#*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ face ➳ ⦀ find my way to the same old jam

[cheesiedomino]

Second Chances ꙳ ੭ * ‧

synopsis: your old situationship from many years ago just moved back in town and of course, he has to text you. but it’s not just any normal text — he’s asking you out on a proper date this time. will you give a second chance to Cupid? or will you be left here feeling stupid?

genre: lee minho x fem!reader | exes (??) to lovers wc: 4.6k tags/warnings: fluff, some light angst, slightly suggestive but nothing srs, mild cursing, kissing, small mentions of crying T-T

now playing 🎧: from the start by laufey

[this is part of my valentine’s series where i write a short story for each member surrounding themes of love, newfound romance, relationship hardships & more.]

“Why don’t you give Tinder a try already? I’m sick of hearing you nagging all day about being lonely!” Areum abruptly suggests mid-convo , resting her palm on the side of her face.

As you both casually wait for the food to arrive, you end up on the dreadful topic of dating again. You got into a real heated discussion with her, sitting in a booth at this new restaurant one of your coworker’s recommended. It wasn’t super well known but they wouldn’t stop raving about how delicious their breadsticks were. The place wasn’t too jam packed but definitely had a decent amount of people. What you weren’t anticipating on was seeing dozens of couples here, it kind of threw your whole vibe off since it only reminded you of your current sad relationship status. Maybe you were putting far too much thought into it but everything seemed so highly unfair. Glaring in envy while they all happily rub in your face that they’ve found their forever companion.

Life really can be cruel at times.

“You can’t be for real right now..” you instantly side eye your friend from across the table. Feeling personally triggered whenever she mentions online dating. You refuse to try it, never wanting to partake in such a vain concept where you swipe left and right based solely on looks. “That’s not the same as real romance. I want to meet someone naturally, wanna tell my kids when they grow up how I met their dreamy, hunk of a father in aisle 39 at Whole Foods.”

One could say it’s almost pathetic in a way— this burning desire you harbor within, longing for a pure, quaint, and beautiful love. Constantly catching yourself daydreaming about finding your life partner, the person you’re going to marry and possibly create an eternal family with. That day has yet to come unfortunately, but you still hold onto the thought of you someday meeting the one.

You thought you found them before, but thou shalt not speak thy names out into existence.

“Well, good luck finding ‘real romance’ in the big age of 2024-” Areum snorts in amusement, taking a pause to sip on her mango strawberry lemonade. “I need whatever drugs you’re on that’s making you this delulu so I can fantasize about my knight and shining armor that’s never coming!”

God you hate that word. Delulu. Why are you suddenly “delusional” for wanting a picture perfect romance? It doesn’t need to be perfect per se, but you want to feel adored, swept off your feet and embraced like the true queen you are. Was that too much to ask? Considering the current state of dating in this day and age, it might just be.

“I mean, let’s face it girl. You literally don’t know the first thing about love ___, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows like in the K-dramas y’know! Haven’t you only had like one boyfriend in high school? You barely even dated that guy for a month-”

“That’s because he dumped me to go move to LA and become a dumb YouTuber!” You snapped back, cutting her off to get all the facts straight.

It was hard not to grimace while thinking of such old memories. Dating a Minecraft streamer definitely had to be one of the most embarrassingly cringe choices you’ve ever made.

“Whatever that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to get at here is you don’t have the best track record when it comes to men. Remember that other guy you were seeing before we graduated? I thought y’all would’ve dated for sure but he turned out to be a dickhole just like the rest of ‘em…” Areum shakes her head in disbelief, recalling all those times you’d call in a frenzied panic about things not working out.

“What was his name again? Min… Minwoo? No, that’s not it.. it was definitely Min something.” She attempts on remembering but keeps drawing a blank.

“Minho.” You answer almost instantaneously. His name still rolled off the tongue smooth as velvet.

It felt weird though. Saying it out loud after so many years of blocking it from your immediate vocabulary. A name you thought would never escape your lips again.

“Damn, you really still think about him don’t you?” She dares to ask, knowing how difficult it is for you to even talk about this anymore.

You only respond by nodding slowly, unable to bring yourself to look at her. It was far too intense; bearing the emotions of hurt and guilt from a past fling that meant more to you but nothing to the other. That’s how most of your tragic stories end— always too overly into them while they barely reciprocate any of that energy towards you. The thing is, you thought Minho actually liked you, even so far as wanting to date in the near future. Considering he brought you over his parent’s house (to hook up of course), and though you didn’t meet them you still think that meant something. Most men don’t just bring any woman they’re seeing to their parent’s place without somewhat thinking a potential relationship could happen down the line.

“So that’s why you should download Tinder and start swipin’ on some other cuties! It’ll at least distract you for a bit and get your mind off that asswipe,” Areum pitches her idea once more, “there’s plenty other fish in the sea ___. Not everyone online is some crazy serial killer, plus you clearly don’t seem to be having much luck out in the real world.”

You wanted to jump up from the table and erase that smirk from her face but instead you roll your eyes at that last remark. “I don’t need those shitty dating apps. I’m very capable of finding someone in real life for your information!” You quickly retort as a means to defend yourself. Even though she did have a point, her delivery could’ve been a little bit nicer.

It’s not easy being a hopeless romantic, you can’t help but yearn for that special someone to enter your life and change it for the better. You won’t feel wholly satisfied nor complete until you do. The sad reality of the matter was that you are still painfully single. No one’s interesting enough to cease your attention, let alone go on any actual dates. Areum’s had enough of your bitching and whining though, there’s only so many rants and tirades she can keep listening to about your vicious hatred for men before she loses it completely. Your nonexistent love life has become more of a nuisance as that time of year approaches— Valentine’s Day. A god forsaken holiday you’ve always loathed with a passion. Wanting nothing more than to be one of those girls on the receiving end getting flowers and chocolates. A day full of the utmost joy and pleasant surprises from your loving significant other.

Must be nice..

Speaking of surprises.. The buzzing in your ear echoes from your phone pinging loudly, indefinitely startling you. Grabbing it to check the sudden notification, your eyes go absurdly wide at the contact name displayed on your screen. Blinking numerous times from shock, you stare at your phone in incredulity; making sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

Lee Minho. The Lee Minho?

What kind of sorcery is being conjured where the instant you bring him up, he somehow texts you after all these years of not speaking? This coincidence was more than unsettling to you. A part of your inner thoughts still believes this is all some elaborate joke being played on you, waiting for a cameraman to pop out of some curtain to announce you’ve just been pranked. But nothing happens, life proceeds as normal. Now you’re left with the most puzzling notification you might’ve ever received.

It was your last year of college and the pressure of your academics along with appeasing your family was getting to you immensely. You needed an escape from all of it, desperately. Which you found through none other than Lee Minho, the boy who worked as a barista at Cozmo’s; this coffee shop you used to frequent a lot. It was a cute, small family-owned establishment and they made the best matcha lattes— in your humble opinion. You’d pick one up almost every day along with a slice of freshly baked cinnamon bread. It started off as only playful banter with him in the beginning, then it lead to more as time went on. One day, as you reached out to pay he blocked your hand from moving any closer, letting you freely walk away without spending a dime. This soon became a regular occurrence, as you’d start seeing Minho outside of work, getting to know more and more about him. You remember so desperately wanting to date back then, pitying your past self for thinking there was even a chance.

‘Maybe he’s just texted the wrong person’ you psyche yourself into thinking, but when you unlock your phone to finally read the message — an uncomfortable lump forms in the pit of your throat.

Minho 🐈:

Hey is this still ___’s number?

You honestly don’t know why you still have his number saved, let alone allowing a whole emoji to be next to it. Though it never was like you to delete anything, no matter how painful it may have been. More lingering questions makes you want to seek out the possible solutions. Why would he text you of all people ? None of this adds up in your mind realistically. Furrowing your brows in concentration, you think of what to say as you draft out a response.

Yes… who’s this?

After a tedious struggle of typing out multiple paragraphs and immediately deleting them, you went over your words a few more times before sending a final reply. It would’ve been strange had you knew exactly who he was off the bat, that’ll just be dead giveaway you still had his contact info saved this whole time. But with that logic, doesn’t that make Minho just as odd for still keeping your number after all this time has passed?

Your phone dings again.

Minho 🐈:

Srsly -_-

Did you really delete my number??

Bet he didn’t see that one coming. He probably thought the moment he texts you, you were gonna kiss up to him like you’ve always done in the past. Mentally giggling to yourself at the image of him getting flustered by you not knowing who he was at first. Feels good to know you knocked his confidence down a peg.

Lol, chillax.. I know it’s you Minho :P

Not even a minute later, a flood of incoming messages appear. Biting your lip out of nervousness, your heart couldn’t stop beating so fast— anxiously checking your phone as the atmosphere around you suddenly gets stuffier.

Minho 🐈:

Better be lucky I didn’t block you after that ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Guess who’s back in the city btw. Did ya miss me? ;)

No need to answer that, I already know you did. You should stop by at Cozmo’s again sometime!

Also what’re you up to this week? I need you to clear out all your plans because I’m taking you out on a date.

You always knew Minho was the bold type but this was on another level. The sheer audacity he has to even ask something like this after not reaching out for almost 3 years was more than ballsy on his part. It felt like a surge of butterflies erupting in your stomach, getting lightheaded as you think about seeing him again. He really had an effect on you like no other.

Glancing up from your screen to finally pay attention to Areum again, you assure her everything’s going to be just fine. “Looks like I won’t be needing to download Tinder after all.”

Later on that day you ended up going to Cozmo’s and meeting up with Minho. It never really took much convincing from him to get you to budge, though it was a hell of a lot worse back then. You used to blindly follow along with anything he said just to seek his approval, hoping that eventually he’ll see you as the girl he wants to settle down with. Alas, nothing ever blossomed into something more, and you knew deep down that this was headed nowhere— but that still didn’t stop you from fantasizing about a future with him. Getting lost into deep thought, head heavy in the clouds as you imagine the idea of Minho confessing his undying love for you. You’ll be so caught off guard as he gets down on one knee, looking at you with the entire solar system in eyes while he proposes in the most charming way. It really is pitiful how much you still daydream about a guy who wasn’t your boyfriend but would constantly act like he was, then up and leaves without mentioning a single word about it.

You convinced yourself he ran off with someone else to have a better life with, even hearing through town gossip that he’s moved to South Korea to pursue becoming an idol. Whatever the case may be it still weighed heavily on your mind that he never bothered to tell you anything, even a simple ‘goodbye’ would’ve sufficed the empty hole in your heart. The main reason you agreed on meeting up with Minho was to finally ask, why? Why did he pretend to like you? Why did he act like your boyfriend when he never had intentions on seriously dating? Why was he so good at making you fall so hard for him..?

“You look great.” You subconsciously blurt out, affixed in a daze as you stare in awe at the man in front of you.

It’s been a while since you came here— never able to fully bring yourself to try and go back. Though you knew this place first, and they really did have the best Mactha lattes in the universe. It reminded you too much of him and you sadly had to let it go.

You weren’t proud of it but you did go home quickly to change clothes and redo your makeup. Usually you wouldn’t care but this was the only guy you’ve been consistently crushing on for years, you had to feel good inside and out. Minho was just as gorgeous as you remembered, if not he looked even more ethereal — which seemed impossible in itself already. He’s grown up so beautifully, his facial features became more sharp, especially his jawline which looks so defined and sculpted by the Gods.

Minho lightly chuckles at your timidness, some things just never change. “You look way better.” His lips drew into a faint smirk as he admires your presence.

He meant every word of what he said, you looked really good, and it was making him even more frustrated that so much time has passed. Regretting the way he handled things so many years ago, wishing he could take it all back and do everything differently. Seeing you again made it easier for Minho to suppress the guilt he’s borne for so long. This moment feels like a second chance to make amends for his past mistakes.

You couldn’t help but blush when you hear his compliment, feeling your ears grow hot as you look at the ground. There was a silent pause between you that lasted for what seemed like ages. Weirdly enough the conversation flowed well after he finally broke the awkwardness, the chemistry was overall still there and were able to pick up right where it left off.

“I’m so glad you came ___, I’ve been dying to see you since I got here. I’m surprised you even still responded to my lame ass.”

Minho’s light confession puzzles you. If he really was dying to see you, why’d he wait so long to get in contact with you? To be fair, you don’t know the exact time he came back.

“Oh, is that so? When’d you come back? Also show me pics of Korea, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like there.” You fondly inquire, leaning against the side of the wall as he’s still behind the counter. He mentioned to you he’s only working part time because his parents would rather mooch off their son for free labor than to hire and pay a new employee.

“Yesterday,” he quickly states before taking out his phone to scroll through his gallery, “guess my sister must’ve told you I went there huh?”

You shook your head, “Nah, I haven’t talked to Elle in a while. She’s tried hitting me up a few times though.. but I found out through Areum ‘cause she was seeing Hoseok back then.”

They were definitely “seeing” each other alright, but mostly in the bedroom. Areum didn’t want anything exclusive with Hoseok and neither did he, it was the perfect friends with benefits situation. Minho and Hoseok were good friends who’ve known each other for a while, so naturally he’d tell Areum everything and overshare at some point.

“Agh, there’s a customer gotta take this. One sec, sorry!” He briefly apologizes before bringing his attention to the new person heading inside. You nod, signaling he’s good to go. “I’ll be waiting over there,” you point to a small wooden table with 2 chairs in a corner.

Once Minho comes back you notice he’s no longer wearing his purple work apron; back in his regular attire now and sporting an oversized dark grey hoodie that was three times too big. He was holding a large cup with green liquid and a paper bag in his hand, that’s when it clicks for you— he still remembers your favorite meal.

He’s grinning the whole time he’s handing you the matcha latte and cinnamon pastry, smiling from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas Day. This was the most you’ve seen him be so enthusiastic about something, even back when you were “with” him you can’t recall him beaming with such energy like this.

“Awh, thank you. I haven’t had either one of these in years!” You wanted to give him the biggest hug but you refrained from doing so, feeling as though it may be too early for that.

“Of course dear, anything for you.”

Why does everything he says have to make you melt from the inside out? It’s not fair! >:(

Glancing down at your yummy beverage, you see a message written on the side of the glass with bold permanent sharpie. Tilting your head to read it, the words are bit jumbled together but you get the gist. You’re almost left speechless after it reads: ‘___, Will you be my valentine?’

Your most dreaded and least favorite holiday is here, yippee! But, there’s a twist on this year’s turn of events; you actually have someone to celebrate this wretched tradition with. You should be excited but all you’re feeling is the sudden urge to vomit as you were nervous out of your mind. This was kind of weird to you, going on a date with your ex boyfriend who was never even your real boyfriend. Looking back on it now you shouldn’t have tolerated a relationship dynamic like that, Minho was clearly taking advantage of your passiveness by not explicitly saying what he wanted. On the contrary, you had no one to blame but yourself, you never spoke up or criticized anything even if it didn’t coincide with your personal morals.

The fact he never took you on an actual date until now speaks volumes, you obviously didn’t have enough self worth back to demand better treatment. It took you years of figuring out what a real, healthy relationship is supposed to be like through trials of therapy and that was an emotional rollercoaster in itself. All your uncertainties soon faded away once you became more secure and knew exactly what you wanted for yourself. It took every ounce of patience and acceptance to unlearn all your bad coping mechanisms and other toxic behaviors that were only stunting your inner growth. You’re happy to be in a position now where you’re able to express wholeheartedly what you deserve, it’s the best feeling ever to feel like you’re in control of your own life.

You spent almost 3 hours getting ready and your bedroom now looked like a war zone. The outfit you chose was super girly, a frilly white dress with pink platform heels— Minho’s going to drool in amazement when he sees you. When you sent Areum photos of you before heading out, she responds right way with a series of hearts and other sweet comments— hyping you up to no end like the best friend she is. She’s also able to help pull you out of your doubtful headspace, when you felt unsure if you could really go through with this she quickly psyched you out of it. Reminding you exactly who you are and why you are the prize, not him. ‘He should be the one who’s nervous, not the other way around’ you assure yourself over and over as a mini ego boost.

His jaw dropped when he spotted you walking up to his car, infatuated by how pretty and perfect you looked in every way possible. It angers him so much to know he took all this for granted, he didn’t appreciate all of you the way he should’ve but now he gets another chance to redo everything and right his wrongs. It’s a lot of pressure but he bravely accepts it, he could never mess up another opportunity like this again. The car ride was fairly silent in the beginning, you were vibing in peace as the only thing you could hear was Minho’s soft indie playlist as background music.

You ultimately chose to be the one to speak first, breaking the ice with a simple inquiry about the date. “So where are we going?” Looking out at the scenery from the window, all you is trees and more trees. If it’s something to do with nature you surely don’t want any parts of it, you’ve never been too fond of the wilderness.

“It’s a surprise, I can’t tell you.” He keeps a tight seal on today’s destination without dropping a single hint, forcing you to go completely blind into this. As he goes back to focus on the road, you sigh anxiously after hearing him refuse to disclose anything.

Did he seriously forget what kind of person you are? Anyone who’s close to you at all knows you’ve never been into those types of things. Ever.

“You know I hate surprises Minho,” you remind him, attempting to pry for more information. Even shooting him a doe eyed look along with poking out your bottom lip, but he doesn’t falter.

He simply nods, “I know but you’ll like this one, just have a little bit of faith me.” Flashing an innocent smile at you, he seems to be overly confident in whatever his plan consists of.

After almost half an hour passes the car finally comes to a stop, you scan the area and instantly notice a sense of familiarity among the place. Across from you was an ice cream parlor you thought didn’t exist anymore. But there it is, still standing with dozens of customers waiting in line. The small shop was famously known for its fish-shaped ice cream cones, you’ve always wanted to visit the place and try it when you were a little from seeing it on TV all the time. When you told Minho about it, you said how your parents would say it was too far but it actually closed down and they didn’t know how to tell you. From time to time you’d still think about that place, but you would’ve never thought they relocated. Being here with Minho brings an indescribable amount of happiness to your spirit.

“I mentioned this place like one time in passing, how’d you even remember?” You wonder in amazement, after all these years he still remembers something as minuscule as this.

“It may not have seemed like it but I paid attention to every little detail you told me ___, all it. Of course I know you don’t like surprises but how else would I have been able to take you here?” He sweetly expresses to you, not wanting to hold back anymore.

You wanted to cry right here, right now. All your emotions came crashing down at once and it’s hard to keep them concealed. A lot has changed within these years, things feel so different with him now, especially with how much he’s matured. You notice how he doesn’t act like the typical fuckboy in his early 20’s anymore, he’s much more interested in getting to know only person — that being you.

“I’ve rehearsed this in my head like a million times and I don’t think I’ll ever say it the right way I want but it’s time I start being as transparent as possible with you…” Minho takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve always liked you ___, from the start actually,” he keeps going, “I was just scared, of what I don’t know.. Commitment maybe?”

Slightly looking in another direction, your vision faintly blurs from tears welling up, “I- I honestly don’t know what to say..”

“Then don’t say anything at all, I don’t need you to. I may not know the first thing about how to love someone, but I want to learn all of it with you.” He feels all the remorse of leaving you alone for all these years, unable to process the pain you must’ve endured at him not getting into contact with you. “I’m so sorry ___. For everything, I’m going to make it all better I promise.”

Your eyes subconsciously flutter shut when he comes in contact with you. Connecting in perfect symmetry with your lips to sync together in motion. His gentle hands cupped your face delicately; his touch was so warm and inviting. Your fingers were deeply tangled in his brunette locks, relishing every minute as he tilts his head to capture more of you. He genuinely couldn’t believe he went this long without kissing these luscious lips again. His tongue grazed the bottom of your lip to subtly ask for entry and you comply. Dopamine floods both your senses like a series of fireworks going off, feeling intoxicated by each other’s taste. It was probably that vanilla bean chapstick you always wore— an old favorite of his and is still your go-to flavor of choice. He wanted to savor you in this moment for as long as he could, cherish the fact he has you in his hold again.

“Want to know something funny?” He asks out of nowhere, still smirking from that heated kiss that just happened seconds ago.

“Hm?”

“You’re the reason I ended up coming back here.” Minho states bluntly, no hesitation detected in his voice whatsoever.

You struggle to comprehend anything, overwhelmed by all his sudden confessions. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I never want to leave your side ever again ___. I’m staying here with you, I already made the biggest mistake of losing you once I can’t let the same thing happen twice.” He spoke tenderly from the bottom of his heart, it felt so genuine you couldn’t not believe him.

Going back to rewind time isn’t possible, but “do-over’s” are, and sometimes we’re able to get those second chances to make things right when we get them wrong the first time.

[End <3].

[therabbitthatpostthings]

“Nanami-San is so sweet, isn’t he?” You glanced over to your coworker, Yuka. She seamlessly slid her way into the conversation you and another group of co-workers were having. She tucked a stray strand behind her ear and smiled, “Just now, he helped me fix the paper jam.”

“If only I could meet someone as kind as he is.” Mei sighed with a dreamy smile.

“Way better than the other guys here.” Nitori huffed.

“Don’t you think he’s so cool, (L/N).” Yuka smiled.

“Uh- y-yeah. Of course he is.” You replied quickly. The energy shifted in this small huddle, no one looked to have felt it except for you and…her.

“I’d bet he’d make a great boyfriend.” Yuka voice was traced with vile yet she smiled so sweetly at you and only you.

“He’d make a great husband!” Nitori smiled. “A man like that would be anyone’s dream!”

“Yeah, an equally great and gorgeous partner for someone like Nanami.” Yuka said.

Mei laughed, “Yeah you can say that Yuka because you’re already so pretty.”

“Oh my god guys, stop!” Yuka squealed as she finally took her eyes off you. The conversation faded out in your mind and it was only filled with the thought of Yuka. Yuka is so gorgeous. She had her hair lightened to a beautiful auburn color but even before she looked amazing. A youthful face with elegant eyes and long lashes. Lips always tinted pink, nails always manicured. She looked like every man’s dream. She was every man’s dream…

Yuka’s hand on your shoulder shook you out of your thoughts. “(L/N), are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine.” You replied, noticing the other coworkers had left.

Yuka smiled that sickly sweet smile again, “Don’t worry (L/N), if you ever confessed to Nanami, I’m sure he’d let you down easy. Plenty of fish in the sea. Even someone with your looks could find a partner.”

With the grace of a swan she left. You suddenly felt very sick.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。✫・。.・゜ ✭・.

You entered the apartment slowly and quietly. You carefully slipped off your work shoes and sat your bag down. Lightly stepping from the door to the hallway and down the hall. You knew it was no use, he definitely heard you come in but for a moment you could pretend he didn’t. Deciding you were already caught, you took a nice long shower before heading back to the kitchen.

"Did something happen at work?" Kento asked.

"No."

"Really?" He turned around to face you. His hair was ruffled and pushed back. He wore an old worn out sweater you bought him under his soft yellow apron. A welcomed sight from the stern and business oriented Nanami Kento everyone at work was obsessed with.

"I'm fine." You say plainly. He's probably be better off without me....

Kento gently pulled you into his embrace. He gently caressed up anxiously down your arms as you melted into him. His chin rested on your head, “Please tell me what happened.”

You sighed, “You came up in a conversation today. Everyone said you are so perfect, and you are! And I’m just- not…”

As much as you enjoyed your “low-key” relationship, you couldn’t help but feel jealous at how they would swoon over Kento. How they would talk about your boyfriend to you as if you meant nothing to him. Kento said he loves you and you know he does! You wanted to tell them but then you’d be the talk of the office. There is no way out of this and you started to worry if those same coworkers had more to offer him.

“You are perfect. Far too perfect than I deserve.”

“Ken, don’t say thing just to make me feel better-“

He cupped your face in his hands, “(Y/N), I think you are the most kind, patient, diligent, and compassionate person I’ve ever met. You are far more perfect than a stubborn man like me.”

You laughed as you leaned into his warm hands, “Your not stubborn Ken, you’re just headstrong.”

“Now you are saying things to make me feel better.” He leaned in to place a kiss on you forehead, cheek and lips. Your hearted swelled and all the remarks from today drifted away. Yuka may be beautiful and can desire Kento all she wants but he comes home to you everyday.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。✫・。.・゜ ✭・.

After months of back-breaking labor, you’ve finally gotten a job offer at a new office closer to your home. Meanwhile Kento had also gotten a hire role in his department. It finally felt like things were going well.

“Oh, Yuka! Would you like to catch lunch with us?” Nitori called as Yuka entered the room. She plopped down on the seat next to you.

“I guess,” she playfully sighed. “I tried asking Nanami and guess what! He said he’s eating lunch with his partner! He’s had a whole relationship for like three years now!”

“Talk about lucky.” Nitori giggled.

“Ah, so none of us stood a chance.” Mei joked.

“Are you doing anything for lunch (L/N),” Yuka smiled her sickly sweet smile. You gave her one right back.

“Actually yes, thank you for asking though.”

Before she had the chance to ask, Nanami popped his head in the door. “(Y/N), are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m all finished.” You smiled. You grabbed you phone, making sure to savor Yuka’s shocked face and headed over to Ken. He gave you a light kiss on the head and his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Bye guys.” You waved. You knew you’d never hear the end of it when you got back but it was definitely worth it.

[universe-on-her-shoulders]

Prompt: Martha Jones spots The Fourteenth Doctor around London doing a mundane thing like food shopping. Thank you :)

At first, Martha wasn’t sure. It wasn’t that she didn’t recognise him; she’d know that hair and that side profile anywhere, even if he was now clad in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt instead of the long coat she’d been so used to. He was holding a jar of jam, reading the ingredients with bright interest, as though it were the most normal thing in the world to be in Tesco Express at ten o’clock on a Thursday night shopping for preserves; the basket beside him contained further mundanities like bread and milk, and she was so baffled by all of this that she tried to tell herself that it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. He was a Time Lord, for god’s sake; he didn’t do dull things like buy pints of semi-skimmed milk or reduced Kingsmill white loaves.

But then he turned away from the shelf, sticking the jar in his basket, and the look on his face took her breath away. For several seconds she surveyed him as he continued to be unaware of her presence, and she tried to put her finger on what had changed. It was the eyes, she thought; there had been so many ghosts behind them when she’d first known him, and now he looked almost… well, serene. Calm. There were no spectres weighing heavily on his shoulders; there was no lingering pain in the easy, contented expression on his face as he scooped up his basket from his feet – still clad in Converse, because some things could never change – and then finally caught sight of her.

“Oh,” he said, the syllable hanging in the air between them for a moment, and she couldn’t read it; was he pleased to see her? Angry? Sad? Guilty? Was he about to cut and run? Then he beamed from ear to ear, really sincerely beamed, and held out his arms to her for – no, that couldn’t be right. He wanted a hug? Since when had he been a hugger? “Martha Jones!”

“Doctor,” she said reservedly, looking him up and down; he was older than he’d been since she last saw him, but all of the tension and impatient anxiety that he’d held within him seemed to have dissipated in the interceding years. Questions crowded her mind; questions about time and space and clothes and the air of contentment and – “Why are you in Tesco in Richmond?”

“Oh,” he said again, with dawning comprehension. “We’re out of bread.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

“Oh,” he repeated for a third time, then ran a hand through his hair before chancing a glance at the checkouts, and for one awful moment she thought he might be about to bolt. “It’s sort of a long story, actually. Why don’t we pay and find a pub, or something? Unless you’ve got somewhere to be… is Mickey expecting you?”

“He can wait,” she said with amusement, irrationally touched that he’d remembered. “Yeah, alright. Let’s pay.”

“Why are you in Tesco in Richmond?” he enquired, flipping the question back on her with some of the old cheekiness that she was used to. “That’s the real question.”

“Staying with mum for a few weeks while we have the kitchen redone,” she told him as they headed towards the self-checkouts; she started scanning her items while he did the same at an adjacent terminal, and she half expected him to sonic it, or in some way cheat it – space cubes, or god knows what else – but instead he took out an honest-to-god wallet and tapped a perfectly normal credit card on the reader. Her surprise must have shown, because he shot her a sidelong grin as he bundled up his groceries in a canvas tote bag and hefted it onto his shoulder as she swiped her Clubcard and did the same.

“Bit different to the old days, isn’t it?” he said ruefully, and she laughed.

“Yeah, never had you down as a wallet sort of man.”

“It was a present. I lost my last four credit cards.”

“That sounds more like you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The scalding echo nips at the nape of your neck. As the plane came down, Mr. Stark duly pushed you off of him and chortled at you to put something decent on. You’re spinning as his hot and cold moods swing back and forth.  

With your bathing suit under your usual attire, you follow him off the jet. You just want to be in one place although the same end makes you nervous. You know your boss enough to know he isn’t done. He’s not the type to just stop. 

The car is waiting just as you arranged. Mr. Stark pays you little mind as he gets in and you shimmy in after him. You fumble with your phone as you shuffle through his calendar. 

“Uh, sir, I don’t have anything scheduled--” 

“Georgie, please, the dumb act is cute but it’s getting old,” he stretches his arm behind you, “remember that sexy blonde I mentioned?” 

“Sir,” your eyes round as you look at him. 

“I think you’ll like her. She’s spicy,” he reaches over to squeeze your thigh. 

“Ummmm,” your cheeks blaze and your turn your face away. He can’t mean what you think. 

He grumbles and kicks his leg out as he sits back. He drags his hand off your leg but his other arm stays behind you. You clasp your phone between your hand and rub your lips together. Your anxiety mounts as the car rolls on. 

When you get to the hotel, Stark dismissively points the staff to his car to fetch the bags. As you try to help them, he snaps his fingers at you. Shoot. You run after him. He stands silently behind you as you check him in at the desk. You hand him his keycards. 

“Sir, should I book a room for me--” 

“Stop,” he pokes your shoulder. “I know you’re not as innocent as you seem. After that flight, I know you felt exactly what you do to a man.” 

“But-- I’m... your assistant. I can’t--” 

“Can’t? I’m the boss, honey,” he struts to the elevator with your scurrying after. “You do whatever I say.” 

“Sir, respectfully, I don’t.... I don’t want to do that. It—It's not professional--” 

The elevator doors open and he stands completely still. He lowers his chin and sighs through his nose. He tilts his head slightly in your direction. “Get in.” 

You don’t waste a single second as his tone grinds in his throat. You’ve never heard him sound like that. You step onto the elevator and he follows. He smirks as he faces the lobby and jams his finger into a button. Calmly, he tucks away the little folder with the keycards. 

Suddenly, you’re against the wall and his hand is at your throat. You squeak and blink up at him in surprise, “Georgie, I make the rules. You fucking know that. Don’t play fucking coy with me. I brought you all the way here and it’s not just so you can play babysitter so you put a fucking smile on and when I tell you to take your clothes off, you do just that.” 

He squeezes your neck until you cough then lets go. He taps your cheek, a light but foreboding slap, and retreats. He turns back to the doors just as they open. You lean into the wall and stare after him in shock. You don’t move until he’s halfway down the hall and the doors start to close. 

You catch up to him and he slides out the keys. He holds one out and you take it. You get ahead of him and open the door. You’re certain to keep distance between you. 

You put the cards on the side table and hover near the wall as he goes to take in the view through the windows. There’s a balcony visible just on the other side, off the bedroom suite. The height makes you dizzy even as you can only see the tops of buildings and fanning branches of trees. 

He checks his phone and sucks his teeth. He looks at you and wiggles the cell. 

“Delivery coming. I gotta shower,” he says as he crosses the room. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Unless you wanna join me?” He winks. You flinch and he cackles, “chill out, Georgie. Have a fucking drink while you’re at it. I don’t need you hopping around like a rabbit.” 

“Sir.” 

“I mean it.” He points to the fridge built into the kitchenette and you follow the gesture. 

He struts into the bathroom and you cross to the counter. You open the transparent door of the fridge and peruse the offerings. You don’t drink much and you’re not sure how to mix a drink. Straight liquor will only make you feel sicker. 

You take out a mini bottle of chardonnay as dread bubbles in anticipation of the dry sear of the wine. You peel the wrapper from around the cork. You find a screw and work at loosening the seal. You have a full sweat going by the time it pops. 

Before you can look around for a glass, there’s a knock at the door. You answer it. It’s a hotel employee with the cart of bags. You let them in to put the luggage just inside and tip them with the company card. As you shut the door, you notice the paper shopping bag set atop your suitcase. 

You touch the tag on it. It has your name. You take it by the handles and peek inside. You return to the counter and pull out the contents. The string bikini in leopard print gives you a full body blush. 

You definitely need wine. You pour the pale wine into a glass as the shower buzzes through the open bathroom door. 

“I want you wearing it when I come out,” Stark calls out. He must have heard the knock.  

You lift the glass and drink deeply. This wasn’t in your job description. 

[offtorivendell]

My thoughts on the Bryce, Azriel and Nesta HOFAS bonus chapter...

Disclaimer: as suggested by the title, the following discusses the Walmart HOFAS bonus chapter featuring Azriel, Bryce and Nesta. I haven't read the main text, so it won't feature anything related to that, but there are massive Maasverse and HOFAS spoilers ahead regardless. Please beware.

These are just my initial thoughts, not expanded upon in any substantial way and, as usual, I could always be way off the mark.

Also, yes, fair warning that I'll be mentioning the ACOTAR characters a lot. If that's not your jam, and you'd rather avoid any of the possible implications of the crossover, then I'd give this post a miss. On the other hand, if you're interested in how CC/HOFAS may affect Prythian going forward, please read on.

Music:

The Stone Mother song has me 👀 especially as the stone and water were "talking" at the start.

@cassianfanclub and @wingedblooms have already posted about the Stone Mother (here and here); @ladynightcourt3 has found the Phrygian goddess Cybele, also known as the "Mountain Mother," who sounds very relevant.

That being said, am I crazy to think Elain could have been listening in? Is Azriel stone and Elain water? His stone siphons - which Elain called beautiful, did she hear their song, as kin? - and Elain possibly as water? Was she using salt water to boost her powers, or a reflection pool to scry, and keep tabs on her sister and friend?

Or is it the space between linking worlds? Are the old gods talking?

Alternatively, could stone be referring to Nuala and Cerridwen, who are capable of manifesting stone around themselves and others (ACOTAR).

Is this what SJM meant when she said we'd see Elain in "some form" in the next book?

@psychee92 said she wished that SJM had somehow included Mr Brightside, and now I wish the same; even a mention of indie rock. 😭

Josie and Laurel - "He/god will add/increase" "(laurel) trees/victory"? Elain? Lol sorry, but it's either giving gardener, or Elain killing Hybern.

Wraith-like harmonies? After the description of Josie and Laurel's voices? It's crack, but is it a metaphor for Nuala and Cerridwen?

The musical similarities between what Juniper dances to and Prythian's music?!

Azriel's humming/singing made the shadows dance, once more suggesting that shadows dancing is a response to power, not mate bonds

The music Az liked was death metal. Could this link to any sort of metal artefact, like an iron crown for grounding? Or wyrdstone jewellery?

The glass coffin?

"Nineteenth century literature presents the glass coffin as a prison within which sleeping women are frequently mistaken for dead or vice versa." (Source). It's giving Sleeping Beauty (credit to @elriell for the OG SB theory), and a little Snow White.

Check out this tale from The Brothers Grimm, which sounds... suspiciously relevant to Elain.

@cassianfanclub also suggested that it's giving necromancer vibes, and I'd love that for Elain.

Feyre once said she could sleep for a hundred years after coming back from the Prison, right before going to the Hewn City in ACOWAR. After Elain had left the room, and before Feyre went to check in on her to find her "asleep—breathing."

Let's not forget Elain's assistance in rescuing the human COTB, Briar, from Hybern's camp.

Will Elain prick herself while weaving?

I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?” “I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “All right.” My breath snagged on the words. “Tomorrow morning.” I managed a shallow nod, rallying my strength to rise from the chair. Heavy—there was an old heaviness in me. Like I could sleep for a hundred years and it wouldn’t be enough. “Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.” I gave him one final nod, speech suddenly beyond me. I knew Nesta still wasn’t asleep as I walked past her room. Knew she’d heard every word of our conversation thanks to that Fae hearing. And I knew she heard as I listened at Elain’s door, knocked once, and poked my head in to find her asleep—breathing. - ACOWAR, chapter 27

Azriel specifically said Nesta "beheaded" Hybern, after looking down at Truth-Teller.

This is not Azriel giving Nesta credit for the assassination. If anything he's hiding Elain's involvement.

I've said before, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who has done so, but I would expect Azriel to protect his LI with silence, whoever they are.

He had to have been thinking about Elain, who I've theorised could now/soon be known as "The Shadowsinger's Knife" after she became the "knife in the dark" in Azriel's place at the end of ACOWAR.

The young girl sitting on the mushroom:

I'm still looking into the carving of the young girl sitting on the toadstool with the hound sprawled on the ground beside her, as I find it really interesting. My initial thought was that it seemed like a convenient place to drop a mention of a garden-like fairy carving with a hound right after Bryce had quizzed Azriel about his hypothetical mate, or lack thereof (Elain being both heavily associated with plant life, thanks to her "little garden," as well as dogs, after Nesta called her one in ACOSF).

I also wonder if it has anything to do with the Czech tale that amanita muscaria - while psychoactive/toxic - are said to protect from lightning and other ill fortune. If this is correct, it reminds me a little of the markings - wyrdmarks - on the Archeron cottage.

I don't know where Bryce and co were walking, as I have only read this bonus chapter and the prologue, but given it was carved on an underground wall, and I suspect that there are underground portals in at least the Hewn City and the Prison, and maybe the waterways... could it have been for protection against the invading lightning Asteri? Or did the Asteri (Daglan?) put them there to protect against Thunderbirds, or whatever Hunt is?

Miscellany

Maybe Bryce hadn't been sent there by Urd? Who then? Was @silverlinedeyes right all along?

The mention of pleasure halls seems like a call back to Azriel's bonus chapter, but it's also likely that they aren't all brothels (see Rita's).

Azriel listening closely about Nesta now liking being Fae; he could extrapolate her responses to Elain. Maybe she's no longer miserable, and in need of their pity. And maybe she's changed her mind from ACOFAS, when she said to Feyre "I don't want a mate, I don't want a male."

Azriel said "no" to whether or not he has a mate rather quickly. Hmm... the shadowsinger doth protest too much?

It's also potentially important that Nesta said "yes, WE are" curious about Azriel's mate status. Her, Azriel and most of the fandom! 😂

"Okay, okay," Bryce said. "But it'd be cool to know something about your world. Or about you." They were both silent. Bryce asked Nesta, "You have a mate, right?" She nodded to Azriel. "Do you?" "No." Azriel said quickly, flatly. "A partner or spouse?" "No." Bryce sighed. "Okay, then." Azriel's wings twitched. "You're incurably nosy." "I think that's the nicest thing you've said about me." Bryce winked at him. "Look, I just... I'm curious. Aren't you?" Azriel didn't answer, but Nesta said, "Yes. We are." - HOFAS, Bryce, Azriel and Nesta bonus chapter

All in all, while there were no overt mentions of Elain - and really, why would SJM do that in a series that wasn't Elain's own - imo we got the Elain-shaped holes in the text that I was hoping for, and I can't wait to see if there are any more in the full book.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: a very furby christmas

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: t

word count: 3.6k

joel miller masterlist | all masterlists

summary:

it’s christmas eve 1998 and joel miller thinks everything is perfect.

well, until his brother admits he didn’t get sarah the one present she wanted - the furby. now, joel has to go out on christmas eve to find the year’s hottest toy that’s been sold out for months.

turns out, you’re on the same mission. and you’ve both found the last furby in town.

author’s note:

this is just a silly lil feel good holiday fic that’s been plaguing my brain. if you are too young to have experience the furby craze, i implore you to look it up. however, if you do remember, i hope this gives you a happy dose of nostalgia. gingerbread dividers by @saradika-graphics

tags/warnings:

pre-outbreak, no use of y/n, holiday/christmas fic, the last toy trope, no smut, age gap - not explicitly specified but joel is 31 and reader is mid-20s, the great miller gingerbread construction competition, operation get sarah miller a furby, some kissing.

“Dad! Wake up!” Sarah shouts, bursting into Joel’s room. She leaps onto the bed, bouncing on her knees and jostling him around on the mattress as he groans.

“Sarah, baby, it’s too damn early,” he says, pulling the quilt over his head. “Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” The bouncing stops as she lays beside him, tugging the quilt down. “It’s time to make cinnamon rolls. And we gotta make cookies for Santa.”

Joel blinks, his daughter’s face coming into focus, bright brown eyes and a gap toothed smile filling his vision. Her hair is a wild mess from sleep and her unicorn pajama shirt is stained with toothpaste. At eight years old, she’s starting to lean out, her cheeks no longer as round and her limbs at that stage of awkward adolescent lankiness. He wants to sleep, wants a few more hours of rest after a jam packed holiday season of repairs and deadlines and supply issues, but looking at her smiling face and remembering that she’s getting older…

Well, that gets him moving.

“Alright. Let’s get downstairs and make Santa the best cookies he’s ever had.”

She squeals, scrambling off the bed and racing out of the room, light footsteps descending the stairs as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets up to find a t-shirt in the pile of laundry he’s neglected to put away, opting to dig through its wrinkled contents for what he needs each day instead.

He makes his way downstairs and to find his daughter rummaging through the fridge and pulling out eggs and milk for their customary Christmas Eve cinnamon rolls and the jangle of keys in the doorknob lets him know that Tommy has arrived.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, Millers!” His younger brother announces. “Sarah! It don’t smell like cinnamon in here!”

“Dad woke up late,” she shouts back. Tommy grins at Joel as he passes, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

“‘Course he did,” he says with a wink. Joel rolls his eyes as he gets the electric mixer from the top cabinet for Sarah and preheats the oven for her.

“Y’know, Santa can take all those presents he’s got ready for you and leave them at other houses for nicer kids,” he says. Sarah’s eyes go wide.

“He wouldn’t!” She yelps. “I’ve been good all year!”

“Don’t listen to your daddy, sweetheart. He’s just bein’ a sensitive Sally,” Tommy says. She breathes a sigh of relief, her attention returning to her task of cracking eggs.

“I just really hope Santa brings me a Furby,” she says wistfully. “I want one of ‘em so bad. Chrissy got one when they came out in October and they’re so cool!”

“I’m sure Santa will come through,” Joel says, catching Tommy’s eye and winking. Tommy’s brows pinch together as he mouths, “What?”

Joel widens his eyes at him, a look that screams, “What do you mean, what?!”

Tommy continues to look confused and Joel squeezes his eyes shut, turning back to his daughter to help her with rolling out the dough she’s mixed up. She continues to chat about her excitement for tomorrow, especially because her big sister has agreed to stop by in the morning.

“You didn’t forget that she’s coming, right?” Sarah asks.

“‘Course not, sweetie,” Joel replies distractedly. The hours Joel works aren’t always conducive to a prompt after school pick up, so most days Sarah spends time with a volunteer from the Empowered Girls program that she calls her “big sister”. He always forgets her name, but he knows she’s a student working on her master’s degree in elementary education at University of Texas. Did he forget she was coming? Yeah, maybe, but he’s got bigger problems right now.

Like the fact that Tommy is acting like he has no clue he was supposed to get Sarah that damn Furby for Christmas.

Once the cinnamon rolls are in the oven and Sarah returns to her room to get dressed for the day, Joel smacks Tommy on the back of the head.

“Ow! The fuck?” He asks, rubbing the sore spot. “What was that for?”

“Tell me you didn’t forget that perfect little girl’s goddamn talkin’ demon toy or I’ll do it again,” Joel warns, already raising his hand. Tommy scrambles from his seat, hands held up defensively as he backs himself up against the counter to get away from his brother’s assault.

“You didn’t tell me to get one!” He insists. Joel stares at him incredulously.

“I sure as hell did! I gave you fifty bucks three weeks ago and asked you to get one because I’d be workin’ OT until Christmas Eve and it would be too late by then!”

“I thought the fifty was for me. Like an early gift or somethin’.”

Joel closes his eyes and attempts to take a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, he feels no more calm as he looks at his brother.

“Great. Now I’m gonna have to go to the goddamn toy store on Christmas Eve to find one of these things.”

“I’ll go for you,” Tommy offers. Joel hits him with a look.

“No. I ain’t makin’ that mistake again. You’re stayin’ here with Sarah and I’ll go get the Furball.”

“It’s Furby,” Tommy corrects. Joel reaches out and smacks his head again before he can protect himself.

Sarah returns to the kitchen, dressed in her Rudolph t-shirt and jeans and smiling brightly as she says, “I’m ready to make cookies!”

Joel smiles apologetically. “Bad news, sweetheart. I gotta run down to a job site and check in on somethin’. Looks like a plumbin’ emergency.”

“On Christmas Eve?” She asks, smile dropping from her face. “But we have to make the cookies!”

“I know, I know, but Uncle Tommy will stay and help you. Ain’t that right, Tommy?”

“Yep. And we’ll make cookies better than any your daddy has ever made, too.”

Joel’s teeth grind together at the dig but he keeps smiling at his daughter. “Right. See? I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“I guess,” she says forlornly. Her arms wrap around Joel’s legs and squeeze tightly. Joel smooths a hand over her wild hair, glaring at Tommy.

“Sorry, sweetie. But the sooner I head out, the sooner I can get back, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles against his thigh. “I’ll make sure Uncle Tommy doesn’t eat all the dough before we bake it.

“That’s my girl,” Joel says.

________

You knew you shouldn’t have waited this long to go shopping for your little sister’s Christmas gift, but you’d picked up extra shifts at your part time job since you weren’t flying home for the holiday break and time just slipped away from you. Now you’re entering your fourth store on a desperate hunt for the one toy she hasn’t stopped talking about since it came out in October.

“It’s called a Furby and the more you talk to it, the more it learns,” she told you, showing you the fluffy toy in a catalog one day. “Isn’t it so cute?!”

“It’s…something,” you replied, staring at its dead eyes. “And that’s what you want for Christmas?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if Santa will bring it for me. I told dad about it, but he’s been really busy with work and I don’t know if he remembered to tell Santa.”

You wander around the store, looking for the garish pink and blue sign that lorded over the toy display. You finally spot it, crossing your fingers as you quickly approach what looks like a mostly barren shelf. There’s something on the bottom row, but your experience in other stores has showed you that often people abandon their unwanted items in the Furby display, leading to false hope.

“Please, please, please,” You mumble, moving quickly now. You’re trying not to break into a run in the middle of the store but after so many disappointments, you can’t be blamed for your steps turning into a light jog.

A pair of unseeing mechanical blue eyes stare back at you from the bottom shelf as you get closer. Pristine white fur, pointed ears, and a little yellow beak encased in plastic.

The last Furby.

You’re so close to success you can taste it.

You reach for the toy, ready to scoop it into your arms and take a victory march to the lone cashier left working, when a tan hand emerges from your left, landing on the box just as you touch it.

“‘Scuse me,” a deep voice says, southern drawl blanketing the words. You look up, gaze meeting the warm brown eyes of a handsome man, tall and broad with messy dark curls. He smiles, all smooth charm as he says, “I’m goin’ to need this toy.”

You stand firm. “I think I was here first, sir.”

The charming smile drops. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Look, I need this toy for my daughter. I’ve been lookin’ for one all over town.”

You place your free hand on your hip. “I need it for my little sister and I’ve also been all over town today. If you needed it so bad, why didn’t you get it sooner?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he replies. You roll your eyes. “Come on, please? Ain’t there somethin’ else your little sister is dyin’ to have?”

“She’s talked about this toy for months,” you tell him. “And she’s worried Santa isn’t going to bring it, so I wanted to make sure I got her one.”

He smiles softly. “Sounds like my daughter. She handed me no less than five letters to Santa to mail off askin’ for one.”

“So why didn’t you get one before tonight?” You ask curiously.

“My dumbass brother,” he says. “I‘ve been workin’ overtime for the last few months, so I told him to go out and get one. He didn’t listen.”

“That sucks.”

“What about you? What made you wait so long?”

It should probably feel weird, having a full conversation with a stranger while you’re in a stand off over a Furby, but the man’s smile has your stomach twisting, wanting to know more about him and oddly thrilled that he wants to know more about you, too.

“I picked up a lot of extra shifts since I’m on break. I go to UT,” you tell him. “Time just got away from me.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the feelin’.”

A crackle sounds over the store speakers, a bored voice announcing, “Attention Toys R’ Us shoppers. The store will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the front of the store to complete your purchases.”

The man’s expression grows panicked. You sigh, taking your hand from the box.

“Get it for your daughter,” you tell him. “Keep that Santa magic going for a bit longer.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. “What’ll you get for your sister?”

You look around the store, spotting a sporting gear display. You take off in its direction.

“I’ll figure something out!”

________

“It’s a Furby!” Sarah shouts, shaking the box in her excitement. “Look, dad! Santa got me a Furby!”

“Is that so?” Joel says, sipping from his mug of coffee with a splash of Bailey’s, his own personal Christmas tradition. “See? I told ya I sent out all those letters you wrote.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She chants, running around the family room in her red plaid pajamas. Tommy, still barely awake, nods as Sarah shows him the list of features on the back.

It’s close to 9 a.m. but the Miller brothers had a late night of wrapping presents and drinking whiskey in order to have the tidy pile of brightly colored boxes ready beneath the tree for Sarah in the morning. Joel had also gotten her a new journal and a pack of Jelly pens, a few bottles of nail polish, and two new Beanie Babies for her collection. Tommy had sprung for a set of shin guards for when she starts soccer in March, something she was excited for ever since the girl she’d been paired with in her big sister after school program had played with her a few times.

It’s not much, but it’s what he could manage. Sarah is happy, her eyes lighting up with each gift she unwraps, and that’s all that matters to Joel.

A knock sounds at the door and Sarah races down the hall, Joel trailing after her trying to remind her not to open the door to strangers. The young girl doesn’t listen, instead throwing open the door and launching herself into the arms of someone surprisingly familiar.

You look up, eyes going wide in surprise he’s sure mirrors his own. Sarah drags you in by the hand, excitedly introducing you, giving Joel a name for the pretty face he’d been thinking about all last night.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he says, holding a hand out to you. You slip your palm against his, warm and smooth, shaking his hand. The smile on your face is mischievous, the secret the two of you share dancing in your eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you tell him. “Hope I’m not too early, Sarah said you open presents around eight and to come after that.”

“No, no, ‘course it ain’t too early,” he assures you. He realizes he’s still holding your hand, even as silence settles between you. With a laugh, he draws back, running his hand through his hair nervously. “You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

Joel leads you to the kitchen where Tommy is pulling a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven under Sarah’s careful supervision. He whacks her hand with a dish towel when she tries to reach for the steaming hot dessert and she pouts pitifully. She spots the gift bag in your hand and her eyes light up.

“Is that a present for me?” She asks.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller,” Joel chastises. You laugh, handing the bag over to her. She rips the tissue paper from the top, reaching in for her gift with a wide smile.

“A soccer ball!” She exclaims. “Dad, you can help me practice in the backyard now!”

You share a look with Joel, one where his gaze is filled with gratitude and yours reflects understanding. The moment is made brief by Sarah trying to bounce the ball on her knee, knocking it onto a counter and subsequently being told to go put it away for now.

You introduce yourself to Tommy while Joel pulls you a mug of coffee. Sarah brings her now unboxed Furby into the kitchen, setting it in a place of honor on the dining table.

“Dad, can you put batteries in Snowball?” Sarah asks. She turns to you. “That’s his name.”

“Oh. Hello, Snowball,” you say, voice serious as you regard the toy. Joel laughs while he digs around the junk drawer for the rogue batteries that hide beneath bills and takeout menus.

As breakfast is served and toys are turned on, conversation flows between everyone easily. It’s a wonder, Joel thinks. You fit right in with his little family, like you were meant to be there all along. Maybe it’s the Bailey’s in his coffee, or maybe it’s the spirit of Christmas, but he can’t help the warmth in his chest as he watches you help Sarah with the Furby that started it all.

________

You’ve been at the Miller house since early that morning, through all three meals of the day, many rounds of coffee, a screening of Home Alone and A Christmas Story, and painting your nails with Sarah. Not once does anyone make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In fact, as the day wears on, you can’t help but think that Joel, like you, doesn’t want the day to end. You keep catching his eye and the crooked smile he gives you leaves you feeling giddy.

After dinner, Joel and Tommy start gathering what looks like cookie decorating supplies. Sarah sighs and you turn to her with concern.

“It’s time for the gingerbread competition,” she says, more solemn than an eight year old ought to be. Joel leaves the room and returns with a caulking gun.

“Why does he have that?” You ask, watching as he loads a saran wrapped bag of icing into the chamber.

“They take this…very seriously.”

Tommy and Joel set up decorating stations on either end of the dining table, shooing you out of your seat. Sarah grabs a cookie from a platter on the counter and settles onto a barstool while you stand by, confused and maybe a little scared.

“Are you ready?” Sarah asks. Both men nod. “Start your construction!”

Joel and Tommy rip into the cardboard gingerbread house kits, determination in every move. Joel uses the caulking gun to lay a foundation for the floor of his house, followed by the sides and the roof in quick succession. While Joel is going for a well built structure, Tommy takes a more avant garde approach, using a combination of licorice and frosting to hold his house together.

“Are they always like this?” You ask, fascinated as you watch them.

“Sometimes they’re worse.”

Tommy chucks a peppermint at Joel’s head, the candy bouncing off his forehead and landing on his gingerbread shingles. He counters with a gumdrop that manages to hit Tommy square in the eye, angry curses falling from the younger Miller brother’s lips as he tries to recover and continue the construction of his mid-century cookie home.

“Quit fightin’ dirty,” Joel says when Tommy whines about him being unfair. “I‘ll only fight dirtier.”

You know that the words aren’t meant to be suggestive but you can feel your cheeks go warm nonetheless. The Furby in Sarah’s arms coos, a string of indecipherable words coming from its little yellow beak.

“What did it say?” You ask.

“I’m not sure. It’s still speaking Furbish,” she says.

“It said,” Joel chimes in, setting down his frosting gun, “that I’m the gingerbread construction champ.”

Joel’s little gingerbread house looks like it’s straight from a magazine. Perfectly built, structurally sound, and classically decorated with candy and sugar. You and Sarah both applaud as Tommy groans. His little house lists to the side and a glob of icing drips to the table.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says to her dejected uncle, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s always next year.”

“Alright, it’s time to start closin’ up shop. To bed with you,” Joel announces, steering Sarah for the stairs.

“Can’t I stay up later?” She complains. The Furby echoes her tone convincingly.

“I already fell for that last night. You’re not gettin’ away with it twice. Bed, and brush your teeth,” he replies, kissing her on the head. “Tell everyone goodnight.”

She hugs you and Tommy before heading upstairs, the Furby chirping as she goes. Tommy punches Joel lightly on the shoulder.

“You know I let you win, right?” He asks. Joel scoffs.

“The proof is in the cookie,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. I’m headin’ home,” he says, hugging his brother. To your surprise, his arms wrap around you in a quick squeeze as well. “It was nice to meet you. Don’t be a stranger,” he tells you with a wink.

When the front door clicks shut, it’s just you and Joel in the kitchen. You’re inexplicably nervous now, despite spending the whole day with the man, and you busy yourself by loading the dishwasher with mugs stained by hot chocolate and coffee.

“You don’t have to do that,” Joel says, gently grasping your wrist. He removes the mug from your hand and sets it on the counter. He pulls you close, your chest brushing his as you take in a surprised breath. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. Up close, you can see the stubble that’s grown along his jaw, the slight creases in the corners of his eyes, and that his nose is just the slightest bit crooked. A heavy palm rests on your lower back, the heat of him palpable even through your t-shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice dropped low in the quiet room.

You nod, unable to form words, but that’s okay. His hand cups your cheek and his lips press to yours and your eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping you as you lean into him. It’s soft at first, experimental. A tentative exploration of a broken boundary.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding tight as he parts your lips and his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like sugar - peppermints and hot chocolate and cookies that he’s eaten throughout the day sweetening his kiss. When he pulls back for a breath, he dips his forehead against yours, smoothing his thumb across your cheek.

“Been wantin’ to do that all day,” he tells you. He kisses you once, twice, and is about to go in for a third when a voice from upstairs interrupts him.

“Dad?” Sarah calls. Joel steps back from you, leaning past the kitchen doorway to yell back a, “Yeah?”

“Snowball won’t stop talking,” she replies. Footsteps sound on the stairs and Joel breaks away from you as Sarah enters the kitchen, Furby in hand.

“Take the batteries out,” Joel suggests.

“I did.”

She turns the toy over, showing the empty battery compartment. Joel rubs the back of his neck as he thinks.

“Tell you what,” he says, holding his hands out for the toy, “Why don’t we stick it in the hall closet for the night?”

“Won’t he be scared?”

“It’s…it’s a toy, baby.” You stifle a laugh as he shoves the talking Furby beneath some towels in the linen closet and shuts the door. “There, now you can both get some sleep. You can play with Snowball again in the mornin’.”

Sarah yawns, nodding. Joel kisses her head before urging her back to bed. When he returns, his shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“What a weird toy,” you tell him, eyeing the closet suspiciously.

“Yeah, but it’s what got us here,” he says, pulling you into his arms once more.

[billys-pretty-babe]

Last Kiss

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: A freak accident took you away from your boyfriend, and he doesn't know what to do with himself, he's never faced a loss like this in his life.

Warning: Reader death (car accident), lots of suicide ideation (overdose, driving a car into a lake), suicide notes, swearing, Billy and reader are still in high school (entering their senior year), Billy says lots of hurtful stuff to his family (due to grief), vomit, substance abuse (drugs and alcohol), suicide (overdose), no happy ending

Word count: 3,151

A/N : Grab your tissues, this made me cry until I dry heaved. Loosely inspired by Pearl Jam's cover of Last Kiss (X) These are extremely heavy triggers please proceed with caution.

August 12, 1985

Billy laid in his room, cigarette between his lips, exhaling the smoke before doing the same thing. School was starting in three days, he was finally a senior and as soon as he would graduate in May 1986, he'd leave Hawkins with you, going back to California. He was on babysitting duty once again, Neil and Susan were who knows where, and Max was in her room with her weird friend, as he heard them giggling.

Music blared in his bedroom; he didn't even realize anyone was at the door until Max's fist banged on his door. He rolled his eyes, fixing the black shorts on his hips. He got up, putting the cigarette in an old beer can, shaking it a little before putting it in his trash can. He opened the door, "Need money for pizza?" Max shook her head, she looked odd, he noted the way her eyes were teary, Jane in the hallway, looking at Max.

"Chief of police is here, he needs to talk to you." His mind began racing. He was trying to figure out where to hide his ounce of weed. "Tell him I'm not here." Max shook her head, "You really need to talk to him." Billy sighed and nodded, leaving his room, shutting the door behind him. Max went to her bedroom, Jane following right behind her. Billy went to the front door; Jim Hopper was sitting on the railing of Billy's porch. Billy shut the front door and Jim looked up, hit hat off of his head.

"What'd I do?" Hopper shook his head and Billy raised a brow, sitting on the steps of the house and Jim joined him. "My dad and Susan?" Jim shook his head once more, clearing his throat. He reached into his back pocket, grabbing his wallet and he pulled a small clear bag out of it, handing it to Billy.

A bloody picture of you and Billy was in the bag, he looked at it, his stomach churning. He put it down, looking at the grass, trying to contain what he had eaten that day. "I don't know how you guys know each other, but that was in her car. It was a freak accident; a truck driver was falling asleep and didn't see her car." Billy grew increasingly nauseated, Jim putting the image in his head. He began to sweat, pushing his hair back.

"She's not okay, is she," he asked, choking on his words and the bile building up. Jim shook his head, "She passed a few hours ago, her parents didn't want anyone there." Billy leaned over the railing, throwing up in Susan's flowers and Jim put his hand on Billy's naked back, patting gently.

Billy spit a few times, trying to get the taste out of his mouth and he pushed his hair back again, wiping his mouth on his hand, wiping the liquid on the wooden railing. "Is your dad here?" Billy shook his head, "No, I don't know where he's at." Jim nodded. "When's her funeral?" Jim looked at Billy, "I'll come by when I find out." Billy nodded, looking at the picture again.

They were pictures from the Funfair from a photobooth, he remembers exactly how the night went. "Her mom said you were around a lot, even met them." Billy nodded, those were the first and would be the last set of parents he ever met. "Yeah, she was my girlfriend, was gonna be a year in December." Jim nodded and a static voice came through his radio, someone needing him at the station. "Take care of yourself, Billy. If you need anything, you know where to find me or ask my kid in there for our address.

Billy nodded, quietly thanking Jim and he got up, putting his hat back on his head and patted Billy's shoulder and walked to his car. Billy watched Jim leave, looking up at the sky, doing his best to contain his tears. He got up, going back into the house, Max and Jane on the couch. He handed Max money, "For your dinner," he said before going to his bedroom, slamming the door shut and he locked it.

He carefully took the strip of pictures out of the baggy, putting it on his bedside table that held a picture frame of the two of them at prom. He looked through his room, finding the black box that held a locket, his name engraved into the pretty heart locket, your guys' first picture in it. He snapped it shut, hoping you'd have an open casket service so he could put it with you.

He laid back down, letting his mind run rampant with memories of the two of you. Hours must have passed as he saw Neil's truck headlights pull into the driveway. He hoped for his sake that Max had ordered dinner and had cleaned up afterwards. He heard Neil's heavy footsteps go through the house and then he heard Max's door open as he heard her cry, most likely in search of her mother.

He heard a soft knock on his door before he heard Susan's voice, "Billy, I'm so sorry." He heard her soft footsteps leave his door and his brain finally came to terms that you were gone. He curled up, stuffing his face into his pillow as he cried, his body shaking with his cries as he struggled for air, gasping through his hiccups and sniffles.

Almost two weeks after he found out about your death, the funeral was held, Max joined him along with Susan, Neil out of town for his job. Your mom hugged him, rubbing his back and your dad hugged him, something he had never done before that day. It was an open casket and as everyone left the room, preparing to go to the cemetery, he walked to the front of room. He stood above your body, more tears falling, and he held the locket in his hand.

He felt someone's presence, someone was behind him, probably Max or Susan waiting for him since he drove them to the service. He unclipped the locket and put it around your wrist, clipping it back together. He looked down at the silver ring on his finger, something his mom gave him. At this moment, he didn't care, his mom never left a hole in his heart like this, he'd forget about his mom with time, but he'd never forget you and the mark you left on his heart.

He slid the silver ring off of his finger, holding your cold left hand as he slid it onto your ring finger, where the diamond ring he would've bought you, would sit. He looked at you, you didn't look any different than you usually did. He grabbed one of the chairs, moving it closer to your casket and he sat down.

"What am I supposed to do now," he asked, "I haven't gone to school, I think I'm going to drop out. I haven't left my house either until today, because I needed to say goodbye to you. I keep taking it out on Max and everyone else, I've never been this angry before, I think I'll always be like this. I know if you were still here, you'd tell me that you would want me to move on, but I can never do that, no one is going to treat me like you did."

He gulped, trying not to choke on his tears, "I decided to stay here so I can be close to you, I'm gonna come see you every day, just like I did when we were dating." He wiped his face with the back of his hand, "I love you, and I'm gonna love you forever, because you're doing the same for me." He moved the chair back, letting his fingers touch yours, trying not to react to the coldness of your body.

He turned around to leave the room, your mom standing in the doorway of the vast viewing room. "We have something for you." He nodded, following her out of the room, and out of the building, to the car where your dad was standing at the trunk. Billy walked over, wiping his face, his eyes burning from crying so much. Your dad opened the trunk, two boxes in it. "We kept what we wanted to, this is everything that has you two in it, your clothes that she took from you, and other stuff we thought that you would like to have." He nodded, thanking your dad and your mom hugged him again.

"You're still family and welcome to our house whenever, Billy." He nodded and thanked her, and your dad helped Billy take one of the boxes to the Camaro and Billy opened the trunk as your dad put the box into the trunk and Billy shut it, placing the other box in the backseat beside Max. Her hand went to reach out, "No, that's not for you. Keep your damn hands to yourself." He moved the driver's seat back to its regular position as he started the car.

He looked in the mirror, sighing as he saw Max looking out of the window, "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have snapped at you." She shrugged, "It's fine, I get it. That's her stuff." He nodded and he followed the black hearse to the cemetery. They all arrived, and he fixed his black dress shirt, throwing a blazer on and Max and Susan got out of the car. Billy met up with your dad, your brother that was a few years older than you, and other family members that he never got to meet.

Billy didn't want to be a Pallbearer, but your dad had asked him, and he couldn't say no to him. The six of them talked as the funeral director opened the back of the hearse. "Okay, so Billy and I will be in the middle since we're going by height." Everyone nodded at what your dad said.

Your dad introduced Billy to your uncle, grandfather and cousin and he shook their hands. Your grandfather and uncle grabbed the back of the casket as Billy and your father grabbed the handles on the middle and your brother and cousin grabbed the front handles. Your casket moved to everyone's shoulders, their other hands grabbing onto the handles as they all began walking to your grave site.

Susan held Max's shoulders as Max wiped under her eyes. They all put your casket on the contraption and took their seats, Billy sitting with your parents, Max and Susan on the other side of your mom. The funeral director began speaking before your dad got up and gave a speech. Your mom gave a speech as well, along with your brother and Billy stood up as your brother left the podium, your brother putting his hand out and Billy clapped his hand to his, leaning in and their shoulders touched, and your brother sat back down.

Billy grabbed the crinkled, tear-stained notebook paper out of the pocket of his blazer. He pushed his hair back, clearing his throat. "I'm Billy, I'm," he cut himself off, "was her boyfriend." He couldn't bring himself to say your name. "I had a whole speech prepared, but nothing I say will ever amount to how much I truly love her, how she made me feel during tough moments. We met on my first day at Hawkins High, I asked her to be my girlfriend in December and I met her family in January. I had never had a girlfriend before her, she made me feel like everything was okay during family problems, like nothing could hurt me. She was always so happy to see me, there was never a dull moment with her. She was the first person to tell me that they loved me and actually mean it. We did everything together; we were glued at the hip. We would have graduated together in May 1986 and then we were going to move to California and start our new life there, get married and have kids later on in life."

He wiped his face with his index finger, looking at your casket. "The Funfair was one of our last dates, she hated heights, but I was somehow able to convince her to go on the Ferris Wheel with me. She freaked out the first two minutes were on it." Your brother laughed with your dad and Billy chuckled at the memory, "We used to go on late night drives to the diner on the outskirts of town, we'd go to the lake just to go sit on the dock and look at the stars." He looked at your casket one more time, this last sentence for you and you only, "I love you more than I can ever say, I just wish I got to tell you one more time." He cleared his throat, a single tear slipping from his right eye, onto his paper.

He thanked the crowd and sat back down at his seat and your dad put his hand on Billy's shoulder. Everyone watched your casket get lowered into the dirt before someone began covering it with dirt, your headstone showing to everyone the more the dirt pile shrunk. People began leaving, your brother and Billy talking behind a tree as they smoked cigarettes. "You're still my brother, even though she's not here anymore. You need anything at all, you know where to find me." Billy nodded, thanking him.

"Is it hard for you?" Your brother nodded, "Very, I moved out because I couldn't sleep next to her room anymore knowing that she wasn't in there." Billy nodded. "How's school?" Billy hummed, "I don't go, haven't left my house since Jim Hopper came to my house to tell me that she passed." Your brother hummed, nodding in understanding. They finished the conversation and Billy saw Max and Susan at the car, ready to leave. He sighed, not ready. "I can take them back to your house, I know where it's at. Cherry Lane, right?" Billy nodded, thanking him and your brother walked to the girls, and they got into his car.

Soon, Billy was the last one left, and he was to your headstone, sitting right beside it, the dirt still too soft on top of your casket. He took a deep breath, "This is fucked up, I was supposed to go first from natural causes." He put his hand on top of the headstone, rubbing a ridge just like how he used to rub your skin. "I wonder how much these plots are, might as well put my down payment for the one right next to you," he chuckled before sighing.

Many weeks passed and not a day went by where he wasn't high or drunk. He was able to get ketamine, weed, and some type of pills. He was hoping that something would be laced with something that would kill him. He was mean now, to everyone he knew. Max did her best to breakthrough to him, but she ticked him off weeks ago when she said she understood the feeling and he freaked out, leaving his house and ending right back at your burial sight. She didn't understand, no one in his family knew how he felt.

He had gone through loss before, his mom leaving, his grandparents passing away, but nothing fucked him up like your death did. Now, he sat in his bed, weed in his system as he wrote notes, sealing them in envelopes as he wrote names on the front of the envelopes. He wrote one for his entire family, your brother and parents, and one for you. He had dreamt about his death, sometimes when he drove by Lover's Lake, he wondered if he'd be able to crash his car into the water, but determined he was too good of a swimmer to go through with it.

He knew that his drug supplier wouldn't give him anything laced, so it was in his hands. He finished his notes, coming to terms that he wanted to die. He left his bed, putting clothes on and making sure he had his wallet, making sure his driver's license was in it. He made his bed one last time, quietly making his way to Neil's bedroom as he found the high strength pain meds from a past surgery, he hoped they would still work.

He walked back down the hallway, shutting his bedroom door, walking past Max's bedroom, sliding the envelope under her door, leaving Neil and Susan's envelopes on the coffee table in the living room. He grabbed the keys to his Camaro, driving to your parent's house, putting their envelopes in the mailbox before he made his way to your brother's apartment complex, talking to the person at the front desk as they slid it into his mailbox.

Billy made his way back to his car, making his last stop at your grave, wedging your envelope between the vase and the headstone. He rubbed the top of the headstone before going back to his car. He looked at the plot right next to you, hoping that Neil would respect his last wish to be buried right next to you.

Billy made his way to Lover's Lake, the last place the two of you spent time at. He looked at the pill bottle, popping the top and started off with four pills, swallowing them with water from a bottle that had stayed in his car for days. He took more, and more until the bottle was empty.

1 AM

Max walked into her bedroom, seeing the white envelope on her floor and she picked it up before she heard the front door open, hearing Neil speak to someone before the door shut and she heard Neil scream like he was in pain. She tore her envelope open, and her eyes welled up at the opening words.

"I'm sorry for everything I put you through."

She felt sick to her stomach, clutching it as she read the letter as she heard her own mother cry, Neil's cries were the loudest. Someone knocked on her door before it opened, Susan standing in the doorway before she walked into the room and wrapped her daughter into a tight hug. Max sobbed into Susan's neck and Susan tightened her hold on Max's body, swaying them. "He was in pain, baby, he felt like he had no other option." Max cried harder, wishing she had tried harder to help him.

That night, two families were broken, your family dealing with two losses and Billy's family having to come to terms with his death, Max taking it the absolute hardest, because maybe just maybe, they could have been best friends and do what normal siblings do.

[galamalion]

┈ ✧.* 𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ summary﹕upon turning 18, you begin your new life at grand line university, a college within red line. while you once had a boring, uneventful life, you now find yourself in the middle of several conflicts, and several romances. what's a struggling college student to do in times like these?

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing﹕one piece x fem!reader

┈ ✧.* chapters﹕[i] [ii] [iii] [iv]

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ w/c﹕3.2k

┈ ✧.* chapter i﹕new beginnings

The obnoxious chatter of your fellow bus riders, combined with the unpredictable thumps when passing over the occasional pothole was enough to drive you mad.

There was a baby two seats behind you bawling its little eyes out, a businessman screaming into his phone, and two little old ladies gossiping about the affairs of their next-door neighbor— but you didn’t mind their conversation too much. 

You would be wearing your headphones in order to escape the hell you were placed in, but on your way to the bus stop you snapped the audio jack while struggling to jam it into your cheap MP3 player. As a result, you were damned to listen to the screeching around you. But you were able to breathe a sigh of relief, seeing as nobody had dared to sit next to you on this—

“Hey! Is that seat taken?”

You jumped in your seat at the sudden intrusion, eyes darting to your left to see the sudden encroacher. And, much to your shock, it wasn’t a 40 year-old man trying to snuggle up close to a college girl, but his voice already ruled out that possibility. Instead, it was a young boy, probably around your age. He looked a little out of place in his summer attire, but school had only just started, so it was no surprise that some people weren’t ready to let it go quite yet.

“Uh, no,” you finally spoke up, silently pulling your bag closer to the wall of the bus.

With a grin the boy threw his incredibly robust bag next to your own, taking the seat next to you. “My name’s Luffy!” he said joyously, sticking out a hand for you to shake.

You gingerly extended your own, watching helplessly as Luffy snatched it, wildly shaking it up and down. ‘My first new friend,’ you thought sarcastically. ‘It could certainly be worse.’

“I’m ____,” you said slowly, contemplating the consequences of telling this stranger your name. He did look like a student, at the very least. This line of reasoning failed to put a light on your current situation, but with enough deep breaths you could ignore it.

“You’re a student, then?” you asked, gesturing to his incredibly full bag.

Luffy excitedly nodded. “I’m a freshman! See, I got everything I need for today!” 

Inside Luffy’s bag weren't pillows, blankets or even clothes. Instead it was chock full of various foods, mostly greasy meats. You were slightly impressed at how the smell remained hidden inside the shoddy hand-me-down bag.

“Ya like it?” Luffy ruffled through the bag, pulling out a large seared steak. “My neighbor Hancock made it all for me! Said I needed to be well-fed while I was here!” 

All you could do was nod along as Luffy continued to speak. You originally assumed that he was some kind of farm boy, based on his current attire, ready for his first day in the big city. His strange quirks and interesting home life began to intrigue you, creating a need for answers.

“Grand Line University?” you interrupted, paying more attention.

Luffy looked at you cluelessly for a second before vigorously nodding his head, that grin still stapled onto his face.

“Yep! That’s where my two brothers go! We all promised we’d go to the same college when we grew up!” he explained.

“Brothers?” you gently pushed further, hoping to learn more.

“Ace and Sabo!” he shouted, excitement barely contained, “Sabo is studying scoliology and Ace is a super awesome hockey player!”

“Scoliology…?”

“Yeah, sockiology!” Luffy assured, his grin unfaltering.

“And what does Ace study?” you pried.

“Um…” Luffy went quiet for a few seconds, scratching his head to emphasize his uncertainty. “I dunno! I think he’s just taking a bunch of different classes. That’s what I’m gonna do!”

“You’re undecided, then?”

“Hm, well I kinda know what I wanna do. I wanna be like my big brothers, but I also wanna do fun stuff! Like eating!”

“So you wanna be, like, a chef?”

“Nope!”

All you could do was stare at Luffy, dumbfounded by his confidence.

“Are you a student too?” Luffy bounced excitedly on the bus seat.

‘Well, he catches on quick.’ You rolled your eyes internally. “Yeah, I’m a freshman too. Psychology major.”

“Oh, oh! Like a brain doctor!” Luffy pointed at you, enthusiastic at his confidentially incorrect assumption.

“Uh, yea, close enough,” you sighed.

A second of silence passed between you before Luffy began speaking again.

“Do you wanna be friends?” he asked.

Such a bizarre question forced you to pause, staring at Luffy blankly. Did you want to be friends? You’d known him for less than ten minutes, but he’d grown on you in that time. You knew little about him, but he also knew little about you, and isn’t that how all friendships start?

His talkative presence had provided levity to your headphone-less journey. Admittedly, you had grown to slowly appreciate his presence, letting him talk your ear off and drown out the noise of the other passengers. It wasn’t how you dreamed your college life would start out, but you could make this work. Yeah, this wasn’t bad, and it could certainly be worse! You could make this work. You could make this work.

“Sure, Luffy,” you smiled, “I’d like that.”

Fifteen minutes later and you and Luffy disembarked from the bus, walking side-by-side up to the school. It was far from a quiet walk, Luffy currently yapping about the different kinds of meat he was carrying in his bag.

“So, what dorm are you in?” you questioned, swinging your bag around carelessly.

“Uh…” Luffy searched his pockets, looking around for the paper given to him. “Poseidon!”

“Damn, I’m in Pluton,” you groaned, disappointed at the loss of your new friend.

“That’s ok! We can still see each other at the cafeteria! Or in the halls! Or outside!”

A smile found its way onto your face, the corners of your mouth upturning ever so slightly. Despite your attempts to keep your distance from Luffy, his constant jabbering and peppy attitude had grown on you.

“I’d like that,” you smiled, tucking your hands in your pockets. “I’ll see you around, Luffy.”

The two of you parted ways, separating to your respective dorms. Most of Grand Line’s buildings fell between vintage and just straight decay, brick walls and vine growths contrasted with the cracked interior walls and gross carpet. But you knew what you signed up for when you applied to this damn place.

A couple minutes of walking later and you found yourself standing in front of Pluton, towering brick walls casting a looming shadow cast over you. You shuffled through your bag to grab your ID, swiping it through the card reader and hearing the click of the door unlocking. 

Swinging it open, you marched through the ancient hallways, taking in the ‘wonderful’ sights that Pluton had in store for you. You’d exchanged a couple of emails with your roommates, and what you’d gathered from their personalities made you want to shout for joy and scream in agony.

 The first to contact you, Nami, was undoubtedly a spoiled brat. She informed you that she would be bringing a fridge and trash, something you had greatly appreciated at the time. But the next sentence revealed that she would be charging you for their use, which caused you to chuck your phone across the room. Needless to say, you weren’t looking forward to meeting her.

Vivi, on the other hand, seemed like an absolute delight. She explained that she was a foreign exchange student looking for a new outlook on life, hoping to meet some new friends at Grand Line. It surprised you that she hadn’t applied for the Mary Geoiose Institute, considering her immense status in her home country, but if it was a new outlook she was searching for, she’d most definitely find it here.

Furthermore, on account of throwing your phone, you were unable to search up any kind of pictures of the two, much less send any other communications. You lacked the funds to purchase a new phone and thus were forced to submit it for repairs, informed that it would be finished in around two weeks, which unfortunately lined up exactly with move-in day. It would seem your life was fraught with inconvenient coincidences, especially considering your two roommates.

A greedy business major like Nami and a selfless political science major like Vivi sounded like a recipe for disaster, and you weren’t looking forward to playing psychologist for the two of them. You crossed hallways and climbed up stairs, arriving at your floor and scanning the doors for your room number.

Judging by the open doors and giddy voices around you, it would seem like you were the last one to move in. The only thing you could do was pray your roommates were still late to the party, if only to avoid the drama that would most certainly result if they were to collide.

At the end of the hallway was your dorm and standing uniformly amongst the rest, waiting to be decorated by its inhabitants. You stepped towards the door, laying your hand on the doorknob and slowly twisted, anticipating the worst behind the door—

“Oh my god, you actually have those heels? They were only sold for a single day, how in the world did you get them!”

“Well, my dad bought them as a birthday present for my sixteenth birthday…”

“Your dad bought them? What’s he like? How old is he? How much does he have in his bank account?”

You stood frozen before your roommates, watching them talk as if they were old friends meeting up after a long time. But that was hardly your greatest concern at the moment. Your roommates were drop dead gorgeous. Long, effortlessly wavy hair; clear, glowing skin; and their absolutely rockin’ bodies. It made you question whether or not you had the correct room.

“Nami and Vivi?” you interrupted, sheepishly moving your hands behind your back.

Instantly the two turned to look at you, momentary confusion clouding their face only to be washed over with smiles.

“You must be ____, right?” the blue-haired girl spoke, rising to her feet, “I’m Vivi, it’s a great pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Nami!” the ginger waved, flashing you a wide grin, “don’t forget about the fridge policy! You can put the money in that jar.” She pointed to a very decorated glass mason jar, complete with a small sign labeled ‘FRIDGE FUNDS :)’ beneath it.

You damned yourself for forgetting Nami’s inclivities. ‘How could I forget?’ you internally cringed.

“Right…” You warily scratched the back of your head. “So, which bed’s mine?”

“You can have the single!” Vivi keenly blurted, “unless you’d rather the bunk! Nami called dibs on the top bunk, and I’ve never experienced a bunk-bed before, so I was hoping I could have the bottom. But if you, would like it, it is no problem—”

“Single’s fine!” you whistled cheerily, cutting her off before she could change her mind.

“Perfect!” Vivi clapped her hands together. “Nami offered to go out to eat today, and I was wondering if you would like to join us? It would be a great way to learn about each other!”

You shrugged, “Sure, but I’m kind of broke right now, so if one of you could pay for me I can pay you back in a week.”

“No need to worry!” Vivi reassured, “I will pay for you two, consider it a gift to honor our new friendship!”

“Thanks, Vivi…” you sighed in relief, tossing your bag up onto your mattress.

“Well, I say we get going!” Nami interjected, hopping off the couch below your bed, “we can look around and decide what sounds good.”

The three of you filed out of the dormitory, crossing the campus in order to reach downtown. It felt strange seeing your fellow students around the campus, some entering buildings and others lazing around on the grass. You failed to recognize even the most colorful characters loitering about, and judging by some of their rather explicative attitudes, you wanted to keep it that way.

“We could get Japanese, Italian, Indian,” Nami listed, leading the charge down the street.

“I wouldn’t mind Italian,” you muttered, not wanting to be the deciding factor.

“How about you, Vivi? Does Italian sound good?” Nami turned to face her roommate.

“Of course, I am fine with—”

“____!” a voice called out.

The three of you turned to the sudden outcry of your name. You hardly knew anyone on account of being a shut-in orphan for most of your life, despite living in Red Line for so long. But you did recognize the voice that shouted your name.

Across the street stood Luffy, flanked by three odd men. He waved at you madly, sprinting across the street with no regard, much to the horror of his companions, who chased after him, much to the dismay of traffic.

“Friends of yours?” Nami asked, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity covering her face.

“Just the black-haired one,” you whispered back.

Luffy dashed onto the sidewalk, followed by his terrified partners, and ran straight up to you.

“____, these are my roommates!” Luffy stretched his arms around their shoulders, pulling them in close. “This is—”

“Sanji!” the blond interjected, pushing in front of his roommate, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, mes chéries.”

Viv blushed at the pet name, but you could see the dollar signs bulging out of Nami’s eyes. You weren’t one to swoon head-over-heels over a little French, so you tucked your hands in your pockets and waited for the next introduction.

“I’m Usopp!” the curly-haired man cheered, giving two thumbs up and not-so-subtly ushering his green-haired companion to speak.

“Zoro,” the moss-head gruffed, shuffling his feet boredly.

“Aren’t they great?” Luffy shouted, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Yeah, glad someone else gets the pleasure of knowing you, Luffy,” you joked.

Zoro snorted at your comment, a smirk appearing on his face for half a second.

“Well, if you three aren’t doing anything, wanna join us? We were just going to eat and hang out,” Nami offered.

“Okay!” Luffy agreed immediately, “I’m suuuuper hungry, so let’s go eat somewhere with lots of food!”

“Everywhere has lots of food, Luf,” Zoro yawned, scratching his head.

“We were planning on Italian food, that sound good to you?” Nami placed a hand on her hip.

Before Luffy could make any further statements, Usopp clasped a hand over his mouth. “Italian sounds fantastic!” he assured us.

“My dad owns a place,” Sanji remarked, “he probably won’t let us eat for free, but I could probably get a discount.”

Nami grinned, clapping her hands excitedly at the thought of saving money.

“Perfect, lead the way, Prince Charming!” Nami cheered, twirling her finger in the air, leading your newly formed crew behind Sanji.

“Your brother is Ace? Like, Portgas D. Ace? Like, famous hockey player for the Grand Line, that Ace?” Nami exclaimed, jaw dropping open in shock.

“Yeah! Do you know him?” Luffy replied, shoveling down his seventh slice of pizza.

“Know him?” Sanji hissed, “what part of ‘famous hockey player for the Grand Line’ do you not understand?”

“He is quite famous…” Vivi whispered.

While Nami and Sanji continued to prod Luffy for more answers, you and Zoro quietly ate your food. Well, you’d consider what you were eating as food, a plate of carbonara and a side of asparagus, but Zoro was eating a singular piece of bread with a bottle of red wine. ‘To each their own,’ you shrugged.

“So…” you started, turning to Zoro, “what’s your major?”

Zoro stared down at you intimidatingly, unflinching at your question. Maybe it was his bulky frame or fiery green hair, but something about him sent shivers down your spine. Did your question offend him somehow? How the hell could he take a question like that in a bad way? 

“Exercise science,” he answered, taking a swig from his bottle, “I wanna be a personal trainer.”

‘Huh, guess he’s not that scary…’ you thought to yourself.

“Are you planning on being a coach or something? Or do you have different plans?” you continued, praying the conversation wouldn’t fall flat.

“...I’d like to open my own dojo, but I’m not opposed to doing one-on-one training for the beginning of my career,” he mumbled.

“People always say to dream big. I hope it all goes well for you.”

Any malicious energy that Zoro had previously held seemed to dissipate with your response. You weren’t a psychic by any means, but as you looked into Zoro’s sharp eyes, you could make out a little softness within them.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he sighed, taking another sip of wine.

Your conversation reached its course as you both went back to eating. Nami was currently trying to get Ace’s number out of Luffy, not for any romantic reason from what you could tell, however. Those dollar signs were back in her eyes, glimmering with greed as she pestered Luffy.

“I think it starts with a three. Or maybe it was an eight?” Luffy asked himself, confusion clouding his expression.

“Who cares?” Sanji groaned, “he’s just a womanizing pretty boy!”

“Pot calling kettle black!” Usopp pointed out, sticking his fork at Sanji for emphasis.

“Yeah, butt out, Sanji! Mama’s gotta get herself a sugar daddy!” Nami hissed.

“You can find plenty at the Mary Geoiose Institute, Nami,” you teased, “unless you wanted a military man, in which case Marineford is probably taking applications.”

Nami faux gasped, a hand pressed to her chest in shock. “I prefer my lovers to be more down to earth! Money isn’t everything, you know? Besides, I’d never date someone so uptight, either.”

All of you laughed at her over dramatic act, even Zoro, who gave a soft chuckle. In less than an hour all of you were cracking jokes and carrying on a conversation, nobody left out and nobody reigning over the others.

Your life had been uneventful, plagued by boredom without a dream to call your own. You hadn’t needed anyone before, so you weren’t expecting to need anyone now. But being here with your new…friends? It felt like that missing piece of your life had finally clicked. Maybe you didn’t have a dream quite yet, but you certainly had a wish: that this moment would last forever.

“Pardon me!” Vivi announced, gently ringing her wine glass. She stood up, smiling at everyone.

“I would like to make a toast,” she smiled, “to our little crew!”

“Doesn’t a crew need a name~?” Nami drunkenly jeered.

Vivi pondered for a moment. “I suppose it does! Any suggestions, my friends?”

“The Ero-Cooks,” Zoro offered, taking another swig.

“Oh, very clever! How about the Marimos? Huh?” Sanji growled, shaking his fist in anger.

Nami, Luffy, and Usopp attempted to give more suggestions through Zoro and Sanji’s argument, though Nami was a little too drunk to be offering any kind of advice. But while everyone was speaking, an idea struck you.

“The Straw Hats,” you said, pointing at Luffy’s hat. “Technically speaking, Luffy’s the reason we’re here right now. Makes sense to name us after him.”

“The Straw Hats…” Vivi murmured to herself, “a perfect name!”

Vivi raised her glass.

“To the Straw Hats!”

Seven glasses rose in unison, meeting in the middle of the table to clink together.

“To the Straw Hats!”

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ a/n﹕hello, and thank you for reading this work! i highly recommend reading 'Ace of Spades' by Mihawkuri, as it inspired me to write my own college au! i hope you all enjoy reading, and while updates may be spaced out, i promise i will not abandon this story! i plan on going all the way to senior year if possible!! once again, thank you for reading! here is the ao3 link!

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 6

Part 6:

"I brought that disgusting snack with the jam you like," Art sat down in the seat next to Liana on the plane and glanced at her for a second. She had fallen asleep. He didn’t know when or how she managed it, but he knew that if the recent period had been hard for him, Liana had completely collapsed into herself. She managed to fight with him twice, apologize three times (he wouldn’t lie, he enjoyed every "sorry for being a bitch" he received, because up until a few months ago, she wouldn’t apologize at all) and she cried a lot. He knew she cried because every time he saw her in the library (the only place he managed to find her in the past month), her cheeks were puffier than usual, and her eyes were red. Now that they were traveling home for the holidays, he hoped she could rest and, if he were to be really greedy, Art hoped she would have time for him again.

Without him knowing how it happened, her head found its place on his shoulder, causing him to remember that time he was sick and woke up next to her. The first thought that crossed his mind that morning was that the only position that could bring him closer to Liana was to be physically inside Liana. His dick felt the same way when he woke up that day, quietly went to the bathroom, and then went for a run. Since then, he had occasional flashes of the image of his legs tangled with hers and his hands holding her as if she were his only grip on reality. Like now, with her head on his shoulder and her breathing heavy. He found himself sighing and closing his eyes as well.

"You're coming for Christmas, right?" Art asked as they walked toward her parents' car, carrying his bag in one hand and her suitcase in the other (despite Liana's insistence that she could carry it herself). "You know we're Jewish and we celebrate Hanukkah, right, Art?" she said, amused. Now that she had a little break, she planned to sleep so much that her face would take on the shape of her pillow. "Really, Liana Levy?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Do you usually come to my parents thing?" "Now that you'll be there too, I'll ask my parents to stay home and watch TV." When Art was in boarding school, he didn't come home for the holidays; it was a training period, and he didn’t want to waste it. "You know that just means I'll come to you, right?" he replied, not even looking at her. Art didn’t have many friends from home. Neither did Liana. She planned to meet up with Rebecca, and Jake had sent her a message asking if she was coming for the holidays. She hadn’t replied yet. "Usually your parents put up a small menorah on the window. It's cute," she shrugged and from a distance saw her dad leaning on the car. "Look, Art." She pointed in his direction and quickened her pace, seeing Art do the same. "Three months and you're already her soldier," her dad said as he hugged her, referring to her suitcase that Art had carried. "What can I do? She has that kind of influence," Art winked playfully and hugged Liana's dad as well. They really liked each other. They always talked about sports and Stanford, sharing stories that Liana couldn’t relate to. "So, I'll see you in two days?" Art asked as her dad parked in front of his house. "Don't count on it, Donaldson," she replied, and he rolled his eyes as he walked away. "You two seem closer," her dad observed. "We're fine," she summed up, not wanting to agree but knowing he was right.

The next day, Liana called Art in the afternoon. "I knew you'd miss me," he sounded amused. "Where are you, why are you out of breath?" she asked, confused. "I went to play tennis with my dad. I'm trying not to embarrass him, and now we're resting for the third time because he's old," Art replied. "Why did you call?" he asked. "Do you want to come to a party tonight?" she asked in return. "You don't have to, but Rebecca invited me to Sean's party, and I think he's a douchebag, but Rebecca probably wants to hook up with him, and she'll probably ditch me during the evening, and I think Jake will be there, and to be honest, I'd rather stay home, but Rebecca really asked. Will you come with us?" she asked after a stream of murmurs. There was something pleading in her voice, and Art couldn't help but feel a slight tingle all over his body. It was something he couldn't pinpoint the source of, but hearing Liana beg was a sound he didn't know his ears needed.

"What's in it for me?" he tried to make the most of a situation where he had nothing to lose. "Art." Her tone was warning. "I'm serious," he retorted, even though he wasn't. "So am I. We'll pick you up at nine, dress like a normal person, please. Button-down shirt and jeans, don't come in a Stanford shirt." He could hear the sarcasm. "You know if you want something, you're not supposed to insult me, right?" he replied. "That's my love language." She said, and he didn't stop responding that he knew before she hung up.

"We're going to get drunk, right?" Liana asked him as she put a hand on a bottle of gin. "Will I have to babysit you today, Li?" he asked, amused by the situation. "No. Because you'll get drunk with me. I told you Rebecca would leave," she told him, pouring them both a tequila shot. "You're on vacation, Art. You can afford one night of alcohol. I promise to be responsible for the rest of the break. We'll only drink champagne on New Year's Eve. I promise to be good," she smiled her most convincing smile. Liana hoped it would have an effect, although Art didn't easily give in to manipulations, especially not when they were so transparent. "You'll be good?" he asked, raising the shot glass like her. "I'll be the best," she replied, and they both drank. This was going to be a long night.

Four shots in and a cup of cheap keg beer later, Art and Liana found themselves sitting outside on the synthetic grass at Sean's house. The December cold didn't affect either of them due to the amount of alcohol. "Lia, I didn't know you were here," they turned together a second after they sat down, seeing Jake. "James," Art smiled a smile Liana knew exactly what it meant; Jake didn't stand a chance. He was on the sharp tongue radar of Art Donaldson, who, under the guise of niceness, could be the most ruthless person in the world. "It's Jake," the other replied. "Can we talk?" he turned to her. "We're busy, try later, but I wouldn't count on it," the smile didn't leave Art's face while he spoke. "Liana." Jake's voice was piercing. "I have nothing to talk to you about right now, Jake, sorry. Don't ruin my night," she tried to be gentle, but they both knew he didn't deserve it. He nodded and walked away in defeat. "That was fun. Do you have any other exes to bully?" Art asked, taking another sip from the bottle they had taken with them. "Arthur!" she feigned an angry voice and lightly slapped his hand, but he quickly grabbed her hand in his. "You're supposed to be good, not violent," he said, tracing small circles on the hand he refused to let go of. "I can be both at the same time." She shrugged, snatching the bottle from him with her free hand.

"Lindsey has been eyeing you all night; you could totally go for it," she said, examining him. He glanced over at Lindsey, a blonde girl he remembered from when they were younger. Her body was well-sculpted, and the dress she wore suited her. "No, tonight it's just you and me, Li. You won't get rid of me and go to James," he said, half-humor, half-serious. He didn't want her to go to her ex. "Okay." She shrugged and laid her head on his knees without asking, looking at him with an amused look he returned. "Are you drunk?" he asked. "No, you're drunk," she stated. "Why did you break up with James?" "His name is Jake." "Why do you always evade when I ask you?" He couldn't stop looking at her. She was…his tonight. Close to him. Looking only at him. Needy as fuck. As if she only saw him from the moment they entered this house. "Because it's embarrassing…" she took another sip and choked a little. "Jesus, Li, don't drink while lying down." Art scolded and snatched the bottle from her, taking another swig. "Tell me." His finger lingered in her hair and gently brushed her cheek; he saw how she instinctively closed her eyes from the cold touch. "Tell me," he repeated, continuing to caress her face gently and moving slightly to her neck, testing the boundaries of this evening. "You'll laugh at me." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Tell me," he said with the same firmness that made her swallow. An intonation she had never heard from him before. A voice she didn't know how to refuse. "I didn't want to sleep with him." She mumbled and tried to turn her face the other way, forgetting for a moment that Art's hand was there, and just as it had stroked before, it now made sure to stabilize her head exactly where he wanted it. With eyes on him. Eyes that pierced directly into her soul if that was possible. If it wasn't the alcohol that made her succumb to the blue eyes that stared at her. "Why would I laugh at you?" he asked. "Because it's embarrassing not to want to sleep with your boyfriend when you're 19." She really didn't want to keep looking at him when she said it, but he didn't let her escape the feeling of surrender she was experiencing right now. "I would never judge you for that, Li. More than that, I'm quite glad you didn't sleep with that loser," his hand went back to making light movements on her cheek, but the atmosphere in the air changed. "Why?" she asked quietly. "Why what?" he replied. "Why are you glad?" she slowly sat up, and Art helped her with a hand he placed on her lower back, not removing it when she sat closer than she had before. "Li…" his nose touched hers for a few seconds, and he closed his eyes. "Are you going to do that thing where you whisper sweet nothings and pretend to be nice so I'll go home with you?" she asked, feeling bold, and he smiled, his eyes still closed. "That's pointless; we both know I don't have a single nice bone in my body," he managed to find words, opening his eyes for a second to see her like he hadn't seen her before. Her cheeks were flushed like his from the alcohol and the cold, her lips half-parted, and her green eyes fixed on him. "And I'll still go home with you?" her voice was quiet and needy, if someone asked Art, he would say almost musical. "Yes, you'll still go home with me, Li." He declared. And so, with both of them half-drunk, Art and Liana's lips met. It was a kiss that knocked the air out of their lungs, built on the sexual tension they had carried for years without realizing it. Liana's hands tried to touch every part of him while Art's hands were experienced and steady on her waist. His lips moved to her neck, and she let out a sound that Art could swear was pornographic, one he didn't want anyone else to hear from her ever.

"We're leaving. Now," he declared, giving her a look that left no room for doubt. This night was just beginning.

This one is a bit longer, so I hope it's OK... No Patrick in this one, but we needed some development with Art after that last part. Hope you like it. Thanks for engaging and sending me your thoughts. Please continue to do that. And if you want me to tag you for future parts, say the word ❤️

taglist: @swetearss ganana yoitsme-04

[sweetsweetjellybean]

In a city the size of Chicago, Eddie should be easy to avoid. Or maybe the city isn't as big as you thought?

Masterlist Listen to Sour Girl Here

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

WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning. 

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.” 

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless." 

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song. 

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”  

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved. 

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can. 

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist,  crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview. 

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve walks into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights. 

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck. 

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower. 

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh. 

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?” 

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door. 

 “See you tonight, okay?” 

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.” 

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket. 

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths.  Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper. 

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting. 

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up. 

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone. 

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back. 

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife. 

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed. 

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge. 

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet. 

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

“I would never do that,” you shake your head. 

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention. 

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload.  The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards. 

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label. 

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday. 

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows. 

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow. 

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet. 

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond. 

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday.  He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.” 

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink. 

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.” 

“How did you get so wise?” You ask. 

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.” 

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back. 

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer. 

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin. 

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths. 

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want. 

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure. 

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest. 

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer. 

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

Read Song 3 Here

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[mouwrites]

Wrote this as a sort-of-sequel to my "How You Met" headcanons! :]

Word count: 1k

Creepypasta/MH - What Should I Draw? ("Ticci" Toby)

You still thought about him sometimes. That boy; the one you sat next to way back in high school. When your mind returned to those little compartments in your memories, the ones filled with noisy hallways and cardboard pizza and hours spent dozing while teachers droned on, there you’d find glimpses of Tobias Rogers.

You remembered the day he first spoke to you, that stupid drawing you made at his request. He had smiled when you showed it to him. It was the most genuine smile you’d seen on any of your peers. Ever. It had struck you.

You weren’t sure how you felt about him. On the one hand, he was authentic; he was unapologetically him. Sarcastic, crass, at times even mean, but real. That quality had always enchanted you. You looked forward to your interactions. But on the other hand, those interactions were scarce. You weren’t close. Your memories of him were minimal in comparison to those of your other friends, or even your teachers. Yet those few memories you did have were enrapturing.

You didn’t think of him all that often, really. Sometimes you’d go months without him crossing your mind. But when you did think of him, it would immobilize you as you slipped into deep thought, gazing blankly as you pondered the curious boy from your past.

When you ventured on these musings, you always landed at the same place: what became of him. You couldn’t decide if you were surprised or not. Why shouldn’t he become a murderer? He was bullied, his home life wasn’t all that great (from rumors you heard; Toby never spoke of his family to you), and he always did seem a little… unstable. But then, there was that smile. That peculiar light that shone when you spoke to him. The way he’d giggle at your jokes and silly drawings. 

But that didn’t change what happened. He became what he became, regardless of what you thought. Regardless of your memories, which were small and scattered like dandelions on a lawn.

But you knew you’d never see him again—so did it really even matter?

It was an impulse. Most things he did these days were impulsive, so that really shouldn’t have been a surprise. It was an impulse that got him rummaging through old boxes in the first place. When he found that wrinkled piece of notebook paper… he decided he needed to go. It couldn’t wait.

And now he found himself perched on your windowsill, easing your window open silently and creeping inside. He locked the door first. Then he made his way to your bedside, letting his hatchet slide towards the ground as he loosened his grip. He let it drop to the floor.

You woke up with a start. After blinking sleepily at the ceiling a few times, your eyes flicked over to the dark figure beside your bed.

You inhaled sharply, flying into a sitting position and backing up against the wall. You opened your mouth to scream, but the man lunged at you. You ducked, rolling off your mattress onto the floor. You saw a hatchet—dirty with something brownish that certainly wasn’t rust—on the ground a few inches from your face. You wanted to scream, but your throat had tightened with fear. 

You scrambled to your feet, stumbling towards your door. You slipped and landed harshly against the wall, your shoulder slamming into the hard surface before you slumped down to the floor.

“Y/n!”

You froze. Blinked a few times at the floor. Then you looked up at the intruder, who was standing awkwardly with one knee still on your bed. He was looking at you through yellow goggles. The rest of his face was covered with a mask. There was nothing to recognize; and yet that muffled voice had seemed… familiar.

He jammed his hand into his pocket, as if suddenly remembering something. You tensed, flinching when he threw something small and white at you.

You yelped when it hit you, but you didn’t need to; you hardly even felt it. When you opened your eyes again you saw a crumpled piece of paper in your lap.

You straightened it out, breathing heavily, sending fearful glances at the stranger five feet away.

Your breathing stopped when you saw what was on the page.

“Toby,” you whispered, looking up once more, this time with whimsy. There was still fear tensing your limbs, but now there was an entire ocean of feelings churning inside you, each fighting for dominance: curiosity, enchantment, excitement, anxiety, and a hundred other things that didn’t have names.

The man removed his goggles and mask with excitement, his shaggy locks getting pulled back for a moment with the motion. You saw his face—but you couldn’t believe what you saw.

You found yourself standing up slowly, making your way over to him. Was it a stupid idea? Probably. But he was smiling that smile, the one that had haunted you for years. It was like a fishing lure twinkling in the sunlight, and you were a foolish bass in the pond.

He didn’t move. He let you bring your hands up to his face. Your fingers hovered over the scars on his cheeks, and you felt nauseous the closer you got.

You suddenly retracted your hands, taking a step back. “What are you doing here?” Your eyes drifted to the hatchet on the floor.

“I wanted to see you again.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

There was silence. Your heart began to hammer in your ears, and you kept looking at the hatchet. 

Toby eventually noticed this pattern, and with an exasperated sigh he kicked the weapon across the floor. “I didn’t come here to kill you.”

“Then why did you come?”

He shrugged again, a little shyly this time. “I dunno. Maybe… you could draw something for me again?”

You let out a breath. Was it a sigh of relief? Was it a huff of breathless enchantment? Was it a pant of excitement?

You nodded slowly, sinking to the floor to pick up the piece of paper. You turned it to the blank side, finding a pen on your nightstand. 

Toby plopped down next to you. He was sitting to your right, just as he had sat back in high school.

You couldn’t help the mischievous smile—the same one you’d given him all those years ago—which came to your lips as you asked:

“What should I draw?”

Thanks so much for reading! Take care my lovelies <33

(divider by saradika)

[manheeiim]

rafe cameron coded songs - part two

summary: rafe cameron coded songs || warnings: drinking, smoking, rafe is mean and controlling || genre: established relationship, fluff, angst, headcanons || word count: N/A || a/n: more coming soon

𐙚 off to the races - lana del rey

"My old man is a bad man, but, I can't deny the way he holds my hand, and he grabs me, he has me by my heart."

In every single au of him I have in my head, he's always older than reader but significantly so when it comes to father figure bf!rafe and dad's best friend!rafe. He's also totally not the best person, he's literally a bad man, but despite that, reader can't bring themselves to stop loving him.

"He loves me, with every beat of his cocaine heart"

We all know he does coke and is a druggie but either way, he'll love you, drugged up or not and you'll love him both ways as well because you just can't help it.

"Watch me in the swimmin' pool, bright blue ripples. You sittin', sippin' on your Black Cristal, oh, yeah,"

Swimming in the pool in the backyard of Tannyhill, Rafe sits on a lounge chair in his bathing suit, a pair of sunglasses on his face, and a bottle of Schwarzbier in his grasp as he watches you in the pool.

"My old man is a tough man, but he got a soul as sweet as blood-red jam,"

Rafe puts on a tough exterior to everyone else and even to you at times but at the same time, you're the only one who really gets to fully see his sweet side. He won't dare to show it to anyone else, not wanting to seem weak.

"He doesn't mind I have a flat broke-down life. In fact, he says he thinks it's what he might like about me,"

I'm thinking trailer park bunny!reader x kook!rafe. She's poor and unfortunate overall but he doesn't mind. It's kind of intriguing to him. He'll take you into his care, and show you what it's like on his side of town. He likes how fascinated you seem to be with everything he'd taken for granted after having it all of his life.

"Light of his life, fire of his loins. Keep me forever, tell me you own me. Light of your life, fire of your loins. Tell me you own me, gimme them coins"

Yes, I know this in reference to the book "Lolita" and I'm not saying Rafe is a pedo. What I want to mention is the whole power imbalance between Rafe and reader. Rafe would definitely be the one in charge of the relationship, whether you liked it or not. He didn't find anything wrong with it, not at all, and you didn't either, well, most of the time.

"Because I'm crazy, baby. I need you to come here and save me,"

You just want Rafe to keep you in check, to make sure you don't make any mistakes, to keep you out of trouble. He acts annoyed about having to do that, and he honestly does get annoyed. At the same time, though, he likes to have you depend and rely on him like that.

"I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him. Who else is gonna put up with me this way?"

You don't know what you'd do without him. If he weren't around, what would you have? Nothing. Nothing materialistically anyway. You can't imagine your life without him, you rely on him and love him too much. Things wouldn't go well for you. He's the only one who can put up with your attitude and issues. The only one to love you for you in the way you want.

ᥫ᭡ link to my masterlist

[peachdues]

BETWEEN MAN & STAR — REUNION TEASER

Giyuu x Reader • Modern Reincarnation AU • NSFW

Ngl, after Netherwood, this fic has been rotting my brain the most.

Synopsis: almost one thousand years ago, when the Demon Slayers had been on the brink of extinction, Giyuu Tomioka made a desperate plea to save the woman he loved — the woman who’d held the knowledge of how to defeat demons before Muzan Kibutsuji tore her apart. The stars granted Giyuu’s wish, giving them ten chances — ten lives — to defeat Muzan once and for all. But that wish came at a cost: for Giyuu, and the other Hashira have been doomed to endless life, wandering the ages and waiting for Y/N to be reborn so that they might try again.

Nine hundred years later, nine lives have been wasted, and the Demon Slayer Corp is on its last chance. As demon activity begins to explode across Tokyo and Muzan Kibutsuji gets wind that Y/N is alive once more, Giyuu and the other Hashira must do everything in their power to help Y/N regain her memories — and unlock the key to defeating the demons once and for all.

READ THE PROLOGUE HERE.

tagging @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 and @ghost-1-y because I’ve been in their DMs constantly over this fic and annoying tf out of them lol

CHRISTMAS EVE, 2018

The snow drifted down over the streets of Tokyo like filler in a snow globe.

Giyuu had always liked the snow — he liked the quiet it brought, the way it seemed to illuminate even the darkest corners with its soft glow.

Christmas Eve had come fast that year, though he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. With the uptick in demon activity, and the knowledge that the time drew nearer to bring her back into the equation, to begin training her, had made the days slide together and trickle by rather quickly.

The last time he’d laid eyes on her, she’d barely been a year old. It wasn’t that Giyuu didn’t want to see her — he did. But time and time again, his arrival in her life had spelled out her doom, and he’d been desperate to postpone her suffering for as long as they could afford it. But he knew, deep in his heart, that the time to let her live and exist peacefully was quickly coming to an end, and that he would have to become a stain on her life once more.

A mixture of anxious excitement tugged at his gut. What did she look like, in this final life? She’d always been beautiful — no matter how she looked in any of her past lives, Giyuu always thought she was the greatest beauty ever to Grace the era. He was sure this time would be no different.

More importantly, what would she think of him? She hadn’t been particularly fond of him in her last life — she’d had the same general attitude towards him as Muichiro: utter indifference.

Sanemi and Obanai had picked at him ruthlessly over it.

Giyuu frowned as he strolled along the crowded sidewalks of downtown Tokyo, hands jammed in his pockets as he stepped around pedestrians with arms full of shopping bags, hurrying home to be with loved ones.

He came upon the street just before his apartment building, ready to hunker down in his bed and spend the holiday alone, again, when he glanced up, and could not look away.

Across the street, a door to a small restaurant dinged open, and a group of friends spilled out onto the sidewalk, cheeks flushed and smiles warm from laughing as they talked animatedly with one another. The girl up front turned her head around to face the street, her eyes sweeping the pavement to ensure the group wasn’t about to barrel into any unsuspecting pedestrians, when she landed on him.

Giyuu’s breath lodged in his throat as his eyes blew wide.

Somehow, in a city with millions of people, she’d managed to find him, even if she did not know there was anyone to find.

And Giyuu, despite having not seen her face once in the twenty three years she’d spent in this era, he knew it was her the moment his eyes snagged upon her face.

Because one look at her, and suddenly it was 1121 and not 2018.

Nine life times had seen nine different faces of Y/N. She’d been different races, different body types, different everything, no two variations the same.

Except for this one. For Y/N looked exactly the same as she had, all those centuries ago.

She was training next to him, wielding that sharp pole sword of hers with precision and grace, an ancient warrior goddess given human form. Her eyes were bright; determined as she rotated through battle forms. She turned and smiled at him and it made him feel like he’d found a home.

Memories that had not plagued his psyche in centuries exploded across his conscience, playing like an old vignette.

She was in his arms, the night after they’d professed their love for one another and promised to marry, the flames of candlelight making her skin glow as she writhed under him, his name the only thing on her lips as they moved as one.

That face — so devastatingly beautiful, made Giyuu’s long-beating heart skip violently in his chest. He remained there on the sidewalk, frozen, unable to move or do anything more than stare at the visage of his one true love, as it looked briefly to him and smiled as strangers do, before looking away again.

There she was, under the sakura tree by the river where they’d lived, smiling and laughing as pink petals drifted down from above like flowered snow, sticking in her hair and tickling her face.

He hadn’t noticed the tear that slipped down his cheek until the bitter winter air iced it over, making the skin beneath it sting.

[tafferling]

Dying Light: The Beast Demo Impression

Imagine, if you will, a Taff who finds a life saving sort of affection in a game named Dying Light, followed by nearly ten years of dedication to one Kyle Crane. If you’d told that same Taff she’d get to go to Techland HQ after Crane’s return was announced in Dying Light: The Beast, she’d have called you silly. 

And yet.

I had the privilege (the WHAT ON EARTH, how) to watch about forty minutes of Dying Light: The Beast today. It was prefaced by an in-person intro from Tymon Smektała (which was about the most heartfelt thing I’ve ever heard, genuinely), and shown to us on a big-ass screen. 

During those forty-or-so-minutes I might have shuffled in and out of this here physical realm a few times. 

The demo covered an early mission in the game. Here’s what happened:

We start in a small village and tightly forested woodland, a fading day around us. Crane is off to follow a lead, given by the new voice in our ear, named Olivia. The lead will take him to an industrial area. Eventually. But FIRST I get to feast on a gorgeous sunset, lots of smooth as heck parkour, and honestly when we ducked through a small apartment on the way, I wanted to say “Babe, pls stop I GOTTA TAKE PICTURES!”.

I don’t kid. Techland was not fibbing when they mentioned handcrafted; the attention to detail I was criminally denied the chance to rub my face all over has my hopes so far up, they’re tap dancing in the clouds. And then those very same hopes were given wings when two insanely talented artists walked us through how these environments have come together.

Seriously. I can’t wait to get absolutely nothing done in the game because I Must See All And Perceive All.

Anyhoo— back to the demo.

Night falls—as it so likes to do—and we’re warned about how the Volatiles and Freaks (at least I think I remember this right, I was often distracted by, you know, I mean, yeah) are difficult to avoid out here. All that dense woodland makes for shit sight lines and all. But Crane can be subtle and that means I will finally get to hide in the bushes with him come game release. Yay me!

One sec. Spacing out.

What was I saying?

Oh yeah. Stealth. Volatiles. 

OKAY, LISTEN— the sound design in the night-time section of the game was sublime. The snuffing and clicking of the Volatiles. The snap of twigs. The rustle of leaves. Stealth is the jam I like to put on my various bread-adjacent baked goods and this was delicious.

And pretty. Crane’ll be craning (hehe) his head up a lot ‘cause those stars need gazing.

But it’s also a night full of creepy crawlers and so we head towards the nearest safe house, which, in good old Dying Light fashion, needs a bit of TLC. Secure. Remove Infected. Find a spare fuse. Mess with a Charger and his buddies (the handgun came out at that moment and while I do not approve of wasting bullets, I approve of the reload animations). And, finally, plug the newly acquired fuse in and Let There Be Light.

The layout of the safe zone and the tasks to complete brought me back to Harran. I loved the safe zones there; each had its unique look, unique vibe; and was just different enough in what you had to do to secure it to make them their own little experiences. I hope we’ll see this make a comeback.

(Yes, I have not yet mentioned much about Crane. Stick with me. I’ll get there.)

After a snooze (well deserved), we continue to the industrial area, where the demo shifts to showing off guns even more so than before. Honestly, I liked the Dying Light (1) guns. I liked Crane with a gun. He’d always struck me as the type of man who’d know about 500+ ways to kill his fellows; and firearm mastery would’ve been right at the top. So. Yeah. I do like their inclusion.

I also fucking know he’ll keep them holstered for the majority of my game time, because pssst, the bow is right here, darling. We’re using that, quit pouting.

(Hey, she’s still not talking about Crane, is she okay? you may ask. Ha. No.)

We fight our way through a bunch of the Baron’s men, which eventually leads to one of those idiots shooting out some sorta electrical box. There’s a bit of a ruckus over something escaping, a few angry roars thrown in from a distance, and as we decide to investigate we run into a— scientist type? At least I think I’m remembering this right. 

And now I’ll talk about Crane. 

Beware: loads of personal thoughts here; not based entirely on canon. 

Kyle Crane might have once been a man who thought murder is still a big deal. Kyle Crane also might have once been a man who’d roll with the punches, always coming up swinging, but, you know. First he rolls. Then he swings. 

Now? After whatever happened to him between the Following and his capture, leading to thirteen years of being experimented on in what I suspect’ll be a cage of sorts? 

First of all, is murder still going to be a big deal? (No, henchmen don’t count; ludonarrative dissonance wants a word).

Yeah, he doesn’t straight up kill our new scientist friend. Just threatens him. Effectively. But there was a bit of disconnect in how Crane behaved leading up to the solution of the interrogation (him getting what he wanted) and what he eventually did. Namely punch the guy out, rather than kill him. 

I expected our scientist friend to die. I was surprised when he didn’t.

And I expect Crane to no longer roll, but to swing first and not give the narrative the chance to get the first lick in.

All of which I’m deducting from how they’ve leaned heavily into giving him the voice of a man who’s been thoroughly wrung out by that very same narrative. His tone is dark. Clipped. Gone are the expletives; the colourful fucks; and how everyone’s an asshole because that’s just a mood and a half.

And honestly? I don’t know how I feel about it. Yet. Sure, I’m all for the pent up anger we hear whenever he swings a weapon, but—

I love Crane because he wasn’t the moody, broody post-apo dude. You know the Imma chew some nails for breakfast and then get all growly over my (insert trauma here). The Joels, basically (and I gotta hell to the no on him). 

So, no, I don’t know how I feel about this yet. I’m approaching this with trepidation over how they might have removed what made Crane Crane; all in the pursuit of being darker and ‘more mature’, as it’s been said.

BUT— this was just forty minutes. That’s not much. And even if it ends up being true, I’ve still got, like, I dunno— at least another ten good writing years in me to bring that man back to the light. 

. . .

You know what, I am beginning to warm up to this idea. Please. Carry on.

EDIT: Since I’ve originally written this, the new dev blog came out and through that (along with what I’ve heard on site) have made me a lot less anxious about Crane having gone the way of the Complete Grouch. And just as I’ve been getting ideas.

ANYWAY

Our scientist friend got punched out, though not before he’s given us intel in how there’s a Freak here—the thing that just escaped, I presume, I was too busy collecting all the marbles I kept dropping whenever Crane opened his damn mouth to be sure—and how we can lure it.

Next stop(s): get freaky science gas, hop into a truck, drive freaky science gas around the countryside, and then jam it into a freaky science apparatus! 

(I have theories.)

But wait! Ambush! By more of the Baron’s men, no less. They, much like any other good collection of henchmen, have not learned from their rag-dolling buddies’s endless corpses and continue to think attacking Crane is a Good Idea.

Ah, well.

Then, finally, boss time! A Behemoth enters the arena (which is a junk yard, by the way) and it’s bringing with it a certain 10/10 Demolisher vibe paired with more freaky science. Someone’s obviously been tinkering on this gentle-boulder, leaving it with tubes attached to its body that give it this wonderful bioengineered look I’m so endlessly fond of. 

We fight!

It’s not going so well. 

Now I’m suspecting we’re seeing a method on how to build Crane’s fury up enough to unle— 

No. I am not writing that. You can’t make me. You cannot make me say the line, I refuse. I’ll just use increasingly silly alternatives, how’s that?

We get run over one too many times and Crane finally pops the lid off his fury. This applies the same orange filter as the one we got whenever Aiden redlined his biomarker (during a scripted sequence) and allows Crane to literally pick up a concrete barrier and lob it at the Behemoth. 

(You know, I bet that feels really good; delicious payback after getting car after car after car and fridge after fridge after fridge thrown at him before.)

Then he goes toe to toe with it, only to wrap up the fight by pulling the Behemoth’s head off its shoulders. Not cleanly, I’d like to add.

Soooo— what? We’ll be building fury in a number of different ways, then get unhinged and unlock the opportunity to finish with a flair? Cool cool. I’m in. Or so I’m thinking this’ll go. I genuinely do not know the ins and outs. 

What I do know though is that I lost all my remaining marbles after the fight. The camera fucking zooms out and I get to see the whole Crane. And, look, you can’t expect me to go to this event and be perfectly reasonable about this; about seeing this man I’ve dedicated nearly a decade to and remain normal. If you do, why are you even reading this. HAVE YOU MET ME?!

I have no clue if this means we’ll get third-person cutscenes or if this is a cinematic choice done solely for the demo, but a Taff may dream. Right?

The cutscene ends with Crane extracting something from the Freak into a jet injector. 

(Again, I have theories. Fury Power Progression? Fury Power Suppression?)

But anyway. Third-Person Cutscene. Taff is on the floor (not literally, but metaphysically) and the lights come on again and I SWEAR TO GOD, I will play this game at day one come hell and high water, and I am so, so, so unbelievably grateful to every single person ever involved in creating this franchise because you’re all a bunch of heroes to me.

:exhales:

Thanks for reading.

EDIT: I forgot to mention the weather. How did I manage to forget to mention the weather. We got so sopping wet in the rain. It reminded me of the heavy rainfall out in the countryside which I missed so terribly. Cannot wait to see how they've improved the weather system in this one.

From The Following:

[strangelittlestories]

The three girls were sitting outside the McDonalds by the dingy underpass beneath the A-road that circled the town. They wore grey hoodies and seemed to be arguing.

Cee checked the map she had been given by the Hermes courier. It was still there in her hand, even here in the dream. She had followed the route as best she could.

1) Head north until you reach the country club. 2) Steal a rowboat and head out onto the lake. 3) When the storm descends, bargain with the spirit at the centre for passage, 4) When you are spit out you’ll find yourself in a forest pond, at which point you must turn twice widdershins and pass under the mushroom arch. 5) Take the footpath until you’re back on the main road, then take a left past the Gregg’s. 6) Look for the golden arches on Argyle Street. 7) Fall asleep there and dream: in your mind, they shall be there.

Here she was. And these must be the ladies.

She sidled over and began to hear their argument:

“Dana, give it. You know I cannot read the thrice-cursed menu without the i.”

The girl who spoke was reaching for a battered old iphone, which the second girl was currently using to record a video.

“Shut up, Enya, you are distracting me. You can have the i once I have used it to complete the Oracle Challenge on TikTok.”

The third girl snatched the iphone away, while the first two bickered and began scrolling it with one hand.

“Oh my gods, Freddo, you already have the tooth! Stop hogging!”

The third girl grinned and produced a small off-white bluetooth speaker from her hoodie. She tapped the iphone screen and the speaker began playing Despacito.

“It is almost out of charge, sisters. I must have my jams - my jams! My jams! - before it is fully depleted.”

Cee cleared her throat, so as not to surprise them.

“Um, excuse me.” The three girls all swung their heads to face Cee at the exact same time. “I was told that you three would know where to find the gorgon?”

The three replied at once, speaking over each other in one fluid and deeply creepy rush.

“Oh for-” “-the sake of-” “-Zeus’s golden showers-" “-another would-be hero-” “-approaches us to- “-accomplice another monster murder-” “-get-” “-to-” “-fudge.”

“Oh no,” Cee replied. “You’ve misunderstood. The gorgon is my girlfriend. I think … an ancient king or god or something … kidnapped her?”

“Hmmm.” said Dana. “That’s new. I don’t know if I like it yet.”

“Oooh, a queer retelling,” said Dana, “BookTok is gonna flip their shit about this.”

“No. A fully unadulterated, manifested, healthily boundaried ‘no’.” said Freddo, “I am not gonna be a part of burying this gay. And I will gatekeep the flip out of you if I must.”

Cee thought for a moment.

“I get where you’re coming from,” she said, “but perhaps I could offer you something in exchange? I notice you just have the one dying iphone and one dodgy speaker between you?”

“One i and one tooth, yes. That is the way of it.”

“Well … I could offer you this power bank and a couple of USB/lightning cables? Then you could keep your stuff charged and you might not have to argue over the last dregs of power?”

The three girls huddled and whispered for a moment. The sound of the cars on the circular road above - each roaring with the sound of a thought tearing through Cee’s subconscious - drowned out their deliberations. Once more, they looked up at exactly the same time and all spoke as one.

“Very well, we shall tell you what you seek.”

Cee was glad she had brought the charge brick with her. She supposed it was true what they said: In the ring-road of the mind, the charged iphone is king.

---

With thanks to Anne V McClure for the Word of the Month prompt ‘Kingdom’. Want to submit your own prompts for tortured puns? Become a supporter on Ko-Fi! https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[shelbgrey]

Hello, I love your fics, could you do one with James Aubrey smut? please

Unspoken desire(James Aubrey)

Paring: James Aubrey x Booth!Reader

Summary: James Aubrey and y/n booth always gets on each other's nerves, but it's everything but hate. When they are forced to go undercover together some piped up feeling are finally released.

Warrings: SMUT! Female reader, fingering, counter sex, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex.

MasterList

“undercover, seriously?” I asked, as I sat down in front of my brother and Temperance.

“Well it's likely that the suspects are the participants” Seeley responded as he handed me the file for the victim and old western joint I was supposed to be undercover at.

“and 85% if the competitors are repeat guests” Temperance added.

“why aren't you guys doing it? Undercover is your thing” I said as the waitress brought our food.

“Hank has a doctor's appointment and Booth is going to Christine's field trip” Temperance said as I popped a fry in my mouth.

I sighed, I belonged in the Lab not undercover. “Who's going with me?”

“Aubrey” Booth said as he lifted his coffee mug.

“No” I said quickly and pointed at my older brother. “your not doing this to me”

Me and Aubrey never got along. I hated everything about him, his voice, the fact his appetite is bigger than scooby-doo, his adorable smile…

Wait…

“why? What's wrong with Aubrey” Booth asked.

“he annoying and we don't get along”

“By the way you refuse to make eye contact and the blood rushing to your cheeks, I find it hard to believe you dislike Aubrey,” Temperance said matter of factly. I rolled my eyes playfully.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” I mumbled to myself as I put on a cowboy hat. I kept a low profile as I walked through what looked like the set for Tombstone or young guns. I walked around trying to find Aubrey.

I walked into the tavern full of western people. It was jam packed with cowboys and beer. I looked around silently till my eyes landed on Aubrey, he was sporting cowboy boots and a hat. I hated how my eyes traveled down his body. The Wranglers he had on framed his body in the best way possible, leaving no room for the imagination. Then the button up he wore, framed his chest showing the muscles on his chest. Speaking of muscles, sleeves of his button up were rolled up to his elbows, showing his arm muscles.

I tried to shake the dirty thoughts out of my mind and walked into the tavern with my head held up high. I looked around the tavern, trying to find something out of the ordinary. I hated it, it smelled like beer and it felt stuffy from all the shouting and laughing wanna be cowboys.

“What are you doing here?” a voice said firmly, Aubrey stood behind me. I shivered at how low his voice got, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

“undercover, same as you” I stated and pulled myself together before turning around to face him. Damn, he looked better up close.

What was that saying? Save the horse ride the Cowboy

“We need to solve a murder, remember?” I said, crossing my arms. I definitely didn't miss the way his eyes traveled down my body. I would have pointed it out, but it wouldn't be fair. No one likes a hypocrite.

Aubrey rolled his eyes and grabbed my bicep, I felt a certain way when he grabbed me like that. He had frustration and fire in his eyes as he led me out of the building. He didn't say anything as he dragged me to the back of the tavern and pushed me up against the side of the building. My breath hitched as he left very little room between us. He pressed his palms against the building, caging me in.

“I don't need this, we're solving a murder not playing dress up”

I smirked and grabbed the massive western theme buckle that was attached to his belt, I pulled him closer by it. “trust me, your enjoying this a lot more than you should”

“don't patronize me” he pushed himself off the building, breaking the little space we had between us.

“and don't get yourself into trouble” he said and walked away, leaving me behind the building with my pounding heart.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“what are you doing?” I jogged up to Aubrey, he had a determined look on his face and he looked like he wasn't gonna slow down anytime soon. “the lab identified the murder weapon and the who bought”

“Good, let's go get ‘em” I said, Aubrey immediately stopped in front of me, pointing his finger at me. “no. Your gonna stay back and watch out for anything else the seems suspicious”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Come on!”

“I'm serious” he said sternly, his gray eyes staring me down intently.

“Stop him!” a voice shouted in the distance, making the both of us whip around. The guy Angela IDed came running out of the tavern. Aubrey ran after him and instead of listening to him and ran behind the tavern so we could corner the guy. I ran around the comer and jumped onto the guy, talking him to the ground. We rolled around a dusty mess until I got him flat on his stomach and his hands pinned behind his back.

“Damit y/n! I told you to stay put” Aubrey snapped and quickly put the handcuffs on the guy before tugging him onto his feet.

“yeah and guess what, I got to him before you did!”

Aubrey gave me a hard stare before taking the suspect into a isolated room to stay in until Booth came and got him.

Booth came in record time and stared his interrogation with the suspect. Me and Aubrey watched Booth walk into the room with the guy and as soon as the door was closed, Aubrey grabbed my bicep, forcing me to follow him into an empty building that looked like a smaller version of the tavern we were in this morning. He locked the door and turned to me with fire in his eyes.

“You sit here and listen to me!” James huffed, I moved off the counter only to get picked up and put on the counter again. “You're the most obstinate, stubborn, ornery, impossible girl I ever met! You just won't admit there's another side, my side! You know why?” the more he ranted the closer his face got to mine, my breath hitched when I felt his breath fan against my skin.

“Because you're unreasonable!” he said, I rolled my eyes and tried to move again “Sit still!” he huffed and pushed me against the counter, this time he pressed his palms on either side of me, caging me in. He leaned in closer, his chest heaving and his blue eye staring into my soul. “You're argumentative, mulish, uncooperative - unbelievable”

He stopped his nose barley brushing against mine. My heart pounds at how close we were. If I wasn't so stubborn I would have pulled him closer so there was no space between us. If I wasn't so stubborn I would have ran my fingers through his dark hair.

James huffed, keeping his intense gaze. “And You don’t know how beautiful you are.” he breathed, his lips barely touching mine, The words were soft but firm, leaving no room for doubt. His free hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer against his hard length.

My breath hitched at how hard he was against my thigh and my eyes widened when he called me beautiful.

“You know it's true.” His hand slid up my arms, tracing along your neck and into your hair. "I've been trying so hard not to notice, but you're just... everything”

Feeling bold, I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to me. I smashed my lips against his for a heated rough kiss. James groaned into the kiss, his body melting up against mine. I shivered as I felt one of his hands slide up my spine, gripping my hair tightly as he deepened the kiss. The other hand moved lower, squeezing my hip possessively.

I started unbuttoning his shirt as I kissed down his jaw line. He moaned in pleasure and I ran fingers down his chest. He brought my lips to his again, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. He kissed my neck and led down to my shoulder, where he lightly bit. I moaned in pleasure.

“God, you're beautiful.” He pushed some hair out of my face, staring into my eyes before pulling my shirt over my head. His head dipped and he started to kiss the tops of my breasts and down my stomach. My breath hitched as he pushed me down so I was lying flat on the counter and started to unbutton my pants. We locked eyes and I laid there in anticipation.

He took off my cowgirl boots at a rushed pace and practically ripped my jeans off of my body and started kissing up my legs. He trailed himself over my panties, thick with arousal. Then, he started up my stomach again, causing me to bite my lip.

He holsted himself up on the counter and slowly crawled up my body to meet my lips again, this time more urgent. I got goosebumps as his hands roamed over my skin, his touch possessive and hungry. The kiss deepened as our bodies grinding together in an erotic dance. He broke the kiss only to whisper, "You're so damn irresistible.”

“I can't help it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my Neck. “You drive me wild.” His hands slid down my hips, my breath hitched as his hand slipped under my panties, teasing my sensitive flesh. "You make me lose control.”

I let out a moan, bucking my hips against his hand. “Oh fuck…” He muttered before his mouth claimed mine in a searing kiss. His hand slid between my thighs, finding my entrance. "So wet for me..." he growled against my lips.

I let out a soft moan, running my fingers through his hair “j-james…”

James groaned, his fingers tracing circles around my entrance. My eyes fluttered closed as the pleasure and his teasing invaded all my senses. His other hand moved to my breast, massaging it gently as he continued to tease my whole body.

“S-stop teasing”

I felt him smirking against my skin. “I won't promise that, but I'll give you what you want” His fingers finally penetrated me, making a loud moan escape my lips as he pushed inside slowly. I groaned, feeling myself tighten around his large fingers. “You feel so good,” he whispered, starting to thrust deeper.

I moaned as I leaked onto his palm, stroking his fingers back and forth to coat his hand in my wetness. I twitched as he circled my oozing entrance with one thick digit. His thumb sought out my nub, putting pressure on the aching knot of nerves. I cried out softly, pushing my hips into his hand as he toyed with my most sensitive area.

James's breath hitched. “You're so fucking amazing,” he murmured, I moaned as his fingers moving faster. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a fiery kiss while his thumb continued to tease my sensitive nub.

I clenched around his finger, making James groan into the kiss, his other hand moving to grip my waist. He kept thrusting his finger deeper, feeling the incredible heat surrounding him. His thumb pressed harder against my sensitive nub, as I felt my release approaching.

I hid my face in his neck as I made uncontrollable noises. He entered with a second finger, making me hiss. My tight hole swallowed his fingers like it was starving. He dragged his digits in and out of me, the tips of his fingers scraping the delicate spot residing inside me. I moaned, tilting my head back against the counter. His fingers found a rhythm, his pace increasing as he continued to torment and pleasure my sensitive nub. "So fucking tight,”

my legs shook with the pace he set, the thrusting of his fingers in rhythm with his pummeling fingers. A groan left my lips, my eyes rolling back. As I began to lose control, James took it as a sign. He picked up the pace even more, his fingers now moving in and out like a lover possessed. His thumb finally found release for my sensitive nub, rubbing it hard and fast as I reached the peak of pleasure.

“'m c-close” I shuttered and dug my nails into his back.

“Cum for me,” he groaned, his fingers finding a new rhythm inside me as I felt myself nearing the edge. His thumb continued to work my sensitive nub, his free hand reached above my head, gripping the counter tightly to maintain balance.

I let out a loud moan, cumming hard over his fingers and palm. James groaned, feeling my tight walls squeeze around his fingers. I shuttered as his thumb continued to work on my sensitive nub, his other hand tightening its grip on the counter. “Fuck... you feel so good,” he breathed, his fingers still buried deep inside me.

my heart pounded against my chest as I tried to catch my breath. I swallowed hard as my eyes fluttered shut with a satisfied smirk. James slowly pulled his fingers out, I felt the mix of my cum and his pre-cum dripped onto the inside of my thighs. “I'll have to remember this position,” he teased, his voice low and rough with desire.

I smirked up at him and blindly reached for his hips, I pulled his body against mine in a needy way. “I n-need you inside me” I whispered, my voice rough from the moans he forced out of me.

“You really think you're ready for that?” He asked, his eyes flashing with desire.

I quickly nodded, pulling his body closer to mine “please…”

James chuckled, the sound vibrating against my skin made a shiver run down my spine. “Alright, but remember, I warned you.” With that, his hands grabbed my thighs and lifted them up, a moan fell from my lips as I felt him position his thick length at my aching entrance. I Instinctively pushed my hips up. This gave him a perfect angle to plunge into me as he teased his tip against my aching clit. I whined as he groaned deeply, still hazy from my climax but I never forgot I needed him inside me.

"Fuck..." James growled, my mouth dropped open as I felt every inch of him push deep inside me feeling as I tighten around his head. He pushed forward, slowly at first, as I stretched around his size. A strangled gasp escaped my throat. It felt like the air was stolen from my lungs. He rendered me breathless as he sank deeper inside you. “You're so damn tight,”

"I know," James groaned, pulling back slightly before thrusting forward again, I moaned and dug my nails into his back as he buried himself even deeper inside me. His hands had a death grip on my hips, possibly making marks that would show up the next morning. He held on tightly as he began to move faster, taking us both closer to the edge. “You feel so good,”

my lips separated as a loud moan forced its way from my chest. Finally, I got what I had been wanting since the day I met him. The euphoria was so strong, it was borderline painful.

“Oh fuck…” James panted, as I tighten around him with every thrust. He leaned down, his lips meeting mine in a rough, demanding kiss as he picked up the pace even more. “You're mine,” He growled against my lips. “Say it.”

“I-I'm yours!” I moaned, tugging at his hair. “I've always b-beem yours” I admitted without realizing.

James's thrusts grew harder and faster, his hips slamming against mine in a rhythm that threatened to send me over the edge a little too early. His free hand moved up to grip the side of the counter above my head, holding on tight as he lost himself in the sensation. “Fuck, yes... Cum for me”

I let out a loud moan, heat washing over me as his words pushed me over the edge. Growling, James groaned as my walls clenched around him. His hips stuttered in response, pushing as deep as he could go. He panted hard, feeling his own release drawing closer. With a final, powerful thrust, I felt my orgasm hit me like a truck. I came hard, making James's eyes roll back in his head triggering his own orgasam. His head fell against my chest, filling me up with his seed. His muscles tensed and shook against me, panting hard. "Fuck...,”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, painting as he painted my cervix white. I shuddered in sync with him, his seed hot inside my walls.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed out, his forehead resting against yours. “I've wanted this for so long.”

“M-me too” my breath hitched, pressing my forehead to his and nuzzling my nose against his.

He pulled out slowly, making me moan softly. “But you're mine now,” he growled, smirking down at me. “And we both know how much I love possessing what I can't have.”

I smirked. “Who says you can't have me?”

He chuckled, his chest still heaving from the intense release. “Oh, I could've,” he admitted, his fingers tracing soft patterns on my skin. “But the chase... the anticipation... that's what made it so damn irresistible.”

I chuckled, reaching up and placing my hand on his jaw, rubbing his cheek with my thumb. He chuckled and pecked me on the lips before standing up, he pulled his boxers back up and slowly sat me up from the counter. “let's get you cleaned up”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“where did you two doofuses go?” Seeley asked. My cheeks turned red at my brother's question.

“Just covering more ground, making sure we didn't miss anything” James said quickly.

Temperance looked at the both of us with a knowing smile. The woman truly knew everything. “well…You look way more relaxed than you did this morning Y/n” Temperance said, making my cheeks go reader.