6k

warnings: service!top clark, inexperienced!reader, dirty talking, fingering, oral fem!receiving, spit as lube, pussy pronouns, mild language, praise kink, dacryphilia, clark is a bit condescending, size kink, didn't notice I made the reader kinda nonverbal sometimes...,

There was always something about Clark Kent that felt different. Not in the obvious way — not the glasses or the quiet charm, not even the way he seemed to fill up a room without meaning to. It was in the stillness. The way he listened without trying to fix, the way he gave space without making you feel abandoned. Being around him felt like standing in sunlight: gentle, quiet warmth that you didn’t realize you needed until it settled on your skin.

And over time, you found yourself leaning into that warmth. Little by little, you let him see parts of you that had long been tucked away — not because he asked, but because with him, the silence didn’t feel heavy. You told him things. Things you didn’t usually admit out loud. About how love had always felt more complicated than comforting. How dating, for you, was less about connection and more about surviving mismatched expectations.

One night, when you were still just friends and sitting side by side on his couch with takeout boxes between you, you’d launched into one of your trademark rants — the kind where frustration blended with disbelief.

“He actually got mad,” you’d said, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten spring roll. “Like actually mad. Because he paid for dinner and brought me stupid gas station flowers, and thought that meant I owed him something.”

Clark had looked up from his food then, eyebrows lifting. “Wait, first date?”

“First date,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “As in, ‘Hi, nice to meet you, here's a meal and a bouquet, now let’s pretend we’re in a poorly written porno.’”

He had laughed, but it wasn’t mocking. It was low and disbelieving — incredulous on your behalf.

“I just— I don’t get it,” you continued. “Like, why do some men think basic decency is currency for sex? I was polite. I said thank you. I smiled. That doesn’t mean I was ready to jump into bed with him, and somehow I was the bad guy?”

Clark shook his head, frowning now. “You’re not the bad guy for having boundaries. That’s... basic human respect.”

You’d blinked at him, something soft unraveling in your chest. “Yeah. Try explaining that to someone who thinks dinner is a contract.”

There was a pause then. One of those Clark pauses, thoughtful and charged with something unspoken. When he finally spoke, it was quieter.

“If anyone makes you feel like you owe them your body for kindness, they don’t deserve any part of you. Not your time. Not your laughter. Not even your irritation.”

You remember that moment clearly — not just because of the words, but because of how he looked at you when he said them. Like your worth was a given. Like your no would always be enough.

It stayed with you. The way he didn’t flinch at your anger. The way he didn’t make it about him. Just listened, nodded, understood. That conversation, like so many others, built the invisible thread that tugged at you each time you looked at him. Until one day, it wasn’t just a thread — it was a lifeline.

You didn’t fall in love with Clark all at once. It wasn’t a cinematic moment or a lightning strike. It was a slow, steady accumulation. His laugh in the morning. The way he always remembered how you took your coffee. The way he looked at you when you were talking — like nothing else mattered. You started to feel it like warmth in your chest, like gravity pulling you closer to something safe.

And when you finally did get together, it wasn’t sudden. It didn’t need to be. You already knew each other in ways that mattered more than the official labels.

Still, even with all that love, there were parts of you that felt unsure. Not because of him, but because of everything that came before. Intimacy — real intimacy — had become a kind of foreign language you used to speak fluently but had forgotten. It had been years since you’d let someone close, really close. And though you weren’t a stranger to sex, it had been long enough, and fumbled enough, that the idea of rediscovering it felt tangled with nerves and doubt. You’ve had one boyfriend before, but after that, your experience had stayed very limited.

But Clark never rushed you. Never assumed. He kissed you like you were something precious, like he had all the time in the world — and maybe he did. With him, you never felt like you were running out of time. You just felt held.

He never asked when. Never implied if not now, then when. He just was — beside you, consistent and patient. The kind of man who didn’t tally favors or gifts or kind gestures. The kind who simply loved you, and let that be enough.

Still… you thought about it.

You tried not to — not in a desperate, spiraling way — but your mind would drift. To the shape of his hands, the low timbre of his voice when he whispered things only meant for you. To the way he smelled, like warmth and safety and something slightly earthy, like rain on pavement. You’d wanted him, as badly as you hoped he wanted you. Probably just as much.

You tried not to dwell on it, tried not to let your imagination carry you too far, but the past few weeks had made it harder. Your thoughts got tangled in moments that felt almost like permission: the brush of his lips against your throat when he hugged you from behind, the way his hand lingered at your waist just a second too long, the sound he made when you kissed him like you meant it. All of it built up — slow, steady pressure under your skin that made you restless and squirmy and so unbelievably pent-up.

So today, when you and Clark were curled up on the couch watching one of his nerdy sci-fi movies — something about time loops and space-time paradoxes you barely followed — you weren’t feeling your best. Or maybe that wasn’t the right word. You were warm, content, half-focused��� and aching in a quiet, constant kind of way that made it hard to sit still. Harder still to pretend it wasn’t happening.

You’d ended up in your usual spot: half under the throw blanket, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm slung around you lazily. The bottom half of both your bodies were hidden beneath the soft fabric, though of course not all of it — Clark’s feet, long and bare, stuck out at the edge of the L-shaped couch. Over 6’5” of muscle and kindness. There wasn’t a blanket in the world long enough for him.

But now, you were suddenly aware of everything.

The way his fingers were idly tracing soft, feather-light circles on your shoulder — so gentle you might have missed it if you weren’t completely tuned into every square inch of your skin. How his other hand, the one that had been resting on his own leg when the movie started, had migrated beneath the blanket… and was now settled on your thigh. Higher than usual. Not improper, not demanding — just there, and warmer than it should’ve been, radiating through the fabric of your sweatpants and directly into your bloodstream.

Your breathing had shifted before you realized it. Slower, deeper. Each inhale filled with the scent of him — something clean and earthy, like cedar and soap, and something else, something him.

You could feel the lines of his torso beneath his shirt, solid and defined. Every breath he took made the muscle beneath you shift — the quiet rise and fall of his chest just under your cheek. And every time he chuckled at some ridiculous sci-fi paradox or whispered a nerdy fun fact into the space between you, you felt it vibrate through his chest and into your bones. It was grounding. It was too much.

And then… there was that.

Your leg, draped so innocently over his lap — a position you’d taken a hundred times without thinking — was suddenly very much something. Because now, you could feel it. The shape of him beneath the blanket, beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants. Not exaggerated. Not something he was pushing or calling attention to. Just present. Solid. Real.

Your thigh had unknowingly settled over the curve of his cock, and now you couldn't un-feel it. The contact wasn’t overt — there was space between you still, air and fabric and hesitation — but your skin was screaming anyway.

He was huge. You weren’t just imagining it. Even through the thin fabric of his sweats and the shared heat between your bodies, the shape of him was unmistakable. Heavy. Firm. Bigger than what you’d expected — not that you hadn’t thought about it before. Of course you had. But knowing and feeling were entirely different things. One was curiosity. The other was a full-body crisis.

You shifted — subtly, guiltily — like maybe adjusting would help you think straight, but it only made it worse. The soft drag of your thigh over him shifted the position of his cock in his sweatpants. Was he wearing no underwear? Your skin prickled, flushed and alive, every inch of you screaming for more friction, more pressure, more.

You tried to focus on the movie. Tried to listen to Clark’s heartbeat under your cheek instead of the storm building low in your belly.

But all you could think about was how hot he felt. How there he was. How easily you could shift again — just a little — and slide your leg closer, press down on it, maybe even roll your hips pretending it was accidental.

Just as your thoughts started to spiral — body taut, blood buzzing, desire thick and almost dizzying — Clark cut through the tension with a low, casual murmur.

“You know,” he said, voice warm with that familiar nerdy amusement, “if this movie followed the actual laws of time dilation, that character would’ve aged about fifty years by now.”

You blinked.

It took a full second to process the words. Your brain, still tangled in heat and friction and the maddening outline of him beneath your leg, scrambled to catch up. The sudden whiplash of him being so Clark in this moment — dorky and oblivious or maybe too unaware — made you let out a laugh. Or something that was supposed to be a laugh.

But it came out too fast. Too high. Too tight.

Clark’s hand stopped its lazy circles on your shoulder. His body stilled, just slightly, like he was tuning in. You didn’t even have time to hide the way your breath caught before he gently turned his head down toward you, his brows knitting in that soft, concerned way he always wore when he sensed something just beneath the surface.

“Hey,” he said, barely above a whisper.

His hand moved — slow and careful — under your chin, coaxing your gaze upward. His fingers were warm and steady as they tipped your face to meet his. And when your eyes finally found his, wide and glassy, you knew he saw everything.

You tried to speak — to joke, to dismiss, to breathe — but the words stuck. Your cheeks burned. Your lips trembled. And it wasn’t from embarrassment. It was too much. You were too full of him — of want, of fear, of need. It sat in your throat like a secret you couldn’t keep anymore.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft but sure, genuinely concerned.

You swallowed, but it didn’t help. His eyes searched yours, and something in you cracked under the pressure — not in a painful way, but in that raw, terrifyingly beautiful way vulnerability always finds its edge.

You tried to laugh it off, forcing a joke as a shield. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, voice a little too high, trying to brush away the tension that suddenly thickened the air between you. “Really, it’s nothing. Just… you know, too much sci-fi for one night.” You smiled, hoping it sounded casual, maybe even funny.

But Clark wasn’t buying it. His eyes held yours, steady and searching, and there was no flicker of doubt in his expression—only care. “Uh uh, there's something wrong I can tell,” he pressed softly, his voice gentle but insistent, as if he could see past your words to the fluttering nerves you were trying so hard to hide.

Embarrassment flushed through you like a wave. You palmed your face, cheeks burning hot against your fingertips. “God, this is so stupid,” you muttered, the words tumbling out in a rush. “For the love of all things, please just let’s keep watching the movie.” You hoped to shut down the conversation, to bury the fluttering ache and the heat pooling low in your belly under the easy distraction of the flickering screen.

But Clark wasn’t letting go. Not tonight.

His hand, the one resting on your thigh, tightened just a fraction—not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor you back into the moment. You blinked up at him, caught between wanting to run and wanting to melt into the warmth that radiated from his body so close to yours.

“I mean,” you stammered, cheeks still burning, “you’re just… so close. And so warm. And your hand there,” you glanced down at where his fingers lay lightly on your thigh, “it’s… dangerous.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your ears. Then, unable to stop yourself, your eyes flicked down further, toward the unmistakable curve beneath the blanket, not even hard, just resting there. “And then there’s that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, pointing subtly to where he was pressed beneath your leg.

Clark looked down, blinking innocently as if he hadn’t a clue what you meant — but the flush creeping up his neck when he finally looked down said otherwise. He caught on, of course, he did. And the way his brows furrowed, a little guilty, a little sheepish, made your heart twist.

His hand left your thigh for a moment, as if almost apologizing for the weight it had. His voice dropped to a tender murmur. “I’m so sorry,” he said, sincerity threading through every word. “I didn’t mean to— I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. I was clueless, honestly. I didn’t realize… I never wanted to rile you up like this.”

He sounded so genuine, so careful, like he was cradling something fragile and precious—you—in his hands. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles as if soothing a child, and you felt yourself melt a little under the weight of his concern.

You took a deep breath and shook your head, trying to pull back some of the heat rising in your cheeks. “The problem’s me,” you said, voice a little breathless but steady. “I’ve just been getting way too in my head lately. Like, really pent up.” You gave a small, almost sheepish laugh. “Honestly, it’s ridiculous. I feel… needy. Not in some dramatic, emotional way — just… like I haven’t had a moment to myself that’s not thinking about wanting something I don’t know how to ask for.”

You shrugged, trying to make light of it but the honesty was there. “I catch myself daydreaming about just… being close to you, how you'd feel, fuck— how warm you are. And then I panic because I’m so out of practice I don’t even know where to start. So yeah, I’ve been a little wound up. And it’s been making me feel all kinds of weird.”

Clark’s expression softened instantly, his eyes filling with a kind of heartbreak that made your chest ache. His voice was low, full of regret and tenderness. “My poor baby,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lightly over your knuckles again. “I’m so sorry for making you feel like this. I wasn’t aware — I swear, I didn’t realize how much you were holding in.”

He leaned in a little, careful not to crowd you, but wanting you to know how deeply he cared. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly. “I want to understand. And I want to help, in any way you’ll let me.”

You nodded slowly, still taken aback by the tenderness in his words. Your eyes were glassy, brows furrowed as if trying to process the weight of everything he was offering. “Okay,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Yeah… I think I want that."

Clark’s gaze softened even more, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as if to soothe the hesitation lingering there. “Yeah, you sure?” he asked gently, his voice low and steady. “I don’t want to rush you. This is just as important to me as it is to you. I want us to move at your pace, not mine. I never want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or unprepared.”

You blinked up at him, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you whispered, “Pretty please?”

The softness of the words — simple, honest, and a little bit playful — seemed to melt something inside him. His eyes brightened, warm and tender, and he smiled like a puppy who’d just been given a treat he didn’t expect.

Without another word, he leaned in slowly, his hand still cradling your cheek, and pressed his lips gently to yours. The kiss was soft, careful, full of promise — the kind that said, I’m here. We’ll go as far as you want. It was everything and nothing all at once, a beginning that needed no grand announcement.

When he finally pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his grin was shy and wide. “Your wish is my command,” he whispered, the playful glint still shining bright.

You weren’t sure who moved first after that kiss — maybe it was him, maybe it was you — but suddenly his hand was sliding down, slow and deliberate, until it found your thigh again. This time, he didn’t stop. His palm moved over your skin like it had a destination, like it already knew the map. It moved down your shorts and settled on the edge of your panties. He hesitated just long enough for you to breathe out a quiet, "Yes."

His touch shifted then — not quite dropping his hand inside, not yet, but there, right over your cunt. The heat of his hand through the fabric was maddening, careful but firm, his fingers moving in a way that made your legs tense and your breath catch. You bit your lip hard, trying not to make a sound, but it didn’t help. You were already sopping wet, enough to feel embarrassed about it or how much you wanted this. Your hips reacted on their own, a soft, needy roll up into his touch like your body had been waiting for this longer than your mind could admit.

He hummed, low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kissed you again, deeper this time. His hand drew feather-light circles on the sopping fabric right above your clit. And not in a rushed, frantic way. He wanted you like someone starved who knew exactly how to savor.

“You’ve been holding this in, and Ive been such a jerk teasing you like this...” he murmured against your jaw, his fingers still working slow, steady circles over your cunt, making the fabric even damper with want. “All this time... my poor baby.”

You could barely breathe. Everything in you felt tight, electric, so pent-up you didn’t know whether to cry or beg or both. All you could do was nod, grabbing onto his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Let me take care of it,” he whispered, kissing just beneath your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers lingered a moment longer, tracing slow, teasing circles over your cunt through the fabric. The touch was deliberate, hungry but controlled—like he was memorizing every curve, every soft inch beneath his palm. You could feel the heat pooling deeper, the dampness growing with every subtle press and glide.

He pulled back just enough to let his lips brush against your jaw again, low and rough this time. His voice was a husky whisper, both sweet and edged with something darker. “Can I take these off, honey? Would you like that? Wanna touch you—Gosh, you´re soaked pretty girl...” he asked, eyes locked on yours, serious but charged with that raw need you hadn’t heard from him before.

He barely gave you time to nod before his fingers curled beneath the waistband of your panties and shorts, tugging slowly and deliberately. The fabric slipped down inch by inch, the movement unhurried as if he was savoring the anticipation rather than rushing toward the reveal. Even before you were half naked, his hand’s motion was both tender and claiming.

His eyes, half-lit by the soft glow of the room and locked onto yours, held something raw — a blend of hunger tempered by care. There was a teasing glint there, a spark that said he knew exactly the effect he had on you and was savoring every second of it. His gaze flicked down briefly towards your cunt. He had meant it to be discreet, but because you were side by side, nestled against him, his view was limited — a teasing mercy that only made your awareness of being exposed all the sharper.

You swallowed hard, suddenly acutely conscious of the cold air against the wetness of your cunt and the way his chest seemed hotter now. So much so that part of your defenses were down. Heat flushed your cheeks and neck as the weight of vulnerability settled in. You shifted instinctively, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and pulling it down to cover yourself, the fabric a small shield between you and his gaze.

He caught the movement and chuckled softly, a low, teasing sound that vibrated through the space between you. He began pressing soft pecks against your neck as he softly caressed your mid-thigh. “Covering up already?” he murmured, voice thick with both amusement and something deeper, more intimate. “That's cute, baby.”

You gave a shaky laugh, eyes darting away for a moment, but he gently lifted your chin with a finger, coaxing you back to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft but sure. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’m just lookin', you look so pretty. We can stop whenever you want, baby."

His thumb brushed tenderly over your cheek, lingering as if searching for permission without pressure. Then, voice dropping to a low murmur, he asked, “Can I touch you? Really touch you?” His eyes darkened with need and care, waiting for your answer — patient, undemanding.

You thought, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat, caught between the desperate want curling inside you and the fragile nerves fluttering beneath the surface. But when you whispered out a shaky "ýes", he smiled — slow, sweet, and promising.

The hand that had been gently cradling your cheek drifted downward with a quiet confidence, fingers brushing over your collarbone, then gliding down the front of your shirt. When it reached the spot where your own hand still clutched the fabric, he paused. His fingers curled gently around your wrist, giving it a soft squeeze — not demanding, just asking.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice low, coaxing.

You hesitated for a breath, then released your grip. He lifted the hem of your shirt just enough to reveal the soft curve of your stomach and left it there — not pulling it higher. His hand traced along your skin, slow and reverent, before settling lower, cupping your dripping cunt.

A low sound left him — somewhere between a breathless laugh and a groan — as he glanced up at you with a smirk. "You're soaked, sweetie..."

His fingers spread your folds, and with the middle one, he began to tease at your slit, ever so gently, still a goddamn gentleman. Your eyes screwed shut as soon as he touched you; your senses felt heightened. It had been so long, and you never remembered it feeling so overpowering.

His eyes stayed fixed on your face, and not just for one reason. Part of him was carefully scanning for any flicker of hesitation — ready to stop the second he sensed discomfort. But the other part, the more selfish one, was completely enamoured by the pretty little faces he was pulling from you. He wanted to memorize every little reaction, every twitch of your lips, every flutter of your lashes.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t meet his gaze. Your face had twisted into something almost unreadable — a blend of too much sensation and too little control — your eyes shut tight, as if blocking out the weight of his stare might somehow ground you. Your hand clung to the fabric of his shirt like it was the only steady thing left.

His voice dipped lower, rough around the edges as his fingers continued their slow, unrelenting rhythm over your clit, sometimes stopping himself to guide a teasing finger along your slit coaxing, testing. The pad of his finger brushed just a little firmer over that sensitive spot, watching the way your body reacted — the stuttered breath, the soft twitch of your hips.

“You think you can take a finger, hm?” he murmured, tilting his head so his lips brushed the shell of your ear, voice thick with heat and something almost reverent. “You wanna try it out?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, one brow raised, his eyes flicking between your flushed face and your parted lips. His hand never left you, still teasing slow circles, coaxing you toward a yes without saying it. His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “I wanna hear you say it. You wanna feel me?”

You hesitated, breath catching, heart pounding loud enough to drown out everything else. But then, with a shaky breath and a nervous smile, you nodded. “Yeah… I want to. I think I can.”

The thing is, you can take a finger, that had never been a problem before. But Clark was huge all over, and his hands and fingers were no exception. So you had every right to doubt your abilities right now. And now that your arm had unknowingly begun to press against the very unmistakable bulge in his sweatpants, the sheer size of his cock had made itself very clear to you. So now you didn’t know what to pray for, if for you, or for your cervix after tonight.

That smile of his — soft, crooked, a little too pleased — stretched across his lips, and he leaned in to kiss your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “Good girl,” he rasped, like the words tasted good coming out.

Then his fingers dipped lower, dragging slow, lazy circles on your hole, clearly teasing you, taking his time. “Gonna be real gentle,” he muttered against your skin, “but you gotta relax for me, yeah? Let me in, gotta relax for me.”

And just as your hips rolled into his hand in response, desperate and involuntary, you heard him chuckle softly. His middle finger slowly pushed inside your cunt, making you hiss. His finger was so deliciously thick, you still werent sure how you'd take a second one.

“You’re already so worked up, pretty thing. You’ve been wanting this all night, haven’t you?”

Clark’s gaze lingered on your face, heavy with warmth and something deeper — a kind of reverence. His finger slowly worked itself in and out of your cunt, drawing wet and sloppy noises from between your legs. You almost sighed in embarrassment, but his eyes locked on the way his finger drove itself inside of you said something else entirely. Then, the way he looked at you made it hard to breathe, like he was seeing something rare, something he wasn’t quite sure he deserved.

“Look at you,” he murmured into your ear, voice husky with awe. “You’re driving me insane.”

His finger moved with slow, deliberate care, making a beckoning motion inside of you that made your breath catch and your body respond without hesitation. The warmth of his touch and how deep his finger was pounding inside you sent shivers through you, teasing and coaxing every nerve awake.

His fingers paused for a moment, resting gently inside you, slick with your own want, as he looked down at you with a slow, knowing smile. His eyes held a mix of mischief and tenderness as he asked, voice low and teasing, “You want me to try another, baby? See if you can take it?”

The quiet tension between you made every nerve alive, every small sound in the room amplified in your ears. You hesitated for a moment, then nodded slightly, the smallest flicker of courage sparking inside you.

His fingers lingered just for a moment before he gave a slow, approving smile that softened into something warm and encouraging. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice low and pleased. “You’re doing so damn good.” He pulled his finger out of your hole with a wet squelch and brought his whole hand to this face, licking both the finger that was just inside you and his ring finger, putting them both in his mouth and licking them clean.

He brought his hand down once again to your cunt and played with your folds as he began to speak, both of his fingers gently parting you open. He brushed his thumb gently over your clit, eyes searching yours with quiet pride. “Can you see that? How well you’re doing? Because I do —" Before he finished the sentence, you felt his fingers sliding inside you. Jesus Christ, were they thick. "You're taking my fingers so well... So proud of you, sweetie."

His fingers moved gently, steadily working themselves in and out, each stroke measured and patient, as if memorizing every inch of you. The careful rhythm was both soothing and disgustingly filthy, and you found yourself leaning into the feeling, trusting him completely. You started to realize that Clark had picked up on how your cunt was making those wet, needy sounds whenever his fingers brushed your G-spot — and the bastard had clearly begun doing it on purpose. The grin on his face every time he did so, completely betrayed him.

You felt yourself growing squirmier, his movements growing quicker, pulling you closer to him as the heat between you intensified. Your breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, and you found yourself shifting against his hand almost without thinking — a mix of desperation and need that made your body ache to close the distance. The pressure of his finger practically drilling against your cervix, the slick warmth beneath his touch, was driving you wild, and you couldn’t hide how much you wanted more.

Clark caught every sign — the way your hips pressed forward, the small gasps that escaped your lips, the trembling of your thighs. His eyes darkened with raw desire, flickering with a hunger that made his usual calm seem to crack at the edges.

“Please,” he murmured, voice thick and almost desperate. “Let me taste you. I want to be right there with you.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushing deeper as the raw need in his eyes pulled at something inside you. Your breath hitched, nerves fluttering between hesitation and craving. Finally, with a shaky but determined voice, you whispered, “Yes… please, Clark. I need you.”

He moved down slowly from beside you, eyes never leaving yours — not in hesitation, but in reverence. He gently took his fingers away from your cunt. His knee hit the floor at the foot of the couch with a gentle thud, one hand steadying himself on your leg, the other smoothing over your hip like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, not teasing this time, just quietly observant.

You nodded, unable to speak, breath caught somewhere between anticipation and disbelief. The way he was looking at you — like you were something sacred and starved for at the same time — made your stomach twist and flutter.

Clark leaned forward, placing a kiss just above your knee. Then another, higher this time. His fingers slid along the back of your thigh, coaxing you gently apart. His eyes stared right back into yours, and even with the unmistakable tension behind them, they felt warm. His blue eyes dilated and were glassy, just as desperate as you were. His eyes then, for the first time, tore themselves away from your face and landed at your sopping cunt, probably soaking the damn couch. He grabbed your hips with both his hands and scooted you over to the edge of the couch, dangerously close to his face. You were sure you almost felt the cool breeze of his breath on you.

"She's so pretty, baby. I could stare at her all night. Y'think she'd let me?"

His voice was a mix of awe and hunger, low and reverent like he was speaking about something sacred. Before you could answer, his hands were already guiding your hips, drawing you toward the edge of the couch where he now knelt, completely devoted. He went silent for just a second, and you noticed the motions of his tounge under his cheeks, gathering up spit. And just when you had straightened up, you saw him softly spitting on top of your slit, letting it drizzle down. His breath ghosted over your skin, warm and teasing, and then — a kiss to your clit. His tounge poking out for just the sweetest second. He looked like he was making out with it. Slow and deep, full of want. Not rushed, not frantic, but purposeful.

You gasped, your hand instinctively flying to his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing grounding you. His hands never stopped moving, one firm on your hip, anchoring you, the other gentle and coaxing on your hole, insistent on the come-hither motion inside you. The pressure of his touch, the warmth of his mouth — it all blended into something that made your breath stutter and your knees unsteady.

Clark pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his eyes dark and shining. “She likes that, huh?” he murmured, breathless. “She’s being real sweet to me.”

You nodded, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling with shaky rhythm.

“Good,” he said, kissing your thigh, his voice thick with need and adoration. “I’ll be real sweet to her, too. M'gonna kiss her real nice.” His tongue dips down once again, this time faster, flicking with speed over your folds. He swipes his tounge up and down your slit, latching on to your clit with intent. He gently sucks it into his mouth as his eyes flick over to you. His eyes were teary and glassy, his brows were furrowed, and his cheeks flushed a deep pink. On the other hand, his fingers kept working themselves in and out of you at incredible speeds, pulling out slick and wet nosies from your hole.

You moaned and whimpered as you held onto his curls. You could see the way his nose was nestled right above your mound as he lapped against you. There were moments when he closed his eyes and let his tongue move in slow, deliberate strokes—savoring you like something sacred. And then there were the moments he kept them wide open, gaze locked onto yours with a quiet intensity, just so you’d see exactly what you were doing to him. With his tongue laid flat against your clit, he began to shake his head slowly from side to side, coaxing out new, breathy little sounds from you with every deliberate motion. And he did exactly that, that fucker...

Your expression twisted into something unrecognizable — brows drawn tight, lips parted and trembling, flushed cheeks burning with heat. The sounds slipping from you were raw, utterly human. Your chest rose in short, frantic bursts, heart pounding so violently it felt like it might break free. You were so close now.

“Look at that... that pretty face doesn’t even know what to do with itself,” he jokes.

You huffed, half-laugh, half-whimper. He had to make everything into a joke—even now. That stupid little grin on his stupidly gorgeous face.

But before you could say anything back, another soft cry slipped from your mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair as the waves kept building. His nose was still nestled against you, warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, tongue working in slow, relentless circles. When you dared to look down, you found him already staring up—eyes wide open, clear and locked on yours. Not blinking. Not distracted. Just watching you fall apart.

It was all too much.

Somewhere between the pressure, the intimacy, and the fact that this man was on his knees for you like he lived there, the tears came. Quietly at first. One blink, then another. Warm trails down your cheeks that you barely noticed—until he did.

His tongue paused. “Hey—hey,” he said softly, voice suddenly gentle. “Is everything okay?”

You nodded quickly, voice catching as you said, “Yeah, yeah, it’s—God—it’s just so good.”

Clark let out a breath of relief, then that smile came back—just a little crooked this time, playful but still sweet. “Damn. Had me worried for a sec. Thought I broke you.”

You gave a weak laugh, still breathless. “You kinda did.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

And just like that, his teasing edge returned, his confidence slipping back into place. “Y’cryin’ and shaking and still askin’ for more… You sure you can handle it, sweetheart?”

You shot him a look, smug despite the tears. “I think I deserve more.”

Clark grinned like you just challenged him to a game he knew he’d win. “That’s what I like to hear.”

As soon as he said that, your head shot back to look at him as he dived down once again, eyes flicking over his sweet face. His nose was nudged against your lips, almost looking like he was making out with your cunt. He didn't blink once as he gazed up at you, his head moving from side to side to help himself, the sound of his tounge flicking against your heat, his ragged breath against you every time you moaned or whimpered... He was enjoying this just as much as you were.

Apparently, seeing him so vulnerable—so willing to give you exactly what you needed, so desperate for your release—was all it took. Your hand clenched tightly at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, pressing him deep against your cunt. The moment you did, a guttural, primal groan escaped him—raw and almost like a soft whimper. You guided his head with steady hands, making sure he knew exactly what you wanted. Through it all, he never once broke eye contact, completely focused on you, completely yours.

"Clarkie... I'm so, soo— Jus' keep going"

Clark smirked, his voice low and amused, replacing his tongue with his voice to speak, his pace still electrifying. “Clarkie knows exactly how ‘so’ you are, baby. Let me give it to you hun, relax." Right after you whispered those words, something inside him shifted — a surge of need that drove him deeper, harder than before. Both of his hands grabbed your knees, pulling them up closer to your shoulders, giving him full, unguarded access. Your fingers clenched tighter into his hair as he shook his head gently from side to side, his tongue tracing feverish, demanding patterns over your clit, like a man who hadn’t tasted anything in days.

His index and middle fingers pressed inside you, moving with a relentless rhythm that made your breath catch. You could feel the pressure building in your lower belly, amplified by his other hand resting firm against your stomach, pressing just enough to send every sensation spiraling higher. He was utterly in control — completely on top of everything.

Clark held your hips steady, steadying you as you rode out the wave. His lips brushed softly against your folds, a quiet, approving “Mhmm?” escaping him, keeping pace with the rhythm of your release, grounding you in that moment of shared intensity. The wave ran through every fiber of your being as you tried to stabilize yourself against anything you could get your hands on. Your ragged breaths began slowing down, and so did Clark's movements.

Clark’s hands never wavered as he slowly lifted his head, eyes dark and shining with something fierce yet tender. “See? Told you there’s nothing to be scared of with me,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “You did so damn good, baby. So perfect.”

You let out a shaky breath, cheeks still flushed, heart pounding wildly. “I want more,” you whispered, voice trembling between need and disbelief. “I want you… all of you.”

A slow, amused smile spread across Clark’s face, one brow arching as he shifted his weight. “Easy there, tiger” he said, standing up from the floor, adjusting his pants low around his waist and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His gaze flicked to you, playful but filled with raw hunger. “You almost had trouble with my fingers — how do you expect to take anything else?”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted down to the unmistakable bulge pressing against the fabric of his pants. Jesus Christ. Maybe he was right. How exactly were you supposed to take that? The thought sent a thrill of both fear and excitement spiraling through you.

Clark caught your glance and let out a low, wicked chuckle. “Don’t worry, baby. Clarkie’s got plenty of time to get you ready. He’s gonna make sure you’re so good and soaked, you’ll be begging for every inch.”

His hand slid to your waist, fingers tracing lazy, possessive circles over your skin. “I’m gonna take my time with you — make you mine. Every inch, every sigh, every sweet little sound.”

You shivered, the mix of his confidence and the raw want in his voice washing over you, making you ache for what was to come. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with tension and promise — and in that moment, you knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

He took your hand with a gentle yet possessive grip, guiding it deliberately toward the unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric of his pants. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and smoldering with that intoxicating mix of tenderness and raw hunger, making your breath catch before your fingers even brushed his skin.

“Feel that, baby?” he murmured, voice low and teasing, a slow smile curling at the edges of his lips. “That’s all yours to get used to. Every inch.”

His breath hitched as your fingers tentatively traced the outline of his cock beneath the fabric, the heat radiating from him sending a delicious shiver coursing through your body. The hardness was undeniable — full and firm — and you could almost feel the power wrapped up in that tight, confident length.

He held your hand firmly, sliding it up and down, letting you feel the heat and hardness pressing insistently beneath the fabric. His eyes never left yours, searching, challenging — but with a softness that made your heart flutter.

“Now, be honest with me, baby,” he said, voice low and steady, with a teasing edge. “You think you can take that, huh?”

You hesitated, cheeks flushing deeper as you swallowed hard. Your voice was barely a whisper when you finally admitted, “No... I don’t think I can.”

A slow, knowing smile curved Clark’s lips. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “You don’t have to rush. Nothing worth having ever comes without time.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple. “Everything has its time, baby. There’s a moment for everything — for learning, for trusting, for letting go. And me? I'm not going anywhere. I’m here to make sure you’re ready, every step of the way.”

His fingers brushed lightly over your skin, soothing and steadying, grounding you in the safety of his presence. “You don’t have to be perfect, and you don’t have to be ready all at once. We’ll take it slow — slow enough for you to feel everything, to want everything.”

His eyes locked with yours, the weight of his words settling between you, wrapping you in a quiet promise. “When the time comes, baby, you’ll know. And I’ll be right here to give it to ya'.”

[omtai]

between-songs transcript (arlington, august 2nd 2025)

the one missing word at the start is where i thought they said rizzler. someone with better ears please let me know what they said cause i know there’s no way its rizzler. under the cut 🙏

(before disappear)

Planet Texas! How the hell are you, we got good news for you, America! The Black Parade is back in action! And [something], this is the last time you dirty this armored suit! We are brought to you by the kindest, warmest gentleman, here tonight with us; please, a round of applause for The Grand Immortal Dictator. He’s been enjoying all the culture wherever he goes, and that man looks handsome. We are supported by the Draag National Auxiliary band, please make some noise. Shall we continue? Ahh! Ah! Come on!

(before wttbp) (elexecution)

Hello, Texas! We’re gonna have an election! No-no-no, we’re gonna have an execution! Everybody that came in today, you got a really free sign, you got a really beautiful free sign, you got a red side that says yea! You got a black side that says nay! We’re gonna hold a vote, and we’re gonna decide if these people get executed or if they’ll live. Their crime is collective: to question the vitality of His Grand Immortal Dictator. It’s up to you, America, what we do with them. For those that think, we put a bullet in ‘em. Let’s see the red, let’s see yea. Now, all who oppose, say nay! That’s a lot of fuckin’ red! It’s close though. I’ll let you know when it’s close. We gotta give the people what they want. Roll! Ready! Aim! Fire. Yes! Wait, hold on. Oh, one of ‘em didn’t get hit. One of our guys missed. We should’ve got somebody from Dallas to do it. Alright, well, let’s show her what she’s won, then! It’s brand new 2009 Baruva Dart. Gets great gas mileage. Looks pretty sweet. What’s in it? A brand new goat. In the back seat. Alright. Yeah, let’s get her over there, let’s get her behind the wheel of that brand new car. Whaddaya say, Texas?

(before house of wolves)

Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark!

(before teenagers)

[picking up ringing phone] Hold on, I’m calling my mom.

B STAGE

(before na na na)

Thank you Clarice. Please make some noise for Clarice Jensen. I’ve been a fan of her a while. And she’s, uh, also part of the Draag National Auxiliary Band. Along with Kayleigh Goldsworthy and Tucker Rule, please make some noise for them. Hell yeah. And please make some noise for Garbage! It’s a real honour to play with them, and think Shirley had to take off early, but, uh, I think for maybe some reason that’s not so awesome, you know? But, you know, we’ll put this song out to her, and we wanna thank them for playing with us. [To Frank] Happy birthday who? Butch? Butch’s—[to audience] oh, it’s Butch Vig’s birthday! Hell yeah! Happy birthday, Butch! Alright, this goes out to all of you. Let’s hit it. We’re My Chemical Romance from New Jersey.

(before sorrows)

Woo! Hell yeah. Hell fucking yeah. I was real excited for this show. We were real excited for this fucking show. Been a long time. This is a really cool room though—you know, like, the roof’s closed and everything, um, ‘cause one thing I forgot about when we got here the other day was how big the sky is in Texas. It’s fucking huge. So, you know, I was missing that a little bit tonight, but not really when you guys put your shit up in the air. Your shit that lights up. This ain’t the kind of song for it, though. That light-up shit, you know what I’m sayin’? This song is off the first record! ‘Our Lady of Sorrows’.

(before planetary go)

[gagging and retching] Thank you. Shit, yeah. This is our first stadium tour, thank you for coming out. It’s took a real fucking while to do this, but thanks for spending your fucking evenings with us, and most of your morning, or your afternoon, too, just hanging out. ‘Preciated! I feel like dancing. I really do. We’re gonna see how it goes on this grating, but… you feel like dancing, Caroline? Good news, America! It’s time. To dance.

(before not ok)

We got some friends out here tonight. Some very special friends of ours from different parts of our lives, want you to make some noise for our friends Livia, Byron, and King. They live right here in Dallas. And, uh, we had a really fucking amazing Thanksgiving, it was fucking awesome, America, it was so good. It was really good. Our friend Scott’s here, too, from the old comic shop days. I spotted him right away. He spotted me, I think, right away, but I think eventually, for sure, he did. Scott’s here, yeah. You see him? I can see him. Man. He introduced me to a movie called ‘Phantom Of The Paradise’. I’d seen the VHS before in, uh, Dollar Video, in the parking lot of A&P in Jersey, was like, ‘man, this cover’s so shitty.’ He’s like, ‘this movie’s fucking good, dude.’ You watched it? Fucking changed my life, man. Check it out. This song goes out to all of them. All those 47 people I just mentioned. Are you ready for the summer jam of all time?!

(before bullet with butterfly wings)

Insects. Insects. Wo-o-oah. This is a song I had a religious experience with.

(before the world is ugly)

Thank you, Texas. Hell yeah. This shit is fun, thank you for singing that with us. Let’s see. I think this is one we haven’t played yet on this tour. On tonight’s scheduled shout-out script—there’s more coming, but they’re for different nights, you know? So this one is for you guys. Let’s hear it. Both of them are. Anything you don’t hear me put out to somebody else, it’s—it’s yours, you know? This is a song off Conventional Weapons. It’s a beautiful song, for an ugly world. Are you ready? I think we should see those lights.

(before venom)

Thank you, Texas. Very beautiful to be here, beautiful to look at, thank you so much. We’ve always had good shows here, that’s one reason we—you know, um, we were looking forward to, but also, like, Texans are intimidating as fuck, so. With however many tens of thousands of you came to check out us, that’s pretty cool, right? Atleast someone in Texas digs this shit, right? Now, we—like, back in the early days, too, I remember, like, we’d drive for—forever, forever, ‘cause this state’s really big, it’s like, bigger than the UK, right? When you drive across? And sometimes Ray would stop the van and be like, ‘bro, get out! Get out!’ And I think it was Texas he made us get out, it was really late at night, and he was like, ‘bro, look at the fucking stars!’ and we were like, ‘what the fuck are you doing, man?’ but it was infectious. I was into that shit. I don’t know if everyone was, but I didn’t give a—motherfucker. Stargazing. Well, we got our own kind tonight. We’re gonna play you something off Revenge, if that’s okay with you! It’s a little bit metal, a little bit rock’n’roll, I don’t know…! That’s the stupidest thing I ever said. Let’s go, this songs called Gracias! Pour la Venin. Alright, let’s do it!

(before kill all your friends)

Fuck yeah! This is, uh, just as awesome a fucking night as we’d hoped. Real exciting to play here again in whatever fucking capacity, transformation that is. Whatever, man. Woo! Imagine I just do this, walk around the whole time like Rick Flair's—woo! [audience woos] Oh, you wanna do it too? Woo! [audience woos] Hell yeah. You guys wrestling fans too? Everybody’s a wrestling fan. I know Charlie’s a wrestling fan. Charlie Saxton who plays The Clerk over there, big time wrestling fan. He taught me all kinds of shit. How to take a hit, stage combat, kicking people over. He’s a talented fucking man. Alright, here’s a song that we haven’t played yet, it’s a B-side off Black Parade, it’s pretty fucking tasty. You know what I’m saying? [to Frank] I think this is your son’s favourite song, right? This goes out to you.

(before helena with intro)

Thank you! Fuck yeah, thank you so much. Got a couple more left for you guys. Alright, Texas! You may probably sing this one the loudest with us, possibly. We’ll help you start it out. We’re gonna start like this. Start like this.

(before war beneath the rain)

Thank you guys so much. It’s fucking magical. Fucking awesome. Hell yeah. Alright. We got one more. We’ve only played this once before. [creepy voice] There was a studio in North Hollywood. We made some songs, and then we broke up. And them songs just sat somewhere. And we said, hey, let’s play a couple, so we did. [normal voice] I don’t know what that voice is. I don’t have a name for it yet. But I’ve got my Good News America voice. That has nothing to do with Texas, it’s just America, you know? Horsemen… alright, this song is called ‘The War Beneath The Rain’.

[cherrysinner]

DON'T UNDERESTIMATE HER ♡

♡ pairing: rafe x dreamy m!lf reader

♡ summary: you decide to pay rafe a visit when you realize he'd been playing with you.

♡ warnings / tags: smut. MDNI! masturbation. handjob (m. receiving). voyeurism. wc: 1.3k

♡ author's note: it’s been a while since i last wrote for her!!

DREAMY M!LF MASTERLIST ♡ RAFE MASTERLIST

one of the dumbest things a man can do is underestimate a woman.

it was a tale as old as time; the wife of an older man, who was nothing more than a pretty face, a trophy for him to flaunt around. but no one ever realized that you were so much more. going from being a teenager working two jobs to support your family to being in your early thirties, with a multi-million dollar swimsuit brand, a busy lawyer husband who gets you whatever you could wish for just to make up for his absence, and a cute, younger neighbor who's made it his mission to play cat and mouse with you just to piss off his father.

you knew how to play your cards right. you weren't dumb, even if you acted like it. and if rafe cameron liked playing with you... maybe you could entertain him.

thankfully, the hot summers of outer banks wanted to play right in your favor.

honestly, a part of you felt stupid for the way you'd parade out your home in your bikini top and the short fabric shorts, like you were younger, once again trying to capture the attention of the guy you had a crush on; but it seemed to work.

rafe seemed to start hanging out more in his yard when he noticed you'd been doing that too; you'd even caught him staring at you through the window that faced your house. you'd simply smiled, waving your freshly manicured hand at him, making the young man scamper away.

but it seemed that the final straw came in the form of you knocking on the cameron residence, clad in nothing but a red bikini top, a pair of denim shorts, and a white button-down that belonged to your husband, tied at the waist, half the buttons undone, rafe clearing his throat the moment his eyes fell on you, the smug smirk drained from his face.

"hi, rafe." you said with a syrup-sweet smile on your lips as you cocked your head to the side, "rose called me over. is she here?"

"yeah. yeah, she's in the kitchen." rafe cleared his throat, stepping aside, letting you into the house. "aww. thank you, rafe. you're such a good boy." you smiled at him, cupping rafe's cheek with one of your hands, the blood draining from his face down to his... other head, the boy left standing, glitching in the foyer.

"no, rose. this wallpaper is much better for the bedroom!" you sighed, taking a long sip of your wine as you looked over the wallpaper options your friend had laid out. "it does not fit the living room at all."

"but it would look so cute if i got matching pillows!" "no, it wouldn't." you took in a deep breath. "you shouldn't have invited me if you weren't gonna listen to my thoughts. i'm a fashion designer for a reason!"

rafe walked into the kitchen, pretending to not pay any attention to the conversation between you and rose until you cleared your throat, "hey, rafe?"

the man turned to you with a clear of his throat, holding a snapple he'd grabbed out of the fridge, "yeah?" he asked in an overly deep voice, making you let out a chuckle.

"wouldn't this floral wallpaper look much better in a bedroom than in the living room?" you asked with doe-eyes, pushing your cleavage together as you bit into your lower lip.

"yeah." rafe coughed, "it's- it's better in a bedroom." "he doesn't know a thing about design, don't listen to him." rose rolled her eyes, her stepson rushing out of the room.

you smiled coyly, watching the younger man rush out of the door as if you'd lit him on fire, only for you to turn to rose after ten minutes had gone by. "i need to use the restroom." you sighed, the woman simply nodding, clearly too interested in her chardonnay and her wallpaper to pay any real attention to you, left mumbling the lyrics of the top 50 pop song playlist playing on her speakers.

as you took soft steps up the stairs, you could already hear faint groaning, unable to help the quiet, soft chuckles leaving your lips as you got closer to the source of the sound.

the groans, the whines of your name were like poetry to your ears, and as you listened to the little sounds coming from the other side of the ajar door, you couldn't help but imagine what it'd be like to be right next to me, what it'd be like to listen to rafe's moans up close, what it'd be like to be the cause of all of them. what it'd be like to actually be helping him jerk his cock instead of just imagine you were doing that.

before you could stop yourself, you'd thrown the door open wide, rafe mumbling curses "shit, fuck, shit!" rafe scammered as he flung the blanket over his uncovered cock, lifting his knee so it was somewhat hiding the clear erection hidden under the blanket. "what- what are you doing here?"

"i heard someone calling out to me." you shrugged, closing the door behind you, taking tentative steps towards rafe's bed, "you know, if you wanted help, you could've just asked me."

"w-what?"

"you wanted to play with me." you cooed as you settled down next to rafe on his bed, tilting your head to the side, "yet... it doesn't seem like you can handle it when i try to play back." you pulled rafe close to you, nose nearly pressed against yours, "so, rafe, do you wanna play, or not?"

"yeah. sure."

rafe's unsure words made you let out a chuckle, pushing him back on the bed, your hand trailing over his muscular, bare chest, the feel of your hand running over his abs making rafe shiver underneath you.

even though you weren't looking at him, you could tell that he was big; rafe let out a whine the moment your hand made contact with the base of his cock, prolonging it by stroking up his length painfully slowly, hips bucking up into your hand.

"how's that feel, hm?" you mumbled against his lips, a loud groan leaving rafe's lips when your hand made contact with the base of his cock once again, "you wanna play tough... bet i could make you come in a few dirty minutes."

you weren't wrong; after only a few minutes, his cheeks were red, and you could feel precum leaking all over your hand as you talked dirty to rafe, hips bucking up to meet each of your strokes.

"god, you're so desperate." you let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss on his pulse point, "just beg for it. beg for me to make you come."

"please..." rafe whined, "please, lemme come..."

you let out another chuckle, rolling your eyes, "i guess you've deserved it." you mumbled, your hand picking up its pace, rafe's whines becoming more frequent until finally he bucked up into your grip one more time, a loud sigh leaving rafe's lips as warm come covered your hand.

you pulled your hand away, licking the white liquid out, standing up before rafe could start to soften in your grip, looking at him with narrowed eyes, "next time you wanna tease me, remember this moment. good boy."

you smiled, blowing a kiss at him before turning away and walking out of the room, leaving rafe lying there completely dazed.

"where were you?" rose questioned as soon as you got back to the dining room, "i was in the bathroom." you chuckled softly, "i told you, didn't i?" "yeah, but it's been, what, fifteen minutes?" "what are you talking about?" you asked with a chuckle, taking a sip of your wine, "it's only been five minutes, rose. maybe lay off the chard."

join my taglist!

[magnagaruzenmon]

Study Hall 2

A little smaller scale than usual.

You found AJ pacing outside the garage, arms folded, his hoodie pulled up despite the warm night. The old motion light blinked on as you approached, catching in his eyes — serious, tired, and faintly apologetic.

“You came,” he said, voice low.

“You made it sound urgent.”

“It is.” He hesitated. “I didn’t want to do this over the phone. Figured it was better you heard it straight.”

He opened the side door and you stepped inside the familiar space — posters on the walls, instruments leaned in corners, AJ’s sacred den of music and memories. A few chairs were set up, but he didn’t sit. Neither did you.

AJ let out a slow breath. “Darin and Nathan had it out.”

“I figured,” you said. “I got a text from Jojo earlier. Said something about the whole friend group melting down.”

“Yeah. It was bad. Screaming match in the parking lot. Darin stormed off. Nathan’s staying with his sister. Everyone’s shaken.”

“…And they’re blaming me.”

“Mostly Darin,” AJ said, rubbing his neck. “But yeah. Kinda.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For what? For not lying to them? For pointing out what everyone else already saw?”

“It’s not what you said,” AJ replied. “It’s that you said it. Darin sees you as the guy who got out clean. Who figured out his own stuff and found someone like Momo who makes it all work. Meanwhile, he’s stuck in this emotional stalemate with Nathan — angry, confused, and terrified to admit why he cares so much.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “He’s not mad at me. He’s mad that I’m not afraid.”

AJ gave a half-shrug, half-nod. “More or less. You spoke out loud the thing he’s been trying to bury since we were kids.”

You let out a slow sigh. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t. But it happened. And now there’s fallout.”

There was a long silence between you.

Then AJ continued, softer. “Elijah… the truth is, you were right. They’ve been dancing around each other for years. Passive-aggressive jabs, over-the-top loyalty, all that messy closeness that makes people uncomfortable. You just put words to it. And Darin—he’s not ready to hear it. Especially not from someone who already got to the other side.”

You looked down. “So what happens now?”

“I’ve been talking to Nathan. He’s… unraveling a little. He said he’s sorry for lashing out. He’s just scared. He knows what it is between them. He just can’t bring himself to say it first. And Darin—he’s too stubborn to admit he wants to be the one asked.”

You grimaced. “So it’s a game of emotional chicken.”

AJ gave a tired chuckle. “Pretty much.”

“Do I reach out?”

“Maybe not yet. Let things settle. But I wanted you to know what was going on — not from whispers or secondhand texts.”

You nodded slowly. “Thanks, AJ.”

“And for what it’s worth,” he added, “I’m proud of you. You didn’t take the easy way out. You stood up for honesty. That matters. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

You let that sit for a moment. Then:

“I was with Momo when you called.”

AJ raised his eyebrows. “She still stuck to you like dryer lint?”

“She’s basically vibrating with affection and frustration.”

He smirked. “She’s good for you, man.”

“Yeah,” you said, and this time it came out soft, certain. “She really is.”

You both stood there a little longer, the night quiet around you.

Eventually AJ clapped your shoulder. “Go home. Or wherever she is. The world’ll still be messy tomorrow, but maybe you’ll feel a little less tangled up in it.”

You nodded, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks for not letting me get blindsided.”

“Always.”

As you walked back into the night, your phone buzzed again.

Momo: You have 14 minutes left to fulfill your cuddle quota before I combust from unmet intimacy needs.

You smiled.

Time to go home.

As you slammed the car door shut, the night air didn’t cool you off — it only made the anger in your chest tighten like a vice.

The double date, the confrontation, Nathan’s misplaced rage — it all simmered into something you couldn’t ignore anymore.

You gripped the steering wheel and sat for a long second. Then, with a tight exhale, you did the one thing you should’ve done weeks ago.

You called them.

Nathan answered first, voice groggy and suspicious. Darrin joined the call a second later, his tone sharper, more guarded.

“I’m coming to your apartment,” you said, your voice cold, measured. “And you both better be there. Otherwise, I promise — you will not like the consequences.”

Before either could form a word of protest, you hung up.

You drove in silence, jaw clenched, each red light giving you more time to feel the absurdity of it all. Two grown men, dancing around each other like emotionally constipated teenagers, projecting their confusion and fear onto you like it was your fault they couldn’t be honest. Couldn’t be brave.

By the time you reached their place, the pressure had built into something volcanic.

You saw them in the window, watching from the second floor. Good. They had the sense to wait.

You parked the car, sat for a beat, then screamed into the steering wheel — loud, primal, not for anyone else but yourself.

Then, calm.

You stepped out, adjusted your jacket, and walked up to the apartment like you weren’t one misstep from dragging both of them into therapy by force.

They were waiting just inside the doorway — Nathan leaned against the wall like a defiant teenager, Darrin sitting on the couch, arms crossed. Tense.

You closed the door behind you gently, then turned to them with quiet fury in your eyes.

“Do you two have any idea how fucking stupid you are?” you said flatly.

Silence.

You stepped into the room, slow and steady, like a lecture building to its point. “Literally everyone sees it. The bickering, the weird jealousy, the tension you pretend isn’t romantic but is so obviously romantic that even Jojo noticed, and he still thinks Stonehenge was an alien charging dock.”

Nathan opened his mouth, but you shot him a look that froze the words mid-throat.

“If either of you says something about how I’m always the one screwing things up,” you warned, voice rising with steel behind it, “I swear to God, I will lose it.”

They flinched — visibly.

You took another breath, then went on. “You’re both two of the laziest, most terrified ambitious people I’ve ever met. And I get it. It’s easier to hate me for trying than to admit you’re scared to want something. To say it out loud. To want each other.”

Darrin looked away. Nathan finally sat down, defeated.

“But I won’t let you poison our friend group because you don’t know how to handle your feelings. Jojo’s tired. AJ’s exhausted. You’ve made everyone walk on eggshells because you refuse to be honest.”

You looked them dead in the eyes.

“So figure it the fuck out. Now. Or I swear I’ll tell AJ and Jojo to stop showing up for either of you until you do.”

Nathan’s eyes went wide. “He’d never—”

You cut him off with a cool, almost amused look. “Please don’t try me.”

A long pause followed. The room thick with unspoken truths.

You gave them one last look, not angry anymore — just tired. “I’ve said what I came to say.”

You stepped back toward the door, hand on the knob.

“I’m going home. To my girlfriend. Who actually knows how to talk about her feelings.”

And with that, you stepped out into the night.

The air was cooler now. The kind of cool that didn’t boil your blood — it cooled it. Smoothed it out. By the time you got into your car and started the engine, the weight of the whole thing started to lift.

And for the first time in days, you actually smiled — just a little — knowing that someone warm and impossibly soft was waiting for you back at home.

You unlock the door quietly, half-expecting Momo to already be asleep.

She wasn’t.

You stepped inside to the soft glow of the TV on low volume, playing a documentary she absolutely wasn’t watching. Momo sat curled in the middle of your couch like a sulking cat, wrapped in nothing her bare body leaving you ravenous. Her knees were tucked up, a mug of tea balanced precariously on the armrest. When she saw you, she immediately puffed up.

“You’re late,” she said, without a trace of irony.

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s been 90 minutes.”

“That’s late when I’m actively yearning.”

You kicked off your shoes and padded over. “Sorry. It was a heavy conversation.”

Momo scooted over dramatically to make room. “You can tell me. But only after you hold me like I’m a weighted blanket.”

You chuckled and sank onto the couch beside her. She immediately draped herself over you — arms around your waist, legs curling under yours, cheek pressed against your chest like a koala that decided personal space was a myth.

“Better,” she mumbled.

You wrapped your arms around her, letting her exhale all the tension she’d apparently been building up for the past hour and a half.

“You okay?” you asked.

“I missed you,” she said bluntly, then peeked up. “Like, in a weird, feral kind of way. I didn’t like not seeing you this week. And now that you’re here, I need you within three feet of me at all times or I’ll perish.”

You smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Noted.”

Momo wriggled a little deeper into the embrace. “Did you talk to AJ?”

“Yeah. Told me what happened. It’s… complicated, but it helped hearing it.”

She nodded. “I knew you were stewing. I could sense it from across town. You have this whole thing where your emotions get all still and pressurized like a rice cooker.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“You should,” she said, voice soft. “You hold a lot. For other people. For yourself. I just hope I get to be one of the places you let it out.”

That quieted you. And for a moment, you just held her tighter.

“You are,” you said honestly. “You always are.”

A beat passed.

Momo let out a long sigh. “I’m glad.”

Then, ever so quietly:

“I was worried I’d overwhelm you with… this.” She gestured vaguely to the situation — herself, bundled and attached to you like a human magnet.

You grinned. “Momo, you texted me earlier that you wanted to ‘absorb me like an emotional Capri Sun.’”

“I was being poetic.”

“And weird. But also cute.”

She pouted against your shoulder. “Shut up and pet my hair.”

You obliged, running your fingers through her soft locks as she slowly melted against you. The tension eased from both of you — her clinginess meeting your calm like puzzle pieces finally finding their fit.

As the credits of the documentary rolled, Momo mumbled, “Next week, let’s plan to stress-eat and cry together in advance. Like a team.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

And with that, Momo drifted to sleep, snuggled close — not the vixen or the gremlin or the siren — just the girl who finally felt safe enough to want something real.

And you?

You didn’t want to be anywhere else.

You get up after Momo has fallen asleep and carry her to bed. After setting her down she whined, “don’t go!”

“I’m not going anywhere just getting in the bed across from you,” Momo groaned and whined until you scuttled your way into the bed with her which allowed her to envelop you like a snake as she coiled her body around you.

The soft whir of the fan and the weight of Momo curled into your side make for the perfect end to a long, exhausting day. Her cheek rests on your chest, one leg tossed lazily over yours, her breath warm and steady. You run your fingers through her hair, and for a moment, everything feels quiet—normal.

Then comes the knock.

Knock knock knock.

You groan, eyes cracking open.

Knockknockknockknock.

Momo stirs beside you with a groggy sound, burrowing deeper into your side like the blanket might protect her from the rude interruption. You gently slide out from beneath her, replacing yourself with a pillow. She mumbles something half-conscious and clutches it like a lifeline.

You shuffle out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you head to the front door. You’re not even surprised when you open it and see them.

Nathan. Darrin. Both looking vaguely guilty and deeply confused, like they’d just walked out of a failed intervention.

“We need to talk,” Darrin says.

You exhale through your nose, already tired. “No we don’t?”

Nathan nods. “Yes we do. Now.”

You step aside and motion them in. “Fine. But keep your voices down. Momo’s asleep.”

They sit like scolded kids on the couch as you move into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. You can feel their eyes on you, their awkward tension so thick it coats the air.

“So…” Darrin says, squinting toward the hallway, “you and Momo, huh?”

You shoot him a dry look over your shoulder. “Yeah. Pretty sure we’ve covered this.”

Nathan crosses his arms and mutters, “what is she doing here? Like I thought you were going to wait till marriage?”

You lean against the counter and take a long sip before answering. “Really? This is the conversation we are having? Momo and I are taking it slow unlike yall with your relationships.”

Nathan huffs. “You sure sound like a Hallmark card.”

You smirk. “Better that than be the guy who lived with his ex for two years and never told anyone? And still unaware if the kid is yours like dude come on,”

Darrin coughs, trying not to laugh.

“And you,” you say, turning to him, “didn’t you hook up with your study partner for a whole semester and call it a ‘learning experience’?”

“She was really passionate about research,” Darrin mumbles.

You raise your glass like a toast. “Still a virgin, for the record. And still fine with that.”

That’s when the bedroom door creaks open.

You glance over just in time to see Momo emerge—half-asleep, hair tousled, oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder, face caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion. She blinks once, twice, then focuses in on the couch.

She stares at Nathan and Darrin like a cat assessing danger. No words. Just pure, narrowed, half-lidded judgment.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she pads forward on bare feet and walks right up to you. Her arms circle your waist slowly but firmly, chin resting against your chest.

She glares at them over your shoulder like she’s calculating how many seconds it would take to rip them apart.

You feel her weight press into you protectively.

“If you’re here to start something,” she says softly, voice like velvet over steel, “you’re gonna regret it.”

Nathan blinks. “Momo I presume. Nice to meet you,”

She tilts her head. Her eyes narrow further. She’s still not blinking.

“She’s sleep-defensive,” you murmur, running a calming hand down her back. “Give her a second.”

“You’re doing the protector thing again,” you whisper.

“I am protecting you,” she says without looking away from them. “You’d let them say dumb things if I wasn’t here.”

“I am right here,” Darrin says gently.

“I have seen the messages you sent to him. I said what I said,” Momo deadpans.

You chuckle, kissing her temple softly. “Thanks, direwolf. Now go back to bed. I’ll only be a minute,”

“You’re welcome, soft dragon, but no” she mumbles, still glaring.

She steps between you and the couch, arms folded now, clearly drawing a line in the sand.

Nathan stares. “Is she always like this?”

You sigh. “Only when she’s interrupted from cuddles by emotional chaos at one in the morning.”

Darrin gestures toward her. “It’s kinda… intense.”

“Yes she is but it works for me. Also in case you are feeling froggy. She bites,” you say casually. “Not even in a fun way.”

Momo lifts her hand and snaps her teeth together. The sound is crisp and threatening.

Nathan and Darrin flinch, both looking appropriately nervous now.

You lean forward, placing a hand gently on Momo’s arm. “I’ve got this, babe.”

Her eyes stay locked on them, but she slowly relaxes. “You’ve got five minutes,” she says coolly, “then I’m dragging him back to bed.”

And with that, she turns and pads back into the room without another word.

You glance at your friends. “Okay. Talk fast. Or she will come back.”

Nathan and Darrin exchange a look — a wordless confirmation between two people who think they’ve figured something out. You know that look. You’ve seen it a dozen times. It’s the prelude to nonsense dressed up as wisdom.

“We came to tell you that you need to back off,” Nathan says, puffed up like this is an intervention. “We’ve got this.”

You stare at him, then at Darrin.

“That’s it?” you ask, blinking.

Nathan scowls. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’? You’ve been up in our business for weeks now. And clearly…” he pauses, eyes drifting toward the hallway Momo disappeared into, “you’re not exactly living right with God.”

You sigh — a deep, exhausted, bone-level sigh — then roll your eyes.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” you say flatly.

They both look stunned, like the words came out of nowhere.

“Wait—what?” Darrin stammers.

“I said get. The fuck. Out of my home.” You enunciate every syllable. “Take this sanctimonious, half-baked bullshit and leave. Before I say something I’ll regret — or worse, something you will.”

Nathan throws his hands up, voice rising. “See? This is why no one stays with you, Elijah. You escalate everything. You push people away and then act surprised.”

You blink — once, twice, three times. Then you take ten slow, measured breaths, counting each one.

When your eyes open again, your voice is calm. Too calm.

“Okay. Fuck it. I guess we’re doing this now.”

They freeze. You step forward, arms crossed.

“You two are imprecise with your words. You say things that sound wise, but are really vague projections of your own unresolved crap. And when someone pushes back, you play confused or cry victim.”

You point to Nathan. “You weaponize your anxiety and bipolar tendencies without ever naming them. You think volatility equals depth, when really it’s just a lack of discipline.”

Then to Darrin. “You disappear for weeks at a time, isolate, and come back expecting everyone to act like nothing happened. You say you’re just introverted — but it’s not that. It’s that you don’t take emotional responsibility for anything. You avoid. You deflect. And then you get mad when people expect more from you. You bring out the worst in each other,”

Darrin’s jaw tightens. “Oh really? And how do we make each other worse?”

You chuckle without humor. “Nathan drags you into drama and games you claim to hate, but you stay because it gives you entertainment. And when I pointed that out, you defended it —and you don’t even like playing — just so Nathan wouldn’t feel called out.”

Nathan tries to interject, “That’s one—”

“You broke up with your last girlfriend because Douglas convinced you I was trying to steal her.” You don’t yell. You don’t raise your voice. But the weight of your words crushes the room. “I was dating someone else at the time. You never apologized to her. You never apologized to me. You just ghosted and let your paranoia win.”

They’re both silent. Finally.

You step back, shaking your head.

“You act superior, like you’re the grown-ups in the room, but your lives are stitched together with duct tape, caffeine, and delusion. So yeah — excuse me for not entertaining a purity lecture from two men who’ve never once cleaned up their own emotional messes.”

You open the door.

“I’m done talking. Get out.”

Darrin starts, “We’re not done—”

Before he finishes, you march over, scoop him up like a sack of potatoes, and fireman-carry him to the door.

“Jesus Christ!” he yells as you open it.

You drop him just outside the threshold. He stumbles, stunned.

You turn back. Nathan is wide-eyed.

“I got you, boss,” he says quickly, already backing away, hands raised in surrender.

He slips out without another word.

You shut the door behind them and lean your head against it for a second.

Then you exhale.

You don’t realize how hard your shoulders are clenched until the door clicks shut behind them. The silence afterward feels surgical — like someone cut the tension out of the room with a scalpel and left nothing but the sting behind.

You lean your forehead against the door. Ten seconds. Twenty. Then you hear her voice behind you.

“Are you okay?”

It’s soft, sleepy, but edged with worry.

You turn. Momo stands in the hallway, half-wrapped in your blanket, hair slightly mussed from the pillow, one eye squinting against the hallway light. She looks like she just woke up, but you know from the tight grip she has on the blanket and the way she’s planted herself in the center of the hallway that she’d been listening.

You sigh. “Sorry. I tried to keep it down.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she says, stepping closer. “I knew something was up the moment they showed up unannounced.”

You give a tired smile. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

She tilts her head. “Elijah… I live here half the time. You cook for me. You let me take over your couch with all my crap. You hold me when I spiral. You think I don’t want to be here when you’re the one spiraling?”

You look down, ashamed. “It was just dumb drama. You didn’t need to hear all that.”

Momo takes one more step forward, close enough now to touch. And she does — fingers trailing across your arm until she’s curled into your side, cheek against your chest. You feel her exhale.

“First of all, that was not dumb drama. That was two grown men trying to unload their unresolved baggage onto you because you have the nerve to have boundaries.”

You chuckle. “You overheard all of it, huh?”

She hums. “Mmm-hmm. I also heard you say some pretty sharp things. Real scalpel energy. I was proud.”

You shake your head. “It’s just… exhausting, you know? The way they look at me like I’m the bad guy for not letting them project their chaos onto me.”

Momo pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“They don’t get it. You’re not trying to be ‘better than them.’ You’re trying to be better than you used to be. And people who aren’t doing that? They’ll always take it personally.”

You look at her. Really look at her. The way her eyes glint in the dark. The calmness in her tone. The affection that’s always just there, like she doesn’t have to think about it — like it’s natural.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur.

Momo snorts. “You absolutely don’t. But you’re lucky I have bad taste.”

You laugh for the first time all night. She smiles wider, presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“You wanna talk more about it?” she asks. “Or you wanna eat ice cream straight out of the tub while I try to get you to watch the dumb reality show I’m into this week?”

You glance toward the couch, then back at her.

“Ice cream,” you say. “But only if I get to sit on your side of the couch.”

Momo squints. “You just want the good blanket.”

“Damn right.”

She slips her hand into yours. “Fine. But I’m choosing the flavor. And you’re watching at least one episode of Naked Island Retreat.”

“Deal.”

As she pulls you toward the living room, you realize something — the storm is outside. Whatever comes tomorrow, this is the safe place. Momo. Her warmth. Her messy, ridiculous, too-honest love.

And tonight, that’s enough.

You’re halfway through your second spoonful of strawberry cheesecake ice cream when Momo says, “You ever think about just… disappearing for a little while?”

You glance over. She’s curled up sideways on the couch, feet under your thigh, blanket draped over both of you like a truce flag. Her head rests on a pillow she smuggled over from your bed, one hand absentmindedly swirling her spoon in the tub she commandeered.

“Disappearing?” you echo.

She nods, eyes still on the muted TV, where some shirtless guy on Naked Island Retreat is crying because someone used his coconut shampoo.

“Yeah. Like… not forever. Just enough to reset your brain. To stop pretending things don’t bother you. To stop trying to be strong for everyone else.”

You pause, the air heavy in that soft way where only the truth can survive.

“Every day,” you admit.

She shifts then, resting her ice cream on the coffee table and snuggling into your side like she’s trying to merge with you. “I figured.”

You set your own ice cream down. Gently brush some of her hair back from her face. “What about you? What would disappearing look like for you?”

“Somewhere warm. Ocean air. No pressure. No makeup. No expectations.” She looks up at you with sleepy eyes and a tiny grin. “Just me. And you. And maybe a hammock where we’d forget what time it is.”

You smile. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“I fantasize about soft things when life gets hard,” she murmurs. “Also, I have a very clear Pinterest board.”

You chuckle. “I wanna see that sometime.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’ll show you. If you survive more of this show without complaining.”

You glance at the TV. The contestants are now doing something inexplicably romantic with tree bark.

“…Hard maybe.”

She laughs, and the sound fills the space between your ribs like sunlight through a cracked window. She’s not being seductive. She’s not playing the vixen. But in this moment — hoodie on, mascara slightly smudged, curled around you like she was made for your side — you feel the tension that’s been in your chest for weeks finally melt.

Her voice softens again. “Elijah… I heard what you said earlier. About still being a virgin.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“I’m not bringing it up to make it weird,” she assures you quickly. “I just… I want you to know that I don’t think that makes you broken. Or behind. Or anything else people might try to label it.”

You nod. “I appreciate that.”

“I don’t need you to rush,” she adds, more quiet now. “I don’t need you to perform. I just need you to be real. And you’re doing that. Every single day. Even when it’s hard.”

You breathe in. The moment feels sacred, like speaking too loud would pop it like a bubble.

“Thank you,” you say. It feels too small for what you want to express, but she seems to understand.

She presses a kiss to your chest, then sighs. “We should move to bed before I pass out and wake up with couch-neck.”

You chuckle. “Good call.”

You both stand and shuffle toward the bedroom, trading yawns. You pull back the blankets while Momo tosses all the throw pillows off the bed like a tiny, tired goblin. When you finally lie down, she immediately presses herself against your side, an arm draped over your stomach.

“Don’t let the dumb boys mess with your head,” she mumbles into your shirt. “They don’t get to have you the way I do.”

You stroke her hair. “They don’t.”

“Good.” A pause. “Now sleep.”

And you do — faster than you have in weeks — wrapped in the kind of quiet that feels earned, not given.

The next morning you are woken feeling something soft on your face only to realize that it’s Momo Kissing you.

“Someone is feeling good,” you say jokingly and Momo grabs your face.

“I’ve been needing you and I got you,” before kissing you again. Momo lifted up her (your top) and begins kissing you with more fire. As her lips reach your collar she puts your hands on her breasts and begins grinding on your crotch. You groan as does feeling her heat.

She breaks a kiss then says, “Are you ready?” You groan and then say

“Not yet Momo” Momo smiled then said,

“Well then I’ll be waiting,” before giving one last good grind on your pelvis before getting up and leaving.

The rest of the weekend follows this pattern of her alternating between soft and sultry leaving you on edge, but a good one.

The lecture wraps with scattered claps, and you step away from the podium, mentally ticking through how well you stuck to your outline. It wasn’t your best delivery — a little meandering near the middle — but the students stayed engaged, and a few even looked up from their phones. You’ll take the win.

You grab your water bottle, gather your notes, and sling your messenger bag over your shoulder when your phone buzzes. Unknown number. Normally you’d ignore it, but something makes you answer.

“Hello?”

A pause. Then a voice you haven’t heard in a while — soft, deliberate, like she’s testing the air between you.

“Elijah? It’s Grace.”

You stop in your tracks halfway to the door.

“…Hey. Wow. Uh—hey.”

She gives a small exhale that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Sorry. I know it’s random. I just—Nathan called me. Today. Out of nowhere.”

You feel your spine straighten slightly.

“He…apologized,” she says, still in disbelief. “Like, a real apology. Not one of those ‘I’m sorry you feel that way’ things.”

You lean against the wall of the empty hallway, adjusting your grip on your bag. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Right?” she says. “He said he’s been doing some thinking. That someone called him out and made him realize how unfair he’d been. That I didn’t deserve what he put on me. That I didn’t do anything wrong.”

She pauses, as if waiting for you to fill in the silence. You don’t. You let her have the space.

“I guess I’m calling because… well, you know how long I waited to hear that. But now that I have, I’m just… confused.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it.

“I don’t know what to do with it. Like, part of me wants to believe he’s changed. Another part of me thinks it doesn’t matter anymore. But I don’t want to be bitter, Elijah. I’m just tired.”

You glance out the window. It’s a warm day, but the clouds hang low, like they’re trying to settle something with the sun.

“I think,” you say carefully, “you should take the apology in stride. Let it be what it is — a sign of growth. For him. But it doesn’t mean you owe him anything. Closure isn’t a contract.”

She’s quiet, listening.

“You’re allowed to keep your boundaries. You’re allowed to say, ‘Thank you… and I’m still done.’ Forgiveness and re-entry aren’t the same thing.”

She lets out a small breath, like she’s been waiting for permission to believe that.

“Thanks,” she says. “You always had this… clarity thing going. Like a lighthouse. Or a buzzy fridge that hums a truth you didn’t want to hear.”

You chuckle. “A fridge is a new one.”

She laughs too, and it feels like a small healing.

“Well,” she says, “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to say… thanks. For being one of the people who sees through the bullshit.”

“Anytime, Grace.”

“Take care, Elijah.”

“You too.”

She hangs up. You slide your phone back into your pocket, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel the quiet pride of having helped someone breathe a little easier — even if it came from cleaning up someone else’s mess.

The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the stove clock and the flickering light from the muted TV. You’re on the couch, sunk into the cushions with a blanket half-tangled around your legs and Momo’s head resting on your chest, her fingers tracing idle shapes along your arm.

She doesn’t say anything at first — just lets the silence stretch, the two of you breathing in the kind of comfort that only comes after a long day. Her body is warm, grounding. She smells like peach shampoo and laundry detergent. Familiar. Safe.

But she always knows.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs.

You don’t look down at her. Just keep staring at the closed captions dancing across the bottom of the screen.

“Had a phone call,” you say.

“Bad?”

“No,” you sigh. “Just… surprising. Nathan’s ex called me.”

Momo slowly tilts her head up, resting her chin on your chest. “Why?”

“She wanted to know what his apology meant. If it was real. What she should do with it.”

Momo blinks. “He apologized?”

“Apparently.”

She whistles, then props her chin on your sternum like a lazy cat. “I’m guessing that apology has you written all over it.”

You shrug. “I told him the truth. He took it how he took it.”

She studies your face in the low light. “But it’s sitting heavy.”

You hesitate. Then nod.

“I told her she didn’t owe him anything. That she could accept the apology and still keep her distance. And she… sounded relieved. Grateful. Like someone had lifted a weight she didn’t even know she was carrying.”

Momo’s eyes soften. “That’s a good thing, Elijah.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “It’s just weird, being the one people come to. Sometimes I feel like I’m just… handing out life jackets while I’m still trying to keep my own head above water.”

She leans up, kissing your jaw gently. “You’re better at swimming than you think.”

You let out a small laugh. “You’re biased.”

“I’m devoted,” she says dramatically, curling her fingers around your shirt. “Which is better than biased. You forget, I’m also a gremlin. I know how to spot a drowning man pretending he’s fine.”

You turn your head to look at her. “Is that what I’m doing?”

Momo shrugs with a teasing smirk. “No. But it sounded cool. You’re doing fine. Just… human fine. The kind with dents.”

You wrap your arm tighter around her. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” She kisses your chest lightly. “Now stop brooding and come to bed. You were my weighted blanket last week. I plan to return the favor.”

“You’re like ninety-eight pounds.”

“Yeah, but my emotional gravity is crushing.”

You let her pull you up off the couch, both of you stumbling toward the bedroom in sleepy half-laughter. And even though the day still sits behind your ribs, you feel lighter than you did before.

She was right. You’re dented, not broken.

And for now — for tonight — that’s more than enough.

The next evening you and Momo went to Jihyo’s apartment for dinner as a sort of evaluation.

The house is warm, louder than you’re used to, filled with laughter, music, and the unmistakable energy of women who have danced through hell together and come out with matching smiles and inside jokes. Jihyo’s place is sleek but homey — framed tour posters, twinkle lights, the smell of too many dishes being cooked at once.

You’re sitting at the far end of the dining table, with Momo pressed to your side like she’s trying to psychically shield you from the intensity of the scrutiny coming from every direction. You feel like a contestant on a cooking show… and you are the main course.

“So,” Dahyun starts, grinning. “Elijah. That’s a biblical name.”

You nod. “Yep. Parents were very… theme-forward.”

Sana leans forward, sipping wine. “And what’s your biggest flaw?”

Momo groans, “Unnie—”

“It’s a valid question!”

“I overthink things,” you say, trying to play it off.

Jihyo eyes you like a military general. “What do you want from Momo?”

The table quiets slightly. Momo tenses beside you.

You look straight at Jihyo. “Whatever she’s willing to give.”

Mina, quiet until now, tilts her head with the kind of thoughtful smile that carries both approval and warning. “Good answer.”

The night continues in a whirl of food and probing conversation. At one point, Chaeyoung and Tzuyu pull Momo into the kitchen, and you’re left with the rest of the troupe who volley you with rapid-fire questions ranging from politics to pop culture to how many squats you can do without crying.

But somehow… it’s not overwhelming. It’s weirdly reassuring. Like being vetted by secret agents in sweatpants.

Eventually, the night winds down. Goodbye hugs, promises to meet again. Jihyo shoots you a final glance that seems to say, I’m watching you — but with a smile.

⸻

Back at your apartment, Momo’s hair is damp from a quick shower and she’s wearing one of your hoodies, her knees tucked under her chin on your couch.

“They like you,” she says. “Which is rare. Sana didn’t try to flirt, and Dahyun didn’t try to fake a murder. That’s progress.”

You smile as you collapse beside her. “I’ll take that as a glowing endorsement.”

She goes quiet for a second.

“They’re planning a tour,” she says finally. “Three months. Asia and Europe mostly. It’s not official yet, but they wanted to know if I’d be in.”

You glance over at her. “And?”

“I want to. I miss the stage. I miss… that version of me.”

You nod, letting the silence speak for you for a beat. Then, “We’ll make it work.”

She blinks at you. “You mean like, long distance?”

“I mean like, I’ll come with you.”

She lets out a surprised laugh. “You can’t just… leave. You’re a professor.”

You turn your head toward her, calm. “I can leave anytime. I don’t need the job. This was all a bet.”

She laughs again — but it’s more hesitant this time. “Wait… what?”

You keep your eyes on hers. “The job. The whole academic path. I took it because someone told me I couldn’t do it. That I wasn’t built for structure. So I proved them wrong. I got the degrees. I published the papers. I taught the classes.”

Her face slowly falls into something unreadable.

“And now?”

You shrug. “I’ve proven my point. What I want now is freedom. Choice. You.”

She’s silent, staring at you like she’s trying to recalibrate her entire understanding of who you are. Finally, she whispers, “You were serious.”

“Yeah.”

“…Holy shit,” she says, her voice barely audible. Then softer still: “You’d really come with me?”

You reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. “Anywhere you go.”

She leans forward and kisses you — not fiercely, not hungrily, but with the kind of trembling tenderness that comes when someone realizes you’re offering them something they’ve never been offered before.

Then, quietly, she says, “You better not make me cry right before I pack.”

You smile. “Then pack quickly.”

It’s the last day of the semester. The walls of your office are nearly bare now — the shelves once filled with annotated texts and stress snacks are empty, the desk cleared except for one final stack of papers, and a check.

AJ is standing across from you with an expression that somehow balances annoyance, pride, and deep resignation. He’s holding the check out like it personally offends him, but you can tell by the way he’s fidgeting with the envelope that he’s already accepted the loss.

“You really made me do it,” he mutters. “I mean, the whole department thought you’d crash and burn. Hell, I thought you’d crash and burn.”

You take the check and glance at it. It’s everything he promised: the payout for the bet. A full reimbursement for your doctorate program and every dollar spent getting you accredited and legally certified to teach.

You slip it into your coat pocket without ceremony. “I told you I’d survive.”

AJ scoffs. “You barely survived.”

You smirk. “Still counts.”

He groans and rubs his forehead. “You’re leaving to follow a pop star around the globe. This is what you’re doing with your elite education?”

You shrug. “I survived teaching. I can do anything.”

AJ stares at you… and then barks out a laugh. The kind of laugh that says he’s genuinely impressed but also deeply annoyed by it.

“I hate how much sense that makes.”

He walks around the desk and pulls you in for one of those short, aggressive, manly hugs that’s half back-pat, half unspoken emotion.

“Be careful out there,” he says into your shoulder.

You nod. “I will.”

“You ever need to come back—”

“Don’t worry,” you cut in. “If academia ever calls again, I’ll let it go to voicemail.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re such a little shit.”

As you step out into the hallway, Momo is leaning against the far wall, wearing your hoodie over bike shorts, scrolling through a list of rehearsal schedules on her phone. She glances up and beams when she sees you.

“Did he pay up?”

You pat your pocket. “Like a man watching his ex get married.”

Momo slides her arm around your waist. “Ready to go?”

You take one last look at the department office behind you. The lecture halls. The lockers covered in flyers. The ghosts of debates and red ink.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s go see the world.”

She squeezes your hand as you walk off together — past the bulletin boards, past the final grades, past the old life you’d outgrown — and into whatever comes next.

The apartment is chaos, in that soft, controlled way only people in love can pull off.

Suitcases half-zipped. Clothes folded neatly… then hastily shoved to make room for last-minute “essentials.” Momo is kneeling by the couch, trying to fit an entire makeup case into a bag that was already declared full two hours ago. You’re crouched over your vinyl collection, trying to justify bringing more than three records.

“This one’s for late-night rehearsals,” you say, holding up a jazz album.

“You’re bringing a record player?” she calls out.

“No. But it’s the principle.”

She laughs, that breathy kind of tired-happy laugh that always makes your chest ache in the good way. “You’re ridiculous.”

There’s a knock at the door. Three sharp taps.

You glance at Momo. She shrugs.

You open the door.

Darin and Nathan stand there. Both of them… weirdly put together. Hair combed. Matching grimaces of awkward sincerity. Nathan’s holding what looks like a bakery box. Darin has a six-pack of some indie root beer.

You lean on the doorframe.

“Tour starts tomorrow,” you say dryly. “Little late for airport snacks.”

Nathan opens his mouth, then closes it again. Darin nudges him with his elbow.

“We, uh…” Nathan tries again. “We came to say goodbye. And, um. Thanks.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“For?” you ask.

Darin rubs the back of his neck. “For not giving up on us. For yelling when we needed to be yelled at. And for being right, even when we didn’t want you to be.”

Nathan mutters, “Especially that last part. God, you’re so annoying when you’re right.”

You step aside and let them in. They glance around at the luggage explosion and vinyl stacks.

“You really leaving all this?” Darin asks.

You nod. “I survived teaching. The rest is easy.”

Nathan grins. “Still milking that line, huh?”

Momo appears from the hallway wearing one of your oversized tees and no makeup, her hair in a bun, cheeks slightly flushed from wrestling her suitcase.

“Oh,” she says, spotting the guests. “We have visitors?”

Nathan fumbles to say hi, and Darin just waves awkwardly. There’s a beat of silence.

Then Momo walks right over and wordlessly wedges herself between you and them. Not hostile — just deliberate. Her hand finds yours. Her body leans in just enough to be territorial without being confrontational.

“You two behave,” she says with a teasing grin, but her tone has edge.

Nathan raises his hands. “We’re cool. Promise.”

Darin glances between you and Momo, then nods. “Take care of each other.”

Momo smiles, but it’s small. “Always.”

The moment stretches — this strange truce of broken pride and newfound peace.

They leave soon after. You close the door gently, the latch clicking like the end of a chapter.

Momo exhales and flops onto the couch. “Think that was the closest we’ll ever get to an apology from them?”

“Definitely,” you say, sitting beside her.

She leans her head on your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

“Think we’ll be okay out there?” she murmurs.

You kiss

[snoopyhughes]

wanting was enough (ck9)

Happy summer fic exchange @2manytabsopen !! I hope you love this and it fits what you were looking for. Special thanks as always to @wyattjohnston for hosting this wonderful event for our community and to @captain-huggy-bear for the gif! If you're over 18, go check out my dear Lottie's writing and gifs! It's only fitting considering she has reminded me how much I love Clay <3 I haven't written for Clay in probably almost 10 years so hopefully I got the characterization right. Title from August by Taylor Swift.

Best friends to lovers, wedding fic, "Matthew" could be read as mtkachuk or just a guy lol. 2.7k words, written for a fem reader but I don't believe any pronouns are mentioned.

Clayton Keller was utterly screwed.

Or at least that's what it felt like when his year long situationship told him that she wouldn't travel back to Missouri with him for a wedding for his best friend. In hind sight, it really was a silly question. How could he have expected someone he couldn't even put a label on to travel across the states with him for a wedding of two people she'd never met.

But now here he was, back at home in Saint Louis, mumbling to himself in the grocery store about how he was never going to find a date and how Matthew was going to kill him. He had RSVP'd for a plus one, and really it wasn't that Matthew couldn't afford to eat the cost of his non-existent date. It was the fact everyone in their friend group from back home was settling down, and he couldn't even fathom putting a label on his "situation" with a girl for a year. They both felt that it was better off that way, but now any way he turned it, it just looked silly.

He knew what his friends would say. That he was too critical, too judgmental, just waiting around for someone absolutely perfect to come around and knock him off of his feet. But that really wasn't the case. In Arizona he felt like he was constantly bustling around and couldn't settle down, and then by the time that he felt like he had his feet underneath him, the rug was swept out, he was relocated to Utah.

He swore he could hear the voices of his friends and their snarky comments as he walked through the aisles, trying to find the couple of things that his mom needed for dinner tonight. It was then that he realized that it wasn't the voice of his friends, but there was a voice speaking to him. He thought for a second that it could've been a fan, but there was a distinctly familiar quality to the voice that he heard. It sounded like honey, warming his insides and causing a blush to his cheeks that he hadn't felt in years. When he turned around, his suspicions were confirmed. It was you, his childhood best friend, who he hadn't spoken to since before his move to Utah.

Yeah, that was a low blow. The two of you grew up together, spending every waking moment together from Pre-K all the way until high school. You even spent your summers working together at the summer camp up by your lake house that Clayton had practically lived at all summer. When he spent two weeks there and one week at home on and off for the entire summer, it was hard to say that he didn't live there when he spend more time living at your family's lake house than he did at his house, much to his mother's dismay.

"Did you start talking to ghosts since the last time we spoke, howler? I can imagine you had to resort to something since you all but ghosted me but I didn't think you'd have to stoop this low." You had the teasing tone you always had when you talked to him, still calling him the stupid nickname you gave him when you were 17 years old and your best friend was drafted to the Arizona Coyotes. In a way, it refreshed him to hear that. If you called him howler, you couldn't possibly hate him as much as he thought you must've.

"Lose the light in your eyes, don't think because I called you howler that we're on good terms. I just hoped it would annoy you as much as it did when we were kids," you joked, trying to mask the hurt you felt. "We were 17 when you came up with that nickname," he said back, trying to mask his own hurt at your comment, although he knew it was him in the wrong, not the other way around. No, to him, you were perfect.

"That's the age of children, Clayton. God, those Utah people haven't taught you anything, have they?" You quipped, causing him to smile. "Well then I assume if you're calling me howler then I can call you sugar. Certainly that won't bother you." He came back with a smirk. After your creation of the nickname "howler" he knew he had to come up with a nickname for you. He decided on sugar, your massive sweet tooth was undeniable. Clayton had been bringing you a sweet treat or having one ready for you every time you got together since he had his own money, and before that he always made sure his mom took him to the store to pick out the perfect selection of sweet treats, even if you were just coming over for an hour.

"Call me whatever you want, Keller. I'm unphased." You started to turn on your heels when he reached out and grabbed your arm without thinking. "Wait, don't go. I've missed you. I'm sorry, the move was really hard on me. I wish I could go back in time and have reached out after the move but I felt paralyzed. I felt like the further away I got from home, the further I strayed from you. I wasn't sure if you would want to keep waiting around for me to come home." He wasn't sure what it was about the produce aisle of the local grocery store that made him open up like this, but he wasn't sure when the next time he would see you would be, and he wanted to get everything out before you could go.

"Clayton, isn't Utah technically geographically closer to St Louis than Arizona? Anyways. We'd been best friends since we were 4. What makes you think that a relocation, against your will, mind you, would have made me leave? It just feels like you didn't give me the chance to make that decision. I'd think you'd have known that I wouldn't be going anywhere after 20 plus years but maybe I didn't make that clear enough." You scoffed at his impulsivity to make decisions, wishing you would have known he was feeling this way.

"Whatever, what's past is past. Let's just move on, maybe get drinks sometime soon?" Before the word soon is completely out of your mouth, Clayton cuts you off. "Will you come to Matthew's wedding with me?" he blurts out, seemingly still not aware that he's in the middle of the aisle at the local Kroger. "You're joking, right? You think I'd want to go to that asshole's wedding? Last time I saw him he puked his cheap beer all over me in Ballpark Village 8 years ago. No shot," you scoffed, shocked that he had asked.

"C'mon, now's your chance to get him back. Run up the tab at the open bar. I'll buy you a dress if you don't have anything. It's just downtown but we can get a hotel so no one has to drive home. I'm sure the food will be great, his fiance's sister owns a catering company." Clayton tried to reason with you, but he really wasn't panicking. He just had an inkling that you'd give in.

You scowled at him, the both of you knowing that you'd give in. You had trouble saying no to him, no matter how much you wanted to flip him off and leave him stranded in the produce aisle. "Fine. I need a dress, you're driving to and paying for the hotel, and I swear to god, if any one of those goons tries to pester me, I'm leaving immediately." He grinned knowing it would be him.

----------

You had not expected the luxury branded box to show up at your door after you sent Clayton the link to a dress you'd liked from an online boutique, but in hindsight, you really should've seen it coming. Clayton loved to spoil you, and anytime you let him, he went all out. You shook your head, wishing you'd had forced him to honor a price limit with the dress.

The dress fit beautifully, and you made sure to send Clayton a quick message thanking him for the outfit. The two of you texted plans for the night back and forth, getting ready for the wedding that was only in 48 hours. You felt yourself smiling at his messages, wondering how you could fall for his charm so easily again. But the thing about Clayton is that he never changes. He could make a billion dollars throughout his career and he'd still be the same fun loving, boy next door that you've known since you had to be told you couldn't eat crayons even if they were food colored.

When you woke up the next morning, you hoped you could convince yourself that the dream you had about Clayton was purely incidental, even though you knew damn well.

----------------

"3 o'clock means 3 o'clock, sugar," Clayton mused at you from your living room. Despite living in your hometown, you were no longer living with your family. You lived in a 1 bedroom apartment in the city, grateful that you didn't have to settle for a studio. Especially in this very moment. Your palms sweat and shook as you tried to get yourself ready. Your jewelry was slipping out of your hands, your fingers struggling to grip the zipper of the expensive dress. You didn't know why you were so nervous, it was just howler, you tried to convince yourself, but you both knew better. You had been texting constantly since your run in at the grocery store, and even more so since the dress arrived at your house 2 nights ago. You were hoping you could push these feelings aside. There was no logic to being with Clayton. Long distance at this time in your life would be difficult. Who are you kidding, you're still trying to suppress the crush you've had for a decade, not bring it back up.

"I know, Kells. I'm trying my best." You muttered out disconcertingly, causing his brows to furrow. Your tone made him nervous. Were you even ready at all? Maybe you had decided to back out at the last second as payback for the past year of silence. He shook his head, making his way towards your bedroom door, slowly rapping his knuckles on it. "Sugar? You need any help? I've got two working hands if you need help with a clasp or a zipper. I can't help you with the makeup, though. Sorry about that," he rambled along, hearing you scoff on the other side of the door. Your footsteps grew louder as you walked toward the door, opening it slowly.

Clayton thought he was going to pass out. He thought it could be possible considering he was wearing a suit in Missouri in the middle of July, but this was certainly what was going to do it for him. Tucked inside in the air conditioning, his heart was going to give out. "Sugar..." he mumbled off, not able to take his eyes off of you. "Do I look stupid? I knew this dress was too expensive," you rattled off and Clayton had to grab onto your hands as you walked past, stopping you in your tracks. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Sorry?" You asked, mumbling sheepishly. "The fact that you think that you look anything less than jaw dropping, stunning, makes me sick." He muttered, reaching out to grab onto your waist.

This was foreign territory. The two of you had always used alcohol as an excuse to get touchy. You weren't an inherently touchy pair of best friends, but you used the excuse every once and a while. When you couldn't stand it anymore. But this was in broad daylight, no excuse other than Clayton wanted to touch you and he would be damned if he couldn't. Unless of course, you asked him not to.

"Clay, thank you. Can you tie the strap on the neck please?" You asked, trying to divert your attention to anything besides the tension that was growing between the two of you. You could both feel a shift happening between the two of you. You both were toeing the line between best friends and something more.

Clayton tied the strap loosely, hoping you couldn't feel his clammy, shaking hands, or hear the way his breath was speeding up just at the mere proximity of the two of you. After that, you slipped on your shoes, Clayton helping you walk to the car.

You drove to the venue in comfortable silence, only about 20 minutes away from your apartment. Clayton had insisted on booking a hotel, but you insisted it wasn't necessary. His apartment in the city was a good hike from both yours and the venue, so you offered for him to sleep on the couch if he really needed it.

You arrived at the venue just in time for the ceremony. Taking your seat, Clayton followed you into the row next to you. You sat admiring the art in the church, having no idea that Clayton's gaze was on you. Eventually, the bridal parties started filing in, causing everyone's attention to turn. With the sharing of the vows, you felt Clayton reach down and grab your hand. You put yours on top of his, once again hoping he couldn't feel how shaky and clammy you were. You weren't sure where this excessive touching was coming from, chalking it up to the emotions of seeing his good friend get married.

The two of you mingled both together and separately during the cocktail hour, as well as during the dinner. Clayton was the life of every party, and you were enjoying catching up with some people you hadn't seen in a while. The two of you only sat down to enjoy your meal.

Eventually, the music turned on after the ceremonial dances, and a slow song came on. "Well I didn't put this in the job description, but would you dance with me, sugar?" Clayton asked, sticking his hand out to you like you were guests at a ball. "I'd love to, Mr Keller." He helped you up, guiding you out to the dance floor. It was funny to think about all of the casual times you'd spent with your best friend, definitely never having envisioned the two of you slow dancing.

"Sugar, I can't do this anymore," Clayton's voice broke out of the music, causing you to freeze. "What happened? Did I step on your toes too much? Are my hands too sweaty?" Your heart started racing, not sure what went wrong. You felt like this was perfect, exactly where you wanted to be.

"Nothing, you're perfect. It's just, I can't keep pretending anymore. Sugar, I love you. So much. I've loved you since we met in preschool. I loved you when I was drafted to the league and you gave me that horrible nickname. I loved you when I moved around the country for 82 games, wanting nothing more than to be home with you every night. And yes, I loved you when we were apart. I can't believe I let you slip away for that long. Please tell me I didn't screw this up."

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. You have had feelings for Clayton for a long time, apparently not as long as he had for you, but since high school. You never thought he'd feel the same way, and even if he did, you thought the distance would be too much.

"You don't have to say anything, I'm sorry if I ruined everything." Not wanting words to fail you anymore, you did the first thing you could think to do. You kissed him. You kissed him so hard he took a step back, stumbling, before regaining his steps and grabbing your waist, dipping you down like you two were the ones walking down the aisle. You giggled out loud, always having loved Clayton's playful nature.

"I love you, howler. Even if you think it is a horrible nickname," you laughed, leaning your head against his chest. "Nothing you could ever do or be is horrible. You make every day better. You're perfect. I love you."

Your friends cheered around you, even having seen a few exchange money as bets. Apparently, everyone could see the love you had for each other. You just needed the magic of a wedding and the produce aisle to bring you two together, where you belonged.

[allconsumingdesire-net]

hot and heavy (part two)

read part one here

warnings: assistant!reader x avenger john, possessive john walker, drinking, slight violence, unprotected sex (once again.. sorry), pinv sex, blowjob, tit sucking, love confessions, fluff

the fifth floor of the compound looked quite breathtaking.

valentina really pulled out all the stops with this one. lavish decorations could be found at every inch of the room, along with gold streamers draped elegantly across the ceiling, and large tables decorated elegantly in the middle of the space.

as you looked around the room you caught mel’s eye, which definitely looked like she had been looking for you for the past five minutes. john had caught this too.

“looks like the duties never end huh?”

“definitely. you think this counts as overtime?” you let out a small chuckle at the thought. you turned to john who was already surrounded by a crowd of press. he then flashed you a small smile and mouthed a small “i’m sorry.”

mel had a series of menial tasks for you to do around the compound to “ensure the happiness of everyone” either way as everyone enjoyed the party, you ran around and did the tasks no one else would. but you didn’t mind, because what else would you do? you were kinda close to yelena and bob, who were currently bombarded by the press. there were some work friends, but as you hadn’t seen them in so long, or even talked to them you felt awkward.

so you found yourself at the bar, which was decorated so lavishly you felt out of place just sitting on the bar stool. what were you even doing here? you hated parties, you hated talking to people, why did john even want you to go?

“hey can i get a vodka cranberry?” bad choice, but it was just one, just to feel a little better.

but as the the night went on you got yourself three, or was it four..? you couldn’t even tell yourself, but thank god for your party phase during college, because you were just tipsy.

a man sat next to you on the bar.

“i’ll get whatever she’s having thanks.” you turned to face him, it was that guy from.. fuck was it tech or management?? either way he was kinda cute. if you looked at him from behind… he was not as cute as john though. he turned to face you.

“hi, i’m kevin nice to meet you.” he smiled at you, and you gave him a slight one in return.

“i’ve seen you around haven’t i?”

“yeah, you have. i came over because i wanted to talk to the pretty lady who was all alone.” his tone was clearly flirty and he puffed his chest out to make himself appear more… attractive? it wasn’t working clearly.

“oh? are you hitting on me?” you quirked your eyebrow at him. he shrugged his shoulders.

“maybe, what happens if i was?”

“i would tell you im kinda in something with someone right now.” your eyes lingered towards john, who was now laughing heartily with bucky.

“like what?” how do you tell someone that you were loyal to your non committal hookup that you were hopelessly in love with? so you just said,

“it’s complicated.”

he raised an eyebrow at your response, saying,

“well it doesn’t matter to-“

you felt a tap on your shoulder. finding bob behind you. thank fucking god you were gonna lose your mind if you had to deal with kevin for another minute.

“hi bob! omg does yelena need for me for that thing!”

bob looked at you confusingly, his face contorting in confusion. you raised your eyebrows and nodded towards kevin.

“oh! uh-yeah! yes!”

“okay let’s go then!”

you grabbed bob’s arm and headed, no practically ran towards yelena.

“you had kevin from managment hitting on you?” yelena laughed so hard you swore she was gonna piss herself. you groaned grumpily.

you were now sitting at the table in the middle of the floor for the “exquisite” dinner the evening built up to. all cameras and creepy reporters have now left, bringing definite ease to the new avengers minds. you found yourself seated next to john (who rudely pushed ava out of the chair so he could sit next to you btw).

“who’s kevin?” john asked, looking almost.. was it angry?

“some guy don’t worry about it” you said, but john gave you a very pressing look, like he definitely wasn’t gonna stop worrying anytime soon. which was definitely weird, but confronting john about this would mean confronting your own feelings for him. so you’d ignore the voice in your head that said john was jealous.

after what seemed like a million courses, dinner was concluded. now it was mostly just employees hanging around the bar. yelena had sent you over there too because it looked like everyone was in the mood of getting drunk tonight. you had just told the bartender all of the drink orders when kevin walked up to you.

“heyyyy” he was clearly drunk, not even being able to walk straight. you huffed in annoyance.

“so whoooosss the lucky fella huh? some lucky guy to be complicated with you” he slurred his words as he struggled to even stand up straight. you didn’t answer him.

“oh so we’re quiet now? okay then i see..” he put a hand on your shoulder.

“cmon who is-“ john appeared behind you, arms crossed.

“who is what?” he asked kevin.

“ohhh is this the lucky guy? makes sense you’re loyal to fucking junior varsity captain america. aww you love him don’t you is that why it’s complicated?”

“say that again i dare you.”

“junior varsity-“ john had punched kevin. walker, the super soldier, military weapon, strong, muscular, walker had punched a normal man who was to drunk to not say dumb stuff. but fuck that was hot

“john holy shit!” you tried to stay calm as you watched blood gush from kevin’s nose. you looked over to where the group was and now saw bucky, yelena, ava, alexei, and bob stare in shock. they were making their way over to you guys.

“john we gotta go, cmon!” you grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the elevator. john was shaking.

“do you wanna tell me what that was for?” the doors dinged shut as you clicked the button to the twentith floor, the apartment floor.

john kept silent. you looked at him pointedly.

“look first he was hitting on you all night making you all uncomfortable, and then he insulted me and that was my last straw okay?” john looked ashamed. and you knew he felt guilty, because john always acted impulsively rarely thinking about his actions. and he tended to regret them when he did that.

“why does him hitting on me make you uncomfortable?” he kept silent.

“i don’t want someone thinking of you like that” he mumbled. your heart tumbled dangerously in your chest. was it…possible? there was no way though, you were just a stupid assistant who was just a body to him.

“like what? like romantically? what do you mean john?”

“i- i like you. i just got fucking jealous okay? i’m sorry i’ve been trying to work on my-“ he sighed out.

he likes you. john walker the guy you’ve had the hots for since he was announced captain america liked you. fuck.

you kissed him. john’s eyes widened in shock before you pulled away.

“i like you too john.” now it was john jumping into you. his lips crashed into yours as he pinned you against the wall of the elevator. the doors dinged open. he pulled you out the doors with a grunt, clearly eager to get you to his room.

you were breathless as he hoisted your legs across his waist. he pulled away from you.

“this whole time. this whole fucking time you’ve wanted me just as bad? fuck.” he started kissing down your neck as he walked the hallway down to his bedroom. you whined around the harsh bites he was making all over your neck.

closing the door behind him he sat on the bed, which left you on his lap. you held yourself up onto his shoulders and looked into his eyes.

“john i’ve always liked you, always. and i tried to pretend this was nothing, that i felt nothing but i can’t anymore. god i think im in love with you.” john pressed him lips into you, grabbing your jaw gently as he did.

“i do too.” you smiled at him, and john smiled back. your heart fluttered in your chest. you joined your lips together in a passionate kiss. john rolled his hips up into you, igniting a moan from you.

you rolled your hips down into him, turning yourself on more. you disconnected your lips from john.

“john clothes off, please.” you tugged at the hem of his suit jacket. john took it off with a chuckle, and then going to unzip your dress. deciding he was taking too long taking off his shirt, you decided to take it off him. as you unbuttoned his shirt, you pressed kisses along his chest.

john slid down your dress where you revealed yourself as braless.

“fuck.” john growled we he began to suck your nipples and kiss around the valley of your breasts.

“john! please fuck me, hurry!” you whined out as you writhed around his mouth.

“jesus okay, i got you pretty.” he chuckled at your eagerness.

you peeled the rest of your dress off and then got john’s pants off, pushing him down onto the mattress as you did so.

“let me suck you off johnny?” fuck john almost came at the mention of that nickname.

“god yes.” you took his cock into your hand slightly as you kitten licked the tip. his whimpers spurring you on to make him feel better.

“so pretty, so gorgeous just for me.” you took his cock into your mouth and he whimpered even louder. as you started bobbing your head up and down faster he got closer.

“yes just like that let me-“ you took your mouth off him, pulling off with a pop. john almost whined, but you sunk yourself into him. both of you groaned. john sat up to put his hands on your hips.

“you make me feel so good john gosh.”

“i do? well you’re all mine now. all mine” john growled, biting your earlobe. you bounced faster on john’s cock, before john took your nipple into his mouth.

you moaned louder, nearly screaming his name.

“yes just like that john!” and with another bounce you came around him. the feeling of your walls tightening around him left john cumming too.

after he had cleaned you up as well as himself, he laid in bed next to you.

“i love you johnny.”

“love you too pretty.”

the next morning you found yourself in the communal kitchen, hoping to make a cup of coffee before you headed back home. wearing john’s button up you admired the view from the large window in the kitchen.

“so when did you and john start getting all hot and heavy?”

you whipped your head back to find the thunderbolts, the entirety of them (except john who was still sleeping soundly in bed) looking at you. bucky had his arms crossed, still waiting for an answer from his question.

“oh hey guys..” you laughed awkwardly. john suddenly came from the hallway, rubbing his eyes. he opened his eyes to find you, half naked, in his clothes, surrounded by him teammates.

“we’re dating!” said john. yelena butted in,

“as of last night!”

john and yelena started arguing over how you guys got together. bob smiled at you happily.

“i was wondering when you guys would get together” you smiled back at him.

you were so happy to have your john be yours now.

a/n: hot and heavy is now completed! this one took me longer as i wanted to have a good storyline laid out. thanks for all the support on hot and heavy, i really appreciate it. don’t forget to reblog and like! see you all later.

-rebekah ❤️

[wyattjohnston]

mary was the marrying kind

summary: not everybody gets the happy ending.

pairing: brock boeser/oc/quinn hughes (varying levels of requited)

word count: 4.1k

note: for @bqstqnbruin hi chrissy!! i hope that you find this suitably angsty. thank you to @comphy-and-cozy for brainstorming and keeping me sane. re the pairings above... you're gonna have to work out what they mean by reading.

warning: this is unresolved angst (or as close as i'm capable of)

Jenny.

Mary had heard nothing every single item of clothing be pulled out of Jenny’s closet in the last 20 minutes and was grateful that the bedroom door could be shut behind her to pretend the mess didn’t exist. At the very least it made her Friday nights interesting because she never knew what Jenny would be wearing when she was finally ready to leave.

Mary didn’t see Jenny leave her bedroom, just heard the telltale sound of heels on floorboards, and a slight whoosh behind her, and shifted on the couch to watch Jenny at the kitchen counter emptying things from her normal bag into a smaller clutch.

“Are you coming back tonight?”

“Hope not. Don’t know, though.”

“Where are you going? What’s the guy’s name? If I haven’t heard from you by midday tomorrow, I’m calling the cops.”

Jenny rattled off the name of a bar in Gastown that Mary had heard plenty of times before, ignored Mary’s comment about touching base—she would check in, as she always did, even if it was at 11:59am—and then paused for effect.

Mary could not have expected that the name that would come out of Jenny’s mouth would be Brock Boeser.

“He’s the guy who ghosted me last month,” she said, slowly, drawing her knees to her chest.

Jenny’s head snapped up, her mouth agape. “No way. Really? Huh. You were gutted about that. I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to.”

“You really want to go, though.”

“Well, yeah, he’s Brock Boeser.”

Mary sighed, turning her back to Jenny, and refocusing on the episode of The Crown that she would absolutely have to restart.

“Mary?”

“Go.”

~*~

Jenny continued to see Brock. It didn’t sound like anything serious or groundbreaking when she finally started to talk to Mary about it, but it was happening regularly enough that Mary was waiting to be told that had changed.

It was surprisingly quick for Mary and Brock to be face-to-face, just over a month after the first time—there was never going to be a length of time that felt reasonable to Mary, though. Mostly because she couldn’t come up with any logical or sensible reason why Brock would agree to slum it in their university apartment when wherever he was living was no doubt much nicer.

Mary was in her usual spot on the couch with a bowl of cereal cradled against her chest and spooning a large mouthful of Rice Krispies being forced into her mouth when Jenny’s bedroom door opened. She turned, expecting to see Jenny—instead, she saw Brock and his bare chest.

She gasped, some milk dribbling out of her mouth which she hastily wiped up with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

A brief flash of confusion crossed Brock’s face, and he stopped dead in his tracks to ask, “Have we met?”

“We went on a couple of dates at the start of the season.”

“Oh. Yeah. Hey.”

After that Brock was just kind of around. He and Jenny weren’t dating—or Mary assumed they weren’t because Jenny hadn’t been bragging about it every two seconds—but Brock was in their apartment seemingly more often than he wasn’t.

Mary got used to his presence far quicker than she would have thought. The surprise of waking up to Brock Boeser pouring the last dregs of milk into his coffee wore off soon enough that she was forcing him out the door to buy them more milk within two weeks and making sure to keep something as collateral so he couldn’t run after he did so the first time.

Ally.

There was no logical rhyme or reason as to why Ally—the Ally—was interested in Brock. Well. That’s what most people thought, anyway.

Mary knew exactly why.

So, they hung out with international pop stars, and Mary had to pretend that the two dates she and Brock had gone on less than twelve months earlier meant nothing, and that she was totally one hundred percent fine with being just his friend.

She didn’t even know how she had come out the other side of the Jenny-and-Brock-fling as the one who kept in contact with him, but she had and so she was the one sitting in a hot tub on a balcony that was bigger than their entire university apartment.

Annoyingly, Ally was a lot easier to like than Jenny.

It was just Mary, Ally, Brock and Quinn that night, the season barely having started but the boys both already exhausted and craving a night away from madness but still wanting to be with people. There was nothing hard about being in a hot tub, especially not when it was Quinn and Brock who were charged with getting out of the tub to retrieve drinks.

Awkwardness wasn’t a word Ally had any understanding of, so, there was never any weird silences to overcome, even as the boys disappeared inside.

“Quinn could use a sunshine-y girlfriend,” she said, unprompted, as if Quinn’s love life was a topic she and Mary discussed regularly.

Mary glanced towards the door, to where Quinn had gone inside, and hesitated when she said, “I don’t know if Quinn would be interested in that.”

“He seems pretty into you,” Ally said with a coy head tilt. “I’d call you sunshine-y.”

“Me?” Mary asked, her voice pitching much higher than she’d heard it in years. “No. He’s not into me. Don’t be silly.”

“I think you two would be cute together.”

“I’m not into him,” Mary said meekly, afraid that that might ever get back to Quinn.

“Well, damn,” Ally sighed. “I think you’d be super cute together, so if you change your mind I get the credit.”

Mary didn’t know what to say back, so she was incredibly grateful that the door slid back open and the boys appeared carrying enough drinks to restock the bar fridge they’d already emptied. Brock was making comments about how he was going to buy a bigger bar fridge for the balcony, so that they wouldn’t have to get as often as they had been.

The night carried on, Ally having moved on from the idea of Mary dating Quinn, all whilst Mary was looking between Quinn and Brock wondering how much she was giving away.

She couldn’t tell Ally about her thing for Brock, because pining after another woman’s boyfriend was one thing. It was another entirely to admit it to her face.

~*~

Seeing Brock on the Instagram posts as a background character wasn’t something Mary could get used to. He would just be there in Ally’s photos, looking awkward as the paparazzi just pretended he was another person on the street or even more awkward accidentally being caught half in the frame of fan photos.

Which made it all the weirder when she scrolled past a photo of Ally and scrolled back up to see how dumb Brock looked only to be met with a photo of Ally cuddled up with an actor Mary only vaguely recognised.

Mary paused for a moment, unsure if she was going to make the call, but she had to know.

It took a few rings, but Brock did pick up, as happy as ever.

“What’s up, Mary?”

“Not to, like, jump straight in, but when did you and Ally break up?”

Brock laughed, whether it was at her question or at the lack of preamble Mary didn’t know. A completely normal reaction for Mary’s chest to swell immediately and for her to giggle back.

“Ally and I haven’t broken up,” he told her, still sounding amused, even as Mary’s smile was crumbling and her heart plummeting into her stomach. “Which gossip site is saying that now?”

“Brock, she—there’s photos on Insta of her looking real close with another guy.”

The silence that came across the phone was jarring, like nothing she had ever experienced from Brock before. She waited a moment for him to respond, to properly wrap his head around what she’d said, and when he said nothing, she prompted, quiet and tentative, “Brock?”

The call went dead against her ear.

Jenny (again).

“Are we not entertaining enough for you, Boes?”

Caught red-handed, Brock pushed his phone under his leg and shrugged in Quinn’s direction.

Mary watched in slow motion as the boys descended on Brock. Bodies swarmed him, reaching for his phone under his leg despite his vicious attempts to push everyone away. It was as funny as it was slightly alarming.

Brock did lose the fight once the boys got control of both his arms—only for Quinn to retrieve the phone and be met with a locked phone screen and an inability to read who the texts were coming from. The smirk on Brock’s face was one of pure victory as Quinn threw the phone back in his lap.

Throughout the night, Mary’s eyes drifted to Brock whose eyes remained focussed on his phone, only he’d been smart enough to turn it to silent, so the incessant digging wasn’t drawing anyone’s attention. It wasn’t possible to work out who was texting him, not just by looking at him. It was, to Mary, more annoying than the dinging had been.

Time passed, the music loud, Quinn being handed a new source of liquor whenever he was running low and it was barely anyone’s definition of ‘late’ when Brock started getting ready to leave. No one paid him any mind, far too absorbed into making sure Quinn’s birthday was memorable to see him grab his coat. No one except for Mary, of course.

Brock stopped beside her before he left, leaning down to speak into her ear to be heard over the rest of the room. Mary’s heart skipped a beat.

“Do you wanna come out and see Jenny?”

“Why would I want to see Jenny?” Mary asked, her voice laced with enough venom that Brock recoiled in shock.

“I thought you were friends?”

Mary’s eye roll was vicious. “I’ve seen her twice since we graduated.”

Gretchen.

Mid-week wasn’t ever exciting for Mary—though, truthfully, that wasn’t much different to her weekends. She sat on her couch, ate food she deemed mostly edible and watched as many episodes of Love Island as she could cram into an evening before she really had to go to bed.

Rarely were her plans changed and even rarer was an unplanned interruption, so when she received a call from Brock just after eight o’clock on a Tuesday night, she was more than confused.

“Hello?”

“Hi Mary,” Brock said, morose and dejected. “Are you busy? Can I come over?”

“Uh, yeah, of course you can.”

He was only a few minutes away, so close that Mary couldn’t imagine what would have happened had she told him ‘no’, and it was even less clear when she opened the front door to reveal a more frazzled Brock than she’d ever seen before.

“Is everything okay? Weren’t you supposed to be with Gretchen?”

Mary knew for a fact that he was meant to be with Gretchen, that it was their two-year anniversary and he’d taken her to MIKU and Mary had been teeming with jealousy since she’d heard about it.

The mention of Gretchen’s name made Brock’s face fall, though, and he stepped around Mary to get inside while he simultaneously removed his coat and began to unbutton a few more buttons on his shirt. She shut the door slowly and followed him back into her home, and the brief worry she’d had about not cleaning up for him disappeared when he beelined to her fridge and pulled out a White Claw Mary had forgotten about.

“Brock? Mary prompted, her eyes not leaving him as he continued to wander about.

“She broke up with me.”

“Today?”

Brock’s only response was to crack the White Claw and down about half of it in one breath. He was easy to guide to the couch, flopping down in a heavy lump with an equally as heavy sigh. Mary sat down gingerly at the other end of the couch, just watching him as she waited for the right moment to ask him for any more information.

He was silent for so long, heavy breathing the only sound coming from his direction. She wondered if maybe she should just turn the television on and let him get lost in that instead of thinking about whatever was rolling through his mind. She reached for the remote, the movement jostling Brock and breaking him out of his stupor.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What? No,” she said, immediate and horrified. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

“Gretchen thinks I am. That’s why she ended it.”

Mary listened, every word Brock said was a knife into her own heart as he recounted exactly what Gretchen had said as they sat in his car outside of her apartment building before they’d even set off. All the words she’d said about him not being smart enough for her, that she thought she could get past it, that it would be fine—that she’d met a guy who she could hold a conversation with.

It was heartbreaking enough, the story, but when tears started pooling in Brock’s eyes, one or two slipping down his cheeks, Mary couldn’t help but move over on the couch to wrap her arms around him.

Jenny (once more).

Mary frowned when she noticed the lights that had been left on, first in the hall, and then in the kitchen, and she even saw yellow light emitting from the bedroom. Brock must have been rushing to get out of the house that morning; he never usually left lights on. She was also concerned by the lack of Milo and Coolie circling around her feet.

She whistled once, trying to call their attention, though there was a distinct lack of scurrying feet across floorboards.

“Mary!” a voice called out instead. Mary froze, blood rushing into her ears, but before she could work out whether she was fighting or fleeing, the voice called out again, “It’s Jenny!”

Though still filled with confusion, Mary’s heart did start to beat at a more normal speed.

She waited in the kitchen for Jenny to appear, presuming she was in the bedroom and, having seen far too much of her in the past, Mary was not going to seek her out. The lights flicked off in the bedroom, and the telltale sound of paws drew closer to the kitchen.

Jenny was roughly dressed, but freshly showered, and carrying her shoes in her hands.

“Sorry,” Mary apologised. Coolie appeared at her feet, and she knelt down to scratch him behind the ears. “I’m just here to walk the boys. Brock didn’t say you were here.”

“I’m not supposed to be. I fell back asleep, and I’ll never pass up a chance at the shower pressure here. Time slipped away from me a little bit.”

“It’s fine, I know Brock trusts you.” Mary said, her voice as even as she could muster. “I’m just gonna get them ready to go, you let yourself out or make a coffee or whatever.”

Getting the dogs ready wasn’t hard. Milo and Coolie had both perked up considerably at the word ‘walk’ and they were circling her like sharks as she moved to the front door to put their leashes on to the sound of Jenny rustling around in the kitchen.

Mary was halfway through putting on Coolie’s harness when Jenny was back in her line of sight and then squeezing past her to get to the front door. The goodbyes were quick and not overly heartfelt—since they graduated they had only really seen each other when Jenny and Brock were hooking up—except the door opened before it had properly closed.

Jenny stood with one hand on the doorknob, a pained look on her face.

“Look, Mary, I don’t mean to overstep here, but I’ve been thinking about this for years and will keep kicking myself if I keep my mouth shut much longer.” She inhaled deeply. “You deserve better than how he treats you.”

It took a minute for Mary to comprehend what had been said, and it still didn’t make sense to her, so she screwed up her brow and asked, “What?”

Bolder, Jenny responded, “You deserve to be in a relationship with someone who actually gives a fuck.”

“Brock and I aren’t in a relationship.”

“Yeah. Stop waiting for that to change.”

Megan.

Minnesota in August was more beautiful than Mary could ever have expected, and that was just from the tiny window of a plane.

For years Brock had gushed about it, trying to convince anyone and everyone that they should join him for a summer so they would finally believe him. Multiple people had taken him up on that offer over the years, but never Mary.

It had never felt appropriate to crash his summer vacation, the time he dedicated wholly to his family—at least not until he had told her, Quinn, Petey and Garly that it was non-negotiable that they join him that summer. When Megan started asking and making it about her birthday, none of them had any hope in staying away.

She flew in from Vancouver by herself and waited at baggage claim for Quinn’s plane to arrive from Detroit. When he walked towards her, he, as always, greeted her with a huge smile on his face and a quick hug before they found their way to a rental car.

“Do you know why he was so desperate to get us here this year?” Mary asked Quinn as they were on their way. “Why Megan was?”

Quinn hummed. “I’m pretty sure he’s going to propose at her party.”

“Oh, well, that’s… that’s a surprise.”

“Feels like it came out of nowhere, right?” Quinn laughed. “Think he thinks he’s getting old or something. Got a bee in his bonnet about it a couple of months back.”

“He did or Megan did?”

Quinn laughed again, his whole body shaking. “That’s the million-dollar question, ain’t it?”

Brock and Megan were as equally as excited to see Mary and Quinn arrive, Megan’s eyes darting between Mary and Quinn with a sly smirk on her face as if there was anything more between them than a ride from the airport. Mary ignored it.

~*~

Megan’s party was that weekend and for all the effort that had been put into making sure everyone knew it was going to be a rager from start to finish the evening started off deceptively quiet.

Given that Mary had been filled in by Quinn on the actual events for the evening, the slow start made sense—couldn’t have everyone shitfaced before the Main Event.

Everyone got the idea when Brock and Megan stood in front of them all, someone shouting loudly for everyone to ‘shut the fuck up’. Mary hid off to the side, tucked away with Quinn, Petey and Garly as the speeches began.

What started off as ordinary speeches soon turned more sentimental than anybody had been expecting—hooting and hollering filled the night sky as Brock dropped down to one knee.

Mary’s eyes fell shut completely involuntarily.

The next involuntary action was even less expected, and far less explainable. Her hand wrapped around Quinn’s, wasting no time in entwining their fingers together.

“Mary—what—?”

“I need to stop getting in the way of my own happiness.”

Mary.

Nothing could have gone smoother in the lead up to Mary’s wedding, which was a pleasant surprise. She had seen her sister’s wedding fall apart piece by piece in the week before hers and was eternally grateful that a smooth wedding day was something money could buy.

The external factors were smooth, anyway. Mary herself had been a bundle of anxiety since she woke up, leading to her banishing her bridesmaids from their morning suite for final photos. It hadn’t felt great to ask them to leave, but the weight off her chest as the room emptied was worth it.

Her photographer was easy to ignore, mostly because Mary was staring out across the small balcony into the woods and practicing her breathing exercises with her eyes closed.

Any and all tranquillity she’d built up disappeared with a knock on the door, though, her shoulders tightening once more when Brock’s voice filtered through the room, asking if he could talk to Mary.

“Can you leave us alone for a few minutes?” Mary asked her photographer as she turned around, taking in the sight of Brock in the sky-blue suit she and Quinn had picked out for the groomsmen.

The photographer smiled, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

“I’d like to talk to him in private, please. Come back and get me when it’s time for First Look photos?”

The photographer disappeared, leaving Mary and Brock alone. In another life, standing in front of Brock in a wedding dress was Mary’s wildest dream, and yet, in the life happening at that moment, she couldn’t quite work out how she felt. 

“Do you have something from Quinn?” she asked, ringing her hands in front of her.

Guilt crossed Brock’s face. “Uh, no, I don’t. I wanted to talk to you and, uh—you look beautiful, Mary.”

“Thank you. What did you want to talk about? Is everything okay? Is Quinn okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Mary, everything’s okay,” Brock said, his tone assuring but lacking total confidence, which did nothing to calm her nerves at all. She stared at him, her eyebrow twitching up as she waited for him to say what he’d come to say. There is no lifetime where she imagined that his next words would be: “I came to say that I love with you.”

All air was sucked out of the room—out of the universe perhaps—and the lace corset top of her dress felt overwhelmingly tight. As tight as her voice when she asked, “And when exactly did you work this out, Brock?”

A twitchy hand reached up to brush against the back of Brock’s neck, “When Quinn told me he bought a ring and all I could think was that it should be me proposing to you.”

“So,” she snapped. “You don’t love me; you just don’t want anyone else to.”

“Mary—what do you mean? I do love you. I—”

She cut him off, “We’ve known each other for eight years. We went on two dates eight years ago before you decided Jenny was more interesting than me. Quinn proposed to me five months ago and you still picked our literal wedding day to do this to me.”

He paused, his eyes wide. The panic and sincerity that had once crossed his face turned to ire and he snarled out, “You’re not even in love with him.”

Mary picked up the skirt of her dress, allowing herself to take a few steps back and widen the gap between them. “My feelings for Quinn are absolutely none of your business, Brock.”

“He’s my best friend; I want his wife to be in love with him.”

“So, what is it? I should love him, or I should love you? Because you can’t have both.”

“Brock.” Jenny’s voice entered the room, calm yet firm. “You need to go.”

Both Mary and Brock turned to her, flinching at the sudden entrance. Brock turned back to Mary, as if he was expecting her to disagree with Jenny, instead he was met with her saying, in a voice more furious than she had ever used, “Go back to Quinn and pretend this conversation never happened. You better be standing next to him when I’m walking down that aisle or I will burn this fucking place to the ground.”

He left, heavy steps taking him to the door where he paused beside Jenny, taking time to look back at Mary, only to be forcibly pushed from the room.

“Did you hear any of that?”

“I don’t think I would have wanted to.”

Mary plastered a smile onto her face, so fake it was painful, and shook her head.

~*~

Music played, meticulously chosen over months of wedding planning, and Mary held a bouquet of summer flowers in front of with tremendous amounts of care.

She turned a corner to be greeted with her and Quinn’s family and friends, and, at the altar, Quinn.

Quinn who had already started crying at the sight of his bride.

And, beside him, Brock.

Brock whose expression was more fitting for a funeral than a wedding.

Mary walked, one foot in front of the other, to the rest of her life.

[sagethegremlin]

Use this ask to talk about pepper when you're ready (im in shock)

THANK YOU SNACK YOU KNOW IVE GOT SO MUCH TO SAY LETS GO AT IT SCENE BY SCENE TOGETHER (im also in shock holy shit)

hey i might just be crazy but when pepper said "i kind of just want to do something for myself for once. if that's ok with you, salt" did anyone else's mind flash back to "let's continue to be codependent together! hooray!"

THIS is that codependent shit that you love to see THIS is the epitome what the application of "trend follower" must look like for her and also years of leaning on her best friend

ALSO i know i love to preach my toxic yuri shit but dude...dude when salt said "ok yeah, i think you might need this :(" SHES SO CONCERNED ABOUT HER FRIEND IM GONNA CRY DUDE THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME

hey guys so what do we think it means that pepper was so quick to get annoyed with magnet (who is obviously a salt beta) to the point where she WALKED AWAY this is some crazy yuri shit i wasn't ready for im so excited for what she could find out about herself on this journey with magnet

guys i dont think weve ever seen pepper express this big of a range of emotions in a single episode i dont know what to do with myself

magnet thinks shes soooooo slick here 🙄 girl i can hear the chappell roan on boombox a mile away

this bit had me CACKLING but more importantly so i see were drawing similarities between oj&paper and salt&pepper? 🤔 ok ill be sure to keep that in my back pocket

head in hands dude i was so ready to be like "oh everything ive ever posted about them is wrong peppers got her own issues but its actually a super supportive and healthy friendship" NOPE!!!! WEVE GOT SALT PROBABLY MEANING WELL BUT NOT REALIZING SHES OVERSTEPPING BOUNDRIES AND PUTTING HER OWN WANTS FIRST THIS IS THE SHIT IVE BEEN WAITING YEARS TO SEE FINALLY EXPRESSED IN CANON OH MY GOD DUDE

this moment is just so incredibly perfect it starts with salt attempting to comfort pepper/hype her up saying she has "no need" to spin the wheel for immunity (while putting down everyone else in the process. take note of that.) and before she can actually say anything to sway pepper one way or another she just completely dismisses peppers want to be on the show in general and i NEED to see what was going through salts mind when she said this is she just putting herself before her bestie? does she assume pepper would be equally happy whether on the show or in the hospital?

ALSO EMILYYYYYYYY ABSOLUTELY KILLING IT DID YALL HEAR THAT LITTLE "for sure :)" OHHHH IM DEAD SHES SO TALENTED

also thematic parallels or me losing my mind? you decide!

and ALSO also that little look i KNOW theyre friends i can FEEL it

HEY DID ANYONE ELSE NOTICE HER FACE WHEN PAPERS SAID HES DATING A WINNER. this is one million percent headcanon territory but how many times do you think she hears salt complain about this exact thing.....

ok yeah thats my post c: this stupid fucking pepper shaker spiked my blood pressure so bad today i hate her so much (i would die for her in a heartbeat)

[ghcstpyre]

PINKIE SWEAR.

*•.¸♡ ted logan x f!reader

PART TWO. you help bill and ted wash the van. all you want is a moment alone with ted to see how things have changed between you -- if they've even changed at all.

PART ONE. / PART THREE.

contents: afab!reader, bill is here!, a few uses of y/n, horniness but still sfw.

word count: 6.9k

a/n: this took way longer than i thought it would, but here it is! i literally got married before finishing this chapter lol. this is technically the first half of what was chapter 2 but it was getting so long that I decided to split it in half. luckily this means chapter 3 is mostly finished already! hope you guys enjoy 💚

“...Guys?”

“Yeah?” Bill and Ted replied in unison.

“This. Is filthy.”

You were standing on Captain Logan's tidy driveway, the sun beating down on you hard with the only shady spots being the wispy clouds floating along lazily in the vibrant blue sky, and the dappled shade cast over the dry grass of the front lawn by the thick, twisting tree standing tall at the end of the driveway. The Wyld Stallyns van was parked in front of you, its outside covered in a layer of dirt, grime and splatterings of mud where the beat-up wheels had kicked it up on its journeys. The vibrant yellow and orange of the band’s logo on the side was faded, ghostly, and in desperate need of a touch up.

“When was the last time you gave this a clean?” You asked, stepping around to inspect it from a different angle, only to find it was just as dirty.

The two young men exchanged a glance. Bill chuckled nervously and Ted ran a hand through his mop of dark hair.

“Uh…maybe, like, a month ago? Right?” Ted said, looking to Bill for some sort of confirmation or back up. His uncertainty told you everything you needed to know.

“Naw dude, probably closer to two months.” Bill readjusted his bright red baseball cap atop his head of golden curls, and the two boys looked at you hopefully as you reappeared from behind the van. “Maybe three or four…”

You deadpanned, hands on your hips. “You both suck at lying. I'll help, but you owe me one.”

“Excellent!” 

After a moment of triumphant air guitaring, Ted happily bounced his way up the pristine driveway and disappeared into his dad's house to start grabbing the equipment needed to clean the van. It wasn't exactly difficult for them to rope you into it in the first place – you always had a good time hanging out with Bill and Ted, regardless of what you got up to. Though you wished you didn't have to do this on Captain Logan's turf; Ted's dad was a perpetually high-strung man with a permanent stick up his ass who loved to take out any and all frustrations on your poor friend.

Ted never let it get him down, always the human embodiment of sunshine and laughter, but you could tell it weighed on him like a constant boulder upon his chest.

The shorter of the pair automatically went to follow Ted inside but suddenly halted in his tracks. For a brief moment Bill's golden brows furrowed in thought, and then he made his way up to you while you shrugged off your loose flannel shirt and tied around your waist, over the top of your paint-splattered denim shorts, leaving your upper half in a plain white tank top.

“Dude,” he said, his voice full of admiration. “I just wanted to say thanks. Y'know, for being there for Ted when I couldn't be. We're most fortunate to have a friend like you.”

Bill's sincerity warmed you to the core, but you couldn't help but feel a little confused. “You're welcome, but…what's brought this on?”

“He just seems like he's back to his usual awesome self. I don't know what kinda magic you used on him the other week, but whatever it was has worked like…well, like magic!”

You laughed and did your best to act like the ‘magic’ you used on Ted wasn't flashing through your mind at the mere mention of it – his large hands gripping your hips, his mouth on yours, the sounds of his breathy moans against your ear. You weren't entirely sure how Bill would react to finding out he was a milestone behind his best friend, but seeing as Ted clearly hadn't mentioned what had happened between the two of you, you figured it was best not to say anything for now.

“I'll have my wand at the ready if he starts moping again, don't you worry.”

After a blinding grin and an enthusiastic fist bump, Bill jogged the short distance up the driveway and disappeared into the house to help Ted grab what they needed, leaving you alone with your thoughts while you threw open the hind double doors to the van and hopped inside to clear the garbage you knew was starting to accumulate. The stale smell of weed and junk food immediately smacked you in the face and you wafted a hand in front of your nose to try and fan it away as you shuffled in further, your mind beginning to wander.

As promised, nothing had changed between you and Ted. Any potential awkwardness that you'd been worried about never surfaced, and your friendship had continued as usual. Which was…good, you supposed. But a large part of you – the part that was hopelessly smitten with Ted – had been rolling around on the metaphorical ground kicking and crying out in frustration.

How had things continued so painfully platonically after sharing such an intimate experience? How had absolutely nothing changed?

Your shoulders rose and fell as you let out a long, weary sigh, deflating like a balloon. It was only to help him out, you reminded yourself. Nothing was supposed to come from it. Even if your treacherous heart willed it otherwise and kept reminding you that you had yet to catch him alone to truly see if anything had changed.

Shaking your head to banish that line of wishful thinking, you tied your hair back into a ponytail and forced yourself to focus on the task at hand.

To your surprise there wasn't a lot of garbage, just a handful of empty cans of soda, some leftover pizza boxes sans pizza (as if either of them would ever leave a single slice uneaten) and a random assortment of candy wrappers amongst the stuff they stored in there. You began grabbing the rubbish and shovelling it into a bin bag, but it was only when you neared the front of the van that you noticed two sizable lumps hidden beneath the pile of patchwork blankets and cushions the boys kept in the back whenever they wanted to hotbox the van.

With a knee resting on the van bench, you leaned over and reached out a hand to grasp the soft blanket and pull it to the side. Immediately, your heart sank to your feet at the sight of Ted's beloved Gibson and amp tucked away in the corner. Thanks to the blanket they'd escaped a dusty fate, but you just knew that it had been a while since Ted had even looked at them.

If you had to guess, he'd probably hidden them away in here soon after Elizabeth broke his heart.

Your grip on the blanket tightened, knuckles turning white as you stared at the equipment. And then you covered them back up, not wanting to reopen that wound within Ted right now, not when he seemed to be back to his usual self.

It was the clattering of Bill and Ted re-emerging from the garage with buckets, sponges, car shampoo and a hose bundled in their arms between them that pulled you out of your thoughts. They stopped just before the end of the driveway and dumped the equipment down at their feet unceremoniously just as you popped your head out from the rear end of the van. Despite the calm expression on your face, the image of Ted's guitar and amp abandoned in the corner of the van still lingered in your mind, and your chest felt uncomfortably tight as you watched the object of your affection try to lasso Bill with the hose.

Try being the key word. While Ted wasn't very good at the lassoing, he was very good at somehow getting them both tangled up in the dark green length of rubber.

“That's all the rubbish cleared out. It isn’t too bad in there, but you could do with finding a place for some of this stuff to live.” You announced, hopping down and tying off the top of the plastic bag. “It's starting to collect dust.”

Bill's big grin and ridiculous movements didn't falter as he nodded at you with a “Sure thing duder!”. However, a look of recognition flickered across Ted's face and his long arms faltered in his attempt to untangle himself and wrap Bill up like a mummy with the hose. You immediately knew he was thinking about his poor, abandoned Gibson and amp hiding beneath that blanket. He held your gaze for a few beats, and then that lopsided grin was on his lips again as he nodded in agreement with a half-mummified Bill.

After unwrapping the hose-mummy, the three of you made quick work of connecting the hose to the outside tap and getting the buckets filled up with water. Ted decided to take control of the hose, wasting no time in turning it on and enthusiastically blasting the outside of the dirty van with the harsh jet of cold water to dislodge the thicker clumps of mud and dirt clinging to the fenders and bumpers, while you and Bill mixed a generous amount of car shampoo into the buckets of water. It didn’t take long for the three of you to get stuck in, using the sponges to scrub away the rest of the dirt and grime that had built up around the problem areas and then washing the suds away with the hose. Ever distractable, there were a few times you and Bill had to pull Ted back on track, but before long the van was looking like it hadn’t just been driven through a swamp or giant cloud of dirt.

You’d noticed Deacon occasionally peeking through the curtains of his bedroom window from up above, trying to be discreet about spying on the three of you. On his third attempt you waved up at him with a smile, but he scrambled away from his window as if he’d been burned by your attention.

By the time you were done there was a sheen of sweat coating your skin, making your hair stick to your forehead and your clothes cling to your skin uncomfortably. The sun was pummelling down on the Earth harder than it had been when you’d started – you were almost jealous of the van for getting a nice cold shower while you and the boys slaved away in the scorching heat getting it squeaky clean. You opted for sitting beneath the tree growing on Captain Logan’s front lawn for a bit of a breather, the boys quickly following suit for some much-needed time in the cool shade, as sparse as it was. But just as Bill’s butt touched the prickly grass, you heard the telltale sound of the front door opening, followed by:

“Bill?” Deacon drawled, sounding bored and slightly irritated as usual. “Your dad’s on the phone.” He didn’t elaborate and disappeared back into the house. From the sag in Bill’s shoulders, he seemed to already know what awaited him.

Bill let out a long, frustrated groan and rolled his bright blue eyes. “Awh maaaan,” He wiped the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand. “I totally forgot I was supposed to visit Granny S Preston Esquire with my dad.” He explained, the dread in his voice increasing tenfold as if just saying her name was some sort of evil summon.

If Ted’s face wasn’t lightly bronzed from the sun, he would’ve blanched at the mere mention of the creepiest woman in San Dimas. “Non-non heinous…” The sympathy in Ted’s voice was unmistakable as he put a solidary hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Dude, that sucks. But Y/N and I can drop you off, and I’ll roll a special lil something just for you upon your most glorious return home.”

The promise of weed seemed to perk him up, some of the colour returning to his face. Or maybe it was just sunburn. “Excellent. Thanks Ted.” After a quick fist bump, Bill rose to his feet and jogged into the house to take the call, leaving you and Ted alone beneath the shade of the tree.

You felt your heart beginning to pick up the pace the moment Bill disappeared into the house, and every cell in your body became hyperaware of Ted’s presence next to you. If it wasn’t so hot, you were sure the hairs on your arms would be prickling up as straight as a porcupine’s spines as you felt him shift next to you, leaning back to rest against the trunk of the tree and letting out a content sigh, his large hands resting on his stomach with his long legs stretched out on the grass. You swallowed when his arm gently brushed against yours.

At least one of you was able to relax.

The silence stretched between you while you both waited for Bill to re-emerge, and in your restlessness, you began to pick at the browning grass beneath you. You lamented the fact that Captain Logan never let a single daisy sprout on his lawn — distracting yourself by making a daisy chain would’ve been great for your nerves. When you chanced a look at Ted, his eyes were shut, and his full lips were slanted into a content little smile. Seeing him looking so peaceful helped ease some of your nerves, like a cool, soothing balm to the inferno of anxiety swirling around in your gut.

Eventually, it was Ted that broke the semi-comfortable silence. “Man, I’m beat. We totally chose the wrong day to do this.” He said through a yawn.

“Agreed, it’s too damn hot.” You stretched your arms up before leaning back against the tree with him, you shoulder gently pressing up against the side of his bicep. “Never thought I’d be jealous of a van, but stranger things have happened.”

Ted snorted and opened his eyes to look at you, a cheeky glint sparkling in those chocolate brown pools. “I could give you the same treatment with the hose if you really want it.”

“And spend the rest of the day looking like a wet dog? Yeah, sure, I’ll even shake myself off like a hound and leave a lovely trail of water inside the van to roll around in later.” You mimicked the action, shaking your head and shoulders from side to side in rapid succession like a dog shaking water from its fur, eliciting a loud laugh from Ted.

Your gaze then drifted to the hose in question, laying abandoned a few feet away from you at the edge of the lawn, and the buckets of leftover soapy water and yellow sponges still sat next to the van on the gravel. “We should probably start clearing all of your dad’s stuff away since we’re done.” You felt weary down to your bones at the idea of stepping back into the sunshine to be productive again.

Sounding equally weary at the idea, Ted groaned. “Ugh, bogus…” But despite his displeasure he rose to his feet anyway and held out a hand to help you up.

Ignoring how natural it felt for your hand to be encased in his much larger one, Ted pulled you up to your feet and the two of you reluctantly left the comfort of the shade to trudge down the lawn, back towards the van. You collected the buckets one by one, tipping the water down the nearby gutter while Ted attempted to loop the length of the hose together. It was only when you neared the last bucket that you noticed Ted watching you, the head of the hose in his hands and pointed in your direction with the rest of its length hooped over his forearm, that same mischievous glint in his eyes and cheeky smile on his face.

“Y/N, are you absolutely sure you don’t want a nice cool shower?”

“Ted. Don't you dare.”

Ted grinned like the cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, the head of the hose poised and ready in his grip, pointed directly at you. He wiggled his dark brows at you, even as you raised both hands in surrender. You could almost imagine a tumbleweed rolling past as if you were in some sort of quick-draw standoff.

“Oh yeah? Or what?” He countered, a dark brow raised.

“Or I'll…” Your mind drew a blank. Shit. “... I'll fight you?”

He barked out a laugh in response and his eyes shone with mirth. “C'mon babe, we both know how that'll go; you'll lose – most egregiously, like always.”

Treacherous as ever, your mind couldn’t help but taunt you with memories of the times you’d play-fought with Ted, always ending with you pinned beneath the delicious weight of him. You steeled yourself and ignored the heated pulse between your legs, lips curled up into a smirk as you slowly inched sideways like a crab towards the nearest bucket of soapy water containing your sponge.

“I think you love pinning me down a little too much, Teddy.” 

In the blink of an eye Ted's cheeks were practically glowing, the tips of his ears turning crimson to match. The grin dropped from his lips, and he stuttered as he tried to formulate some sort of retort, only to continue stumbling over his own words.

You seized the opportunity, and as quickly as you could you dropped down to plunge your hand into the bucket to grab your sponge, dark yellow and weighty with water and soap suds. Sponge in hand, you lunged forwards, and just as he readied the hose again you drew your arm back and launched the sponge at him in one swift motion.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. You didn't have time to watch as your sopping wet sponge flew through the air and collided with Ted, hitting him square in the face with a wet splat. Instead, you were immediately ducking out of the way to avoid the freezing cold jet of water Ted unleashed upon you in retaliation, despite the droplets of water and suds that slid down his face and clung to his hair, the offending sponge laying forgotten at his feet.

The sounds of you laughing and screaming with delight as you ducked and darted around to avoid being sprayed with the hose could be heard from down the quiet suburban street, along with Ted's infectious laughter and playful taunting. He took off from where he was standing to chase after you, his finger pressed squarely down on the trigger to keep the jet of cold water going as you ran. But you were quicker than him, zipping back to grab your bucket and snatch up your sponge from the floor to defend yourself against Ted’s watery onslaught. 

Bucket and sponge in hand, you dashed round to the opposite side of the van. With your back pressed against the side, its metal shell hot to the touch thanks to the scalding rays of the sun, you held your breath to stop your laughter and waited for Ted to round the corner.

You could still hear the spray of water splattering across the pavement as Ted drew closer.

“Baaabe,” He called out. Although you couldn't see him, you could practically hear the predatory grin on his lips. “Come on out, it's payback time!”

The stream of water halted just as the nozzle appeared around the corner of the van. Before Ted could react, you reached out and grabbed it with your free hand as you jumped from your hiding spot, forcing it upwards just as he pulled the trigger again. Droplets of water rained down upon the two of you, catching the sunlight at just the right angle to cast little rainbows of light around you like tiny, multicoloured dancing fairies. 

Ted's eyebrows shot up and his pretty pink lips parted in as he let out a small yelp of surprise. You had to fight the urge to rise onto the balls of your feet to kiss him. Instead, you rose up onto the balls of your feet and smushed your sopping wet sponge onto the top of his head, drenching him completely.

He let out the most high-pitched, girlish squeal and released his finger off the hose trigger as the freezing cold, soapy water cascaded down the front and back of his neck from his hair, disappearing below the neckline of his faded, tan coloured Eagles t-shirt to trickle down the planes of his back and chest. The front of his now wet t-shirt stuck to his skin, giving you a wonderful view of the curves and dips of his chest and abs. But the spell was broken the moment the sponge slid off his head and fell to the floor, landing with a wet splat on the concrete between your feet.

You immediately took a few steps back to put some distance between your damp bodies just as that predatory smile inched its way onto Ted’s mouth.

“Oh—you’re in trouble now babe.”

Just as you opened your mouth to offer what would definitely have been some sort of witty retort, the jet of freezing cold water was unleashed upon you, turning whatever you would’ve said into a loud, high-pitched scream. Ted showed no mercy, laughing manically like some sort of cartoon villain as he soaked you from head to toe, following you as you tried to back away and escape from the unrelenting stream of water.

“Ted—!” You yelled above the sound of the hose, holding your hands out in front of you in an attempt to shield yourself. “Ted stop! Stop – that’s enough! You win!”

The freezing spray came to a halt and the sounds of Ted’s snickering mingled with the drip drip drip of water droplets splashing on the soaked concrete beneath your sodden converse. However, his laughter soon died a swift death the moment he realised you were coughing and spluttering thanks to the water he’d managed to get on your sun-kissed face.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” He immediately dropped the hose, letting it clatter to the ground as his feet carried him hurriedly towards you. His large hands held the sides of your arms and squeezed gently, hoping you found it at least a little bit comforting while his eyes frantically searched your face with concern plastered all over his own features.

You stayed still and let him fuss over you, fighting against the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips as he attempted to smooth your dripping wet hair away from your face.

“I’m not okay,” You pouted. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this wound. Or the betrayal.”

The worry on Ted’s face eased up into a smile of equal parts relief and amusement as his hands dropped to squeeze your arms once more. “Bogus. How will I ever make it up to you?”

“I think a big, wet hug might be just what I need to survive this.”

He immediately released your arms and took a step back, holding his palms up in surrender. “Naw, no way dude! You’re, like, totally soaking wet right now.”

You closed the distance. “Yeah, I wonder whose fault that is.”

“Uhh, yours? You fired that first shot with the sponge.”

You inched closer still, spreading your arms out to mimic the beginning of a bear hug. Except the bear in question was much smaller, less hairy, and absolutely soaked.

“Lies and slander!”

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

Without waiting for a reply you leapt at Ted, throwing your full sodden weight against him and securely wrapping your arms around his middle. You could feel Ted’s loud noise of mock discomfort and laugh of delight vibrate in his chest as you nuzzled your face between his pecs and then rose onto the balls of your feet to try and rub your wet hair against his neck.

The bubbly, joyful sound of his laughter warmed you to your core, despite being drenched with cold water, and had your toes curling in your soggy shoes.

“Dude! Babe — stop! I surrender!” Ted protested with a breathless laugh but made no moves to fight you off. Instead, his hands came to rest on your waist, the span of them engulfing the tops of your hips over the sodden fabric clinging to your body. If anything, the cool temperature of your wet clothes felt very refreshing against the harsh rays of the sun beating down on San Dimas without remorse.

As you wobbled on the balls of your feet in your mission to soak him, Ted was quick to steady you, securing his arms around your waist to pull you flush against his body. He could feel the water sitting heavy in your clothes seeping into his own, along with every soft curve and dip of your breasts and stomach squashing deliciously against him. All of a sudden Ted was yanked back by some invisible force, back to that evening with you in his messy kitchen, your soft lips upon his as you backed him up against the counter, the length of your body slotting perfectly against his. 

Before he even had a chance to stop it, his mind was spiralling down, down, down the rabbit hole. All Ted could think about as he looked down at you clinging to him was how you looked on your knees before him, your pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, and the sensation of sinking his length inside you and the cute little noises you made; how tight and wet you were for him, and how utterly satisfied you looked in the aftermath when you smiled and praised him.

Ted's Adam’s Apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in his throat. Heat crept up his neck while the rest of his blood travelled south, his brain only being dragged out of the gutter by the sound of Missy’s chirpy voice calling out to the two of you from the other side of the van.

“Ted? Y/n?” 

Ted cleared his throat, and his hands quickly dropped from your waist as if holding you had suddenly begun to burn. Disappointed, you took that as your cue to take a step back and act casual as the clicking of Missy’s pristine, white Mary Janes rounded the corner. 

As always, Missy looked perfectly pretty and put together. Her golden blonde hair was curled and styled to perfection, not a single strand out of place. Her high cheekbones were rosy with blush, and pink lip gloss caught the light on her lips, making them glitter. A pale-yellow blouse hugged her tiny torso with the first few buttons undone, showing off a little peek of her cleavage, and had been paired with a pair of faded denim shorts that only just covered her rear.

Missy was never really the picture of motherhood, but you remember her being kind to pretty much everyone back in high school, regardless of their social standing, and she’d always been good to Bill, Ted and Deacon after becoming their stepmother. So, you had zero complaints — even if it did give both the Stallyns some kind of Oedipus complex. And while her relationships with their fathers were utterly bizarre, even you couldn’t blame them. 

She was cute as hell. And in that moment, she came as an angel clutching a pair of glasses in one tiny hand, while the other held a flower-printed jug filled with her amazing homemade lemonade. 

“Hi guys — gosh, what happened here?” Missy gasped as she took in the sight of your soaking wet clothes. Ted didn’t look much drier, but you were significantly worse.

“Hi Missy,” You laughed sheepishly (echoed by Ted) as she approached, her gaze focused on the ground so she could tiptoe her way around the puddles and suds swimming amongst the carnage. “Very brief water fight. Ted started it.”

Ted’s head whipped round to you with a look of total betrayal. “No way!”

He didn’t even have a chance to defend himself as Missy was already tutting and shaking her head of golden waves with a crease between her perfectly plucked brows. “Theodore Logan, I thought your father raised you better than to treat a lady like this.” And just like that, the frown on her pretty face was replaced with a smile as bright as the sunshine. “Lemonade?”

Both you and Ted accepted, each taking a glass from her outstretched hand and staying silent as she filled them both up with the cloudy, bubbling liquid. The sounds of the tiny bubbles fizzing and popping within your glass was enough to make you realise just how parched you felt, and you happily guzzled the cold drink, finally hydrating your desert of a mouth while Missy fussed over you.

She tutted under her breath and made a few sounds of displeasure while her slender fingers lightly tugged at your sodden clothes. “Well, I certainly can’t let you walk around in this state. I’m sure there’s still a box of Ted’s old clothes laying around somewhere you could raid.”

Ted watched, doing his best to be nonchalant about the way his gaze trailed over your body, following where Missy’s fingers plucked at the soggy fabric. His staring went unnoticed by you, too busy shifting your weight from one foot to the other as the young stepmother circled you while she did her inspection.

You swallowed the lemonade currently in your mouth and waved a hand at her. “N-no no, that’s alright. I’m fine like this, really.” While being soaking wet was a little uncomfortable, it was actually quite pleasant in the scorching rays of the sun.

Missy shot you a pointed look. “Darling, you wore a white top to a water fight.”

Just as you tilted your head at her in confusion, Bill rounded the corner of the van, a half-guzzled glass of lemonade in hand as he walked through the many puddles spanning the distance between you without a care. He was only briefly distracted by the evidence of your aquatic skirmish before his gaze was drawn to you. Or rather, your chest.

“Whoa! Y/n, I can totally see your bra right now dude.”

If the blazing heat wasn’t enough to light you on fire, the embarrassment that flooded your system would surely do it. Your face turned as red as a tomato and your free arm immediately shot up to wrap around your chest in an attempt to shield yourself from any prying eyes.

Thanks to the water unleashed upon you, your white tank top was practically transparent, giving the whole street a wonderful view of your plain white bra. You thanked your lucky stars you hadn’t decided to wear something fancier, or worse, no bra at all.

“Bill?!”

Missy made a move to put herself between you and Bill’s line of sight, but it was Ted who moved faster. His long legs ate up the distance between him and his friend, and within a split second he was clapping his free hand over Bill’s eyes, his meaty paw engulfing the top half of the shorter man’s face.

“Wh– hey!” Bill protested but made no attempt to wriggle away from his friend, very much aware that this was something he definitely wasn’t supposed to see.

Ever so lightly, Ted kicked the side of his sneaker-clad foot into Bill’s ankle while holding his hand over his eyes. “Not cool dude.” He chastised.

You handed your empty glass back to Missy and wished the concrete beneath your feet would swallow you whole. “I’ll, uh, take you up on that offer for clothes now if that’s ok?” You squeaked out.

Her blonde waves bounced as she nodded. “Of course! C’mon, let's get you inside and get you into some dry clothes.”

Guiding you with one little hand on your back, Missy led you up the tidy driveway and into the house, pausing to let you kick off your soaked converse at the front door to give them a chance to dry out in the sun. Even through your mortification you spotted the little sparkle of excitement in her big blue eyes.

As you reached the top of the stairs, Missy quickly dipped into the family bathroom to grab you a towel and wrap you up in the soft, fluffy white fabric. It felt like a dream compared to your own towels; you’d gotten so used to the feeling of fabrics washed with cheap laundry detergent and cheap softener that you’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a towel that was actually soft.

Swaddled in the fluffy towel, you followed Missy from the bathroom through to what used to be Ted’s bedroom.

What was once a poster-clad, messy bedroom had been completely gutted and transformed into a giant walk-in wardrobe. Posh, white, floor to ceiling wardrobes filled to the brim with expensive clothes lined the walls rather than Ted’s cluttered shelves of geek memorabilia and tattered band posters. A sizable shoe cabinet stood at the far side of the room, most likely containing a plethora of high heels, Mary Janes and work-out trainers. Where Ted’s overcrowded bedside table once stood was a white vanity with a large mirror hanging on the wall, its ornate frame shining gold to match the trim and fancy handles on all the closets and cabinets. And then, in place of Ted’s old double bed, was a cream chaise lounge with curved golden legs.

Jesus, you thought as the door softly clicked shut behind you. Missy really knows how to get what she wants from a man.

You watched, dumbfounded and a little lost as the young stepmother pottered around the now-foreign room, throwing open the doors to several of the wardrobes to sift through the umpteen sets of clothes stored inside while humming and muttering to herself. You took a seat on the chase lounge by the window while you waited, only just perching on the corner so as to not ruin the fancy cushioning with your damp clothes. Eventually, Missy made a little noise of triumph and emerged from one of the wardrobes, a small, dusty cardboard box in her little hands with Ted’s name sharpied on the side in her immaculate cursive handwriting.

“Found it!” She chimed. “I knew we still had one of these tucked away.” Missy set the box down on the vanity desk, pursed her pink glossed lips and blew away the layer of dust coating the top of the box before prying it open, being careful not to break any of her freshly manicured nails. “I’m sure Ted won’t mind you borrowing anything from here. I’m pretty sure it’s just old t-shirts he wore back in high school and forgot to pack when he moved out, so you won’t have any trouble fitting in them. Oh, and you’re welcome to look through my drawers for a pair of pants,” She explained, pointing to a chest of drawers, “I don’t know whether anything will fit or not, but I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”

Already curious, you peered over the top of the open box. It had only been five years since you’d graced the halls of San Dimas High School with your presence, but somehow it felt like a lifetime ago.

Missy left you to sift through the box of fabric memories and give you privacy to peel off your damp clothes. Unsurprisingly, the box was full of Ted’s old band t-shirts and graphic tees, branded with the names and logos of various rock bands, comic books and cheesy movies: Scorpions, Def Leopard, Star Trek, Spiderman and the like. You pulled out a very familiar t-shirt and held it up, a smile tugging at your lips as you cast your mind back to the chaotic halls of San Dimas High.

You were a fresh face amongst the crowds, joining halfway through sophomore year, and you vividly remember the way your cheeks burned as you struggled to pry open your locker after multiple failed attempts at using the combination lock. It was when the bell for class rang that your saviour and eventual best friend appeared, all smiles and gangly limbs and cracking voice, along with the unmistakable scent of California beaches and bubble-gum and boy. You remembered how the white Van Halen tee you now held in your hands didn’t quite fit Ted back then, hanging off his scrawny frame awkwardly. Now, you imagined it was probably too short in the body and too tight all over.

Despite feeling like a huge pervert, you brought the soft white material to your face, closed your eyes, and inhaled the scent of Ted’s cheap cologne that somehow still faintly lingered around the neck of the top. Immediately it was as if you’d been transported back to those bustling halls, stealing glances at Ted in class, laughing along with the boys while they goofed off at lunch, twirling your hair while Ted spoke to you at your locker, always leaning down to make sure you could hear each other properly over the din of the other students. Just the memory alone was enough to have your heart fluttering wildly in your chest like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web.

You made quick work of peeling off your damp clothing, towelling yourself down and pulling Ted’s white Van Halen t-shirt over your head. Even now that you were grown it was far too big for you, the hem hanging a few inches below your rear. Since Missy had offered up her clothes, you figured she wouldn’t mind you borrowing a belt. After some sifting through her drawers, you found and pulled out a thin brown belt and secured it around your waist, turning Ted’s oversized t-shirt into a makeshift dress.

Gathering up your original outfit, you gave yourself one last look in the fancy mirror hanging above the vanity before making your way back downstairs and out into the heat of the sunshine once more. The boys were sat waiting for you in the front of the van with the windows rolled down, Ted in the driver’s seat with his back facing you while he spoke to Bill, ready to leave in their much cleaner van. The sickly mint-green paint job was almost back to its former glory (if you could even call it that), with the mustard yellow and burnt orange of their band logo popping vibrantly against it.

You noticed that Ted’s shoulders were bare, having shucked off his shirt after your water fight and opting to go shirtless rather than finding a replacement. Your heart stuttered and you licked your lips, having to force a lid on your excitement.

“You know what guys?” You announced, stopping just short of the van to admire your hard work with one hand on your hip, the other clutching your damp clothes at your side. Bill leaned forward to grin proudly at you from his position in the passenger seat, while Ted shifted to turn and face you, looking equally as chuffed. “I think we did a good job.”

“Dude, isn't that your old shirt?" Bill playfully nudged Ted with his elbow.

“It was all Missy had for me to borrow since someone—” you threw a pointed look at Ted who did his best to look perfectly innocent by fiddling with the dials on the console, “—decided to soak me with the hose.” After clambering in and sliding the door shut, you dumped your wet clothes on the bench next to you and secured the seatbelt over your lap. “Besides, it was either this or a cropped top and pair of gym booty shorts, so I decided to spare you guys the fate of seeing me in a pair of those.”

Bill’s face scrunched up in disgust as if you’d just thrown up in his lap, while Ted simply stuck the key in the ignition and started up the van. The engine spluttered to life and the tinny speakers began blaring out one of Bill’s Motorhead cassettes, but it wasn’t quite loud enough the drown out the roar of his blood pumping south as his treacherous, hormone addled brain conjured up images of you squeezing your butt into a pair of Missy’s gym shorts…which evolved into images of his hands squeezing the plumpness of your rear in said shorts. 

Ted couldn’t quite concentrate on whatever you and Bill chattered about while he drove the short distance to Granny S Preston Esquire’s home. He was able to make out something about roller skating and a trip to the beach, but everything else was lost in the effort it took to will the blood away from his crotch and back to his brain. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief as he pulled onto the flower-lined driveway, his length no longer at half-mast within his baggy shorts.

Bill hopped down from the van, and after saying your goodbyes it was just you and Ted alone. Finally.

“So,” you started, clambering into the passenger seat, “you wanna hang out? Or are we calling it a day?” You looked at Ted expectantly — hopefully. This was the perfect opportunity to get some clarity on where you stood with each other, but you didn’t want to push your luck either.

“Dude, obviously we’re gonna hang out! Bill and I found the most excellent smoking spot and I’ve been dying to show it to you.” Ted explained, practically vibrating with excitement as he put the van into gear and pulled off the curb. “We’ll stop off at the Circle K to grab some snacks and then I’ll take you there; the weather is totally perfect for it.”

You couldn’t contain the huge smile that pulled at your lips, relief washing over you like a cool ocean wave and easing the tension that you didn’t even realise had built up in your shoulders. “Well, colour me intrigued and excited!”

[sapphirelightningbug]

hiii this is my first time sending a request but I read through your master list and I love your style.

can I pls request Joaquin Torres X thunderbolts!reader? Where she’s kinda like the thunderbolts team, a morally gray agent but despite this they become friends and then they fall in love , even if they are on opposite teams.

thank you, I tried to keep it as free as possible cause I’d love to see what you make of it !!!

Coffee and Contemplation [Joaquin Torres x Reader]

Marvel Masterlist | Request Rules

Word Count: 1.6k

Content Warnings: I don’t think this hit the mark at all I AM SO SORRY 🥲, child assassin, parental death

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Introducing Sam Wilson's Avengers to The New Avengers was a difficult situation. Insults were thrown and names were called. Learning to live together in the tower, though, was a task. It was the second day of that week, and you had come out in the morning to find Joaquin Torres using your good coffee, the one you had hidden twice! In nearly a year of the new Avengers living in the tower, no one had found the coffee hidden in the old Christmas cookie tin, until him. Seriously, he lives here for two weeks and finds the good coffee? "Morning," you announce your arrival in the kitchen, where Joaquin stands at the coffee machine and Bob at the island. You smile at Bob and brush past both men to get to the cupboard where your favorite mug sat. A pink ceramic mug with penguins on snowboards. Both of the guys go back to chatting, and Bob fills up a bowl of cereal with milk. You grab the mug and walk over to the fridge to grab your coffee mate creamer. It's peppermint mocha flavored and the best addition to coffee, literally ever. Bob walked out to the living room, leaving just you and Joaquin. You made your way over to the coffee machine, placed your mug and creamer on the counter, and leaned against it. "You know, nearly a year of living here and you're the only person who's found my secret coffee stash," you turn to Joaquin, eyebrow raised. He's facing the machine but cranes his neck to look at you. "I didn't know this coffee was spoken for," he smiles. He has this always cheery demeanor that makes you look like Oscar the Grouch. "I mean, I hid it, but I guess you can use some," you shrug, maybe you needed to pick and choose your battles, and this just wasn't one that you were going to fight over. Plus, you wanted him to like you. Coming from a morally grey background to becoming a superhero was hard. Getting people to like you was hard. So you supposed the least you could do was share some coffee. "Thanks, do you want me to make your cup?" he gestured to the mug on the counter. You handed it to him, and he broke out in a grin. "I like this, penguins," you chuckled. "Yeah, Bob got it for me during the holidays last year. We celebrated Christmas and Hanukkah, Mel's Jewish, so we all got gifts for each other. It was nice," Joaquin nodded. It was a fond memory, one of the first moments of a familial relationship in the tower. Decorating for the holidays and celebrating all together, learning about different cultures and how each person spent their holidays when they were young, was nice. For Bob and Yelena, it was a nice refresh on the holiday, considering their rough childhoods. "It does look like something he'd pick out," Joaquin smiled and looked over your slightly disheveled form. A big t-shirt hanging to mid-thigh, covering the pink sleep shorts that were just barely peaking out. The shirt hung off one shoulder, giving him a view of the soft, creamy skin that sat there. He was dressed in his University of Miami muscle tee and basketball shorts. His body was something of beauty. He looked like he should be standing in a museum somewhere, all statuesque and strong. Arms with muscles that rippled when he moved, you couldn't begin to imagine how much he could lift, just that it was a lot. He could probably manhandle you without a second thought. After a moment of appreciating his body, you turn back to where his freshly brewed cup of coffee sat. "You don't put anything in it?" You question. "I put cream in it, but I wanted to take care of yours first," he smiled. Gosh, his smile was cute.

"Thanks," a small heat rose to your face, burning your neck on its way. You weren't used to kindness from people who weren't the rest of the team, but you supposed he was part of the team now. You just didn't get why he put you first. Maybe he was just kind. "So you're in the air force, right?" You used the little you knew about him to chat; you didn't want this conversation to end. "Uh, yeah, I'm a captain and an intelligence officer," you nod. The coffee starts pouring from the machine, and you both watch the amber liquid fill the mug. "Yeah, and you're like Sam's right hand? You took over his old wings?" "Yep, Sam and I started working together about three or four years ago," he took your cup away from the machine and uncapped the creamer before pouring it into the steaming drink. It turned a light brown color by the time he was done. You were surprised he guessed the amount of creamer you liked, but then he did the same to his own cup, so you just assumed it was his default. "What did you do before all this?" He looked up from where he was stirring his coffee, his deep brown eyes like melted chocolate, sweet and silky. You weren't sure what to say. How did you explain that you were trained as a child by the United States government to be an assassin to a guy whose whole deal is that he's a part of the United States government? "Uh, I worked for the government." It wasn't a lie, at least. "Oh, cool, like military or legislative or whatever else?" You clenched your teeth, completely unsure what to say other than just explaining what happened. "I'm gonna tell you, but let me know if you want me to stop or if I sound like I am trauma dumping," he nodded for you to continue, but gestured for you to join him on the balcony. You moved to open the door and slip outside to sit in one of the chairs out there. The air of the morning was crisp, and the sky was a blueish grey color. When he sat in his own chair, he gestured for you to go on. "So when I was a kid, my parents worked for the Department of Defense, and they passed in a car accident. That was awful and traumatic, but the people my parents worked for decided to use and train me for a secret government operative and basically turned me into a mini assassin." He was looking at you with an expression that read sad and pitiful. "Don't look at me like that." "Like what?" He was confused now but actively listening. "Like you feel bad. Yes, it was terrible, but I made it through it, and it's not who I am, so don't feel bad for me," He nodded, understanding. "But yeah, so that was my life until the blip, and I got out because people found out, 'Hey, child assassins are probably not a thing we want to have'. I'm an adult by this point, but whatever, so I get out and I start working for Valentina, meet these schmucks, and the rest is history." You grinned, thinking fondly of your relationship with the rest of the New Avengers “Seems like you all are close,” he takes a sip of his coffee and smiles into it. “I mean, yeah, we’re like a family,” you nod, take a sip of your own. “I’m glad you all have joined the tower, though,” you look over at him. “It’s nice to have fresh faces.” He nods. “Yeah, I agree,” he smiled flirtatiously, and your stomach twists looking at his face. He was handsome, all sharp edges and strong lines. Like a Greek sculpture. There was something about him. Something that made him different and appealing, you could see this going somewhere. Finally, after months of coffee at the tower, he’d asked you out for coffee at a local shop. It was both of your first times there, and it was cute and quaint and had leather booths in rows. You and Joaquin ordered both something sweet, his a caramel macchiato and yours a white mocha. You sat in the booth closest to the door and looked at him across the booth.

“So,” he says, “I want to tell you something,” you wait for him to continue, eyebrow raised. “Ever since we had coffee for the first time, I knew I wanted to go out with you,” he grinned. “Isn’t that silly? I waited three months to ask you out when I knew it was one of the first times I spoke to you." “Only you would drag this out for so long,” you snort and grab his hand from across the table. “For the record, I like you too, even though you’re cocky, and long-winded and-,” He cut you off. “Alright, alright, I get it,” you both break out in giggles. “But seriously, will you be my girl? Please say yes because if you say no, I’m gonna look like an idiot,” you smile, biting your bottom lip and trying not to laugh. “You’re still an idiot, but yeah, I’ll be your girl.” He did a little happy dance in his seat. Yeah, Joaquin might’ve been an idiot, but he was your idiot.

[perlapulido]

Mira Imagine

Imagine: You see Mira and talk to her then you go meet your friend at new cafe where the Saja Boys show up with Abby flirting with you but your not interested. And Mira unexpectedly comes to save you.

The mall was just another backdrop for my boredom. I tugged at my ripped jeans, adjusting my studded choker as I pushed through the door of Hot Topic. New band merch might lift my mood.

I flipped through some t-shirts, the smell of plastic and new clothes filling my nose. Nothing special. Same old stuff.

That's when I noticed her—trying way too hard to be invisible behind a rack of hoodies. Mira from Huntrix. Her bright red hair peeked out from under a baseball cap, oversized sunglasses hiding half her face.

I snorted. Celebrity disguises were always so obvious.

She glanced up, catching my eye. For a second, I thought she'd bolt. Instead, her shoulders just slumped.

"Go ahead," she whispered. "Take your picture. Get it over with."

"Not my style," I shrugged, turning back to the t-shirts. "But maybe try a less flashy hat next time. The red hair's a dead giveaway."

Mira blinked, then actually laughed. "You're the first person today who hasn't freaked out."

"Must suck," I said, "not being able to just... shop."

"You have no idea." She picked up a band tee. "I just wanted to find something without my team's logo on it for once."

I nodded toward a rack in the corner. "The vintage section's better. Less mainstream garbage."

She hesitated, then followed me. For the next fifteen minutes, we just... talked music. No Huntrix stuff. No fangirl nonsense. Just two people digging through band shirts.

When she finally had to go, she smiled—a real one, not the practiced Huntrix grin from the posters.

"Thanks for being normal," she said.

"Low bar," I replied, but I was smiling too.

As Mira left, my phone buzzed. It was Alex.

"Dude, you gotta check out this new café that just opened," he said, voice crackling with excitement. "It's all horror-themed. The servers dress like slasher villains and the drinks have names like 'Bloody Brains' and 'Zombie Guts.'"

"Sounds tacky," I said, but I was intrigued.

"They've got these booths shaped like coffins," Alex continued. "And the best part? The Saja Boys were spotted there yesterday. Might be their new hangout."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. "You know I don't care about those guys."

"Sure you don't," Alex laughed. "Meet you there in twenty?"

I glanced at the Hot Topic bag in my hand, thinking about my random encounter with Mira.

"Yeah," I said. "Why not?"

Twenty minutes later, I pushed open the door to "Nightmare Fuel," the café Alex wouldn't shut up about. The place was packed. Fake cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and the baristas wore hockey masks and fake blood.

I grabbed an empty table, drumming my fingers on the coffin-shaped menu. That's when the door swung open and the crowd went quiet. The Saja Boys strolled in like they owned the place.

I kept my eyes fixed on the menu, determined to look unimpressed. The tallest one, Abby, glanced around the room. His eyes landed on me—the only person not gawking.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the seat across from me. "This spot taken?"

"Actually, my friend—"

"I'm Abby," he grinned, like I wouldn't know. "You come here often?"

"It literally opened yesterday," I deadpanned.

His smile faltered for a second, then came back stronger. "I like your vibe. Different from the usual fans."

"I'm not a fan," I said flatly, checking my phone. Where was Alex?

Abby leaned closer. "Even better. What's your name?"

Before I could answer, Alex burst through the door, spotted us, and nearly tripped over his own feet.

"What the hell is happening?" Alex gasped, eyes wide as dinner plates.

Abby smoothly slid around the table, settling right next to me. His arm stretched casually behind my chair.

"Just making friends," Abby said with a wink. "Your buddy here has attitude. I dig it."

"Back off," I muttered, scooting away. "Personal space much?"

"Playing hard to get?" Abby grinned. "I love a challenge."

Alex stood frozen, mouth hanging open like a broken puppet.

"I swear, if you don't leave me alone—" I started.

The café door swung open again, and in walked Mira. She spotted me and froze, clearly not expecting to see me—or the Saja Boys.

Abby leaned in closer. "So about that number..."

I'd had enough. "Look, I'm a lesbian, okay? Not interested."

Alex choked on air. "You're what? Since when?"

"Shut the fuck up, Alex," I hissed, then turned back to Abby. "So yeah. Not happening."

I watched Abby's face, waiting for his reaction.

Abby's eyebrows shot up, then he laughed. "Is that a joke? Because if you're trying to blow me off—"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" I glared.

Without thinking, I grabbed Alex's bright blue smoothie from his hand and raised it over Abby's perfectly styled hair, my hand steady as a threat. "Back. Off. Now."

The café went quiet. Abby's friends half-rose from their seats. "You wouldn't dare," Abby whispered, eyes fixed on the drink hovering above his head.

That's when Mira appeared at our table. Before I could register what was happening, she leaned down and kissed me full on the lips. The smoothie nearly slipped from my fingers. Her lips were soft, the kiss brief but unmistakable.

When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled with mischief. I couldn't help the smile spreading across my face. I set the smoothie down and pulled Mira onto my lap in one smooth motion. "Hey babe," I said, as if this was totally normal.

"Fancy meeting you here." Mira settled comfortably against me, her arm sliding around my shoulders. The look on Abby's face was priceless – shock, confusion, and maybe a hint of respect.

"Sorry I'm late," Mira played along perfectly. "Got held up." I twirled a strand of her red hair around my finger. "So... got any plans tonight? Or are you free to hang with your girlfriend?"

Mira's smile told me everything I needed to know. This wasn't just an act. "Suddenly," she said, "my schedule's wide open."

[moeblob]

Terrified by this customer I helped today holy moly why would you say that while reading my name tag and saying my name please don't REPORT me for any behavior, good or bad. Just don't.

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[sp00ky-sh4rk0]

To think the creatures I once hated….I’d end up missing the most

[mooningningg]

 notes, i was actually chuckling at myself. ty anon for requesting

★ Roommate!Sukuna when someone hits on you with him.

You were just comparing the backs of two cereal boxes.

Really. That’s all.

You and Sukuna had run out of coffee creamer and got distracted in the cereal aisle. You were bickering about marshmallow-to-grain ratios like civilized adults when Sukuna walked off to grab eggs and left you behind.

Now here you were, alone, mid-comparison, when a guy sidled up beside you.

Not aggressively. Just… with a little too much confidence for someone in a Walmart.

He gestured to the cereal in your hand and said, “You know that one has more sugar than the one you’re holding?”

You blinked.

“…Yeah, that’s why I picked it.”

He laughed. The kind of laugh that people do when they’re trying too hard. “You’re funny. That your favorite?”

You didn’t answer right away. There wasn’t anything threatening about him — just annoying. Vaguely frat-boy energy in board shorts and a fake chain. He leaned in a little.

“You know,” he said, flashing a grin, “I was actually gonna say something earlier when you passed the produce section. Couldn’t help noticing your smile.”

Jesus Christ.

You gave a polite, tight smile. “Thanks.”

“Got a name, pretty girl?”

You were about to lie and say “Tax Fraud” when—

“The fuck’s goin’ on here?”

A voice cut in. Low, scratchy, and pissed.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Sukuna was back.

And he was standing behind you with a carton of eggs in one hand, a frozen bag of fries in the other, and a look on his face like he was ready to use either as a weapon.

The guy glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Uh—hey, man. Just talkin’ to her—”

“Yeah?” Sukuna cocked his head. “Looks more like you’re talkin’ at her.”

You tried to step in, raise a hand. “It’s fine—”

Sukuna didn’t look at you. Didn’t blink. He took a step forward, close enough that the guy had to instinctively lean back.

“She look interested to you?”

“Woah, okay—” the guy laughed awkwardly, taking a visible step away. “Didn’t mean to disrespect—”

Sukuna gave a humorless snort. “Disrespect?” he echoed, loud enough to make an old lady from aisle six poke her head around. His tone was slow, like he was tasting the word and hating every syllable. “Nah. See, disrespect is when you bump someone in line and don’t say ‘scuse me.’”

He stepped closer. The eggs in his hand were tilted sideways now, as if he had no problem letting them crash to the floor if things went south. “What you just did?” His grin spread, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “That’s some ‘I wanna die in aisle seven’ type shit.”

The guy laughed nervously, eyes darting toward you. “I didn’t know she was with anyone—”

“You don’t need to know,” Sukuna said, voice low, like a fuse being lit. “You see someone standing alone, you keep walkin’. You don’t roll up with your Dollar Tree smile and ask her what cereal she likes.”

You winced. Ouch.

“Bro, it’s not that serious—”

“Don’t ‘bro’ me,” Sukuna snapped, finally breaking eye contact with the man long enough to glance at you. His voice dipped. “You good?”

You blinked. “I—yeah. I was just looking at cereal—”

His eyes flicked back to the guy. “Yeah? She was looking at cereal. Not you.”

The dude threw his hands up. “Alright man, alright. My bad. Enjoy your, uh… whatever this is.”

He turned, practically sprinted out of the aisle, knocking into a soup display on his way out. A can rolled across the tile floor like a dramatic punctuation mark.

Silence.

You blinked at Sukuna. He still looked vaguely pissed. He glanced down at the eggs in his hand like he was debating whether or not to chase the guy and throw them.

Instead, he tossed them into the basket and finally turned toward you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You can’t threaten people in public just because they talk to me.”

“He flirted with you.”

“I can handle myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

The words came out too fast. Too serious. Even he looked surprised he said them.

You paused, one eyebrow raised. “We’re just roommates, you know.”

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah. You tell everyone that.”

“I am everyone.”

He scoffed, reaching for a box of cereal and dropping it in your cart without looking. “Shut up.”

You glanced at the box.

It was the one you wanted.

You smiled to yourself and didn’t say a word.

But damn, you were never grocery shopping without him again.

Taglist, @humeysaga.

[moeblob]