#Five I get coffee is great but you're taking it too far

[mokkimoka]

Five at some point in his sad fucking life:

[sebuckyverse]

for a good time, call [5]

modern!rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

series summary: Eddie Munson is a burnt out rockstar, touring the country. When he finds a phone number written on a bathroom wall, he strikes an unusual friendship with a coffee shop barista who has no idea who he is.

warnings: 18+ cussing, smut, p in v sex, protected + unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, flirting, self-doubt, mutual pining, angst, strangers to friends to lovers; lmk if i missed anything word count: 8,2k damn

an: the final chapter!! i can't believe it's over, i'm sweating!! MERRY CHRISTMAS BABIES i hope you like it as always, pls let me know. don’t forget to reblog babes! <3 btw we can always do more blurbs and HC's about this fic, i am down for anything! and requests are open as well! mwah! also i wrote half of this on my phone sorry if it's shit

chapter four ♫ masterlist ♫ askbox

chapter five ♫♪♩·.¸¸

A lot of good things happened to Eddie last night. He closed a deal with his future new manager, starting their collaboration early in the new year when he fulfills his current contract and he would be free to leave. He had a long talk with his band when they were alone, finding out that they were also unhappy with the way things had been going on so far. Then there was the show - it was different, good. Eddie was nervous, which he hadn't felt for a long time and he was excited. He loved the show, he was happy again. Simply because he knew you were there, watching him. He wore his best outfit, played his favourite guitar that night, he even added a touch of eyeliner to his look, which is something he used to do in his early days, when he was still performing to the local drunks back home.

But then everything went to shit. They had just come off stage, tired but in high spirits. Eddie's fingers were still tingling from all the playing, a bead of sweat running down his temple as he dropped down to the couch in the middle of the dressing room. He rested his head on the back of the worn out couch and closed his eyes for a minute, just enjoying the moment. His heart was still racing, but it wouldn't calm down now, not when he was anxiously waiting for you. There was a knock on the door, Eddies eyes popped open. It's only been a minute, he didn't expect you so soon.

The door flew open and in walked a girl, but not the one he was looking for. This girl, he knew very well, though he wish he didn't. Madeline. The press had picked up a scent they were dating about a year ago, Eddie didn't have to think too hard about who might have leaked it. Yes, they actually went on a date once, but nothing ever came of it. Eddie had realized his mistake on taking her out half way through the date. She was pretty and very ambitious, but it wasn't hard to see what she was really after. Not Eddie, his heart or soul, but something she deemed more valuable - the immediate popularity she would get once she'd bag him, not to mention the money of course. He remained a gentleman throughout the date but told her in the car later, when he offered to drop her home, that nothing would ever come of this.

Eddie thought it would end there, but every once in a while, she would pop back up. He blocked her number, when she tried to call him. He even banned her from coming to his shows, so the fact that she was here right now, was unpredicted. Her wild eyes quickly meet his uncertain ones and she jumps on the couch, too close for comfort. ''Eddie! Great show, as always. You're such a rockstar.''

Eddie subtly shifted away from her, trying to put distance between them. ''Madeline, what are you doing here?''

''Came to see you, silly,'' she yakked, resting her manicured hand on his knee, unphased when he immediately pulled away.

''Look,'' he sighed. ''I appreciate that and everything, but you need to leave. I'm expecting someone.''

''Oh, who?'' she asked.

''That's not your concern.''

''So it's a girl then,'' she stated, pouting her lips.

Eddie's patience was running thin, he fought the urge to roll his eyes. ''Madeline, for the 100th time - I am not interested in you. You need to accept that.''

''I find that hard to believe, Eddie. Your body is saying something different, it's hot against mine.'' Madeline scooted closer and pressed her body against his, their thighs touching.

''Are you out of your mind? I just did a show.'' Eddie was baffled, Madeline was annoying but she usually took the hint. She was now close enough that he could see her bloodshot eyes up close, then she sniffed. She was high, he realized, probably on something stronger. From his peripheral vision, Eddie could see one of the guys walk to the door, opening it.

''No, Eddie. I've never been more sane.'' She grabbed him by the shoulders and smashed her lipgloss sticky lips onto his with enough force to knock the wind out of him, catching him totally off guard.

It took two seconds for his senses to kick back in and to push her off. He held Madeline by the elbows, keeping her at arm's length. But it was too late. He turned to the door and there you were, looking at him. He didn't have to guess that it was you, he got that same feeling he always got when he talked to you. His tummy tingled, heart swelled, but this time it was tainted with enormous remorse. Your eyes were glossy with unshed tears, lips trembling. When the first tear rolled down your cheek, you turned and disappeared back towards the exit.

Eddie shot up from the couch and chased after you, the door slamming shut behind him. ''Y/N! Wait, please!''

''Don't bother, Eddie,'' you shot back, voice strained and shaking.

''This isn't what it looks like, I swear,'' Eddie pleaded with you, catching up and stopping in front of you. ''Please, let me explain.''

''Move,'' you deadpanned, face vacant of any emotion except for the two dried streaks running down your cheeks. Eddie placed his hands on your upper arms, to stop you from leaving, which you instantly jerked away from, like you'd been burned.

''Please,'' he begged, ''give me a chance to explain everything.''

''Just let me leave, Eddie,'' you wiped your face, arms crossing in front of you. You refused to look at him and he couldn't ignore the stab in his heart.

''Give me five minutes and I will do anything you want,'' Eddie pleaded, dipping his head trying to catch your eyes.

Locking eyes with him, you relented. ''Two minutes.''

''The girl you saw was Madeline, we went out once a year ago and she's been trying to snake her way into my life ever since. I'm not interested her and never was. I don't know how she got in tonight, she's high on something and then she kissed me.''

''Her instagram said you sent her VIP tickets,'' you said.

''That's bullshit. I didn't send her anything but I think I know who did,'' he defended.

You considered his words for a moment, before unlinking your arms and straightening your back. ''Okay, your two minutes is up. Now, you said something about doing anything I wanted?''

''Yeah?'' he asked, sounding a bit hopeful.

''Don't contact me again, Eddie.'' With that, you pushed past him, leaving the arena, taking his heart with him.

.•♫•♬•

Back in your car, you drove the few miles to your apartment instead of going back to your parents' house. You didn't have the strength to face Robin or answer any questions tonight. You dragged yourself up the stairs and pushed inside, locking the door afterwards. You stood in the middle of your living room, gathering your thoughts. The silence seemed extra haunting at this moment, seeping into your bones. You sat on the couch, kicking your boots off. Lifting your legs up, you laid down on your side, pulling a sage green fleece blanket over your shivering form, pulling it up to your chin.

When you closed your eyes, the only thing you saw were their locked lips.

After a pretty sleepless night, you decided to get up when you were awoken by the booming of thunder. You'd kept on the same position the entire night, you groaned when you stretched out on the small couch. You found your purse on the floor and fished out your phone, anticipating the amount of messages or calls from Eddie, but you found nothing. Defeated, you sighed and threw it aimlessly on the cushion next to you. You didn't know why you were disappointed, you specifically told him not to contact you. Still, there was a part of you that hoped he would... what, fight for you? He respected your wishes yet it still stung.

You waited until it was an appropriate time and called Robin to fill her in on the details, telling her you would drive back shortly. She gasped when you told her how you found Eddie in his dressing room, but Cherry was the one who spoke up, indicating Robin put the phone on speaker. ''I knew it was a good choice to bring my pepper spray. That girl needs to be sprayed immediately.''

''Wait, who are you talking about?'' you asked, mouth full of buttery toast.

''Madeline, duh,'' she said matter-of-factly.

''I'm lost,'' Robin chimed in.

''Yeah, me too. Do you know her?'' you asked.

''Not personally, but I've read about her. She's a leech, only interested in being relevant.''

You thought about what Eddie said last night. He didn't invite her and she kissed him. Were you wrong about everything? No, if Madeline was only interested in fame, what would her kissing Eddie in private get her?

''It doesn't matter, I asked him not to contact me anymore and he hasn't. So, it's over.''

.•♫•♬•

Eddie was hunched over the table at breakfast, playing around with some pieces of broccoli. He didn't want to interact with anyone and he certainly didn't want anybody seeing him either, he took a good look in the mirror before and it wasn't pretty. His eyes were sunken, red rimmed from lack of sleep and overthinking. Last night was a fucking disaster. After you stormed out of the place, Eddie walked back to his dressing room, where Madeline was still perched on the couch, chatting with his manager now.

Swallowing down all of the word that were fighting to escape, instead he took a deep breath and asked Madeline to leave, threatening her with a restraining order if she ever contacted him again. It seemed to click for her, finally and she scurried out of the room.

''You sent her the tickets?'' he asked, looking straight at his soon to be former manager.

''Yes, Ed. She's pretty, could have done for some good publicity if you hadn't sent her away,'' he barely looked back at him, typing on his phone.

''You're fired.''

Looking up from his phone, he finally seemed to be alert. ''What?''

''I said, you're fired.'' Eddies fists were clenched, nostrils flared as he tried to keep his composure.

''You can't fire me, buddy, we still have a contract.''

''I'll pay you whatever I owe, with interest, just get fucking lost.''

His manager slipped his phone into his pocket and walked over to him. ''You're making a big mistake, Eddie.''

''I'd say it's the best decision I've ever made.''

''You're gonna regret this,'' his manager pointed a finger at him, stabbing it into his chest. From the corner of his eye, the other guys had joined Eddie's side.

''Doubtful,'' one of them said.

There was a tense stand off, before their manager relented and stormed out of the room, shouting something about lawyers.

Eddie sighed and fell onto the couch. He just fired his manager and they still have some shows to play, he needed to figure out what to do. But that could wait, he had more pressing matters, like how to get you back.

Eddie shook last night's memories from his mind and left the breakfast area, returning to his room. He pulled up the number for Julie, his soon to be new manager and gave her a call. Eddie was relieved when she was happy to hear from him, offering to meet up before the show and to discuss anything he needed, pro bono as she said, since she's not working for him technically, yet. Eddie had to hung up with her when there was a knock on his door. He rushed to open the door, already aware who it was.

There he stood, Wayne Munson himself, Eddie's hero. They embraced each other, Eddie breathing in his uncle's scent of cigarettes and straight black coffee. ''I'm so glad you're here.''

''Me too, kid.'' Wayne let him go and gave him a once over. ''Are you alright? You look like shit, to be blunt.''

Eddie smirked, sadly though. ''Not really.''

They sat down on Eddie's bed and he filled his uncle in on everything that had happened yesterday and prior to that too. He needed Wayne's guidance, who listened carefully and never interrupted until Eddie was finished.

''Wow,'' Wayne sighed. ''Have to say, this is an interesting way to meet someone.''

''Yeah, I... I really like this girl. I fucked up, big time,'' Eddie rubbed his hands together, only concentrating on the carpet beneath their feet.

''Don't be too hard on yourself, son. Both of you were hurt, by someone else's actions.''

''I could've stopped it though, before it even happened. I should have just kicked Madeline out as soon as I saw her. I don't- I don't know why I didn't to that.''

''People pleaser,'' Wayne smirked. ''Look, just give if a few days I say. You'll have time to process everything and think about what you really want. You have to evaluate your life, your career and find out where she fits in. I'm sure she's thinking the same thing. She has her own life and aspirations, if she wants to be with you, she'll have to make difficult choices, too.'' Wayne put a hand on Eddie's shoulder, squeezing it. Eddie looked at him and nodded along.

''So what should I do?''

''Well, if you want romantic advice from an old grump like me,'' Wayne chuckled, ''You should tell her how you feel and see what she thinks. If you let this go, you might regret it for the rest of your life. Take it from me...''

Eddie looked at his uncle, eyebrows raised in disbelief. ''You? I had no idea you-''

Wayne waved him off. ''It was ages ago, kid. Don't make the same mistake I did, is what I'm saying.''

Eddie nodded in response, taking everything in. ''Thank you. You're still coming tonight, right?'

''Wouldn't miss it for the world.''

• • • • • •

Things were looking up. After meeting with Julie, things were looking up. Eddie couldn't break his contract or obligations, but Julie did manage to postpone the rest of the shows so he and the band could have three weeks off to recharge. After the second show, Eddie spent the next day catching up with Wayne, showing him the city. He was sad when his uncle had to fly back, but grateful they had rekindled their relationship, Eddie promised to keep in touch and he had been keeping his promise.

Right now though, he was on his way to get coffee, and something else. He was as incognito as he could get, hoodie pulled over his head, glasses perched up his nose. He hadn't spoken to you for a week and it was like his lifeline was draining. He'd gone by the shop once before, a couple of days ago but instead of going in, he walked straight past when he noticed you were at the counter. Today though, he would walk straight in, whatever happened. And he did, walking up to the empty counter, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

''She's not here,'' a voice called from his right. Eddie turned to see the same girl he already met, Robin, standing with two empty coffee cups. She didn't look pleased to see him, unlike last time.

''I'm actually here to see you.''

''Oh? Why's that?'' she rounded the counter, putting the cups down and leaning on her hands, staring him right in the eyes.

Eddie felt like he was under a spotlight, fidgeting with his ringed fingers. ''I-I need your help. Please.''

''With what?''

''To get Y/N back.''

Robin scoffed. ''What about your girlfriend?''

''I don't have a girlfriend,'' Eddie defended. ''I'd like one, though.''

That made Robin's cold façade falter and she sighed. ''Fine.''

Eddie recoiled, looking around if he was being pranked. ''Really?''

''Yeah, dumbass.'' Robin rolled her eyes. ''She's sad and it's your fault, but-.''

''I know, I know,'' he rushed out, holding his arms out. ''I ruined everything and I'm trying to fix it. But I need your help.''

''Don't interrupt me,'' she scolded and Eddie mumbled a sorry, looking like a kicked puppy. ''Like I was saying, she's sad and it's your fault, but she misses you, I can tell. I'm only doing this for her, not for you. So what do you need?''

''I'm not sure, exactly. Something that would help me get on her good graces again. What are her favorite flowers, for example?''

''Tulips, white ones. How do you plan on delivering these to her anyway?''

''I was hoping you'll tell me where she lives?'' Eddie pleaded.

Robin bit her lip, thinking about it, then groaned into the empty café. ''If I'm going to reveal her address, you're going to have to go all out. I was planning on giving it to her for Christmas, but this will definitely get you on her good side. She has a record player at home, she's been looking for a vinyl of R.E.M.'s 'Out of Time' album, but she hasn't found it yet. I'm sure someone of your.. occupation can get hands on that in no time.'' She also took a piece of paper and wrote down your address and apartment number.

''Thank you!'' Eddie beamed brighter than the sun, turning to leave. ''Whatever you need - I owe you big time.''

''Free entrance for life, Eddie!'' Robin called from behind him.

.•♫•♬•

Tiredly dragging your feet up the stairs, you hauled two grocery bags behind you, plus a tote bag over your shoulder. After an entire day of walking around, your boots felt heavier than usual, your feet sore and back aching. Reaching the final step, you stopped in your tracks when you saw a figure standing in front of your door, sulking in the darkness of the hallway. You relaxed a bit when you saw the outline of long hair. He noticed you too, standing straight where he was leaning on the concrete wall.

''Hi,'' he said quietly. You took a few steps closer and dropped the bags next to your feet, searching for your keys. Pushing the key in, you unlocked your door and stepped in, flicking the light on.

''Hi,'' you turned to look at him, keeping the door open, your heart swooning at the white tulips he was holding, a long with what seems to be a vinyl record. ''Can you grab the bags?''

Eddie managed to get all the bags into your kitchen without dropping anything.

''Thank you,'' you whispered, leaning against the counter, your hands tied together. ''What's that?''

Eddie looked at the things he was holding and handed the flowers first. ''They're for you.''

You took the flowers from him and inhaled the bouquet. You grabbed a vase and filled it with water, popping the flowers into it.

''I also got you this,'' he held out the vinyl and you saw it was the album you had been wanting for a while. You expected Robin to give it to you for Christmas, actually.

''Eddie, I-. How did you know about this?'' You took the record from him, hugging it to your chest.

''Robin told me,'' he smiled bashfully, rubbing his neck.

''Of course she did. I don't know what to say. Thank you, so much.''

There was a brief awkward pause where Eddie didn't know what to do, neither did you. Should he leave? Should you offer him tea or coffee? You kept staring at the floor and Eddie looked at everywhere but you. When the thick silence was stretched long enough, it seemed to shake Eddie out of his trance, he reached his hand out but quickly lowered it again.

''I'm... I'm really sorry for what happened. You were right to get upset. I should have handled things better, but I fucked up. I never meant to hurt you and I'm so, so sorry. I like you, a lot, and I can't stand the fact this might be over before it even started. You're kind, funny and so beautiful it hurts. I know I've already asked you this once, but I'm asking again - please, give me one last chance.''

You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. His big, stunningly brown eyes, that held so many emotions, you could only pick up a few - fear, sorrow, maybe hope. Perfect nose with a thin gold hoop through the left nostril, plump lips with the sharpest cupid's bow and possibly the greatest head of hair you'd ever seen. His dark brown mane was framing his face, bangs shielding his eyebrows, the soft waves falling onto his shoulders. Black leather jacket with a red flannel underneath, another crisp white shirt peeking out underneath. Simple black jeans and combat boots, three heavy rings on his left hand, one simple ring on the other.

You'd called him pretty before, but he was so much more in real life. He was soft and inviting, but with an edge to him. You felt a pull towards him, you wanted nothing more than to put the record down and jump into his arms. It was hard to look away from his awaiting eyes, so you turned your back to him, placing the vinyl on your kitchen counter.

''Eddie, I forgive you. I understand it wasn't your fault, but I'm not sure if we would work. Romantically speaking...''

''What? Why would you think that?''

You turned to face him again, your throat constricting when you tried to speak. ''I-I just... You're you and I'm me. We live completely different lives. I'm not interested in a long distance relationship.''

''I get it, I've thought about that too,'' he took a step closer ''but we can make it work. I have two weeks off right now and when we finish the rest of the tour, I'm going to take a long break, months long. Shit, maybe even a couple of years. I want to make this work, if you'd let me. I want to take you out on dates, show you the world, see you on the side of the stage when I'm back on it some day.''

Eddie took his hand and gently placed it on your neck, his thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek when you closed your eyes to the touch. ''I'm scared.''

''You don't have to be scared, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to,'' Eddie whispered, you could feel his face leaning closer to you so you opened your eyes, hypnotized by the brown irises staring back at you. His eyes dipped down to your lips for a second, then came back again.

''I don't want you to go,'' you whispered, gripping the edge of the counter behind your back.

''Yeah? What do you want then?'' His nose brushed yours, lips so close you could already feel the warmth of his skin.

''You.''

Eddie's lips finally brushed yours and everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, in the middle of your kitchen, diving into the unknowns. The kiss was feather light, like he was afraid to have more, fearing you would pull away too soon. But you craved more, so you grabbed the back of his neck and drew him closer, earning a soft hum from him. Eddie's other hand found your waist, circling it with new found confidence and holding you close. His lips massaged yours, poking his tongue out to run it over the seam of your mouth. Granting him access, you let out a tiny moan when he happily licked into your mouth.

He whined when you pulled away too soon. ''About that date you mentioned...''

''Yeah?'' he asked, settling his forehead against yours, stealing one more quick kiss.

''I was planning on staying in tonight, just hanging out. W-would you like to stay? I could make dinner and later we could watch a movie, or something.''

''That sounds perfect.''

.•♫•♬•

Eddie helped you put all the groceries away. He'd shrugged off his leather jacket, hanging it by the front door. You'd agreed to have pasta for dinner and once the noodles were boiling on the stove, he watched you wrap a few early Christmas presents, ones that you pulled out of your tote bag. He realized that being with you like this was the easiest thing ever, you settled into small talk easily, Eddie making his way around your kitchen like it was natural. He imagined this could be his reality and he didn't mind that idea, not one bit. He'd strain the pasta once it was done and tell you about his uncle, you'd finish taping up the last present and tell him about a crazy customer you had at the café. It was simple, but perfect.

You handed him plates from a cabinet and he set the small table by your window for two. You set the lighting right and lit a scented candle in the middle of the table. The meal went by slow, you were doing more talking than eating that by the time you were both done, the last bites were ice cold.

''This was great, thank you,'' Eddie offered.

You simply smiled in return and took his hand, bringing him along to the living room area. Plopping down on the couch, you pulled Eddie next to you and settled in comfortably, laying a blanket over your figures. You put on Netflix and handed him the remote, pulling your knees up. Eddie subtly stretched his arm out over the back of the couch, scrolling through various movie options when he felt you lean into him.

''What do you want to watch?'' he smiled to himself.

''Hmmm...'' you thought about it. ''The Grinch?''

''It's November.''

''So? My holiday season starts November 1st!'' you defended, pouting your lips at him.

Eddie snickered and kissed your forehead. ''Okay, okay. The Grinch it is.''

The movie started and you relaxed into his side. While your eyes were glued to the TV screen, Eddie's were wandering around. He wasn't subtle with his gawking either, memorizing all of the features on your face. Your eyes, nose, slightly parted lips, your elongated neck that was begging to be kissed, your perfect chest moving up and down with your steady breathing. He definitely shouldn't be staring, he felt like a creep but he couldn't look away either. He was brought out of his bubble when you shifted a little bit, placing your hand on his thigh.

Eddie focused his eyes back on the movie, praying it will distract him enough not to grow hard just from your simple touch. However, he realized you might not be so innocent in your act as he first thought. Your hand crept upwards, sometimes squeezing. His breath hitched when your pinky grazed his crotch, causing him to involuntarily buck his hips. Taking the same hand that was around your frame, he turned your face towards him, his big hand enveloping nearly the entire side of your face. Without wasting a second, he kissed you, plunging his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your surprised moan. The kiss was sloppy, urgent, you tasted so good it made him dizzy.

''Tell me you want this as much as I do,'' he mumbled, your mouths still atttached.

''Please,'' you begged, discarding the blanket and flinging your leg over his waist, situating yourself on his warm lap. Eddie's hand came around your middle, helping you grind against his growing thickness. You threw your arms around his neck, kissing him passionately. Eddie slid his hands lower, grabbing two handfuls of your ass, leaving your mouth to focus on your neck. He bit your skin, smoothing the ache with his tongue right after. The thought of him marking you up, so you had to wear turtlenecks to work, drove him wild. He mapped out your neck, proud of the already blossoming pink patches, then dipped lower to lick a stripe from your throat down to the valley between your breasts. You gasped when he yanked down the neckline of your tank top and licked the top of your boob, switching to give the other one the same affection.

Eddie grunted in annoyance when your bra stopped him, looking up at you with questioning eyes. Once you nodded in approval, he pulled down the cups of your balconette bra, almost going cross eyed when your supple breast fell out.

''Fucking perfect, baby,'' he groaned and took one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the bud, sucking it harshly before letting it go with a 'pop'.

''Ed, please'' you yanked on his hair to get his attention.

''What do you need? Tell me, honey.''

''Need you, hurry up.''

Eddie smirked and helped you up, pushing your shirt up this time so he could kiss your stomach, dipping his tongue into your bellybutton. His fingers made quick work of your pants, popping the button and dragging the zipper down, ''Okay?''

''Yes,'' you pulled your top over your head and let it drop to the floor. Sneaking your fingers back into his hair, Eddie's eyes rolled to the back of his skull when you scratched your nails across his head. He helped you out of your pants, then ran his hands along your thighs, spreading your legs more. Wrapping his hands around your thighs, his rings were cool against your heated skin when he pulled you closer to him. He pushed his face into your covered mound and inhaled deeply, letting out a satisfied hum.

''Can I?'' he asked, hooking his fingers into your panties, not yet slipping them down until he had your permission. ''Need to see it, baby. Been dreaming of this pussy for so long.''

''Please,'' you pleaded once again, running your fingers along his jawline. He placed a quick kiss on your palm, then dragged down the last piece of fabric separating him from your pussy, the lace sticking to your core. You stepped out of them and Eddie lifted one of your legs, planting your foot on the armrest of the couch, giving him the perfect view of your wet cunt.

“Oh, it’s dripping, sweetheart. This all for me? Not sure I deserve it.” Eddie took his sweet time, kissing your pubic bone and tonguing between your legs, but avoiding your centre completely.

“Please, Eds, stop torturing me.”

“‘m sorry, babe. Just wanted to savor this. Let me make it up to you.”

He finally poked his tongue out, tasting you for the first time. Your hips bucked into his face when he took a tentative lick through your folds, the tip of his tongue flicking your swollen clit. From the first taste of your nectarine, Eddie was addicted. His enthusiasm only increasing, he lapped at your pussy, dipping his wet muscle into your tight hole, feeling it suck him in immediately. Going back for your clit, he closed his mouth around your bud and sucked harshly.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” your head thrown back, you grinded your hips against his face. You felt his hand sneak up your thigh, his fingers circling your opening before pushing his middle finger in all the way until you felt the cool metal against your flesh.

“So fucking good, you’re doing so good for me. This little cunt is sucking me right in, can barely fit. Think you can take two, baby?” Adding his ring finger, Eddie struggled to make it fit. He wondered how his cock would fit if his fingers had difficulty. Eventually, your walls relented and let him fuck up into you. The divine taste of you still present on his tongue, he worked you open with his digits and dove back in to flick your clit up and down in quick motions. He could tell you were getting close, your moans were getting more high pitched, your breathing erratic and your toes were curled. A couple minutes later, you moaned loudly and released all over his tongue which he eagerly lapped up, not letting a single drop go to waste.

He helped you sit back on his lap, your head resting against his shoulder, puffs of air hitting his neck whilst he was rubbing your back. “You good?”

“Good, great, amazing…” you breathlessly replied.

“Was it better than in your book?”

“I mean it was real, so yeah.”

He let you gather yourself for a moment, just holding you, although the erection he had was becoming unbearable. Eddie felt your lips skim his neck, leaving soft butterfly kisses in your wake. You bit down on his earlobe, running your tongue over it to soothe the small ache. Eddie let his head fall back, looking at you through hooded eyelids as you reached behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall on the couch.

“This is unfair. I’m completely naked but you’re still dressed,” you pouted and ran your hands along his chest, popping the buttons of his flannel.

“Better help me out then,” he smirked, kneading your ass as you continued to unbutton his shirt, kissing every new inch of skin you revealed. Soon, his shirt was on the floor and you were working on his belt. Once his pants were open, your hand dipped under his boxers to run a finger over his cock, tracing a vein on the underside. He lifted his hips so you could pull his pants and underwear down enough to free his throbbing cock from it’s cage. It bounced up, against his stomach, leaving a sticky mess in his happy trail. Eddie groaned when you wrapped your hand around him, pulling back his foreskin to reveal his slit, pre cum leaking from the tip, which you used as lube. You started to climb down, but Eddie stopped you.

“Not this time, princess. Tonight’s all about you. You got a condom? I didn’t really prepare for this.”

You got up from his lap and jogged to your kitchen, Eddie watching your ass juggle. You opened your medicine drawer and searched around until you retrieved the foil packet. Eddie took it from you, ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it on, all the while keeping eye contact with you as your eyes were focused on his lap.

“C’mere.” He held his hand out for you. You grabbed it and took your place back on his lap, his cock situated perfectly between your folds. He grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed the tip through your lips, gathering the wetness. He positioned the tip at your entrance and waited.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he breathed.

You grabbed his shoulders and sank down on him, inch by inch until there was no space left between you and you had taken all of him.

“Eddie, oh my God,” you moaned, fingernails pressing into his shoulders, leaving behind crescent moon shapes.

“So tight, Jesus Christ.”

Eddie was already seeing stars, he had to focus all of his remaining energy into not coming right this second. Your warm walls enveloped him, pulsing around his shaft. You rose up and slammed back down again, already accustomed to the stretch.

“You’re so perfect, fuck. Taking me so well,” he praised, hands grabbing your waist, helping you bounce on his dick.

You whimpered. “Keep talking.”

“Oh yeah? You love it when I talk like this, baby? That get you all riled up? Look at you, working my cock like that. Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it?”

You nodded and bounced harder, your rhythm faltering. Eddie slouched down lower on the couch, anchoring his feet to the ground and started fucking into you.

“Fuuuck, good girl. Letting me use you like this, like a fucking fleshlight. You’re just a little cock hungry whore, huh? Are you just a hole for me to use however I please? Your pussy is mine now, say it. Who’s pussy is this?”

“I-it’s yours, Eddie, only yours.”

“Damn right. It is mine, I’ll fuck it whenever I want. Stretch your cunt out so good, you’ll beg me to go easy on you. But you don’t want easy, do you? You want it rough. Fuck.”

“Don’t stop, please, please, please,” one of your hands slipped between your legs, toying with your clit.

Eddie grunted at the sight, wrapping both of his hands around your throat, squeezing your neck enough to make you lightheaded. “Yeah, play with that clit, rub it for me. Can still taste you on my tongue, you want to know what you taste like?”

He pulled you in, smashing his lips against yours, his tongue meeting yours in the middle. The kiss was messy, spit drooling from the side of your mouth. Your fingers sped up, your pussy clenching down on him harder and harder. Eddie felt his own stomach twist up as well.

“You close, baby? I need you to cum, fuck. I’m so fucking close.”

“I’m so- Fuck, oh my God Eddie, I’m coming, I’m coming!” You cried out, tears streaming down your face, the drops falling onto Eddie’s forearm. He was close behind, feeling his balls tighten up in a telltale sign. He groaned into your mouth and jerked his hips a few final times before releasing into the condom.

Both of you breathing like you’d just ran a marathon, Eddie let go of your neck, the red and purple skin left behind almost enough to get him hard again. You fell forward on his chest, resting your head against his shoulder, catching your breath. Eddie thrashed his legs around, shoving his boots and pants off. He stood up, taking you with him. You squealed and wrapped your legs around his waist, his cock slipping out of you.

“Bedroom?”

You pointed him in the right direction and he took careful steps, mindful of the clothes laying around. Once in your bedroom, he gently placed you on the bed, kissing your temple. When you didn’t let go, he chuckled.

“Be right back, promise.” He helped you under the covers and disappeared back into the hallway, looking for a bathroom. When he found it, he discarded the condom and washed his hands, eyeing the couple of lovebites you’d left on him. When he made it back to you, you were already asleep. Eddie crawled next to you, pulling you tightly against his front, settling his hand on your waist, lazily drawing random shapes on your tummy until sleep took him, too.

.•♫•♬•

It was raining again, the patter on the windowsill lulling you from your sleep. You were warm and cozy, limbs tangled with someone else’s. You’d almost forgotten about last night, thinking it was a fidget in your imagination. But Eddie proved to be real when he stirred behind you, his deep sigh hitting the back of your neck, one arm hugging you closer to his body. You hummed, reaching behind you to grasp his neck. Memories of last night came flooding back, reminding you of the delicious ache between your legs.

“Morning beautiful,” a low, raspy voice sounded from behind you, goosebumps spreading across your skin. Christ, you could get used to hearing his morning voice every day.

“I don’t remember the last time I slept this good,” you mumbled.

“You need to sleep with me every day, then,” he said, squeezing your hip.

You snorted. “You wish.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his lips moving against your flesh. “I do.”

You turned to him, his baby cow eyes already staring back at you. You were trying to see any deception in them, but all you saw was adoration and honesty.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you gulped, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“It means I want you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“How would that work? I can’t follow you around everywhere you go.”

“I know that and I don’t expect you to, even though it would be cool. What I do know, is this - I’m taking a long break and I want to be with you, every single day. After that too, I’m not going to dump you when I have to go on stage again if that’s what you’re worried about. We’ll figure everything out. So if you’d have me, I promise I will work my ass off every day to prove to you that you’re not making a mistake.”

“Eddie… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” he begged “Be mine. Would you be my girlfriend?”

You laid your hand on top of this, the one still holding your hip. Your heart was beating so fast, you thought it would explode any second. You had a moment to think about all the roads this relantionship could take you, expecting it to end horribly. But even with the potholes and wonky curves, you saw yourself ending up where you belonged - with him.

“Yes.”

His lips covered your before you even finished that word. You felt him smile into the kiss, he was putting everything he had into it. His tongue grazed the seam of your lips, asking for access which you happily granted. He moaned when your tongue met his, his nose ring brushing your nostril.

His fingers skiddled across your hip to the curve of your ass, squeezing your butt. He broke the kiss too soon for your liking and violently pushed you back on your side. Eddie kissed a line down your spine, then licked a fat stripe back up, ending at the base of your neck. Your whole body shivered in anticipation, core getting slick with excitement. Eddie continued his assault, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in deep.

His cock was pressed against your ass, a smudge of liquid dripping down. The hair on his abdomen tickling your lower back. You whimpered when he gripped one of your breasts, circling his thumb over your areola, then pinching your nipple until it was perked up.

''Eddieee...'' you whined, kicking your legs.

''Need somethin', darling?'' he traced the tip of his nose on the shell of your ear, his palm sliding from your breast all the way down, his thick fingers slipping through your dewy folds. Bringing his fingers back up, he circled your clit with his middle finger, barely adding any pressure, chuckling when you bucked your hips to get more friction.

''Need you so bad, please,'' you mewled, grinding your ass against his crotch, getting a hiss out of him.

''Condom?'' he asked, adjusting his hips, so his cock nestled directly between your legs, swaying his hips back and forth, the head of his cock parting your folds, bumping your clit with every stroke.

''My boyfriends don't need to wear one.''

''Fucking Christ,'' he let out a deep groan, lining himself up with your weeping hole and pushing inside, sliding to the brim in a single thrust. You choked on a moan, his cock was so deep, you could feel him in your throat. He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust, his mushroom tip bruising your cervix.

''Move,'' you cried, gripping his forearm that was resting against your belly, his fingers massaging your flesh.

He pulled back all the way and slammed back in, not bothering to be polite. You still weren't 100% adjusted to his size, but the burn mixed with the way his cock pierced your insides was euphoric. It was embarrassing how close you were already, but you blamed it on the early morning, you were always more sensitive in the early hours of the day.

''Feel so fucking good, baby. You like my bare cock fucking you like this? You gonna let me come inside too? Fill your sweet pussy up, have it leak out of your abused cunt all day, huh?''

You were too far gone to reply, the only sounds in the room your moans and Eddie's groans mixed with the wet slapping of skin against skin. Eddie was a talker though, never shutting up about how good you felt, how perfect you were for him.

''You were made for me, this pussy was carved for my dick. You're mine, only mine. Mine to fuck, mine to use, however I want. God, fuck. You're gonna make me come already. You gonna let me fill you up, baby? Shoot my fat load so deep in your pussy, you're gonna fucking taste it.''

''Y-yeah, please... Come inside me, please. Wanna feel it, Eds.''

''Fuck, I'm coming, baby. Come with me, come on.'' His thrusts were faster, sloppier, he was losing his rhythm. You were so close too, but needed the extra push so you gripped his wrist and pushed his hand lower. He caught on immediately, roughly circling your puffy clit with two fingers. It was enough to send you over the edge, both of you losing yourselves to the pleasure, Eddie spurting his cum inside of you, your mixed juices leaking down your thigh.

When you came down, Eddie pecked your cheek. He went to pull out, but you stopped him. ''Just stay, wanna be like this for a minute.''

''Whatever you want, princess. I'm all yours.''

.•♫•♬•

December 25th. One of your favorite days of the year. The ground was white, more snow falling behind the window, illuminated by the streetlamps outside. You were so full of amazing food, a little tipsy on raspberry punch. Christmas celebrations started yesterday, when you and Eddie flew out to Indiana to spend Christmas Eve with his uncle, Wayne. He was as sweet as he was in the stories Eddie had told you, if not more. There wasn't a moment where you weren't smiling, looking at the two of them bickering over Eddie's high school days.

You flew back this morning, where you spent the entire day preparing for Robin and Cherry to come over. Tomorrow you would go to your parents' house, which Eddie was super nervous about. The evening was spent with good food and drinks, smooth Christmas music coming from a portable speaker, great conversation. When the girls finally left, it was close to midnight. Eddie had asked you to dance, now the two of you were swaying to the music in front of your Christmas tree, decorated with ornaments, fake snow and at the very top, instead of a typical star, with a paperclip, was a polaroid selfie of you and Eddie, taken a week ago in front of the same tree.

''In case I haven't told you yet, you look so beautiful tonight.''

Your arms were linked around his neck, Eddie's arms wrapped around your waist. You followed his lead, heads close together, breathing in each other's air. You were wearing a rich purple dress with black stockings, with simple make up accentuated with a pair of earrings Eddie had gifted you this morning. And yes, they were drop earrings with sliced kiwis at the bottom. Where he had even found them, you had no idea, he refused to tell you. You had given him a pack of guitar picks, with his initials engraved on them.

''First of all, only tonight?'' you teased. ''Second, you've told me about fifty times today, but I'm not tired of hearing it yet.''

''Hmm.. Can I tell you something I haven't, yet? Something I've been wanting to say for a while now.''

Your heart skipped several beats, mouth going as dry as cotton balls. You had a feeling of what he wanted to say. You had been thinking the same thing recently, but you hadn't found the right moment to say it. Today, it had been nagging on your mind specially hard. True to his word, you and Eddie had spent nearly every day together, except for that one day where you had the flu and told him to stay away so he wouldn't get sick either. He survived one day until he came banging on your door, begging you to let him in so he could take care of you. He had basically moved in since that first night you spent together. You had made room in your dresser for his clothes, his toothbrush was next to your in the bathroom, the fridge was filled with his favorite drinks. It was fast, clearly, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

''O-okay,'' you gulped.

''I love you, Y/N.'' he breathed out, like a weight leaving his shoulders, but immediately rushed out, ''You don't have to say it back, I just felt like I was about to burst if I didn't tell you. You're so amazing and perfect and gorgeous, I'm so happy you're mine and I'm so in love with you I honestly might die if you don't feel the same, but like I said, no press-''

You cut his rambling off by grabbing his face in your hands and smashing your lips together, tears running down your face. Eddie secured his arms around you and pulled you so close, your feet were hanging in the air. You pulled away, your lipgloss having transferred to his mouth, his eyes sparkling. ''I love you too, Eddie.''

''Yeah?''

''Yeah, so much.''

You squealed and laughed when he lifted you up and spun you around, your hair flowing. He put you down, kissed the top of your head and held you so tight you were struggling to breathe, but you didn't dare tell him that. You felt safe and truly loved, securely caged in his arms, smiling into his dress shirt while you slow danced the night away.

.•♫•♬•

tags: @hellfirewhore @ceriseheaven @feralgoblinbabe @ethereal27cereal @mystars123 @munsonsuccubus @alizztor @tlclick73 @nojamsonmytoast @b-irock @harringtonshairychest @hellkaisersangel @mcueveryday @other-world-s @santheweird @nightless @hiscrimsonangel @ali-r3n @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @tayhar811 @sarawithasword @eddiesluvt @maddieluvseddie @hellfires-harlot @dollalicia @donnavivienne @ashlynnkennedy @dumbblonde1630 @sanzu-holic @dontslayfay @eddieswife16 @bebe07011 @ganjababie @sidthedollface2 @brittanyyydamnit @lezzy-bennet @bibliophilewednesday @qcueef @rogers-sweatbands @christalcake @episcogoth @beep-beep-sherlock @milkymil-k @sweet-villain @dragonfire @lokiofasgard616 @eddiethesexy @imperfect0angel @im-julessssss @starrywhitenight @siriuslysmoking @bibieddiesgf @smelikins @mymindsnothereanymore @alana4610 @bxbyvivi @daisydamed @a1ex-ba1ex

@xashleymariexo @bimbobaggins69 @crazy-forrobertsheehan @sweetsweetjellybean @sherrylyn628 @eddieswifeasf @maximizedrhythms @mostmetaleverrr @gaysludge @seventhlevelofhell @chloe-6123 @ick90 @strawberrysodaslut @blagname1092 @kittykaylat1987

[viking-raider]

A Christmas Miracle🎄

Summary: You and Henry are celebrating Christmas with family, while expecting your first child together.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Soft!Henry, Fluff, Kal, Papa Bear!Henry, Domestic Bliss, Christmas Decorating, Pregnancy Stuff, Cotton Candy Fluff, Loving Marriage, Christmas Fluff

Inspiration: This story ties into my Easter story, The Golden Egg.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

“Babe!” Henry gasped, as he came into the living room, nearly tossing the steaming cup of tea in his hand, upon discovering you.

You were standing on the two-step high stool, to sprinkle golden tinsel on the fragrant and robust branches of an eight foot Fraser Fir that stood proudly in the corner of the living room. You chuckled, shaking your head at your husband, but didn't look back at him, as you picked a bit of tinsel off one of the emerald branches, having adorned the needles with too much of the sparkling, thin strands.

“You shouldn't be up there, love!” He scolded you, setting the tea he had made you on the coffee table as he rounded it and the couch, to come towards you, resting his hands on your hips. “I told you, I would help you decorate the tree, once I was done with your tea.”

“I know you did, Hen.” You answered, sighing softly, finally looking down at him and seeing the wrinkle of worry between his brow. It hadn't smoothed since the Brit found out you were pregnant with his child on Easter, nearly nine months before. “But I'm also capable of doing it myself.” You reminded him, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving his neck a gentle squeeze.

“I'm pregnant, not invalid.”

Henry sighed softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to your round and pronounced belly. “I know you're capable, sweetheart.” He assured you, looking up at you with an affection in his blue eyes that always melted your heart. “I just don't want you to get hurt. Especially with you so close to the due date.” He said, helping you step down off the stool. “Just sit down and enjoy your tea. Then, we'll tag team the tree together.” He told you, putting an excited smile on his face.

“All right.” You conceded, settling down on the couch and took up your tea, cupping the mug between your hands and letting the heat seep into your palms, before finally taking a sip.

“Your parents will be here in a couple days.” Henry commented, squatting beside a box of Christmas decorations neither of you had opened up yet. “My parents made up their guest house in preparation for their arrival.” He told you, peeking into the box.

Halfway into your pregnancy, Henry had taken time off from acting and the two of you decided to leave your secluded London home for the coziness of Henry's home island of Jersey. Buying a nice, beach front property, three streets and a five-minute walk from his parents' place, with the intent on having your baby boy born in Saint Helier. You loved being on the little Channel Island, sitting on the back patio or taking walks on the beach, breathing in the soothing sea air, which helped your morning sickness a good deal.

The only downside was your family was far out of reach of you, having to fly into Jersey to visit and check-in on you. Your parents wanted to be on hand when you finally had their third grand-baby, so Henry footed the bill to bring them out and his parents were amazing enough to host them while they were here.

“That's great.” You smiled, flexing your sore and swollen feet, watching him pull out ornaments, garland and other little tree decorations. “I can't wait to see them again.” You commented, not having seen them since your fourth month, just before you and Henry left for Jersey. “I'm sure my mom will bring more knitted items.” You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder to the soft, butter-yellow blanket your mother had knitted a couple months ago.

“I would be shocked, if she didn't!” Henry laughed back, his broad shoulders shaking as he stood. “What garland do you want on the tree?” He asked, holding up a strand of colorful beads and another of red and white, twisted ribbons.

You hummed, pressing your lips together and studied your tree, eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing the colors on its branches. “I think the ribbon would work best with it.” You finally settled, nodding content with your choice.

“All right then.” He nodded back, putting the other garland aside. “Ah, nope!” He tisked, when you set your tea down and started the mini struggle of standing up. “You put the tinsel on the tree, it's my turn to put the garland on. You relax.”

“Fair enough.” You sighed softly, picking your tea back up and rested against the couch cushions, just in time for Kal to jump up beside you. “Well, hello there, sweet boy.” You cooed at him, reaching out to give him good scratches between the ears and around the neck. “Have you come to make sure I stay put?” You quipped, the Akita resting his head in your lap.

“I did no such thing!” Henry called over his shoulder, carefully tucking the garland into the branches.

“Sure, love. Sure.” You chuckled at him, though Henry's protectiveness at times could be a little overbearing, you knew he did it out of love and first-time father worries. “He's paying you in treats and promises of all the good turkey, ham and brisket bits he plans on cooking for Christmas dinner.” You accused, lifting a brow at the unphased Akita, before wincing and pressing a palm to the side of your belly.

“You all right?” Henry asked, catching a glimpse from his peripheral, pausing a moment.

“Yeah, your son just kicks like a Fly-Half.” You answered, chuckling halfheartedly. “If he keeps these strong legs, he'll for sure make the England team.” You said, trying to ease the look of suspicion on Henry's face, that it was the baby kicking, and your own, that the pain was something more than a false contraction.

“You missed a branch there, Bubs.” You commented, drawing Henry's attention away from the subjection, motioning with your steaming black, Nightmare Before Christmas cup.

“Mm.” He grunted, narrowing his eyes at you, but turned to fuss over it.

You took a deep breath, rubbing the globe of your stomach, hoping to soothe any would-be pains. Thankfully, you didn't have any more throughout the morning, helping Henry put up the ornaments and other little hanging knick knacks on the tree. Something Henry was comfortable with you doing, since you kept your feet on the hardwood, safely beside him.

“I want to do a little plaster imprint of his hand and foot, to hang up on the tree for next year.” You commented suddenly, gently holding a little needlepoint ornament you'd made. It was a silhouette of Henry and you, with Kal between you, the year above your heads. You had made one every year since the first Christmas the three of you had spent together. “Should make a new needlepoint too.” You added even softer.

Henry glanced down at you, a fond and nostalgic light in his blue orbs. “I think that would be a lovely idea, babe.” He smiled, warmed at the idea. “I like the idea of making and expanding our little traditions.”

“I should have given myself a baby bump in this one.” You joked, carefully adding the stitched ornament on a branch, accompanied with the others around it. “So much for accuracy.”

“It looks perfect, my love.” He assured you, kissing your hair. “Now, let's turn the lights on and see how this thing looks!” He proclaimed, shuffling around the tree and plugged in the two strings of lights skillfully wrapped around the tree.

You stood back to get a good look at the Fir, just as the tiny, cool and warm-white LED, diamond facet bulbs flickered on. Making many of the ornaments glitter and twinkle. It brought a great feeling of delight bubbling up inside of you, tugging on your exhausted and hormonal raged body, until tears spilled over.

“Sweetheart.” Henry cooed, pouting at you sweetly, as he closed his arms around your shoulders, hugging you as closely as your belly would allow.

“It looks beautiful.” You mumbled into his chest, fingers gripping at the sides of his shirt.

He smiled, nosing the hair at the top of your head and rubbing your back with one hand. “It is, dear, and so are you.”

“I'm also starving.” You blurted out, breaking the melancholy mood.

“Butter chicken or pepperoni and feta pizza?”

“Oh god, you know me too well at this point.” You giggled, licking your lips. “But, the butter chicken.”

You sat up in bed, Kal resting between your legs, with his head laying on your belly, as you read your latest book on your Kindle. While Henry was downstairs doing some work on the new Warhammer minis he ordered as a way to keep himself occupied, when he wasn't taking care of you.

“Oh.” You gasped, feeling a sudden, sharp pain. “Gosh, did we disagree on the butter chicken, Bean?” You groaned, pressing your palm to the side of your stomach; Kal lifting his to sniff at your belly as another pain caused you to cramp. “It's all right, Bud. Your brother is just being a little difficult.” You sighed, setting your e-reader on your nightstand and lumbered out of bed, before heading downstairs.

“Hey, love.” Henry smiled, looking up from the Ultramarine mini in his hand. “I thought you were going to bed.”

“I was trying to, but your son doesn't agree with dinner.” You explained to him, looking over his progress on his Warhammer army. “Can you do your trick?” You asked, lulling your head to the side and giving him a cute look.

Henry chuckled, setting his mini down. “My trick.” He smirked, standing up and moving behind you. “Any reason to cuddle.” He teased, reaching around to cup both hands beneath your stomach and leaned you both backwards, taking the weight of your belly as he did.

“Mmm.” You hummed, eyes falling shut, while you let your head rest against Henry's chest. “It feels so good.” You sighed, resting your hands on his.

Henry cradling your baby bump had become a god send throughout your third trimester. Taking the weight of your healthy and active baby boy off your lower back and hips. However in your earlier trimesters, the two of you learned it helped relieve your heartburn and whenever your little one got a bit too restless.

You liked to think it was the baby reacting to Henry's touch.

It was calm for a long, few moments, just you and Henry, slowly swaying side to side, the baby calm. But again, your stomach spasmed and you whimpered, making it clear to Henry, you were indeed having some sort of contractions.

“How long has this been going on?” He asked, eyes wide and brows pinched.

“Since this morning.” You confessed finally, taking slow, deep breaths.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He demanded, startled and worried.

“I didn't have any through the afternoon.” You assured him, patting his hands. “I figured it was just false. But, I'm starting to think otherwise, with how much that one hurts.”

“We should probably go to the hospital.” Henry fret, starting away from you, but you turned and caught his elbow.

“Henry.” You said in a soft, soothing voice. “You remember what the OB said?” You tried reminding him. “Four-One-One.”

“Four minutes apart, a minute long, lasting an hour.” He recited, having listened to your OB, and read numerous baby and expecting parent books.

You had taken a couple of parenting classes as well. Until people started posting photos of you on social media, annoying you and causing Henry to be even more of a papa bear. So, you'd found an online, private class to do in the comfort of your living room.

“Not one has lasted a minute, been four minutes apart or lasted an hour.” You assured him, dropping your hand to his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If they're the real deal, I'm in the early stages and going to the hospital now will only incur hours and hours of waiting. Which we'll be doing here anyway.”

“What if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen, you worry-wart.” You chuckled at him, shaking your head. “Come to bed with us.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes, kissing his bearded cheek and brushing your fingers through the curls above his ear.

“You'll tell me.” Henry insisted as he followed you upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Of course, I'll tell you, Henry.” You assured him. “Then, I'll tell Kal.” You quipped, trying to lighten the mood and get him to smile.

But he didn't smile, his mind preoccupied with making sure everything was ready, should you wake him up and tell him your contractions were growing close together.

Did I get the car seat in the Audi correctly? Where did I put the hospital bag? In this closet or the coat closet downstairs? Everything's in it she and the baby needs, right?

“Babe.”

Perhaps I should just go down and get it, to make sure. What about the nursery? Thank God, I finished the crib last month!

“Hen..”

Do we need more diapers? Are they the right size? What if--

“Henry!” You called out, when he didn't answer you, a far off and growing alarm look in his cerulean eyes, startling him out of his worried trance. “Everything is all right.” You said slowly, holding his gaze steadily. “We have everything we need. Everything the baby needs. If we don't, that's perfectly fine. Your parents and mine have offered their help, should it arise. As have your brothers.”

“I don't know how you're so calm.” He sighed, shaking his head and dropping down on his side of the bed.

You laughed, smirking. “I'm not calm. But there's no use for us both freaking out, especially at the same time. Besides, when I freak out, I have you to pull me back together, the least I can do is return the favor, when you start to lose it.” You told him, maneuvering yourself back under the covers.

“What's a spouse for?”

“You're right.” Henry nodded, turning the light out and resting against the headboard beside you. “One of the many reasons I love you, and married you.” He said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

Snuggling down, your back pressed against Henry's chest with his hand ever present on your belly, you tried to focus on falling asleep.

“You know.” Henry commented, half-asleep himself. “I sort of miss when you were in your first and second trimesters.”

“Oh?” You mumbled back, with interest.

“Yeah, you were always jumping my bones.” He laughed, shaking the bed with his mirth. “Well, until the end of your second trimester, when your belly got too big to do anything other than waddle and ride my cock.”

You were instantly awake again at his words. A huge smile of hot guilt and embarrassment on your face, that you hid in your pillow. It was true! The first stages of your pregnancy had made you quite frisky towards Henry. Sometimes so much so, he hadn't recovered from the last time you'd had sex and would need to pleasure you in other ways to bring your arousal down. Not that the man complained about it! But a couple weeks into your third trimester, the raging inferno of your passions cooled off. Even beyond what they were before you were expecting. You were just too tired and sore, uncomfortable, and just ready to give birth, to think of such things. But again, Henry didn't complain. You were grateful for that, because you felt bad that your mood didn't match his, at the moment.

Having seen the look of concupiscent on his face more than once, as the two of you showered together, went to bed or woke in the mornings. But you just didn't have it in you, and he took it with grace and understanding acceptance, not pressuring you or making you feel like a bad partner, for not reciprocating.

The two of you calmed down and allowed each other to finally fall asleep.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked, the next morning as the two of you finished breakfast.

“I feel all right, Bubs. Only a few pains here and there.” You answered, polishing off your usual cup of chamomile tea, something that had been a staple throughout your pregnancy, to battle your morning sickness and heartburn. “Excited to make cookies with your mum.”

Henry smiled across the table at you. “Good. I bet all these sugary smells are going to drive you and wee man nutty.”

It was a Cavill family tradition to get together, before Christmas, and make cookies for the big family dinner party, as well as to give out as tokens to friends and neighbors. It was also considered quite the honor among the Cavill brothers' wives to have Marianne ask to join her in the massive production. Since she didn't ask just anyone to help her; having a couple secret family recipes to protect in the process. But Marianne had asked, surprisingly and much to Henry's pride, you to help her, at your and Henry's first Christmas. Something that made one or two of Henry's sisters-in-law jealous, especially since the two of you were new and still dating, and one of them had never been asked.

Even to this day.

“Our mouths are already watering for your mother's chocolate chip, mocha cookies.” You confessed; it was one of the many things you looked forward to for Christmas. Marianne's chocolate chip, mocha flavored cookies were something you'd start a fight over, as were her chocolate covered, Oreo truffles with peppermint bark crumble on top. “Oh god.” You moaned, stuffing the last bit of bland, buttered toast into your mouth; Henry laughing at you.

“I'm going to roast up another heritage turkey this year.” He commented, finishing his coffee, then helped clear the breakfast table. “Everyone seemed to love it last year.”

“That's fine with me.” You answered, loading the soap dispenser and starting the dishwasher. “I have one small request.”

“You could make an enormous request, love!” Henry snorted, taking a protein shake out of the fridge.

“I want yams with roasted marshmallows on top.” You told him, confidently. “To myself.”

“To yourself?” He echoed, a smirk on his lips. “How big is the dish?”

“A small one is fine. I just don't want to share it.” You confessed your craving to him.

Letting out a laugh and nodding, Henry shrugged. “All right then. I'll make sure you have your roasted marshmallow covered yams, and I'll have Kal guard them.”

“Excellent.” You nodded back, then looked at your watch. “We should get going. Your mother asked us to get there before ten.” You informed him, heading for the front door and eased yourself down on a small bench that was there.

Henry joined you, squatting down to grab your shoes from underneath the bench and slipped them on your feet, tying them securely, since your prominently belly prevented you from reaching your feet to put on your shoes. Let alone tie them. Your shoes on and helping you back up, Henry got his own shoes on, but paused as he opened the door for you and Kal. He glanced back at the hall closet. Biting his lip, he hurried over and grabbed the baby bag from inside, then dashed after you, putting the bag in the back as he got behind the wheel.

“Just in case.” He answered your lifted brow.

“Fair, I suppose.” You shrugged, unable to argue with his logic.

“How are you holding up, my love?” Henry asked, peeking into the kitchen, before shuffling over to you, sure his mother wouldn't shoo him out.

“My cookie restraint thinned dramatically after the second batch.” You confessed, looking around at all the Santa's, snowmen, candy canes and snowflakes that were either waiting to go into the oven or cooling. “However, your mum apparently anticipated this. Making me batch yesterday, so I could nibble on them, while we made these.”

Henry grinned, touched at his mother's thoughtfulness. “That was sweet of her.” He cooed, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek. “Have you had any more pains?” He asked, his brows pinching slightly, worried.

“Nothing concerning.” You told him, closing your hand around his wrist. “You know I'd come get you.” You tried assuring him, giving him a soft smile. “Or your mum would, should my water break.” You giggled, a smile turning into a smirk.

“That's not funny, babe.” Henry snapped softly, eyes big.

You pressed your lips together, guilty, before pushing up on your bare toes, having taken off your shoes for the long standing in the kitchen, to press your lips against Henry's. “I'm sorry, Puppy.” You mumbled against them, before reaching around him, grabbing a finished Snowman, presenting it to his mouth in place of your own. “I baked and decorated this one myself.” You grinned at him, a glitter of pride in your eyes.

“Oh, did you?” He cooed, opening his mouth to admit the round biscuit of white icing, adorned with two black chocolate pearls for eyes and smaller black sugar pearls for a mouth. It had a carrot nose, made of orange icing and the upper crown of the biscuit was covered in purple, blue and white hundreds and thousands, then outlined with silvery snowflake-shaped sprinkles.

Taking the biscuit from you, Henry nibbled on it, already knowing it would be delicious, since you had made it with his family's age-old recipe. “You know.” He mumbled around his mouthful. “I can't wait to share these with our little guy.” He said, smirking down at the bake, before glancing around the kitchen.

“Well, technically, I've already done that.” You giggle, running your hand over the globe of your belly.

Henry snorted loudly, his smirk growing. “You have me there, my love.” He replied, finishing his treat off, reaching out to lay his hand on your stomach as he saw the moments of your son shift, pressing either an elbow or knee out. “Still trips me out to see him move inside of you.” He commented, feeling something around nudge against his palm.

“You should feel it from this end.” You huffed, making a face at the kicks as he tumbled about, prodding a heel into your ribs and a shoulder into your slowly screaming bladder. “Poor bud is running out of space in there.” You cooed, moving your hand to cup the underside of your stomach.

“That he is.” He agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to your belly. “But, soon he'll be out here with us.”

“Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill.”

A cold chill washed down Henry's back, making the little hairs on his neck stand up as he straightened. “Mum.” He squeaked, looking at her over your shoulder.

“You know the rules of setting foot in my kitchen, while we bake.” Marianne scolded her second youngest.

“I do.” He nodded, biting his lip as he half smirked at her. “I was just checking up on her and our little one.” He explained, motioning to you.

Marianne's gaze shifted, her soft and kind blue eyes looking you over. She had noticed the few contractions you'd experience while helping her bake, and had sharpened her eye on you even more. Everyone in the family had a side eye on you it seemed, with your due date so nearby, like they were concerned you would pop like a water balloon.

“I'm fine.” You sighed softly, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Then, you can pop out of our kitchen.” Marianne said, cocking a brow at her son.

You chuckled, loving the nonchalance she had. “We'll see you later, my dear.” You cooed at him, kissing the corner of his mouth, tasting the sugar on his lips and inciting a need for another cookie from your stash. “Off you go.” You giggled, patting him on the chest and set your eyes on your task.

Henry looked at his mother with a pointed look, gesturing towards you, to which Marianne answered with a roll of her eyes and picked up a sheet of cookies needing to go into the oven.

“My back is to you, Henry, not my senses.” You shot over your shoulder, cutting out more cookies from the dough.

“Christ alive, our son has his work cut out for him.” He chuckled, winking at you as he turned to leave and rejoin his brothers and dad in the living room.

You looked over at Marianne and laughed, your mother-in-law joining in, the two of you amused he didn't realize you'd seen her roll her eyes.

“That boy.” Marianne chuckled, shaking her head as she moved to stand beside you, helping portion out the raw dough.

“He's freaked out.” You commented, gently laying a Santa on the sheet.

“Understandably.” She answered, wielding the snowflake cutter with skill. “The first baby is always the most stressful, and Henry's wanted to be a father for a very long time.”

“I know he has.” You nodded, feeling your stomach lightly bump the edge of the counter. “I'm happy and excited for our little one.” You told her, wadding up the scrap dough, then picked up a rolling pin. “I'm definitely ready not to be pregnant anymore.” You snorted, smiling faintly.

“And your worries?” Marianne asked, tilting her head at you, without pausing her work.

You drew in a slow, deep breath. “I'm worried about the labor. I'm terrified about whether or not I'll make a good parent.” You confessed to her, letting your breath out. “I know Henry will, he's incredible with kids. I love watching him with his younger fans, with his nieces and nephews.” You gush, grinning at the flashes of memories. “Seeing him hold Ellie, when we first met her--” You shook your head, a bubble of emotions overwhelming you for a moment, til you cleared your throat.

“You'll be a great mother.” Marianne reassured you, running her hand up and down your back. “You have nothing to worry about there. You'll have me and your mum to help you, as well as Heather and all the other girls.”

“I know.” You nodded, resting your shoulder against hers. “And I appreciate it, with all my heart.”

“Why don't you go upstairs, to Henry's old room, and rest for a bit?” She suggested to you. “I can finish the cookies with Heather.”

“Are you sure?” You frowned, glancing around the organized chaos of the kitchen.

“Yes.” She nodded, resting her hands on your shoulders and turning you away from the counter. “You and my grandson need all the rest you can get.” She directed you towards the entry of the kitchen. “Soon, you won't have it.”

Henry saw his mum guiding you and instantly jumped up from the couch, where he sat beside his brother Simon. “Are you all right, honey?” He cooed, his handsome face pinching.

“She's fine, Henry.” Marianne replied, looking up at him. “She just needs to rest a bit. Take her upstairs.”

“All right.” He nodded, taking your arm and showed you upstairs to the bedroom that was his as a kid. “Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe.” He asked, helping you lay back on the made, full-size bed.

“I'm all right, Puppy.” You sighed, rubbing your face.

“What's wrong, honey?” He asked, pulling up a chair from the desk in his room and sat down in front of you.

“Nothing's wrong.” You replied, sighing, flexing your plump toes as Henry grasped your foot in his hands. “I'm just tired and sore.” You told him, closing your eyes as you let out a soft moan, feeling Henry's thumbs work your arch.

“I got the Dad Talk from my dad and brothers.” He chuckled, gently touching the tip of your toes, each painted a cute red color, that he had done himself about a week before.

He had started giving you little at home, medi-pedis to treat you to something nice. Though, it had taken him a couple tries to get painting your nails down. Admitting it wasn't as simple as painting his Warhammer Minis, like he'd thought.

You giggled back, smirking. “Did they?” You hummed, letting your eyes fall shut. “Any good advice?”

“Um, Simon said that I should explain my job to him as soon as we think he can understand it.” Henry recalled, biting his lip with an amused smirk pulling across his mouth. “So, we don't have another Thomas Incident on our hands.”

“My dad's Sherlock Holmes!” You replied, laughing aloud. “Or god-knows who else!”

“Exactly.” He nodded, amused by it too. “My dad suggested, should we have any more kids, to have girls, that way it doesn't continue on the Cavill boy madness, like dead arms and throwing each other off the couch.”

“I would like, at least, one girl, anyway.” You told him, laying your hand on your stomach, feeling your son shift and kick again, wincing as he did.

“Same.” He smirked, as excited as he was for a son, he had wanted a girl too. “Maybe the next one.”

“Mmm.” You hummed back, falling silent and drifting slightly.

Taking the hint, Henry rested your legs in his lap and leaned back, closing his own eyes to rest. Both of you were exhausted from the months of preparation for the baby, all the worrying about if you would be good parents and protecting your son against the world of social media and paparazzi. But the pair of you had only laid there for twenty or so minutes, before you jerked at a sharp pain, inadvertently kicking Henry in the stomach as you did.

Henry gasped and groaned at the blow, doubling over. “Babe?” He rasped, frowning across at you, finding you half sitting up, hand cupping the underside of your stomach with a look of shocked horror on your face. “What's wron—oh shit!” He snapped, seeing the wet patch seeping through your leggings and onto the duvet on the bed.

“Was that--”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, gulping thickly.

“It's okay, all right.” He nodded, running both hands through his curls. “Up we go.” He said, holding his shaking hands out to you, pulling you up and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Broke your water on my childhood bed.” He commented offhandedly, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“It is where we had our first kiss.” You added, lifting a brow at him. “Why not this too!”

“Mum!” Henry called out as you reached the bottom of the stairs. “We have to go.” He said as Marianne rounded the corner from the living room. “Someone's water broke.”

“Oh gosh!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Go hurry!” She shooed the two of you towards the door, before spinning on her feet. “Code blue everybody!” She shouted at the family gathered in the living room, snapping them into gear, sending brothers and in-laws scrambling everywhere.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked as he helped you buckle your seatbelt.

“Like I just peed myself.” You snorted, clutching your belly. “Henry.” You cooed at him, watching him make jerky movements but not move from your side. “Hen!” You called, reaching out to grab his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

“Huh?” He whimpered, blinking a few times.

“My shoes are still in the house.” You informed him, offering your sweet partner a smile.

“Oh right!” He nodded, kissing your hand and backing away to close your door, then raced back inside, running into a gaggle of his family fighting to put on shoes and coats. “Excuse me, pardon me!” He barked, diving into the huddle, scrabbling for your shoes.

“Henry!” Nik shouted after him.

“I forgot her shoes!” Henry yelled over his shoulder, pelting back to the car. “Got them!” He smiled, sliding home into the driver's seat and dropping them onto the center console. “I'll put them on you, when we get to the hospital.” He told you, starting the car and pulling away from the curb, while ordering Alexa to map the route to Jersey General Hospital, the very hospital where he and his brothers had been born.

“Speed limit, Cavill!” You reminded him, frowning.

“Baby!”

“He's not going to pop out right now!!”

“He could!

“Between the two of us, Hank, I'm damn sure he's not!” You snapped back, through a contraction. “Deep b-breaths! ” You wheezed, through the pain.

“Relax your shoulders, don't clench your jaw, take a deep breath in....and let it out!” Henry reciting your Douala and doing the technique with you. “Amazing, baby doll. I'm so proud of you.”

“Jesus Christ on a motorbike.” You sighed as the pain faded. “We're waiting at least three years before we have our daughter.” You panted over at him.

“Yes, ma'am.” Henry laughed, holding his hand out to you. “Whatever you want.”

“I know what we should name him.” You said, softly.

“Oh?” He replied, pulling into the hospital parking lot. “What?”

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “I want to name him, Charlie.” You told him, biting the corner of your lip, you'd put a lot of consideration into it over your pregnancy. “We wouldn't have met, if your brother didn't nag you to come talk to me at that club.”

Biting his lip, a heart shaped lump thumping in his throat. “You're right.” He whispered; voice raw.

Charlie had prodded him for an hour, while supplying him with shots of liquid courage, to finally cross the club you both were in. You were with your friends, blowing off steam after a long work week, and Henry, Charlie and two other friends of Henry's were just hanging out, since he was in town and not working on any projects.

He never forgot the look on your friends' faces as he approached your table, recognizing him, melting into the dark leather of your corner booth and mumbling to each other with hungry, googly eyes. But you, while surprised a celeb was approaching you, hadn't fawned over him, like they did. You'd kept your cool, with jittery insides. Henry politely acknowledged everyone at the table, but his blue eyes were set on you. He asked, trying to have a persona of cool and calm, if he could get you a drink, noting on the way over, yours was empty, and with relief, you'd said yes. So, you dislodged yourself from your friends and followed him to the bar. Striking up a conversation with him, that moved to an empty table, after getting your drinks and lasted until the announcement the club was closing, at two am.

Neither of you had wanted to move apart, but it was late and you both knew it. So, you exchanged numbers and texted while you got yourselves home, then fell asleep. Making the promise to have a proper dinner the next day.

All of which snowballed to this moment. Sitting in the car at the hospital, married and staring at each other between contractions, discussing the name you wanted for your first born, for your son.

“It's perfect.” He nodded, reaching out to cup your cheek. “I could ask for nothing more for Christmas, than you and our son, for Charlie.” He choked up, leaning across to kiss you deeply.

@winter2112rose / @littlefreya / @kemillyfreitas / @thereisa8ella / @courtlynwriter / @starfirewildheart / @beck07990 / @goldenirishpotato / @pipsqueakkitten

[runningfrom2am]

‘tis the damn season

summary: long distance wasn't going to work, rafe made that very clear. so when you come home from LA for christmas break, what happens when you see your ex again?

pairing: rafe x fem!reader

wc: 1.7k

tags/warnings: allusions to hooking up but not anything actually nsfw, soft(ish)!rafe, but somehow also canon(ish)!rafe (hard to explain but you'll see lol.

a/n: i got this request an ETERNITY ago from @flonkertn for my 500 celly sorry girl but here it is now lol

masterlists // nav

requests

join my taglist here

You kick off the snow from your shoes as you walk into the familiar coffee shop, pulling your hood off and taking in the scent of ground coffee beans and fresh vanilla. It's only been four months since you've been here, but you missed it.

You walk up to the counter and order your old usual, chatting with the barista, a girl you had graduated with just earlier this year. You smiled and nodded as she explained she was taking a gap year, saving up to hopefully get into UNC. You step away after paying and stand at the other end of the counter to wait for your drink.

It's busy, but not too busy, and you get your drink in just five minutes and wave goodbye as you turn to leave. Of course you were imagining you would see people you knew, but you didn't think you would see Rafe so soon. You were hoping you wouldn't see your ex at all, actually.

You lock eyes for about a second and you give him a small smile, brushing past him and his group of friends who were laughing as you get to the door and step back out into the light sprinkling of snow that just started again.

If I wanted to know who you were hanging with While I was gone I would have asked you.

Rafe didn't expect to see you so soon, either. You didn't end things on bad terms, far from it. It was the hardest goodbye you'd ever had to face, but long distance was out of the question for both of you since you were going to school on the West Coast. You actually couldn't be further away within the continental United States, and it was just a stress neither of you were ready to take on.

It's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass But I felt it when I passed you.

You felt cold before the winter breeze even hit you, before the bell above the door even rang to signal that someone was leaving. You pull your hood back up with your free hand and trek toward your car in the shallow snow.

"Hey! Y/N! Wait!" You hear Rafe call to you and you're quick to turn, stopping in your tracks in the middle of the small parking lot.

"Rafe, hi." You smile shyly, wanting to avoid his eyes. If you look into his eyes for too long you're certain you won't be able to walk away, knowing damn well your suitcase is still packed at home ready for you to leave in only a couple of short weeks.

"Hey, uh, how have you been?" He jogs up to you, smiling with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He feels guilty about not being able to commit to the long distance between you most of the year.

There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me But if it's all the same to you It's the same to me

"I'm good." You nod softly, taking a sip of your coffee. "You?"

"Good." Rafe replies simply. Things have never been this awkward between the two of you before, ever. There's so much to say but simultaneously, so little. "How's LA treating you?"

"It's great. I love it there." You smile, and this brings him a level of comfort. At least he didn't give you up just for you to be miserable over the sacrifice you both made.

"That's awesome. I'm glad." Rafe nods, taking in your appearance and still trying to process that it's actually you standing in front of him. You look just the same as you did last Christmas, but somehow so much more grown up.

"I, uh, it's great to see you, but I've got to get going..." You say after a moment of awkward silence as Rafe is pulled from his trance, admiring the blush from the cold that's spread over your nose and cheeks.

"Wait, wait-" He grabs your arm as you go to turn away. "Uh, want to hang out, like catch up sometime this week?"

You smile softly and nod, despite knowing damn well you'll regret it when you have to say goodbye again. "For sure, I'll text you." You agree, making him smile.

"Sweet, cool... I'll talk to you soon, then."

So we could call it even You could call me babe for the weekend 'Tis the damn season, write this down

You didn't end up needing to text Rafe, because he would text you that night. He was anxious to see you, of course. Something you realized over the last three years together, being admired by classmates for having the "perfect" relationship, is that Rafe doesn't think five minutes into the future. He's impulsive and doesn't think about consequences, which you used to think was cute but with adulthood barreling at you before you could blink or stop it, that would be a factor that ended your relationship. You had dreams, and he didn't, and the idea of living for the future instead of the moment didn't sit well with him. He couldn't suffer through months without you at his side, he would just miss you too much and it would be too hard. Now, that you're home, he couldn't miss the opportunity to see you again.

The following afternoon, you're borrowing your parent's car to meet Rafe at the local ice rink. This was a tradition you had following one of your first dates being there a few holidays before. You were just kids, in hindsight, and you smile at the memory as you walk inside, holding your keys and phone in gloved hands.

I'm stayin' at my parents' house And the road not taken looks real good now And it always leads to you in my hometown

The next day, you see him again. Not by choice this time, but after sharing awkward smiles across your parent's Christmas party for a couple of hours, you find yourself sitting next to your ex on the porch swing just outside your front door. You slowly rock the bench with one foot, curled up in a blanket with a cup of tea in your hands.

"I'm sorry you got dragged here." You say quietly, after sitting in silence for several minutes. You wished you could say that your 'not-date' yesterday went horribly, but it didn't. You enjoyed almost every second of it, it brought back so many memories that you now wish you could forget.

"Why? I wanted to see you." Rafe replies, looking over at you in the dim lighting that's seeping through the window behind you.

"You shouldn't." You say, taking a sip of your tea that is quickly cooling with the night air.

Rafe just shrugs in response. His parents weren't going to make him come this year, all things considered, and at first, he didn't want to. Once they left, however, he found himself digging through his closet for a dress shirt and throwing it on before flying out the door with the keys to his new truck and a bottle of wine from the cellar to give to your parents.

The holidays linger like bad perfume You can run, but only so far I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave

Somehow, on a couple weeks' vacation, you run into Rafe for a third time in the first five days of your trip. This isn't surprising, considering you were at a party with your friends and a bunch of kids you graduated with. What they failed to consider is that they invited some other mutual friends- Kelce and Topper. Where they go, Rafe goes; but your friends didn't connect those dots ahead of time. Which is how you ended up drunk, with your ex's tongue in your mouth and your back pressed up against the bathroom door.

You didn't talk the whole night leading up to this and hadn't even bothered to turn on the light in the small room. Part of you didn't want to- you knew you would have left if you had to think about the weight of this decision for even a moment.

As he runs his hand down over your waist and under your skirt, you're willing to admit to yourself that you've missed him. So, so much. That it's been nearly impossible to keep him out of your head, even all the way across the country he's had this hold on you that you just haven't been able to shake.

"Come home with me." Rafe mumbles against the soft skin of your lips, savouring the bitter taste of your lip gloss as it lingers on his tongue.

You breathe out a soft 'okay', gripping onto the sides of his shirt and holding him tight against you as if he would vanish if you let him go.

Within a few minutes, you're stumbling out of the bathroom hand in hand heading for the door, feeling lucky that Tannyhill is within walking distance. A voice in the back of your mind is telling you you shouldn't tell your friends that you're leaving with your ex and need a ride back to his house- they likely wouldn't approve.

"There they go." Your best friend sighs, still nursing her third drink.

"You called it." Your other friend giggles, watching you fumble with the bag you have thrown over your shoulder as Rafe holds the door for you. "Should we stop them?"

"Probably." She replies, downing the rest of her drink, but shrugging and making no effort to go and stop you herself.

Across the room, Topper groans and reaches for his wallet, pulling out a hundred and handing it to a cheering Kelce. "I told you, bro! I told you he'd get her home tonight." He laughs, both of your friend groups watching as the door slams behind the two of you and you head in the direction of Rafe's house, the alcohol in both of your systems keeping you warm.

Sleep in half the day just for old times' sake I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay

So I'll go back to L.A. and the so-called friends Who'll write books about me, if I ever make it And wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles I'm fakin'

And the heart I know I'm breakin' is my own To leave the warmest bed I've ever known

taglist: @bookishbabyyy, @madelynie, @whore-4-drewstarkey, @slut4drudy, @winterrrnight, @totalswag, @sadfury, @fullfledgedemo, @rafemotherfuckingcameron, @urfaveluvr, @chenslucy, @hxnnah-397, @s-we-e-t-t-ea, @tahliac11, @saccharinesammie, @ietss, @maybankslover, @redhead1180, @suzyheartsrafe, @wpdailyminimeta, @rafegirly, @thelomlisrafecameron, @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles, @flonkertn

[nasturtiumloom]

Hi!!! new riddler writer omg!!

could you do AK!riddler w a f!assistant!reader who dresses nice? like he’s covered in grime and grease 24/7 but his assistant walks in all dressed up, long ahh nails, smelling great yknow? def not what you would wear when you’re making robots.

thank you!!

hello hello hello!!! ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡

i decided to do mini headcanons for this, i hope that’s okay!! requests are still open for a fic of this. ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა (but i’m still new so it might take a little while just like this one did, sorry! </3)i did go a little bit overboard with this one though..

MDNI

AK!riddler x fem assistant reader ⊹ ˚｡⋆🍋‍🟩° ᡣ𐭩₊ ⊹

After a small argument, Edward Nigma decided to make you his assistant while he worked on his robots and traps for Batman. He found it utterly ludicrous that you refused to get your hands dirty, insisting that you didn't want to ruin your nails or your suit.

"You expect me to believe you can't handle a little grease?" he scoffed, narrowing his eyes as he wiped oil from his hands onto an already stained rag.

You crossed your arms, maintaining your composure. "Edward, you know perfectly well that I have no intention of ruining my manicure or this designer suit. Besides, my skills are far more useful in other areas."

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. "Fine. If you're so keen on staying pristine, you can assist me in other ways. Fetch the blueprints, organize the tools, and keep track of the parts I need. Happy now?"

A small, satisfied smile played on your lips. "Much better.”

as the heavy metal door to Edward’s lair creaked open. The rhythmic clacking of heels echoed through the dimly lit room, a sharp contrast to the usual silence. Edward glanced up from his workstation, a sneer already forming on his lips as he wiped a smudge of grease from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Good morning, Edward,” you said, walking over to him, placing a stack of papers on the cluttered desk. “I’ve compiled the latest data on Batman’s movements, as you requested.”

Edward’s eyes followed you, the sneer on his face barely concealing the intrigue in his eyes. “Oh good, only five minutes late this time.” he replied, annoyment lacing his words. “I’m sure your fancy clothes and perfect nails didn’t get in the way of your work, did they?”

You gave him a small smile, knowing the effect you had on him. It was a game you both played, the tension between you palpable yet unspoken. “Thank you, Edward. I take pride in my work.” earning another eye roll from him.

Despite being the complete opposite in appearance, this stark contrast is precisely what attracts Edward to you, not that he’d ever say that to you. Your neat, put-together self complements the dark, greasy, and oil-scented environment of his workshop, creating a dynamic that he finds both fascinating and alluring. Edward thrives in chaos, with his mind always racing with complex plans and intricate puzzles. However, your calm and orderly presence offers him a sense of balance, his eyes flickering up once in a while to see you write down any idea he would work on after another and another.

Edward always insists that you can never perfect his coffee, even though he requests it black. No matter how many times you bring him a steaming cup, he always takes a sip, frowns slightly, and mutters some critique about how it's too sweet, too weak, or not quite hot enough. Though he constantly nitpicks, he always finishes the cup and asks for more. He knows that without you, he'd probably forget to drink anything at all.

"Did you add sugar in this one? practically rotting my teeth," he grumbles, taking another sip.

You roll your eyes, replying, "It's exactly the same as yesterday."

He checks his watch before saying, "Bring me another coffee in an hour. And try not to do it blindfolded," with a hint of teasing in his voice.

the only reason he says he keeps you around is because you manage to keep his blueprints to a standard, picking at his messy notes into clean blueprints, sometimes it gets to him.

"You think I couldn't manage without you, don't you?" His voice held a mix of annoyance and grudging respect as he paced the cluttered workshop. The air smelled of grease and metal, a sharp contrast to your usual neat appearance.

You smiled slightly, adjusting the blueprint on the table. “Someone has to keep you from turning everything into a death trap. Someone who knows how to clean up nicely, maybe?" signaling to the huge huge rolling saw blades Catwoman had to dodge or the race that Batman had to maneuver through a course while avoiding being crushed by large metal blocks.

He scoffed, pretending to inspect a gadget nearby, “Presentable, yes. You manage that quite well, among other things." As he returned to his work, you felt a quiet satisfaction.

He’d probably steal the credit when he sees Batman struggling with a certain riddle that you came up with, but when Batman finally solves it, it sparks a heated argument between you two, each blaming the other for potential mistakes.

Edward couldn't resist a smirk of satisfaction as he watched Batman puzzle over a riddle you had crafted. "Clearly, my intellect prevails once again," he remarked smugly, leaning back in his chair.

You shot him a pointed look, hands on your hips. "Edward, that was my idea and you know it. I spent hours perfecting that riddle."

"Details, my dear assistant," he retorted, waving a dismissive hand. "The credit rightfully belongs to the one who set the puzzle."

"But you wouldn't even have had the components if it weren't for me," you argued, frustration creeping into your voice.

but you guys quickly quiet down as you see batman pick up the riddler trophy through the computer screen, seeing edward’s hand grip his chair incredibly tight.

Edward might never admit it aloud, but the thought of your absence unsettled him. You had become the unexpected variable in his life that brought structure and, oddly enough, a sense of stability. In the grand scheme of his schemes and riddles, you were the constant that made everything else fall into place

Edward even found himself relying on you more than he ever anticipated. Your organized approach and sharp mind allowed him to focus solely on his grand designs, he was sure you wouldn’t disappoint that much with the finer details.

He would probably complain about smelling your lotion on the blueprints or papers you handed to him. Despite his grumbles, the subtle fragrance secretly provided him with an unexpected comfort amidst the chaos of his work. Even after you finished your tasks and he sent you away, your perfumes and lotion would still linger around his workshop, a ghostly reminder of your presence.

“Do you have to drench yourself in that stuff?” he’d mutter, nose wrinkling as he examined the schematics. “It’s distracting.”

You’d raise an eyebrow, hiding a smirk. “Distracting how, Eddie?”

His eyes would flicker to you, a fleeting vulnerability passing through them before he turned back to the blueprints. “It... interferes with my concentration. The smell is... too pleasant.”

You’d chuckle softly, leaning in closer. “Would you prefer I stop wearing it?”

A brief silence would follow, filled only by the hum of machinery. He’d sigh, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, just... be mindful.”

You’d nod, the hint of a smile on your lips. “Of course, Eddie.”

Later, when the workshop was quiet and the only sounds were the ticking of clocks and the hum of electronics, he’d find himself inhaling deeply, the faint scent of your lotion still lingering. Despite himself, he’d feel a strange sense of calm, a reminder that amidst his intricate plans and puzzles, there was something, someone, grounding him.

i feel like if you’d gifted him maybe a coconut lime sanitizer so his hands wouldn’t reek of metal and oil, he would claim to never use it that it’d be a waste of space and time, but as you cleaned up his messy desk the sanitizer would be half empty.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, holding the small bottle between his fingers as if it were a foreign object. “Sanitizer? Really?”

“It’s practical, Eddie,” you replied, unfazed. “And it smells nice.”

He rolled his eyes. “I doubt I’ll ever use it.”

Weeks later, as you tidied up his messy desk, you noticed the sanitizer was half empty. You couldn't help but smile.

“You said you wouldn’t use it,” you teased, holding up the bottle.

He glanced at it, his expression unchanging. “I had to test its effectiveness. Purely for scientific purposes.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Sure, Eddie.”

In the quiet moments, when he was deep in thought, he’d find himself reaching for the bottle, the familiar scent providing a strange comfort. Despite his stubbornness, the small gift had found its place in his routine.

He’d probably complain about hearing your nails tapping against your desk, your heels clicking with every step, or your gum chewing distracting him. Yet, if you weren’t there, he’d be equally distracted by the silence. Your presence, irritating as he found it at times, had become a part of his rhythm. The soft rustle of your clothes as you moved, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air.

Without you, the oppressive quiet would remind him of how much he relied on your seemingly annoying habits to keep his own mind from unraveling.

If you ever caught him looking at you, he’d probably be the one to get mad.

"Why are you dressed up like that in a place like this? It’s not a fashion show," he’d snap, eyes narrowing. But the truth was, he noticed. He noticed the effort you put into your appearance, even if he pretended it annoyed him.

Over the times you both spent together, you’d notice the little things. He no longer grumbled as much after you spoke, his eyebrows weren't always scrunched up in frustration. Sometimes, he might even let you go home early,

"Fine, you can leave," he'd mutter, barely looking up from his work.

and if you were really lucky, he might just comment on your good work. These small gestures were his way of acknowledging your presence, your importance, even if he’d never admit it outright.

"Not bad," he'd say gruffly, a rare hint of approval in his voice.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

currently six in the morning and my brain is mush!!! goodnight everyone _(- _ｰ 」∠)_ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 or good morning !

[marionluth]

The talk (and some party pooping)

Summary: Peter has gathered his courage and asked MJ to the prom. She said yes and kissed him. And now he's in total freak out mode as he never had a girlfriend before. He calls Tony for help. Tony meets up with him and they have a heart - to -heart around girls, dating, the birds and bees and booze policies. Fluff and humour. Adorable irondad/spiderson dialogues. Tony giving Peter the talk. Do I even need to say more?

Do press that little heart and reblog if you enjoyed ☺️

~

The discreet beeping that signaled an incoming call, made Tony look at his cell phone’s screen. Immediately pausing his tampering with the device he had in front of him, on the lab's counter, he swiped on the screen to answer.

"Hey, Pete. Everything alright?"

"Hey Tony... Yeah, everything's great," came the boy's apprehensive answer.

His eyebrows furrowing slightly at the kid's tone, Tony could already tell something was going on. "Are you sure? Are you safe? Do you need help?"

"No, no! Nothing like that. Well, not exactly… Listen, could we meet today? Do you have time for a quick coffee? I need to talk to you about something… I mean, If you can. I’m sure you have more import…"

Cutting him off with a simple "Kid, nothing's more important than you needing me. Of course I've got time. Always got time for you, you know that." Tony glanced at his watch, noting the time the kid must have just gotten off school. "You want me to swing by now?"

After a brief pause Peter answered, "I don't want to bother you… It's not anything major…"

"Peter, come on, stop dodging. Do you want me to swing by now?" Tony's voice carried a hint of impatience, his words tinged with the trademark Stark directness.

"If you can,” Pete answered.

Exiting his lab, Tony strode up the stairs toward his bedroom to get changed. "Let May know where you're heading. And shoot me a text with the address we're meeting at . I'll catch up with you there."

Smiling, Peter thanked the man and ended the call, before following his directions and texting him the cafe’s address. After a short call to May, he continued walking at a leisurely pace. The walk from school to the coffee shop took him twenty five minutes, even though he could easily have made it in fifteen. The sunny morning had gloomed into a gray afternoon and he enjoyed strolling in the busy streets under the heavy clouds that looked ready to dissolve into rain at any moment. Pausing long enough here and there to snap a photo of small details and scenes that caught his eye, he started feeling a little calmer and more centered.

When he finally reached his destination he walked into the small coffee shop and chose the most secluded booth at the far corner of the cozy place, hoping they wouldn’t draw too much attention. Despite being a famous man, Tony managed to blend into the crowd, when he wanted to. Taking a seat he ordered Tony's preferred double espresso and his own plain filter coffee from the young waitress who immediately approached to take his order.Peter started tapping his foot impatiently, his eyes flying to the door every few seconds.

Right as the waitress came back with the beverages, Tony entered the store. Dressed in a casual outfit with a jockey hat and sunglasses to avoid drawing attention, he glanced around him, and spotted Peter. Walking to the booth the kid was at, he slid to the seat across from Peter, removing his sunglasses.

"What's up? You got me a bit worried," the man immediately asked, looking at Peter questioningly.

Peter brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it as he looked at the man apologetically. "Sorry for worrying you. It's kinda stupid, but I didn't know who else to talk to about this."

"Hey!" Tony snapped. "There is nothing stupid about asking for help or needing to talk, alright? I want to be here for you."

Smiling gratefully Peter lightly pushed the man's coffee closer to him. "I got you your favorite."

"Thanks, Pete," the man smiled as he brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip of the strong liquid. "Mmm, that’s good. Now, spill. What's eating you?”

Taking a deep breath, Peter just let the words that had been torturing him all day long out. "I've never had a girlfriend before."

Tony looked at him a bit perplexed. Seeing that Peter had no intention to continue talking without prompting he commented, "Before? Before, as in…you have one now?"

"Yeah... I mean, kind of…. Probably?” Peter looked at the man with a lost expression. “I'm really not sure."

"I figured as much,” Tony replied managing to keep his face neutral and still entirely uncertain of what this was all about. “Ok, Pete. I need you to pace with me. Did something go down with that MJ girl you told me about?"

Peter nodded eagerly and scooted forward in his seat to come closer to the man. "We have a dance at school this Friday. And I've been trying to ask her to go with me for days… So today I finally did it and she said yes. And then kissed me. Like… Lips.”

"Well, that sounds pretty great, kid!"

Peter shook his head emphatically, his words tumbling out in a nervous torrent. "No! No, it's not! I've never been in this situation before! I don't know what to do, or how to do it. I mean, the dance is on Friday, and it's already Wednesday! What do I even do tomorrow when I see her? Do I kiss her? Do I hold her hand? Do I act like nothing ever happened? And what about the dance itself? Are we supposed to stick together the whole time? Can we hang out with our friends too? Do I have to dance with her the entire night? Do I need to ask her out right after, or should I wait? I'm freaking out here!"

Tony fought hard to keep amusement out of his expression and tone. Bringing to his mind his own first flirting experiences and how hard and confusing everything seemed to him back then he did his best to be there for the kid and help him get some perspective. "Alright, listen up, Pete. You need to dial it back a notch. Seriously, chill out! She kissed you, so the big question of whether she's into you or not? That's off the table. She's into you, pal, and she made it pretty darn clear. Are you with me?"

At his nod, Tony continued in a conversational tone. "When you see her tomorrow, you'll make your move for a kiss, but take it slow. Give her the chance to pump the brakes if she's not feeling it, understand? Though, considering she initiated things first, I doubt that'll be an issue. But you always give her the space to say no. That's priority number one! And remember, 'no' means 'no'. Clear?"

"Clear" Peter said, taking a small sip of his coffee.

"After that... you just gotta go with the flow, kid. Don't sweat over mapping out every move. Trust me, the interactions will unfold naturally," Tony continued, his tone carrying his usual nonchalant confidence.

"At the dance, you'll swing by her place to pick her up. I'll make sure you've got a decent set of wheels, nothing flashy, just polished enough to get you there and back. We'll coordinate the timing. Once you're there, mix it up. Spend some time with just the two of you, but don't forget to hang with your friends too. Keeps things interesting, you know? Gives you those intimate moments without the boredom setting in. And remember, communication's key. Ask her what she's feeling, don't hold back on what you want either. Simple as that."

Peter gaped at the man trying to understand how Tony could make everything sound so simple and easy, and how effortlessly he had managed to calm him down, when a few minutes ago he felt like his brain would explode. "You really think so?"

"Kid, I scored Pepper! I know so," the man quipped before taking another sip from his own cup.

Letting out a chuckle Peter had to agree on that one. "Thanks, for coming all this way just for this."

"Pete, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I've got your back. Whether it's dealing with dates or dealing with villains, I'm your guy. Get that through your skull, okay?"

"Yeah, Ok. I will,” Peter nodded, his shoulders relaxing visibly as he allowed his body to rest comfortably against the booth’s cushioned back.

Seeing Peter calmer Tony’s thoughts started branching out on the many matters this discussion was bringing up and started strategizing on how to broach them. Tapping his finger on his cup lightly he took a few seconds before speaking. “Alright, buckle up. We're about to dive into some stuff that might make you squirm a bit. Some might even call them embarassing..."

Peter looked at the man perplexed, not understanding what he meant by that.

"Alright, Pete… Here’s the deal. When a man and a woman... or whatever combo floats your boat, get cozy, things can escalate. Now, you're not just building robots together. We're talking about the birds, the bees, and all that jazz…”

Peter’s eyes enlarged and his face flushed bright red at the realization of what Tony was trying to get to. “Tony, no! C’mon! I haven’t dated before, but I’ve had the talk… I know…”

“You might have attended a master class for all, I care. Now you’ll zip it up and hear me out! Now where was I? Oh yes… Safety first. You gotta wrap it up, kid, every single time! Capisce?”

Peter who had covered his face with his hands, simply nodded into them, knowing perfectly well there’s no easy way out of this one. If Tony had decided they’d have this talk, they’d have this talk.

Pleased with the response even if it was not verbal, Tony continued.

“So…No glove, no love. And speaking of love, let's talk about what happens when the love train makes a stop at Babyville. Pregnancy ain't just a scare tactic they use in health class, it's real. So, unless you're ready to be on diaper duty instead of spider duty, keep it cautious…”

“Yes, God, Tony, are we done yet?”

“No, no we’re not. ‘Cause, let's not forget about the creepy crawlies, the STDs. Those suckers don't discriminate. So, play it smart, play it safe, and always use protection."

Peter glanced up at the man with a mortified expression. “You do remember that I’ve not dated before and that I didn’t even know how to talk to MJ tomorrow? You really think… sex is a possibility right now?”

“When you're hanging with someone you're into, especially at your age when those hormones are doing the Macarena, anything can happen. You step onto the dating field, next thing you know, you're in overtime without even knowing it. So, I'm just doing what any responsible adult would do, laying down the ground rules. Sex? Yeah, it's like playing with firecrackers, fun until someone gets burned. So, take it from me, always be prepared. Keep a stash of condoms handy. Trust me, it's better to have 'em and not need 'em than the other way around. Capisce?"

“Please, please, please, change the subject, I swear I heard every word and will always use protection,” Peter begged through a pained groan.

“Change of subject, then. That dance on Friday… What time should you have MJ back home?"

"Well, MJ doesn't really have a curfew,” Peter answered, relieved the discussion shifted direction.

“Oh?” Tony replied surprise, drinking some of his coffee as he waited for Peter to elaborate.

“She lives with her sister Gayle right now and she is pretty easy going, so whenever's good,” Peter shrugged.

Deciding to not worry too much about this bit of intel on MJ's family situation at the moment, the man easily replied, "Well, you do have a curfew and Saturday night's booked solid with patrols and kicking villain ass. So, I want you back home by midnight."

"Midnight?” Peter exclaimed in disbelief. “Oh, come on Tony! I'll have time to sleep in on Saturday morning!"

The man raised a single eyebrow at that before evenly answering, "Negative. You've also got homework on the agenda. Curfew's at midnight, no wiggle room. Clear?"

Sighing but knowing the battle was lost, Peter grumbled, "Fine."

“Next item on the prom rules agenda...”

"Oh come on! More rules?" Peter groaned as he slumped back in his seat theatrically.

"Yes! More rules! Can't get enough of 'em," Tony responded with feigned excitement. "This isn't breaking new ground; it's just a refresher of our tried-and-true general rules of conduct. Remember those bad boys? So, about this school dance... Despite the schools’ no-alcohol policy, I've been around the block enough times to know there'll be some sneaky business going on. I expect you to steer away from anything other than punch and cola. No funny business with booze, got it?"

"Well, a beer wouldn't kill me, I'm fifteen!" Peter tried, wanting to gauge Tony’s reaction.

The man's expression turned serious, leaning in with a no-nonsense gaze. "Listen up, kid. Maybe down the line, under supervision you'll get a taste of beer. But at a school dance? Without knowing what kind of booze the fake-id bozzos sneak in and without me there to keep an eye, you're sticking to virgin punch. Got it?”

Gulping slightly at how serious his tone was Peter nodded. "Got it, Tony. No booze. Fair rule."

"That's my Spidey," Tony quipped, lightening his tome and smiling at the kid.

Peter glanced at his watch and back at Tony, "If you're done being a party pooper, I'd better get home, I need to get started on my homework.”

Snorting the man nodded, "Off you go then. I'll finish my coffee and leave as well. Pepper will have my head if I'm not back on time for our date night."

Standing, Peter looked at the man and sent him one last thankful smile.

"Thanks for everything Tony."

"Anytime, Pete."

~

Important note: this little one-shot is a single scene of my irondad longfic that's been trimmed down and altered to be posted here as a stand alone. In a few months it'll also be found slightly altered in my longfic. Pointing this out to save you any confusion if you stumble upon it in the next few months and wonder what's going on.

Do press that little heart and reblog if you enjoyed ☺️

[pascaloverx]

Stranger?

Part Five

previous part next part

Author's note: This fanfic is set in the creation of Jenny Han. Conrad Fisher and other characters mentioned in the future do not belong to me. I hope you like this fanfic, depending on how it goes, I'll decide if this fic will have more parts or just this one. This fanfic is recommended for all audiences, there will be no adult content in it, only possible inappropriate language and alcohol consumption.

You wake up feeling something warm next to you, as if you were curled up. When you remember that you and Conrad slept together last night. In your car, in the middle of the night. You notice Conrad is underneath you, sleeping like a baby. But as soon as you wake up you feel how uncomfortable it is to sleep in the back seat of the car, letting out a groan of pain with each attempt to get out from Conrad's arms.

"It's not polite to wake someone up like that, you know?" Conrad still speaks with his eyes closed and you smile slightly as if you had been caught doing something wrong.

"Why aren't you polite? I did my best not to wake you up." You say indignantly.

"Don't leave my arms before I wake up, I might feel abandoned." You laugh, watching him make drama.

"Next time I'll wake you up with slaps, I want to see if you'll like it." You say, standing up and helping Conrad get up too.

"Sleeping in this car was a thousand times better than I ever imagined, you know?" Conrad smiles charmingly, looking into your eyes as he says that. Considering how you both spent last night, you might expect him to complain about a sore back, but it seems like sleeping together was worth it.

"I would have preferred to sleep in a bed, but I can't deny that your company isn't the worst..." You say, teasing Conrad.

"I'd be offended if I didn't know from what we went through yesterday that you loved my company." Conrad says, all proud, and you look at him disapprovingly.

"Changing the subject, where did your brother and Belly go?" You try to shift the topic before it gets awkward.

"They went to sort out their couple issues in Jeremiah's car." Conrad speaks with such subtlety that you wouldn't even think he's one of the issues in that couple.

"Don't you think we should invite them for coffee somewhere nearby?" You say, wrapping your arms around Conrad's shoulders. You even run your fingers through his hair gently, hoping he'll support your idea.

"I think we could go back to the car and drive far away from them..." Conrad's suggestion comes in a joking tone, but you sense that it might be what he's really feeling.

"Unfortunately, Prince Charming, this Cinderella needs to get home before her mom starts worrying." Knowing your mother, she would send half the world after you before the end of the day if you didn't go home soon.

"No problem. I'll take you home after breakfast." Conrad says with a gentle smile. You watch him closely as he hugs you from behind, resting your head on his chest.

"If you're taking me home, let's at least say goodbye to Jeremiah and Belly. What kind of first impression will they have of me if I don't even wave goodbye?" You say, holding Conrad's hands tightly around your body. The truth is that it's a little cold on the beach and Conrad is a great substitute for a blanket.

"First impressions are overrated; let's save the good impression for the second time." Conrad suggests, and you feel like he's hinting that you'll see them again, possibly meaning you'll keep seeing him too.

"Let's say goodbye to your brother and Belly quickly before I leave you alone with them and take off." You say, pretending to threaten. Conrad looks at you as if unsure if you're joking or not but ends up laughing before you both go to bid farewell to Jeremiah and Belly.

As you and Conrad approach Jeremiah's car, you notice that he and Belly are lying together, with Jeremiah tenderly caressing her. You sense that this might bother Conrad, so you glance at him, offering some form of comfort. However, he seems surprisingly okay—almost as if yesterday's argument with Belly never happened. You allow yourself to imagine that he's moving on, perhaps even becoming enchanted by you.

"The lovebirds could do us the favor of coming to say goodbye." Conrad says, tapping on Jeremiah's car window. The couple in front is taken aback, and you scold Conrad, giving his arm a playful smack.

You turn away, attempting to give Belly and Jeremiah some privacy. Conrad gives you a mockingly complaining look about the arm smack. You murmur a "serves you right" as you run your hand over the "injured" arm.

"I thought we were going to have coffee together..." Jeremiah says, adjusting himself while Belly fixes her slightly tousled hair. You smile, realizing that not even you and Conrad managed to do that.

"The princess here needs to go home, and I can't let her go alone." Conrad says, surprising you with how he skillfully turns things in his favor.

"No need for that. You can stay with your brother, and I'll go home just the way I came here—alone." You assert. Jeremiah and Belly seem to be enjoying the spectacle as Conrad reacts to the suggestion that he stays with them.

"As you can see, she needs me. But honestly, I'd like to thank both of you for coming here looking for me." Conrad declares, catching you off guard. Even though you've known Conrad for a short time, you can't help but feel a certain pride in him.

"Whatever you did to him, keep doing it." Jeremiah says, addressing you. "But honestly, no need to thank us. Both Belly and I care about you and just want to see you well." Jeremiah looks at both you and Conrad. It's heartwarming to see how these siblings genuinely care for each other.

"And sorry if the three of us went too far yesterday, making our first time together seem weird. I promise next time we'll try to be better..." Belly apologizes, addressing you.

"Don't worry, I heard first impressions are overrated. I think next time, everything will be better." As you say this, there's a shared understanding among the group, and a sense of relief washes over. Conrad shoots you a grateful look. With smiles exchanged, you and Conrad finally head off, leaving Jeremiah and Belly behind.

"You know you just confirmed that you'll see them again, which means I completely seduced you, and you'll keep seeing me." Conrad speaks using a mischievous tone. You look at him in disbelief.

"I don't remember mentioning you. I think you need to improve your hearing, babe." You say as you stand as the two of you are getting into the car. You and Conrad then decide in the car that you will go after his car and that he will follow you home. You say there's no need but Conrad doesn't seem to want to let you get home unaccompanied. You smile as he says that from what he observed yesterday, my mother wouldn't like him if he wasn't a real gentleman to me. You smile, feeling defeated by the fact that he wants to meet your mother and want to see you again. For a few moments you wish he wasn't there in love with someone else. You then make your way to your house...

[heroesoath]

SINDAY HEADCANON ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

in alphabetical order under the cut because i'm not a heathen.

ALEX

Alex takes orders really well, tell him what you want and he will comply with a little smile or smirk and he'll get to work! And I need it to be known that there is a REASON Lorna and Madelyne keep letting him back in and it's 100% because he's good at using his mouth, and his jaw almost always has some stubble so it's great for sensations and stimulation.

Alex is hot, I mean that literally, his powers makes energy and plasma store inside his body so he runs hot. If it's winter? He adds an extra layer of comfort during sex since he's just a blonde weighted blanket.

Likes being pegged, look at his Goblin Prince era.

When it comes to men he's a versatile king, he can be a submissive bottom or a eager top, best of both worlds - Hannah Montana.

When he was younger he did have issues of using his powers during intimate moments but it was ONLY when he was solo. He's far too terrified of his own abilities and how dangerous they are to ever accidentally use them in bed now. He keeps that control no matter what. ( Eyes might glow blue though )

*PULL HIS HAIR* He will moan and it's a delightful sound.

He likes fucking in the X-Jet lol ( it's leftovers from Alex and Lorna's time in space where their most favorite pastime was banging because there wasn't anything else to do idhfjks did )

Weird asf but he enjoys when people tear clothes from him, especially his uniform.

CLINT

Alex might be good at taking orders, but Clint is the ORAL KING. Bobbi makes numerous remarks about how long Clint can hold his breath, that man eats pussy / sucks dick like a ROCKSTAR.

Clint grew up in the circus and because of that he's very bendy, he can do lots of different positions, like go crazy babes.

Not sinful, but he's strangely good at after-care, he'll make coffee/tea, order pizza, clean up. A mess in real life does not translate to post sex, man has a reputation.

Because he is deaf, he prefers positions where he can see his partner's face. He wants to see them enjoying themselves since he can't hear them. On the other end, Clint is loud as he has no control of his volume so feel free to gag him!

Clint has very strong fingers from his archery so do with that info what you wish.

Enjoys being tied up.

DANI

Reminder that my Dani is a lesbian.

She's a dominant top, reading everything about her even from the early days of New Mutants, this woman will not take orders from anyone. She takes charge, she knows what's she's capable of and that's the tea.

She will unironically call someone good girl in bed and I hope this awakens something in all the sapphics out there.

She can and will make sex toys with her powers. You think those psionic arrows were all she can make?? Nah.

Because of her powers she can also make it seem like they are at any location. Wanna bang on the beach but can't fly there? No problem. Five class Paris suite?? Just relax and let Dani work her mirages.

Despite her top energy, Dani is a supreme cuddler, she enjoys showing affection and that translates into sex. Lots of kissing, lots of desperate grabbing, lots of face caressing.

JAMIE

Jamie has more control of his powers now, but he does sometimes lose control, so if the sex is intense don't be surprised if another Jamie pops out fugdvhfjd So if your muse is into a sudden threesome with two Jamies then you're golden.

He really is just a walking orgy so if you're super freaky just ask and he'll pop out a few duplicates and they can all have fun.

From his detective era, he does love sex on a desk. He "Thinks it's so NOIR."

JEAN

Already alluded to this today, but sex in the sky is so real. She can keep you both afloat with very little effort ( though if she gets with someone who flies she'd love to give some control up )

Jean's eyes glow pink during sex. She has enough control that she doesn't fling things around, but the room may shake a bit.

Her favorite lingerie is black, a call back to her Black Queen moment. She also wears a lot of backless dresses.

KISS HER NECK, MAKE HER FEEL DESIRED. She'll never admit this, but Scott cheating on her has left a scar. Jean wants to feel loved and desired, that she's enough.

She can be dominant or submissive, a versatile queen.

Because Jean is a cosmic entity at times, she loves powerful lovers, if they can be like two stars colliding into a big bang she'd be ultra satisfied.

She likes riding, yee haw.

Jean can cook breakfast and bake a bit, but she's not a great cook, so expect her to offer to go out for food after. A little date after a bang is just as valid as cooking in the kitchen! She's also just fine with coffee, cuddling and leftovers.

Woman is loud. Like she'll shout a name so loud the cosmos will hear because she's fire and life incarnate.

Random, but in my verse where Jean is still the White Phoenix of the Crown, the nexus of life, death and rebirth itself, I once read a fic where she brought someone into the White Hot Room just so she could bang because she wanted to feel human again and . . . idk that's a plot right there.

JOHN

MAGIC IN BED. John will do some absolute unhinged shit in bed via spells, sometimes even on accident.

Submissive. This man is not dominant in the slightest, he will if he finds like a submissive demon, he might TRY, but more often than not he's a pillow princess who curses and is loud.

He does love a power bottom though, ride him!

Probably uses such utter insane names in bed, he's NASTY, A FREAK, ROLL HIM INTO A BALL AND SLAP HIM AGAINST A WALL LIKE ONE OF THOSE STICKY HAND TOYS.

Sex for spells? Hot. Draw incantations on his chest and fuck him like it's a ritual.

JULIAN

Unlike Jean, Julian has less control over his powers so he absolutely lifts and throws objects with his mind if he's really into what's happening. His eyes glow green, the room is a lava lamp.

Because of his lack of hands, he uses his telekinesis for grabbing, psychic massages, and those psychic massages happen anywhere. Ever been fingers by someone's mind? He'll do it. Telekinesis sex is INTERESTING.

Julian loves chests, he's a boob man, whether it be women's or men's.

He has daddy/mommy issues, everyone who has followed me on his solo blog knows this. He's into it I fear.

Call him good boy to make his toes curl. He likes praise in general.

He might pretend to be someone casual, but in reality Julian might be one of my muses who gets attached the hardest? It makes it so his heart is easier broken, but he loves feeling a connection, he loves feeling loved and wanted on an intimate level.

Still enjoys casual sex, but the above is for those he's feeling HARD.

When he's with a man he's such a bottom. Fuck him and put him in his place lmao

KISS HIS STUMPS!! When he doesn't use the prosthetics after becoming comfortable with you, if you kiss where his hands used to be he's going to melt and the sex will be even better, I promise.

Women should always it on his face. ( And men lowkey ), but he loves performing oral.

If you're anti mutant you're not getting any. He's the most radical of my muses, humans more often annoy him than anything.

MARC

The three men all fuck differently, I'll need to do some #soulsearching to really find the differences, but I bet Marc fucks like the world is ending and his dog tags swing from around his neck.

Steven is the romantic one, candlelit tub time, roses and shit. He's a rich man with a desire for passion.

Jake is more of a mystery but he might just be a mixture of how Marc and Steven fuck, he's more of a casual / friends with benefits kind of guy though. Comes with his job as a cab driver.

Marc 100% fucks in the suit.

Do not call them by the wrong name. You will know who you're with based on their personalities, but it's an instant turn off if you get it wrong.

Marc is a daddy, I said what I said.

All of them eat women and men out like it's a meal and they are a starved victorian child F*UYDGHFUIO

PIOTR

He big, he will make that bed SLAM if he gets into it.

Despite the above, he is very careful. Piotr is a gentle man and will only get more rough with permission, but if someone wants it that way? He'll oblige.

He loves painting people when they are naked. It's not sexual at first, but if someone gets turned on by his skills and his gaze and his working artist hands then SO BE IT.

He's submissive by nature, but will absolutely be dominant if the mood call for it.

Same goes for being top/bottom, shorter men topping him?? A win.

Manhandling comes with the whole package, Piotr is strong, and he's just bigger than 90% of other people. But hey, if you just want to be picked up and banged?? He can do it.

The Steel form . . . might come out, but he's extremely reluctant. He never wants to hurt anyone, but if you ask for it, then it'll happen.

He's super about communication tbh, I'm noticing it as I write this down, he's just all about it and being a soft spoken king.

SURPRISE ANOTHER ORAL KING

He loves mapping lover's bodies with his mouth and hands

His pecs jiggle, grab them FUYDHFKJDHDH

His ass jiggles, grab it.

His (censored) -- I'm not finishing that

He likes sex in nature, in water, stuff like that. Anything that can give him artistic muse.

ZATANNA

MAGIC IN BED! But less freaky than John.

When you get her going and she starts speaking backwards you know you're doing a good job.

THE FISHNETS STAY ON

She dominates John Constantine, but in pretty much every other relationship she's a submissive queen.

Enjoys being tied up, enjoys giving herself over to another person and letting them take control since she always feels like she needs to be in control in other aspects of her life.

A romantic at heart, she loves inviting people to her giant bubble bath. Lots of sensual moments actually, she wants massages.

Bite her.

She also enjoys air sex, whether it's just her floating from her arousal or full on flying.

[superblysubpar]

leather and lace masterlist | leather and lace playlist

Chapter Summary: Your first day back in Hawkins is interesting to say the least, involving several unexpected reunions - good and bad.

8.1k words

Warnings: we'll be kicking up the angst from here on for a bit, but with plenty of fluff in between I promise (but I won't mention this necessarily after this as a heads up), mentions of reader celebrating Christmas, weed mentions/use, police/ "arrest" mentions | please see masterlist for overall warnings.

A/N: Thanks for your patience as I worked through mega writer's block in getting this out friends. I'm *extremely* excited to keep going with this series and I'd love to hear your thoughts. Endless thanks to my hive mind and @boomhauer for beta'ing.

Side A | Track 02: "Escape" by Metallica

“Yes, well, I don’t know Margaret, she said she got laid off and now she’s home.” 

Your body tenses at the sound of your mother’s hushed voice drifting lazily past the living room entryway. Sure that if you opened your eyes, you’d find her with the phone cord and receiver in her hands, pacing, just like a gossiping high schooler. 

Counting to five to make sure she’s passed completely, you roll over on the scratchy living room carpet, ending up face to face with your drooling and snoring little brother. 

Late last night as you blinked sleep heavy eyes, you had hoped to sneak into your childhood home unannounced and avoid any confrontation with the family until morning, but you should have known your brother wouldn’t let you slip in quietly. He was out the door and running barefoot through the snow before you could even take the keys out of the ignition. 

It’s interesting how easily you were able to fall back into old habits as he flung himself into your arms and you ruffled his too long hair. Hip checking and semi-wrestling with each other, whispering ‘you look like hell’ and ‘what took you so long’, when you really meant ‘I love you' to each other. And then you entered the living room to find a pizza and several VHS tapes already laid out on the coffee table. He turned to you looking far too old and yet younger than he ever had as he pointed and in a stern whisper accused, “You promised.”

And you had, so you stayed up too late, catching up, eating food that was bad for you both and watching terrible movies—ending with both of you passing out right there on the floor just like old times. 

Glancing around your family living room, it truly was like nothing had changed. Aside from a few updated decorations that you’re sure your mother was pressured into buying by other moms in the neighborhood, it was all the same. 

"Maybe she could get a job here. She's just so stubborn..."

Exactly the same. 

Suppressing your sigh, your eyes land on your brother’s now open ones and that terrible pitying look that you wanted to avoid at all costs is plastered across his face as he whispers, “She means well, you know that.”

He isn’t wrong, you do know that deep down. But just because someone is your family, and you love them, it doesn’t mean you have to like them all the time. Even if you were able to choose them, you use that magical word ‘family’ to describe them even once and you’re stuck with them. The word, and by definition who you’re describing when using it, is a funny thing. Family is a core value for many, a word to summarize people - and almost a feeling that can't be described. Sayings like 'Home is where the heart is' and 'We don't have much but at least we have each other' on pillows like the one behind your brother’s head or embroidered hangings on the wall come to mind. A group of people that get you in a way no one else ever will because they lived the same places with the same people, experienced the same or similar things. Their life is not yours nor yours theirs, but that connection will always be there. Not a choice for most, and if you're lucky, you may end up with a pretty great one. Which, even the most blessed people will forget every once in a while. Forgetting how lucky you are to have them, guilty when you remember how quickly it could all be different - how it could all change. Sometimes it's tough, and you really have to work to remind yourself that they're your family and you do love them. 

Which is perhaps why you choose to ignore your mother’s penchant for gossip and neither confirm nor deny his statement and instead poke his side and whisper, “Your breath is absolutely horrendous.”

He grunts in protest at that, whacking the back of your hand in sibling code for ‘get away from me or else’ as he hisses, “Your face is horrendous.”

You poke him again and roll away from his retaliating kick as you pout, “Wow, pretty rude to say to someone who will get you a donut for breakfast and a ride to school…”

He grins, knowing you’ll still do both of those things even if he kicks you and is about to say so when your mother’s voice is loud above your heads, “Oh good! You’re both up!”

Though upside down, you can see your mother dressed in her morning work out clothes from the electric blue leg warmers to the lime green sweatband simply used for poofing up her already styled curls, telephone pressed to her neck to avoid the speaker and a bright smile on her bubble gum pink lips. It only makes sense to the people of Hawkins to wear a full face of makeup to exercise.  God forbid you look like a normal human being while working up a sweat.

Despite her early morning gossiping centered around your predicament, you are happy to see her and you jump up to hug her, though she tries to push you away. “Oh no, honey, I’m all sweaty! Let me hug you hello when I’m- oof!” breath knocked out of her as you push past her protests, she laughs into the phone, “Margaret let me call you back!”

A little bit of the mother that didn’t revolve around the other moms, the town or its gossip and pecking order - the mom who lounged in her sweats and drank coffee all day makes a resurgence as she clicks the phone off before Margaret can even reply. She hugs you back tightly, whispering, “Welcome home, kiddo.”

It is easy to forget, if only for a few seconds, why you were home when you’re in your mother’s embrace. Easy to pretend it’s all okay while she runs her hands through your hair three times before she kisses the top of your head, just like she had always done. 

But as she takes in a deep inhale, signaling the onslaught of questions and pity that she is about to bombard you with, you remove yourself from her grasp, spinning towards the stairs. “Glad to be back. I’m gonna take the dweeb to school, so I’ll see you later?”

She frowns, arms still outstretched like you were still in front of her but she nods, recovering quickly and smiles as you disappear up the stairs two at a time. 

Escaping into your room, you fall against the door, closing it with a soft click, and let yourself exhale as you look around the space that feels a little like stepping into a time machine. 

Your posters of bands you loved in high school line the walls, bedspread still the bright yellow covered in daisies, polaroids pinned around movie tickets and a dried corsage from prom that you swore you threw in the trash. Even your cassettes are littered across your desk, like your family couldn’t bear to change a single thing about the space in your absence. 

Fingertips brushing over the stack of them, you smile as you find one of your favorites. Easily slipping back into old habits, you pop it into your stereo. Blasting it loud enough while you get ready for the day that your brother has to bang on your door to get your attention several minutes later, “Y/N! Jesus! Let’s go!”

Smiling as you swing your door open, he rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head. You race him down the stairs, ignoring his protests about cheating and head starts. You argue the whole way to get donuts about the best kinds of frostings and sprinkles or no sprinkles, filled or not filled, new music and movie opinions making cameos in between. You’re happy to pretend everything is okay, but you know it’s not and it all starts to sink in as you get closer and closer to Hawkins High. 

While your brother babbles on about Dungeons and Dragons, driving down the familiar streets to that school, it’s like your failure is blinking in a flashing sign above your car. Stomach twisting in knots as you recognize spots that once held happy memories, now just reminders of what you left behind willingly because you believed you were above it all - better than the town and the people in it. 

Pulling into the parking lot, you blow out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “What time is your game over? I can pick you up.”

“Um, it’s not just a game and -” he turns to hold a one second symbol out to the group of familiar friends. Their hats pulled down over hair too long just like your brother’s, hands shoved in puffy winter coats and scowls across their faces until you’re grinning widely at them and waving. Slight nods from all of them and half-hearted waves back. Some of the boys turn bright red, ducking their faces down as two girls shove elbows into them all, shaking their heads. Your brother groans and mumbles, “Idiots.”

Ruffling the top of his head as you laugh, "Relax dude. Whatever it is, I'll be here. So again...what time does it get over?"

He's digging in his bag, opening the door halfway, the chill from outside swirling around the car and making you shiver as he mumbles, "No, I don't need a ride, Steve usually gives the few of us without cars all one home. Speaking of which," he dumps five VHS tapes into your lap, "Can you return these for me today? Steve and Robs will pluck Mike's eyeballs out if they’re any later. He took the - Hold on!” he shrieks out the door at the grumbling from a few feet away before continuing, “Anyways, Wheeler said he forgot but really it was my fault and…”

So lost in so many different questions, you don’t hear the end of his sentence as you blurt out the first thing you can think of, "Steve? Who's this Steve that gives you rides?"

He blinks at you like it's obvious, his tone even and slowed down as if he's sounding it out for you as he replies, "Hair - ing - ton."

"Steve Harrington gives you rides home from your Dungeons and Dragons game?"

He rolls his eyes but nods, half out the door as he zips his bag back up, "Yes he does and -"

"The Hair? King Steve?"

He huffs, “He doesn’t really go by that-” the school bell's shrill ring sounds out and he groans, jumping out of the car fully.

You shout an apology behind his body and the closing door and then, “Wait! Harrington works at Family Video?!”

He waves you off as the door slams and he’s racing past the group that’s all shouting at him as they all scurry into the building, shoving each other as they go. Somehow, despite their broader shoulders, longer hair, and taller bodies, they were still that group of awkward misfit kids to you. 

Glancing down at the tapes in your lap, you can’t help but wonder how the hell your little brother got wrapped up with Steve Harrington. You push your car into drive, ready to find out. 

The trilling chime you’re expecting as you step inside Family Video halts after one ring and you glance up to see a tiny piece of string pulling the bell back - just enough to stop it from hitting the door hard enough to ring out repeatedly. 

Glancing around the familiar rental store, you see no customers and more importantly, no Steve Harrington. 

As ‘Temple of Doom’ blasts from the TV’s hoisted in the corners, you make your way towards the counter and set down the stack of tapes your brother dropped on you. A shiny bell sitting on the counter with a post-it attached that reads ‘ring me and you die’ crossed out with harried and blocky writing that says ‘she’s kidding’ and another note below it saying ‘no I’m not’ piques your interest and you tap your finger on it despite the warnings. 

Pausing for several seconds, but when nobody appears you tap it again, and for good measure a third time right in a row, causing a loud groan to echo from the ajar door leading to the back. Shuffling feet and a high pitched and irritated voice calling out, “Steve, I swear to god, if you ring that bell to get my attention one more time-”

A girl about your age, maybe a little younger, stops dead in her tracks as she rounds the corner. Bright red and scuffed chucks knocking into a cart as she flails, trying to catch herself. At about the same time you go to help her, the door lets out the pathetic singular ding and a deeper voice yells out, “Oh shit!” 

The girl has toppled over the cart and is blowing her bangs out of her eyes as she hisses up at the boy, “Yeah ‘oh shit’ Steve! Can you-” she gestures to you, picking up the jumbled tapes, voice dripping with fake polite sweetness, “just help the customer please.”

He nods and finally turns in your direction. He’s got a giant soft pretzel in his hand, a dab of mustard on the corner of his lips, and the famous brown locks atop his head. Steve blinks at you, clearing his throat before squinting and asking, “Y/N?”

Nodding as well, you take in his appearance further. He’s different and yet the same as you remember him. A small amount of stubble around his jaw and upper lip that he quickly wipes at the corner of with the sleeve of his deep green sweatshirt - but you can see the collar of one of his familiar polos peeking out underneath. He’s taller, taller than you now, and his hair - he’s learned how to steer into the mess of it, it seems. It flops in all the right ways. It's not stiff from product and he runs his free hand through it in a way that tells you he does it all the time and makes you a little envious of the hand. He still seems to very much be the King Steve you recall from high school - the one who was popular enough to have seniors over at his house. The one you and your friends included in hot or not lists and flirted with constantly, the one girls bought bikinis strictly for pool parties hosted by him for. The one who still drives a maroon BMW that makes your little rusting bucket currently sitting out next to it look like a piece of shit. 

How did that Steve turn into a guy who gives your brother rides?

He’s still holding the pretzel and his mouth opens to speak again when the girl stands from her stack of tapes on the floor, cheeks blushed pink and a scowl on her face, “Oh good. You know each other, I’m going back to finishing my essay and you,” she shoves the stack into his chest and he cradles it between his one free arm and chin. She snatches the pretzel and takes a bite before speaking around it, “can finish putting these away.”

She seems to have a lighter skip in her step as she takes another bite of the pretzel and he shakes his head at her retreating back before dumping the perfect stack onto the counter behind him, all of them toppling over and out of order again. He turns back to face you and extends his arms towards the now fully open door, “Don’t mind her, she’s dealing with finals and super cranky and-”

“I heard that, Dingus!” echoes from the room.

“You were supposed to!” he shouts back before turning to face you, rubbing the back of his neck, “Um, so, what…how…you’re…”

He starts too many questions for you to even attempt to answer when the door chimes again and you feel all the color drain from your face. Fingers and toes becoming numb as you see the hoard of bright fuschia, patterns, teased and poofed hair, and denim jacket clad women coming towards you. You were not prepared for all of these reunions on your first day back. 

“Y/N?!” one of them shrieks and then the whole crowd descends, shouting out squeals of ‘I can’t believe you’re here’, ‘what are you doing here’s’, ‘oh my god we miss you’, ‘did you do something different with your hair?’ 

Overwhelmed does not even touch the tip of how you’re feeling and you blink at Steve, who none of the girls have even spared a glance towards. He’s quietly opening the tapes you brought back, cheek pulled in as he bites at it. 

One girl steps forward from the pack and your stomach rolls. Brittany Hartman, your best friend growing up, laughs and waves her hands down at the others. “Oh my god, ladies, let her breathe!” She turns to you, a full wattage smile poised on her face, tossing her perfectly curled blonde hair before her arms extend and pull you into a suffocating hug, hairspray filling your nostrils and something overtly peachy as she squeezes you and squeals, “It’s been so long! How are you? Are you home for Christmas? How long are you staying? How’s your mom?”

A snort to your left and you see the girl from earlier is now next to Steve and she covers her mouth and turns quickly to face the back counter, ears turning red and Steve bites his lip trying to hide a smirk. 

Brittany rolls her eyes before turning back to you, her fingers running through your hair absentmindedly with a slight look of judgment as you stumble through all of the responses to her questions, “It has been a long time, yeah, um…” you pull your sleeves over your fists at your side, “Home for Christmas, she’s good, thanks for asking.”

Some of the girls have dissipated between the shelves, twittering amongst themselves about Tom Cruise and what movie to pick. Brittany leans against the counter, elbow knocking over some of the tapes. Steve’s jaw clenches as he catches it and turns to the computer, typing in something. She twirls her hair and nods, her smile stiff as she asks, “How’s the big city? Still living the dream? How long do we get you for?”

Unsure why you didn’t prepare some sort of response before going out in public in this town, you’re kicking yourself for not realizing you’d have to answer this question eventually. Shrugging as you reply, “It’s great, I love it there. I…um…well,” you can feel your throat tightening, the pit in your stomach only growing as you look anywhere but at her as you spit out a half truth, “I’m actually gonna be home for the rest of the school year…”

Her eyes go wide at that, her head tilting to the side, “You can take that much time off?”

The familiar prick of tears you’ve been avoiding is hitting behind your eyes, body suddenly feeling hot in all your layers and then you catch Steve’s eyes. He offers a small smile and you know he knows and you’ll kill your brother if you make it out of this situation alive. Your eyes land on the counter as you blink them repeatedly and mumble, “Actually, I don’t have a job right now?”

Cursing to yourself that it comes out like a question, you swallow harshly and tighten your fists as Brittany gasps, some of the other girls letting out quiet ‘oh no’s’ and ‘that’s terrible’. Brittany’s fingers tap on the counter as her voice drips with fake disdain, “Oh my god, that sucks! What happened? Was teaching really hard?”

Her tone, the situation, some of the girls hiding their smiles behind their hands has your blood boiling over as your head snaps up, trying to control the shake in your voice, “Excuse me?”

She laughs, cold and a little heartless as she waves her hand, “Oh I just, I remember your mom telling my mom that you were teaching? So if you’re not, it must have been hard? Or did something happen?” she gasps again, eyes wide, “Oh my god, did you get fired?”

Words fail you, you’re trying, you really are, to tell her that she’s wrong. That you’re good at your job. That it wasn’t your fault. But she’s technically right, and as her eyes lock with yours, you both know it. 

She frowns, mock pity that you’re familiar with from your years of friendship thick in her voice as her fake sincerity slips out of her lips, “I’m so sorry. Some people just aren’t cut out for city life, I guess.”

The girl behind the counter with Steve lets out a scoff and Brittany tilts her head again, bright blue fingernails tapping on the counter as she questions, “Something to say over there?”

The girl turns, honey with a hint of red small curls that fall from the bun atop her head swaying with the sharp movement as she mocks the tilt of Brittany’s head and shrugs, “Oh, just wondering how you would know that?”

Brittany sneers at the girl whose name tag says Robin before glancing at Steve and responding, “You’re so right. Silly me. It’s pathetic to stay in Hawkins and work here, huh Harrington?”

Unsure of how a dynamic this big could have shifted between a girl like Brittany and Steve in the years you’ve been away, you’re shocked when he stands, smiles and hands her a tape, “Pretty pathetic, Brit. I’ll see you next week, same time.”

The girls around the counter clear their throats and Brittany snatches the tape before turning to you. Her eyes soften, but you know the malice that lies behind them and she isn’t fooling anyone when she squeezes your wrist, “I really am sorry. Let’s catch up soon, okay? I wanna hear all about it and be there for you.”

Squeezing your fingers, but before you can even reply, she’s turning and the hoard of girls follows behind her, calling out their goodbyes. 

The sound of the movie's credits is the only thing that fills the store for several minutes as you stare blankly out the glass front doors. Ashamed you couldn’t stick up for yourself. Embarrassed that you were once best friends with her. Gutted that somehow, still, after all of these years, a shallow level inside of yourself seeks and wants their approval. 

Feeling the need to make your apologies - for freezing, for not defending Steve, for your past friend’s behavior, for your brother clearly not rewinding any of the tapes as you watch the girl named Robin plop one in the rewinder. She shakes her head, "Don't you even think about apologizing."

Blinking at her as she smiles and waggles a finger adorned with a ring attached with a small silver chain to a bracelet, "It's all over your face," she leans onto the counter, crossing her arms, "And you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."

Steve nods once in agreement and flops down into the rolling chair, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling, "Except maybe not teaching your brother how to return things in a timely manner."

Robin kicks his shin and he doesn't even flinch, and your eyes bop between the two of them - curious who this girl is, why Steve and Brittany don't get along anymore, and how Steve is not doing any of the things you once imagined he would be and is instead, working here.

He rubs his temples and Robin extends her hand to you, "Robin Buckley."

Shaking it, you introduce yourself and she smiles widely, "Oh, I know who you are."

She must sense your embarrassment of not knowing who she is or trying to recall if you've met before and just forgot because her smile softens and she shrugs, "I was class of ‘86 and we didn't exactly run in the same circles. Besides," she shifts and jumps up to sit on the counter, "A senior hanging out with freshmen? Who'd do something so crazy?"

Steve pulls his head up and rolls his eyes at her which reminds you why you're in the store in the first place. Tapping your knuckles on the counter, ready to interrogate him, Steve replies before you even ask, "It's a very long story, one I'm surprised your brother hasn't told you already, but," he waves his hands and then leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, "Would you...we can...coffee?"

Robin rolls her eyes at him and you can't help but smile at the jumbled question. The smooth talking younger boy is not as full of confident charm as he once was as wide and hopeful hazel eyes stare up at you.

Shrugging, you reply,  "Sure. Since I know the dweeb clearly told you, and you would've found out from that lovely encounter," you nod your head out towards the parking lot before letting your arms fall open at your sides, "I have plenty of free time on my hands."

Steve smiles and nods, "Cool, I'll call you."

"Cool."

Robin's eyebrows raise and she whispers, "Cool."

Biting the inside of your lip as you try to fight a smile, you start to head towards the door, and spin back to face them, "This is going to sound incredibly lame and you're going to think I'm a total loser who really doesn't have anything going for her anymore but um...do you...do either of you know..." you rub the back of your neck before finally spitting out, "Is Rick still..."

The pair share a glance and then Steve stands and nods, "Yeah, he's still at the same spot out by Lover’s Lake. He's more of a...supplier now though?"

Your eyebrows raise and Steve grins, "The town is booming, didn't you hear?"

Laughing as you back into the door, "Clearly I underestimated Hawkins potential should have never left," you push the door open and then turn to say sorry for what occurred with Brittany.

Robin holds up her finger, "Nu-uh! What'd I say!?"

Grinning at her, you nod and let a tiny, "Sorry," slip out before turning towards your car, as the door falls shut you hear her groan.  

The parking lot covered in icy sludge makes you shuffle slowly to your car, wincing as the door hinges squeak, before settling into the front seat.

Determined to turn the day around and quell some of the anxiety from the interaction with Brittany, you turn the key in the ignition and make the trip out to the one person who supplied anyone in town for their parties with the good stuff you haven’t been able to afford for the last year - hoping your “friend” can cut you a deal for old time’s sake. 

Making the familiar drive out to Rick’s house, you hate that your thoughts are still swirling around Brittany, the town, and how long it will take for her to tell everyone about what happened. What about if anyone sees you going into Rick’s and the assumptions they make?

Knuckles tightening their grip on the steering wheel until they’re drifting to your stereo, turning up the knob fully in hopes that the wailing guitar will drown out the anxiety that’s threatening to pull you under. 

Pulling into his drive, you throw the car in park, pressing your forehead to the top of the steering wheel and take several deep breaths. Did it really matter what they thought of you anymore? Why do you care? Sick to your stomach that it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours back in this town and already you were falling back into their clutches of controlling stereotypes. 

Thoughts continue to eat away at your nerves, you bite at your thumb as you pull the keys from the ignition and slam the door. Stepping up the front steps, your head ducks down to shield yourself from the biting wind now that you’re closer to the lake. 

Pounding on the door a few times, you hear a muffled ‘one sec’ from somewhere deeper in the house and you mentally prepare yourself for the conversation with Rick - one that would be longer than necessary due to being interrupted by his large bong rips most likely. Hoping he was in a good enough mood to offer you some sort of deal and maybe, somehow, you could still escape with a little of your dignity. 

When you don’t hear any further footsteps to signal he’s coming, your fist connects with the wood harshly again, worried he was too high and had already forgotten that someone was at the door. 

A louder voice cries out, “I said I was come-” the door flies open and his sentence falters off much quieter, “-ing.”

As if the day could not get any worse, Eddie Munson stands before you, a bag of chips between his teeth that drops to the floor when his mouth falls open as he blinks at you. 

Crossing your arms, your eyes narrow into a glare as you stick your chin up, “What are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes, bending down to pick up the chips as he sighs, “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing.” He turns back into the house, leaving the door open but not telling you to follow him. 

Debating if you really needed the weed that badly, your resolve is paper thin at this point and you step inside and close the door behind you. Eddie turns to look over his shoulder, eyebrows raising as he sees you standing in front of the now closed door. 

He tosses the bag on the kitchen counter as he opens cabinets, “So, really, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Chicago?”

Curious how Eddie Munson knows you lived in Chicago - the town is small, but the people who knew where you lived definitely wouldn’t have been going around telling “the freak” about it. Scuffing your shoe against the floor, you go with a half truth again, “I’m home visiting for Christmas. Is Rick here?”

Eddie laughs as he closes the cabinet, “Really? Cause I heard you got canned and had to move back home,” he winces with fake apology, “Tough break, shortstack.”

How the hell did he know that? And how dare he use that nickname now, after all of these years. 

Seething at the thought of the one person you couldn’t stand almost as much as the town knowing your failure, your voice is cold and sharp, “Well if you knew that, then why the fuck did you ask?”

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his black denim jeans, tapping it on the counter as he squints at you, “Someone is bitter…” he drags out the last word as he pulls a cigarette from the pack and lets it dangle between his lips. 

Eddie is similar to Steve in regards to not having changed much - appearance wise. Still long and unruly dark curls cascading over an old band t-shirt, a band you hated to admit you liked too. His jeans have the same holes in the knees, he’s got a little stubble on his jaw, just like Steve had, a reminder that you’re all a little older. The difference between Eddie and Steve is that Eddie seems to not have changed his personality at all. 

“Glad to see you haven’t changed - still an asshole. Again, is Rick here?”

Eddie pulls the unlit cigarette from his lips and places it behind his ear as he shakes his head, crossing his arms and leaning up against the counter, “So what happened, shortstack? All those book smarts didn’t give you enough street smarts for the big ol’ city?” He pouts his lips and blinks his eyes in false pity. 

Picking at the skin on your thumbs with your forefingers, you try to keep your voice level as you retort, “At least I got out of this town and did something, Munson. What’s your excuse for doing absolutely nothing with your life?”

Eddie tucks his tongue into his cheek, big brown eyes hardening into a deeper shade, almost black, as he practically growls through a clenched jaw, “Says the girl who failed and had to move back in with mommy and daddy.”

“What the fuck is your problem Eddie?” you shriek at him.

He stands taller, fingers pointing into his chest, taking a step closer and towering over you like he always has, voice ringing out through the house, “What’s my problem?! I’m not the one who’s had a stick up their ass since we were twelve, sweetheart!”

Shoving a finger into his chest as you take a step closer, “You’re the one who humiliated me in front of the entire tow-”

“You are un - fucking - believable! Are you kidding me?” he interrupts, whacking your finger from his chest with wide hands. 

“Woah, woah, woah, dudes - your volume is not appreciated right now.”

At the sound of Rick’s voice and cough, you physically jump back from Eddie like he shocked you. Feeling the muscles that had tightened and coiled in your body at the growing tension with him start to untangle themselves. Rick looks between the two of you, holding a finger up, and a small, “Ah, yeah, I forget, what happened here?”

Eddie and you glare at each other, both of you mumbling and turning from the other. Eddie a quiet, “I don’t know,” and you an even quieter, “Nothing.”

Rick shrugs like he couldn’t be bothered to know or not and he falls into the plush couch, kicking his dirty barefeet up on the coffee table littered with rolling papers, and baggies full of bud and nods towards you, “What do I owe the pleasure of this house call, former princess of Hawkins?”

Recoiling at the nickname and everything that goes along with it - you hate that that’s how people can still think of you. You were never the queen, or as popular as someone like Steve, but you did run with that crowd. A princess and a pawn in their kingdom you begrudgingly have to admit. You risk a glance at Eddie who immediately looks at the floor, pretending you didn’t just catch him staring. 

“Well, I’m in need of a couple of those bad boys,” you gesture to some of the rolled joints resting in a tin and flash him a smile that always used to work wonders, “Had to come see my favorite guy for them.”

Rick laughs, flicking a lighter in his hand, “Well, I don’t really do that anymore,” he nods his head backwards to where Eddie is filling his old metal lunchbox with baggies on the counter, “My guy took over a few years ago so I could wash my hands of all the messy sales stuff. Gave away too many free joints to the pretty ones,” Rick winks at you.

Disgusted with yourself, you pull out the old charm for the man four years your senior and flirt like your life depends on it, “Oh really? I thought that was something you only did for me, Ricky?” you pout your lips, clasping your hands in front of you.

Eddie makes a choking sound and you ignore him, gesturing to the door, “But that’s okay, I understand. I’ll just tell my friends we can’t get the good stuff tonight and -”

Rick holds out his hand stopping your retreating, “Wait!”

Eddie groans, “No. You seriously did not fall for that pathetic excuse of-”

Rick picks up the tin and shoots Eddie a glare before turning back to you, dopey smile on his lips, “Alright, one free joint for the once upon a time princess who’s always been too sweet to me,” he hands you a joint and you smile at him, batting your eyelashes. 

He pulls another one out, “A second free one for the inconvenience of driving all the way out here and not knowing your old buddy took my gig and his mean yelling earlier-”

Eddie cries out, “Oh my god! Come on, man!”

Rick holds up a third one, “A third and final free joint to save for a special occasion - for old times sake,” he winks at you as you steal it, backing away before Eddie can convince him to change his mind. 

“Thank you Rick! It’ll be our little secret that they were free, and I’ll spread the word that you still have the best stuff in town!” blowing him a kiss that he pretends to grab and slap his cheek with as you laugh.

Eddie stands behind him shaking his head, hissing as you turn your back on the pair of boys, “Rick, this is exactly why you hired me to sell. What the fuck was-”

Rick’s voice follows you out and you wish you were quicker to close the door before hearing, “My man, you of all people should know the power that girl’s smile has on a guy.”

“I thought you didn’t remember-”

“Dude. Everyone remembers.”

Upon returning home, you quickly shuffle up to your room, and click the lock before heading over to your closet. Digging around on the top shelf for the old shoebox covered in collaged pictures and magazine cut outs to hide your newly acquired contraband like you used to in high school. Opening the lid, your stomach churns at the contents of the box you forgot you had kept and hidden away. You dump all of it out and onto the floor and slip the three joints inside, placing one of your old t-shirts atop them. Deciding you’ll smoke the last bit of flower you had been saving first and ignore the pile of tainted memories. 

Placing an old cassette tape into your stereo, and turning the volume up, you blow the smoke out your window and let the high take over, everything that’s gone wrong that day melting away as your muscles relax fully. 

Body and mind lulled into a blissfully unaware and relaxed state, you slowly unpack the things you brought back home. As you take down posters and hang new ones up, replacing framed photos of you and the girls from Hawkins with your polaroids and frames of Chicago, you don’t notice the sun shifting squares across your floor throughout the day or the number of tapes you replace as the songs click to their end. Pausing in between your slow unpacking and decorating to light up the last little bit in your bowl, hollowing your cheeks and sucking in the definitely burnt and past its prime drug.

After the last suitcase is emptied and shoved under your bed, you turn to the pile full of tokens from memory lane hell you had dumped on the floor. Photobooth pictures of you and Brittany where he enters the last frame kissing your cheek. Lace from the bottom of your prom dress that was tailored. Ticket stubs from date nights. A small box that you knew if you opened would be a necklace with his initial dangling on the gold chain. Slowly dropping items into your wastebasket, you pause at a few of them. A pop bottle cap necklace you allow to return to the box. A polaroid of your brother and Dustin Henderson shoving ice cream cones in your face, a handmade card full of drawings your brother made, and a ticket stub to The Breakfast Club all make the cut too. Folded pieces of notebook paper are all that’s left. Several have tiny hearts and your name on them that you quickly shove into the trash, but most of them have striking doodles of dragons and knights, a crown, frogs and various favorite animals from over the years on them made in black sharpie that disappear into the creases of the strategically folded paper. Those you return to the box as well with a lump in your throat and pull out one of the new joints. 

The items sobering any sort of high you had been feeling, you notice the sky darkening, the once gray and bright day fading into a hazy blue twilight as the front door thudding closed and echoes of boys filter up the stairs. 

Excited to greet all of your brother’s best friends with more than a wave from the car, you stick the joint in your pocket and race down the stairs, jumping down the last two and practically falling over at what waits for you in the entryway. 

Your brother grins, “Hey! We brought home pizza!” 

Lucas Sinclair holds up the box and grins at you as well and you gulp as you wave at the young boys, greeting them as your eyes remain on Steve’s and then Eddie’s, “Hey guys, long time no see.”

Dustin Henderson, the closest of your brother’s friends races forward to give you a hug, practically your little brother too and you laugh as you hug him back, “Holy cow, you all got so tall!” You ruffle the top of his head as he pulls away and frown, looking around, “What’s with all this long hair though?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you and leans a shoulder against the wall and you fold your arms, glaring back at him. 

Steve looks between the two of you and then at your little brother who looks like he’s in pain when Mike Wheeler hitches his thumb at Eddie, “He thinks it’s because of him.”

“Yeah, he’s always been pretty full of himself,” you reply without looking away from Eddie. 

Eddie opens his mouth to respond and maybe it’s some lingering effects of the weed, but you beat him to it, not caring about the audience you have, “Why are you here?” 

Lucas speaks around a bite of a slice he slipped out of the box that Dustin snatches from him and closes, “Eddie runs Hellfire.”

Will Byers pipes up at your blinking when Lucas’ mouth remains full, “Our DND Club? He’s the best Dungeon Master Hawkins has ever seen.”

Turning your gaze to your brother, he rubs the back of his neck and whispers, “Did I not mention that Eddie still ran DND?”

Shaking your head at him, it’s all the final cherry on top to your massively awful first day back in Hawkins, “Nope, must have slipped your mind when you were too busy telling everyone about my mistakes and failures instead.”

Steve clears his throat and nods at the younger boys and the kitchen, slowly shoving them out of the entryway as your brother starts to apologize, “I didn’t mean to tell them all, I was just happy to have you back home and-”

“Whatever, it’s too late now, but,” you point at Eddie who hasn’t moved from his spot leaning, “You’re not hanging out with him anymore.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t fight you on your order, surprisingly, it’s your brother who does, “Excuse me?”

Shoving past Eddie, you start to pull on your shoes and coat, “You heard me.”

He scoffs, “Hate to break it to ya sis, but you’re not my mother. Why can’t I hang out with Eddie? Just because you don’t like him? He didn’t live up to the Hawkins princess’ standards, right? Cause it sure as shit can’t be because of the pot like you used to claim since we can all smell how you’ve been spending your day without a job.”

The words land across your skin in a harsh slap, cold and biting, just how they were intended and you see his shoulders fall and the immediate regret on his face, but it’s too late, and he can’t take them back. 

The kitchen turns silent, Steve closes his eyes and rubs the back of his neck and Eddie stands up straighter, all three of them opening their mouths.

Shaking your head as you open the door you mutter, “Save it,” and slam it behind you. 

Fingers fumbling with your keys, you hold in the tears until you’re in your car and down the block, letting them fall silently. Aimlessly driving around, desperate to escape the town you had worked so hard to get out of already, until you end up at a diner along the highway just outside of Hawkins. 

Opening the center console, you rifle through your tapes until you find your favorite Metallica one. You turn the knob so the opening soft chords of ‘Fight Fire With Fire’ fill your car. The cold pads of your fingertips swipe at your tear stained cheeks and you let the metal music fill your brain, trying to let it take over the thoughts sending you into a spiral of self loathing and pity. 

The joint sitting in your pocket seems to be burning a hole there as the lyric, ‘the gods are laughing’ cuts through your wallowing. Pulling it out, you place the joint between chapped lips as you search for your lucky bright yellow lighter. You can’t help but think about how different this scenario is from your previous smoke sessions in Hawkins. Boys always lighting them for you before Chicago, only daring to have a few passes from fear of being labeled a stoner like classmates around you. Now, your hands work with a mind of their own, the steps to smoking alone are second nature, twirling it to get an even burn and as the paper catches the flame, you hollow your cheeks and let yourself become numb. 

The smoke leaves your parted lips as ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’ starts and you adjust the volume a little louder, letting your body relax into the smoke and sounds filling the car. The events of day replay in your mind like some private showing of a sick and twisted horror movie starring yourself as the paper slowly burns down and the album continues on. As you hear, ‘no one but me can save myself, but it’s too late’ you can’t help but feel like you’ve made a colossal mistake in coming back and a fresh wave of tears starts to gather on your lashes.

Reminding yourself it wasn’t exactly by choice, but you’re sure if you would have picked up a third job, found roommates, something, you could have made Chicago work. But you gave up, your expectations and the bar you set for yourself lower than they ever had been. The fact of the matter is, your entire confidence was shattered as the dream you’d always reached for, the perfect life in the perfect city, came tumbling down around you after one setback. You’d had it extremely easy for most of your life and though you worked hard in school to get a scholarship, worked a job throughout high school to save up for the same brands other’s simply purchased with family credit cards, you were doused in privilege and naivety. Somewhere along the way you let yourself feel unstoppable until the universe reminded you that you’re nothing special and the world is not always going to be fair. 

Maybe everyone was right. You were a princess of Hawkins, a part of a crowd that had life handed to them and you were no better than anyone else. A hypocrite. A failure. And certainly no role model for your brother. 

The tears finally fall and you quickly wipe at them and snuff out the butt of your joint. You’re not sure how this day can get worse, and you’re wondering if this is your rock bottom. Surely you can turn it all around, climb your way back up. Nudging the volume up again, you’re determined to not continue to wallow once your favorite song comes on and you sing out “Out for my own, out to be free…” closing your eyes and headbanging along to the fast guitar as you remember the girl you were when the album came out. First year in the city and full of drive and ambition - full of hope. 

Three quick, loud raps on your passenger door window snap your eyes open. A man with a large mustache and decked out in a uniform doting big blocky letters spelling out the word ‘Police’ is glaring at you and you now notice the swirling red and blue lights in your windshield through the lingering hazy smoke. 

As the diner full of families glare out through frosted windows as you’re escorted into the back of the cop car, you let your head fall forward, fighting off the laugh that was threatening to escape your chest at the universe’s cruel sense of humor.

Correction. 

Maybe this was your rock bottom. 

🖤 Thanks again for being here - any interaction is so appreciated & I’d love to know what you thought about it! If you’re able, please consider reblogging to help get my work seen. 

tag list: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @christalcake @marymunsonloves @big-ope-vibes @hellkaisersangel @aysheashea @aftermidnightwriting @idkidknemore

[reidsc0nverse]

A Rose by Any Other Name (Chapter Four)

Summary: Reader and Spencer get to it on that coffee date and throughout the day finds herself to be a lot more apparent in her fondness to the genius. Her day only gets better when she receives some big news.

Warnings: Language

AN: Things are happeningggg

Series Masterlist

---------------------༺⚘༻---------------------

I did indeed get a text from him the next morning. 

From: Unknown Contact

> Hey, it's Spencer. How does that coffee sound about now?

I smiled to myself and replied to him.

You know just the way to a girls heart <

I got out of bed and made my way to the bathroom, work started about an hour so I had enough time to do whatever I needed.

> Great, how about Laurent's Brewery in 30?

Perfect <

I hopped in the shower and started to get myself ready. Afterward I got dressed in one of my favorite work outfits and did some light makeup.

About twenty minutes later I left my apartment and walked to the coffee shop, it's a cute little place and not too far. Before walking in I hear my name. Turning around I see Spencer walking towards me.

"Right on time." He smiled.

"I enjoy being punctual." I say smiling back. He opens the door for me as we walk in.

We walk to the front and order our drink and sit down at a nearby table. 

"Did you seriously ask for five sugars?" I ask laughing at the ridiculous sweet tooth this man has.

"What can I say? I like sweet things." He says with a slight smirk for a moment then goes back to his dorky smile.

Was he flirting? 

I shake my head as the barista calls the both of our names as we grab our coffees and sit at the table again.

"So, have you taken any extra thought on it?" he asked me.

"Extra thought on what?" 

"Pulling through to become a profiler."

I bit the inside of my cheek, I really hadn't thought any more about the topic. I mean of course I wanted to do it, but right now with filling in for JJ, I just have too much on my plate to actually execute anything. 

"In all honesty, no." I say, taking a sip from my drink.

His eyebrows furrow, "Why not?"

I shrug, "I've been too busy, I guess."

"I hope you can find some time, it'd be nice to have you around with all of us. I mean, when JJ gets back..I don't know I think we'll miss you around that's all. Rossi seems happy you're around too." He says while fidgeting with his hands a little bit.

I smile warmly at him, "Aw, yknow, I've never felt so welcomed like this before." I say while picking at the side of the cup.

He tilts his head, "Really?"

I nod my head no and shrug, "Nope."

"I don't know how, as soon as JJ introduced you to us we kinda immediately had no doubts about you. Which is weird for a bunch of profilers."

I laughed and took another sip to hide my face. "I'm glad to hear that, I was so nervous I wasn't gonna fit in."

He scoffs with a smile, "Not at all."

I look at my watch, "We should probably get to work huh"

He looks at his own and nods his head, "I can give you a ride." 

I thank him and we walk out to his car, getting in and beginning to head for the office. 

"You have no idea how much I needed that coffee." I say slumping in the seat.

"Last night was, um, definitely a treat. We need to stop hosting parties at Rossi's the night before paperwork days." He laughs.

We pull up to the building shortly after and walked in together, Morgan's eyes shooting to us and his cheeky ass smile plastered on his face.

Walking to us, he smirk and begins, "Well well well, so you go home together, and now you come to work together, did pretty boy get it on or am I missing something?" 

I roll my eyes at him, "Ha ha. Not so lucky, Derek, sorry to burst your bubble."

"Right..right." He laughs and claps his hand on Spencer's back, who, is now blushing. 

"I mean, that wasn't the case this time, who knows." I tease and walk to my office, leaving him standing there. 

This confidence has got to be left over from last night. 

Paperwork's a bitch. After documenting everything from the previous case for a couple hours I only looked up from my writings when I heard a knock on the doorway to see Spencer.

I blinked hard from the light adjustment  from the dark office to where he was standing. "Hey what's up?" I asked.

"Need any help? I finished all mine a little while ago and I thought I'd do something better with my time." He said with his hands in his pockets awkwardly. 

"So you decided to come spend some time with me. That's definitely an improvement from Derek trying to force you to do his own." I joke and he laughs in agreement. I motion for him to take the seat in front of me across the desk which I now cleared off some space for him.

As he sits I hand him one of the final pages in which is needed to fill out and finish the one I'm working on. 

I felt his eyes on me as I completed my writing and finally looked up at him.

"Look, sorry if what I said earlier made you uncomfortable or anything-"

"What? No, no. Not at all."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" I ask. 

A beat of silence and then a smile grew on his face.

"What?" I laugh, now seeing his demeanor.

"Nothing. I finished it up, here." He said with his smile still on his face as he handed me the paper and started to walk out.

"Hey hey hey, pump your breaks pretty boy." I say, standing up. 

He turns slowly to me while sucking his lips in to hide his smile.

"Y'know your nose scrunches is when you're flustered." 

"What? No it doesn't." I say playfully, at least I don't think it does:

"It happened when we talked last night while we were cleaning up, this morning when I told you about how I like my coffee, and when I asked to help you." 

God I hate profilers. 

"Your point?" I asked crossing my arms.

"Last night I admitted to you making me nervous, and no matter how confident you seem...I don't know, it seems like I return the favor." He said with a smirk.

I had to literally keep my mouth from opening in that moment, I scoffed and looked away from him trying to compose myself even though I knew it was pointless; he'd see right through me. 

"Wow, you are good at your job." I say with a faint smile and avoiding looking at him but I could feel the tension between us rise until I get snapped out of it hearing my dads voice.

"Y/N, I need to talk to you." He says across the hall and I compose myself and walk past Spencer to see him. 

My dad meets me with kind eyes and puts his arm around me, guiding me to the round table to see Section Chief Strauss and Hotch.

"What's this about.." I ask with worry in my voice. "Did I do something wrong?"

Strauss smiles softly and responds, "No, at least not to my knowledge." 

"A little birdie informed me of your interest as profiler." My dad choked in. 

My eyebrows furrow and he continues, "I had a quick talk with Erin here and we discussed a possibility of including you onto the team within some time." 

My face brightened up, "Seriously?"

Hotch comes in, "Of course you still need all the training and it may take a little while, but even as liaison you've shown evidence of having the skills to make a great profiler." 

Strauss finishes up, "You continue your time here filling in for JJ and keep up the work that you've proven as being impressive, then we can start the work on getting you set up." 

I'm pretty sure they could physically see the excitement spilling out of my pores. "Oh my gosh..thank you! Seriously this is huge, I mean, I'm so grateful." I say and the others nod knowingly. 

My dad shakes me from under his arm in congratulations and leads me out the room to leave Strauss and Hotch.

"It won't take too long, not if I have anything to do with it." My dad says mischievously.

I roll my eyes, "A little bird told you huh." 

He shrugs and we walk down to everyone else's desk as my dad goes off to the break room. Emily catches a glimpse of me and walks over, "What did Strauss want with you?" She asks with annoyance in her voice, not everyone is very um...fond of Strauss.

"Oh, nothing bad." I say, biting the smile on my face.

Emily catches up on it and cocks her eyebrow, "Mhm..you know I could always analyze you to figure it out." 

"You'll find out soon enough." I smirk and she squints her eyes with a smile. 

I look over my shoulder and see Spencer sitting at his desk attempting to hide a smile behind his fist as he's holding his head up. 

Little birdie. Right.

---------------------༺⚘༻---------------------

taglist: @darkenwolfie @justlivinginadaydream @daddy-dotcom @itsametaphorbriansblog @rosesandlavendertea @4karaa @lockwoods-coat-and-reids-vests

[fullstcp]

Dear Evan Hansen Sentence Starters

ANYBODY HAVE A MAP

"This is gonna be a good day and here's why."

"Those letters are important."

"They're gonna help you build your confidence."

"Can we try to have an optimistic outlook?"

"Can we buck up just enough to see the world won't fall apart?"

"We're not giving up before we tried."

"This year, we make a new start."

"I'm proud of you already."

"Another stellar conversation for the scrapbook."

"I'm kinda coming up empty."

"I can't find my way to you."

"Does anybody have a map?"

"Anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this?"

"I don't know if you can tell, but this is me just pretending to know."

"The scary truth is, I'm flying blind and I'm making this up as I go."

"Another masterful attempt ends with disaster."

"Pour another cup of coffee and watch it all crash and burn."

"It's a puzzle, it's a maze. I try to steer through it a million ways, but each day's another wrong turn."

WAVING THROUGH A WINDOW

"I've learned to slam on the break before I even turn the key."

"Give them no reason to stare."

"No slipping up if you slip away."

"I got nothing to share. No, I got nothing to say."

"Step out of the sun if you keep getting burned."

"Will I ever be more than I've always been?"

"I try to speak, but nobody can hear."

"I wait around for an answer to appear."

"We start with stars in our eyes."

"We start believing that we belong."

"No one tells you where you went wrong."

"Will I ever make a sound?"

FOR FOREVER

"Feels like we could go on for forever this way."

"Wouldn't that be cool?"

"There's nothing that we can't discuss."

"Follow me."

SINCERELY, ME

"We've been way too out of touch."

"It sucks that we don't talk that much."

"I should tell you that I think of you each night."

"Why would you write that?"

"I'm just trying to tell the truth."

"I've gotta tell you, life without you has been hard."

"I miss talking about life and other stuff."

"Each day's another fight."

"I'll take your advice."

"I'll try to be more nice.

"I'll turn it around, just wait and see."

"All that it takes is a little reinvention."

"All you gotta do is just believe you can be who you wanna be."

"Are we done yet?"

"Yes, I also miss our talks."

"I'm proud of you."

"Just keep pushing through."

"I'm just glad to be your friend."

"Our friendship goes beyond your average kind of bond."

"We're close, but not that way."

"I'm getting better every day."

REQUIEM

"Why should I play this game of pretend?"

"Oh, don't the tears just pour?"

"I could give in to all of the gloom, but tell me what for."

"Why should I have a heavy heart?"

"Why should I start to break in pieces?"

"Why should I go and fall apart for you?"

"Why should I lie saying that I miss you?"

"I will sing no requiem tonight."

"I'm going to bed."

"Come sit with me."

"You can't stand to be in this room for five minutes?"

"I gave you the world, you threw it away."

"Within these words I finally find you."

"I know that you are still here."

"Why should I say I'll keep you with me?"

"When the villains fall, the kingdoms never weep."

"Don't tell me that I didn't have it right."

"Don't tell me that it wasn't black and white."

"After all you put me through, don't say it wasn't true that you were not the monster that I knew."

IF I COULD TELL HER

"There's nothing like your smile. Sort of subtle and perfect and real."

"You never knew how wonderful that smile could make someone feel."

"You still fill out the quizzes that they put in those teen magazines."

"You're everything to me."

"We're a million worlds apart and I don't know how I would even start."

"It looked pretty cool when you put indigo streaks in your hair."

"What do you do when there's this great divide?"

"You just seemed so far away."

"What do you do when the distance is too wide?"

"It's like I don't know anything."

"How do you say 'I love you'?"

DISAPPEAR

"We're just the losers who keep waiting to be seen."

"No one seems to care."

"It means someone will see that you are there."

"No one deserves to be forgotten."

"No one deserves to fade away."

"If you never get around to doing some remarkable thing that doesn't mean that you're not worth remembering."

"You need to show them."

YOU WILL BE FOUND

"Have you ever felt like nobody was there?"

"Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere?"

"Maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay."

"You'll reach up and you'll rise again."

"There's a place where we don't have to feel unknown."

"Every time that you call out you're a little less alone."

"You are not alone."

TO BREAK IN A GLOVE

"Why don't you take it?"

"I thought we might play catch or I don't know."

"Today could be a lucky day for you."

"Every second that you spend is gonna pay off."

"It's the hard way, but it's the right way."

ONLY US

"I don't need you to sell me on reasons to want you."

"You don't have to convince me."

"You don't have to be scared you're not enough."

"What we've got going is good."

"I don't need more reminders of all that's been broken."

"I don't need you to fix what I'd rather forget."

"Try to quite the voices in your head. We can't compete with all that."

"What if it's us and only us?"

"What if it's you and what if it's me and what if that's all that we need it to be?"

"I never thought there'd be someone like you who would want me."

"If you like me for me and nothing else, well, that's all that I've wanted for longer than you could possibly know."

"It's not so impossible."

"We can just watch the whole world disappear."

"You're the only one I still know how to see."

GOOD FOR YOU

"So you found a place where the grass is greener and you jumped the fence to the other side."

"Is it good?"

"Are they giving you a world I could never provide?"

"I hope you're proud of your big decision."

"I hope it's all that you want and more."

"Now you're free from the agonizing life you were living before."

"It would kill you to have to stay trapped when you've got something new."

"I'm sorry you had it rough."

"I'm sorry I'm not enough."

"Thank God they rescued you."

"You got what you always wanted."

"You got your dream come true."

"You got a taste of a life so perfect, so you did what you had to do."

"Does it cross your mind to be slightly sorry?"

"Do you even care that you might be wrong?"

"Was it fun?"

"Well I hope you had a blast while you dragged me along."

"Well I guess if I'm not of use, go ahead, you can cut me loose."

"I'll shut my mouth and I'll let you go."

"Would that be good for you?"

"I'll just sit back while you run the show."

"All I need is some time to think."

"The boat is about to sink."

"Tell me how could I change the story?"

"I've got to find a way to stop it."

"Now you say that you're someone new."

WORDS FAIL

"I never meant to make it such a mess."

"I never though that it would go this far."

"There's nothing I can say."

"I guess I thought I could be part of this."

"I never had this kind of thing before."

"That's not a worthy explanation."

"That's not a worthy explanation. I know there is none."

"Nothing can make sense of all these things I've done."

"Sometimes, you see everything you wanted. And sometimes, you see everything you wish you had. And it's right there in front of you."

"You want to believe it's true, so you make it true."

"This was just a sad invention."

"It wasn't real, I know."

"We were happy, I guess I couldn't let that go."

"I guess I couldn't give that up."

"I'd rather pretend I'm something better than these broken parts."

"Pretend I'm something other than this mess that I am."

"I never let them see the worst of me."

"What if everyone saw? What if everyone knew?"

"Would they like what they saw? Or would they hate it too?"

"Will I just keep on running away from what's true?"

"All I ever do is run."

SO BIG / SO SMALL

"I told you not to come outside."

"I knew there would be moments that I'd miss."

"I knew there would be space I couldn't fill."

"I knew I'd come up short a million different ways. And I did. And I do. And I will."

"No matter what I'll be here."

FINALE

"Today at least you're you and that's enough."

"We could be alright for forever this way."

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

@buried-stars oops

Crossing That Bridge When We Come To It (or, there must have been worse dates)

Apollo Justice doesn't go on dates, not really. For one, he hasn't really had the time. Pushing yourself through law school and working various minimum-wage jobs on the side so you have the money to push yourself through law school doesn't exactly lead to much time for leisure. He also just can't imagine what you're supposed to do on a date. Sure, there's all the movie staples of going to a restaurant, going to the movies, getting coffee...but Apollo can't quite piece together how any of that is supposed to lead to a definitive decision to be in a relationship.

This is why, when Klavier Gavin had asked, quite offhandedly, if he'd like to go on a stroll around People Park and get some food afterwards, "as a date, ja?", Apollo had been startled enough to automatically agree. It was only around ten minutes later, once he'd finished packing up his briefcase and organizing his post-trial paperwork, that he'd realized exactly what he'd agreed to.

Trucy had, of course, utilized her impeccable sense of comedic timing to get a photo of his oh shit I said I'd do what? face.

Now, five minutes before he's supposed to head out the door, Apollo steels his nerve and takes several deep breaths and prepares to reassure himself in the customary way---

Knock, knock

Thrown off-balance, Apollo lets out a startled yelp and grasps at whatever's closest that he might theoretically be able to use as a weapon against whoever's decided to show up on his doorstep. He's gotten a little more paranoid since law school--especially with everything his first few real cases entailed.

He cautiously opens the door, cursing once again the lack of any sort of peephole. Apollo's prepared for a sales pitch, for a pair of missionaries, for anything, almost.

He's not prepared for the person outside his door to be Klavier Gavin, looking cool and casual but dressed just noticeably nicer than usual.

Apollo curses under his breath. He'd thought he would have more time before he'd have to contend with a date-ready celebrity prosecutor!

"Hallo, Apollo! I know we agreed to meet at the park, but as I was driving over I remembered that your apartment is right on the way, and thought I would offer a ride!" Klavier grins, all perfect teeth and camera-ready enthusiasm. Apollo bets he's been on plenty of dates.

"Uhhh..." he manages. Come on, get it together! "Sure. That would be...cool."

Wow, great job, idiot.

"Fantastich! Then let's be off, into the sunset!" Klavier wraps his hand around Apollo's wrist and pulls him out of his apartment. He's just about able to grab his wallet and keys from his side table, but leaves his phone behind completely.

"So, you said you drove here?" he asks, to make conversation. Klavier busies himself with extracting a set of keys from his pocket as they descend Apollo's apartment building steps.

"I did--I live slightly too far from the center of town to be able to walk. Fortunately, that means you'll be able to experience the wind in your hair the way I do every day!"

Apollo's still processing that statement when his eyes land on the motorcycle.

"Oh--your bike? I'm not sure...maybe I'd better walk." Backpedaling this quickly into a date probably wasn't the done thing, but Apollo's trying hard to ignore the fear bubbling in his stomach at the idea of something that goes at highway speeds but offers about as much protection as his own bicycle.

"We all have to face our fears eventually, Herr Forehead. And I was exaggerating about the wind in your hair. It'll all be under my spare helmet." Klavier's reached the bike now, rummaging around in a storage compartment Apollo hadn't even noticed. He tosses a sturdy helmet to Apollo, who catches it on instinct.

"If I thought you would be in any way unsafe, I would not offer," Klavier says gently, meeting Apollo's eyes. "But if you're truly uncomfortable, we can walk from here."

Apollo bites at the inside of his cheeks, then takes a deep breath. He looks at the bike. He looks at Klavier.

"No, I'll...I want to try it. I know the bike's important to you."

Klavier's true smile lights up his face in the way that his rehearsed, stage-face smile doesn't.

"Then climb on, and we'll be away!"

---

The ride isn't as bad as Apollo had expected it to be. Klavier sticks studiously to the speed limit all the way to People Park, and he's an almost frustratingly careful driver. By the time they're climbing off the bike at the familiar gateway to the park, Apollo's almost complaining about the ride not being exciting enough.

Furthermore, he's discovered that Klavier's opinions on pizza toppings are just entirely wrong, and that's given them something to talk about, falling back into familiar patterns as they wander through the location of their first crime scene together.

"You can't seriously be advocating for pineapple on pizza. That's more of a crime than anything we've seen in court."

"Ach, and here I thought you were a man of taste! It's senseless to rehash this debate, it's been had for as long as people have had access to pineapples and pizza at the same time."

"Okay, but consider: you're wrong about that and about sweetcorn as a pizza topping."

"It's a classic!"

Apollo scowls. "Where?"

"Germany, of course." Klavier's boots scuff the gravel path, and he turns towards the small stream that divides the park in two. There's an ornamental bridge linking the sides, and they step onto the red-painted wood together.

"I don't believe you. As a matter of fact, I don't believe you're even German! I think it's all just a publicity stunt!" Apollo knows he's being inflammatory, but he can't help it. Something about being with Klavier brings out a need to debate everything he says.

"Objection!" Klavier shouts, on instinct, flinging his arm out--and everything goes downhill from there.

Specifically, everything goes down--Klavier's arm collides with Apollo, who's mid-step, halfway across the bridge. Already off-balance, Klavier's accidental shove is all that Apollo needs to go tumbling over the low bridge railing and to land, ass-first, in the water.

There's a few seconds where they just look at each other, frozen in various states of shock. Klavier's mouth is hanging open in comical surprise, and Apollo's hair drips into his vision. He's not hurt, the drop was far too small for that--but he's soaking up the decorative river and attracting attention from the koi who call the water home.

Then, as though a switch has been flipped, they spring into motion. Klavier jumps down into the water, too, his boots causing a secondary splash that just soaks Apollo more. Apollo starts to laugh, incredulously, unable to believe that this is actually happening. Even as Klavier helps him up and steers him back to dry land, Apollo feels like he's in a dream.

It takes a little while before he notices that Klavier's spewing a stream of apologies and asking after his wellbeing. Apollo's been preoccupied with wringing out his hoodie and lamenting the state of his second-best pair of jeans, but he grabs Klavier's arm as he tries to fuss over him, and tries to reassure him the best he can.

"Klavier! It's fine. Yeah, I'm kind of annoyed, but honestly, seeing how guilty you looked right after I fell in pretty much made up for it."

Klavier frowns deeply. "So you're saying that you're glad I feel bad about pushing you in?"

"No!" Apollo sighs. "I've just...never seen you not be completely put together and composed. It was kind of reassuring that you can be caught off-guard by something too."

"Oh," says Klavier. "But, Apollo...surely you knew I was worried that I'd do something to screw this up spectacularly from the start?"

"You were what?" Apollo thinks back on the past couple hours. Yeah, maybe he'd noticed that Klavier's smiles were a little strained, that he'd had a spare second helmet ready to take Apollo on his bike despite supposedly being 'on the way' to the park...but Apollo himself had been too preoccupied with trying to anticipate what the date would be like to notice.

"I was nervous! Practically trembling! Ja, I've been on a few dates before, but I didn't want to do something to scare you, specifically, away."

"...huh," Apollo remarks. Then he takes the scene in again: him, soaking wet up past his waist; Klavier, his custom black boots mud-splattered and his ripped black jeans sodden, the audience of koifish and bemused park patrons wandering by.

"Guess that ship's sailed, then. I don't know of anything worse that could happen besides being accidentally pushed off of a bridge."

Klavier winces. "I didn't mean it! I was simply a little too caught up in our debate."

"Let's cut our losses and skip the 'going out for food' part of this date, if you don't mind? I can't imagine anyone would let us in their restaurant looking like this."

"Ja..." Klavier says, wincing. He sounds as dejected as he'll let himself be. "Let me at least drive you home, schatz. To make up for the...pushing."

Apollo's mind is still whirring, though, because this isn't how he'd wanted this to end either. He'd been having a good time up until this point--surely there must be something he could do to fix this.

Unless...

"Sure, I'll let you drive me home. But...do you want to stay and have dinner with me? I can't promise anything fancy, but there's a good handful of takeout places around."

The difference in Klavier's expression is staggering--and for the second time today, Apollo sees his genuine smile come through, and realizes why so many people want to kiss this man.

He just hopes that Klavier will let him get the opportunity to do so before he pushes him in any more rivers.

[brendaonao3]

Hi~ do you have any Superbat fics and blog recs? I’m usually a more comics or animated verse rather than live action person, but superbat are lovely in all their variants~ Thanks!

Sorry I'm SO late with this, but here goes (I'll warn you now, it's a LOT)

I mean, obviously, I'll say, read my Superbat fics, because I'm biased :D, but in no particular order, read everything Superbat by the following authors, because they are all consistently great:

Susiecarter Liodain Mithen Linndechir KathrynShadow

And if you read NO other fic in the Superbat fandom, read this one:

Suadade (it's one of the best fics - period - I've ever read in any fandom)

As for the rest, here goes (again, in no order):

What I Need

Unexpected Scoops

The Whole Truth

Slow Down The Days

Situational Awareness

See Something You Like

Prussian Blue

Muddy Shoes

I'm Struggling To Exist With You (And Without You)

Hive Mind

Happy To Help

Gone Too Far This Time

Ten Things That Go Boom

The Closer I Am To Finding God (You're A Miracle To Me)

The Moon And Its Eclipse

Someone Call For A Ride?

Take One Last Look At This Sacred Heart

In A Life To Come

The Long Hangover

Silenced By The Night

Clarkia Amoena

Failsafe

Snowed In

Punctuated Equilibrium (Series)

Looking At You

Nor The Rain

Fame Is The Bait (And The Switch Is Your Desolate Smile)

How To Date A Superhero (Series)

Five Times Batman Got It Wrong (And One Time Brucie Didn't)

Dark Knight, Bright Son (Series)

Teachable Moments

It's A Shot In The Dark (Waiting For You To Open Your Heart To Me)

Little Things

Before Dawn (Series)

A Uniform Intermittent Rotary Motion

A Spoonful Of Sun

Take It

Convergent Evolution

Asking Out

Someone To Talk To, And A Little Of That Human Touch

The Farthest Shore

Small Things

The Curve Of Your Neck (Like An Invitation)

Twenty Questions

A Pleasant Diversion

Serendipity

Coffee Scented Kisses

Holiday In The Sun

Comfortably Numb

The Salmon Incident

Night Is Young (And We're Living)

Some Things To Get Used To

Wham Bam Shang-A-Lang

Enjoy and happy reading!!!!!!!!!! <3

[icallhimjoey]

I know you said you don't want to touch Like A Poem because it's perfect as it is (you're right, it is). But hear me out here... there is still tension even though Joe and reader have now kissed. I'm not sure you're aware (obviously you are lol) but Joe and reader do not know each other at all. He knows she owns a book store, and she knows he likes his coffee black and that's pretty much it? Also I want to read about the funeral to be able to get over the grandfather dying so suddenly (why did you do this to me it made me sob) so I'm officially begging you to continue the story :))))

i don't know who you are, but i will find you - very sorry but will have to murder you. BIG SIGH. all right, i'm starting a "second season" to Like A Poem because of this request, and this is the first part. and hey. last thing. fuck you 🥰  Wordcount: 2.1K 

-----

A Lot Like Love

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Thanks for coming,” you could hear your mother say softly to someone you didn't know. You were unsure if they were family, an old friend of the family, or even just someone who knew your grandfather who you'd never met before. There were a couple of aunts – great aunts – old, heavily perfumed ladies that weren't technically aunts and felt far removed from you, who you'd only see once every maybe 4 or 5 years. Maybe it was one of them. 

“Thanks so much for being here today,” Your mother was operating on autopilot. She kind of had to, you thought. How else could she make it through this day? You felt guilty about not standing next to her, saying goodbye to all the guests, but there was not a chance you could host the way she could, speaking to everyone, smiling at everyone. 

You just sat beside where she was standing by the door as people left, on a hard, cold church pew, and stared into space. You felt drained the way you feel drained after a huge cry, which, coincidentally, you’d just had. In front of a packed church too, which made it worse.

Your mother had written a beautiful letter to her father that she got to read up on the stand during the funeral, and she had done it without much show of emotion. All her words had been pronounced so clearly, no stutters or sobs got in the way of the back-row hearing it just as well as the front. When you'd gotten up to read a poem fitting for the occasion, you'd been a crying mess, voice high, needing to take breaks because your throat would close up completely - it was awful. And all those people staring at you, 75% per cent of them pairs of eyes you didn't know or recognize at all. None of them Joe's. You had vowed to yourself then that you'd never speak at a funeral again. 

So, you kissed Joe yesterday. And then he had left shortly after. That didn't feel like enough to invite Joe to your grandfather's funeral the next morning, so you hadn't. Which was okay, your mother was there, and you know, other family members too. Not that you cared much about them, none were really in your life, but it was nice for them to pay their respects to your granddad. 

When the last person had walked past your mother, she turned and came to sit down next to you. She sighed as she collapsed onto the bench, and you looked at her. She looked tired. Worse than you did. You just sat for a minute, empty stares into empty spaces.

“I don't want to go back to the store,” you said, slumping and resting your head on her shoulder. 

“Then don't, take the day.” your mother suggested, but you shook your head.

“Anne's in there by herself now, running the ship. Not sure if she's doing it tightly, but, fingers crossed.” You lightly joked, crossing your fingers for effect, and it made your mother smile. 

Up by the altar, you could see the pastor who had led the service, straightening some bits out, tidying the pieces of paper you'd left behind. Every move that was made, every little sound, was magnified by the acoustics of the building. You didn't like how cold churches felt, but you really appreciated the history and art of them. The vastness and grandiosity of them. You felt like the empty space between the pews and the tall ceilings was filled up with floating bubbles of nice thoughts and memories and even prayers for your granddad; all things people who had just left the venue had left behind. You weren't religious, but there was something nice about being sat in the back, letting those bubbles slowly come down and land on you, with your mother by your side. 

“Hey, remember when I called you that one day about the actor that used the toilet at the store?” you suddenly thought of it, and wanted to take your mother's mind off the heavy and emotional morning you'd just struggled through. She could probably use some fun news, and didn't you carry around just the most fun bit of news right now?

“I met him,” your mother said, and it took you a second to let her words register inside your mind. You shot eyes at her, confused, and saw she was smiling. The only time your mother and Joe had been in the store at the same time, she had been stuck behind the till helping you out. There was not a chance that they had met that day. You would’ve seen. 

“When?!” your voice was unexpectedly ear-piercing as it bounced from the tall walls. You instantly regretted saying it so loudly, seeing the pastor up front look at you. 

“A while ago, I think... couple of weeks? At the bakery,” she said, like that really explained anything. 

You sat up, straightening your back and you turned your body towards her as you waited for your mother to explain herself further. Had your mother forgotten the excitement in your voice when you had told her of your first meeting with Joe? How it had been so embarrassing that he had caught you falling to the floor after you thought he had left? How later you had explained that he had become somewhat of a friend to the store, that he would sometimes just be there for half a day? Why would she refrain that she actually met him in a fucking bakery?!

“Mum!” you impatiently hissed when she didn't seem to want to clarify herself at all. She took your arm and linked it with hers, forcing you to move back to sit next to her again, shoulders touching.

“It was after I helped that whole afternoon,” your mother made sure to whisper as she eyed the pastor who now seemed to be slowly making his way down the pews. You were likely going to be asked to leave if you weren't quiet, and your mother didn't want to step out back into the real world just yet. “There was a woman who had asked you for help twice, and you hadn't even acknowledged her because you were daydreaming, staring at someone. That's how I knew what he looked like.” 

You scoffed. You could've googled, you thought. 

You remember someone asking for help when you had noticed Joe and your granddad talking in those chairs. Had they tried to get your attention several times? Surely not. You definitely would've noticed.

“After your granddad and I left - you know that bakery that's opposite the flower shop granddad used to get sunflowers from? He was adamant we'd go inside, even though it was the end of the day, and nothing would be freshly baked.”

“And then Joe,” your mother elongated his name and looked at you as if she was peering over reading glasses. “Was in there, waiting to be helped.” You think back and remember how Joe had come back into the store later that day with baked goods that you shared when he had helped you restock the shelves. 

“He said hi to granddad. Very polite.”

Joe was very polite, she was right. Then your mum leant into you slightly, as if the next thing she was going to say was a secret. “Granddad told him he would always get you pastries on Friday afternoons when you'd come visit after school, and I thought it was such a weird thing to say to someone practically a stranger, but Joe then added four croissants to his order.”

Your mother might as well have slapped you right across the face. The emotional memory you'd completely forgotten about hit you hard, combined with new information about Joe and your granddad scheming behind your back, your brain short-circuited. 

Friday afternoon pastries with your grandfather. You’d look forward to it all week. You were only little, but he'd always have enough to feed at least four adults, you were sure. Different types of everything, but always two croissants. One for him, and one for you. It wasn’t until much later that you realized it was because your mother always had the late shift on Fridays and wouldn’t be able to cook, and your granddad had to work at the store, also not able to cook you a proper meal. It was a predicament that had morphed into a wonderful core childhood memory, one that you cherished with your entire being. You could feel tears pickle in the corners of your eyes as you tried to remember details, feelings, smells- anything to keep the memories fresh and live in your brain. You leant your head back to rest on your mother’s shoulder and thought you didn’t spend enough time with her. Her stopping by the store didn’t count as spending time, really. 

“We didn't actually introduce ourselves,” your mother continued, and you couldn't help but chuckle. “Sounds like him,” you commented through a smile and a sniff. “When he left, it was our turn and dad said he didn’t even really want anything.” Whenever your mother would refer to him as ‘dad’ you knew that for a second you weren’t her daughter, but just a person she was talking to about her father. “He just asked for old bread to feed ducks and pigeons at the park.” You frowned a little. Had he just wanted to go into the bakery because he’d seen Joe in there? You’d never know the answer, you thought, which was frustrating but, in a way, it felt nice to have an empty page in this book just so you could fill it in for yourself with whatever story you so pleased. 

How did he do this? Your grandfather wasn't even bloody alive anymore, and yet, he had managed to make your heart feel so full in this moment. As if it was him, comforting you at his own funeral, and it felt ironic. 

“We kissed yesterday.” You confessed then, and your felt your mother squeeze your arm tight to her body.

“Was it good?” your mum asked, and you elbowed into her side as an answer, the both of you grinning. 

“Seriously, was it?” she coaxed, and it made you laugh out loud – too loud for inside a church. 

“We’re in a church, mother!” you exclaimed theatrically. “Yea let’s leave before they add silly things onto the bill. Things like noise pollution,” your mother said after seeing strict eyes at her from the pastor who was now walking towards you in large steps. “Fifty extra quid for disturbing baby Jesus,” you joked, following her out. 

You had dropped your mother off at home, promised each other to see each other more, and she told you to slow down – you knew what she meant – before making your way over to work. Stepping inside you were confronted with an odd situation, a scene you couldn’t initially make a whole lot of sense of, and Joe’s facial expression absolutely didn’t help. He seemed a little annoyed. 

There were people in the store. Two guys, men you didn’t know, sitting in the armchairs. Customers. They were in their jackets, backpacks on the floor, a bag of shopping in between them. One of them was sat back and calmly reading the back of a book he’d picked up from the display in the window. The other was perched up on the very edge of the seat, elbows on knees, headphones on with his full attention on the phone he was holding. 

Joe, as it so happened, was stood behind the till, pen in hand, writing things onto a sheet that, suspiciously, looked a lot like an inventory list. Like he worked there. Which, you know, he very much didn’t. 

When you’d walked in, the bell had rung loudly and Joe hadn’t looked up initially, too busy with… work? But when he did look up, you saw his eyes soften and you noticed the littlest twinge in his face that showed empathy. Anne must’ve said you weren’t there because of the funeral. Speaking of…

Just as you were about to wonder where Anne was exactly, she walked out of the breakroom. 

“You’re back.” She stated. No emotion, no smiles, no excitement. Just a fact. 

“Yep.” You said back, your face still wrinkled in confusion. Anne picked up on it. 

“His seat was taken,” Anne said, and you knew she was trying to explain to you why Joe was behind the till doing her job, but it didn’t feel like a seat being taken meant that Joe now had to work in the store. Sure, Anne was strange. But this seemed a little too far of a stretch. 

“I had to poop.” she then deadpanned.

Ah. 

“Got it.” 

--- part two read Like A Poem here ---

The Taglisted: @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @bagelofthelord67 @nobody-000 @lluviamg06 - add yourself  

[topazadine]

Mindset Shifts: Fandom -> Original Fiction

Having been writing in fandom for .... far too long, I felt like I could handle original writing, easy-peasy. Words, am I right?

Now, one published book, five completed drafts, and nine planned books into The Eirenic Verses, I realize that there's a huge mental shift that happens when you go from writing for funsies versus writing fiction for a larger, paying audience. As in, you go from a writer to an author.

I'm still learning, obviously, and there's a lot of work left to do before I'm at the level I want to be (particularly in marketing, my beloathed). However, there are a few lessons I have learned so far that might be helpful to other people looking to make the leap from fanfic to original fiction.

Here is the summary, and then we'll get into the specifics after the cut.

Preset characters/world -> Whole-cloth design

Writing for yourself -> Writing for an audience

Immediate gratification -> Long-term slog

External motivation -> Internal motivation

Community -> Audience

Promotion -> Marketing

Freedom -> Strategy

DLDR -> Critique

Typical disclaimers: This is my opinion based on my experience. I'm not the ultimate authority on writing (no one is). I am not perfect and I'm not always correct. When I say "you," I am not talking about you personally. This is not an attack on any individual. Take what you like and leave the rest, etc etc, you get the point. Ok, let's go.

Preset characters/world -> Whole-cloth design

Fanfic is so great for beginner writers because you already have things to play with. People understand the characters, so you don't have to spend a lot of time explaining them; they also have a basic understanding of the plot and world, meaning you won't need to build it all yourself.

This is wonderful when you're learning to characterize and worldbuild. You already have deep, interesting characters that you know are popular, and you can instead focus on fleshing them out or putting them in situations that interest you. Similarly, you don't need to come up with all the rules for the world you're playing in, nor do you have to spend a lot of time setting up the scenes.

Of course, when you start writing original fiction, all that vanishes ... sorta. You build upon the skills you have learned and the character aspects you've identified as interesting; many popular characters are just altered copies of another famous character, after all. That's why we have so many authors who jump into original fiction with only lightly adjusted versions of their faves.

But ultimately, the character's backstory, quirks, dialogue, etc, has to come from you, as does the plot. You have to learn to describe characters and new settings in a way that isn't infodumping, and you must balance backstory with plot. This is a complicated skill that only comes from practice.

The best way to do this, in my opinion (again, all of this is my opinion), is to start slowly introducing OCs into your fanfic, then coming up with AUs, and finally swapping out the fandom characters with OCs. That is, in fact, what many famous fanfic-writer-to-author people have done.

Writing for yourself -> Writing for an audience

Fandom is wonderful because ultimately, you are writing for your own amusement. You can write the weirdest, dumbest things and it doesn't matter if someone else liked it: you liked it, and that's all that matters in fandom.

Professional fiction isn't the same way. Yes, you're writing because you love the worlds you've created and you're passionate about your work, but you also have to consider an audience if you want someone else to buy your book.

There's money on the line here; it may not be a lot (my book 9 Years Yearning is only $2.99, which is less than a Dunkin Donuts medium Bonfire S'mores frozen coffee), but people are hesitant to click "buy now" anyway. So you have to make it clear that you have thought about what they would want and are not being utterly self-indulgent.

Anyone who says "authors only need to write a book that they like!" are ... not thinking very pragmatically about the business of selling books. If I had my way, I'd just write nothing but hurt/comfort with zero plot whatsoever, but then no one would ever read it and I would need a beautiful woman to stroke my hair and assure me that I'm the best writer ever.

This is especially true because fanfic, wonderful thing that it is, exists. You're competing not just with other authors, but also incredibly talented and prolific fanfic writers. People already know that they like those characters, and they also don't have to pay anything for it, so why should they read your stuff?

Immediate gratification -> Long-term slog

With fanfic, you can write your piece, lightly edit it, and bam, it's up and ready to go. Many fanfic writers create schedules, such as posting one chapter once a week, but that's still a very short time in comparison to publishing.

If you're tradpub, it could be well over six months before you get an agent, even if you are the best author ever. Some people have to keep trying for two years, three years, ten years before someone listens to them.

Then your agent needs to sell your book, and then the publisher needs to edit it again, and then they do the formatting and have the design team in to make the cover, and then the marketing team prepares, and ... it's a long time.

And then, when it's all ready to go, the publisher will schedule the publishing date a good few months out. They might push it back multiple times, as happened to Bethany Baptiste with The Poisons We Drink (very good book!!), because of whatever internal issues there are.

Even with indie pub, you've got to take your time. You need to get beta readers, and then editors if you can afford them, and have a cover designed, send it out to reviewers and build hype (which I did not do for my first book and regret, but will do for Pride Before a Fall).

It took me about four months to get my first book ready, and that was after I had already written several other manuscripts, so it had sat for a while and I was sure it was ready to go. And, frankly, I should have waited longer - not because the book needed more work, but because I should have prepared my marketing strategy ahead of time so I wasn't messing around after it was published. My next book, Pride Before a Fall, is going to take much longer because there's so much prework to do.

There is also the fact that the best way to market a book is to write another book. 9 Years Yearning will likely not break even until I am to the third book, Funeral of Hopes. So you have to keep going, even if it's not with the same series.

External Motivation -> Internal Motivation

Fandom is so wonderful because we can get feedback on our writing and chatter about it with people who also care. We have a readymade audience who is actively seeking out things about their blorbos. You can promo your stuff, of course, but for the most part, people come to you. Like, when I was still writing for Touken Ranbu, I had people message me out of the blue wanting to commission me (which I didn't do because it's technically illegal).

You aren't going to get that right away as an original fiction writer because no one is actively searching for your specific things. If you have fandom friends, they may support you in your original endeavors, but other people don't know you from Adam. Potential readers are going to be hesistant to waste their time when, again, they can find something they know they will probably like ... for free.

Yes, obviously people search for certain types of books on Amazon or Goodreads. Otherwise no one would be reading anything but assigned reading or personal recommendations. However, you're competing with thousands of other similar books, and you're asking the person to make an investment in your work by paying for it. That's challenging and, at times, very demoralizing.

As such, you must have strong internal motivation to keep going. It can't just be about the money, because most of us are not going to become rich from our work. Statistically, most books sell less than 300 copies - and that's trad published books with marketing teams.

90% of self-pubbed books sell less than 100 copies, and 20% of self-published authors make zero income from their books.

A lot of people go into the hole for their first book, which is why most authors do it as a side hustle - they need another source of income to fund their publishing endeavors. If you check out the selfpub reddit, you'll see a lot of people talking about how they have to save up for the many expenses of publishing.

What I'm saying here is that you have to be willing to withstand months and years of no one caring about your stuff. You have to do it because you want to share a story with other people so that they can experience the same fun and enjoyment that you had writing it. And you have to do it because you believe you're good enough to do it.

A healthy sense of self-esteem is vital for authors: knowing that even if the sales aren't where you want yet, you've built something you love and that it's worth peoples' attention. That's what will get you through the horrors of marketing.

Community -> Audience

Fandom is all about community. That's why fanfic writers get so annoyed that people will talk about their stories on Discord servers but won't bother to comment: the point of fanfic is to share it with someone else and to start a conversation. Fanfic writers do this for free, out of love for the characters and stories that they admire. No money exchanged hands; it's more like a "take a penny, leave a penny" kind of thing. Take this story, leave a comment!

Not so with original fiction you want to publish. Many authors have a strict "don't look at Goodreads reviews" policy because those reviews aren't really about us: they are for other readers.

Authors who respond to mean reviews are lambasted for being unprofessional and rude, just like business owners who fight with customers on Google reviews. The reviews there aren't for you! They to tell other customers that this book is worth their time or is a piece of garbage.

Sure, you can look at reviews, but don't respond to them. Take the nice ones to pull out and show other potential customers, but leave the rest of them alone. Flag and report them if they are obvious personal attacks, but otherwise, you've got to swallow your pride and let them stand.

Once I finish a project, it's done. I'm not going to go fix it even though I technically could republish it. As such, any harsh comments are feedback I can use for my next project, not this one.

There's no point in arguing with strangers about my work, because it just makes me look like a defensive bitch who can't take criticism. The best way to not look like an idiot when someone says my book sucks is to just not say anything.

And yes, you can talk about your WIPs and your OCs on Tumblr or wherever. You should talk about your WIPs and your stories with other people! It can build hype and it's fun to chat with others about what you're working on to get some positive feedback. Of course that's wonderful.

But still, there's not going to be the same feeling about it, because this isn't technically a community centered around your work - it's a community of other writers, who all have their own stories, who all want and deserve attention. Other writers here are both your audience and your peers. (Not your competitors, get that out of your head. Don't be like Cait Corrain.)

And that's normal and okay. Hype other people up when you can, appreciate those that engage with you, and don't get into fights about your book. Go fight about things that really matter, like whether equestrian sports belong in the Olympics.

Promotion -> Marketing

Fanfic doesn't really need any promotion if it's good because people will seek it out on their own. Again, people are actively searching for the things you write about, and if you tag it correctly on places like AO3 or Wattpad or wherever, you're bound to get at least a few hits. If you're lucky, you'll get wonderful comments, too!

Any promos are basically just "hey look at this" with tags that are relevant or peer-to-peer recommendations. Some places like Wattpad will promo your stuff to the audience on their own.

Alas, original fiction has no such blessings. You have to do work to get readers, because again, people are suspicious of new authors and want to ensure they're getting something good.

It's funny, because most people won't think much of buying a $5 coffee, but they'll agonize over whether to spend $0.99 on a book. Maybe it's a pre-sunk-cost fallacy, I don't know. Regardless, it sucks, and it's no one's fault, but it's something you have to consider.

I hate marketing, and I am not good at it, but I'm learning. A lot of writers also hate marketing. It's annoying and confusing. But, alas, it's what I must do if I want anyone to buy my book. I have to search keywords and post on promo pages and adjust ad campaigns and get book covers and so on and so on. It takes far more time than the actual writing, and I still have a LOT more to do before I'm at the level I want.

Please learn from my mistakes and bone up on marketing well, well before you prepare to publish. I really like this (FREE!!) course by David Gaughran that goes through everything you need. I'm still working through it but what I have learned so far is incredibly helpful.

Freedom -> Strategy

This point and the next one are the fundamental crux of the fanfic versus original fic divide, and it creates a lot of bitterness on both sides that really doesn't have to be there.

Fanfic is about freedom. You can do whatever you want. Write omegaverse, write vore, write fluff, write hurt/comfort, do WHATEVER! It's all good. No one's spending money and no one's getting hurt. Be as weird as you want, use odd formatting styles, get super experimental. Anything goes.

It's not the same with original fiction, unfortunately. Of course, you should have your own unique style, and you can publish whatever you want if you're doing self-pub. But you might not get any sales whatsoever, and that's entirely valid. Readers are spending money to read your things; they deserve to get something good. They have the right to complain or tell people your writing sucks and they shouldn't waste their money.

This is why I get annoyed with people who say things like "authors should only write for themselves!" No, fanfic writers should only write for themselves. Authors should enjoy what they write, but they should write for other people as well if they want to make any money. If they don't consider audience, then they have no right to complain when they get no sales.

As such, you need to balance your own happiness with your work and the demands of an audience. This means no 1102910212-page long screeds about worldbuilding, no abrupt self-indulgent sex scenes in a story that doesn't need them, no bizarre formatting (if you write in all lowercase in a published book so help you god).

No parenthetical asides in published work unless that's an essential part of your fiction style. That's a note to myself.

You must be strategic with the way you develop a story and how much you provide. It's no longer anything goes if you want to sell anything.

If you want to just provide your stories for free on Amazon or Wattpad or AO3 or whatever, that's cool, and you can keep on keepin' on. And good for you! Thank you for sharing your work with the world.

DLDR -> Critique

I have left the final boss for last. This is the most excruciating mindset shift, and it causes a lot of squabbles.

Original fiction authors often come in to fanfic spaces with this ruthless mindset of critique. They say that if someone published something on the internet, they should expect people to point things out and tell them that they are wrong. They sniff that if someone wants to improve their fanfic, then they need to get a thicker skin and suck it up when someone rips their work to shreds.

This is a fundamentally wrong way to approach fandom. A lot of fanfic writers are just writing for fun. They don't care about improving; they're rotating their faves in a microwave as a hobby. Not every fanfic writer wants to transition to original professional fiction, and that is OKAY! It's okay to just do it as a hobby.

And so, bursting into fanfic spaces with unwanted criticism is no different than acting like Gordan Ramsay at Thanksgiving dinner. It's rude and goes against the golden rule of fanfic: Don't Like, Don't Read.

If the fanfic writer wants criticism, they'll say so. If they want to learn, they'll read up and practice (through fanfic) until they're ready. Rando snobs on the internet need not intervene.

BUT when you transition to selling books, you need to seek out critique, and you need to learn to parse between good and bad critique. Yes, not every beta reader is going to be an excellent resource (even paid ones). Not every rando opinion matters.

Some people are just bitter and looking for a fight, and other people have no idea what they are doing but think they do. Not everyone has been trained in how to give constructive criticism, so they just blurt out whatever they feel like and don't consider whether it's actually useful.

Regardless, you have to be willing to swallow your pride and take at least some criticism into consideration. Some of the critique I seethed about the most was actually the best, even if the person was kind of an asshole about it. I might roll my eyes and go "uuugh that's such idiotic advice" and then sleep on it and sheepishly slink back to my keyboard with my tail between my legs, realizing they were 100% correct. That's normal, especially if you're a special snowflake like me.

This is another reason why publishing takes time: you have to be able to sit with criticism and think about it rather than knee-jerk dismissing it out of hand. And you have to actually seek out the critique in the first place, which means swallowing your pride and opening your precious baby up to the cruel shocks of misfortune.

That's about it!

I hope this was interesting to you. Maybe you disagreed with every single point, and that's fine. Again, this is my perspective and my experience as someone who wrote over 120 fanfics before switching over to original fiction.

If you liked this, maybe you'll consider buying my book, 9 Years Yearning.

It's a gay coming-of-age story set in a second world with poetry magic! And yes, there's poetry in it. Also horses and fistfights and near-death love confessions.

Oh, and it's $3. Less than a Dunkin Donuts medium Bonfire S'mores frozen coffee.

God I hate promoing someone please shoot me or buy me a coffee maybe idk

[if-seal]

if seal i have a big scene i need to write that is Very Important but i only manage to procrastinate away time when i try to write it!! what should i do :(

Dear Friend with a Scene of Much Importance,

Did you know that elephant seals sleep at 1200 feet while doing "sleep spirals" during dives? One might think that this is procrastination, but it is very important to catch up on rest when you're in the cold reaches of the ocean and need to avoid orcas.

Which is to say, sometimes writing does not look like writing.

Sometimes it looks like moving your body in a way that suits you, or going outside and touching grass (or water, if you're me), or reading a bit of a book or playing a bit of a game that inspires you.

Please do not beat yourself up for finding this hard because shame is bad for everyone and no amount of guilt will get words on the page. Those of us who are chronically ill or neurodiverse will know that if we don't take any time to rest, we won't be able to outswim those orcas.

But, yes, there is still that blank page and if you want to swim through this scene to reach the tasty squid on the other side, you will need to fill up that page.

Is there something about your work environment that you can change? Something as simple as changing up your computer's wallpaper or how your text editor looks can trick your brain into getting into gear. Some dear writer friends with ADHD have sworn by Stimuwrite - you could try it out. Writing in the bath can get stodgy sometimes so I slither out to my local river and enjoy the sound of the breeze and birds out there while I write. (My roommate @hpowellsmith goes to the local coffee shop which, blech, coffee?)

Do you have your scene planned out on paper, on a flowchart, or as bullet points - whatever suits you? Prepare it like a delicious meal by breaking it up into smaller, manageable chunks to eat more easily. The more certainty you have about what your Very Important Scene will contain, the easier it will be to get the words down.

You could also code the scene in small chunks before you do any writing so that you are not having to juggle writing and coding at the same time.

Are you happy with what your scene is doing? Maybe there's something about it that is a little too complicated, or there's something that seemed like a great idea when you were first planning, or there's a bit where the player is being pushed around by the plot in a way you didn't intend at first, or the characters feel out of your control. Maybe there's something you could trim to simplify things.

Take a look at what you've currently got in the scene and if there's anything you're unhappy with, change it - better to do that now than while you're writing it or when editing.

Can you write the scene in a different order than how you're trying to do it right now? You could start at the middle or end instead of the beginning of the scene. Sometimes starting at the end can make it feel less overwhelming and you'll get a better idea of where you're going.

Finally, try using small targets, whether that's time, wordcount, or how far you are through your scene. Five minutes of writing is a small amount but it is still five minutes well spent and maybe you will want to do another five once you're done. Make a pact with writer friends to write a particular amount and check in with them afterwards; give yourself a reward when you reach your manageable target; make a tick chart or a sticker chart or have little snack rewards.

(Don't spend all day researching notepaper and fountain pens to make the tick chart look beautiful though! I beg you!)

Something I have noticed when rereading my work is that I remember when a scene was truly horrible to write. I remember the points of my games when I needed to lie on the bathroom floor and groan about it and wave my flippers feebly.

But readers will not notice. They will just fall in love with your game about a gay selkie finding love and drama while living in a lighthouse. And when the huge complicated Very Important scene when the storm happens and the shipwreck is dependent on the equipment you've chosen and the people you have with you... they will be so excited.

It won't be a worse scene for having been tough to write: it may even be better.

And if you need to lie and groan a bit, that's OK. Just remember that you CAN swim through it.