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adriennebarnes · 5 months

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The Start of it All

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Hispanic!Reader

Summary: The day Y/N started working in Walter’s district and called him “Don Refri” for the first time

Warning: Masterlist pinned on my blog, it’s probably short.

A/N: i wanted to create a fanfic universe so it’s a series of one shots that take place in the same universe. Like a multi part series without the commitment which is literally PERFECT for me. If you have any ideas of what you want to see take place in this universe like in Walter and Y/N’s relationship, let me know!

Walter was in his office with the commissioner wanted to talk to him.

“What is it? Is there something wrong?” Walter asked.

“There’s nothing wrong, I found a new records clerk.” Harper told him.

“Do we really need a glorified secretary? We’ve been handling the files just fine, Harper.” Walter said.

“The time you spend creating police reports could be used actually solving cases. Whether you like it or not, a records clerk will be here. You can’t do everything on your own, she starts tomorrow.” Harper said, walking out of Walter’s office.

Walter sighed, running his hand through his hair. He knows he had no reason to be mad that a new person would come work here. He just felt that a new person would ruin the flow of things. He won’t know until he meets her though.

Y/N moved to Saint Paul 3 weeks ago and she finally got a call about the job she applied for. She moved from Miami to Quantico for FBI training but when failed the physical assessment, even after weeks of training, she decided to move to Minnesota. Why Minnesota? Who knows, she’s not use to the cold, but it was a nice change of scenery. She managed to get a nice studio apartment with her savings from working as a receptionist in Miami. She applied as a records clerk for the Saint Paul Police Department, Western District (I’ve been researching, they don’t organize the police department by precincts, only few cities do), and she got it! Now she was talking to her Miami bestie.

“Why did you choose Minnesota instead of staying there in Virginia? Do you know how cold it’s going to be once it hits winter?” Her bestie, Melissa, said.

“I know, I know, ni me lo recuerdes, but I’ll be making more money here than in Florida.” Y/N said.

“Fine, what are you going to wear for your first day on the job?” Melissa asked.

It was the next day, Y/N was putting professional clothes to make a good first impression. She decided to leave her hair down and drove to the station. Once she found parking, she entered the precinct and saw five people standing by the cubicles.

“Good morning, Y/N, we spoke on the phone, I’m commissioner Harper, these are our technicians, Matthew and Glasgow, profiler and psychologist, Rachel, and our best detective, Walter.” Harper introduced everyone to Y/N, shaking everyone’s hands respectively.

When Y/N went to shake Walter’s hand, she felt a little spark when they touched. They made eye contact and thoughts that were running in their heads were less than professional. Y/N thought about how it would feel to run her hands through his hair or having his firm hands touch her body. Walter was thinking about how it would feel to kiss her and what sounds she would make when doing so. Maybe having a new person in the precinct won’t be so bad after all.

“It’s very nice to meet everyone, can’t wait to start working here.” Y/N said with a smile. Harper showed Y/N where her cubicle was and she settles down.

Walter watched Y/N for a whole before heading to his office. The morning was pretty calm, when Walter entered the break room to grab his lunch, he saw Y/N eating her lunch, talking to Rachel at the table like they were old friends. He stood by the counter to eat his sandwich.

“So what’s the story of the detective?” Y/N asked quietly.

“He’s a good detective, but he’s closed off, kind of a grouch, we call him detective grumpy but obviously not to his face. I mean, I understand why he’s closed off, I’ve seen the photos of the cases he works, it’s brutal. I can’t imagine actually being there in person.” Rachel said. Y/N looked back at the detective and looked away.

“I Can see that too, but I think it’s better to talk it out, a desahogarte.” Y/N commented. “Bottling up your feelings can’t be good in the long run.”

One night, Y/N and Walter stayed late at the district because they cracked a big case so Y/N is doing the paperwork for it right now. It was kind of quiet so Y/N decided to break the silence.

“So, Detective Marshall, what got you interested in working in homicide?” Y/N asked. Walter looked up from a file he was reading to look at the woman.

“Am I required to answer?” Walter asked.

“You don’t have to answer, I was just trying to make conversation seeing as we’re here, alone.” Y/N commented. Walter rolled his eyes.

“I was on SWAT before, then I switched to homicide.” Walter said.

“Why did you make the switch?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t want to talk about this, just finish your work.” Walter said, looking back at the file, reviewing Y/N’s work.

“Whatever you say, Don Refri.” Y/N commented and Walter looked back at Y/N, seeing her slightly smirk.

“What did you just call me?” Walter asked.

“It’s ‘mister fridge’ in Spanish. Since you’re kinda closed off, you don’t talk, you don’t let what you’re feeling be known. You have a poker face all the time, it’s good when you’re interrogating a perp, but it’s not so good for the soul. You’re kinda cold as well, so until you learn to express your feelings in a positive way and not bottle them up, you will be Don Refri, okay? Okay.” Y/N said as she continued typing. “I wanted to be an FBI profiler before coming here. I was in Quantico and everything, I was training for weeks but when it finally came to the physical assessment, I couldn’t do it. I failed the times 1.5 mile run and got a stress fracture. So now I’m here. But I don’t think I want to become a cop.” Y/N shared and Walter just hummed. “In my culture we’re very family oriented. I moved from Miami, I’m far away from my friends and family, I’m all alone. Since I’m reporting to you, I thought we could at least be friendly towards each other, guess not. I finished, look it over, I’m leaving.” Y/N said as she packed up her stuff to leave.

Walter felt like an asshole. He could at least replied or act interested in what she was saying.

The next morning, Y/N entered the station and when she walked to her cubicle, she saw a little box of chocolate chip cookies with a sticky note that said “Sorry -Don Refri” and that made Y/N smile.

Although Y/N really wanted a relationship with Walter, being friends with him seems like a step closer to the right direction.

The End

Taglist: @shellyshellshell

Hope y’all liked it! I did my research about the Saint Paul police department to make it accurate, and hopefully I gave Y/N a good background since I put in the first installment that she doesn’t do the cold, I made her be from a warmer state. Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#hispanic reader #latina #henry cavill x reader #walter marshall x you #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x reader #night hunter #latina reader #henry cavill #henry cavil x y/n #walter marshall

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theconstitutionisgayculture · 1 year

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The lgbts in Florida and the surrounding area are claiming that the drag show ban will result in women who just don’t dress “in a typical women fashion (ie wearing pants and flannel and ties)” or are even just “not conventionally attractive” will be targeted by police for death just by appearing in public around children (“they’ll be confused for drag queens”, they’re basically claiming a mom who likes wearing pants and baseball caps and shorter hair could be killed for picking up her children from the playground, or a transgender person just walking by children in public could be). On one hand, this is prima facie ridiculous, court trials and innocent until proven guilty exist, people aren’t that stupid, and I don’t think anyone should be around sexual things (regardless of age) period. On the other hand, the police have a bad reputation for a reason, police brutality and such exist, my trust for the government varies greatly, some people really are that stupid, and I am a paranoid person by nature and my mind tends to go towards the worst possible things. But that’s a me problem. I’m pretty sure the law only talks about punishing actual sexual content around children, but I haven’t read the legal text yet. Any thoughts?

So, here's the full text of the most recent version of the "drag ban" law. As with most of these based Florida laws, it's very short, so I encourage everyone to give it a read. But to summarize:

The law never mentions "drag" even once. Instead, it says, and I'm paraphrasing here so read the actual text yourself, that children aren't allowed in any event meant for adults that has a sexual component.

The punishment is directed towards businesses and government agencies that issue licenses for events. Not individuals.

The punishments listed are all fines or license revocations. Specifically Beverage licenses. So if you host an adult event and allow children to attend at your restaurant or bar, the government will come after your liquor license. No jail time is mentioned. And there's certainly no mention of executions.

Again, the law mentions events, not individual actions. So no, this law wouldn't make it illegal for a drag queen to walk past a child in public. That might fall under public indecency laws, or indecent exposure to a minor, but those are different laws that have nothing to do with this one.

So no, it's not at all reasonable to think that this law will lead to ugly women in flannel getting shot by the police just for walking past a playground. Like all left wing overreaction, they're scared of things that will literally never happen. Even the worst, most evil cop who just wants an excuse to kill innocent people wouldn't be able to use this law to justify shooting someone.

The way the media lies about these Florida laws is egregious, even by modern media standards. Never believe a single thing a newspig says about them without reading the law yourself first.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 11 months

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This 1930 church conversion is weird and very expensive. It’s in Delray Beach, Florida and the description doesn’t list a number of bedrooms. Then, for baths, one description says it has 3.5ba and down farther on the page it says 7 partial baths. Anyway, it’s listed for $5.995M. But, here’s the kicker: The buyers would have to apply to get it rezoned for residential use, and CONVERT to their dreamhouse.The whole thing would have to be reconfigured. Check this out.

In the entrance foyer it looks like they have the original double doors and also the option of 2 glass doors.

The main room, which was the church, is a vast open space. They’ve given the home a tropical flair. The wood ceiling has a stain that makes it look like bamboo and they’ve replaced any church with tropical lanterns.

This is the where you would come in from the foyer, and they’ve set up double seating areas.

Against the back wall is more tropical decor, bu the room is an empty space and a blank canvas.

The stairs up to choir loft are so pretty with a tropical wallpaper.

On the 2nd level, in the choir loft, they’ve set up another sitting area.

I don’t know why, b/c they had plenty of room to make a full bath in here, they left the original 2 restrooms.

I would say that this has to be a bedroom b/c it has an en-suite, but what is that in the wall? It looks like a wine cooler.

This is the en-suite, but it’s so tiny, it’s not a full bath.

For $6M this is a small kitchen and it doesn’t even have a backsplash, nor do I see a cooktop or exhaust hood.

Here in the hall, they left a public water fountain. Do you really want that in a $6M home?

Delray Beach is expensive and desirable, but I’m just not thinking that this home is worth the price.

It’s large, so there must be at least 3 bds.

I thought that this could be a bedroom, but it’s actually an open area.

This is also an open room, too.

I don’t understand, how many sitting rooms does one need?

And, this is not a full bath and it’s still got the stalls. Who designed this place?

And, here we have, guess what, yet another sitting room. What is going on here?

This could be turned into a mansion. There’s plenty room, but to pay $6M and then have to redo the whole thing just doesn’t seem worth it.

https://www.redfin.com/FL/Delray-Beach/200-SE-7th-Ave-33483/home/185213928

#church conversion #houses #house tours #home tour

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robertfettuccine · 17 days

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‼️This is a callout post‼️

I hate these guys I hate them so much like actually who decided to start planting Bradford Pears they have Zero good qualities I HATE THEM SO MUCH

So here’s some reasons why you should get rid of these:

They smell like a fish market on a hot summer day but all the fish are a week old

The flowers aren’t that cool like sorry there’s plenty of other trees with white flowers

They are BRITTLE. SO BRITTLE. One gust of wind and your tree is GONE.

They will breed with anything. Whore tree. They cross-pollinate to a point where they become incredibly invasive. And also when they do that they grow thorns and get super ugly 👍

THEY’RE PEAR TREES THAT DON’T EVEN GROW PEARS

Did I mention they smell like fish

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ If you have Bradford Pears that you can cut down you should cut them down

Some US states will give you a free tree to replace them with

Here are some better trees to plant in your area:

*these are US based recommendations because I’m pretty sure the US is the only place with Evil Bradford Pear Problems*

Magnolias! They smell amazing and have great flowers. They’re native to Florida but will survive in most of the southeastern US

Dogwoods! There’s both an eastern and a western variety and both are native to North America! Just make sure you get the right type for where you live (east vs west)

Pawpaws! These trees bear fruit, are great for pollinators, and their native range spans about half of the United States

Redbuds! Similar to Dogwoods, there’s both an eastern and western variety. Also native to North America, they’re one of the first trees to bloom in spring

Serviceberry! YOU CAN EAT THE BERRIES!!! Also native to North America, they can survive in a ton of different climates and are great for pollinators

You can find more native trees here

This has been a Bradford Pear Hate Post

#long post #rant #my post #bradford pear #native plants #gardening

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sadhours · 1 year

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Wicked Sensation

part eleven // billy hargrove x reader

a/n: i am sorry in advance.

word count: 6.4k

warnings: 18+ minors dni, homophobia, smut, dirty talk, rough sex, body fluids, mentions of death, cheating.

taglist(i love you all): @blue-eyed-lion @bbyhargrove @briefmongerfishzonk-blog @sweet-villain @actuallyspencerreid @trapistani

Wearing your brand new hot pink convertible strap swim suit underwear a pair of denim shorts, you grab your sandals and head into the kitchen to be greeted by your dad and brother. They’re making sandwiches for their day at the lake, fishing gear lined up by the door.

“Since when did you become such a fan of swimming?” your dad asks, packing the lunchbox on the counter.

“Since her boyfriend started working as a lifeguard,” your brother chimes.

It was true, before Billy got the job at Hawkin’s Community Pool you’d only swim when visiting your family in Florida. Now, whenever you had a day off from work when Billy didn’t, you were at the pool. He just looked so in his element there, he was a very impressive swimmer and you’d been lucky enough to catch him teaching the smaller kids lessons. Which had you imagining having a family with him one day, when before you’d been pretty dead set on never having kids.

“God forbid I want to see my boyfriend,” you roll your eyes.

Honk, Honk.

“Oh, Steve’s here,” you smile, grabbing your bag from the kitchen table and waving goodbye.

You’d asked Steve to come because you didn’t want to just sit by yourself and Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead there. Plus, Steve was trying to date and there were plenty of ladies lounging around so you knew he didn’t mind. Walking out to his BMW, you catch Neil washing his car across the seat and hope he doesn’t think something else is going on with you and Steve. He looks to you and you wave, “Going to visit Billy and bring him some lunch!”

Neil replies with a nod and continues spraying down his car. You plunge into the front seat with a sigh, Steve pulling away from the sidewalk and making the short drive to the pool.

“You gotta tell his dad what you’re doing?” Steve asks, sunglasses pushed up to the bridge of his nose.

You shake your head and check your hair in the mirror, “I just didn’t want him to think I was off cheating on his son.”

“Oh like men and women can’t be friends,” Steve counters.

“That’s what his dad thinks,” you admit and close the visor back up.

Steve finds you guys a spot, luckily where Billy’s post is in view. He looks absolutely irresistible in his tiny red shorts and they left little to the imagination. Your eye rake over his thighs and muscular chest, feeling yourself start to get wet just at the sight of him.

“You’re drooling,” Steve deadpans and you quickly lift your hand up to your mouth to find he wasn’t lying.

“Fuck,” you suck in, reaching in your bag and pulling out your pack of smokes.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve laughs, sitting up straighter, “As much as of prick he is I gotta admit, I’m impressed.”

Exhaling the needed smoke, you tilt your head at Steve, “Impressed with what?”

Steve motions to you and then to the row of housewives sprawled along the pool, “How he can do this and that to women. Meanwhile, I can’t even get a phone number.”

You eye the women, raising an eyebrow at Karen Wheeler putting herself on display for your boyfriend. You snort, “They all have a kid his age.”

“Hey, you’re basically a puddle at the sight of him too,” Steve points out.

“That’s so different, I’m only two months older than him and also I’ve actually seen what’s underneath those shorts,” you reason with a proud smirk.

Steve cringes, “Okay, gross. But still I don’t get it, is he just that hot? Am I not hot?”

You laugh, “You’re hot, Steve.”

“Oh,” Steve says likes just realizing something, “it’s because it’s an asshole.”

Rolling your eyes as you ash your cigarette, you don’t even want to justify Steve with an answer. When you see Billy starting to make his descent from his post, you stand up and push your shorts down your thighs and shove them into your bag before sitting back down, releasing the clip from your hair to let the natural waves fall around your shoulders.

You sat back down as you hear Steve mumble, “Pathetic.”

“When you’re getting laid again, I’ll consider your input,” you bite back with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Ouch,” Steve gasps but you ignore him once Billy’s stepping up to you two.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he snatches the cigarette from you and glances to Steve, “King Steve.”

“Hargrove,” Steve grumbles and turns his attention elsewhere.

You turn your sweet smile to your boyfriend, “Hi, baby. How’s your day been?”

“Yelling at kids is fun,” he shrugs, sitting on the end of the lounge. “Got a lot better when I saw you.”

You lean up to peck his lips, hoping the housewives are watching. “I brought you some lunch,” you say and grin.

Billy rubs your thigh and smiles, “I’m starving.”

He’s so handsome, you think as your eyes scan his face and linger on his button nose. His skin has taken the sun nicely, a golden tan aiding in his beauty though it’s a stark contrast against your pale tone. Billy doesn’t mind though, it shows when he grins excitedly at the red marks he’s been leaving on your ass for months.

“Me too,” you say but you don’t mean it like he does.

“My lunch is an hour,” he informs you before teasing, “Think you can behave yourself until then?”

“Yes, sir,” you say meekly.

He hands the cigarette back after leaning in to kiss you a lot hungrier this time. He’s strutting off before you can catch your breath.

“That was almost vomit inducing,” Steve complains, turning his head to you. “Yes, sir?”

You laugh, feeling the heat start to diminish between your legs. “Sorry.”

Billy’s motioning you to follow him an hour later. You turn to Steve, “Go talk to a woman for God’s sake.” before you hop to your feet to follow the red shorts you can’t take your eyes off.

As you and Billy enter the break room, he glares to his male coworkers lazing around in there.

“Get back to work,” he demands and they jump up immediately, exiting the room and Billy locks the door behind him. The sound of the lock has your breath caught in your throat and you’re eager to see what he’s planned. He grabs you roughly, picking you up and dropping you onto the table. He’s at his knees in an instant, pulling your swimsuit down to your ankles. The power he has is intoxicating. The way the boys hurried out of the room at his command brought such a intense pressure to the bottom of your stomach, you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

“Such a whore, you are,” he drones between your legs, pushing them apart with his head. “Wearing this hot little number, bringing Harrington with you.”

His words are laced with venom and you feel your wetness seeping out, so close to his lips you wondered if he could tell. He sloppily kisses your thigh, his broad tongue feeling so lovely on the sensitive skin.

“Huh? You like teasing me? You love pushing my buttons and making me have no other choice but to fuck you senseless while I’m at work?” his voice is so low, it’s like music to your ears.

He slaps your thigh then, “Come on, babe, I’m not talking to an empty room, am I?”

You just whimper, unable to form a single thought as you feel his breath against your soaking pussy.

“Big girl words, now,” he warns, fingers digging into your thigh.

You gasp out, “No, Billy.”

“No?” he laughs between your legs and it’s so cruel, “Not only are you a slut but you’re a liar?”

“M’not lying,” you whine, feeling as he drags his fingertips through your folds.

“Then why are you so wet?” he hums.

You rock your hips against his touch, trying to get him to get a move on with things. You’re desperate but you’ve got some dignity, you won’t make this too easy for him.

“Answer me,” he stills his fingers and holds your hips against the table.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, writhing against his grip.

Billy gasps, standing up and slapping you across the face. He then grabs your jaw in his hand and squeezes your cheeks together.

He sings your name lowly, “Don’t lie.”

You whimper, seeing the way he’s straining against his teensy uniform, you think he might burst through the flimsy material.

“Fine,” you huff, “I love teasing you. I love pushing your buttons.”

“Why?” he voice is firm, serious and certain. It brings a electric jolt to your pussy and you squirm under him.

Your voice is shaky as you admit, “Because I want you to fuck me.”

He seems pleased, staring at your face under thick eyelashes with a devious smirk spreading against his lips. “You were thinking about taking my cock when he drove you here, huh?”

“Billy,” you whine out, your tip toes firmly pressed into the concrete floor.

He lets go of your face, bringing his hand to your breasts and squeezing on in his thick fingers. “You were,” he chuckles, before slapping the tit that was in his hand.

“Would you just shut up and fuck me already?” you beg, ears hot when you hear the anger in your voice.

“Brat,” he insults, but he’s pulling his shorts down to his thighs and his gorgeous, thick cock springs out. The tip is red and you can see precum leaking from it. It only makes you more impatient and you bring your feet up to the table, opening up for him even more.

“Little slut,” he coos, dragging his fingers through your glistening folds. He smears your slick on the tip of his erection before drilling it into your eager hole. You cry out and his hand grabs your mouth, muffling the sound halfway. He plows into you, his hips reckless as he gives you no time to adjust to his size.

“Billy,” you moan against his hand and it only drives him more wild. Pressing his other hand on your pubic bone while he unleashes vigorous thrusts into your heat.

You’ve never in your life felt like this during sex, he was so expertly talented with making you fall apart. He knew exactly what you wanted and when you wanted. He was also selfish, taking what he needed from you. You didn’t mind feeling absolutely used during these moments because he was so blissfully sweet when necessary. He somehow knew exactly what you needed, exactly what would turn you into a mess under his touch. It was almost supernatural.

“Good girl,” he grunts, “Look at your pussy taking my cock so God damn eagerly. You just need it so fucking bad, don’t you?”

You peer between you, watching as your pussy swallows his cock. You can feel how you’re gripping it hungrily whenever he pulls his cock back. You’d throw an absolute tantrum if he pulled it all the way out.

You groan loudly against his hand, his filthy words dragging you closer to bliss. He brings his blue eyes to yours, holding his gaze intensely. You can’t look away, you knew he’d take this all away from you if he did. His fingers move down to brush against your clit before rubbing firm circles against it and you feel your eyes cross as you struggle to maintain eye contact. He seems to like that, laughing softly as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

“Look at you,” he coos, “So fucking dumb off my dick.”

The words pushed you over the edge, shaking against him while your orgasm thrashes through you. He was so overwhelmingly everything you wanted. He pulls back before giving you time to come down, pulling out of you, “On your knees.”

You obey, still feeling the waves of pleasure coursing through you while you fall to your knees on the concrete floor. Without having to be told to, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. He makes a pathetic noise as he unloads on your face, completely missing the platform you’ve given him. You giggle as you feel him smear his cum all over your face, barely tasting his completion on his palm.

“You’re such a slut,” he breathes as he scans the room, looking for something to really clean you up with.

You keep your eyes closed, not wanting his cum to get in them. You’re relatively sure he’s wiped it from there but you don’t wanna risk it. Luckily, he throws what feels like towel on your face. You accept it, cleaning up his mess and dropping the towel, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“And all for you,” you counter, rising up and pulling your swimsuit over your sweaty body with the motion.

“I’m the luckiest fucker in the world,” he mumbles as he looks at the clock on the wall. He’s got fifteen minutes to eat the lunch you’d brought him.

As if reading his mind, you grab your bag and pull out the ziploc bag. He grins, sinking his teeth into it with a grateful look. You giggle as you rub his stomach, pulling his shorts up for him.

Billy says something but his mouth is full and you can’t understand him. You tilt your head as you watch him swallow.

“My dad wants you to come to dinner tonight,” he repeats and you nod, knowing you’ll have to have Steve take a detour at the mall. He’d seen you in the pink dress the past three dinners. It might be weird if you don’t start changing it up.

You nod and Billy offers you a bite of the sandwich. You accept, fingers grazing across his wrist while you bite it. He looks so satisfied you start to feel another wave of excitement course through you but you shove it down. He had to get back to work but you knew Billy was more than capable of a round two.

“Maybe we can go for a movie or something after,” you suggest, rubbing your hand against your boyfriends bicep as you watch him eat. The way he looks so cute miles away from the filthy words and actions falling from him just minutes before.

“Mm,” Billy hums happily as he looks up at you, “The drive-in.”

“St. Elmo’s Fire!” you squeal.

“Uh-uh,” Billy takes another bite of the sandwich, “Day of the Dead.”

You roll your eyes, knowing whatever you two saw didn’t matter because you’d end up in the back of the Camaro where neither of you would be paying attention. He finishes his sandwich and pats your bum before unlocking the door and walking out, you following him closely behind. Billy stops where you’d been lounging before his break, not caring that Steve is there as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into a heated kiss, licking into your mouth sinfully as his hands move down to grope your ass.

“See you for dinner,” he winks before getting back to work.

You hear Steve groan as you lay back on the chair, “Why don’t you two just record it and send it to every person in Hawkins?”

“Struck out, did ya?” you quip as you light up a smoke.

You’d bought three dresses today but the one you settle on is a simple spaghetti strap number that had a floral design resembling wallpaper. You’d styled your hair up in a ponytail, adorning your necklace with Billy’s initial for the first time in front of Neil. You’d also bought an apple crumble at the store and had transferred it to some of Mary’s Tupperware so you could pass it off as something you’d made.

Billy answers the door when you knock, leaning against its frame while he looks you up and down. “Mm, my little stepford wife looks so ravishing,” he purrs and you widen your eyes.

You know it’s gonna be a long dinner based on that, he’s gonna tease you all night. You push past him, casually saying hello to Susan in the kitchen but you don’t see any sign of her cooking. You look to Billy curiously.

“We’re going out,” he clarifies, “then after, you and I can go to the movies.”

Oh, you’d actually be seen in public like this. Which bugged you endlessly, but you look to Billy to try and rationalize why you were still upholding the charade. His smile makes you forget all about it, he laces his fingers with yours and pulls you close to him. You think he might kiss you and your cheeks flush, he was never affectionate around his dad or Susan, you didn’t think he could be.

“Who was that kid picking you up today?” Neil’s voice bellows, Billy drops your hand and steps backwards.

“Oh, that’s Steve, he’s a friend,” you say, innocently.

Neil looks at you a little intensely, making your skin crawl, “A friend?”

“He’s gay,” Billy says, a pointed look at you as a silent way to tell you to go along with it.

“And how would you know that?” Neil asks his son to which Billy replies with a scoff.

“Everyone knows it.”

You just nod, feeling your chest tighten. You hadn’t seen Neil like this before and it scared you.

“I don’t want you hanging around faggots, Billy,” he says then and Billy shrugs.

“He’s not my friend,” he looks to you and then to Susan, “Well we better start heading out if we want to make that reservation.”

The restaurant is nice, you feel underdressed and you’ve got no clue why Neil keeps looking at you. Max isn’t here which means more attention on you and Billy. Your anxiety is through the roof and you’d love nothing more than to have a glass of wine to calm your nerves. Your little lie about not drinking was really pissing you off right now. Billy seems less on edge than you, occasionally brushing his fingers against you thigh and you kick his ankle every time. Not now, you try to tell him telepathically. So either it doesn’t work or Billy likes pushing your buttons. You think the latter.

“Billy, did you buy her that necklace? I thought we talked about saving,” Neil say’s disappointedly while unfolding his napkin.

“It was my mothers,” you lie like it’s the truth, quick and without ease, “Her name was Barbara.” Another lie, her name didn’t even start with a B.

“How did she pass?” he asks.

“Neil!” Susan nudges him and you shake your head.

“No it’s okay,” no trauma, here. No, what your mother did was much worse than dying. “Car accident. She was in a coma for a few weeks but it wasn’t looking good.” You hope Neil can infer the rest.

“Oh, honey,” Susan places her hand on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

You smile awkwardly at her, “Thank you. I was just a little girl, she’d only had my brother two years before. He doesn’t remember her, much.”

That wasn’t a lie, that’s when she left and you were jealous that your brother had the luxury of not getting to know her. You feel yourself start to tear up and so you excuse yourself to the bathroom. When you walk out the door, Billy’s standing there with his hands in his pocket and he looks ashamed.

“I’m sorry, he shouldn’t ask questions like that,” he says, meekly.

You wrap your arms around him, lovingly. The thought of him being worried about you and following to make sure you were okay makes your heart swell.

“I shouldn’t lie so well,” you counter with a small laugh. Billy tightens his arms around your waist and kisses your neck.

“I know the last of that wasn’t a lie,” he whispers and you just squeeze him tighter.

You expect Neil to apologize when you get back to the table but he doesn’t. Susan keeps shooting you sympathetic glances and it’s all so ridiculous. You know Billy has the same abandonment issues with his own mother and neither of them seem to care about that. The two of you never talked about it but you think now you should. He clearly doesn’t have an outlet and you know how he feels, you can relate.

“Dessert?” the waiter offers and not one of you say yes.

You finally get to catch a breath when you get into Billy’s Camaro and let your hair down as he peels out of the parking lot.

“God, I can’t wait to get out of here,” he exhales as he flips his zippo up to light the cigarette you pull to your lips.

You giggle, “I can’t wait to see you out of here.”

“You’re a goddamn angel,” Billy says like he can’t believe it.

You lean over to kiss his cheek, feeling your heart skip a beat at the genuine compliment. He doesn’t dish them out too often but when he does you believe them. “I love you,” you confess.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, glancing at you with a slight blush to his cheeks.

Billy pays for the movie admission, parking as far away from cars as he can while still being able to see the screen well. You laugh though, asking him if it really matters.

“I actually want to see this movie, I’ll have you know,” he turns his nose up and you reach over to pinch it.

Actually watching a movie in the Camaro is difficult. You two can’t cuddle up in the front seat and you can’t see from the backseat. You can do other fun things there though. He awkwardly wraps his arms around your shoulder, the center column making it difficult to get comfortable. You turn and look at Billy, admiring his face while you hold onto the hand draped over your shoulder.

“Stop staring, you’re missing the movie,” he mumbles, his cheeks red.

You roll your eyes before turning them to the screen. But you can’t help yourself, your eyes are drawn back to his face and you start trying to count the freckles on his face. You blush when he turns his head to you, “Do I have to take you in the backseat and fuck the distraction out of you?”

Heat crawls up between your legs, his blunt and filthy words always leaving you breathless. The way he says them so confidently but so low, just meant for you.

“I mean hell, you’re so god damn needy. I already fucked your brains out once today,” he moves to grab your face, eliciting a soft whimper from your lips. Sometimes he could be so scary but it wasn’t like horror movie scary, it was like he was totally aware of the power he had over you and he knew he could do whatever the hell he pleased. And releasing yourself to such a force was incredibly terrifying but you wouldn’t change a single thing. No, Billy deserved to have control of you.

“S’not your fault you’re such a little slut, though. Can’t help but be hooked on my cock, huh?” he growls out, sliding his thumb into your mouth. You promptly wrap your lips around it and suck, dragging your tongue against the digit. “I bet you’ve already soaked through your panties. You’re a disgusting mess under that dress, aren’t you?”

You moan around his thumb, eyes wide as you gaze up at him. He pulls your dress up just enough for him to get his hand into your underwear, frowning as he feels your slick on his fingers. You suck harder on his thumb, excited at the touch.

“Fucking knew it. You’re such a filthy whore,” he purrs, leaning over to press hot, wet kisses to your neck.

You squirm at the touch, tilting your head to give him as much room as he needs. Billy slides his fingers through your folds, gathering the wetness and pulling away.

You whine but he brings his fingers to your mouth, you’re hesitant and he laughs, cruelly.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he insists.

And you do, because you know he wants you to. You shyly take his fingers in your mouth, the taste is slightly tangy but overall not bad. The satisfied, sick smirk on his face brings another wave of arousal over you.

“Get in the back, let’s makes this quick,” he says, nonchalantly.

You’re climbing over the center console before he can finish his sentence and he follows shortly after. He sits in the middle, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. He pushes them down just enough to pull his cock out, bringing his palm to your mouth. “Spit,” he demands, looking at you under his eyelashes.

You do as your told, a little embarrassed by how you still can’t manage to do it as easily as he can, trails of saliva connecting from your lips to his palm. He doesn’t care though, wrapping his fingers around his cock and stroking himself. You pull your underwear down, dropping them to the floor and hooking your leg over his thighs. He helps you, guiding his thick tip against your dripping hole. He grabs onto your shoulder and pushes you down on him, stirring a gasp from you as he bottoms out. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your chests flush together and burying your face in his neck. Billy’s arms circle around your waist, holding you tight. You do most of the work, so the whole let’s make this fast thing goes out the window. You roll your hips slowly, grabbing onto his curls as you try to get as close to him as possible. You hear him groan softly, holding onto you tighter. You’re so full of love for him you have to hold back crying, not wanting to freak him out. He pulls you back, sliding his hand up to the back of your neck as he gazes up into your eyes. You smile, rolling your hips a teensy bit faster. He caresses your cheek then.

“So beautiful,” he coos, “such a pretty girl.”

Your face flushes, grinding against him harder and faster. It’s only slightly funny to you that he can call you a whore but minutes later being so sweet and loving. It’s like he can tell exactly what you want before you give him any indication. He kisses you tenderly, rolling his hips up to meet yours and you moan against his lips. After a moment though, you feel him start to soften in you and he sighs, pulling you off of him and tucking himself back in his briefs and pulling his jeans back up.Your heart stings as you wonder what you did wrong, sitting besides him and looking at him curiously.

“Was too slow,” he mumbles, “too… I don’t know.”

“Romantic?” you whisper softly, playing with the hem of your dress.

“I guess,” he says as he crawls back into the front seat.

You feel like dirt, you feel broken so easily by him and you expect him to start his car up and drive you home. You follow him the front, staring at the sky instead of the movie.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask after a beat and he groans, shifting in his seat.

“Nothing,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“Billy, that’s never happened before,” you try to explain, “I obviously did something wrong.”

“Can you cool it?” he bites and you sigh.

“Take me home,” you demand and he listens, turning the key in the ignition and speeding out of the parking lot in a hurry.

You don’t kiss him goodbye, just storm off into your room where you slam the door. You collapse on your bed and scream into your pillow. You might be overreacting but it hurt. You felt like he was suddenly unattracted to you. You despised how much his sexual prowess of you influenced your self esteem, that was probably the worst part. That him losing the mood could make you feel so utterly hideous.

Mary knocks on your door, “Honey? You okay?”

“Go away,” you cry out but she doesn’t listen. She opens the door and sits on the bed.

“Dinner not go so well?” she asks, reaching out to stroke your hair.

“Huh? Oh. The dinner went fine,” you mumble against your pillows.

Mary sighs, “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk to you about it,” you say.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not gonna talk about something so personal with my dads girlfriend,” you blurt out.

Mary nods, “Okay, well right now, I’m not your dads girlfriend, I’m a shoulder to cry on.”

Damn her, you think. She’s trying to be there for you in a way no one ever was and you think you’d be a fool not to take advantage of it.

“You can’t yell at me,” you say, sitting up. “I’m eighteen and I’m on birth control.”

“So it’s about sex,” she says with a soft laugh, “I won’t yell. What happened?”

You bring your arms up to hug yourself as you look at her.

“Did Billy do something you weren’t comfortable with?” she asks, her eyes suddenly worried.

“No! No… it’s the opposite.”

“You did something Billy wasn’t comfortable with?” she cocks an eyebrow.

“I guess… we were… ya know and then he just… stopped, like he couldn’t…” you try to get the words out without feeling too awkward, your face flush.

Mary laughs again and you cover your face with your hands, “Oh, god.”

“Honey, that’s normal. Happens to the best of ‘em,” she assures you but you don’t believe her.

“No. He’s eighteen, that doesn’t happen to boys his age. I obviously did something wrong,” you mumble. “Or he just suddenly realized what a hideous beast I am.”

She shakes her head, “No, I’m sure that’s not it. Sometimes things don’t align and the mood changes. I’m sure Billy doesn’t think you’re ugly.”

“He said it was too romantic,” you admit, though he didn’t exactly say it, he just agreed when you did.

“Sounds like an eighteen year old boy to me,” she laughs again. “Don’t worry too much about it. There’ll be plenty of awkward moments ahead of you. They just happen.”

She pats the top of your head and leaves your room. The talk doesn’t settle your stomach one bit, you stand up and walk to your window. You don’t see Billy’s Camaro, but you don’t remember hearing him take off. You jump when your phone rings, walking over to pick it up.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Hi, do you like Billy Idol?” Steve’s voice on the other end kind of surprises you.

You giggle, “Do you?”

“I don’t know, but somehow I got tickets to his concert,” he says.

“In Hawkins?” you ask incredulously.

“In Indianapolis. Do you wanna go?” he asks.

You smile, “Take a four hour drive with you? Sure, I’d love to.”

“Awesome, we better leave early tomorrow then, doors are at seven,” Steve tells you an you nod along even though he can’t see you.

Then he says, “We’ll probably have to get a room since it’s a long drive and all.”

You feel your stomach twist. The last sleepover you’d had with Steve didn’t go over too well with Billy. But hey, you enjoy spending time with Steve and you can’t let Billy dictate your life.

“I’ll pack an overnight bag,” you say before hanging up.

Billy is standing outside when Steve pulls up. He struts over and leans into Steve’s window.

“You two gonna have another pool day?” Billy asked with a raised eyebrow. He was just about to leave for work and thought it was odd you didn’t just tag along with him.

“No,” Steve counters, “I won some tickets on the radio. We’re gonna drive up to Indianapolis.”

“What? That’s like a four hour drive,” Billy says, taking note of the duffel bag in the backseat. Then you’re stepping out the door and Billy notices your backpack hanging off your shoulder.

“Oh, hell no,” he says, stiffening up. “You’re not taking my girl to Indianapolis for a night.”

You roll your eyes, tossing your backpack in the back before placing your arms on the roof of the car. Billy takes note of your outfit, the short leather skirt, the low cut shirt and how big your hair is styled.

“It’s one night. Can you cool it?” you canary, rising Billy’s blood.

“You’re a fucking joke,” Billy scoffs, looking you square in the eye. “Go ahead and take him to California.”

He starts to walk away but you call after him, “Tickets in your name, can’t change that.”

Billy waves his hand at you, “Whatever, bitch.”

“Asshole!” you yell out as he gets in his car and peels out down the street.

Your body is tense with adrenaline and you climb into the front seat, looking at Steve dumbfounded.

“Did we just breakup?” you ask, mouth agape.

Steve winces, “Kind of sounded like it. Listen, we can call off the trip…”

“No,” you sigh. “I’ll just talk to him when we get back.”

You aren’t sure what it meant. If you did breakup. It didn’t really feel like it. You two hadn’t really fought like that before but with the night before, you wondered if Billy was searching for an excuse to break up with you. He’d been cool with you hanging out with Steve since their fight. Granted, you hadn’t spent a night in a hotel room with Steve before but still.

“It’s fine, I don’t think I’ve even heard a Billy Idol song before,” Steve replies.

You reach into your purse and produce a Billy Idol cassette. Steve deflates, grabbing the cassette and putting it in the stereo before starting your journey.

The concert was fun. Fun you needed to have. You and Steve get drunk, thanks to your fake ID. You stumble back into the hotel room, a sixer tucked under your arm while Steve carries your purse for you. In the excitement of the night, you successfully pushed Billy Hargrove to the very back of your mind. So much so, that when Steve’s lounging on the bed and flicking through the channels, you crawl up onto his lap. You run your fingers through his hair and giggle drunkenly.

He smiles up at you, “What’re you doing?”

“Playing with Steve The Hair Harringtons famous hair,” you snicker, tousling his hair into a mess.

He laughs softly. You share a moment, gazing into each others eyes while your hands fall to his shoulders. Without thinking, Steve’s hands inch to your waist and he’s leaning up to kiss you. But he pulls back just as quick.

“I-i’m sorry, I’m drunk,” he whispers and he looks so cute and innocent and everything opposite of Billy. You hear it in your head, You’re a fucking joke. Go ahead and take him to California. Not exactly sure why it pushes you forward in the moment but you grab onto Steve’s jaw and pull his lips back to yours. It’s desperate, clash of lips and teeth before you find the right rhythm. Once you do, you feel incredibly warm and secure. He’s gentle, tentative and it feels sweet. He’s pulling you closer, like he can’t get enough while he slides his tongue past your lips. You slide your hands down his chest and he pulls back to catch a breath, smiling wide as he looks up at you.

The two of you should stop, pretend this didn’t happen. But you can’t, and either can Steve. He presses his lips to your neck and attempts to slide his fingers into your ratted hair. Your eyes flutter shut when he licks against your sensitive skin. A moan escaping your lips when he sucks a mark there. And you don’t worry about it, allowing yourself to be a slave to this moment. Steve takes an opportunity to flip you on your back, returning his lips to yours as he hands snake up into your shirt. He squeezes you over your bra and you giggle softly as your hands snake back into his hair.

He undresses you slowly, his eyes scanning over your body as he does so. He looks at you with earnest excitement and you feel your skin erupt in goosebumps. He hums happily when he sees, his fingertips tracing your curves. His eyes continue to drink you in for a moment before he’s pulling his shirt over his head and your eyes are drawn to his chest hair. You can’t help but reach out and touch it, eyes looking up at him through your eyelashes. He smiles, moving his thumb to caress your cheek and before you know it, he’s kissing you again. It’s all so sensual it feels brand new. He doesn’t grab at you with rough hands but with attentive, sincere ones. Your head swims from it, you actually feel beautiful in the moment. When you deepen the kiss, you feel Steve’s hands journey to his jeans and he attempts to unbutton them, but it seems like he’s having a hard time so you do it for him, never breaking the kiss.

Steve pulls back, getting off the bed and wandering to his duffel bag. You feel exposed so your arms move to cover up what you can. He digs through his things and retrieves a condom, striding back over to you. You swallow the lump in your throat. Why would he even bring condoms? Was he planning on this? He kicks his jeans and briefs off before crawling back between your legs.

He smiles down at you, “Is this okay? Can I keep going?”

You nod shyly, his smile helping in dissolving the worry you’d just had. He grins wider, bringing the foil packet up to his mouth and tearing it open with his teeth. He slides the condom over his member, pressing it to your entrance.

“Are you sure?” he checks in one more time and it makes you giggle, though there’s a twinge of regret already deep in your heart.

#billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine

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kyistell · 3 months

Note

What kinda headcanons do you have for California

I didn't think the list was going to be as long as it is but once I started thinking more and more I couldn't stop lol

California-

Wet cat

He/They and no he won’t stop reminding you

Was very obsessed with shiny things, especially gold, when he was younger, now he’s only a “normal” amount of obsessed

Very pretty, like the definition, like if you look up the definition of pretty in the dictionary he comes up

Has an obscene amount of stim/fidget toys, squishies, the poke ones, even fidget spinners, they have them all

Worked at the Berkeley laboratory in the 90s, specifically Berkeley’s element hunting team

Used to be obsessed with Creepypastas, however is now obsessed with cryptids (“They aren’t the same thing shut up *state name here*” has been said a lot)

Will slip into a southern accent without warning, has given multiple southern states heart attacks because of this on more than 10 occasions

Loves to write, especially fanfiction, however there is no way they would EVER willingly show anyone these, they did once when he was drunk but New York never mentioned it and Cali did not remember

Loves Stardew Valley and Minecraft, will play them both for hours without realizing

Has absolutely horrible time management, as well as their general perception of time is also atrocious

Loves podcasts, tends to listen to them more than YouTube videos

The times that Jersey dragged him to Action Park ended with hospital stays and praying that the doctors wouldn’t notice that he should definitely be dead

Been watching Smosh since it first started

Disney adult and proud

He started streaming on Twitch during the pandemic, occasionally being joined by Jersey, Nevada, or York, Florida joined stream once and has since been banned

Don’t listen to what York says, he definitely knows how to cook (re: he has no idea what they are doing in the kitchen without help)

Knows a handful of languages but only fully knows English and Spanish, though he can read and understand Russian, they just can’t speak it

Was forced to wear a dress once by Nevada and that’s how they realized he wasn’t fully male

He doesn’t actually mind feminine pronouns, just prefers He/They

Has a ridiculously long skincare routine, at least 2 hours at night and an hour in the morning

Used to be attached at the hip with Washington and Oregon, they are all still close in a similar but not as much way like the NE are

They and New Mexico go out with Arizona once every few weeks to different areas of their respective states, occasionally Texas will join

Cali and Texas aren’t related, they were both raised at one point by Mexico at the same time sure but they aren’t related

Loves to learn about different cultures, especially Asian cultures

Didn’t hate crowds until the pandemic, now can’t stand them

His room is extremely cluttered and disorganized, can’t even be considered organized chaos, their working on it (York had a stern talk with them about it)

They actually do understand Football, he just doesn’t like the sport all too much

Feel like this is obvious but he is a HUGE nerd, like a bigger nerd than New York not that Cali knows that of course

#welcome to the table #wttt #wttt california #wttsh california #wttt headcanons #now this is the longest one #haha oops #i dont even read stuff for cali wtf #wttt new jersey #wttt new york #kyi requests

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gr4vesrot · 9 months

Text

artist credit

Roseville, Florida. 1992.

You have always been a Wallflower. Watching everyone's life trickle by like a character perpetually stuck on the sidelines. It was easy to come to the conclusion that you didn't actually exist, not to anyone else outside of your best friend, anyways.

Things don't happen to people like you. People easily forgotten, ignored, brushed off. So how is it that you got his attention.

How, exactly, did Ghostface pick out a wallflower like you?

Ghostface ( Dead by Daylight x Transman!Reader )

Warnings: Mild internalized transphobia, homophobic slur, light gore, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Your beverage started to get warm in your hands, and that made it all the more painful to drink. The burn from taking one too many Vodka Pineapple shots sat uncomfortably in the back of your throat, and when you rubbed your tongue on the roof of your mouth, the pineapple’s acidity stung a little bit sharper. But, with your vision getting increasingly wobbly, and your mind a little hazy, you thought nothing of it when you threw the remainder of the shot back after sipping on it like a morning cup of tea.

You mentally chastise yourself when you leave it sitting in your mouth for a second longer than necessary, and your face tightens in a sharp cringe. Besides you, your friend laughs, and it’s amazing that you could hear her over the music and the drunken slur of the crowd. You try to laugh back, but it’s half-hearted, your cheeks quickly coloring when her amusement grabs the attention of different strangers around the both of you.

“Stop drinking them if you don’t like them!” She leans over to speak into your ear, and your stomach does an anxious flip when the taller man standing next to you looks down at the top of her pretty head. Both of your hands come up to grip the edge of the bartop nervously after setting the empty shot glass down, nails digging into the surface before promptly yanking them away as if you got burned. Men don’t close in on themselves, men don’t act skittish. You try to get your shoulders to relax, but it looks more like an awkward slump than anything. The fog wrapping tight around your brain is the only thing that numbs you from assuming the worst. Everyone here thinks you’re an idiot. Or better yet— they don’t know you’re here at all. Alcohol had a funny way of making things more bearable.

“I like them, I like them!” You manage a grin and wave her off, “there’s just… a lot of vodka in there.” You gesture to the bartender for one more, and your longtime companion groans. You both met fresh out of highschool, the first day of your very first job ( or for her, her third job within a span of three months ), and both of you bonded over being college dropouts. She had confided in you that the stress was too much for her, and with a shitty dorm-mate added on top of it, she had abandoned the idea of college life all together. You, however, tried to stick it out. Did your best to overcome and conquer, but sometimes ritualistic hazing is far stronger than your best could ever do.

Five years later and you’re still thick as thieves. You both made a point to make time for each other one day a week at the very least. This week, both your availability had lined up on a Saturday night. Which in your friend’s mind, meant club night. She was far more outgoing than you, more willing to dance with strangers, made acquaintances everywhere she went, so bright and pretty. It felt like a cruel joke to even be able to stand next to her, and an even crueler one when your self-deprecating thoughts ( and jealousy ) were proved to be factual each time you went out together.

Something dark twisted in the haze of your mind when the man on your opposite side, the one that had been looking down at Jess when she leaned into you, ignored your presence all together in order to worm himself between you and your best friend. Not the first time it’s happened, and most certainly not the last. You were a wallflower. Watching as everyone’s life flittered by them without so much as sparing you a glance in return. Or when they did, when someone finally noticed you, the only thing they could muster up was confusion, disgust; As if you were a frog to be observed and dissected. The testosterone had helped, your voice deepened, your shoulders just a little more broad, and your curves not as feminine. But it’ll never make you taller, or the softness of your features harden into what was commonly associated as male. Not with the sporadic dosages you were taking; Insurance didn’t cover the injections, and you’ve already exhausted yourself over crying about it. Now, there was only bitter acceptance.

It would have been so much easier if I stayed a g— Your next shot burned extra on the way down, and you gave the bartender a glare when his back was turned. Was he putting way too much vodka in the drink on purpose? Or did he just suck?

“I’m gonna go dance!” Jess pats your shoulder to grab your attention again, and when you turn, you’re all too aware of how the man who shoved between the two of you doesn’t even look your way. You frown, brows pulling together slightly and you bite your bottom lip out of worry. You weren’t entirely confident that you’d be able to keep an eye on her in the sea of people cluttering the dance floor, and as if reading your mind, she gives you a reassuring grin. “I’ll be back in a bit! I extra promise, okay? Join us when you’re ready!” That grabs the tall stranger's attention, and he looks down at you with a raise of his brows. Curiosity lingers there, his gaze flickering down to your chest for the briefest of seconds only to find nothing of what he was looking for, and back at your face again. The stare makes you entirely self-conscious, and as confident as you were with your binding, you still feel too vulnerable in a room packed with so many people.

“Okay,” you relent, leaning in to whisper the last part, “if anything happens just come and find me. I’ll stay in the same spot.” Appreciation laces her expression when you pull back, and she laughs when you hold up your seventh empty shot glass.

“Can’t wait till you get fucking drunk! Then maybe you’ll finally dance with me!” She doesn’t stick around to see your scoff, and the stranger is once again hypnotized as she pulls him along to the dance floor. The thought of being pressed up against that many bodies nearly makes you shudder, and you don’t have it quite in you to explain to her why the thought of dancing with that many people around would be your personal nightmare. You turn back to the bar, blinking when the rows of alcohol bottles and syrups begin swirling together. Yeah, maybe that seventh shot wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was easier to be drunk than sober in a place like this. When the bartender comes back around to pick up your empty glass, you barely register him asking if you’d want another, and you shake your head with a few mumbled “no”’s. The worst hasn’t even hit you yet, you could feel it, and you’d rather cool the flames before making a bigger fire. The earlier patrons have now dispersed and new faces surround you. Taking each of them in one by one, you chuckle to yourself when you have trouble focusing on every individual feature. It goes ignored, either because no one could hear you over the DJ, or they just couldn’t bother with some weirdo ominously laughing to himself.

The multitude of colors across from you grab your attention again, and you could barely make out the words on the bottles. It’s when you’re struggling to pronounce the name on a bright, cherry red one that two girls immediately fill the empty space at your side, flagging down the bartender to order.

“Are you sure we should even be out?” One of them says, a nervousness in her tone that you find solidarity in. “You know with… Uh, um.. The murders and all?”

Your eyes flicker away from the bottle and down at the murky brown bartop. Suddenly, trying to read the names of alcohol bottles wasn’t all that interesting anymore. From Pennsylvania and now to Roseville, Florida, a predator stalked the streets at night. With a new killing seemingly every week, the city of Roseville was in a whirlwind of panic. The murderer, this Ghostface, had been nothing but the talk of the town. Front page of every newspaper since he arrived a month ago, and after the first two weeks of seeing his name and how he murdered his victims plastered on every news story and magazine, you figured it best to not send yourself on that downwards spiral. The last thing you needed was more of a reason to fear going outside. Besides, running into some super psycho serial killer didn’t happen to people like you.

Not unless this murderer wanted an article titled Ghostface: A Passion for Hate Crimes? In the Roseville Gazette’s new piece about him. The thought of it has an amused smirk tug at the corner of your lips. Funny, in a morbid and should totally not be funny sort of way.

The nervous woman’s friend sighed, rolling her eyes and popping her gum for dramatic flare. “What’s he gonna do? Come in here and try to kill every single one of us? We’re way safer in a crowd than at home. He gets ya’ at home.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you wanted to try your hand at being like Jess. Friendly, likable, and sociable Jess. You turn your body slightly, facing the two women’s direction and remembering to make your posture as welcoming as possible. Eye contact, speak from your chest, don’t be afraid. A breath in, a breath out, and you ignore the tightening of your stomach. “I think he just likes the attention,” you voice your opinion, successfully earning the two’s scrutiny. They eye you with guarded looks, the nervous one’s gaze much softer than her friend’s. The one closest to you, the gum chewer, however, drums her nails across the bartop. Your palms become clammy, but you continue. “I mean— it just seems like all the news stories and articles are what's spurring him on. A total attention seeker, just don’t give him any and maybe he’ll leave you alone.” You force a laugh, and it burns much worse than vodka ever could.

“Fag.”

The smile is wiped clean from your lips just as quickly as your face colors with embarrassment. Shame is dumped over you like scorching hot tar, filling your throat till you can’t speak, can’t breathe, and the heat numbs your body to the point it feels cold. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. You’re going to be sick. There’s something heartwrenching forming in your chest that’s familiar. An old friend. Like a dumbbell weighing you down, your movements are slowed when you try to face away from them, fingers curling into the edge of the bartop again with how quickly you were shot down. The more you feel yourself drown, the louder the ringing in your ears gets. You knew it was a mistake coming here. You knew it. And the mean, petty side of you blames Jess for it. If she hadn’t dragged you along, if she knew what it was like..

The two women go back to their conversation; As if the word never escaped the gum chewer’s mouth, as if you had never talked to begin with. As if you were never there at all. The alcohol makes it harder to force down the humiliated tears welling in your eyes, and you’re actually thankful they no longer notice you. It’s one thing to be called slurs in public, but to cry about it right after is another brand of shame entirely. Your shoulders are slumped again, arms folding together over your chest as a means to self-soothe. You're angry with yourself for not saying anything back, for immediately losing your voice at the first sign of hostility. Not only could you not stand up for yourself, but you crumpled like a wet napkin. God, what a loser.

Like clockwork, someone comes stumbling up next to you. Too stubborn to look directly ( no way were you going to let anyone see the red rings you know are forming around your eyes ), you can tell it’s the tall guy who went off to dance with Jess by the color and style of his shirt you catch in your peripheral. The ringing was still too loud in your ears to hear what he ordered, but by the sudden shift of his posture, you could tell he was looking at you.

Please no. God no.

He says something, but it’s hard to make out over how overwhelmed you were. So instead, you don’t answer, and will yourself to become invisible. Strange how it works, the back and forth between your hopeless desire to be noticed, and to stay in the unacknowledged spot you were all too familiar with.

The silence between the two of you is almost painful, but he promptly forgets your existence the moment the bartender reappears with his drinks. One you recognize as Jess’s signature order, a Bloody Mary, and the desire to leave hits you like a truck. You need to go home, you need to go and tell Jess what happened so you can both get the fuck out of this shitty night club with a shitty bartender; And away from all these shitty people. Without thinking, you move a little unsteadily on your feet right at the same time Jess’s new dance partner does, colliding into his chest face first. There’s grunts from you both, and the collision has his drinks slip from his hands and toppling down directly on top of you. The gum chewer and her friend shriek in surprise, cursing when some of it splashes against their shoes. The combination of liquids feels like thick sludge running down your hair and to your shoulders, staining the fabric of your shirt a bright red. It drips off the ends of your locks, sliding all the way down to your fingertips and creating a small puddle where you stood.

Again, you are left speechless. Your drunken daze makes it entirely impossible to think. You slowly lift your chin up, the strong scent of what was Jess’s Bloody Mary becoming that much more powerful when it leaves red trails down the length of your face. Even without the hamster running on his little wheel to get your brain cells working, a small conscious part of you knew this was when the man was supposed to apologize. Ask you for forgiveness so he could still score with your best friend, maybe even go the extra mile and grab you a few napkins so you could wipe yourself off. But when you look up and your eyes manage to focus, he is looking completely past you, mouth babbling apologies towards the two women who were unfortunate enough to be in the splash zone.

You do not exist.

Serial killer be damned. You’d rather brave the pitchblack streets of Roseville then stay there another second. I don’t exist, the wheel in your brain started turning again, Ghostface won’t even see me out there. Turning in a very dangerous direction.

Like a robot, you stiffly maneuver yourself away from the bar and towards the exit, careful as not to inconvenience anybody. Your promise to Jess would have to be broken for a single night, but you hoped she would understand. You hoped that having two drinks dunked over your head was enough to warrant leaving and never going back. You leave through the front without sparing a single glance at the bouncers, and the humid Florida air only worsened your predicament. Everything felt sticky and cold, disgustingly so. And you hadn’t even realized you were crying until something wet and warm served as a stark contrast to the chill sludge of your now most hated beverage in existence. Your tears dribbled off your chin, and a pitiful whine escaped your throat. Another sob turned into an ugly snort when you tried to stop it halfway. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry.

You try to exhale, but it comes out in a stutter, and inhaling only has the same result. Your legs move entirely on autopilot to get you home, and though you were stumbling just a tad, you still had the sense to try and determine just how long it would take you to get there.

Only a few miles. Thirty minutes at least.. It’s okay. It’s okay. Stop crying. Men don’t cry.

You press your lips tightly together to silence yourself, and you focus on the street sign ahead as the club’s music slowly fades out from behind you. Retting LN. it reads, or at least you think it says Retting. You stop for a moment, eyes squinting up at the sign and mouth slightly parted. Left or straight ahead? You couldn’t decide. Trying to get yourself to think was like trying to connect the right wires in a generator, and you definitely weren’t a mechanic. Straight is… longer. You eye the different dimly lit stores and bars down the street ahead, swallowing hard when a group of different figures emerge from a particularly seedy hole-in-the-wall pub.

Left is shorter. But when you turn, the pitch black that meets you feels all consuming. There’s nothing but a flickering street lamp several blocks away, and porch lights that don’t meet the sidewalk. You’ll be totally blind, minus that one street lamp. But it’s shorter. I feel sick. The chorus of laughter from the group you saw prior was getting louder now, and in a moment of drunken panic, you picked left.

The group seemed far wiser than you. Carrying on down their path without even sparing a glance towards the horror filled shadows you decided to brave. You sway to the side, catch yourself last minute, and right yourself up again with a few low murmurs. Even you had no idea what you were saying to yourself, and anyone who’d happen to pass you by would surely think you were crazy. But the streets were empty, minus the few cockroaches you were too drunk to notice skittering around your feet. The Ghostface crosses your mind again, his mask flashing in the forefront. You spook yourself when your vivid imagination turns the mask into an actual face, morphed into a perpetual scream and his jaw begins opening wider and wider. Tearing the corners of his mouth as it completely unhinges and threatens to swallow you whole.

A shiver runs down your spine, and you force yourself to think about something else. The lamp post is coming up quickly, and you’re relieved when its light seems to stretch towards you no matter how dim. Your saving grace, your angel; Its light was a God Send when even your own mind began piecing together horrors beyond what you thought you were capable of conjuring up. The gentle buzz of the lamp as you stood under it was a helpful distraction, and so were the bugs swarming beneath it in chaotic circles. Now, maybe, you can finally understand why the little creepy crawlies were so attracted to the light. Were they also scared of some mass murderer? Afraid his sadism didn’t stop at just humans, and he’d crush them under his boot a little too enthusiastically? It made sense, you concluded with a final nod to yourself, The Ghostface didn’t just strike fear into the hearts of the people of Roseville, but in every living creature that just so happened to be within the city limits. Or maybe, his influence had already reached outside the city limits.

The rumors stated he had made his way from Pennsylvania to Florida, who knows where he’d go next once he grew tired of this dingy city.

Having your head tilted back and your eyes fixated on the lamp for too long had you feeling even more dizzy than you already were, and you instantly regretted your mistake. Facing forward again had your world spinning, swaying side to side with a miserable groan. You were never drinking again, you’ve had it with the effects of alcohol. Stumbling when you don’t quite pick your foot up all the way, inches away from the line that divided illumination and the shadows from a moonless sky, there was a loud clatter from behind the picket fence that separated you and the yard it came from. Startled, you curse, the exclamation echoing off the silent streets. It’s followed by a gasp when your foot slips off the curb of the sidewalk, and you finally go tumbling down on your ass for the first time that night. The road’s gravel bites into the skin of your palm and your forearm when you try to catch yourself, and there’s a sharp sting against your thigh when it rubs against a few loose rocks as you try to right yourself too fast. Your mind can’t keep up to your body’s instincts, and your feet don’t seem to work right even when you finally manage to pick yourself up.

You run with awkward, clumsy movements across the street. Your heart beats heavy in your chest, so hard you can feel it in your throat. It feels like you’re choking again, your arm and palm hurts, your thigh is rubbing uncomfortably against your jeans. But it was all left ignored. You had to escape, you had to run. Run from what? You try to rationalize. It was just a noise. A raccoon, a stray cat. The Ghostface doesn’t care about a nobody like you.

Though, none of your rationalizing mattered. Your legs had a mind of their own, carrying you down different streets and letting fate be your guide. The dark blinded you, and like a moth to a flame, you began following the flickering lights of the back alleyways subconsciously. A stupid move on your part, wouldn’t it have made more sense to stick to the shadows? It would have made for an easier escape. That is, if you even were being chased by anything. Or anyone.

You had no idea where you were by the time you stopped, wheezing as you tried to catch your breath. The muscles of your legs ached, and your side cramped with each inhale. If you didn’t feel sick before, you really do now, and a gag bubbles up your throat that turns into a short, dry cough. All that running made you absolutely parched, and your own saliva did nothing to remedy it. Leaning against the alley wall for support, you take this moment to collect yourself. There was nothing but the sound of your own breathing, nobody reaching out from dark corners to drag you into Hell, and certainly no masked killer choosing you as his next victim. Your laugh comes out as an amused sigh, your exhaustion doesn’t allow for anything more.

The night was full of embarrassment. But at the very least, there was no one to watch you sprint around like a mad man.

You blink slowly, giving yourself all the time you need in order to process where you are. You’ve already given up on getting home in a timely manner, and instead focus on trying to get home in general. There’ll be no more scaring yourself, no more wild imaginations, and no more brainlessly staring at street lights. Step one, get yourself out of the alleyway. “Yeah.. yeah..” You mutter to yourself, rubbing both your eyes. You’ve forgotten how sticky your face was, and you pull your hands back with a soft “ew.” Most of the alcohol spilled on you had dried, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. The top of your head still felt wet, your clothes stained far past salvation, and you smelled awful. You fucking hate Bloody Marys.

Lifting yourself off the wall, you decide to head straight. Might as well finish what you started, and there was a right turn calling your name. Further into the busier part of Roseville, the back alley’s nearly acted as a maze, but you were certain that finding the road again would be much quicker after taking that right. Where you got this confidence from, you weren’t sure. You’d never been the back alley type, not even during your edgier phase in high school. You walk with the certainty of someone who wasn’t seconds away from pissing their pants just moments before, shoulders back and posture straight. You’ve had it up to here on your metaphorical limits chart and the next fixation on your mind was a nice, hot shower. Rinse the day off next to all the red sludge dunked over your head, forget those unfortunate interactions at the bar, and carry on the next few days like nothing happened. Your hand and arm would heal, you’d apologize to Jess for leaving her at the club, and you'd rid yourself from any thoughts about Ghostface.

You refuse to live your life filled with paranoia. Not again.

Something strange sounds ahead, just around your chosen right corner. It makes you hesitate, but you swallow that fear and chalk it up to nothing. Nothing! Your self assured pep-talk wasn’t about to go to waste, and the worse it could be was some crazy drunk wandering around the back alleys at night. So someone a lot like you.

If that was the case, you’d simply turn around and go the other way.

Your hands balled into fists, determined to see it through. The sounds got louder the more you approached; odd shuffling, was that a… groan? And someone is talking. One person, or two? You couldn’t make sense of it, and now you really, really wish you hadn’t taken so many of those shots. In a desperate attempt to prove yourself, you march faster towards the corner, figuring that as long as you didn’t give yourself time to tuck your tail between your legs and scurry off in the opposite direction, you’d come out accomplished. If you could face this, you could face anything. That’s how it worked, right? The gum chewer woman comes to mind, and you vow that if you could walk past whatever lurked in the shadows of this maze with your head held high, you’d be able to do the same when confronted with people like her.

You round the corner without giving yourself a moment to think. No time to pause and really listen to what was being said. To what was being done. The heat from the alcohol leaves your body entirely, and what feels like the ice cold body of a snake coils around your limbs to make you immobile. The breath you were holding chokes you, but you can’t even manage a cough. Your hands and legs grow numb, your eyes warming with tears.

Things like this didn’t happen to people like you. You were a wallflower. A nobody. Hardly visible to anyone outside of Jess and your boss when he needed you to cover someone on your days off. The grotesque wet noises pierce your ears and threaten to draw your attention away from the dark figure standing only a few feet in front of you. A gloved hand wraps tight around the handle of his blade, the other gripping some new, poor victim by the front of their hoodie. One last groan and spurt of blood dribbling past their lips, their legs give out and they slump in the man’s hold. But you can barely register any of this. Not when the ghastly, white mask slowly turns to peek at you from under its hood, locking the hollow of its eyes on you.

It sees you.

He sees you.

Ghostface slips his knife from the fresh corpse with ease. Crimson drips from the tip of it, and he makes no sudden movements. Neither do you. A silent understanding, if you run ( run, run, run—! ) he could easily catch you as you are now. Drunk, fastened to where you stand by fear alone. He moves with such brilliance, the fluidity of a cat, a hunter. The casualness of his regard for you shows the depth of his cockiness. The black holes of his mask suck you in far deeper than the shadows of the path you’ve chosen, and this is the second time in your whole existence that you’ve experienced what true fear is. The frigid bite at your rapidly beating heart, the feeling of T.V. static crawling up your skin and to your horrified expression. You can do nothing but stand there, gaping, as a mass murderer fully turns to look at you.

He sees you.

Read the rest on AO3 !!

#graves writes #ghostface x reader #dead by daylight x reader #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #ghostface x transmale reader #ghostface mlm #ghostface x transman reader

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timaeusterrored · 5 months

Text

(The Northern Lights)

Depression was a common thing in the Eurodyne household. It normally hit at different times luckily enough, their bad weeks never usually lined up. But the one time it did, Kerry booked them a trip. He needed to get them both out of the city, away from stress and reminders.

Kerry wanted to spice things up, go somewhere Vax had never been. He tried to keep it to his place in Florida or Italy simply for his husband’s comfort, but he felt they needed something new, and see something Vax would be all over.

So next thing he knew, they were on their plane to Iceland. Vax was mostly quiet, lost in thought as he usually was as Kerry answered emails and did the less fun part of his job.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head?” Kerry spoke up after about an hour of silence, making Vax look up. His exhaustion was hitting him hard, and Kerry wished he didn’t over work himself like this.

“Static. I think if I had a single thought right now I’d explode.” Vax got up from his seat and moved to cuddle up with Kerry, the older man moving his laptop away in favor of his favorite person.

“Understandable… try not to think too hard. You take your meds today?”

“Yes Vik.” Vax mumbled sarcastically.

“Hey now, don’t get sassy because I’m making sure you’re doing what you’re supposed to.” Kerry held him to his chest, looking out the window. He hoped he had planned this right.

When they landed, Kerry got them checked into their lodge as soon as possible, they had a tour to get too and he could see that Vax’s interest had been caught.

He had Vax out of the lodge in ten minutes flat, basically dragging him. Vax had no idea what was going on, but he was into it. And Kerry had to keep that interest for the next few hours.

Okay, the beginning of the tour was kind of a drag, Kerry wouldn’t lie… but goddamn was it worth it when he saw what he had dragged his husband all the way up for.

“Aurora.” Vax breathed, staring at the night sky with childlike wonder. Kerry was glad the Space station hadn’t completely ruined the stars for Vax.

Kerry leaned into his side, for warmth and support. This was totally worth it.

“Can I-“

“Yes you can tell me facts, that’s why we’re here.” Vax was his own personal stars podcast sometimes.

“So basically, the Northern lights, or Aurora borealis, is actually sun storms. But our atmosphere protects us from them, they’re as pretty as they are violent.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“Yeah Venus is fucking violent sometimes-“

“You asshole. You knew who I was talking about.”

“A n y w a y, speaking of Venus, did you know that the lights were named after the Roman goddess of dawn, Aurora? And the Greek god of winds, Boreas?”

“I did not.”

“Yeah, it’s really fuckin cool when you think about it-“

Vax proceeded to take about the lights for the next 15 minutes, until they had faded and his face fell a bit.

“What?” Kerry frowned.

“It’s just said something so beautiful only lasts for a short amount of time. We’re lucky we even got to see them.”

“…kinda like life.”

Vax’s arm tightened around him, and Kerry looked up to find grey eyes staring down at him.

“You didn’t drag me up here to serve divorce papers did you? Because we are stuck in this shit together, no one else could possibly-“

Kerry cut him off with a kiss, holding his face with a small smile when they pulled back.

“I’m genuinely amazed you haven’t exploded yet… I’m not going anywhere.” Kerry whispered, bumping their foreheads together.

“Good…” Vax whispered back, looking back up at the stars.

#fun fact: this was inspired by a distractable episode #cyberpunk 2077 #kerry eurodyne #cyberpunk kerry #kerry #cyberpunk v #male v #male v cyberpunk #vax eurodyne #kerry x v #kerry eurodyne x v #kerry x male v #v x kerry #cyberpunk v x Kerry Eurodyne #EuroV #cyberpunk fiction #cyberpunk fanfic #otp: supernova

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hollywoodxwhore · 1 year

Text

Mine | Chapter Four

Colson x Original Female Character

Synopsis: Presley may look sinful on the outside, but deep down, she's innocent, guarded, and terrified of intimacy. Colson, on the other hand, is living up to his womanizer reputation as a way to cope with heartbreak. When his new guitarist invites his twin sister to join them on tour, Colson discovers that he's actually capable of feeling. Will Presley and Colson be able to push past all of the barriers trying to prevent them from happening?

Warnings/Content: swearing, brief mention of weight, col and presley being cute and pining for each other, surprise surprise kells talking about his dick

Presley

The first thing we do when we arrive in Florida is go to the beach.

It’s gorgeous outside and the show isn’t until tomorrow, so it’s a no brainer. Ashleigh manages to find a private beach that we’re able to rent out so no one bothers us.

I’m so ready to get my toes in the sand, to dive into the ocean. Living in Michigan, I have access to the beach whenever I want, but what’s sad to admit is that I didn’t get to the beach one time last summer. I was too engrossed in my work.

It’s been so nice not having to work while I’m here. I guess I didn’t realize just how little free time I’d been giving myself. I could work whenever I wanted at the shop, and more often than not, I’d decide to go in on a Saturday or a Sunday for some extra money. As head piercer, I could do that.

But I’ve been feeling so relaxed that I don’t feel in a rush to return to that. I don’t really miss the loneliness of it all, the nights when I’d be all alone in my apartment. I’m a homebody and I like to be alone, but there’s a difference between alone time and loneliness. What I was experiencing was some pretty painful loneliness and I’m only just now realizing it.

It’s like I’ve come back to life in the short time I’ve been on tour. Feelings I didn’t realize I could feel have surprised me, and although I can’t act on them, it’s nice to know I can even feel that way. My little crush on Colson has grown into something a little more real, but I can’t help it.

How could I when he’s secretly the sweetest person ever? Kind, selfless, and comforting, I’ve come to love being in his presence. Sleeping next to him was the best night I’ve had for as long as I can remember. How often do I wake up in the middle of the night seized by anxiety or loneliness and have to fight to get back to sleep? Every single night. But not the night I slept beside — well, on top of — Colson.

All of this has me humming happily to myself as I slip into my bikini, gathering what I need for the beach. Once I’m changed, Cash comes out of the bathroom and gathers his things, too. The entire reason I joined everyone on tour was to be closer to Cash. I didn’t think I would end up loving everyone else, too.

“Ready?” Cash asks and I nod, grabbing my bag. We head down to the lobby where we meet the others and get into the cars. I’m happy when Cash gets into the car where Colson is already. I can’t have him. I know this. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy his presence while I can.

I turn around and wave Olivia over. I think she and Cash would be so cute together and I want to make it happen.

“Good call,” she whispers as she climbs into the car, taking the seat beside Cash. That leaves a seat open next to Colson and I sit down, smiling shyly up at him.

“Hey,” he says with a little smirk. God, he’s so handsome. He didn’t bother to put a shirt on so he wears black and pink swim trunks, sunglasses, and nothing else. His body is a work of fucking art, covered in tattoos that only slightly camouflage lean muscle. I have to force myself not to stare.

“How far away is the beach?” Colson asks.

“About an hour,” the driver answers. Colson nods and slumps in his seat a little, trying to relax, but there isn’t nearly enough room for his legs.

I can’t help but snicker and he looks over at me, arching a brow. “What’s funny?”

I shrug and glance at his legs. “I can imagine you never have enough leg room,” I say.

Colson chuckles and nods, shrugging. “I’m used to it. Been tall my entire life,” he explains. “It’s a pain in the ass but it has its benefits.” He glances at me. “You’re pretty tall, too.”

“I shouldn’t complain. You’re at least five inches taller than me,” I say.

“How tall are you?” He asks, looking me up and down. It makes me feel a little dizzy.

“Somewhere in the 5’9”-5’10” range,” I answer with a shrug. “Doctors tell me something different every time.”

“In that case,” Colson says with a little smirk, “I’m six or seven inches taller.”

I’ve never really cared that much about height, but thinking about our height difference makes me feel…safe? Excited? Small? It’s something I’ve never really thought about before. Being a tall woman, I’m used to taking up more space than I want to, used to feeling too big for lots of men. But not Colson. And I like that.

“Yeah, we hear you, Jolly Green Giant,” Cash teases from the seat behind us, flicking Colson in the ear.

Colson whips around and snatches Cash’s hat off his head to place on his own head, backwards, and Jesus, he did not need to look sexier. “Shut up, Carver,” Colson says. “You’re only a little shorter than I am.”

“How tall are you?” Olivia asks.

“6’2”,” Cash answers with a smirk and I stifle an eye roll. Cash loves being tall. Loves the way women love his being tall. Hearts practically pop in Olivia’s eyes and Colson and I meet each other’s eyes, exchanging knowing grins.

“Shorter than me,” Colson says, and his slight arrogance is sexy. He hands Cash his hat back and laughs when Cash flips him off. Colson turns to me and shakes his head. “Was he this difficult as a child?”

“Worse,” I say, glancing back at my brother, whose smirk fades a little. “Let me tell you about how he got, like, three babysitters fired.”

Cash groans. “Pres, no,” he pleads.

“What did he do?” Olivia asks delightedly.

I giggle. “Which time?” I tease, and Cash smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand. “One time, he got on the roof. Another time he ran through the sprinkler in his clothes. Left the house without permission and the poor babysitter couldn’t find him. Oh, and there was that time you broke my wrist—”

“It was an accident!” Cash whines, cheeks flushed. His eyes narrow at me and my smile fades.

“Oh shit,” Colson mutters.

“I thought you said he was sweet,” Olivia says.

I laugh. “For the most part, he was. But he had his moments.”

“Alright, Pres,” Cash says, sitting up straighter. “What story of yours should I tell?”

I smirk. “I don’t have any embarrassing stories. Good try, though,” I say.

“What about that time you peed your pants at Matt Carlson’s bonfire?” And, fuck, I do have an embarrassing story.

“Cash!” It’s my turn to groan and cover my face.

“Oh, this I gotta hear,” Colson says, and I groan more loudly.

“I love hanging out with siblings,” Olivia says.

“It wasn’t my fault!” I insist. “That’s one of the reasons I don’t drink.”

“Wait, how old were you?” Olivia asks.

“Seventeen,” Cash chirps.

I moan.

“Too much Smirnoff cherry,” Cash sighs dramatically, “and a trampoline don’t mix.”

“Oh god,” Colson says with a snicker. I glare at him and he only laughs harder, head falling back to reveal that gorgeous neck.

“There went any chance I had with Matt Carlson,” I mutter. My cheeks are red, but I have to admit that it is a funny story. I can’t help but giggle as I lean over the seat to try and hit Cash. He laughs and evades any attempt I make, so I settle back into my seat and flip him off.

“Remind me to ask you for more stories later,” Colson tells Cash.

“Deal,” he says.

“Do you know any embarrassing Colson childhood stories?” I ask Olivia.

“No, but Ashleigh and Slim do,” she says.

I grin wickedly at Colson who winces. “Good to know,” I say, raising a brow at him.

He shakes his head. “You’re an evil woman,” he says sagely, and I grin, shrugging innocently.

We all talk nonstop the rest of the way to the beach, and when we get there, we’re all energized and ready to enjoy the day. We pile out of the car and join the others who are already setting up on the beach.

Cash tosses his stuff onto the ground and peels off his shirt. He tosses his hat on top of his shirt. “I’m swimming. Who’s with me?”

“Me,” Colson says, setting his stuff down, too. He turns to me. “Pres?” I’m so surprised by his use of the nickname that I almost lose my speech. Something about it makes me feel all gooey inside.

“I’ll be there in a second. Just want to get my towel out and stuff,” I say. Colson nods at me and then follows Cash out into the water.

I lay out my towel and then Cash’s, too. Olivia settles her towel beside Cash’s and smiles at me sheepishly when I smirk at her. “What?” She asks innocently.

“Just so you know, I heavily support it,” I tell her, and her smile widens.

“Really?” She asks quietly, and I nod. She looks out into the water at Cash, sighing quietly. “Dammit. Why does your brother have to be such a good guy?”

I grin. “He is, isn’t he?”

“And so fucking hot.”

“Can’t say I agree with you there,” I say dryly.

Olivia giggles and steps out of her clothes. “Come on. Let’s go swim with them.”

I nod and toss my cotton dress onto my towel, glancing down at my suit to make sure I look okay. I follow Olivia out into the water where a couple of others have already joined Cash and Colson.

Colson’s hair is wet already, as is his skin, and it glistens under the hot, midday sun. Shit. Even though the water is somewhat cool, I feel flushed just looking at him.

And then, he turns to look at me.

He has sunglasses on, but those can only conceal so much, and they do nothing to hide the way that his jaw quite literally drops when he sees me. He recovers quickly, clearing his throat as his mouth snaps shut, but behind the dark lenses of his glasses, I can see the way his eyes are slowly, subtly wandering my body.

All at once, it’s very clear. Colson 100% wants me. And I want him, too.

“Hey, let’s play chicken,” Cash says, and when I look over, I catch him checking out Olivia, way less subtly than Colson was checking me out. I bite back a knowing smirk. Anything for him to get closer to Olivia. But I’m fine with it. Happy about it, even.

Cash has had flings, but he’s a romantic at heart, and all he wants is someone he can spoil. Someone he can show off to our parents and his friends. Someone to treat like an absolute queen. And I really like Olivia. I’d be happy if it was her.

“Ooh, me and Cash versus Presley and Kells,” she says, and dammit, because Olivia’s almost imperceptible smirk in my direction tells me she’s well aware of my crush on Colson.

And I’m happy, trust me, I am…but what if I’m too heavy? That’d be an instant mood killer. If Colson really is into me, being unable to put me on his shoulders would kill that real quick. Colson looks confident, though. He smiles at me as he walks over to me.

“You good with this?” He asks, and I nod. He nods, too, and disappears under the water. I squeak in surprise when his head slips between my legs and he settles me easily onto his shoulders, hefting me up as he stands tall. Like he’s holding nothing at all.

“Shit,” I say, grabbing his hair gently to steady myself. “You’re strong.”

Colson chuckles. “You wouldn’t know it with how skinny I am,” he says. “Not like you’re heavy,” he adds quickly, and I blush.

Cash gets Olivia on his shoulders, too, and she looks at me with a little smile. I smile right back and keep my hold on Colson’s bleached locks as he walks over to them.

“I’m getting on your shoulders next, Liv,” Cash says, and Olivia throws her head back with a laugh. Cash smiles widely and I feel a rush of affection for my brother. It’s so good to see him happy.

Olivia and I grab each other’s hands once we’re in close enough proximity, and we giggle as we fight weakly, neither of us going too hard. We’re clearly both enjoying being on the shoulders of the boys beneath us. I’m glad I shaved my legs today because Colson’s wet hands are secured on my thighs. The warmth of them has me feeling flustered.

“Are you guys even trying?” Cash asks after a few minutes. Olivia and I are basically just holding hands, and when we look at each other, we laugh.

“Alright, Cash, it’s up to us, I guess,” Colson says, and Olivia and I shriek in unison and we start to teeter as the boys grab hands and start trying to wrestle us off their shoulders.

“Cash, if I get hurt, I’m gonna kill you!” I shriek, tightening my thighs a little.

“I’ve got you!” Colson assures me. He shoves Cash’s chest, and Cash wobbles. Olivia screams as she and Cash tumble into the water.

I clap happily and Colson reaches up his palms so we can high-five. “Nice job,” I tell him. “Thank you for making sure I didn’t die.”

Colson laughs. “Any time,” he says. “Give me your hands.” I let him take my hands and he squeezes them as he bends down and pops me off his shoulders. I’m surprised when he wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I’m super competitive. Thanks for helping me win,” he says.

I smile and wrap my arm around his waist. “Me too,” I confess. “Like, madly competitive.”

“She sure fucking is,” Cash pipes in. “Many family fights were had over Sorry games.”

“You any good at beer pong?” Colson asks me. “Oh, right. You don’t really drink.”

“I’m still good at beer pong,” I assure him.

“Oh bet,” he says. “Another thing we can beat Cash and Liv at.”

“Hell yeah,” I grin.

Cash narrows his eyes. “I don’t like the alliance forming between the two of you,” he says, gesturing between me and Colson. “Kells, you and my sister can’t gang up on me.”

“Hey, not my fault your sister is cool,” Colson says, and I grin cheekily at Cash, who rolls his eyes. I’m really enjoying Colson’s arm around me. Enjoying all of this, really. I can’t actually remember the last time I had this much fun. The last time I was this happy.

Colson

Today at the beach, I was happier than I’ve been in a very, very long time, and there’s no one else to thank but Presley.

It’s getting harder and harder to heed Cash’s warnings. Not only is she the baddest girl I’ve ever seen, but I actually really enjoy her company. She’s funny, sweet, and our personalities just vibe together. I haven’t gotten along with a girl this well in a long ass time.

And maybe I could ignore it, stay away from her like Cash said, but now that it’s three in the morning and I’m wide awake in bed, all I want is her next to me.

I’ve been wanting to text her for two hours now. She was added to the group chat, so now I have her number, and I shouldn’t use it, but fuck, I want to. I’m tired as shit, and I know if she were here, I’d sleep. It’s such a slippery fucking slope, though. What if she tells Cash I begged her to come sleep in here? He’d be furious.

I groan and rub my eyes until I see stars. Not good. Not good at all. But, fuck, I’m an adult, and so is Presley, and who is Cash to tell me what I can and can’t do?

It’s with that thought that I finally text Presley. I don’t ask right away, just let her know that It’s Colson.

She might be asleep for all I know, and I’ll regret the hell out of this in the morning. But there’s no way I misinterpreted the looks she’s been giving me. She’s into me. She has to be. Unless I want her to be into me so badly that I’m imagining things. I don’t think I am, though.

I jolt when my phone buzzes on my chest, and sure enough, there she is. What’s up?

Colson: Can’t sleep. You?

Presley: Same…

Colson: What are you doing?

Presley: Laying here getting more and more frustrated that I can’t sleep. You?

Colson: Same.

Colson: Want to be awake together?

Presley: Sure. Can I come there? Cash is sleeping like a baby as usual.

Colson: Come on over. Room 313.

I hop out of bed, hurrying to make myself somewhat more presentable. I brush my teeth, which is totally unnecessary since, one, I haven’t eaten anything since I brushed my teeth two hours ago, and two, it’s not like she’s going to get close enough to me to notice whether or not I brushed my teeth.

I throw a pair of shorts over my boxers and roll on another swipe of deodorant. I check my hair in the mirror and then clean some food wrappers off the nightstand. By then, there’s a knock on the door. I open it to reveal Presley, looking cozy in a matching set that looks way too big for her. It’s probably Cash’s. “Hey,” I tell her. “Come on in.”

She follows me inside and I lead the way to my bed, sitting against the headboard. She curls up with her legs beneath her and faces me, sighing. “You an insomniac too?” she asks.

I nod. “Yep.”

Presley sighs quietly and nods, too. “It sucks.”

“That it does,” I agree, but now that she’s here, I feel tired. So tired. I know if we were to lie down in bed together, I’d be asleep in minutes.

“The worst part is that I’m tired as fuck,” she says, “but I can’t sleep. It’s like every thought in existence enters my brain as soon as I lay down and close my eyes.”

“Fucking mood,” I agree with a chuckle. I take a deep breath, knowing I shouldn’t say more, shouldn’t admit it, but I do. “The only time I’ve actually slept well recently is when you were here.”

She looks up at me with those green eyes, so green they almost look fake, and for a second, I’m worried I’ve freaked her out. That I’ve said too much. But then she takes a deep breath, too, and nods as she looks away from me. “Yeah. Me too,” she mutters, glancing up at me again.

We’re both quiet for a few moments, challenging each other to say it, to initiate, but she might be more stubborn than I am because she stays quiet. I wipe my suddenly clammy palms on my shorts. “Want to try and sleep here?” I ask.

Perfect, white teeth sink into the corner of her bottom lip as she studies me. “Are you sure?” She asks. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’d be doing me a favor,” I point out. “If I don’t sleep I’ll be a wreck at the show tonight.”

Presley wets her lips and nods. “Okay. Then, sure.” She hops off of the bed to remove her sweatshirt as I pull back the blankets.

She hesitates, toying with the bottom of her long t-shirt. “You okay?” I ask as I crawl beneath the blankets.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she says. “I just.” I raise a brow, waiting. “I can’t sleep in these big ass pants. Do you care if I take them off? My t-shirt is long enough….”

Her voice tapers off and her cheeks flush. Damn, she’s cute. She has no idea just how little I care if she sleeps without pants. Actually, that’s a lie. I care a lot. She’s making it so hard not to want her. But I shake my head. “No, I don’t care at all,” I say. “To be honest, I can’t sleep in anything but boxers anyway.”

”Oh,” she says, relaxing slightly. “Okay, cool.” She drops the sweats to the floor and I shuck off my shorts, tossing them to the floor. I glance over at her and my heart squeezes. She looks beautiful, the hem of her t-shirt falling just above where she has a rose tattoo on her thigh, and I’m reminded for the thousandth time just how gorgeous those legs are.

She crawls into bed beside me, careful to keep her shirt down, and settles onto the pillow, facing me. Suddenly, she looks exhausted, and I feel it, too, stifling a yawn behind my hand. I reach over to turn off the lights, throwing us into darkness.

“Pres,” I say quietly.

“Hm?” Her eyes find mine as we adjust to the darkness.

I bite my lip. “I’ll do my best to stay on my side of the bed,” I murmur, “but I failed at it last time.”

“Or I did,” she says quietly. “One of us did.” She’s quiet for a while, and I’m starting to think she’s asleep, but then the blankets rustle and her toes nudge against my shin gently. “We could just…not bother. Trying to keep our distance.” Her voice is so soft, but I heard her clearly. I swallow hard.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice coming out in a bit of a croak. “Whatever you want.” After a brief pause, we both gravitate towards each other, and then her back is against my front, my arm draped over her waist, and she’s pulled one of my legs between both of hers. Her impossibly smooth skin brushes against mine. Jesus. A wave of electricity seems to swim through me and I swallow hard, trying to stay composed. This is so wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this. Cash would kill me if he knew. But I’m following her lead. She needs to sleep and so do I. This is serving a purpose. That’s all.

I tighten my arm around her waist, then slide my hand to rest against her flat belly. I feel the hitch in her breath and then she begins to breathe slowly, deeply. I nuzzle a bit closer, my forehead against the back of her head, and all at once, I feel so completely at peace that it’s almost alarming. Presley is warm and soft and fits with me like we were made for each other. My eyelids are so heavy I can’t hold them open anymore.

“Night, Pres,” I whisper.

“Night, Col.” I love the use of my nickname and the soft, raspiness of her voice. Before I know it, I’m asleep.

More often than not, I wake up far before my alarm, so I’m surprised when it rouses me this morning. Rolling over, I quickly turn it off, all too aware that Presley is in my bed.

I swear we barely moved all night, other than her rolling slightly onto her belly. I know we touched all night because I’m warmer where our bodies were touching. And the morning wood I have is not a run of the mill boner. No, this is from cuddling up to a girl to whom I’m extremely attracted. Shit.

A glance at Presley tells me she’s still asleep, so I adjust myself, tucking my cock into my waistband until it decides to behave. Sun peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow over Presley’s sleeping frame. We must’ve gotten warm because the blankets are shoved down, and that’s when I realize that her shirt has ridden up, all the way to her lower back.

I hold back a whine, feeling like a total prick, but fuck, I can’t help but look at her ass. She wears tiny boy shorts that have also ridden up, the perfect crescents of her ass perfectly visible. I cringe, feeling like a total douche, and gently roll her shirt back down, covering her up. But then, she starts to stir.

I freeze with my hand hovering over her, not wanting to touch her without her permission. She lifts her head, confused, then looks over her shoulder. Her eyes widen slightly when she realizes the state of her clothing, and then she yanks her shirt down, whipping her head over to look at me.

My eyes widen a little and I hold up my hand. “I-it rode up. I was just trying to roll it back down,” I assure her, but she’s already scrambling out of bed to pull on her sweats. I feel sick with guilt. She must think I was checking her out or trying to get her naked or something. “Presley,” I say.

“It’s fine,” she mutters as she pulls the sweatshirt over her head. “What time is it?”

I don’t understand why she’s acting so weird, why she’s so desperate to cover herself. She’s beyond gorgeous. “Um, noon,” I say. “We have to leave around one for the venue.”

“I should go get ready,” she says, relaxing as soon as she’s fully clothed. She bites her lip and smiles at me a bit sheepishly. “Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

I relax just a little, then nod slowly. “Of course. Any time,” I say. “Thanks for sleeping here.”

“Did you get some sleep?” she asks.

“Oh yeah,” I say. “I feel great.”

She smiles softly. “Okay, good. I’ll see you at the venue later, okay?” With that, she grabs her phone and hurries out of my room.

Slowly, I roll onto my back and blink at the ceiling. There are so many little quirks about Presley when it comes to sex and her body. First, there was the weird conversation we had about sleeping around. Now, she freaks out about her shirt riding up. How could she possibly be insecure?

I try to push it out of my head as I get ready, but warning signals pop up in my brain. Did something happen to her? Did someone hurt her? Why else is she acting this way? I don’t like the way anger flares in me at the thought of someone hurting this perfect woman. I want to find out, but I don’t want to push.

Besides, I promised Cash — and myself, for that matter — that I wasn’t going to be anything other than her friend. But friends care about friends, right? This is a friendly concern.

Right?

#mgk #machine gun kelly #colson baker #mgk fanfic #machine gun kelly fanfic #colson baker fanfic #mgk x ofc #machine gun kelly x ofc #colson baker x ofc

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slafkovskys · 1 month

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when they are in florida, does anyone give them a weird look when scottie is holding both their hands, maybe when they’re out for a walk? i feel like scottie would notice it, and drops their hands because she hated that look and it’s jimmy who notices she’s got a sad look on her face

ryan’s talking to his mom, holding his phone with his right hand while his left hand is preoccupied holding pinkies with scottie. she has her other hand tangled with jimmy’s as they walk towards the same restaurant they had eaten at the night before, but ryan’s craving for their food had them going right back.

florida was such a breath of fresh air for them all. the boys being able to have a little reset before the tail end of the season, scottie a little break from school, and for the three of them, there was no pressure to hide. there was no worrying about teammates or coaches finding out about them. they could just be together because this was vacation.

well, that’s how scottie felt until she locks eyes with an older woman. she watches how her eyes narrow at the chain she and her boys made with their hands and the way she turns to the woman beside her to mumble something. if the young girl had to guess, it was about them by the way the woman also turns her attention towards the group and gives them a similar look of disgust.

scottie quickly pulls her hand away from ryan and untangles her fingers from jimmy’s, wrapping her arms around herself as they come to a crosswalk. she doesn’t realize she had zoned out until she feels jimmy’s warm hand at the back of her neck, urging her across the road.

ryan goes to reach for hand, still talking to his mom and updating her about what they did that day, but she promptly pulls away from him. ryan’s eyes narrow, only not in disgust but confusion, and he’s uttering to his mother, “i need to call you back. no- yeah, everything’s fine. jimmy’s just trying to bribe a bouncer with his keys. love you- i gotta go.”

and their parents didn’t even know about them.

scottie tries to blink away tears as the boys pull her out of the street and against the brick wall. she sniffles, “we’ll miss our reservation-”

“we’ll go to mcdonald’s. i don’t care,” ryan states simply and she swallows the lump that had formed in her throat, “what the hell was that? we always hold hands.”

“always,” jimmy emphasizes. she tries to step away from where they were caging her in and his eyes soften, “why are you trying to get away from us?”

“scottie, what happened in the quarter mile from the condo to here?” ryan quizzes her and she shakes her head, “baby if you think that i was kidding about the mcdonald’s, think again. we’re not moving until you tell us what happened.”

she starts to pick at her nails and jimmy quickly grabs onto her hands so she can’t, so consciously aware of her nervous habit. she tilts her head back against the wall, thinks about saying nothing, takes a deep breath before mumbling, “there were these women who were watching us.”

“and?” ryan asks.

“scottie, please babe,” jimmy pleads and she’s once again battling tears, “we can’t fix it if you don’t tell us.”

“they saw us holding hands and they looked- they looked grossed out, okay? i don’t like being looked at like that. it makes me feel like i’m in high school and they’re bullies except i’m on vacation and they’re grown women,” she admits and ryan, he scoffs at her words. she whips her head around to stare at him, “ryan-”

“i don’t give a fuck what grown women think about me, about us. if i want to hold hands- sorry jim. if we want to hold hands with our girlfriend out in public, we’re gonna fucking do it. if we want to love the fuck outta you in the middle of the street, well actually,” ryan pauses and scottie can’t grab a hold of him fast enough before he’s darting to the edge of the sidewalk, “everyone!”

the street was pretty busy considering it was a prime location for the restaurants and bars and his shout is heard by a few who turn heads in his direction. jimmy’s holding her back from getting close to the street as she pleads with the oldest boy, “ryan, seriously-”

“we love the fuck outta this girl, alright? him and i, we both do! and we don’t care what you think about it,” ryan’s voice booms down the street and some people stare while some clap. one guy even calls out,

“hell yeah brother!”

ryan turns on his heel and looks at a shocked scottie with a smug expression, “now can we please go eat? you’ve been talking about those chicken fingers all day and i could really use a drink after that.”

jimmy chuckles as scottie just stares at the man, trying to comprehend what he had just done, “you and me both.”

#the golden au #jimmy snuggerud #ryan chesley

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rothjuje · 9 months

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I cannot sleep when Justin is gone. It’s so bad. Part of it is being on high alert at night because it’s just me, the other part is I can’t fall asleep when he’s here anyway until he’s in bed. I can’t relax enough, I need the oxytocin. I could take a sleep aid, but I really do not like to do that when he’s gone because I’m a very heavy sleeper. Plus they make me feel hungover the entire next day. I got a weighted blanket from Target in sheer desperation and it did not help at all.

I just did the math and I think he’s been gone for almost 40 days in 2023. Five work trips and Florida to say his goodbyes/be there for his family. After he comes back from Alabama on the 22nd he will have been gone about 50 days. Oy.

Poppa is still alive. It’s really hard for everyone to watch him suffer like this. Death can be so cruel.

I am vibrating with anxiety from all the unknowns. I am praying that he goes peacefully and does not have to suffer more. I am so tired and sad and anxious that my favorite dopamine sources are all failing (Target, my favorite bagel, iced coffee, the best ice cream place, sushi, visiting a farm or body of water, going to feed stores to look at baby chicks). Even Crumbl did nothing for me this week.

There’s been some good though. A friend (that I actually met from Tumblr when we first moved here) came up yesterday and helped with the kids which was so nice and sanity restoring. I’m almost done painting the chicken coop. My Jewish friends here have become like family, you know when you don’t have to be ‘on’ around someone? You can just be completely yourself and not use your social battery at all? It’s so comforting. The chickens are like little therapy animals, especially Honey the lap chicken. I made monkey bread for the first time ever, the girls had so much fun making it and the sheer joy on Alyssa’s face when she bit into a gooey ball of goodness made me so happy. I also made a Dutch baby with them a couple days ago and I let them each crack an egg. I love cooking with kids but am usually pretty strict about mess/wasted ingredients that it was fun to just let them make the mess/enjoy the process.

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resident-gay-bitch · 11 months

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Day One of @steddie-week - hunger / pining / somebody to love

Eddie’s having a smoke out by the old bleachers. It’s a warm day out, the sun’s shining down and there's a cool breeze that drifted through his hair to cool the back of his neck. It was nice. He wished it could be a little nicer, though.

Tommy Hagan, the stupid oaf that he was, had just attempted to utterly humiliate in the middle of his English Oral on To Kill A Mockingbird, and despite his shocking grades, Eddie was actually very good at English and dissecting a text. He focused the main part of his essay on the prejudice themes within, granted he could understand and relate to them in one way or another, and pulled out a bloody brilliant essay if he did say so himself - though, he knew that he’d be coming close to a fail again, because Ms Click had it out for him and she hated his ‘vulgar language’ and ‘woke themes’. Bitch. Tommy had picked up on how Eddie reflected his own experiences to the text, and decided to start heckling him. You feeling a little left out, Munson? Gonna have a cry because you’re at the bottom of the food chain? All stupid shit that didn’t even make much sense because he’s pretty sure Tommy didn’t actually do the reading.

Eddie gave him a grin and kept going until he just wouldn’t shut up, and Eddie was about to run out of time and he still had a whole paragraph to go, and so he just turned to Hagan and said, I know you can’t go three seconds without everyone's attention on you, Hagan, but don’t you think it’s a little pathetic how desperate for my attention you are?

He got thrown out of the class instantly, and a big ‘F’ stamped on his essay.

Whatever.

Eddie didn’t care for all the attention he got. I mean, sure, he’d get up on tables and stomp around, preaching his shit and making a fool out of himself, but he only did that on the good days. The Confident days. The days he had something to say. Every other day, every other minute, he wished to go unnoticed. To blend in with the crowd and just live it out until graduation. But there's never a moment of peace with these jackasses. They’ve always got something to say.

For a group of people who always like to tell Eddie how unimportant he is, they sure do take up a lot of their own time talking about him.

It’s kinda funny, actually.

Either way, Eddie was sick of it. He just wanted to get up there, give his oral, sit back down, and get on with his school day. He had a campaign to host tonight, and then band practice after that since Gareth was going up to Florida to visit his grandma on the weekend. So he was kind of thankful he got kicked out of class… maybe he was asking for it, he didn’t care. Now he could stand out here and smoke in peace, rather than getting balls of paper with studpid drawings or dumbass notes thrown at his head for the rest of class.

Okay, scratch that, Eddie would prefer the bullying right now.

From here, he had a clear view of the outdoor basketball courts. They were shitty and dinged up pretty well, the hoop no longer had a net on it - save for a singular ratty old string hanging down - and there were marks all over the backboard. The courts were mostly used by the freshman during lunchtime for dumb basketball, and as a safe ground for the science class when things were too dangerous to stand near or if they’d swell up and explode.

But there, on the shitty courts, were Hargrove and Harrington. Two of the biggest dicks to ever grace the fine halls of Hawkins High. Eddie found their petty rivalry absolutely fucking hilarious.

One minute ‘King Steve’s sitting all high and mighty on his throne, pretty girl on his arm, and then in walks Billy and threatens everything he stands for.

Comedy fucking gold.

Though, Eddie did start to feel a little sympathy for Steve about it. After having his first real interaction with Billy - a quick deal at his own goddamned school locker - he realised how much of a cunt he was. And jeez, for Steve to be Billy’s main target, he’s gotta be going through it. And not only that, but it seemed to be getting worse after Steve got dumped by Nancy Wheeler. God, that was the talk of the school for weeks. And now Steve had lost his crown and was like… nobody. Steve was actually getting heckled in the halls now - nowhere near as much as Eddie, but still.

Yeah, maybe the little homoerotic rivalry between the two ‘Kings’ of Hawkins High wasn’t as funny as Eddie thought.

Eddie hated when people noticed him when he wasn’t actively seeking attention, but he kinda wished Steve would. He didn’t even look at Eddie when he’d jump up on cafeteria tables anymore - which is definitely not the reason why Eddie has made this a tri-to-quater-weekly occurrence or anything - nothing. He wouldn’t pay him any mind.

And yeah, okay, this was stupid. God it was so fucking stupid. Eddie knew that. He knew that better than anyone because why on fucking earth would the universe decide that Eddie the Freak had to trip and fall head over goddamn heels for Steve motherfucking Harrington?

What had Eddie done - in this life or the last - that was so horrible to have deserved this fate?

He hadn’t a clue. However, he did know it must have been utterly terrible because he’d been sporting these dumb feelings since Harrington's freshman year. Four years. For long years.

And for what?

He’s pretty sure they’ve spoken a total of (give or take) twenty words to one another in that time, and most of them would have been Eddie apologising for ‘accidentally’ bumping into Steve in the halls.

Okay, the crush was dumb, super fucking dumb. Steve was a popular straight jock. But at least Eddie didn’t fall for one of his bullies. Sure, Hagan gave him a hard time just about every day, but Steve didn’t give him a word of it. He’d either just stand there with a bitchy look on his face (which Eddie often thought about when daydreaming in class… or other times), bored out of his mind, waiting for Tommy to finish, or, he’d be standing there with the girl he’d claimed that week and would either talk to or suck face with her.

Eddie hated that last one.

A lot of the time Eddie would zone out on Hagans ranting and stare oogily at Steve kissing whatever girl it was and imagine Steve would just push her away and storm over to Eddie and just… just fucking grab him and slam their lips together. It’d be like in the movies, you know? With… with some dramatic love song like Dream Weaver or some shit playing in the background, and there'd be cartoon hearts in Eddie’s eyes and stars floating around their heads. And maybe Steve would shove him up against the lockers and kiss him like it was the only thing he’d know how to do, and then they’d peel away and look at Tommy and just laugh at him - because Eddie can definitely see that Tommy’s feelings for Steve ran a little deeper than the best friendship he claimed it was.

But that would never happen.

Steve has never- and would never kiss Eddie, passionately or not.

So now all he could do was stare.

He stared off at the basketball courts as Steve tried to steal the ball from Hargrove, watching the way his thick thighs moved in those tiny little shorts, the way his ass filled them out when he’d bend over, the way his biceps flexed when he’d managed to grab the ball and shoot, the way his hair would flop over his pretty eyes before it’d get swept back by his large hand that Eddie has also thought about… a lot.

When Hargrove shoved at Steve's chest (like a good damned toddler who didn’t get their way) so hard he went skidding to the ground, Eddie had to fight the urge to just run over there and punch Billy’s lights out - though, if he were to do that it could be justified with about a million other reasons, but he wasn’t looking for another detention right now - and cradle Steve in his arms. To check if he was okay. To kiss all the parts that hurt.

Lord, Eddie was so far gone over nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He sucked on his cigarette and celebrated quietly to himself when Steve got back to his feet and shoved his shoulder aggressively into Billy’s before running to get the ball. He watched them fight over it again, and couldn’t help his smile as Steve made one of those goal things. You know… the one that’s made from the middle of the court. The big one. He couldn’t help the little blush in his cheeks as he watched Steve do a little happy dance, the wriggle of his hips as he shook his fists like he was holding maracas. Billy was not happy, and that seemed to make Steve even more proud.

It made Eddie proud.

Jesus.

Why was he so set on this asshole?

Why couldn’t he like someone a little more in his own league? I mean, he still probably wouldn’t get them then either, but he’d at least have a chance.

You know the worst part about this is Steve's tendency to be a little bit of a whore. Because like, he gets around. Skull Rock - that was once Eddie’s escape and eventually smoking spot - was only deemed the ‘hookup spot’ after Steve took multiple girls there within the span of a month. So, like, Eddie has to see him with girl after girl after girl every week, and know that he’d never be one of those girls.

He was a little ashamed to know that he’d spent a good few nights crying himself to sleep over it.

It was hopeless, this crush. It was helpless too. Steve was beautiful. The most handsome man Eddie had ever seen, and always had been, and yeah he was an asshole - so was Eddie - but he wasn’t a cunt.

Eddie didn’t understand why it stuck around so long.

He sighed and sucked on his cigarette again, blowing the smoke out as he smiled at Steve's little happy dance one more time. Right as he was crushing the butt of his cig with his sneaker, Steve turned his head and looked at him.

The smile that still lingered on Eddie’s lips dropped in an instant, and he swallowed the lump in his throat and ground his sneaker into his cigarette one more time so Steve would know he was out here for a smoke and not to perv… even though he definitely was.

Steve flashed him a small smile, the smile that he flashed teachers or past hookups or casual friends or just people he knew in the halls, and nodded his head once as a sort of ‘hey’, his hands perched on his hips as it was happening, his hair flopping back down over his eyes. He flicked his head back to clear his vision again, and then he turned back to Billy without so much of a second thought and crouched into ready position to get the ball again.

Oh.

That’s why. That’s why Eddie’s crush had never ended.

Because every so often Steve would give him one of those ‘I know you, hey’ nods, or a tight lined ‘I just realised I was walking past someone I know’ smiles, and Eddie would melt.

Eddie would melt so much because no one with Steves status would give those to Eddie. And he knew he was scraping for crumbs right now but that… oh, he recognised Eddie and he said hey, and- Oh, fuck! Eddie didn’t do it back… again.

Jesus, he never fucking does. Always too distracted by Steve’s pretty features and the fact that he noticed him.

Maybe Steve did notice him, sometimes.

Eddie just wished Steve would see him too.

super late submission but whatever :) it's in before it's over and that's all that matters to me rn lol.

read Day Two here

\/ a dodgy art piece for this one \/

#steddie week 2023 #jay writes #Day One #steddie #steddie angst #eddie munson #steve harrington #angst #pining #hunger #somebody to love by queen #eddie munson pov #season 2 #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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