#would like to finish this and maybe stick it to ao3 as part of a drabble series for misc bits about these two

[broad-shouldrs]

Hold On To Me || Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 1,186

summary: you weren’t supposed to be here-stuck at a summer camp your dad signed you up for. but joel’s here too: your neighbor, your boss, a single dad, frustratingly competent and infuriatingly attractive.

you shouldn’t want him. he definitely shouldn’t want you.

warnings: dbf! Joel (but he didn’t know you as a kid). age gap. au!no outbreak. pining. slow burn. only the slightest bit of smut so far

a/n: so behind on posting on tumblr. chapter 8 is already up on ao3 but i don't want to clog the tags so not posting on here until tomorrow.

find me on a03

Joel stands in his kitchen the day after camp ends, the quiet closing in around him. His truck keys are on the counter, he’s showered, Sarah’s with friends, and the sun’s already gone down. He should feel relieved that another camp season is over — grateful to get back to the routine of real life — but all he can think about is the way he felt when he kissed you. He had thought about what it would be like ever since that first day of cam, not ever thinking that it would actually happen. But, now that it has, he can't undo it — he doesn't want to undo it.  It was like the moon and stars had fucking aligned and all was right in the world, until he pulled back and remembered everything blocking this from actually working.

At 10pm, he’s already walked past your house three times, a little slower than he should, looking up at your window like maybe you’re awake, thinking about him too. God help him if you are.

He restrains himself from reaching out to you for two days. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know what the hell he’d say. When he finally breaks, you call him out on his bullshit almost immediately and something stirs in him. Soon, it’s the best part of his daily routine. You're in his ear most nights, talking about school and burnout and how much you hate the sound of your own thesis. Sometimes you make him laugh without trying. Sometimes you get quiet and just breathe on the other end, and he swears he can feel you there next to him. That’s what fucks with him the most because this has become about something more than just physical want.

He feels fucking guilty for it because he's not sure he's allowed to have certain parts of you. He wants your time, your thoughts, your bad days. He wants to know how you take your coffee and what books you never finish and who broke your heart before he could get there. He’ll want to ruin every man you ever thought you loved before him. And again, the guilt creeps in because he’s already lived half a life, maybe more. Joel has made more mistakes than you’ve had birthdays. He’s raised a daughter, buried a marriage, built a business from the ground up. There are parts of him he wouldn’t know how to explain to you. So what right does he have to feel like this?

What right does he have to picture you in his bed every time he closes his eyes? To let himself wonder what you’d look like in his T-shirt, standing in his kitchen, making coffee like you belong there?

He hates how he acts in person — pretending like you're barely there — and it kills him a little because he wants to hear about your day in person. He wants to have these quiet conversations with you tucked away in his bed. But, instead, he lingers too long on his porch like a fool, wondering if you feel the same way. When he’s at your house, it’s worse. He knows where the beer is, knows how your cabinets are arranged, knows which drawer sticks when it’s humid. It’s domestic, familiar, and all wrong. When you pass by, soft and silent, he notices everything. He notices your bare feet and the loose hem of your T-shirt, and the way your mouth parts when you see him. But, he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t trust himself to. He knows he’s well past fucked.

He had only had two beers at your house, but you wouldn't get out of his head. So, he drank and two shots of whiskey later, he had the courage to text you how good you looked. He wants you to know — needs you to know.

The phone call that follows is a mistake, but one he can’t regret. When your voice comes through the line, he's like a man confessing something to a crime he’s already been sentenced for. The alcohol helps him not to care — not when you sound like that — not when you ask why he hasn’t touched you.

A part of him wants you to tell him to stop. But, you don’t stop him. You don’t hang up. You let him unravel, voice rough with everything he’s been holding back. You don’t tell him it’s okay. You don’t tell him it’s wrong, either. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next few days are thick with tension and silence. He barely lasts five minutes on Friday, seeing you search the kitchen for a simple box of matches. He just presses into your space and reaches past you grabbing them. And when you turn to face him, he knows he could kiss you. He knows you would let him. But, he steps back because if he stays — if he leans in even a second too long — he knows everything around him will shatter, and he doesn’t know if he can come back from that.

After dinner, he watches you through the glass door. You’re staying away because of him and it fucking guts him. This is his fault, so he's going to clean up his mess. You don’t look at him — not at first — but he can tell you’re angry or frustrated or somewhere in between. He tries to explain himself and fumbles badly, regret and guilt warring inside him when you say it feels like he only wants you at night. He had actually flinched at that notion. He had never meant for it to feel that way. This time, when he speaks, he's honest when he tells you that he wishes things were different. Wishes that you were his. And when you look at him like, wide-eyed and soft around the edges, it nearly breaks him. His fingers twitch, restless. His jaw aches from how tight he’s been clenching it. There’s a hum beneath his skin, a buzz he can’t quiet. It’s not just lust — it's worse — he needs you. Not just the curve of your waist or the sound you make when you laugh. He needs the way you listen to him and the way you don’t treat him like he’s broken or tired or too far gone to be anything but alone. You make him feel like maybe life ain’t done with him yet.

And maybe that’s what’s scariest of all. If he lets himself fall, and you don't catch him — if you decide one day that this was all a mistake, that the gap between you is too wide to bridge — he doesn't know if he’d ever recover. Not from you. Not from this.

That night, he can’t sleep. You’re in his head — worse than before. Your voice. Your eyes. So, he texts you and you call him out on it. He asks to call you and doesn't wait for your response. He prays that you’ll answer because if you do, he knows he won’t stop. Not tonight.

[mournmage]

Something not so angst ridden for once

[sorikkung]

people interacting w wgoin in my notes... this would be a rly bad time to say all my writing will probably be on hiatus for the indefinite future huh

[taintandviolent]

Turbo Lover ; Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: After getting fed up with Jason Carver and his gross attitude, reader decides to take him up on a dare. That dare, is kissing Eddie Munson on the mouth. Something she's been longing to do since she arrived in Hawkins.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.5K | female reader, smut, use of pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, etc.), fingering, handjobs.

a/n: started writing this back in *checks watch* july of 2022....... ahem. finished writing this to turbo lover by judas priest, if you wanna listen! just felt like an eddie song to me, don't ask for clarification. this could possibly be a multi-parter, haven't decided yet. my first (technically) eddie fic...... do not come for my throat, thanks. not beta-read, yada yada yada. divider by @/strangergraphics!!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

“Oh, choke on it, Jason.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Mrs. Cowan for a replacement lab partner.”

Rolling your eyes, you resist the urge to fling your forkful of corn at him. “Hah! Please do. I’d rather stick my tongue down Eddie Munson’s throat and spend the weekend with mono than spend another blissful second trying to watch you figure out anatomy, dipshit.”

“Go do it then. I dare you.” Jason barks, nostrils flaring. He was going to call your bluff. There was no way that you were going to go over to that weird satanist’s table. Being more of a rocker, you weren’t posh and cute like Chrissy was, but you still had boundaries. And a good head on your shoulders. He knew you did. He hoped you did.

“Fine,” you snap, slamming both palms onto the table. “I hope you fail your science project.” Jason’s confident expression falls. Your rings scrape against the plastic as you push yourself up. With more determination than you’d had the entire semester, you swing both your legs over the bench and head for Eddie’s table, navigating around the other tables. The rest of his little dungeon buddies are already gawking at you as they’d been paying attention to the shouting. Confidently, you take a running leap up onto the table, and stomp your way down its length like a soldier marching towards enemy fire. The target, Eddie Munson, was staring at you with wide eyes and brows lifted.

“Outta my way.” The pointed tip of your boot sends an empty lunch tray flying off the table and clattering onto the floor.

“Hey, Munson!” You drop down onto your haunches, and now, eye-level with him, grab his face and pull it towards you, crushing your lips against his. The roll he’s holding drops from his grasp, falling lifelessly onto his tray. As soon as his plush lips press into yours, giving way to your tugging, your shoulders relax, melting into the kiss. You had been waiting for an excuse to get his attention since you’d sat down in your first class at Hawkins High, daydreaming about talking to him. You’d spent many a class period staring at Eddie’s lips, so you expected the kiss would be enjoyable… but not like this.

At first, both of your lips were closed, smushed together in the hurriedness of the moment, but when you exhale and his lips part, your tongue delves into his mouth, sweeping along his. To your surprise, he reciprocates the action, and presses his chin up into yours, asserting a new sort of need. Despondent groans and laughs of shock pepper the cafeteria around you, and from behind you, came the confusion of the other residents of the table. As you take Eddie Munson in literal mouthfuls, you felt something shift in him, and the noise started to fade away. You tilt your head, and push deeper into the kiss.

“Who the hell is she?” One of the boys asks, clearly as confused as everyone else was.

You shudder against him, feeling a burning heat between your legs, and immediately pull away to stand up, turning to face the far table. Jason was staring at you, looking more embarrassed than disgusted, but he did well hiding it with his scholarship scowl. You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, drawing your — Eddie’s— the mutual saliva across your cheek. Triumphantly, you hold your arms out, daring the blonde haired moron to say anything further. He doesn’t. 

With a proud smirk on your face, you pivot back to Eddie, lips parted to speak, maybe to apologize to him for being so forward. All that comes out though, is the jarring echo of the lunch bell as it rings loudly through the cafeteria. You take that as an excuse to get out of the situation, and step down onto the bench between two of his little minions, then onto the floor. With your heart pounding in your chest like a drum, you make a beeline for the lockers. You’re practically running down the halls, and for what? To get away from Eddie? The guy you had just swapped spit with? And liked it?  

After shaking his head free of the shock, Eddie hurriedly bins his lunch and takes off after you, leaving the boys to their own devices. He was panting quietly once he’d finally caught up to you. “Hey, just wait a minute, okay?”

You say nothing, and keep digging in your locker for a book you knew wasn’t there. You’d left it at home, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

“Come on, you can’t just plant something like that on me and run away, man.” You hear a thump against the locker next to you, and out of the corner of your eye, see him leaning his shoulder into it. You huff and keep digging.

“You really think I’d give you mono?” He asks, sounding hurt.

Forcing your breath out through your teeth, you stop digging, and lean back to look at him. Those puppy eyes…

“No,” you say, feeling bad that he even heard that to begin with. You shut the locker. “I don’t. But the point was that I’d rather suffer with y— errr suffer any sort of wicked sickness than be even remotely happy around him.”

“So… why’d you stop? Was it that bad?”

“No, actually. It wasn’t. I stopped because I… um, the bell was going to ring.” That was a lie. You stopped because your beating heart had sunk between your legs. Kissing him was a massive turn-on, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“That it did…” he starts, absentmindedly playing with a strand of his own hair. “And now we’re late.”

You narrow your eyes. His brows flick upwards and the tip of his tongue presses pointedly into his lower lip, a little glimmer of mischief in his expression. Ready to prove him wrong, your eyes dart to the clock above the lockers, the visual causing you to curse under your breath. You hadn’t even heard the second bell, but he was right. Three minutes past. And Mr. Jenkins? Didn’t let anyone in after the bell rang. Fucker. Eddie shimmies closer, his soft, brown eyes falling to your lips. He was smiling, watching you and looking like he was daydreaming about having those soft lips against his again. 

“You wanna’... maybe show me what else you’d rather be doing than spending your time with brainless Ken dolls?”

You considered the offer for a moment. You had been pining after him since your first English class with him, and now… your split decision had thrown open the door to opportunity. When you’d tried to close it, Eddie had put his dirty white Reebok right in the way.

“Screw it, let’s go.” 

“Yeah?” He confirms, excited.

“Yeah.” 

Eddie wastes no time, taking hold of your hand as he passes you, towing you in the direction of the doors and out into the parking lot. 

How did you end up here? In retrospect; you’d probably have to thank Jason for pissing you off that day, in that particular way that really drove you over the edge. Because if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been crawling into the back of Eddie Munson’s van while he stood behind you, looking at the gentle curve of your ass.

After throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder, making sure there weren’t any prying eyes watching the two of you, Eddie follows you inside and pulls the door shut behind him, the metal squeaking loudly. You sit down and cross your legs, resting against the interior wall. The inside of his van is warm, having baked in the sun all afternoon. Cassette tapes litter the floor behind the seats, and a Judas Priest shirt hangs over the headrest of the passenger seat. A few undisclosed cables are wadded up in the corner, you assume they were musical in nature. He seemed like the type. It’s exactly what you’d pictured his van to look like. 

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry about the… mess.” 

You chuckle, looking brightly at him. “I don’t care. Plus, Judas Priest is rad. That song that came out last month… Turbo Lover? Gets stuck in my head all the time.” 

Delighted by this reaction, Eddie knee-walks over to you, that same mischievous smile on his face as before. He leans down, exhaling over your lips before looking into your eyes with a burning curiosity.

“Why were you sitting at his table anyway? You don’t seem like his type.” 

“His type? Gah, gross. No. We’re lab partners. Regrettably. Turns out, he’s kind of a massive dolt when it comes to science.” You pause and heave a sigh, your breath rushing out over his cheeks. He blinks. “I really don’t want to talk about Jason right now, Eddie.” 

“Oh yeah, totally.” With that, his hand snaps to your jaw, where he holds it gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “You wanna’ makeout or something?” 

You can’t help but laugh, unsure if it’s because of the butterflies in your stomach, or because he’s kind of a dork. Smooth and very charming, but a dork all the same. You chalk it up to a combination of both and lean forward until the tips of your noses touch. “Yeah, Eddie, I wanna’ makeout. Again.”

This time, Eddie is the one to initiate the kiss. He presses his lips against yours softly a few times, your lips sticking together each time he pulls away. Relishing in the taste of you, he hums into the kiss, pressing himself closer to you. After a few moments, he breaks the kiss to readjust his position. The break is too long, it seems, because before you know it, he’s back to leaning over you and craning his neck down to kiss you from above. His hands drop to find your neck, his thumb trailing down over the front of it while the others stay tenderly wrapped around the side, squeezing slightly. The motion sends a deep shiver down your spine, reigniting the embers of your arousal. Eddie laughed breathily into the kiss. 

“Quite the reaction…” he murmurs over your lips.

“Oh, shuttup.” Your hand makes a fist in his shirt, pulling him back onto you. “Keep kissing me.” 

“As you wish.” He says dreamily, with lust woozying his speech. His voice is slightly deeper now, laced with hunger, and you whimper, pressing your knees together. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie notices this, and moves his free hand to your kneecaps, wriggling in between them to separate them. They fall apart with no resistance, and again, Eddie’s chuckle vibrates against your lips, sending a tickling wave over them. Your willingness almost embarrasses you, but when Eddie says nothing, only moves to slot himself in between your thighs, you realize that he’s into it. 

“No need to be shy here, princess. Just you and me.”

Your hands wrap around his neck, fingers splaying out over his back. “God, you’re cute.” 

“So are you.” 

“No, you’re really cute.” 

Eddie pulls away, furrowing his brow as if he’s confused. He is – he’s confused on whether or not you realize he thinks you’re a catch, too. You sense the confusion, and roll your hips up against his. His breath hitches in his throat, eyeing you pleadingly. It’s a warning – you can’t do things like that lest he lose control.  

“Uuughh,” you moan. “I don’t know why it took me this long to kiss you.” 

“Me neither.” 

He presses his lips against yours again, his tongue slipping past the two plush pillows, tasting the waxiness of your lipstick. Swiping his tongue along yours, he deepened the kiss, enticing you to join in a painfully erotic dance of spit-swapping. He exhales hotly over your mouth and grinds his hips against yours, groaning softly into your mouth. You grind back, knowing exactly what you’re doing. You can feel what you’re doing to him; it was currently pressed against your inner thigh. 

You reach down between your bodies, finding the warm bulge in the front of his black jeans and give him a soft squeeze. The sudden contact makes him lurch forward, crushing himself somehow further against you. He can’t get any closer to you without melting into your body which, in truth, makes him crazy. He makes a sound — something between a whine and a gasp — and ruts his hips against your center. The pressure has you reeling, pressing your back against the inside of the van. 

“Eddie, fuck…” 

“Yeah,” he echoes your sentiment, nodding his head so enthusiastically that his soft brown hair flutters. 

“Can I…?” 

He grins. “You can if I can. It’s only fair.” 

You let your legs fall farther apart, granting him access. With a newfound urgency, you quickly yank on his waistband, pull the silver button from its slit and maneuver your hand inside the elastic of his boxers. On the way down, you rake your fingers through the thatch of brown hair above his cock. Eddie responds by tightening his grip on your neck instinctively. The tips of your fingers find the searing hot head of his cock, precum leaking from the slit. With an audible mmmm, you swipe your thumb over it, smearing around the underside of the tip. Eddie hisses through his teeth, rutting his hips over and over again – forcing you to jerk him off a little. The tip slides through your fist, slippery and warm and you can’t help but let out a satisfied sound. 

“Wow,” you breathe, in awe. You weren’t sure what you expected, but feeling a cock this heavy wasn’t on the menu. You’d been with a few metalheads before, and they were all average at best. You thought he’d follow suit. Not heavy in your hand. But he is. God, he is. Eddie licks hungrily at your mouth before running his tongue along your bottom lip and taking it between his teeth, biting down slightly. You groan, pressing your head back against the wall. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you say, breathlessly before squeezing his cock again. It twitches in your grip, hardening just a little bit further. You can feel the tension in his lower abdomen every time you slip your hand deeper into his boxers, tugging at his cock as you slide back up. 

His hands drop from your neck to your waist to your hips, his thumb making circles on the strip of exposed stomach flesh between your black leather skirt and your shirt. One hand sinks lower,  moving from your hip to your leg, sliding against the pillowy, cream soft flesh of your inner thigh.  It slides up your skirt, pressing against the nylons, and grazing your cunt from the outside. Inside his jeans, your hand starts to go slack, but Eddie quickly snaps you back to attention.

“I’m gonna’ need you to stay focused, baby. Don’t stop.”  

“S-sorry.” You pick up the pace, stroking his cock again at a much steadier speed. He lets out a soft groan, the feeling of your hand gently stroking his dick sending him into a haze of pleasure. But, he, too, has to focus. 

Eddie gets back to work, carefully undoing the zipper on the side of your skirt. He tugs, shimmying the skirt down over your hips and continues pulling until he pauses to pull your legs from the black circle, tossing it towards the van doors. Now, the only thing between him and your cunt is the fabric of your tights and your white satin underwear. You’re painfully aware of this fact and so is Eddie – the look on his face says it all. He sweeps you into another kiss. 

It’s almost as if he was using the kiss as a distraction from the adept way he’s rolling your nylons off your hips and down your thighs. You almost don’t feel it and don’t notice until he’s got them down around your ankles. 

“May I?” 

“May you? What is this –” You asked, trying to tease him, but your voice is so high pitched, so feathery with lust, that it just sounds ridiculous. You huff and nod, giving him whatever permission he felt he needed. 

His middle finger traces the visible slit in your underwear and embarrassingly, your whole body responds. From your legs snapping shut on his hand to the utterly humiliating moan that tumbled off your lips, there’s no coming back from that reaction. Eddie laughs quietly, almost devilishly and you relax your legs again. 

“Sorry, I’ve… I’ve been…. Um…” 

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.”

“Oh god, fuck… I’ve kinda’ sorta’ had a thing for you since English with M–”

“Mrs. Lawrence? Last semester.” 

Your mouth hung slack. He knew? 

“You really thought you’d walk in, looking the way you do, and I wouldn’t remember?” 

Your stomach tightens underneath your shirt; butterflies are erupting beneath the skin. Any further jabs to your heart and they actually might rupture through your ribcage.

His finger sweeps along your center again, before hooking around the scalloped edge of the panties and pulling them down over the curve of your hip. A clear, slick strand stretches between your cunt and the fabric before snapping. Eddie growls, a deeply pleased sound erupting from his throat. 

Two fingers part your folds, sweeping tantalizingly at the underside of your clit before sliding down to your entrance. He prods the opening with his middle first, making tiny circles and spreading your arousal around your cunt. Finally, he inserts both fingers, sinking them to the knuckle. Moving his arm, you watch as the bats literally fly back and forth and let out a small, breathy laugh. The way he was working you felt so good, your hand instinctively tightened around his cock. Eddie shuffled closer, his knee in front of your cunt. Before you have time to react, Eddie abruptly takes hold of your left hand and brings it above your head, holding it tight against the wall of his van, his rings pressing into your fingers. Your digits tangle with his and he flays them open.

He continues thrusting his fingers in and out, watching your every move. You looked up and whined loudly; the sight of your smaller hand entangled with his larger one was divine, and sent another shockwave through your core. The coil in your stomach wound tighter, and tighter. Your body flushed with heat, and you were suddenly wishing you were naked underneath him. Eddie suddenly leans over you, pressing the side of his face against yours. 

“I’m your turbo lover…” He sings quietly in your ear, his tone honeyed and low, absolutely dripping with sex appeal. Your eyes roll back in your head, your jaw falling open. “...tell me there’s no other…” 

“Oh fuck, Eddie, oh my god-!”

At the singing, your needy pussy clenched around his digits, shivering violently. His thumb moves to your swollen, tender clit, rubbing it back and forth expertly. The coil snaps, and you moan loudly, banging your head against the wall a few times. 

“OH MY GOD!” 

You shouldn’t have found it so hot, but the way he sung the lyrics into your ear sent a wave of electricity through your entire body. As the sound of your moans reach his ears, Eddie groans and bucks his hips rhythmically, pumping himself closer to the edge of orgasm. 

After a few more pumps from you, his back arches and he groans your name – another surprise that he knows that – as his hot, sticky release coats your fingers as wave after wave of pleasure surges through him. The flushed, pink tip was exposed enough that when he does finally lose it, the first spurts of cum find their way onto your shirt. He doesn’t notice right away, still thrusting his hips into your loose fist. Finally, he brings his head forward to look at you again. His chest is heaving, panting from the exertion, and his eyes trail from your face down to your shirt. The wanton look is replaced with one of horror. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry! Here uh,” Eddie paused, stretching over to yank the shirt from the seat. “Wear this. I promise it’s clean. Decently… uh… clean.” 

You didn’t care if it wasn’t. The fact that he had given you his shirt because he accidentally came on yours was single handedly the cutest thing you’d ever had a guy do for you. You withdrew your hand from his boxers, and he let go of your other hand. Quickly, you pulled your shirt over your head and wadded it up in a ball, setting it next to you. His shirt was baggy, but you quickly remedy that by tying the front in a knot. The way that Eddie’s eyes skirted over your breasts wasn’t lost on you. You smirk. 

“Think Mr. Jenkins noticed we were both gone?” He asks as you fluff your hair. 

“Probably. F’s for both of us.” 

Eddie smiles.

You look down at the shirt, trying to talk your blushing cheeks down. “I’ll give this back to you. Remind me.” 

“Sure,” he says, not fully convinced he wants it back. He likes the idea of you wearing his shirt around school. A dirty little reminder of what occurred. “You should come to one of our meetings.” 

“Meetings?” You ask, quirking a brow. 

“Yeah,” he says, plucking his shirt. Your eyes drift down to the red, snarling demon on his chest. The words Hellfire Club crown the demon, decorated with medieval looking weapons.

“Right, right. Dungeons and Dragons… I’ve never played it.”

“I’ll teach you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

[PART TWO HERE]

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 5 - Should Have Gone To Med School

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Medical stuff, descriptions of wounds, description of medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, blood.

AN: Why does everything I write turn into a medical drama.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

AO3

Enjoy <3

You hide the scalpel between the mattress and the bed frame. No point in getting caught with it. You’ll help Price but you won’t take them over the border. It’s too risky, you need them to trust you at least for now. Besides you’re about to maim their captain, or at least you assume he’s the captain. Gaz called him cap. 

He ordered Ghost around and you thought he was incharge. 

“Hey.” The voice at the door makes you jump. You turn to see Soap looking at you. He’s unarmed for once, maybe they are starting to trust you. “Sorry, I wanted to say thank you.” 

“For what?” You ask heading out the room. He blushes running his hand through his hair. Christ, what's he nervous about. He moves to the side to let you out into the hall. 

“For back in the vets with Ghost.” 

“So he told you?”

“Yeah, he’ll never say a proper thank you. He’s a bastard like that sometimes. But you could have let him die.” He seems nervous, you have no idea why. Maybe Ghost didn't want anyone to know he let his guard down. Probably not the best look that a seasoned SAS soldier can get jumped so easily. 

“No I couldn’t. Then you would have killed me.” You smile at him and head down the stairs. 

Maybe you should have let him die, and run. Where though? Back to Konni? To Al Qatala? You shake your head pushing the thoughts away. You'll patch Price up then you’ll part ways. No need for you to stick around longer than you need to. Fuck the asylum in the UK, you don’t believe that would happen anyway. 

Ghost is not around but Soap follows you down the stairs and Gaz is sitting on the coffee table talking with Price. He goes silent when he turns to see you, standing up and moving behind the sofa. His eyes dig into you. You swallow the nerves going over to the bag you dumped down when you came in. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask him one last time. He looks up and nods. 

“It’s worse to leave it in, right?” Price asks. 

“Yes and no. It’s going to hurt. There’s no anesthetic.” You say gripping the handle on the bag. 

“I’ve been through worse.” 

“Cap, are you sure?” Gaz leans down to whisper next to his head. You feel like you’re interrupting something.

“Take your shirt off and lie down.” You say putting the bag on the coffee table and bending down next to the sofa. 

“If you need time-” You don’t get time to finish.

“No. I’m ready.” Price says sitting up straighter on the sofa. “It’s fine Gaz.” He waves the other man away but he doesn’t move, just stands back up crossing his arms.

“Do you need a chair or somthin’?” Soap asks, you turn to him and shake your head. He smiles. You look through the bag, you think you have everything. You recognise everything, you managed to grab a lot. But you only have 2 pairs of sterile gloves, which means you only have 2 chances to get this right. You will get it right though. 

Gaz helps Price take his shirt off, you look at the bandage on his stomach. Now you’re calmer, getting a better look at it, it’s not as central as you thought it was. 

“Did you have a vest on?” You ask. 

“Yeah, went right through.” Price says as he lays back on the sofa. 

“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t shatter.” You press on his side where he showed you yesterday, it's starting to bruise. It really must be closer to the surface then you think.

“Lucky the guy missed.” 

“Some would argue he didn’t miss.” You say, tipping your head and turning back to the coffee table. You lay out your instruments, double checking everything. What should you be worried about? You think to yourself. It’s been years since you’ve done something like this on a dummy let alone a real person. 

Shock, he could go into shock if the pain is too much. He’s fit and healthy, well other than the hole in his stomach. 

“I can take the bullet out and stitch both the wounds. What would you like me to do first?” 

“Which will hurt less?” He asks scoffing. There’s the nerves, the break in his demeanor. You ignore it, you’d be shitting yourself too. You don’t really know how to answer that. The stitches will have to be deeper on the entry wound, but would that be more or less painful then slicing his skin open and fishing around for a bullet?

“They’re both going to hurt,” you say, it’s the truth. He sighs looking behind you at Soap. 

“Stitch the entry wound first.” A gruff voice behind you says. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Ghost. Price nods and you kneel up pulling the bandages off. As you begin to undo the tape fresh blood drips out and you need to reach over to start dabbing it up. Before you take the steri-strips off you lay out your sterile gloves and reach into the bag for one more thing.

“Here.” You hand him some wooden tongue depressors. “In case you need to bite down on something.” He takes them, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m tougher than you think.” he says. 

“It’s not about being tough.” You snap back. Now your nerves are showing, you take a breath. “It’s so you don’t bite your fucking tongue off and bleed out.” 

He nods. You start pulling the sterile gloves on. You can do this, it’s just stitches, you've done this before, you can do it again. You turn back over to him resting the tray on his chest and pulling the last of the bandage off. It would be easier if you had 2 people, you don’t want to ask any of them for help, besides you need them around to keep an eye on him. You take one last breath getting comfy on your knees. 

“Ready?” You ask turning to look up at him. 

“Ready.” He says. You angle the needle squeezing the tweezers in your hands. Now or never. You say to yourself and plunge the needle into the skin. 

He lasts longer than you thought he would before he makes his first audible groans. You snap to look up at him quickly when you’re done with the next pass. His eyes are squeezed closed, sweat building on his forehead. 

“Almost done.” You lie mopping the blood escaping from the fresh wounds. He’s going to need at least 6 more stitches before you can tie this off. It came back to you in an instant, as soon as you made the first pass through. It’s like riding a bike you never really forget. 

“Want to take a break?” Gaz asks. 

“No.” He grits through his teeth. Good, stopping now wouldn't be smart, you’re over half-way done. 

“You can have a break when I'm done.” You say passing the needle though again. It’s not perfect but it will hold, paired with the bandages it’s all he needs until he can get to a proper medic or a hospital.

“Would kill for a whisky.” He says trying to keep still. That makes you smile. At least he’s still joking, talking. At least he's conscious. You feel like you can hear people shuffling uncomfortably behind you, hushed voices you’re not paying attention to as you concentrate. You’ve been biting the inside of your cheek trying not to show your true nerves, you hope they can’t tell. 

“Almost done.” You assure him.

“You keep saying that.” He says, his breathing picks up. This is going to be the worst part, you saved it till last. You speed up as much as you dare, you want to get this over with before he starts to freak out. You don’t like how shallow his breathing has become. 

“Last stitch.” You say pushing the needle through the skin one more time. You let out an audible sigh of relief as you reach over for the scissors. “Done.” It’s all you can manage. You tie off the tread sitting back on your knees. It’s done. You look over at him, his eyes open again his head tipped back against the sofa pillow. 

You reach over for the bandages and dress the wound. You get up to your feet. 

“Take a break, maybe get something to drink. Water.” You say, swallowing the nerves rising in you. You need to clear your head. You need fresh air. You make a b-line for the front door pulling your gloves off as you pull it open letting the cool night air hit you. 

You feel sick bending over and bracing your hands on your thighs. 

“Holy shit.” You say pushing as much air out your lungs as you can. That really just happened. You just stitched up a fucking SAS officer with no ansathetic. And you’re still not done, he still has a bullet in him. 

The door opens making you jump. You straighten yourself up crossing your arms as goosebumps rise on your skin. You turn to look, it’s Ghost. He hands you a bottle of water.

“Thanks.” You say reaching out and opening it. 

“You did good.” He says after you’ve taken a few sips. 

“It’s just stitches.” You say trying to not let your confidence falter. Can’t have them losing confidence in you. 

“Are you sure taking the bullet out of him is the best option?” He asks. You turn to look at him finishing the bottle. 

“The bullet could move if he does, it could hit an organ, cause internal bleeding. It’s close to the surface though, it could just be stuck below the skin. I have no way of knowing until-” the word catches in your throat. “It’s safer to remove it.” You walk up to him and hand him the empty bottle, he nods. 

When you get back in the building you’re surprised at how warm it is, you’d never noticed that until now. Price looks fine inspecting the bandage on his stomach. 

“Looks good.” He says. He seems perked up. Gaz looks like he hasn’t moved although now he’s holding a glass of water. 

“Thanks.” You say cleaning up the stuff you’ve used and setting up the new stuff you need. The scalpel seems heavy in your hand for some reason. Your mind wonders the one upstairs. 

“Ready?” You ask looking up at Price again. 

“This one should hurt less right?” You squirt alcohol solution over the sight. It’s better than nothing.

“Yes.” You say pulling a mask over your nose and mouth. Maybe if he believes it it will hurt less, like a placebo effect or whatever they call it. You pull the sterile gloves on and pick up the scalpel. You let out a breath looking down at the skin. 

This is not going to be fun. 

“Hey.” Price calls, you look up at him. “Don’t look so nervous, what's the worst that could happen.” 

He could die. 

“I’m not nervous.” You bring the blade down. “It’s going to be hard, but try to keep still.” 

You press the blade into the skin. A groan leaves his mouth, his head presses back into the sofa pillow again. You have to act fast, mopping up the blood as it spills out. You thought you’d cut deep enough but apparently not. You squeeze the skin fleeing for the bullet. It’s still there, it's not moved. You make another incision going deeper. 

You’re through the fat and it must be stuck in the muscle. You reach over for your tweezers, using your other hand to try and isolate it. 

“Christ.” Price says as you dig around. 

“I know, I'm sorry. Slippery thing keeps moving.” You say frowning. You manage to find it reaching for the clamp, if you can keep it still you can cut down to it. 

“Got it.” You say after a few seconds of poking around. Thank god you don’t have to dig much deeper. You take the tweezers and pull it out. “Look.” 

Price looks up, when he sees it he smiles.

“Free souvenir.” Soap says. You reach around dropping it with the tweezers on the coffee table. Now you just need to stitch this up. Easier said than done. 

“How’d you learn to do all this if you’re not a doctor?” Price asks, you're surprised he's talking. He looks more relaxed, you look up, he's squeezing Gaz’s hand. Poor Gaz. 

“I would hang out in the skills labs with the surgical interns when I was at the hospital. My father would be in surgery, my mother working. They would teach me. I used to enjoy it as a kid, playing with fake skin watching them work.” 

“Is smuggling easier?” Price asks, raising an eyebrow.

“What happened? Why did you move away from medicine?” Gaz asks.

“I got bored, wanted to do something other than be stuck in a hospital all my life.” You look up at him, he hasn’t moved. “I saw how hard my parents worked. I didn't want a life like that.” 

“No but it's more fun.” You hear Gaz scoff, he drops Price’s hand crossing his arms, he hasn't moved but he hasn't taken his eyes off you either. 

“Ever thought about the army?” Price asks. You laugh, shaking your head. 

“I don’t like being tied down. I’m not into all those rules.” 

“Where’s your rescue anyway? I would have thought the UK would be desperate to get 4 SAS out of here.” No one says anything. You look up at Gaz, then over at Price. 

“I think you’d do good.”

“I think it's all bullshit.” You say trying to not snap. You focus on your stitching, you can’t get it out of your head though. Like the military is so great. 

“We’re helping Farah.” Soap says.

“Ah, that makes sense. They’re classed as a terrorist organisation right?” You look over at Price, he nods. You’re almost done, you wipe the blood away reaching over for the scissors. 

“Why do you need to get into Russia if you’re helping Farah?” No one says anything. You sigh, tying off the thread. “I can’t help you if I don’t know why.” 

“I thought you didn’t like to know details.” Ghost says. 

“We need to find Alex first.” Price says. You pull your gloves and mask off bandaging up his wound. 

“If you lost him on the border Konni will have him.” You say as a matter of fact. Standing up and picking up the trash. No one is saying anything, you throw it in the bin. 

“You work for Konni right? Your last job was for them?” Price asks, sitting up on the sofa. 

“Yeah, well, not anymore. Thanks by the way I wasn’t really in the mood to be getting an ear full from Makarov this week.” You stand back up looking round the room. They look different, shocked, all the colour has drained from Price’s face. 

“Makarov?” He asks.

“Yeah. I mean he’s in town for something. Like I said I don’t ask, but whatever it is it’s important. Those people you killed were important.” You look round the room. 

“Holy shit. You’re after Makarov.” You say as a matter of fact. No one says anything. You scoff picking the bag up off the table and throwing it over your shoulder. You shake your head again. “Look I hate to be the bringer of bad news but even if I could get you over the border. There is no way on earth you’re getting into Konni’s compound.” 

“We don’t need to get inside anymore.” Price says. He stands up with a groan, pressing his hand on the side of his stomach. Gaz’s eyes follow him, his hands coming out to support him. You want to tell him to sit down. He needs to rest. 

“You work for whoever pays right? How about a job so big you could retire.” Price says taking an unsteady step towards you. You swallow hard, not sure what he’s about to say. 

“Help us kill Makarov and you can name your price.” He says smiling. You frown at him and shake your head. 

“You’re out of your mind. What can I do?” You drop the bag and throw your hands up. “I’m not an assassin. I don’t kill people for fun.” 

“Yeah, I know that. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill us, flee. What stopped you?” He asks, taking another step. You freeze, you’re not sure. You don’t kill in cold blood, you’ve always told yourself that. Self preservation, that's what it is. 

You could have let Ghost die. Let him die in the vets and run back to the border, told Konni about them, they would have been captured but you didn't. Maybe you believed them when they said they could get you out. 

Maybe you trust them. 

“I think you’re better than all this. You want peace in your country, you want the war to end. You need to pick a side to do that.” He reaches behind you, someone passes him something. You don’t turn, you're nervous all of a sudden. Maybe they’re about to kill you. Making you lower your guard so you’re an easier target. 

He brings the object into view. It’s the scalpel, the same one you hid in the bed. 

“I think it’s time you pick a side.” He holds it out for you to take. You could take it from him right now and slit his throat. How did they even find it? Shit. Soap must have seen you. You look up at him, he has a smile on his face. He already knows what you’re going to do. You reach out and take the scalpel.

next

Banners by plum98

[buckybarnes-lover]

Roommies (Chaper 1)

Roomates Bucky Barnes x fem!reader au

Words: 1,010

Summary: You and Bucky are roommates, you've had a crush on him for ages but you don't want to risk ruining your friendship so you stick to being friends until you go out and get drunk one night.

Warnings: there's not many warnings, the reader drinks enough to get drunk but other than that there's not much

A/N: This is my first Bucky fic ever so pls enjoy! I've also posted this on ao3

masterlist here

********

You and Bucky had been roommates ever since your second year at Uni when you both decided it would be cheaper, and more fun, to live together. You knew everything about each other and were always with each other, so much so that sometimes people would mistake you for a couple because of how close you were, but you always laughed it off. A small part of you wished that is was true, that you were dating but you knew that dating Bucky would also mean the chance of breaking up with him and you didn't want to risk that.

Dating Bucky was just a fantasy, something to daydream about when class was taking too long to finish or to help you get off late at night. It's not like it would ever happen, but that doesn't stop you from thinking about it, about the way he would kiss, how he would start gently, as though he was trying to commit your lips to memory then get rougher and more passionate as the moment progressed and then-

"Are you thinking about him again?" Nat's voice snaps you back to reality, back to the cosy little café ten minutes from your flat where you and Nat are supposed to be studying.

"What? No, I was just, um," You glance down at your biology notes "Thinking about enzymes." You hoped Nat would believe it but guess you can't lie to a human lie detector.

"Really? And what about enzymes has got you blushing?" Nat smirks knowing full well that you're lying.

You at least have the decency to look sheepish as you accept that you've been caught.

"You know, you should tell him how you feel, you never know he might feel the same." Nat's been trying to get you to confess for a while now but all her attempts have been in vain because you're just too stubborn.

"I don't know Nat, I just don't want to ruin what we have right now." You fidget with your pen "Plus, I'm sure it'll pass" You don't know if you're trying to convince Nat or yourself.

Nat leans back in her chair "Well, if you're not going to do anything about it, you need to get over him." She looks at you with a sly grin "Let's go out tonight."

"Tonight? But I still need to study." You hesitate looking down at your notes, you definitely didn't do as much studying as you hoped today.

"Yeah tonight, we'll invite Wanda as well and it'll just be our little trio going out and getting fucked." Sensing your hesitancy she adds "Come on, it'll be fun, you might even find someone else to take your mind off Buck."

Maybe you should go, going out with the girls is always fun and you definitely need to get your mind off Bucky. "Ok, let's go." Yeah, you can study later.

"Great! I'll text Wanda" Nat pulls out her phone and rapidly types a message to Wanda "All done, this is gonna be great! Make sure you look cute."

"I always look cute" You start packing your things away since you clearly aren't going to be doing any studying.

Nat rolls her eyes and smirks at you. "Alright cocky"

You roll your eyes right back at her. Who knows, maybe going out tonight will be good for you, you definitely need it.

                                                           *****

A few hours later your sitting on the floor in front of your full length mirror, blasting your hype music and trying to get your eyeliner just right. You've already wearing your outfit for the night, a black mini dress that snatches your waist and accents your curves paired with matching black heels that make you a good three inches taller. Finishing your make-up you can't help but admire yourself, you feel like a million bucks.

"You look good." Bucky's leaning in your doorway, you hadn't even noticed him standing there.

"Thanks creep, how long have you been standing there?" You smirk, you don't actually mind him watching you, if you're being honest you find it kinda flattering that he's admiring you.

"I was just passing by then I saw you getting all dolled up." He crosses his arms, showing off his built forearms, as he eyes you up once again. "You going out with Nat?"

"And Wanda, but yeah we're going to meet up at Nat's place first and then go out." You put your make-up in your bag and toss it on your bed. You turn to leave but end up face to face with Bucky, well almost, even with your heels he's still taller than you. 

You're about to tell him to move but you get distracted by how intensely he's looking at you, then his gaze drops down to your lips and you copy the motion and look at his lips. You're so close to each other you can't help but lean in and everything slows down as Bucky leans in too and you're so close, you're almost-

A sudden ringtone interrupts the moment, making both of you jump as far from each other as possible. 

Bucky quickly mutters an apology and leaves before you have time to say anything. What the fuck?  You almost kissed, that's not supposed to happen, you're literally going out tonight so you can get over him. Wait. He wanted to kiss you too so... does that mean he feels the same? You let out a frustrated groan as your phone keeps ringing. You want to spend more time analysing what just happened but you got places to be so you answer the call.

"Hey girl, are you nearby? I'm already at Nat's." Wanda asks completely oblivious to what she just interrupted.

It takes you a moment to process what she just said since your mind's all over the place. "Yeah, I'll be there in like five minutes."

You hang up and leave your flat without bumping into Bucky, thankfully. You just need to go out and forget about Bucky which is easier said than done, especially after what just happened.

A/N: Part 2 here

[iwantmyprizepet]

𝒱𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽 ℐ𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒴𝑜𝓊 - 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 7/?

Summary: You don’t miss Agatha at all while she’s away on her business trip. Not at all. She probably didn’t miss you either…unless.

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: This was supposed to be 9k but my brain could not handle editing it. My side gardening job is starting up for the summer so I am working long hours six days a week. I am also in a cover band and we have a bunch of local gigs that are popping up. AND I’m in a wedding next month. I am drowning lol. If my updates become a little more spaced out and shorter please pleaseeee bear with me and don’t lose interest. I BEG. I appreciate all of you who show love for this. Hope you’re all doing good.

- Mich :) (If I made any mistakes please forgive me)

AO3 Previous Part Next Part

My Royal Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @ahintofchaos @morgananyx @coffeemelko @xblinkx2

/////

Sunday was an eventful day of bringing home my parents Christmas tree.

As predicted, it was it’s usual near disaster getting into the house.

My dad only had a little bit of height on me. Us fighting a ten foot tree every year was comical to say the least.

I’d beg for them to get a shorter one every time, but it never worked.

By the time we finished with lights and ornaments I was drained. Pine needles in every pocket and sap sticking everywhere.

When I got home with my own tree it was all I had to get it up the stairs and in the stand.

I lay awake thinking of Agatha, of course.

I’d obsessively checked every flight leaving airports nearby for Chicago to make sure she landed safely.

It crossed my mind to ring luxury hotels in the Chicago area. See if there was an Agatha Harkness on their guest list. The word stalker rang through my head stopping me.

I could not get the damned woman out of my head.

Monday was a cloud covered morning that brought a few inches of snow.

I decorated my tree and the small one I had got for the cafe.

I admired them for a few minutes outside after the sun set. The whole street was like a Christmas wonderland. All the holiday lights bright against the snow.

I tried not to think about how nice it would be with Agatha by my side. Huddled close in the cold outside. Her wavy hair collecting specks of snow. I thought about it too hard before I went back inside.

I was used to not seeing Agatha on my day off so it wasn’t as nagging and slow.

Tuesday on the other hand was like a snails crawl.

The snow had let up Monday night, but what fell still deterred customers. That mixed with knowing I would’t be seeing Agatha had the clock ticking backwards.

I didn’t even know when she’d be back. I didn’t think to ask. No, instead I just said okay over and over again.

It was so easy to remember our last encounter while at work.

My chest felt near caving in at the memory of our hug. How tight she held to me, every time her breath fell on my neck and god that perfume.

The shirt I had on that day still lay dirty on top of my washer. Her perfume lingered on the chest of it. I knew it was insane, but I couldn’t stop myself from smelling it since that day.

Tuesday bled into Wednesday in a dull way.

Sally tore in with her usual vigor mid day.

“Hello crew!” She jovially threw our way.

All three of us sent her a greeting back. I held up an empty cup to her as a silent question, she nodded.

“Listen, about the holiday party. Would any of you be opposed to pushing it up to next week instead of the week of Christmas? Rachel surprised us with a trip to the mountains and we leave next weekend.”

I turned to Chloe and Janice. Chloe gave a head shake and Janice shrugged unbothered.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. What day?” I replied fixing her usual drink.

“I don’t know maybe Thursday or Friday next week? Up to you guys.”“I’d prefer Thursday if that’s okay.” Chloe chimed in absently while on her phone.

“That’s good for me.” Janice said from the window.

I turned to Sally and handed her the drink. “Thursday then?”She gave two thumbs up with a wide smile. I laughed leaning on the counter.

We always had an annual Christmas party on the strip. Chloe brought Brooks, Janice sometimes would have her husband or kids come. Sally’s husband and daughter, Ben and Rachel usually came too.

We invited Dennis every year, but he never showed up.

Then there was Edgar and his crew, Anne and Greg from the antique shop and Lilly with her employees from the little trinket store.

We did a yankee swap, fifty dollar limit and everyone brought a food dish.

It was the easiest to do it in the cafe so that’s where it ended up every year.

“Alright, we’ll do it after closing how’s around five sound?” I suggested.

“I’ll get the word out.” Sally said sliding over a five. “You should invite your new friend.”

She seemed to try to ease it out casually. A giddiness lingered behind her words that gave her away.

“Sorry?” I asked playing dumb even though I knew who she was talking about.

“Miss. Maserati, she’s here quite often lately.” Sally said nearly bubbling over with each word.

I rolled my eyes and turned a glare to Chloe. Her face also gave her away instantly.

“By any chance has this one aided in your knowledge of, as you put it Miss Maserati?” I turned my glare on Chloe back to Sally.

Chloe snorted and Sally held her hands up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just an observation.” Sally played innocent picking up her coffee cup.

“Lies.” Broke out from Janice. “These two are like gossip girls about you when you’re not around.”

I gasped deepening my glare on the two.

“Janice!” Chloe scolded earning a chuckle from her.

“That’s my cue, bye ladies.” Sally called already out the door.

It was all a playful exchange, though I was a tad annoyed at it.

“At least I know someone tells me the truth around here.” I said shooting a wink to Janice who in turn gave me thumbs up.

“Oh, shut up.” Chloe laughed shoving my shoulder. “You should invite her though.”

I shook my head as I turned to walk away. “We’ll see about that. I’m taking five.”

“Yeah, yeah just walk away.” A towel hit my back right before I made it to the door.

——————————————————————————

I found myself plagued by the idea of inviting her now.

It wasn’t like it was some serious thing. Just a casual party with friends.

I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me that everyone else always had someone to invite but I never did.

I decided by Thursday night I’d invite her. If she said no it would be fine. If she came it would be fine. No big deal either way.

I really had hope she’d come breezing in on Friday. When I flicked the open sign off, I felt a bit dejected.

All week every time the bell chimed my head shot to the door. It was never her.

It was my own fault. If I had just asked when she’d be back specifically, this wouldn’t be a problem. On the edge of my seat like a schoolgirl waiting to see their crush.

I set off for the grocery store after work. It wasn’t too busy surprisingly. I took the long way home to drive around and see the Christmas lights around town.

When the cafe came back into view, my heart nearly leapt into my throat.

Parked right in front was the owner of my thoughts. Agatha Harkness.

I pulled into my parking spot on the side of the building.

She still sat in her car as I got out of mine. I wondered if she’d even seen me pull up.

I was second guessing if it was even her, even though I had memorized her license plate.

I heard her door shut behind me as I pulled the groceries from my trunk.

My heart and stomach were fluttering something awful.

I closed my trunk and placed the two paper bags on top.

Turning around, she was already halfway up the drive smiling. She wore a loose cream suit, slightly darker turtleneck underneath. A big gold earring stood out in front of the hair tucked behind her left ear, which as usual, was perfect and wavy. A gold necklace lay against the collar of her shirt.

I on the other hand wore jeans and a t shirt under a jacket. Dreadfully dull next to her.

“Hey, you.” I greeted leaning back on my car, arms crossed.

I was trying extremely hard to play it cool.

“Hey, yourself.” She greeted back in that low voice of hers.

I had to stop myself from letting out a groan. I wanted to climb into her arms and not let go. I missed her so much. Again, I found myself holding back saying it.

She stopped just a foot in front of me.

“I was ready to leave. I wasn’t sure if or when you’d be back.”I wanted to reply, well if you’d asked for my number this wouldn’t be a problem would it, but I didn’t.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” A much easier statement.

Her smirk sharpened her eyes. “I landed late last night, but I had a dreadful meeting that lasted far too long today.”

I nodded shifting on my feet. “I was just about to start dinner. Would you like to stay?”

Her smile grew and she nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Why don’t you pull in behind me. People drive like ass holes after dark on the street. Wouldn’t want you to lose a mirror.” I suggested it casually.

Really I just wanted a minute to make sure my place wasn’t too out of shape. It wasn’t a lie though. Kids treated it like a drag strip at night.

“Okay.”

Something in the look she shot me had me thinking she knew.

“I’ll leave the door open.” I called to her after she turned.

I made my way upstairs as calmly as I could.

Luckily I had just done a good clean Monday. I spritzed a room spray and folded the blanket at the bottom of my bed.

The sound of her car door closing jolted me.

Shooting to the bathroom I looked over myself, my hair felt messy from the wind. I felt incredibly bland looking today. I did the best I could to straighten out my hair and popped back out just as she walked in.

It felt just as surreal as the first time seeing her in my house.

“Hi.” I breathed out on a smile.

“Hi.” She laughed lightly dropping her purse on the table near the door.

It was so effortless. Like she’d done it a thousand times.

I started taking the groceries out of the bags.

“What’s on the menu tonight, chef?” Agatha asked stepping into the open kitchen.

“Oh, just a quick gnocchi dish. I hope that’s okay.” I replied walking an armful of groceries to the fridge.

“Perfect.”

My nerves started to grow by the second. She eyed me the entire time I put everything away.

Her scent seemed extra potent today. I wanted to float on it into her arms.

After placing everything I’d need for the recipe near the stove I turned and walked to her.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?”

I stopped myself just a few inches from her. I almost didn’t stop.

She nodded on top of one of her dangerous Agatha looks. Dangerous in the way it had me in danger of doing something stupid like kissing her.

“Red or white?” I asked walking over to the bottles.

“White.”

I turned the record player on and placed the needle to the vinyl that already lay there.

Hozier’s Wasteland, Baby.

I realized upon looking at my wine selection, most of it was probably below par for what she was used to.

I decided on the forty dollar bottle I picked up a few months ago. I’d been saving it for a special occasion and well, it certainly was.

I popped the cork and grabbed two glasses pouring a good amount in both. I turned with both glasses and nearly bumped into her. I don’t even know how she’d gotten right behind me so quietly.

My chest ached to fall into her. I was starting to lose track of how often that was happening.

I held her glass up and she took it, warm hand sliding over my own.

“Cheers.” I said quietly holding my glass up.

“Cheers.”

Our glasses clinked, eyes locked as we took a sip. I broke away walking past her back to the kitchen.

It didn’t take long to finish cooking.

Agatha sat on a stool at the island after I told her three times I didn’t need help. Her being close while I cooked wouldn’t help us eat any faster.

Conversation flowed so easily. Anytime there was a silence it was comfortable.

Agatha poured us another glass of wine while I plated the food.

She even made eating look elegant. I had to keep reminding myself to eat my own food and not stare at her. Agatha complimented the dish up and down heating my face slightly.

She tried to clean the dishes but I scolded her away.

“I’ll do them later go sit down.” I said nudging her.

She held her hands up with a laugh and made her way over to sit on the couch.

I followed behind her contemplating my move. Should I sit on the opposite end? Maybe just sit on the chair instead.

Her bold decision to sit on the middle cushion of the couch made up my mind for me.

As I sat to the side of her, she turned towards me tucking her knees up just on the edge of my lap. Her elbow fell to the back of the couch propping her head up. We eyed each other, Shrike softly playing in the background. Her eyelids seemed to be growing heavier.

I reached out running my finger under her necklace. It felt like I had permission to do it now after the last time.

“You look tired.”

She made a soft hum in response between a smile and closed her eyes.

“I do need to go. I’m stalling.” She admitted quietly, eyes opening again.

I let out a low sigh and mirrored her resting my head on my hand.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She stood suddenly walking to the door. “The souvenir I promised you.”

I laughed watching her rifle through her purse. She turned holding a long black box causing my face to drop. She remained smirking walking back to me.

After sitting down she held it out for me to take. It took me a second, but I eventually did.

Slowly, I opened the box and was met with the sight of a silver chain. I wasn’t positive on the price, but I knew it was more than every piece of jewelry I’d ever owned put together. It looked diamond cut, shimmering and fucking gorgeous.

“I noticed the rings you always wear are silver. I figured you’d prefer this to gold.” She broke the long silence. “Well, technically it’s white gold but all the same.”I shook my head and closed the box.

“Agatha.” I looked up to her feeling uneasy. “Souvenirs are supposed to be tacky little things from an airport. This is not a souvenir. I can’t take this.”

I was exasperated trying to get her to take it back.

She let out a loud laugh throwing her head back. “That’s just what people do last minute when they haven’t thought about you for a minute while away.”

I swallowed hard under her blue gaze.

She continued on my silence. “I in fact did think of you, often.”

The buzzing in my chest felt near explosive.

“It’s too much. I can’t take it. I don’t even wear jewelry often. Just the rings.” I held it back to her. “Resell it or keep it or give it to someone else maybe I don’t know.”

It was all rushed out a stutter coming out here and there.

I had a hard time accepting gifts in general from anyone. Never mind a random gift like this from her.

She let out a long sigh and grabbed the box

“Listen.” She said it softly but it was very much so a command. “I got this specifically for you.” A pause as she opened the box and removed the chain. “I won’t be reselling it or giving it away and I don’t need it.”

She stood unclasping the chain.

“Agatha.” It came out in a pathetic way.

Her hand touched the side of my neck to brush my hair to one side.

I could barely breath, still as stone.

She slid the chain around, both hands at the back of my neck fastening it. A chill shot down my neck dispersing electric through out.

“There we go.” She said just above a whisper moving my hair back.

She shuffled, standing right in front of and above me looking down. Her hand reached out, fingers snaking under the front of the chain. Just like I’d done to her a handful of times now. Her fingers moved back and forth, knuckles pressing to my chest.

My heart was hammering as I looked up at her. Her lips pursed with a smile as she pulled away.

God, it was like I was being forced to think of nothing but kissing her.

“I should go.” She turned on her heel.

I shot up, jewelry box falling to the ground as I moved quickly causing her to turn back.

I slammed into her wrapping my arms around her shoulders tight. She followed suit arms wrapping around my waist just as hard.

“I missed you.” The words I’d been wanting to say since she left, finally slipping out in a whisper.

Her voice was just shy of my ear. “It’s quite mutual, darling.”

My heart pounded under my chest. A few moments passed around our warm embrace before she pulled back.

“I really should go.” She said under hooded eyes.

I placed my hands on either shoulder and nodded.

Slowly she dragged her hands from my back, to the sides of my waist and let go. I forced mine from her shoulders and she turned towards the door.

“Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.” She said as she slipped her purse on.

I nodded with a smile as I walked over to her. “My pleasure. Thank you for the as you call it, souvenir.” I added a bit of sarcasm on the last word.

She laughed head tilting down.

I clasped my hands behind my back, halting them from tugging her in for another hug.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

I wanted to say here take my number and let me know when you get home safe, but I didn’t.

She pushed through the door and disappeared down the stairs.

I watched on from above until her tail lights disappeared.

The voice in my head still nagged that there was no way she felt something for me. Me of all people in the world.

For the first time though, there was a little glimmer in the corner that thought…maybe.

——————————————————————————

Saturday came and again I was left wondering if or when I’d see her. She really did have all the power in so many ways.

I clipped the chain around my neck this morning as I got ready. I stared in the mirror debating how to wear it. I’d never liked the way I looked in a necklace.

I ultimately decided to tuck it under my shirt. Despite it being visibly hidden, the weight of it was on my mind all day.

I planned to ask her to come to the holiday party today if I saw her. My nerves were haywire thinking about it.

First order of business would be another hug. It was becoming addictive being wrapped in her arms. Which was concerning considering it’d only happened twice.

She pulled up minutes before closing.

Instead of staying on the street, she backed up into the empty space behind my car. I tried to tame the smile it left on my face with no avail.

I figured she was waiting outside after a few minutes passed.

After closing up I locked the door, turned and rounded the building.

Her car still ran as she sat in it on the phone. The annoyance she wore on her face melted away into a smile when she saw me. My own instantly chased after hers.

She rolled her window down as I approached the car.

“Hold for a minute.” She barked at whoever was on the phone.

She silenced her end of the line before turning to me.

“Sorry, this is just going to be a few minutes more.” Her arm lay on the open window as she leaned out of it slightly to meet my gaze.

Smiling down to her I gathered up some confidence.

Reaching my hand out, I placed it gently over her arm and ran my thumb back and forth. I could feel the muscles tense underneath my palm. Her fingers applied a pressure to the door, veins showing clearer.

“No worries. Doors unlocked.”

I turned on my heel and walked away heading for the stairs not waiting for an answer. She was silent for a few seconds before her window began rolling up and she continued her phone call.

I quickly lit my favorite candle when I got inside. I freshened up and threw on a new shirt. With a quick swipe of deodorant and a small spritz of perfume, I sat on the couch.

I was going for laid back and chill. Not at all excited for her to walk through the door.

When she did I instantly ruined it by standing and walking over to her.

She stood at the door after shutting it behind her as I walked over.

“I didn’t know if you were busy tonight. I can leave if you have plans.”

There was no possibility she was nervous. The idea that I could make someone like her nervous was just not possible.

If it was at all plausible though, she certainly seemed like she could be a touch nervous.

I felt a smirk of my own fall on her as I stopped just a foot ahead of her.

“No plans.” I held myself back from yelling about phone numbers again. All of this guessing and not knowing was such a waste of time.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask her. I don’t know why.

“Good.” Her usual control slipped back as she placed her purse on the table. Just as she had last night.

Her gentle eyes lured me in to tick off the list in my head. Hug and invite in that order.

I changed it up this time around and did something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

Finally, I let my head fall into the top of her chest and wrapped my arms under her own.

Her arms responded instantly wrapping around me firmly. Her cheek fell against the top of my head and I couldn’t help the way I nuzzled closer to her with a content sigh.

It could have been a shiver I felt ripple down the back of her neck, but I doubt it was.

The fingers that held a special place in my head started skating softly across my back.

I swallowed a noise that almost rushed out. An indecent noise.

“How was your day, darling?” She asked softly, fingers still running against my back.

“Just another day. Nothing bad, nothing worth doing a backflip over.” I was careful of every syllable that came out, worried I’d let a groan slip from the feelings she was tracing into me.

She laughed lightly.

“How was yours?”

“Annoying.” Her sharp tone changed for the next two words. “Better now.”

It felt unhealthy the flips she was regularly making my heart do.

Reluctantly I pulled away and walked to the couch gesturing her to follow.

I sat in the same spot as last night hoping she’d do the same. She did.

“I’m buying dinner.” She turned to me after the statement. “What are you in the mood for?”

I shrugged as she pressed her leg further into mine. “I’m up for whatever.”

“So, escargot and caviar?”

I figured it was just to tease, but I couldn’t help the disgust it scrunched on my face.

Agatha laughed and got up walking over to her purse. When she turned back I nearly flatlined.

A pair of glasses rest on the bridge of her nose now as she scrolled on her phone. I forced my jaw to close as she walked over.

She sat back down next to me completely unaware of the toll it was taking on me.

Her left leg crossed over her right, the back of her calf now resting across my knees. My eyes traveled down her leg and back up to her face.

Her gaze remained on her phone.

I found myself struggling to breathe. My fingers flexed and tensed wanting to reach out and touch her. I felt trapped behind her leg and I didn’t mind.

I knew it was probably likely she could see me staring out of her peripheral. At the very least she could certainly feel my fiery gaze on her.

The glasses were all I could focus on. They were plain and simply, so fucking hot.

“There.” She said locking her phone.

Her eyes dragged up to mine as I was trying to reel it in. She stilled upon meeting my eyes, head dropping as her fingers pushed the glasses farther down her nose.

It was perfectly evil the grin that took over her face.

She knew.

There was no way she didn’t know.

She brushed her leg against my knees. “Everything okay?”

Oh my god she definitely knew. The way she asked the question sealed it. Still I had to try and pull myself out of it.

I cleared my throat still unable to take my eyes off of her dropped gaze.

“Yes. I’m fine.” It was the most unconvincing thing I’ve ever said in my life.

She nodded, smirk unchanging if not deepening.

“Okay.” She removed her glasses, hands tucking the arms in and resting in her lap. “Food will be here shortly.”

My eyebrows pinched in. “Did you actually get snails?”

She laughed again head falling to the back of the couch. The vein on the side of her neck was poking out.

“No, don’t worry.”

She rolled her head on the couch to gaze at me.

She was just fucking perfect.

Her hand reached over to me stilling my heart. Her finger snuck behind my neck and under the back of the chain she gave me. Her pointer rolled underneath the necklace and over my skin untucking it from my shirt.

“Here I was thinking you didn’t have it on.” She said it low, head still on the back of the couch.

I looked down as her hand fell back to her lap.

“Yeah, I just tucked it under. I’ve always thought jewelry looked weird on me.” I admitted honestly with a chuckle.

“It doesn’t.” She looked at me like, well how I imagine I look at her sometimes.

I nodded feeling a blush creep in forcing me to look away.

Her leg still lay over both of mine, pressed into them warmly. After a brain breaking hesitation, I reached out resting my right hand over her knee.

I didn’t look over to her, but she didn’t seem to protest it. I brushed my thumb on the top of her knee cap. Adrenaline rushed so fast underneath my skin it was dizzying.

Wordlessly I felt her shift next to me. In a blink her head fell to my shoulder. It spurred me on to squeeze her knee gently. A sharp breath pushed off her lips across my neck.

We sat in the silent unspoken until the delivery came. She pulled away slowly when the door bell rang.

I stood up as she answered the door. Answered the door at my house, like it was totally normal.

I reminded myself I needed to ask her to the party as I watched her. She had a very perfect way of distracting me.

To my surprise she turned away from the now closed door with a pizza box.

“What can I get you to drink?” I asked her as she carried the takeout to the table.

“I could go for a glass of red tonight, if you have any.”

I puffed out some air and walked over to the wooden hutch I kept my liquor on.

“The bottle from last night was definitely the most expensive I had. Might be a downgrade from that.” I admitted grabbing my personal favorite cabernet.

“I might have mentioned that I’m not picky.” She was closer now. “I’ll even take boxed if that’s all you have.”

I laughed popping the cork. “I’m usually not that bad.”

Her hand pressed to my back, now hovering next to me as I poured two glasses. The wine pour turned a bit sloppy. She didn’t comment on it.

“For you.” I held out her glass turning into her.

“Thank you.” She grabbed it and turned dropping her hand from my back.

“So…pizza.” I said walking over to the table.

She hummed smiling as she sat. “I tried this for the first time a year ago and I’ve been hooked. The ingredients change with the seasons.”

“Cool.” I shook my head. Cool? What the fuck kind of response is that.

I sat down next to her at the table as she held her glass up.

“Cheers.”

I smiled at her and clinked my glass into hers. “Cheers.”

After a sip I took a bite of the pizza and yep. It was easily the best pizza I’d ever had.

The invite to the party nagged in the back of my head as we ate.

We finished up and moved back to the couch. I decided to ask her quick in case she decided to do something like put her leg on mine again.

“Hey.” I fiddled with the throw on the back of the couch. “I have a question.”

“Okay.”

I looked up to her patient eyes.

“So every year we uhm, we have a holiday party. Everyone that has a business on the strip get’s invited.” I cleared my throat trying to stop my leg from bobbing. “It’s just a casual thing. Everyone brings some friends and family. We have it downstairs after closing. Just was wondering if you’d want to come?”

I turned back to her having looked away halfway through my spiel. Her silence and unreadable expression had me spewing words out again.

“You can say no obviously. You won’t like hurt my feelings or anything, it’s okay. It’s also this Thursday which I know is last minute. We do a gift swap. Fifty dollar limit. So if you wanted you’d have to get a gift which I still have to get mine. We’ll have food too. Everyone brings food so you could eat? It’s fine though if you don’t want to go. I know you’re busy and maybe hate the holidays so it’s okay.”

A shushing sound eased out of her mouth. I froze remembering the dream in which she did exactly that.

“I’d love to go.” Her leg fell over mine again as she said it.

It took far too long for my brain to process what she said. “Oh. Good.” I nodded when I finally caught up.

“What time on Thursday?”

“Five, an hour after closing.”

She pushed in a little closer, head leaning on the back of the couch again. Her scent and warmth tucking around my senses.

“Maybe I’ll have to come early. Help get everything ready.”

I smiled, heart hammering as I nodded.

Reaching her hand up towards me, she rested her hand to my cheek. My eyes fluttered for just a second as I pushed into it. Her thumb brushed back and forth.

I tried to remain calm as she watched me. I knew I looked completely swept away to her touch.

Her eyelids blinked heavy and slow as she held my gaze. She pulled away, swiping the side of her pointer finger down the bridge of my nose.

I felt on fire.

“I should go.”

I nodded afraid my words would betray me. I wanted to beg her to stay just a little longer.

She stood and I followed. She surprised me at the door and pulled me in for another hug.

Her right arm strapped across my shoulders as her left hand held the back of my head. I let her hold me up as I sunk into and round her.

“I’ve got a bit of a busy week. I might not be around that often.” As she said it I held her tighter. She continued. “I might not see you until the party.”

My chest ached at the idea of it.

The hand pressed to the back of my head moved, trailing her nails from the side of my scalp to the back gently.

It was barely there. Almost just an excessive breath, but it pulled some sort of noise out of me. I couldn’t fight it and the both of us paused any movement after it. I was glad my face was hidden in her shoulder from how hot it was getting.

To my relief, after a brief few seconds she did it again pulling me tighter across my shoulders.

Agatha Harkness was going to be the death of me.

Daringly, I dragged my right hand up to the back of her head and trailed my fingers up and down softly through her hair. The hum she let out was long and low. My stomach tensed at the warmth it shot through me.

She pulled back abruptly leaving me chasing her as she backed away.

She reached up and grabbed my chin between her finger and thumb.The grin she wore was diabolical, shooting right through my entire body. She brushed my chin with her thumb before dropping it and turning to grab her bag.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just watched as she prepared to leave.

My thoughts were clawing to break free as I remained silent. I wanted to kiss her right up against the wall. Drag her to my bed just several feet away. Feel her skin under mine. I held back a noise of protest as she opened the door.

“Goodnight, darling.” She said it over her shoulder.

“Night.” I mumbled out staring foolishly.

A knowing look rest on her face as I fought to try and say something more. She let out a breathy laugh and walked out shutting the door behind her.

I felt a wave of embarrassment letting her see how much she broke my brain.

I watched her as she pulled out of the driveway.

I’d hoped I would see her before the party. If anything just to redeem a little of my dignity.

[qin-qin16]

My computer is possessed?! Oh, wait, it's just my out-coded skeleton boyfriend!

Summary: When some of your work in progress goes missing, you decide to start investigating whether your computer has a virus. That is until you realize that the few remaining works are of one character: Error Sans. cw: comedy, kinitoPET and creepypasta vibes, Error is an asshole and Reader is stressed, gn!reader, dark jokes about suicide, but nothing serious, we have a bit of jealousy Error, writer Reader…  note: I finally wrote down this idea from weeks ago lol and the divider is from @sister-lucifer (Part one) (Part two)

You would never forgive yourself.

Five hours of work. Five. And it all vanished with a simple power outage. The entire neighborhood was in the dark for hours — and when the power finally came back, everyone heard the lengthy stream of insults and curses you hurled at yourself when your computer screen went blank; there were no files saved in the cloud and no trace of everything you had written.

Your body glides over the wheeled chair as you slowly spin in circles, “Eu quero me matar…” You murmur, without any genuine or serious inflection in your words, even though deep down in your mind, there’s a certain desire to end the emptiness that lingers from your anger.

“Three pages… three damn pages…” You run your hand over your face, resting it on your mouth as you feel your eyes sting from the static white of the computer screen. “I can’t believe it.” You finish, still in disbelief over the unexpected blackout.

You know that old saying, “I’ll believe it when I see it”? Well, the problem was right in front of you: a completely empty Word document, except for a few notes saved before everything was lost. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe what you were seeing.

“I’m not going to write all that again! I can’t even remember the last thing I wrote!” you rant to no one but the lifeless machine in front of you, running both hands through your hair and tangling it with unnecessary force — leaving only irritation in certain spots on your scalp and strands of hair sticking out in every direction.

Settling into the chair — legs crossed and leaning forward like a shrimp — you start closing all the tabs left open on the computer, not caring at all about what’s saved or not. All you want to do right now is shut off that old piece of junk (that can't even handle an internet outage) and go grab something to eat. Maybe that would help you relax and distract yourself from this mess.

However, the large ERROR 505 flashing on the screen interrupted your ongoing stream of frustration. 

The damn title, accompanied by a series of codes that made no sense to you, was plastered on the last tab of your browser, just waiting to be closed. But even after you clicked the little red box three times — eager to shut the window as quickly as possible — the page stayed open. 

It felt almost as if it were mocking you. Almost…

“Perfect! Just what I needed!” You don’t hesitate to slap the monitor, taking out all your anger on the old machine. “Now even the damn Google isn’t working!” Your grunt is muffled as you bury your face in your hands, holding back the scream that desperately wants to burst from your throat.

“God, if you exist, why are you punishing me like this?” Your murmurs are heard only by the computer as it continues to mock your suffering with the bright white screen — and that damn ERROR 505 displayed at your face.

“Know what? Screw it, I don’t care.” With your hands thrown up in defeat, you finally surrender, tired and out of patience to battle this cursed error.

This is worse than when the Ao3 is down—no, I can't exaggerate like that, you think to yourself as you crouch in your chair searching for the charger’s plug. If this page won’t close on its own, then it’ll have to be forced; nothing beats unplugging the old computer directly from the outlet.

Which turned out to be a challenging task, not only because of your awkward and uncomfortable position in the wheeled chair, but also due to the mess of wires and cables under your desk. You didn’t even know which one belonged to your computer, let alone where the outlet was.

“Maybe it’s best to just yank everything and hope the outlet comes with it.” You go back to your original position, stretching your spine and letting out a quiet grunt as a pop resonates from your back. “I need to stop spending hours sitting in front of the computer.” Your grumble is nothing more than a hollow promise, unlike your spine, which was definitely promising to develop some kind of scoliosis.

“Okay, here we go— what the hell is this?” you exclaim, and even though your voice lacks any emotion — probably exhausted from all the shouting earlier — your jaw drops, matching the widening of your eyes as you see that the once flashy ERROR 505 screen has now changed to a completely different tab.

What had once been a white background filled with bold text was suddenly replaced by your Tumblr homepage... featuring countless fan arts of Error Sans scattered throughout your feed.

It wasn’t unusual for you to search for fan art and fanfics about him; in fact, the number of tags you followed with his name was far too many to count on both hands!

However, today was not one of those days. In fact, you had been trying to set aside your obsession with the glitchy skeleton to focus on other Sanses. Those three pages you lost forever were actually part of a fanfic about Cross x Reader that you had been working on for a few days.

So… why did the page load with this theme that you had been ignoring?

It doesn’t matter, I’ll just close this tab and—oh my God, what a gorgeous fan art! You quickly get distracted by the artwork on your screen, and without hesitation, your finger starts clicking rapidly on the mouse, liking and reblogging as fast as you can.

You must have been very tired not to notice the muffled sound coming from your computer — different from the noises it made when starting up or running a virus scan. No, no, this sounded oddly like a stilted laugh, as if the audio had been chopped into pieces.

But why would you pay attention to that? Computers couldn’t laugh, especially not at your half-closed eyes and the sentences you’d written incorrectly because you were sleepy…

Right?

Tagging the people who wanted to see a fanfic of this:

@snastheskeleton64, @moonpieandfries12345, @lostsoulsofdragon, @mrcatmario, @something-random1-1-blog, @joonebugg, @crunchontoast, @honeybubbletea33, @what-have-i-unleashed, @leafwateraddict, @sweethoneybear, @sleepy-batz

If you want to be tagged in part two, please let me know :D

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Epilogue;

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

A/N: Cannot even describe what it feels like to finally finish something completely for the first time in almost a year. I feel weird and insecure about this ending, about the whole story in general, maybe it doesn't make a lot of sense, but I think I'm okay with that. I'm also just happy it's done. Thanks for sticking with me :')

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Character Study, Infidelity, Cheating, This Is a Story About Joel Miller!, Self Healing, Mild Injury/Blood, Stream of Consciousness, Angst With a Happy Ending, Grief, Group Therapy

Word Count: 2.3K

Read on AO3

Epilogue;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized there is something within him…changing. 

More brown than purple—a comforting color. He has come here, to the Emmanuel Episcopal Church, to be reminded of something. 

The Omega that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. He feels certain he’s heard it before. When he looks at her, the burnished copper hair threaded with soft white, he sees something in her eyes that reminds him of another woman who he isn’t certain he didn't dream of, but who he’s sure he knows. 

Something like… a desperation, perhaps. Maybe that’s what he’s needing reminding of. Something that’d made him feel desperate. Something he’d tried and tried and railed against letting go of, and now that it was gone, he could not help but want back. 

Joel had done something to himself, let something go. A girl with green eyes and a terrible grief. A brother who would not speak to him. And a—

A what?

“This will be my last meeting,” the woman at the podium says. “I thought for a long time that I was here to cure my loneliness,” she laughs, a sound that confuses Joel. “I’m sure we all at one point thought the same. But I think I’ve let go of that arrogance. Or that wishfulness—who knows.” She sighs and it’s easy, light. “And I’ve realized… well, let me tell you now, the bitter truth about loneliness is this: we never escape it. We only learn to take short interludes from it. Distractions. But eventually… you always return. Eventually, it’s only you again, left to pick up the pieces. Work through it. There is no miracle move on drug that can truly cure a soul in grief. No false peddlers get-well-quick scheme. There is only ourselves, and our willingness to change because we want to change for the better.”

Joel pulls the scarf he’d found tucked into the pocket of his coat weeks ago. A woman’s soft garment, he’d had no idea who it could belong to for he hadn’t seen his wife in a long time.

He buries his face in the blue cashmere, unable to stop the odd, choking sound from gurgling up his throat, the scent of her turning in his lungs. A crushing sense of despair spinning the other way within him, some terrible vortex of an almost unbearable sense of loss and loneliness he’d thought he’d cured himself of. Something worse than anything he’d ever endured before. 

Joel had made a terrible mistake, all the remaining grief inside of him told him so. He couldn’t remember, but all he knew was that there was a fracture through the center of the man so that he could never ever be real again without mending it. It was impossible to explain, nor did part of him even want to, all he knew was that he’d suffered a loss so acute he’d ruined his entire heart and life for it. There were so many things he’d forgotten, how to cry, how to be brave, how to be real. 

A woman named Maria who reminds him of his brother calls for any other volunteers willing to share and with the blue scarf gripped in his fist, Joel takes his now familiar place at the podium. He remembers names and he shares and he’s sure he isn’t the way he used to be but on his way to someone else. 

He tells them the only tale he has to tell:

“I had a daughter a long time ago. Her name is Sarah. When she died, I did too. And sometimes, well… you can imagine, but it’s a terrible thing, walking around the world dead. It made my views on the whole thing—dying—change. You’d think it would’ve radicalized me, made me awake to the reality of what it really means to be alive. But instead…death was like…her death was like—I can’t even say—like a door. Like she walked through a door I couldn’t follow and so I tried everything, all the possibilities—I tried to walk through my own doors, even tried to follow her through hers, and nothing ever worked, and now I’ve spent my life since, in the wrong room. And now that I want to go back, to be alive again and make it right, I feel like I’ve lost the key, you see, and can’t find my way back out.”

There are so many strange and unknown faces in the crowd before him. They all blur together, morphing like the skin’s grown over bone wrong and distorted. No one wearing the one he’s looking for. 

“It feels like I’m cursed. And it’s so unfair. And so selfish. Everyone loses someone,” Joel says. “Why’d I have to let it consume me the way I did? Why’d I have to walk around dead for so long? How could I have gotten so lost and so trapped I forgot to live?”

But Joel feels certain now, that if he could only find that key, he’d be let out and alive again. 

Out of the basement of the church, he crawls, false and cowardly. And at the same time, with a lightness he hasn’t felt since before he’d put his own child in the ground, wearing the terrible exhaustion that comes from being so alone you can’t remember what it is to be otherwise. Starting along his walk home with a blue scarf draped around his neck; he walks places now, he knows someone taught him the simple joy of this, but he can’t remember who. 

Halfway through, middle mark to home and just past the watch shop, the rain begins. It’s cold on the come down and then slicing hot against his skin; butter knife meet soft, unsuspecting flesh.

He begins to stumble then, confused, north becomes south, the west falls away to nothing and the thought of an east facing wind losing itself to the ocean terrifies him. The sky is weeping. His mind spins like a typhoon. Joel Miller is lost. The rain distorts, he walks past a split maple—blood colored—lying in the front yard of someone’s home as if they’d forgotten they’d left it there. His feet continue but his eyes stay on the tree cleaved in half by who knows what—who could do such a thing?—neck turning turning clicking. The toe of his boot catches on a split in the pavement, and then he’s being felled just like the maple, falling, brow cracking sharp and split, too. Blood colored, too. 

When he finally makes it home, for a single unbalancing moment, he thinks the house he’s lived in for seven years looks entirely unfamiliar to him. There’s a hot slice of pain across his mind and pavement printed face. His memory, fickle and disturbed, broken. The wife he has been married to for those same seven years is not here. 

Suddenly, Joel begins to cry. 

Slow at first, like most good things start. One tear over that trough ledge, he thinks of children that are lost, then another and he gives it a moment, lets it make its slow and meandering way over skin to lose itself amongst his whiskers, hidden and fearful just like he is. He lets it go slow until he’s ready for all at once, and then he weeps in great heaving sobs. 

He makes his way into the dark, abandoned house and he thinks that perhaps not all has been lost. After all, he feels he’s finding himself in this moment, coming back to reality, waking up to memory. 

Laying in bed, curled and shivering, he pleads with that who-knows-what he doesn't believe in to let this terrible grief end. His crying is like a bloodletting. But what about tomorrow? When the girl is still gone and Joel is still alone. Then, he’ll only be able to remember the terrible alone-ness he’d endured and the sense of relief he’d felt only to lose it again. 

When he sleeps, he dreams of his daughter, he dreams of miracles and cheats, of a face he knows should be resting against his own pillow when he opens his eyes. He dreams of remembering. 

Finally, after years might have passed, throbbing head beating like hammer and anvil, he wakes to the odd but unmistakable sound of snarling, snapping teeth which are, so far as he can tell, his own. Heart pounding in his throat, his stomach lurches like he’ll be sick. He turns over in the uncomfortable, cold bed, legs swinging over the side to brace himself, and when he looks up, his wife sits just there in the corner of the room, watching him. 

“My, what drama.”

“Where have you been?”

“Busy, living.” The thought seems incomprehensible to him. “What have you done to yourself, Joel Miller?”

“I cheated. It didn’t work.”

“That doesn’t seem like you.”

“I got desperate. I felt so alone.”

“So you should’ve done what I did. Gone out and lived your life. How could you ever possibly think you could cheat yourself out of having to do that? Silly man.”

“I—I tried. I did. But I got confused…lost. I made a mistake. I thought I needed to forget everything in order for it to work.”

“Joel. Oh, Joel,” she sighs. “You’re floundering. Whatever you’ve done, it wasn’t right. Look at yourself. You’re falling apart.” She says it so matter of factly it shames him even worse.

“Maybe. Yes.” He feels a terrible rush of embarrassment.

“Remembering is the most important part. If you don’t remember the past, you can’t find your way through to the present.”

There had been many times in his life when Joel Miller had been thoughtless, selfish, a bad man. But taking you, leaving you—he remembers he remembers—nothing had ever been worse than this. A miracle move on drug…he’d been so wrong. So selfish, so weak. There was no miracle, no neat and quick logical cure. There was only himself, taking his courage in hand and letting go of that which no longer served him, preserving memory in a glass case and leaving it there to go on with the rest of his life, just as his wife had. 

He thinks of you now, and examines his own loneliness: the idea that to be a man, he’d had to hold his tears at bay, his lust, his feeling, that there was strength in his solitude that protected him from his past losses, his terrible grief, that weakness was a sin. It’s so obvious, and how could he have not seen it before, that none of that is true. 

He’d been turned back into himself by a girl made of his own heart, and then he’d let her callously slip through his fingers. What a terrible mistake. What a terrible thing to do to someone that would love you. What a terrible thing to do to yourself. 

For one last moment, he lets the old doubt and fear comfort his mind like a cloud, and then sudden as daylight, his memories settle, the certainty that he cannot not move forward if he does not live with the past as what it is. 

And the realization that he cannot live without you. It’s a simple, awful certainty. 

-

The girl who answers the door has red brown hair cropped short around her pointed chin, a splatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Green eyes that remind Joel of another’s. 

“If you aren’t here to fix it, I’m not letting you in,” she warns as if she knows him. 

But he promises her that he is, that finally, he’s realized what it is he needs to do to make it alright. 

He comes into the perfect room, and kneels at the side of your bed like a supplicant. 

You’re sleeping, frozen in your hibernating stillness, your nightgown slipping low over one full breast so that the soft peak is bared to him. Your knee hitched high, allowing him a view of your smooth, lush thigh. He pulls the duvet over your shoulder, backs of his fingers brushing the cold skin there. 

And you look so alone in your abandoned bed, bared and vulnerable. He breathes slowly for many long moments, watching the still planes of your face—there are no moving dreams behind your eyelids. Had he stolen those from you also? 

When your eyes snap open, it’s an immediate step into waking. No confusion, only the frightening dilation of your pupil and complete understanding in your gaze.  

Your eyes study his face carefully. 

“You hurt yourself.” A single fingertip pressed to the open wound at his brow. 

“Yes. Very badly.”

“I’m sick,” your voice is throaty and full. 

Heat-sick, heart-sick, all his fault.

And there exists now, something more powerful than logic or his past losses, his living writhing grief, which had cured his mind, his heart, that drew his eyes to your mouth. He had split himself open, it had been a bloodletting. He had cried, it had been a bloodletting. You hurt. He had hurt you. He needed to mend his errors. To be alive again.

This may seem like a small ending to you, but it is a large beginning. It’s the start of the rest of Joel Miller’s life, after all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I made a mistake,” he says.

“It was never going to work.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You could see that, but I needed to live it to know. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

“I know. I believe you.”

Sometimes it really is that simple. 

Joel rests his head in the cup of your hands and cries now because he can, because that, in and of itself, is a miracle. 

“Tell me what my name is,” he asks you.

“Joel.”

—And he’s real, then, loneliness cured.

End.

References; The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin Beautiful Boy: A Father's Journey Through His Son's Addiction, David Sheff Mad Men, (2007-2015) Asteroid City, Wes Anderson, (2023) Cool About It, Boygenius Fortnight, Taylor Swift Wrong Norma, Anne Carson The Devil You Know, Liz Carlyle

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[covetyou]

the best of you, honey, belongs to me

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con, unprotected P in V, oral (f receiving), creampie, choking, spanking, mild praise kink, potential assault, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.5k chapter summary: Joel Miller is an asshole. An asshole and a liar. Right?

A/N: HOLY SHIT I DID IT I FINISHED SOMETHING. I did it Ma!

Thank you all so much for sticking with me this month. Your support has been silly lovely and I genuinely love you all a little bit.

Ty to @iamasaddie and @jupiter-soups for being the first people to cheer me on from the sidelines. You both made me excited about my own writing, which feels weird but I'm very grateful to you.

I hope you like it, thank you, goodbye, see you soon, I love you.

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song: NFWMB by Hozier

Joel Miller was a massive fucking liar, you'd realized.

You probably would have been able to guess that before, but as you were stood here, back pushed against a brick wall in an alleyway, it was clear as day.

You'd been dragged down here by two men - a small rat like one and a taller one with a mean look on his face - and thrown against the wall. Your back smarted, and you tried to reason with them, but they were tugging at your clothes and threatening you before you could think of anything useful to say.

They were torn off you as quick as they were on you.

And now, heavy fists were pounding into them, beating into their faces and stomachs as they slouched pathetically against the brick opposite. Joel had found you, somehow noticed in a crowd of people that you were suddenly gone. He had someone with him, they looked similar enough that they could have been family, and both were beating into the men that had dragged you down the alley.

A yelled threat and the two men were hobbling away, beaten and bloody and holding onto themselves in their retreat.

"You okay?"

You're looking at Joel, so it takes a second to register that the other man is addressing you. You slowly turn to him - definitely related - and nod. You're stunned and a little winded more than anything.

Joel is flexing his fist, staring daggers at you. His companion doesn't say another word to you, but you hear him talk in hushed tones to Joel, before Joel mutters something back to him and he walks away.

You should probably be more scared of being alone down an alley with Joel Miller than the other two guys but, though it confuses you, you feel safer than ever. He'd protected you, saved you, and that's how you knew that Joel Miller was a fucking liar.

"C'mon," he growls to you, walking away and expecting you to follow. Of course, you follow, even through the low lying anger and frustration that's still simmering in your belly.

As you walk behind, you watch as he clenches his fist and flexes his hands over and over. Before you know it you're outside his apartment block, being roughly dragged up the stairs by a heavy hand on your arm, dragged down a corridor and deposited in front of his front door. He doesn't look at you as he fishes his key out from an inner pocket on his coat.

"Saw you fuckin' lookin' at me, I told you not to do that shit," he says angrily, throwing you into his apartment and slamming the door closed behind you.

"They hurt you?" You shake your head. "They touch you?" You shake your head again.

His nostrils flair. You can almost hear the bones in his hands creak from how hard he's clenching his fists.

And so you poke the fucking bear again, because what is there to lose. You'd spent all week mulling it over, getting angrier and angrier as you talked yourself in circles. He didn't like you and you definitely didn't like him. You didn't want to kiss him, but also you did. Neither of you cared, but maybe both of you did. Everything was feeling like a lie and all you wanted was the truth. So you poke, bracing yourself for impact.

"You're a liar," you whisper, pulling at the sleeves of your coat.

His eyes immediately snap to yours, and he's making quick work of the distance between you. He's toe to toe with you when he stops, looking down at you, fists still firmly clenched at his sides.

"What did you fuckin' say to me?"

You swallow before you speak again, meek as a mouse but a fire in your belly. "You're a liar. You said you wouldn't look out for me."

"S'that why you kept lookin'? S'that why you got yourself in trouble? To prove some fuckin' point?"

You frown at him - it hadn't been intentional. You were glaring at him when they grabbed you, stuffing a gloved hand over your mouth to keep your scream from being heard. The people around you didn't care, didn't stop what they were doing or go for help. They just left you. But Joel came anyway.

"You think I asked for that?" you say, trying to keep your voice from cracking. You never have and never will cry in front of this man, not like this anyway. You watch as his mouth curls to sneer at you, the fire turning into a sick feeling bubbling up through your belly as you watch his lip raise.

You don't know what comes over you, but you push at his chest, wanting to touch him and get him away from you in equal measure. It takes him by surprise, the force of your push making him stumble back.

You both stare at each other, unmoving for a beat, both shocked that you'd dare to touch him let alone push him. You think maybe you should run, get away before he gets you, but your reactions are slower than his, and you're raising your arms to protect yourself as he makes one big stride over to you.

The blow doesn't come.

He's pulling at your coat, jerking it down your arms, before tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. It gets caught, and you hear a tear as it catches on your arm, but he keeps pulling anyway. The fabric splits from your body, tattered and ruined as it's discarded on the floor.

"You think I would fuckin' hit you?" he says angrily as he tugs at the rest of your clothes. "You think I would fuckin' hurt you in any way you don't want?"

You have no time to answer before he's manhandling you again, pushing you roughly into his room.

He pushes you forward onto his bed, bending you over and holding you there as he reaches around and tugs at your zipper. You fight to stand, but the weight of his hand keeps you in place as he pulls your pants and panties down in one, leaving them around your knees so you can't run to escape even if you wanted to. Any thought that you could, should, run is already gone. You don't want to, not any more. Whatever he wants to do, whatever anger he has for you, you want it. You want to feel his anger, you want it to burn into yours until you combust.

A hand claps down on your ass and you feel the sting ripple up your back. He wanted that one to hurt, and it did. Another sharp slap hits your other cheek soon after, the sting of pain made worse by your cold skin, but you're glad for it because you wanted that one to hurt too.

Both his hands rub across your cheeks, drawing a groan from you as he massages them and soothes the sting before rough fingers pull you apart. He always did like looking.

He wastes no time in plunging his wet tongue into your pussy from behind, Joel's hands yanking your pants down the to your feet to spread you open further for him. "You're fuckin' dripping," he says between breaths as you push back into his face.

"You this wet from those guys?" You don't answer, so he slaps a hand down on your ass again.

"Fuckin' answer me."

"N-no. M'not wet from them."

"Then why," he says, breathing deeply as he devours your pussy, the cold of his nose tickling your hole as the scruff on his jaw scratches at your inner thighs. "Tell me. Tell me why this needy fuckin' pussy is so wet."

"Because of you," you push your face down into his bed, biting at his sheets as his tongue swipes over your clit, already so sensitive your legs are shaking. You arch your back, exposing more of your cunt to his relentless tongue. There's no question or thread of shame in your mind why you like this - why you're already so close to coming undone just from him being an asshole and playing with your pussy.

"Me, huh? Little hole's desperate for me? Look at her cryin' out to be stuffed full, drippin' all over the place."

You couldn't help the drip of slick from your cunt, or the way his words always worked to make it worse. You knew you were a mess, but by now you knew he liked it, even if he taunted you for it. You felt how his grasping hands got firmer, saw as his cock got harder, just at the sight of your glistening pussy.

Two of his thick fingers are pushing into you, the cold feel of them startling you as they slide home. You'd spent a week thinking of his fist buried in your cunt, but his fingers still felt so thick, so much, plunged into your dripping wet heat as they were.

"If you make a mess on my sheets I'll rub your fuckin' nose in it. Act like an animal I'll treat you like one."

If you were an animal, he was fucking feral - a snarling, growling, feral animal of a man that you just couldn't resist.

His fingers curl, dragging against your walls harshly as his tongue slides against your clit again, swirling around the stretched rim where his fingers are embedded in you, tasting you, before slurping at your clit once more. You grind your hips back against his face, trying to get more friction on your clit as he fucks you with his fingers. They're warmed now, the burning heat from your cunt drawing the chill from his bones.

The wet squelch in your cunt is obscene as he laps at your clit, drawing you so close already, your feet still tangled in your pants and your moans muffled by the push of your face into his sheets.

Joel's fingers are gone just as your orgasm starts to raise its head over the horizon, ruining any high you were so close to getting. You slam your fist down on the bed in frustration, ignoring his gruff laugh as you muffle your fuck into his bed. His knees crack as he stands, undoing his belt and pulling his cock from his pants. He doesn't stroke himself, he doesn't need to, he just squeezes himself at the base, lines himself up with your hole and pushes forward.

A strangled moan pulls from your chest as he sheathes himself, pulling your hips back flush with his as his cock impales you in one movement.

"Fuck, if this pussy don't just love this dick."

He draws back slowly, pulling any slick from your cunt back with him, coating himself in you, before slamming back to the hilt.

"Uhh, f-fuck."

You feel him draw back again, holding himself back from you, tip barely inside your cunt, teasing himself at your entrance. Before he can, you push back onto his cock, taking him in with a deep moan.

He stifles a groan, fingers digging into your hips, pinching the flesh in his grip. You try to move, to fuck yourself on his length, but his grip won't let you. You can feel him throb inside you, and you hope he's already close to coming, that he wants you that much he can barely hold himself back.

The thought is gone as soon as he starts pulling back again and thrusting forward quickly, repeatedly slamming his hips into your ass and pulling you back onto him. The sharp slap of his hips and wet squelches of your pussy are muffled only by your moans and Joel's shaky breathing.

"Tell me - you fuck anyone else - like this," you say through staccato gasps as his cock collides with your cervix. "If you say you do - I'll know - you're even more of a - fucking liar."

He throws you forward, pulling out and standing glaring down at you when you twist to look at him, finally able to kick your pants and shoes off your feet.

"You think you're special?" he growls. You take him in, his massive figure stood there still clothed, cock hanging lewdly from his pants and covered in your slick. You want to lick it, taste your own pussy on his cock and catch the drip of precum from his tip before it's wasted.

"No. I'm not. And neither are you," you spread your legs as you say it, willing him to come back, to start fucking you again, but not daring to ask for it. "You're an asshole. I just like that you make me feel good."

"Feeling's mutual, sweetheart." He's pouncing on you before you can process it, yanking his shirt over his head before pulling your spread thighs across his clothed ones, notching at your entrance and sliding straight back in.

You thud back down onto the bed with the force of his cock fucking into you, staring up at him with an open mouth, panting as he starts to cant into you once again. His hands are holding your thighs against his as he rocks so deeply into you you think you can see your lower belly pulse with each movement.

His hands slide down your thighs, pulling you apart where his cock joined with you, swiping a thumb up the slick gathered there and rubbing it around your clit in rough circles. You reach down, hand trying to meet his and hold him there, but he swats you away. You move further instead, grabbing at the waistband of his pants and tugging down, slipping them over his ass before he's pushing you back again. Your fingers drag across his abdomen as you fall back again, watching a shudder crawl through him with the graze of your fingertips.

You try not to smile when his hand falls from you and shimmies his pants further down his legs, over his knees and kicking them off the end of the bed whilst still buried in you. You can see all of him again now, his broad shoulders, dark nipples, the trail of hair down to his cock where it disappears inside you. His thick thighs, spread almost as lewdly as yours, dusted in hair, the muscles flexing with each rock into you. He doesn't look at you as you drink him in, eyes focused on your cunt as he pulls you back open.

He spits down onto your clit. You whine when it collides with your skin and starts to trickle down your spread pussy. You whine again when his thumb draws it up and around your clit, massaging it into you, each swipe of his thumb jerking your swollen nub and bringing you closer to coming undone as he pounds you hard into his mattress.

You throw your head back with the feeling of it all, moaning loudly into the open room.

"You'd let me do anythin' to you, huh."

"Yeah," you admit, head still thrown back and eyes closed. You would, you couldn't even say why, just that you knew you would. That for all the pain at the end of the world, this was a pain that was worth it, a stretch that made you ache in the right ways, the sting of his palm that electrified you, made you feel alive.

"You're just beggin' for me to slap your pussy pink again, ain't you? Fill that pretty little asshole up with my cum. Wear you like a fuckin' glove." He's growling, muttering obscene things to you, things you both know to be true. "You'd let me fuck you anyway I want, even share you with whoever I want."

You nod, stupidly bobbing your head along with the rhythm of him sliding into you.

"This pussy is mine," he growls. "Say it."

"Yours!" you pant, you didn't want it to be anyone elses any more, what was the point when he'd ruined you for anyone else. "M'yours!" Fuck.

"All o' you? That's more than I even asked for sweetheart."

And he's falling forward over you, hands planting either side of your head for leverage as he pounds into you harder than he ever has, abandoning your clit just as you were about to fall apart underneath him yet again. Any words to correct yourself are gone as you groan, pulling your brows together and watching him. His face relaxes and contorts over and over, sweat beads at his temples. You know his hair would feel damp if only you would reached up to touch it.

He shifts to his elbows, the sweat from his chest and belly mingling with yours, making your bodies slick as they slide together. You watch his mouth open as he pants, the heat of his breath on your face cooling the sweat dripping down your neck. You can smell him, see every imperfection of his skin in such detail that you're struck dumb, angry, and desperate all in one swoop. Something so close still feels so far away, and a frustrated sob is bubbling from you before you can stop it.

Something inside you snaps with that. You'd be chasing it for weeks, denied something you hadn't even dared to ask for.

You grab him by the throat as his hips roll into you, gasping out a breath before you grit your teeth and say it, forcing him to look directly at you.

"Fucking kiss me."

He laughs in your face and you fight down the shame for even daring to ask for something you wanted, something you deserved. "Is that what you want?"

You nod, squeezing his throat beneath your fingertips.

He pulls back from you - you want to claw at him and hold him to you but he pushes your hand against his throat with his own. He looks down between you, your pussy creaming around his cock and swollen clit twitching with each thrust.

You tighten the grip on the sides of his throat, feeling the hard thud of blood through his veins at your fingertips, drawing his eyes back to yours.

"Fuck, that's it, sweetheart."

He suddenly throws your arm down from his neck, pinning both if your hands down as he puts his weight on top of you.

"That what you want?" he grits out. "That what you keep coming back for? Thought you were whoring yourself out for pills, not a fuckin' kiss. Are you that fuckin' desperate?"

He's goading you, you know he is. Still, you want to scream at him, but his face is close to yours now, so terrifyingly close you could kiss him by accident if you weren't careful. Suddenly you're terrified of it, desperate but terrified.

His aquiline nose slides up the side of your face, and you stop breathing. "You want this?"

"Please." You'll be angry at yourself for begging later, right now you'd say anything if it meant he'd finally give it to you.

He drags his nose across your face, rubs his nose against yours. He's practically still inside you now, the shallow rock of his hips the only movement either of you are making. "You sure?"

"Please," you whisper again, breath ghosting across his lips. You try not to move your mouth too much, barely muttering the word in case your mouth touches his. His own breath huffs against your mouth, teasing you with the taste of him.

"S'all you want, huh?"

"Mm." He's so close you don't trust yourself to speak.

His nose nuzzles into yours, the hair on his face tickling at your sensitive top lip. Then you feel it, the bow of his top lip swiping against yours, not kissing just feeling.

You're frozen, terrified to move, terrified to feel what you've been desperate for for months.

But you made it through the worst days at the end of the world. What was fear any more except another lie.

You press your lips forward, done with waiting, done with being patient, done with putting others first. You want it so badly that finally, finally, you take it.

At the first press of your lips to his, he releases your wrists, sliding his hand down the curve of your body to hold you to him. You moan into his mouth, blinking back angry tears as you wrap your own hand around his neck to pull him in further. At first he doesn't move against you, letting you kiss the soft swell of his mouth, but when you slip your tongue against his bottom lip and breathe him in, his mouth opens and his lips press to yours, giving back everything you're taking.

"This all you wanted this whole time?" he whispers against your mouth.

"Not all I wanted," you mumble. Your eyes are closed, head dizzy from breathing so deeply, from finally doing the thing you'd literally only dreamed of.

"No?"

"No," you swallow before continuing, the shame of admission gone now. What shame could there even be when it was so obvious. You open your eyes just as you speak. "I wanted all of it."

"Yeah?" You think from the look on his face that he needed to hear it as much as you needed to say it, so you kiss him again, just because you can.

He presses his hips into you harder, making you gasp straight into his mouth, the sharp pressure of his cock so much with the fuzzy high in your head. He does it again, kissing you of his own volition this time and swallowing your moan down as he starts fucking you again, one hand settling in your hair as the other wanders your body. You can still taste the salty sweetness of your own pussy on his mouth as you lick into him.

Your own hand dances with his over your body, teasing your own nipples and stroking down, down, until you push your hand between your bodies and feel between your legs. You're a mess, sweat and the wetness from your pussy merged together to create a slip and slide of slick as he slides his cock into your tender hole. You stroke at the base of him and feel another shudder work its way through his body before you move your hand back to yourself, circling your own clit as he rocks his length into you.

"You gonna make yourself come on my cock?" he says, looking down where your hand strokes at your clit. You nod, lips brushing his, capturing him in another kiss as you moan, so close already.

"Good fuckin' girl. You rub that pretty pussy. She just fuckin' loves this dick." True.

His cock in your pussy, his hands in your hair, holding your body, your own hand strumming your clit with well practiced movements, the feeling of his lips on your own. It's all so much so quickly, everything you've been craving for so long, that the fire in your body burns so bright it explodes out of every pore before you can hold it off.

"F-fuck, Joeeel."

You come with a cry, every part of your body shuddering and convulsing, hand twitching over your own cunt as you desperately try to keep the high going as long as you can, until you're so sensitive all you can do is grip your own thigh, your nails creating half moons in the soft flesh.

"You're all mine, huh?" he says gently, still inside you now as he feels your walls pulse and twitch around him. You nod, floating from his kisses and your own high. "No one else gonna touch this pussy. S'all mine."

"S'yours."

"Needy, needy, pussy," he grunts into your mouth, as your cunt quivers around him, an aftershock pulled from you at just his words and the rasp of his coarse hair against your clit.

It hits you then, for all he called you needy you never actually asked for what you wanted, what you needed. You never took it either. Not until now. But he always did.

"I think you're just as needy as I am," you whisper.

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head. "I never said I wasn't, sweetheart."

A quick shuffle of his knees later he's pounding into you with abandon, your cunt had barely stopped throbbing by the time he started again.

"Ohhhh, god."

You don't move to kiss him again, he's chasing whatever high he needs now and you let him take it, back arching, moaning as he pounds away, cock slipping inside you with ease. The hand in your hair pulls harder, tugging your head back. You think this is going to be it, he's going to come inside you like this, but then wet kisses are being peppered across your neck and collar bone, his moans sounding more like those of a common whore than his usual grunts.

You want to come again already, so you grip him tight, hands roaming from your body to his arms, his shoulders. Your nails claw at him, pulling him closer and pushing him away, trying to tear him apart with your bare hands as he fucks you.

He moves quicker still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he holds onto you and slams home over and over. You think he's almost there - hope he is because how much more screaming can your voice take before it breaks - when he's yanking your hair again. His mouth latches to your own in a sloppy kiss, tongue fighting with yours and his cock squelching into the wet heat of your pussy as he comes undone, groaning into your mouth, shuddering, fucking ropes of thick cum into your empty cunt and never stilling for a second.

His hips stop bucking against yours before his mouth does. He kisses you softer, groaning, slowing down to catch his breath before he finally removes his lips from yours with a shuddering gasp, screwing his eyes shut.

Cum practically gushes out of you when he pulls out, and you expect him to get up and leave like he has every time before. He doesn't. Instead, he rests his head next to yours, kissing your shoulder, the warmth of his body encasing yours.

Your face finds his, nudging against his jaw. He shifts, letting you in, and your mouth finds his again. You kiss him until you turn to liquid, sighing deeply and tracing soft patterns on his skin and your own with your fingertips.

Eventually, he releases your hair, and you think the moment is truly over. But then he rolls over, flopping down next to you, the weight of him dipping the mattress and making you shift closer to his side. He closes his eyes, putting an arm behind his head, and you take the chance to look down at his naked body, his cock now soft between his legs.

The feeling that bubbles up through you rips out of your mouth in a laugh. Joel's eyes fly open, finding yours, making you laugh harder. Tears are falling from your eyes - the absurdity of it all too much to bear. So angry at him, at yourself, for weeks now. Wanting something for so long, something that it turns out you could have just reached out and grabbed. Driving yourself near mad over wanting to be touched in a way you thought he never would, when maybe all along he thought you never wanted it. You're left with nothing but small giggles and an aching belly by the time the feeling bubbles out of you completely.

You wonder how all of this must look to him. How small and naive you must look, just a silly girl giggling in his bed. If he thinks it, he doesn't voice it. He just shakes his head softly and raises an eyebrow at you, as if to ask if you're done.

You lie next to each other in silence after that. He doesn't tell you to leave, and you don't move to either. You just lie there, arms barely touching, sweat drying and cooling both of your bodies.

You'd always been okay with silence, more often than not finding yourself with nothing to say, especially these days. But something in this moment tells you to speak, and so you do, filling the silence with your own voice before the opportunity can be taken from you.

"Thanks for helping me out there," you start softly. "I know you said you wouldn't, and I'm not trying to prove a point I just... Thank you. I was looking at you. I couldn't help it. I've been... angry. At you, yeah, but mostly myself. So I was looking, but I didn't realize it was that much, I swear and I -"

"S'okay," he stops your ramble so simply and quickly you frown, an involuntary tut falls of your mouth. He casts a glance over to you, almost chastising as he continues. "Ain't lyin' when I say it though. You gotta stop lookin' at me. I really can't be lookin' out for you, just got lucky this time. There's assholes bigger than me out there."

"Doubt it," you scoff. He raises an eyebrow and runs his tongue along his teeth, daring you to say more. You don't.

You fiddle with the sheets between you, biting at your cheek and bottom lip, so much more to say but the words just ending up jumbled in your head.

"I wasn't lying either. When I said I want it. All of it." That's a start, you figure.

"You don't want me. I could be anyone."

"Maybe I don't. Never said I did. I just know that I want whatever this is," you gesture between the two of you. Whatever had started as a transaction was clearly more than that now. You enjoyed the feel of him, the way he touched you and talked to you. You enjoyed the escape of it all. It was nice to know another person in the world knew you were there, that you existed, cared about you in some way, even if it was only enough to make sure you came. "Sex was never really any good with anyone else anyway."

"I've got other people I have arrangements with. I've got Tess, I've got -"

"I know. That doesn't matter. I'm not asking you to change. I don't want anything to change. I just want..." you trail off, shrugging. "I just want this for me. I don't care what it is for you, as long as it's good too."

He looks at you, taking you in with curious eyes, working out if what you're saying is true. If really, in this moment here and now, you want this exactly as it is. "I can do that."

You think that he gets it, understands it all more than you could ever explain. The thought of that alone is more comforting than any touch he could give you. It could have been a sweet moment, if that's what you two were. But it's not, and still he ruins it anyway.

"Pussy really is no one else's but mine, huh?" There's an edge to his voice that tells you he's holding back a laugh, and you could fucking hit him.

This time, you do. You relish in the oof that leaves his body as your hand collides with the side of his chest. He catches your wrist before you can land another soft blow, your skin prickling in his firm grip. You know from the feel of his hand and the look in his eye that you'll fuck him again before you leave his apartment today.

It only takes a few minutes for you to prove yourself right. You climb on top of him all soft curves and bouncing tits, hair a mess, face scrunched and jaw relaxed as you ride him, kissing him as much as you've ever wanted. Even when your legs ache, when he starts fucking up into you with each bounce of your hips, you carry on, wanting to take from him again and have him fill you.

He never tells you to leave, but eventually you get up, putting your clothes on, tucking your torn t-shirt around you. You expect your dad will be wondering where you've got to soon.

Joel sits and watches you dress until you're stood fully clothed, looking at him lying nude on his bed, a total contrast to what happened in this room just a week ago.

You think for a moment, waiting as he gets up and walks with you back through his apartment. You take in the last few hours. The last week. The last few months of knowing Joel Miller.

"Joel?"

"Mm."

You look him up and down as you stand in front of his door, still naked as the day he was born. "You're a massive slut, you know that, right?"

He laughs. Full bellied, head back, laughs.

"Takes one to know one, sweetheart," he says with a smirk, winking as he unlatches the front door.

You kiss Joel again as you leave his apartment. He can't stop you now, and you don't think he would ever even try.

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[mearpsdyke]

no one has to know (what goes on between us)

Summary: answers to the question "are True Damage's Ekko and soloist singer Jinx dating?" may vary depending on who you ask. (Band/Fake Dating AU)

A/N: AO3 hates timebomb so i'm being forced to post this directly on tumblr. oh well. tysm to vik for betaing the fic and being the inspiration behind sassy gay kayn<3

as a general warning this has very explicit smut towards the last 5k words, so maybe skip this fic if that's not your thing.

Ekko thinks, not for the first time since this meeting started, that he should quit music and move to the countryside for some peace and quiet.

The marketing guy is still droning on and on about merch sales and stream statistics, Ekko hasn’t been paying attention for the better part of the hour. He’s fidgeting with the pencil in his hands, intently avoiding the sight of the blue haired woman sitting across him, who’s shamelessly painting her nails.

He doesn’t know much about Jinx; she signed with the label around the same time as him, and although she’s also from Zaun, he doesn’t really know her, which is saying something, since everyone knows everyone in the lanes.

At most, Ekko follows her on Instagram, out of some kind of solidarity with her, something, something “people who come from the lanes oughta stick together”—in reality, he thinks she's quite hot. Likes her posts like he's being paid for it.

Of course, that's between him and god.

The marketing guy—he looks like a Jimmy, Ekko thinks—is still speaking. Ekko is barely listening.

“In short, we saw a spike in streams and social media interactions after the gala; our numbers had been steady, not to say stagnant, for quite some time so this new surge in activity caught our attention,” Maybe-Jimmy says, pushing his glasses up to his nose, sounding suspiciously upbeat.

That catches his attention.

Ekko reluctantly peels his gaze off the ground to look at him, silently wondering what that has to do with Jinx’s presence.

Ekko glances towards his manager, sitting next to him, who’s nodding along, sporting a serious face. He’s the only one that seems to be paying attention—well, besides Jinx’s manager, he supposes. Jinx herself is still busy painting her own nails in two different colors, humming a tune.

“So, as per the CEO’s request, we’ve devised a marketing plan to make both of your streams and merchandise sales go up,” he says, finally going to the point, and Ekko has a faint feeling that he’s not going to like whatever they’re about to propose to him. “Since the spike in interactions happened due to dating rumors between the two of you, we figured it would be a good idea for you to pretend to be in a relationship for some time, at least until after we drop both of your respective albums.”

That snaps Jinx’s head up faster than anything else he’s said this whole meeting, with her hands freezing mid-air. A droplet of pink nail polish falls to the pristine white wood.

Ekko’s mouth hangs open, incredulously looking at Maybe-Jimmy.

“What?” They say at the same time. Their gazes meet each other, twin bewildered looks on their faces.

“That’s your genius strategy?” Ekko questions, unsure if he’s offended that this took an hour of his life he could’ve used to finish his new song, or at the ridiculous idea itself.

“I know I said I would eat my own hands before doing any more Tik Tok challenges,” Jinx says, a pleading tone in her voice. “But I’d really trade doing those challenges instead of this—this stupid shit.” She turns to look at him. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he mutters reluctantly.

Maybe-Jimmy just smiles nervously and clasps his hand over the table.

“The CEO personally green lighted this strategy, so, there’s not much neither of you can do. It’s stated in your contract.” He gives them an apologetic look, but it sure doesn’t feel like he’s sorry at all. Bastards, all of you, Ekko thinks.

This is all, probably, some sort of divine punishment from the universe or god himself for that one time he accidentally leaked one of the songs on their sophomore album before it was finished, and it went viral when a rival group covered it. Akali is still mad about it.

He looks across the table to his new fake girlfriend, who’s speaking in hushed whispers with her manager, an intimidating tall woman with a face tattoo that reads VI, clearly angry at the whole ordeal. He’s not so happy about it either, but at least he has the decency to not look like he’s been given a death sentence.

In hindsight, this is all Qiyana’s fault.

She was the one that went around the Grammys after party filming everything for her vlog, and “accidentally”—Ekko still thinks it was on purpose—caught the two of them trailing behind the other, disappearing behind two heavy doors. What the public didn’t know is that those doors lead to the bathrooms, though it didn’t take long for them to figure it out. The internet was relentless afterwards, spurred on by all the stupid likes Ekko left on Jinx’s posts on Instagram.

Thirsting after Jinx was, probably, the other thing that caused this.

The dating rumors were frankly outlandish; just because they both came from Zaun doesn’t mean they were lovers before fame, he didn’t even know her. But whatever, he guesses the label is desperate enough for a new hit to pull this sort of thing.

As he’s leaving the conference room, he looks one more time towards Jinx, who’s hastily blowing on her nails.

“We’ll reach out soon to coordinate a first appearance together,” Ekko’s manager, Viktor, says, ever the efficient man.

Jinx’s manager offers a tight lipped smile, hastily putting away the nail polish back on Jinx’s purse.

“We’ll be at your disposal,” she answers, placing her hand on Jinx’s back to hurry her outside the room.

Ekko silently follows Viktor, who’s complaining about lazy marketing and cheap strategies like this, though he says nothing about advocating for him and convincing the team to drop this idea; Ekko knows as well as Viktor that his contract was drafted by Satan himself, and going against it is impossible.

He pointedly does not tell his bandmates about it. They have questions about the meeting they were not allowed to go to, but he's tight lipped.

The more he can pretend this isn’t happening, the better.

*

Jinx loves Violet. This is a fact as true as the sky being blue.

Jinx, also, hates Violet. These two statements don't negate the other if one takes into account they are, after all, sisters.

“Are you serious, Violet?! This is why I never tell you shit!” Jinx screeches, once they’ve locked themselves in one of the many soundproof recording studios.

Vi doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. She’s grinning like a mad woman, the fucking bitch.

“Look, I was tired of you telling me how hot you think he is and then doing nothing about it! Besides, I didn’t tell the marketing people to pitch that idea to the CEO, just suggested it. That was all their doing.”

Jinx takes out one of her shoes and throws it in Vi’s direction.

Another thing that’s, sadly, pretty much true, is that Jinx drools over Ekko. She has eyes, okay, and they function.

Unfortunately, when men are so handsome that just by looking at their pictures one gets hot and bothered, they're also, like fucking clockwork, huge assholes.

Jinx would know, she has a knack for dating them.

“One of these days you're going to disappear under mysterious circumstances,” Jinx says, ominous.

Vi smirks, lounging on the sofa like a cat.

“You should thank me,” she says, “the guy might actually be a decent one, I've heard some stuff about him. Dating him could be fun.”

Jinx pauses, considers it—then throws the other shoe towards her sister’s face either way.

*

Their first fake date happens two days later, because Viktor will be damned if he ever stops being quick and efficient.

For what it’s worth, it’s a nice spot, the kind Ekko would choose were he taking a possible partner on a date, which means Viktor knows more about him than he’s supposed to and he has to take him out from his close friends’ story—again.

Jinx is fashionably late, arriving five minutes after him, and she makes a comment about that being her manager’s doing; she would’ve arrived half an hour late if it weren’t for her, who hurried her in getting ready.

To her credit, Jinx put a decent amount of effort in her appearance; her pleated black skirt is what Ekko would consider dangerously short, wearing fishnet stockings under it. A white crop top that reads women hate me, fish fear me gains a confused chuckle from him, and she’s wearing the tiniest hint of make-up, since all the attention is on her signature twin braids; today she added gold charms to them, rings and butterflies catching his eye. All in all, she looks good, really good.

Besides sighing because she's pretty and all of this is fake, Ekko feels flattered that she put this much effort—but also, he’s embarrassed. More embarrassed than anything, actually.

Ekko is underdressed, compared to her; he put on his most comfortable jeans with a plain black shirt under his green hoodie. At least he has his gold rings and tiny earrings to appear more put together.

And he's handsome. He knows that much, so his face always pulls the look together despite all. He hears his female band mates mock him for his ego in the back of his mind.

They get their order delivered in no time, and Jinx laments not having brought her lipstick to retouch herself.

“Are you always running late to places?” Ekko wonders out loud, lazily stirring his coffee. Jinx takes a long sip of her mango milkshake, leaving the straw with a wet pop before answering.

(Ekko does not fixate on her plump lips. Nope.)

“Only to first dates I don’t care about,” she answers, a faux innocent smile dangling from her lips before she digs in on the pastries she ordered.

Ekko snorts. “Yeah, I’m not thrilled about this… arrangement, either.” He leans on his elbows, watching as she licks the frosting off her fingers. On a normal date, he’d make a sly comment about table manners, but it’s not like this is a real date, so he can’t be bothered.

Jinx looks at him, offended, and gasps dramatically.

“But I’m such a funny, awesome, hot girl,” she says, clasping a hand over her chest. Ekko stifles a laugh. “Honestly, you’re so lucky. You wouldn’t even have a chance with me if it weren’t for this PR shit.” Jinx tosses her hair over her shoulder, fixing him with a cocky grin.

Ekko scoffs, indignant. “As if I would give you the time of day. I got nominated as one of the sexiest men alive last year.”

“But you didn’t win ‘sexiest man alive’, did you now?” Jinx quips through mouthfuls of lemon pie. “And either way, when the press gets ahold of the paparazzi pics the label staged, I’ll make sure my manager tells everyone you pursued me.” Her cat-like smile only grows, and Ekko almost snaps his optic nerves rolling his eyes.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he says, sipping on his coffee. Jinx smiles as though he’s given her a compliment.

“Why, thank you, it’s my pleasure.”

Jinx keeps on devouring her lemon pie slice, Ekko’s brain starts plotting his own disappearance and the location of the dairy farm he’ll buy the day he finally snaps and throws fame into the blender, because here he is, sitting on a café with one of the prettiest women in the industry, and he's bickering with her instead of flirting and making this thing look more real.

They don’t talk much afterwards, just sipping on their drinks. At some point, Jinx gets frosting all over her lips and childishly licks them to clean them up instead of using a napkin, like any sane person would. Ekko groans, taking her chin between his hands and bringing a napkin to clean the remnants of the frosting.

She’s grinning at him, wiggling her brows as she teases him. Ekko stifles a laugh.

He hears a camera go off somewhere.

The photo of him cleaning Jinx’s lips is up on the internet before the fake date even ends, and the True Damage group chat goes off.

[Qiyana] sent one attachment

[Qiyana] ??? EXPLAIN

[Senna] YOU FINALLY DID SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR CRUSH????

[Akali] fucking HATE YOU couldnt u wait longer u just lost me $100

[Yasuo] fucking LOVE YOU i just won $100

Not for the first time, Ekko leaves the group chat, deciding to protect his peace of mind, if only until they’re due for rehearsals.

Jinx keeps on eating her lemon pie, ignoring the world, and fixes Ekko with a smile.

“So, what’s your zodiac sign?”

*

So, maybe Ekko isn’t an asshole. But he’s not off the hook, yet.

“I don’t know, Vi. I'm still not convinced he's not another womanizer. Looking like that he could have any woman he wanted,” Jinx complains, hanging upside down from her aerial silks. “Besides, he’s a libra with a scorpio rising.”

Vi hums, definitely not paying her attention, while she types away at her phone.

“Every famous guy is a womanizer unless proven otherwise, despite what astrology may say,” she tells her, “I know it's not helpful, but I’ve heard generally good things about the guy. I have a friend of a friend who’s on all of his private accounts, and they came back clean.”

“Mhm.” Jinx hesitates, chewing on her lips. “Any exes?”

Okay, so maybe she wishes she hadn’t asked that, because Vi pulls profile after profile, and all the women she shows her are so pretty her self-esteem drops. No wonder he’s so wound up about their arrangement; Jinx doesn’t hold a candle to the previous women he dated—publicly, at least.

Jinx huffs, letting herself fall from the silks, somehow landing on her feet. Rehearsal is finally over and she can finally get a good shower.

She absent-mindedly starts thinking about her outfit for the next red carpet as she drinks water, and an idea pops in her mind.

“Hey, Vi,” she says, trying to sound casual. “Do you know if True Damage is invited to the AMAs?”

“Well, I’d hope so. They’re nominated for collaboration of the year for that song they made with Heartsteel. Why?” Vi doesn’t look up from her phone, typing away a message.

She's always on that damn phone now, Jinx thinks, sounding too much like Vander. Ew.

“Oh, I just had a brilliant idea.”

*

See, red carpets are Ekko’s thing. He knows he’s handsome, his stylist loves him, and so does the press. It’s just his space to shine.

This time, though, things are different.

True Damage always matches their color scheme for red carpets; it makes sense to do so, as a band. Tonight, however, he’s the only one that’s not in the same color scheme, and that has an obvious explanation: Jinx.

Per Viktor and Vi’s request, they hard launched the relationship through an Instagram story, some two weeks ago; a selfie huddled up together on Jinx’s couch was all that was needed to add fuel to the ongoing fire that had started during their first date.

This was after a couple more dates, some more staged paparazzi photos, and ominous tweets. To the public, they had been dating for roughly three months, give or take.

Ekko had come over to Jinx’s apartment just to take that photo; she had received him in way more casual clothes than he had ever seen her, a worn grey shirt with a corny quote on the chest and biker shorts. Her hair was loose, and boy did she have lots of it. Ekko thought, in the back of his mind, that she looked better like this.

She made him all but lay on her sofa, then threw herself over him, like this was something they always did.

“Don’t give me that face,” she said, cheek pressed flush against his chest. Ekko’s breath hitches in his throat, but he tried not to show it. “You look like you’re scared of hot women, c’mon, pretty boy, put on a smile for the camera.”

“You’re a menace,” he huffed, willing his cheeks to not redden. Jinx cackled, evil and hearty and a melody to his ears.

(No. Wait, fuck.)

So. Anyway.

It had been a short affair. They took several pictures (because Jinx needed to make sure she looked good) and once they settled on one, the matter was all but solved. And he should’ve left, really; but Jinx commented something about wanting to watch a movie now that she bought an instant popcorn machine, and nonchalantly asked if he wanted to stay over for it.

Jinx had asked him to stay in a nonchalant tone, and nothing in her demeanor told him this had to be something they did for an audience, like the dates or the photos; it was just a casual hang out. So, what the hell, sure, he stayed over, and it wasn’t as awkward as he had thought it would be.

At some point, Jinx’s head ended up resting against his shoulder and he allowed it. It wasn’t half bad.

They hadn’t seen each other since then, sporadically texting as the awards approached to update the other on how their outfit was coming along.

It was a pity, really. Jinx was growing on him, if only because her sharp tongue and clever mind amused him to no end.

“Who would’ve thought a girlfriend was all you needed to ditch the boring basic suits,” Qiyana teases, as they keep on walking down the red carpet.

“Too bad it goes against our color scheme, though,” Senna laments, fixing her gown’s trail.

Ekko, almost by instinct, wants to tell them to fuck off, but he can’t blurt out, defensively, that Jinx is not his girlfriend, not really, because the place is packed with reporters and paparazzi, and he’s sure Viktor would kill him with his bare hands if he shot down their entire operation before it truly begins to take off.

He just huffs, adjusting the jacket over his shoulders. While Yasuo is wearing a normal red, white and black suit, following the color scheme of their female colleagues, Ekko sticks out like a sore thumb—almost literally. The purple of the jacket draped over his shoulders is the same tone as a bruise (Jinx had adamantly insisted on that description for the shade of purple she wanted him to wear. It had been a pain in the ass to get it right), his white linen shirt is halfway open, showing the world his pectorals and part of the abs he had so painstakingly worked out for. His pants were the same bruising shade of purple, and although they were specifically tailored for him, he couldn’t stop feeling uncomfortable.

It wasn’t really the suit itself the issue, more so who he was wearing the suit for.

Jinx is a beautiful woman, she has her charm; he’s just pissed at the label for forcing them to do this instead of thinking of another type of marketing campaign. His bandmates had told him he was, probably, the first man to ever complain about having to date a hot woman half of the industry wanted. It wasn’t about Jinx being hot, more so about his autonomy, or whatever the fuck.

They’re almost at the end of the red carpet when Akali tugs on his jacket, forcing him to stop. He turns to look at her, confused.

“Look who just arrived,” she cheekily says, pointing with her chin to the opposite way.

Ekko knows, before he even looks, that it’s Jinx. He straightens his stance, then bids his friends goodbye before going to look for her.

The moment he sees her, his brain sort of short circuits—which is probably not good (or is it?) because there are a fuckton of paparazzi milling about.

She’s wearing a two piece set; her purple butterfly top has long flowy sleeves attached to it, giving the illusion of a cape, and the skirt goes all the way to the floor, with the draped fabric making her look like an ancient statue. The holographic fabric of the garment is sparkly, catching the light of all the cameras pointing her way. Her hair is intricately braided up in a high ponytail, with braids framing her face and pinned up to the ponytail, with her usual gold hair charms.

She looks so beautiful, his heart starts beating in his ears and something like want starts bubbling in his veins. Which is not good (or is it?) because they’re not really a thing.

Jinx catches sight of him and trots up to meet him, the sunniest smile ever on her face.

“Darling!” She says, throwing herself in his arms. He puts her hands on her hips almost by instinct, while she wraps her arms around his neck. The wave of flashes that follows almost blinds him.

“You look gorgeous,” Ekko says, not without difficulty. Jinx smiles, giggling.

“Thank you, you clean up nicely, too.” She winks at him, letting go of his neck, patting his pecs. Her touch, light as a feather, has his skin burning. “Come on, pretty boy. We gotta give them a whole photo shoot.”

Oh. Right. This is fake.

*

Jinx’s performance goes without a hitch, and through it all she wonders what Ekko thought of it (later, she’ll find that his stunned face while looking at her on her aerial silks flooded social media. It outshone the fact that True Damage didn’t win for collaboration of the year).

When the awards are done, she has an invitation from her friends Ezreal and Kayn on stand-by to come to Heartsteel’s after party, but she’s pretty sure she pulled a muscle while performing, so she opts for heading home.

She knows Kayn and Ezreal will probably berate her for skipping; they’ve been wanting to get all the hot details about her (allegedly, because they did not believe it) fake relationship with Ekko in person, so there was no way she could hang up on them once she grew reluctant to answering their questions.

“Everyone in the industry wants to know how that happened,” Kayn had drawled one time over the phone. “You got your claws on him before Miss Fortune, girl, I heard she was fuming.”

Jinx had paused her skincare routine to stare at the screen, like Kayn could see her bewildered expression.

“Ekko rejected Sarah?”

That didn’t sound correct. Sarah “Miss” Fortune was the music industry’s hot girl; everywhere she went she left a trail of broken hearts. She fit Ekko’s type down to the nail—so what happened?

“Mhm. Like, a fuckton of times. She’s proper obsessed with him since they did that song together, was it two years ago? Either way. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

That call had ended with Jinx more lost than ever, wondering if Ekko’s standards were too high in the sky or if maybe Sarah was properly crazy.

Either way, Jinx didn’t want to find out.

She’s making her way to the parking lot where her driver is waiting for her, when she hears someone call out her name. Ekko.

Jinx turns around, looks at him as he’s still running up to meet her. It’s so unfair that he’s so pretty he looks like he’s in a slow-motion montage, running up a hill to meet his beloved as his locks bounce in the air and fall beautifully on his face, the jacket on his shoulders unmoving.

(She has got to lay off the rom-coms, okay.)

“Hey Jinx,” he says, catching his breath. He pushes the locks out of his face in a motion that’s stupidly sexy. “Are you going to any after parties? Viktor said—”

“Oh, no, actually, I’m going home,” she interrupts him, hugging herself. The night is chilly, and her outfit isn’t the best for the cold. “I pulled a muscle during my performance.”

“Oh.” Ekko looks disappointed, and an awkward silence stretches on for too long.

Jinx clears her throat. “You wanted something else?” She inquires, a playful lull in her voice.

She’s probably seeing things, but she’s at least 90% sure she saw Ekko’s cheeks heat up. Oh?

“Um, not really. I think I’ll just—wait.” He takes off the jacket, draping it over her shoulders. Jinx’s breath catches in her throat—she wasn’t expecting that. “You looked cold…” Ekko evades her gaze, Jinx smiles.

His scent engulfs her; his perfume is something earthy, with notes of vanilla. She likes it.

“Thank you, Ekko,” she says, sincerely. Ekko just nods. “I’ll see you ‘round.”

Jinx turns on her heels to go back to searching for her car, and steals a glance towards Ekko at the last second.

“You could’ve just texted me!” She exclaims cheekily, before hopping on the car.

Inside, she buries her nose against the fabric, relishing in the smell. It’s so distinctly him, it almost feels like he’s actually hugging her instead of the jacket.

If she returns it two weeks later, after having sprayed it with her own perfume, well that’s her business, not anyone else’s. Shut up, Vi.

*

To deny Ekko is jealous would be like trying to deny that water is wet.

And, okay, Jinx is not his, exactly, despite what the world currently thinks. But they’re not supposed to be seen with other people, being flirty and all that; it could leak, and then the cheating scandal would overshadow everything else.

There’s men that approach her, obviously, and Ekko’s not egotistical enough to think everyone knows who they are, so he always tugs her closer, pinches his features just the slightest bit so that anyone can see she’s taken (in theory).

They’re at—someone’s party. Is it Ezreal’s birthday party? Or just a common party? Fuck knows, honestly. But it’s definitely a Heartsteel party. Half of Hollywood and the music industry is here, to begin with.

Including one of Jinx’s many asshole exes (who the fuck invited him?).

“Real asshole, that one was,” Jinx says, taking a long sip from her wine for good measure, pointing with her chin towards Finn.

No last name, just Finn. A last name wasn’t really needed when you’re one of the industry’s most famous producers.

Finn is across the room, but their gazes come to meet almost my accident. His eyes fixate on Jinx, and his blood simmers in his veins when he shoots her a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Ekko says, dragging Jinx the opposite way.

Jinx is not his, but Ekko still keeps his arm around her waist. You know, for safety.

“Are you feeling bold today, pretty boy?” Jinx asks through giggles, a stray drop of wine falling on the side of her lip.

See, this is the part where Ekko wipes the remnants of alcohol away from her mouth, says something flirty and leans down to capture her lips in a kiss. That is how it would go in normal circumstances, at least.

But nothing with Jinx is normal, basically. So he kind of just squeezes her waist with all the self-control he can manage, keeping her close for a good while, definitely not brushing his thumb across the exposed skin of her waist, not thinking about how good she looks in her red two piece outfit, with the dangerously short skirt and the top that looks more like a bra.

He’s not thinking about it because they’re in public, and he’s a law abiding citizen who’s trying to not get arrested for public indecency. Thank you very much.

At some point Jinx runs off to talk to her friends, but he decides to stay put, waving away her confused expression in favor of letting her hang out alone with them. For one, he’s not Ezreal and Kayn’s biggest fan; their last collaboration happened thanks to Janna’s grace and Ekko’s self-restraint, because those two gave the rest of the band members a run for their money when it came to huge egos—how Jinx is friends with them is beyond him. Second, he saw Zeri somewhere, anyway, and he’s been meaning to catch up with his old friend from the lanes.

Of course, he should’ve known hanging out with Zeri is no better than hanging out with his band mates, because he’s a fucking idiot and told her about the arrangement.

And he may also have mentioned he thinks Jinx is hot, but that’s hardly news.

“I actually can’t stand you, you know,” Zeri says, the cigarette trapped between her fingers slowly dying out. “Why don’t you just take her on a real date? Seriously, dude, for someone with such an ego…”

“I don’t think she’s interested, not really, to be honest,” he replies, stealing the cigarette from Zeri. He gets an indignant yelp in response. “Trust me, I would know.”

Zeri scoffs. “You know shit about feelings, boy savior.”

Ekko swats her arm, like when they were kids and fought over who got to eat the last piece of candy. And Zeri’s twenty-six, a whole copyright lawyer for famous singers, but she still pushes him back, play fights for a bit.

Another cigarette is lit, and then promptly stolen. Zeri kind of just rolls her eyes and tells him something between gritted teeth, probably “As long as you don’t keep stealing my lighters.”

“I think you should try your luck with her,” she says, clearer this time. “Worst case scenario she rejects you and you make it awkward. Best case, Viktor and the label will milk out your new real relationship for all it’s worth.”

“Mm, no, that’s still the worst case scenario.” He takes a long drag, blows out the smoke in Zeri’s direction. “I do have to find her, though, we said we’d leave at this hour. Maybe you should find your girlfriend and leave, too.”

Ekko shoots her a shit-eating grin, turns on his heels. “Seraphine is not my girlfriend!” She squeals.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he replies.

*

Jinx likes to think, more often than not, that if something were to happen between Ekko and her, well, it’s not like she would mind.

She can’t blame the few glasses of wine she’s had when she looks at Ekko, wearing those black jeans and the shirt with the cropped armpits that give her a great view of his toned arms, and thinks it’s unfair all of this is fake.

She thinks she’d like to know how his lips taste, but that would probably make things awkward; Jinx’s dug around, asked questions, and she’s definitely not the kind of girl Ekko goes for, not at all. As if comparing herself side by side with his exes wasn’t enough proof.

“I’ll get the car, wait for me here,” Ekko says, letting go of her waist. Jinx feels like something’s missing, but she doesn’t dare linger much on it.

She’s touching up her make-up, the music a far-away dream thrumming under the soles of her shoes, when she hears footsteps approaching.

Before she sees him, she smells the cologne.

Olfactory memory is such a strange thing, she thinks in that decimal of a second it takes her to detect the smell. She hasn’t smelled that cologne in more than a year, close to two, and yet by the peculiarity of it she knows, without a fraction of a doubt, who is wearing it.

“My, oh my, look what we got here.”

Jinx ignores him. Doesn’t dignify him even with a flinch of her body.

“What, you can’t say hello to an old friend?”

Silence. That gets him on his nerves.

Finn walks around her, comes to stand right in front of her field of vision.

“Your new boy-toy abandoned you already?” His cat-like smile holds venom in it, and Jinx grinds her teeth until she’s sure she’s broken a few molars.

“Fuck off.”

He smiles wider, the bastard. Finn always enjoyed riling her up, and the thrill of make-up sex made her think it was fine back then, but now she’s seeing red.

“I wouldn’t abandon you, you know—”

“No, you’d just cheat on me,” Jinx says, cold. Detached.

Finn hisses, as if he’s been cut. If it was up to Jinx, she would’ve tried to pluck his eyes out with her stiletto nails already.

“You know it was a mistake.”

Jinx should be canonized as a saint, quite frankly, because she’s not sure where she got the patience to hold back and not kill him.

Part of the reason she doesn’t snap, though, is the car that comes to a stop in front of them.

Ekko emerges from the car, frown in full display as he comes to stand next to Jinx. His hand flies back to her waist, protectiveness in full force as he tugs her to his side, presses her flush against him.

If something twists in her stomach, that’s between Jinx and god.

“Do we have a problem here?” Ekko asks, twisting his face into a scowl.

Finn’s smile disappears, fixing Ekko with a pinched expression.

“You’re the new replacement, I assume.”

“And you’re the asshole who cheated on her with your secretary.”

If looks could kill, Ekko would be dead on the pavement already, and Finn would’ve probably been cut in half.

Jinx wishes she had popcorn. It’s kind of hot when two handsome men fight over you, if she’s being honest here.

Finn scoffs, taking a step forward. “Don’t get smart with me, boy, I’ll ruin your career in the blink of an eye.”

“Like you ruined yours with that pathetic excuse of an album you put out?” Ekko retorts, venom in his smile. Finn’s face twists in a wild expression. “Leave us the fuck alone.”

Jinx’s heart is thrumming against her ears, because no one speaks to Finn like this, no one has the nerve.

No one except Ekko.

Finn snarls, lounges forward to grab Ekko by the collar, but Ekko grabs his hand before he can even touch him.

“Do. Not. Even think about it,” he says, low and threatening. Without letting go of Jinx’s waist, Ekko grips Finn’s wrist and pulls him forward in one tug. Hot. “Here’s what’s going to happen: you’ll leave us the fuck alone, I’m getting in the car with her, and none of this gets out to the press. Okay? Great chat.”

He tosses Finn aside, like a discarded cigarette butt, and hastily walks towards the car. He opens Jinx’s door first when—

“She’s still mine,” Finn exclaims behind them. “Half of that bitch’s catalogue is mine. I own her, and it’s only a matter of time before she’s back with me—”

Ekko closes the car door, locks it, and spins on his heels to punch Finn straight in the jaw.

It’s a quick, sharp punch that sends him flying backwards, clearly having not expected Ekko to retaliate. A surprised gasp leaves Jinx, but she can’t do anything with the door locked.

She sees as Ekko towers over Finn, says something she doesn’t quite catch, and he hastily turns around to climb back in the car.

When he grips the steering wheel, she realizes his knuckles are red.

“He got what was coming for him,” Ekko says, nonchalantly.

All Jinx can hear is a faint buzzing in her ears, reeling from the brief yet charged encounter.

Finn’s words ring in her ears: she knows he doesn’t want her, not really, he just doesn’t like that someone else has her now. He’s a little kid, upset that someone else picked up the toy he mistreated, the toy he discarded, and needs to flaunt his power by trying to yank the toy from the other person’s hands.

It had always been like that during their relationship, which lasted more than it should have because Jinx never knew what a healthy relationship looked like, so she figured as long as she’s not bruised up, how bad can it be?

(Bad. Very, very, very bad.)

“Ekko.”

“Mhm?”

There’s a million things Jinx can say to express her gratitude, but her brain has shut off for the night.

“That was hot,” she says, and this time she can blame the wine. “I mean, um, thank you for—you know.”

Ekko swerves, clearly having not expected that.

“Uh, you’re welcome?” He turns to look at her, cheeks flushed and something wild in his gaze, not the kind of violent wild like Finn, more like, amused wild? Fuck knows.

There’s a pregnant silence that follows. Then, Ekko breaks it.

“What was he talking about, by the way? When he said half of your catalogue is his. That can’t be true, right?”

Jinx sucks in a breath, oh boy. “It is true.”

She proceeds to tell him the footnotes of it, because there’s not enough time in the day to tell him everything.

The footnotes are this: Jinx is stupid. Stupid enough to allow someone she’s dating to produce her first two albums. Stupid enough to not read the contracts she signs thoroughly, because she was convinced her boyfriend would never fuck her over.

Then he fucked her over, not once but twice, and now he’s rich all thanks to her albums.

“I’ve talked with my lawyers, there’s practically nothing I can do,” she laments, flopping back against the seat.

Ekko’s silent, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

“I have a friend who’s a copyright lawyer, she’s a master at finding loopholes,” he says, stealing glances towards her. “You know Seraphine, right? Bubblegum pink hair, pop singer. She was Seraphine’s lawyer when she sued her old label for ownership of her masters.”

Jinx whistles. Of course she knows Seraphine, her case had been quite a controversial one; nobody expected her to win against a vampiric company like Piltover Records, known for fucking over their artists one way or another. And then she won the whole thing, to the whole world’s surprise.

Her lawyer had become famous overnight, another kid from the lanes who made it out.

“You’re friends with Zeri? Really?”

“Yup. Been friends forever, we grew up together in the lanes. I could give you her number, if you’d like,” he tentatively says, to which Jinx nods enthusiastically. He then stops the car at a red light.

It’s at the red light that she realizes she has no idea where they’re going.

She looks out of the window, trying to pin-point where they are, but nothing rings a bell, so, they’re driving around aimlessly.

“Where are we going?” She asks, tone casual.

Ekko shifts in his seat. “Uh, I dunno. I just wanted to lose Finn, I think we’re near my place, actually.”

Jinx perks up, a bad idea popping in her mind as her stomach twists.

“You know, it takes a lot of courage to stand up to him like that,” she starts, shifting in her seat so that her body is angled towards Ekko, tucking her knees under her body. “He’s like, really important.”

“He’s an asshole, is what he is,” Ekko spats, turning the engine on again. “Why did you even start dating him, anyway?”

Jinx tries not to smile, weighing her words instead. “You probably don’t wanna know.”

“Oh, I do. I never could figure out how a girl like you ended up with a guy like him.”

A girl like her. What does that even mean? What kind of girl is Jinx? Is it a compliment or an insult? No, a compliment, obviously. Ekko wouldn’t be cruel.

She sighs dramatically, looking at her nails like they’re the most interesting thing on the planet. “If you must know… It all started because we hooked up once, actually. And, okay, yeah, he’s an asshole. But by god he knew what he had to do in bed. Pity, really, that it didn’t work out.”

Ekko almost crashes the car. Jinx holds back a devilish laugh.

He clears his throat, centering the car back to its respective lane while she just bats her eyelashes innocently. She sees the way his adam’s apple bobs up and down, as he grips the steering wheel until the veins in his hands are noticeable.

Jinx didn’t think it’d be this easy to get him worked up. She thought he’d feign nonchalance, and she’d have to bring out the salacious details to get a rise out of him.

Maybe it’s so easy because he likes you already, she thinks, twisting her own stomach in knots. God, I hope so.

Ekko parks the car someplace where it’s practically deserted, shooting Jinx a charged look, but she acts clueless as to what’s happening.

She knows exactly what could happen if she pushes the right button, says the right thing.

“Kind of a weird thing to tell your boyfriend, isn’t it?” He asks, furrowing his brow. Jinx’s breath hitches in her throat when she realizes the pads of his fingers are ghosting her knees.

“Oh, you’re my boyfriend now? For real, for real?” Jinx questions, voice getting breathier by the second as she leans on Ekko’s touch.

Ekko licks his lower lips, his hand now fully resting on Jinx’s knee. She fixates unabashedly on the way the muscles on his arms flex with the tiniest movement, and doesn’t move away when he inches his face closer.

“I could be, if you wanted me to,” he says, letting his hand wander to the sides of her thigh. His eyes are piercing right through her, pupils dilated as he sets his gaze on her lips.

“You’d have to submit an application like the rest,” she replies, trying to sound casual, as she shifts again to untuck her legs, ever the patient one.

“And what would that application be like?” Ekko asks, his face is so close now, his hot breath beats down on her skin, causing a shiver to go down her spine.

It would be so easy to kiss him now, smash her lips against his and fog up the mirrors with their combined breaths. But she wants to drag this moment a bit longer, to make sure Ekko wants the same thing she does, so she chews on her bottom lip, lazily dragging a hand up his legs, then up his torso, until it comes to rest on his collarbones. She sees with glee how Ekko sucks in a sharp breath, something in his eyes growing darker with want.

He wants the same thing, alright.

“You’d have to fuck me, and fuck me good,” she says, with the same tone she’d use for telling someone the weather is nice. She sees Ekko’s eyes go wide, and a self-satisfied smile sets on Jinx’s face. She tries to not let her hands tremble as she caresses Ekko’s neck. “Wanna apply now, hm?”

Ekko doesn’t reply, not verbally, at least—he dives in and captures her lips in a searing kiss, using one of his hands to pull her closer by grabbing her from the neck. Jinx gasps, whimpering against his lips as his grip tightens ever so slightly on her skin.

She wraps her arms around his neck, playing with his locks as he keeps on kissing her, biting her lower lip to gain access to her mouth. Jinx obliges, happily letting him take the lead.

He kisses her like he’s a man who’s been lost in a desert and she’s the first glass of water he’s had in months; like he’s been waiting for this, and the thought makes her head swirl with giddiness as she parts her thighs and allows him to sneak his hand further, but it’s not enough for her to have him kneading on her inner thigh, she wants more and now.

Honestly, they should be worried about paparazzi and whatnot, but it's 3 a.m. on a Wednesday and the L.A streets are deserted on this side of the city. Jinx has no qualms about pushing Ekko off of her so she can kick off her heels, slinging a leg over his seat so she’s straddling him.

Ekko looks at her through half lidded eyes, ravishing her body with his eyes. A hiss escapes his lips as she plops herself rather hard against his lap. He doesn’t let this deter him, though; seeing how little space is left between Jinx and the steering wheel, he reaches under the seat to push it back to allow for more space. Jinx’s smile grows tenfold, happy at getting her way.

“Turn off the lights,” she asks, breathless. He blindly searches the keys and turns off the engine, and soon all the lights are off. They’re only illuminated by the lampposts outside, and Jinx thinks it adds a touch of intimacy.

Soon enough their mouths find each other again, meanwhile, Ekko’s hands grab her ass, expertly bunching up her skirt until it’s crumpled at her waist. He reclines the seat, gaining a surprised yelp from Jinx as they fall forward.

“I’m deducting points for that,” she says through a fit of giggles. Ekko snorts, giving her ass a squeeze, and a whimper escapes her mouth.

“Wasn’t aware there were points.”

“Oh, there are.” She puts on a faux serious tone as she grinds down his growing hardness. Ekko throws his head back, a groan escaping his lips as he closes his eyes. “You can gain those points back, though. You know how.”

He laughs, looking at her through half-lidded eyes as he grips her hips, forcing her to move to a pace set by him.

Jinx tries to angle herself in a way that the friction hits her where she wants, desperate for some kind of release. She feels herself grow wetter by the second, heat radiating off her skin and warming up the inside of the car.

Ekko busies his mouth kissing her neck, now that this angle gives him ample reign over her milky white skin. He slightly bites the skin under her jaw, sucking gently. Jinx hisses at the contact, pressing her hands against his shoulders for support.

Suddenly, Ekko stills her. Jinx protests at the loss of friction, but he shushes her by coming up to kiss her. She feels more than sees him letting one of her hips go and using the now free hand to ghost over her panties.

Ekko stops kissing her. Opens his eyes to give her a bewildered look, and a different kind of heat crawls up Jinx’s neck.

“You made a mess already,” he says, voice filled with lust. He palms at his crotch, completely wet where Jinx had been grinding on him. Her own underwear is no better: it looks like a damp opened between her legs.

It’s entirely because she’s been wanting to fuck him since way before their first date, having unabashedly used him and his photos as jerk off material more than once. But that’s not something she’ll confess—not right now, at least.

“Um, sorry?”

“Don’t be,” he’s quick to say. A wicked smile sets on his lips, and Jinx gasps when he tugs her underwear to the side, resting his index and middlefinger against his own crotch so she can rub against them while she’s grinding on him. “It adds points, right? I’m trying to become a boyfriend here.”

Jinx sputters something unintelligible, the addition of Ekko’s fingers and the faster pace he’s setting fills the car with obscene sounds, though none more obscene than Jinx’s moans.

Oh, he knows what he’s doing.

Ekko alternates between kissing her and biting marks on her neck, and Jinx would say something about being careful with hickeys, but she’s past the point of caring if she’s having sex with her fake-boyfriend in a deserted street, let’s be honest here.

His fingers tease at her entrance when she grinds up and down, she clenches around nothing and Jinx thinks she says something like fuck me now please, but she’s too wrapped up in her own pleasure to be sure if the words came out alright instead of a garbled mess.

Ekko probably understood her incoherencies, anyway, because he stills her once more. A protest is already forming at the tip of her tongue when his fingers knead her folds.

“How am I supposed to finger fuck you properly with no space?” He asks, “Lift your hips a little for me, doll.” Jinx’s brain short circuits at the nickname and she obeys eagerly, giving Ekko all the space. He chuckles and uses his other hand to grip her neck, making her come down to kiss her hungrily. “That’s my good girl.”

She clenches around air again.

Soon enough, Ekko inserts two fingers at once, eased in by her slick-covered cunt, and Jinx hisses at the stretch. His hands have always been bigger than hers; she’s wondered before how it would feel, and, honestly, this is better than her imagination.

Ekko starts slow, giving her time to adjust, but Jinx is an impatient little shit, so she tries to fuck herself on his fingers faster, harder. Ekko stops her, going back to grip her hip, and stills inside her.

“Behave for me, can you do that? Or are you too desperate to even try?” He questions, cocking an amused brow.

Jinx’s cheeks grow hot, but she doesn’t let her embarrassment show. “I should be the one bossing your around, you’re the one submitting an app—oh, fuck.” Her complaint is cut short when Ekko keeps fingering her, looking at Jinx with a shit-eating grin.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue?” Ekko asks, but Jinx isn’t even paying attention. She’s only aware of Ekko’s fingers curling inside her, hitting a spot that has her seeing stars behind her eyelids. “Don’t act like you want to be in control, doll, when you obey me so easily and eagerly.” Her blush probably spreads up to her chest, embarrassed at being figured out so quickly. Ekko just smiles, coming up to kiss her jaw.

“Moan for me, pretty girl, it’s like music for my ears.” Ekko punctuates this by removing the hand still gripping her to rub better at her sensitive nub.

And by god he doesn’t have to tell her twice; her moans become desperate, now that she’s free from his grip she steels herself by grabbing the sides of the seat, gyrating her hips in the same relentless pace Ekko sets.

He crooks his finger in a particular way that has her whimpering, tears dabbing at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the pleasure. He’s still sucking marks on her neck, whispering things she doesn’t quite catch against her skin.

Jinx is positively seeing stars. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to even out her breathing to prevent her orgasm from washing over her so soon, but she cries pathetically as Ekko swipes his thumb side to side, resolve crumbling as she fucks herself faster on his hand.

She’s vaguely aware of the heat pooling in her stomach, her walls clenching around his fingers, and the slight tremble of her legs. Jinx speeds up, chasing her own orgasm, but her plans are ruined when Ekko withdraws his fingers.

Her eyes snap open, gasping indignantly. “Ekko!” She half-protests, half-whines. He looks up at her, faux innocence in his features.

“What? Did you think I was gonna let you cum like that? Nah.” He pauses to regard his soaked hand, covered in Jinx’s juices up to his wrist. Jinx watches incredulous as he licks it clean; the sight is so filthy, and yet ironically heavenly. Like, she’s sure that she died and was sent straight to heaven, and Ekko fucking her mindless is her reward for all the shit she’s gone through.

His heavy gaze sets on her as he licks his digits, moaning around them. “You taste so good,” he breathes out.

“Ekko,” she starts, whining pathetically, “please. Just—fuck me, I need you to—”

He comes up to kiss her again, and she tastes her own saltiness on his lips. It sends shockwaves to her cunt.

“I want to feel you clench around my dick,” he says against her lips. Jinx is not sure if she moans because Ekko smacked her ass or at the sole thought of that. “I want you to ride me like you’ve never ridden anyone else, doll. Scream out my name while I pound you from below, that sound good?”

She wants to say something, anything, but the part of her brain in charge of forming sentences has completely shut down at this point, and so she settles for nodding enthusiastically, moaning against Ekko’s lips.

She hears more than sees Ekko unbuckling his belt, the clinging of the metal snapping her out of her haze.

Jinx sucks in a breath as she lifts herself from his lap, helping Ekko tug down his jeans and then finally slide his boxer down, freeing his neglected cock. At the back of her throat, Jinx feels a whimper trying to escape her mouth at the sight of Ekko’s cock, but she swallows it down.

She runs her own fingers through her wet cunt, eagerly collecting slick, and uses it to wrap her hand around his dick. Ekko hisses, throwing his head back against the cushion of the seat as Jinx strokes him out slowly, deliberately.

“You have no idea how much I imagined this,” he says, breathing heavily. One of his hands comes to cup the side of Jinx’s face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Hollywood’s prettiest girl on my lap, already a desperate mess from just being fingered? I can’t wait to get to my place and fuck you properly, like you deserve; have you gripping on my sheets—mh, fuck.” Filthy moans escape Ekko’s lips, interrupting his rant. He smiles crookedly as Jinx fastens her pace. “God, you’re so good at this. Just like that, baby.”

Jinx is in a trance, salivating at the sight of Ekko. His words travel straight to her cunt, feeling her clit ache to be touched; she touches herself with her free hand, trying to match the pace of the hand that’s masturbating Ekko.

Her name falls from his lips more than once, spurring Jinx on. Faintly, she really hopes nobody catches them, otherwise Vi will kill her, then resurrect her only to kill her once more but more violently.

Suddenly, she gets an idea.

With a devilish giggle, she shifts on Ekko’s lap, pressing his cock against his stomach, and he shoots her a curious look. Jinx carefully positions her cunt over his cock, sliding along the length up and down, and they both moan at the same time.

Ekko’s eyes roll back, squeezing her ass. “Careful,” he groans. “I’m gonna—fuck, Jinx.”

“Don’t come yet,” she finally manages to say. “Want you to come inside me.”

His eyes snap wide open, mouth hanging agape at her words. “Are you—?”

“Mh, Ekko, I’m so serious,” she moans. “Want you to fill me up with your cum, please.” Jinx doesn’t mention that she’s on birth control, or care to add she’s as clean as can be because she doesn’t really do hook-ups.

If Ekko has questions, he doesn’t ask them. He only licks his bottom lip, and grabs her by the hips to lift her up.

If it’s possible, it definitely turns her on even more that he’s strong enough to practically maneuver her without any trouble.

Jinx does her part dutifully, pushing her panties aside to line herself over the tip of Ekko’s cock. She looks at him straight in the eyes as she’s sinking down on him, her face contorting in a grimace that’s a mixture of pain and pleasure. She bottoms out with a piercing cry, and Ekko groans under her.

She’s so full she could cry tears of joy. Maybe she does, she’s not aware of anything that’s not Ekko’s hands on her ass, not really setting a pace but more so lingering, and his cock hitting all the right angles inside her.

Jinx leans forward, moaning in Ekko’s ear as she keeps on riding him with an erratic pace.

“Fuck, Jinx,” Ekko says her name through a whimper. Suddenly, his hands come to still her once more, and she hears her feet shuffle, planting themselves against the ground. Anticipation bubbles in her stomach as he positions himself more comfortably, and starts fucking into her from below. She screams right in Ekko’s ears, a sweet melody for him that only spurs him on.

Jinx’s body goes limp, Ekko is still holding onto her hips, moving them up and down to match his thrusts. Somewhere in her brain, she thinks Finn doesn’t hold a candle to Ekko, who has practically fucked every thought out of her head before she even sat on his cock, and now all she can think of is that she wants him morning, noon, and night.

Could’ve been doing this all day for four months by now, she thinks.

The car’s windows are all fogged up, and she’s at least 99% that if anyone were to walk by, they’d probably deduce something is going on by the way the car is shaking.

“Jinx, I’m gonna—”

“Cum inside me,” Jinx whines, “please, please, please, please. I’m so close, too.”

Ekko says nothing, just groans and picks up the pace, while Jinx’s hand flies to her clit.

If she previously felt heat in the pit of her stomach, now she feels a whole forest fire roaring inside her. Her pent up frustration at having been denied an orgasm earlier is like accelerant, helping the fire spread all through her.

Ekko feels her walls closing in on him, obviously, so he grabs her chin with his hand to force her to look at him.

“Cum for me, doll.”

That’s all it takes for her to unravel.

Jinx comes with a cry, nestling her face in the crook of Ekko’s neck, muffling her cries with the seat. Her legs tremble, threatening to give up, but Ekko’s firm grip keeps her up. He’s still thrusting into her, chasing his orgasm while he fucks her through her own, but she’s grown sensitive, so she can’t help to cry pathetically.

“Ekko, please. I can’t—”

“Do you want my cum or not, baby?” He asks through heaving breaths.

“Yes,” she answers without thinking.

“Then just—just a little more—”

His breath becomes erratic, pounding her faster, making her cry from overstimulation, until he finally snaps, coming with a low moan.

Jinx stills, catching her breath as she feels Ekko’s thick cum filling up her insides. This car is going to be so messy, a hell to clean up, but right now she thinks it’s all worth it.

They stay tangled for a moment longer, Jinx still not moving off from Ekko, catching their breaths in silence.

Then, he speaks. “Did you like my application?”

Jinx’s laughs echo in the car, “You’re such an idiot,” she giggles, pressing her forehead against Ekko’s.

He just laughs, wrapping her waist with his arms.

“Yeah, but you like me like that,” he says, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jinx gives a long suffering sigh.

“I guess I do.”

“You ‘guess’?” Ekko shoots her an unimpressed look. “Weren’t you just begging me to cum inside you a second ago?”

“Shut up!” She cries out, indignation seeping in her tone, but she’s not mad, not really.

Ekko laughs, a honey-like sound that melts away any annoyance she could’ve been harboring.

“So,” he says, tone casual. “Are we going back to my place for round two? I still wanna put you on your back.”

Jinx thinks, for a fleeting second, she could have round two right there and then, considering he’s still, y’know, inside her. But the promise of a bed sounds too good to pass up.

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

*

When Ekko wakes up the next day in his apartment, with Jinx sprawled on top of him, he doesn’t have the heart to move her away, so he just stretches to reach for his phone on the nightstand besides him, the first notifications are from the True Damage group chat and a quick text from Viktor telling him they need to talk.

He panics, thinking they did get caught last night and someone took a photo, or worse, a video as proof.

When he opens the group chat, however, a cat-like smile blooms on his face.

True Damage’s Ekko and Shimmer Records’ star producer, Finn, get into a brawl over singer Jinx at Heartsteel party—WATCH VIDEO, reads the headline of the screenshot Yasuo sent.

He smiles, chuckling to himself, and tosses the phone aside to keep happily sleeping with Jinx—correction, his girlfriend.

As it turns out, the application on the car had been enough to turn this fake arrangement into a real one.

In the back of his mind, he makes a note to thank Maybe-Jimmy for his brilliant idea.

[half-bakedboy]

thinkin about eddie telling buck he's just back for the funeral and how buck would react to that. i feel like especially while he's got this facade that he has to be strong for everyone, eddie going back to el paso wouldn't even be a thought --and could be his breaking point 🤩

This is by far my favorite thing I've written in the last year so thank you for prompting this, anon 🥺

Read on AO3

Even as the door closes behind him, metaphorically shutting the door on one of the worst days of his life, Buck doesn’t allow himself to break. Bobby told him he’d be needed and that he’d have to be strong for those who loved him, who needed him. Even though he’s been that for everyone, he still has one more person to be strong for.

“Hey, you can take the bedroom, if you want. I’m used to sleeping on couches,” Buck offers with a noncommittal wave of his hand. Maybe he’ll mention sleeping on Maddie’s for a week after Eddie left him, or maybe he’ll keep that to himself, afraid of giving too much away.

“No, definitely not. It’s your bed, per our lease agreement,” Eddie replies. Buck thinks he’s trying to joke, but neither of them has the energy to play into it. Not tonight.

“It’s still pretty much exactly how you left it,” Buck notes. “I didn’t want to move things around too much, which was smart thinking on my account.” Eddie furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head, the angle only amplifying his tired features.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks carefully. Too carefully, really–Buck should have noticed it.

“I mean, I’m gonna start looking for another place, but you’ll have everything you need in the meantime, and to be honest, I haven’t really touched Chris’ room, so it’s exactly how you left it, although pretty sparse…” Buck trails off with a dry chuckle.

His stomach drops as Eddie’s face morphs into a sorrow that rivals the funeral itself.

“Buck, I–” He steps forward, and even though everything inside Buck wants to fall into his arms, he steps back jerkily. “I’m here…” A pause. “I’m here right now.”

Buck hears what Eddie’s really saying:

I’m leaving you again.

There’s nothing here for me.

You’re not enough to bring me back.

“Buck,” Eddie says softly, like he’s cooing a cornered animal ready to skitter away at any moment. Buck doesn’t think he could move if he tried. “I didn’t say that I was coming back.”

“But you are back,” Buck whispers, shaking his head–at what, he doesn’t quite know. “You’re here, in-in-in your house. You’re here, but you’re going back to El Paso?” The question feels wrong on Buck’s tongue, the meaning surreal, a dream he isn’t waking up from even as he clenches his fists to try.

There’s barely contained surprise in Eddie’s eyes as he corrects, “I’m going back to my son. You knew that, Buck. We’ve had this… discussion.”

“That was before-before–” The words stick like molasses, Buck incapable of saying them out loud just yet, so they sit in Buck’s throat, choking him until he stops and gulps dryly to loosen the tack.

“Nothing’s changed,” Eddie says.

Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s changed? Nothing’s changed?!

“Everything’s changed!” Buck explodes.

He backs away, tells himself he’s saving Eddie from the flood that’s about to pour out of him, but knows the second Eddie touches him, it’s over. One touch and Buck crumbles, and he promised Bobby he wouldn’t crumble.

“When you left, I understood it. I–I supported it, because I knew what it meant to have Chris so far away. We were okay here. Maddie and Chim were okay, Hen and Karen were okay, Athena and Bo–” Buck sobs, though no tears have left his eyes, that he’s sure of. “They were all okay. If you were with Chris and okay, and they were all here and okay, then I could be okay, too. I could figure out how to be…”

The word okay starts to feel like needles in his mouth.

“Okay?” Eddie finishes for him like he’s trying to be helpful, but failing miserably.

“I wasn’t okay, Eddie,” Buck admits–both to himself and Eddie. “You and Chris took a part of me with you when you left, you know? I’m not whole here–not without you. I got by because I had stitches keeping me together, and those stitches are ripped open beyond repair now. I can’t keep pretending that I can be sewn back together, that I’m somehow going to be even a fraction of who I used to be, let alone whole. Not without Chris, not without you.”

He’s panting, chest heaving like he’s run a marathon, and Eddie’s looking at him with so much affliction, Buck’s heart stills in his chest.

“Buck, I– I don’t know what to say. You picked me up from the airport with one bag and without my son. Why would you think I’m here to stay?”

Buck knows Eddie doesn’t mean to be callous, but all he hears is You’re not enough to bring me back on a loudspeaker in his mind again.

“Because… Because you said you’d stay as long as I need you,“ Buck says like it’s simple.

“And I will, Buck. But I can’t stay forever.”

“What if I need you forever?”

The admission hangs in the air like still water. Neither of them are ready to explore the depths of it, and Buck recognizes that. But he won’t take it back. He needs Eddie and he needs Chris. He isn’t willing to pretend to be any semblance of okay (God, he hates that word) without them–not anymore.

“Chris needs me,” Eddie mutters, but there’s something unspoken in his tone, like he’s dipping his fingertips into the water and hoping something pulls him under.

“I need you,” Buck responds selfishly. When Eddie doesn’t speak again, Buck adds, “And I think you need me to.”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits, “I do.” Buck feels hope for the first time in weeks. Then Eddie asks, “But Evan, what if that isn’t enough?”

“It’s enough, Eddie. It has to be enough. Because it’s all we have.”

Buck closes the distance between them, takes Eddie’s mouth like it’s his own, like he’s done this hundreds of times. He drinks in the taste of stale coffee, funeral horderves, and leftover tears mingling with the new that trickle down both of their cheeks. He breathes in Eddie’s gasps like a reminder that they’re both alive, that they’re together, that not everything is as broken as it seems.

And Buck might not be whole yet, but he’ll hold onto the possibility of it, hold onto Eddie, until he has nothing left.

[apheliaholmes]

Darling, let's run

run - rosekiller - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 604

☆ AO3

When Barty escaped Azkaban, he didn’t go to the Dark Lord. Not at first. Not when the taste of pain, dust, and madness was still bleeding down his throat. Not when the skin on his hands felt like it belonged to someone else, not when this skin should be touched by the only one he ever loved. Truly loved.

Barty wanted to run. Run like he did when he was young, when they were young. Before Azkaban. Before the mark. Before the war. 

Running freely with Evan. That’s what he wanted. 

But now, he could only run to Evan. To his grave. 

Evan’s grave was in a quiet field, far from anywhere important. Dead flowers on the grave. An elegant engraving of his name. 

Evan Rosier

The tomb was starting to be covered in ivy, as nature itself was claiming it. The dead flowers let Barty think that Evan’s parents had probably already died, and no one knew where he was buried anymore, since everyone who remembered him was dead. 

Barty kneels beside it, his hands trembling as he realises that under the grave was a lifeless body, a skeleton of someone he cherished so much. 

“I should’ve run with you…” He whispered.

He tried to clean the grave with his hands, crying out loud. He pushed the small rocks and dead leaves, trying to arrange the bouquet of dead flowers and push the ivy around the grave. 

“I know you don’t matter if it’s clean or not, but… that’s the only thing I can do…”

He places a fresh flower on the tomb, one he brought earlier from the florist of the small village nearby. He cries, he waits. For what? He doesn’t know. A sign. A voice. Death. Maybe for Evan to sit up next to him, a cocky smile on his face, and alive, saying “Damn, took you long enough to come back to me.” 

But there’s only the wind. 

“I never thought they’d kill you…” 

But he lied. Of course, he did. He knew it was possible. That’s what they do. What he does. 

He touched the headstone, his fingers ghosting over the carved letters like they might change if he were gentle enough. 

Evan Rosier

No dates. No epitaph. As if he’d lived alone, never meant anything to anyone. 

But he meant something to Barty. Everything even. 

“How did we end up like this?” Barty asked, crying. “I thought you’d wait for me.” 

Barty couldn’t stop crying. His lungs were unable to take in air under so violent tears. He hated himself, he hated death itself. He didn’t protect Evan as I had sworn I would. I didn’t listen when Evan said he was scared of dying. He failed the love of his life. 

“I brought your wand.” He said after a bit. 

He pulled the wand from inside his robes. It’s broken a bit, a part of the wood split in two, only sticking together by some magic. The tip of it was stained from the last spell it cast. It emitted a soft, dark green light. Barty laid it beside the flowers. 

His shoulders shook violently under his cry, and he pressed his forehead against the cold stone. 

“I’ll finish what we started. For you. With you.” He whispered. “And I’ll die, and I’ll find you in the afterlife, and I swear, Evan. We’ll run together.” 

Barty swore that at the moment he stood up, he could hear a faraway laughter on the wind. Wild and free. Evan. 

And as he walked away, he was broken enough to think a ghost behind him would always follow him.  ☆

i don’t know why i wrote this…. i’m crying too much… :(

[everyones-at-bingo]

All in a Day's Work

You've had a crush on a certain coworker for a while, and it's starting to become unmanageable. Your heart races every time you see her, palms clammy and shaky. It's always seemed like a stupid, hopeless crush, but maybe it could be more...

s.t.a.r.s.!jill valentine x gn!reader

STARS JILL ONE CHANCE PLEASE She would be so awkward in an office romance, just trust me. I can't get her out of my head so I had to start writing again.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66721705

7 A.M.

While it is still early morning, your day already seems to have gone down the drain. First, the hot water in your apartment complex was shut off for maintenance. At five in the morning. After a freezing cold shower, your breakfast was quite the opposite temperature, as the toaster burnt the last piece of bread. Fate seemed to sense how dreary you already were and wanted to make it worse, as everybody in Raccoon City seemed to be out and driving. The drive to the police department that usually takes ten minutes at most, now takes nearly twenty with all the traffic. So much for an early start.

By the time you park and get out of the car, any hope for a good day is washed away, and it clearly shows in your expression. Dead eyes, downturned lips, and still damp hair sticking to the sides of your face.

“Woah, rough morning?”

That voice may as well be the heavens singing with bells tolling since it instantly brightens up your mood. Walking towards you from her car is Jill, one of the S.T.A.R.S. members. She holds a coffee cup in one of her hands, eyebrows raised as she scans you up and down. In any other scenario, that would have sent a shudder down your spine and made your cheeks redden, but it does very little right now. Though it still does make your face turn a light tinge of pink.

Huffing a soft scoff, you shake your head. “You have no idea. Today is not my day.”

“Not to sound rude, but I can kind of tell,” Jill chuckles, walking with you to the building entrance. “I think I looked less tired after finishing a twelve-hour shift.”

“It’s not even that I’m tired, just sick of things going wrong,” you groan. “I think the world hates me today.”

Jill opens the main door, propping it open with her foot and exaggeratedly gesturing for you to enter. “After you, my ray of sunshine.”

Rolling your eyes, you walk into the building, chewing the inside of your cheek to suppress a bashful grin. Any name from Jill with “my” in front of it can make your heart race, no matter how joking it is. God, this work crush can’t get any more pathetic, can it?

“Don’t let it get to you too much, okay?” Jill pipes up again, nudging your shoulder with hers. “It’ll only feel worse if you focus on it, especially if you think the world just hates you. Have a little optimism once in a while.”

“Easy for you to say when you probably got a hot shower this morning.”

Jill grimaces. “Oh, yeah, that’ll do it. A cold shower is a shit way to start your day. Call me next time and maybe I’ll let you use mine.”

With a wink, Jill swiftly turns and walks off, boots thudding against the tile floor. Behind her, you’re left slack-jawed and speechless as you stare at her back, that pink tinge turning darker and dark. That’s definitely one way to turn your morning around.

11 A.M.

The morning was slightly better after that. Nothing else really went wrong; not for you, at least. The other officers seemed panicked with some paperwork issue, files going missing or something. It doesn’t involve you, so it is not your problem. And you already have enough problems in the stack of files on your desk.

With your nose buried deep in a file on some mugging, you barely notice another person walk into the west office, striding over to an officer’s desk. It isn’t until that familiar voice rings out that you finally look up, locking eyes with none other than Jill. She’s leaning against the top of a desk on her elbow, other hand propped up on her hip. Her eyes part from yours to look back at the officer she is talking to, mumbling something about a file.

Unable to help yourself, your eyes travel down inch by inch. You really need to thank whoever designed her S.T.A.R.S. uniform, how it fits each curve nicely but still not too snug. That cute little beret is perched perfectly on top of her head, with not a single hair out of place beneath it. Even the bulky cargo pants make your mouth dry, all the way down to those damn boots.

Eyes traveling back up, they widen once you get back to her face, making eye contact once again. You avert your gaze back down to the file in your hands and mentally curse yourself, gnawing on your bottom lip. Out of the corner of your eye, you’re sure that you see Jill smirk, but any evidence of it is gone when you flick your eyes up for a second. By then, she’s already moving to leave the west office, though not without a quick glance over her shoulder.

Jill throws a brief wave and smile at you as she leaves, the door thudding shut behind her as loudly as your heart pounds.

1 P.M.

Coffee. The elixir of life.

A sigh leaves your mouth after you swallow a swig of hot coffee, eyes closing in bliss. You set the mug down on the counter, the ceramic clinking in the quiet break room. It’s your first reprieve of the day, aside from lunch an hour ago. There isn’t another soul in the room, which is odd considering that the break room is typically bustling and crowded. There’s always someone coming in and out for coffee or just to kill some time away from their desk.

The peace is broken as the break room door opens, and you can’t help but let out another sigh. Though, any disappointment is washed away when you turn around to see Jill walking in with her own mug.

“Hey there,” she greets, leaning against the counter next to you. “Your day get any better?”

Much better now.

“Yeah, it’s gotten a bit better,” you say before taking another sip of your coffee.

Jill hums in acknowledgement, pouring some coffee into her mug. She takes a long sip, throat moving as she swallows. “That’s good. You looked like hell earlier.”

You snort. “Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean. You didn’t look as cheery or all done up like you usually do,” Jill corrects herself, shrugging. “Not that you looked bad, because you never look bad, just not… thrilled, I guess.”

“I never look bad?”

Jill blinks, slowly registering what she’s just said. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth.

“I mean, no, you don’t ever look bad. You’re, uh,” Jill cuts herself off, free hand rubbing the back of her neck. An uncharacteristic flush coats her cheeks, and you can’t help but smile at the sight and drink it in. “You look nice, all the time.”

She finally finishes her thought, clearing her throat afterwards. Pushing herself off the counter, Jill takes a few steps toward the door. Disappointment floods your chest, though that flush across Jill’s face keeps you from complaining. It’s just too endearing.

“I should head back,” Jill mumbles, offering you a smile. “Someone, uh, Chris is probably looking for me.”

Jill practically rushes out of the break room, desperate to save some face after that awkwardness. You, on the other hand, let your smile grow into a grin, barely hiding it behind your mug as another officer enters the break room. It’s a rare sight to see Jill Valentine flustered, and you’d give a lot to see it again.

3 P.M.

A museum turned into a police station. What a joke.

The number of unnecessary stairs and random rooms in the police department should be violation of some policy, especially considering how spread out this already small department is. Just running files up to the S.T.A.R.S. team is a chore, and there are many other things you would rather be doing or could be doing. Except that also means an excuse to see Jill, which makes the chore pretty much worth it.

After too many stairs and mental promises to work out more, you finally make it up to the S.T.A.R.S. office, files in hand. As soon as your coworker had mentioned that they had some files that Redfield needed, you jumped at the opportunity to go up there. There’s rarely a reason for you to, meaning that any opportunity to see Jill is rare as well.

You push open the door, eyes instantly locking onto Jill’s desk, but that familiar brown bob is nowhere to be seen. Her desk chair is empty, coffee mug cold and empty. Your shoulders sag slightly, practically deflating with disappointment. Once you drop the files off with Redfield, you start to make the trek back downstairs, mood lower than it had been before.

So much for that.

5 P.M.

There isn’t a single sign of Jill throughout the last couple hours of work. Things continued slowly and monotonously, just reading over forms and going through the motions. The clock strikes the end of your shift, and a small sigh leaves you as you pack up for the day. After tossing your belongings into a bag, you sling the strap over your shoulder and head for the door, shoes thudding against the tile as you enter the lobby.

You wave to the receptionist, politely saying goodbye before you exit out the front doors. Raindrops hit your face as you leave, and you curse under your breath, glaring up at the gloomy sky. Fate has decided to screw you again, apparently, as rain wasn’t one the forecast last night. It’s only a slight drizzle, but just enough to be irritating.

Your shoes splash in the small puddles as you walk to your car, another sigh leaving you. Another pair of footsteps joins yours, though far more hurried. A shout of your name makes you stop in your tracks, turning to see Jill jogging out of the building.

“Hang on!” She stops in front of you, one hand running through her now dampened hair to slick it back out of her face. “Glad I could catch you before you left. You’re speedy.”

“Just want to get home and in bed,” you admit, shrugging with a light chuckle.

Jill chuckles as well, nodding. “I get that. Especially on a day like this with the weather.”

You hum in acknowledgment, and a short silence settles over you two. Your head tilts, waiting for Jill to say whatever she had basically chased you down for. Both of you are still standing in the light rain, steadily getting soaked to the bone. She clears her throat, taking a deep breath as if preparing to dip her head underwater.

“You, uh, doing anything this weekend? Specifically on Saturday night?”

It would be an innocent question, if it weren’t for the fact that Jill is wringing her hands behind her back as an oddly tense smile stretches across her face.

Your pause seems to be just long enough to make Jill panic, and she starts to backpedal. “I’m just curious, that’s all. Just… wondering.”

“No, I’m not busy on Saturday night.”

Jill’s entire face lights up, and she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. Your eyes flick down to her lips, watching her gnaw on the skin for a second as she mulls over her next questions.

“Would you want to go out to dinner with me?”

“Like… a date?”

“Yeah,” Jill says on an exhale, a physical weight taken off her shoulders now that she has gotten it out. “Like a date, yeah.”

A grin spreads across your face slowly, and it takes everything in you not to just start sprinting laps around the RPD building. You nod, a bit too enthusiastically than you would like, but it makes Jill grin as well.

“I’d love to.”

The pure joy on Jill’s face makes your heart melt into a puddle at the bottom of your ribcage, the warmth seeping throughout your entire chest.

Jill nods in response, her smile not faltering for a second. “Great. I can pick you up at seven, if you’d like?”

“Sure, you got a place in mind already?” Already, you’re mentally flipping through your closet, trying to figure out an outfit that looks good but doesn’t scream desperation.

“I was thinking that one Italian place, the one across the street from the old church?”

Oh god, that’s the one that you’ve mentioned to Jill at least twice now. Any semblance of composure you had is gone by now, heart warmed by the barest of bare minimum listening skills.

Practically bouncing on the heels of your feet, you nod again, feeling like a lovesick teenager in the face of Jill Valentine asking you on a date. “That’s a good place. I’ll see you at seven on Saturday, then.”

When the two of you reluctantly part (just because of the rain) and the door of your car is firmly shut, that fluttering in your stomach has not stopped for a second. An almost disbelieving laugh leaves your mouth, and you pinch your arm to make sure this is real.

Across the parking lot, Jill is doing the same thing, gripping the steering wheel as she commits the interaction to memory. She can’t get your grin out of her head, unable to stop herself from laughing like a maniac alone in her car. She is just as hopeless as you are.

[homoeroticfisticuffs]

WIP Wednesday - Sambucky Sickfic

Been working on this one on and off for a few weeks now whenever I've had the free time and I keep forgetting to post a WIP!! So here it is finally lol... working title is "There's No Need to Be Brave," from I Will by Mitski :] Once this is finished I'd like it to be maybe closer to/over 10k like the rest of my more recent fics, and I will only be posting the finished version to my AO3 because I just prefer to only post WIPs on here ;w; anyway Sambucky

Word count: 4.1k

He hadn’t even spent two weeks back in Brooklyn before he got the text; not from Sam, no, from Sarah, which made this whole situation all the more hilarious.

“Hey Bucky, I really hate to ask you for yet another favor after all you’ve done for my family, but my stubborn jackass of a brother got himself real sick with a bad cold somehow and I just don’t have the time to take care of both him and the boys. Would you mind maybe coming back down here to stay and watch over him for a bit? I think you’re the only other person he’d let see him like this.”

(The fact that he was actually checking and responding to his texts now was a new development for him, one he was glad Dr. Raynor wasn’t around to see. He really didn’t need to see her sarcastic grin or hear her smug ass voice giving him an “I told you so” or “see how easy it is” or whatever the hell she’d have to say.)

He smirked to himself as he saw Sarah’s text; it was timestamped at 6:47 AM, probably sent out of exasperation while trying to get the boys ready for school and also having to deal with taking care of Sam. The thought of Sam Wilson, the famous Falcon and now the brand new Captain America, lying helpless and miserable in bed was admittedly a little funny. He was probably wrapped up in a bunch of blankets right now with a bulky ice bag sitting atop his head and a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. It really was comical when he thought about it.

“No worries, Sarah. I can come help out.”

He genuinely didn’t mind going back down there to offer his help, and he would have done it either way to help the people he cares about, but he also loved being a little sweet on Sarah because of how mad it made Sam.

He also needed to get out of Brooklyn, as much as he hated it. After offering closure to Yori, things just hadn’t felt the same. It didn’t really feel like home anymore. Part of him wished he could just stay in Louisiana; and maybe he could. The thought wasn’t so bad. 

He sighed for a moment, looking down at his duffle bag that he never really got around to fully unpacking in the first place from his last trip. He could use the travel, really; it’s not like he had any other plans anyway, and it was always a nice treat to visit the Wilsons. Plus, this would give him a lot of ammunition and blackmail to hold over Sam’s head for a good long while. He smiled at the thought of bantering and bickering with him as he packed, looking forward to getting to see him again, though he’d never in a million years admit it out loud.

-

The sun was starting to set over the water in Delacroix, the last few rays of sunlight beaming in through the windows and casting a warm glow over the living room. Sam laid exhausted on the couch, hopelessly flipping through different TV channels in hopes of finding something other than the countless shitty movies and reality shows that litter the guide on the screen. He sighed in defeat before giving up and leaving it on a channel showing a cheesy eighties action flick, tossing the remote aside and curling further into his blanket.

“You feeling any better today?” Sarah asked from the kitchen, starting to cut up some vegetables to prepare dinner for the night: a nice and hearty vegetable stew.

“No,” Sam groaned softly, his voice weak from illness. “If anything, today’s been worse.”

She sighed, and he felt a stab of guilt at the sound. He hated putting all this on her. “Well, we’ve just gotta make sure you’re taking meds at the right times then and try and stay on top of that fever. Plenty of rest and fluids, it’ll be gone in no time. Can’t keep Captain America down for too long.”

He chuckled, knowing she was giving him shit for his new title. It was still taking some time for everyone to get used to, especially himself. No one had exactly seen it coming. 

He hated this, all of it. He hated feeling this sick and miserable, and he hated being so useless and unable to help Sarah out around the house and with the boys. He knew she managed just fine on her own in the years that he was gone, but part of him will always feel a need to help and protect her whenever he can. She had gotten used to having him around lately, and had shared some of her responsibilities with him so that she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed with the workload. Now that he was unable to help take some of that weight off her shoulders, she’s been a lot more noticeably stressed out since he got sick.

His phone rang then, and he lifted it to see that it was Joaquin video calling him. He reluctantly hit the accept button; not because he didn’t enjoy talking to Joaquin, just that it was a little difficult to talk at all in his current state.

“Hey man!” Joaquin greeted him through the phone. “Oh, shit, you don’t look so good. You alright?”

“Yeah, just got a cold,” Sam responded quietly. It hurt his throat a little to speak, but he was fairly sure he could handle a brief phone call for now. “What’s up?”

“I was just checking in to say hey. You mentioned not feeling so hot so I just wanted to see how you were doing. Anything I can do to help? I could DoorDash you some soup or medicine or something.”

It earned a good laugh from Sam, possibly being the only real smile he had cracked yet today. “Nah, man, I’m alright. I doubt any sane Dasher would come this far out, anyways.”

“Well, offer’s still on the table if you end up changing your mind,” Joaquin said earnestly. “I’ll let you go for now, though. Rest up buddy, and take care! I’ll be thinking of you. Hope you heal up fast!”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam replied, exhaustion clear in his voice. He was on day three of the cold now, with no sign of it improving. He was starting to get really tired of it. “I’ll keep in touch. Thanks for checking in.”

“No problem, man. And seriously, rest up, you sound like shit,” Joaquin laughed. “Okay bye, talk soon.”

“Seeya.”

Once the call had ended, Sam finally let out a couple of coughs that he had been holding in and took a big long sip of his water; engaging that much in a conversation, even if it was short, had rendered him a little worse off than he was before he took the call. Saying a couple short sentences a day was one thing, but his throat was seriously sore, and he sounded absolutely miserable with how nasally his voice was from being so congested. He let out a deep sigh before unwrapping yet another cough drop and tossing it in his mouth, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the couch.

Suddenly Sam heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching the house. He was a little too fatigued and feverish to connect the dots immediately, but he lifted his head and squinted his eyes at Sarah in confusion, wondering who or what the hell it could be before it finally clicked in his head after a few too many moments.

“You didn’t,” he said around the cough drop, unable to believe what he thought might have happened without him knowing.

“I had to!” she responded, her hands going up to defend herself from Sam’s criticism that she could already tell was coming. She moved quickly around the kitchen, trying her best to get dinner done in a timely manner and avoid getting any more grief from her brother. Sam noticed now that she was preparing five bowls instead of four, and he heard the motorcycle outside turn off.

“You really didn’t,” he said, exhausted. He tried to stand up slowly, grumbling to himself in the process. “Now I’ve gotta deal with his ass. Can’t just have my damn stew in peace.”

“Would you calm down? This is a good thing,” Sarah chastised him, getting irritated with his attitude. “Having an extra set of hands around here will be a big help. Not that you’d know what accepting help feels like,” she added, the last sentence being said under her breath, but still loud enough for Sam to hear.

Dumbfounded, Sam opened his mouth to hit her with another smartass reply, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Sarah quickly dumped a chopped up onion into the pot of broth on the stove before going over to the door, unlocking it and opening it for none other than the one and only James Buchanan Barnes to enter the house with a bag slung over his shoulder. He moved his sunglasses to rest on top of his head before he smiled at Sarah, and she went in for a hug. Sam could feel his fever rising as his blood boiled at the sight of it.

“Welcome back!” she said excitedly, looking him over. “I’m glad you could make it! Do you need help with your bag or anything?”

“I am too,” Bucky replied through a smile, his voice dropping lower than it needed to. “And no, I should be alright, thanks. Whatever’s cookin’ smells real good, what’s for dinner?” He freely carried himself throughout the space as he responded, and his familiarity and comfortability with the house made Sam feel a little funny.

“Just some stew, nothing fancy,” she said as she went back to stirring the pot and starting to chop up more ingredients. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Bucky drawled casually, walking over to where Sam was standing by the couch. He set his bag down and got a good look at him, head to toe. “Not looking so hot, Cap. Feeling a little under the weather?”

“Something like that,” Sam rasped before a cough broke through involuntarily. He sat back down on the cushions, grabbing for his water bottle, but Bucky was faster; he handed it to him gently, and Sam eyed him, annoyed, before reluctantly taking it from his hand. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Bucky responded a little quietly, pursing his lips. Sam knew his annoyance with the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re welcome.”

A door opened down the hall, and Bucky heard them before he saw them. “Is that uncle Bucky?!” Cass yelled excitedly, and both boys ran towards him as fast as they could.

“It sure is!” Bucky beamed back, reaching down a little to meet them halfway, picking them both up in each arm and swinging them around the living room with a big smile. Bucky had always been a natural when it came to the boys, and Sam found himself feeling a tinge of fondness seeing them all get along so well. Bucky used his vibranium arm to lift AJ up onto his shoulders, still swinging Cass around in a circle. “I’m playing doctor for uncle Sammy this week, if you can believe it.”

“No way!! A whole week? That’ll be so awesome!!” Cass exclaimed, as Bucky started to set them both back down on their feet.

“Yeah,” Sam groaned, barely audible. His voice dripped with sarcasm and with dread. “So awesome.”

“Could you pick me up from school one day this week so that everyone will see that I’m friends with the Winter Soldier and think I’m super cool?” AJ asked quickly, looking up at him expectantly. 

Bucky laughed nervously, looking over towards Sam for help. Seeing him look so lost and unsure what to say was endearing and funny enough to make Sam crack a bit of a smile.

“Actually yeah,” he said. “I’m usually the one who picks them up. They’ve had to carpool the past couple days.”

“Well, uh,” Bucky started, “my bike can only really fit two, and I don’t wanna try and stick ‘em both on there. Could I borrow your car?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Just get ‘em on time.”

“Alright boys,” Sarah interrupted from the kitchen, stirring the stew and turning the stove down. “Dinner’s ready, come get it.”

Sam went to stand, but Bucky gently put his hand up to stop him.

“Stay put,” he said, “I’ll get you some.”

Sam found the charity somewhat irritating at first; but he couldn’t deny that he really did not want to get up to get his own bowl. So to have Bucky bring one over to him was… nice.

The boys both ran over to the kitchen, grabbing their bowls and waiting patiently for Sarah to be done serving herself before they stepped in to get their own stew. As they did, Bucky moved to the other side of the kitchen and got out four glasses from the cabinet, opening up the fridge to get out the pitcher of sweet tea, filling them all up with ice before pouring the tea in. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion; he remembered Bucky being obsessed with Sarah’s sweet tea the first time he tried it. Why wasn’t he having a glass?

He set three of the teas at the table, then brought the last one over to the couch. He then, though, set the tea down on the coffee table, not in front of Sam but a good ways beside his water bottle, right in front of the other seat on the couch. 

“You don’t need the sugar,” Bucky deadpanned preemptively, already seeing Sam’s glare and knowing he was about to complain. He picked up Sam’s water bottle, making his way back to the kitchen.

“I don’t remember you being a doctor,” he shot back anyway, challenging him with an angry stare.

“Sam,” Sarah firmly chastised from her seat at the table. “Quit it.”

Bucky chuckled, and looked back over to him with a mischievous grin. “Yeah Sam,” he said with raised eyebrows, continuing his trek to the kitchen to get their dinner and fill up Sam’s water.

Sam grumbled to himself, wanting to argue yet again but choosing instead to just grind his jaw and crunch up the remains of his cough drop so that he could eat. With the way things were already going, he swore to himself that he’d kill Bucky before the week was over.

-

Like every night before, Sam’s symptoms got worse once night fell. Blowing his nose every ten minutes and barely able to speak, he was popping cough drops constantly, putting in a new one almost as soon as the last one faded away. He didn’t feel up to doing anything other than laying his sorry ass on the couch with his blankets and flipping through the channels on TV, and he really, really just wanted to be alone; but that wasn’t an option right now, seeing as Bucky had to be here, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He was at the very least thankful that he was being silent (it was easier that way to pretend he wasn’t even there), just reading one of his books while Sam lounged comfortably though unable to engage in conversation. He doubted he would want to even if he could.

He was tired, exhausted even, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night. He never could when he was sick; each night he’d fall asleep, rest for an hour or two, wake up coughing or choking on his own spit, stay awake for an hour, fall asleep for another two hours or so, and repeat until he gave up on sleeping once the sun finally rose. It was miserable, and after several days, he was starting to feel the effects of sleep deprivation as well as the cold.

An alarm went off on Bucky’s phone then, startling Sam out of his thoughts.

“What’s that for?” he croaked, instantly regretting it when he felt the dull swollen ache in his throat and heard how pitiful his voice sounded.

Bucky looked at him with pursed lips. “Your medicine,” he said. “It helps to keep you on a schedule.”

Sam huffed in annoyance, but he was too tired to argue.

Bucky put a bookmark in his book and stood from his spot at the couch, taking Sam’s lack of protest as acceptance. Wordlessly he made his way into the kitchen, sorting through the medicine cabinet because he knew just where everything was, and Sam decided to ignore yet again the way that made him feel. He was tired, that was all. That’s why he was overthinking the way Bucky occupied the space like he belonged there, surely. That was all it was.

Sam turned his attention back to the TV, choosing to focus instead on the rerun of Bar Rescue that was currently playing, even though he had been watching this same damn show for hours now and he had kind of lost interest in how much alcohol this particular bar was wasting every month.

Bucky returned after a few minutes, longer than Sam expected it to take to pour out a little dose of cough syrup, but when he did he saw it was because he was also holding a steaming hot mug in his other hand.

“Made you some tea,” he said, setting the mug down on the coffee table in front of Sam. “Should help you sleep.”

Sam just stared up at him, feeling frustration bubbling up in him at the feeling of being constantly coddled like this, but he was too exhausted to put up too much of a fight. He could manage a little bit though.

“I don’t like tea.”

Bucky sighed, irritated but not surprised by Sam’s resistance. “Just drink it.”

Still glaring, he wordlessly reached for the medicine in Bucky’s hand and downed it like a shot, not wanting the taste to linger. His nose scrunched up at the flavor anyway and he reluctantly reached for the tea, blowing on it for a moment before giving it a sip. It actually wasn’t too bad; he could taste the lemon, honey, ginger, and…

“Is that whiskey?”

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky replied, beginning to walk back over to the kitchen to put the medicine back up. “It’s a hot toddy. You’ve never had one?”

“No. Sounds old.”

Bucky chuckled a bit in response. “I guess it is. I used to make ‘em a lot back in the day, they work real well, trust me.” He then came back over to stand by the couch, looking down at where Sam was laying.  He thought for a moment, and his eyes squinted just a bit. “Do you wanna sleep out here or in the bedroom?”

“I’m fine here,” Sam replied, his voice barely registering above a whisper. The drink was helping, though, as much as he hated to admit it. “You can take the bed.”

Bucky nodded, sitting back down in his spot at the end of the couch and picking his book back up. “‘Kay.”

Sam kept sipping on his mug, drinking on it slowly until the last of it was barely warm. He felt his eyes slowly getting heavier as well, also due to the nighttime medicine making him drowsy and sleepy. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t fight to stay awake any longer, finally letting his eyelids fall shut and stay that way, curled up into his blankets.

-

He woke up with a sharp and fearful intake of breath, sitting up straight as quick as a bullet and immediately starting to cough up the phlegm that had tried to choke him in his sleep. As soon as he did, Bucky was at his side in a moment’s notice, kneeling beside the bed and gently rubbing his back while he held Sam’s water bottle in his other hand. It took Sam a few tries, but once he properly cleared his airways, he took several heavy and labored breaths to try and recover from the anxiety of it all and to return his breathing to normal as much as he could. Having Bucky there was definitely a help; whenever this would happen while he was alone, it took him a lot longer to calm himself down, nerves running rampant with the fact that he could have almost died from asphyxiation (or so he convinced himself).

With one last deep breath, he looked over at Bucky, who was closer to him than he expected him to be. He squinted in confusion as he huffed, and looked over to see a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor opposite the coffee table.

“You slept on the floor?” he whispered.

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I sleep better that way.”

Sam understood the sentiment; he remembered having a talk with Steve about it when they first met. Sam also understood but didn’t comment on the fact that it was probably also so that Bucky could keep a better eye on him this way. He decided yet another time that he didn’t want to explore how he felt about it.

Bucky handed him his water bottle, and he drank greedily. He needed to clear some of the thicker saliva out of his mouth so that he wouldn’t choke on it again, at least not for a while. The coolness of the ice-cold water made him sigh with relief as it eased some of the pain in his throat on the way down.

“Lean up a bit,” Bucky spoke softly, his hand leaving Sam’s back as he stood to grab another pillow from the other end of the couch. He slotted it behind Sam, stacking it with the pillows that were already there. “You gotta stay upright.”

Sam leaned back into the new pillow arrangement, and it felt all wrong. He didn’t know if he could sleep sitting up, and when he tried to rest his head, his neck bent at an awkward angle. He scowled and scooted down the cough enough to get comfortable, trying his best to stay as vertical as he could.

“There,” Bucky said, standing up and stepping back. Sam noticed he was only wearing a pair of lounge shorts, his dog tags dangling over his bare chest. “That should help.”

“Why are you doing all this?” he heard himself say, not entirely intending to speak his thoughts aloud. His voice was soft and slow with sleep as the question fell out. “Going through all this trouble just for me?”

Bucky took in a breath before responding. “Because you’re my friend, and I care about you.”

Sam would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat at that; getting Bucky to admit literally anything about his feelings (in any form other than a complaint) was no small feat. He smiled a little at the thought of being the reason for it. “Thank you, Buck. It’s mutual.”

“Good,” Bucky huffed, his discomfort palpable. He clearly was not used to this kind of talk. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Sam huffed out a small laugh. “Of course. Can’t have people knowing the Winter Soldier’s gone all soft.”

“Exactly. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

Sam laughed again and pulled his blankets tighter to him, getting as comfortable as he could in his new sleeping position. He turned his head to the side and let his eyes drift shut for a moment. “Aren’t you nervous about getting sick, though?”

“Perk of the serum. Haven’t been sick since the thirties.”

“What makes you so good at all this then?” Sam asked, his voice becoming less and less audible as he felt himself start to get sleepy again. “The caring stuff.”

Bucky paused and looked down at the floor for a moment before gathering himself. “I used to care for Steve a lot when he’d get sick. Which was pretty much all the time, so I learned a few tricks along the way. Glad they’re coming in handy.”

“Me too,” Sam mumbled, the words barely coming out. “He was… real lucky.”

Sam didn’t stay awake long enough to hear the way Bucky’s breath hitched at the comment, or see the way his eyes watered ever-so-slightly; but when he fell back asleep, he slept through the night for the first time all week, knowing that Bucky was right there next to him.

Would love initial opinions/critique on this if you have any !! And again this is only a WIP, I'll probably keep posting more WIPs as I work on it and I'll make a little announcement post whenever I finish it and post it on my AO3. Just wanted to get a little bit of it out there after talking about it for so long. Anyway thank you for reading I hope you have a nice day :]

[bitbybitwrites]

20 Fanfic Author Questions

Haven't done one of these in a while, so let's give it a go. 😊

Many thanks to the following folks who tagged me 💖💖💖💖: @porcelainmortal , @alasse9 , @theprinceandagcd

Answers under the cut . . .

How many works on AO3?

38

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

281,632

3. Top 5 fics by Kudos

i hate waiting (RWRB/FirstPrince) If I can Make Your Heart My Home (Glee/Klaine) Falling for You (Glee/Klaine) hold me close (RWRB/FirstPrince) smutsgiving 2023: RWRB/FirstPrince

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Glee/Klaine RWRB/FirstPrince

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to . . but to be honest Ive gotten a bit overwhelmed with my inbox right now, so Ive stopped at the moment. I do read every one and love that people take the time out to write anything at all. One day I'll finally catch up and answer everything. *sigh*

6. Angstiest Ending?

Most of my stuff usually ends up happy at the end . . . with a lot of angst in the middle. So not sure if you'd qualify this as angsty but its certainly not a happy ending. . . Come Into My Parlor (Glee/klaine)

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

Like mentioned before i think most of my fics have happy endings . . .so I'll pick this one - because it is a pretty wholesome feel-good ending: Falling for You (Glee/Klaine)

8. Do you get hate?

No. I've gotten some very passionate comments, mostly about what characters are doing in certain stories, but nothing that I'd take as a personal attack against me or my writing in general.

9. Do you write smut?

I do but its a constant struggle because it doesn’t come easy for me. Most of the time it slows me down writing because i agonize over those parts so much!

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have done a few and would do it again. . but mostly I do stick to original AUs when I write. Dancing In The Moonlight - Glee/Klaine and The Adams Family Advanced Potions - Hogwarts!AU - Glee/Klaine and Harry Potter study date - klaine hogwarts!au - Glee/Klaine and Harry Potter

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. But if anyone hears anything, let me know!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

No.

14. All time favourite ship?

I love Klaine and FirstPrince equally. Those boys make me so happy.

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I intend to finish everything . . .eventually - the problem with me is WHEN I'll get to do that! An ongoing list of my WIP can be found here.

16. Writing strengths?

Dialogue, I guess . . humor . . angst? . . Maybe I should ask any readers about this. What do you all think I do well?😂

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Smut . . . its so challenging. And just finding time to write in general.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue? 

I don't mind it. . . As a reader, I like the extra depth it brings to a charater. As long as there's a translation for me to read. I enjoy it. As a writer, it can be a bit nerve wracking because I think and write in English and then try to translate it over, which sometimes doesn't always work. I am lucky bc one of my betas speaks Spanish so I often bounce ideas off of her when I need that for characters. But for a recent ongoing WIP, I decided (because I'm insane) to include A LOT of French in my dialogue. I had used an online translator, but thankfully one of my readers jumped in to offer to help with corrections and any French translations going forward!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Officially - like posted stuff, would be Glee/Klaine . Though I've been making up fandom AUs/ bits of stories in my head for years before I knew what fanfiction was! i just never shared it with anyone! 😂

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I love all of my fics! It's hard to say which is my all time favorite . . but I will say that ( though it's almost finished - 1 more chapter left) If I Can Make Your Heart My Home (Glee/Klaine) will always hold a special place in my heart . . its been a true joy writing it and seeing how others have reacted to it. It's also my longest piece to date - a little over the length of a novel (127,206 words) - and has taken me a LONG time to write . . ( its been a year and 10 months) The whole writing process for this has been very challenging and very fulfilling to do. I have very much fallen in love with the AU and will be happy to revisit it after the fic is complete.

Well this was fun . . I'm going to tag some lovely writers to take part (no pressure - only if you want to!) and leave a big OPEN TAG for anyone who sees this and wants to jump in . .

 @iboatedhere , @forabeatofadrum,  , @firstprincehornyramblings , 

@sophie1973 , @onthewaytosomewhere  @heartsmadeofbooks

 @getmehighonmagic, @caterpills, @blueeyedgrlwrites, , @annepi-blog,

@myheartalivewrites , @14carrotghoul, @kirakiwiwrites, @emeryhall

@wowbright @coffeegleek, @cha-melodius

@gleefulpoppet , @special-bc-ur-part-of-it   @daisyishedwig @sarkyblueeyes , @hkvoyage

@tinyarmedtrex, @1908jmd , @sparklepocalypse @spaceorphan18, @firstprincehornyramblings

@kirakiwiwrites , @cha-melodius @yadivagirl, @lady-divine-writes, @cryscendo 

@rockitmans, @madas-ahatters-world , @little-escapist  @thesleepyskipper  @caterpills

@nocoastposts, , @thinkof-england , @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion, @blurglesmurfklaine