#NOT EVEN A TINY MORSEL??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

toxicanonymity · 1 year

Note

Stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

Amazon 📦

2700, stepdad!Joel x f!reader. Stepdad Master List

New: BONUS SNAPCHATS, and one more (what if)

Ty for always ID-ing stepdad in the wild @gracieispunk including this pic ILYSM!!

SUMMARY: You give Joel the cold shoulder. He's sad and horny and finds a way to get your attention with a gift. He snapchats you a lot. A/N: Shout-out to @scratchietella (cum ask). WARNINGS: I8+, POV alternates twice, jacking off, stepcest, degradation, angst, reflection on cheating, a bit of whump and a hint of reader dacryphilia. Joel comes a lot (7x or so?), and I spelled it the short way for disambiguation. NO use of Y/N.

After you let Joel give you head, he thinks he’s back in your good graces despite cheating with your mom. But as soon as Joel leaves your room, you must be putting on your clothes. Because within less than a minute, you call Jacques on your way downstairs-–in earshot–to apologize on Joel's behalf for rushing him out.

Joel follows you downstairs, but your Mom is on her way in. You go out the front door, and when your Mom walks in from the garage, Joel is standing at the kitchen with his hair all messed up from running his hands through it in distress. He doesn’t know if you’re going to Jacques’s, back to your apartment, or out, but he doesn’t like it. Joel knows he has no right to tell you anything, but that doesn’t stop him from calling you. You don’t answer.

Your Mom isn’t home for long. She goes right back out, at which point Joel goes straight to his dresser to retrieve both pairs of your panties: The pair you gagged him with after he gave you a ride home, and the pair you stuffed in his pocket in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. The ones from the car are already ruined by his own cum, but the ones from Thanksgiving are all you.

Joel lies on the bed and lubes up his cock, still hard from eating you out. He puts on his glasses and looks at the screenshots he took of you before he knew Snapchat was telling on him. He whimpers as he strokes himself.

After a minute of looking at your scandalous photos, he feels pathetic for clinging to such a tiny morsel of you when he needs it all. He tosses his phone aside, closes his eyes, and smothers his face with your panties as he strokes himself. He takes in deep breaths and he grunts and moans into them, and his hips involuntarily flex like his fist might as well be you.

For the thousandth time, he imagines putting an end to his misery by just fucking your shit up. Busting in your door, grabbing you by the throat slamming you against the wall. Shoving his tongue down your throat and his hand between your legs. Tearing your clothes off as you whimper his name. Then taking you to bed, only so he can put you on your back and spread you wide open.

He'd memorize the folds of your dripping cunt as it twitches and begs for his tongue. Flip you over and shove himself in without warning, making you mewl as his girth splits you in two. Pounding you. Spanking you. Yeahh, just railing into your needy whore cunt as you whimper under him. He sees your face screwing up as he cums inside you with a harsh grunt, finally giving you what you wanted all this time, a cunt full of his load.

Cut to his own fist full of it on his bed. As he lies there breathing, the shame sets in. Not only the stepcest shame, but also the knowledge that he'd never have the balls to do any of that. It’s barely believable enough to get off to. And then the guilt sets in – the guilt of what he did, how he fucked things up with you. He feels guiltier about this than he felt for cheating on your Mom. He feels like he cheated on you.

He puts away the evidence and washes his hands. Then he stares at your text convo. He has to figure out how to make things right.

You don't respond to a single text or snap for the next week or so, and you don’t come back to the house either. Joel feels even more desperate. He’d do anything, if he only knew what might help. He needs something to get your attention. He doesn’t sleep with your Mom, and your Mom doesn’t care. She doesn’t even bring it up. He’s pretty sure she’s having an affair anyway. Brazenly. For her to confront Joel about his lack of interest would be to risk Joel confronting her about the affair. Joel isn't sure if it’s physical or just emotional, but it doesn’t matter much. He’s over it.

Joel thinks about you at night and wonders if you think about him, too. He envisions what you might look like, thinking of him. He imagines you with your spine arched, toy between your legs, closing your eyes, just soaking your sheets as you sigh his name. One night, he’s picturing this, really choking his cock. He groans then sighs as he cums into his fist. And then, when he’s recovering from his climax, that’s when it hits him. How to get your attention.

—---------

You’re lying on the couch watching TV. You’re distracted. Joel’s outreach has been ambiguous so far. He hasn’t said anything about your mom. He hasn’t begged for pictures, much less for another chance. He’s only begged for forgiveness, over text. You haven’t opened his snapchats because you don't want to be reminded about what he did. You don’t want a serious talk or a lecture or god forbid details. You don’t even want a sincere apology, unless it’s in the interest of fucking you.

You get a notification that you have a package at the leasing office and sigh in exasperation that you have to make the trip there when it's probably not even yours. You aren't expecting anything, but sure enough, it has your name on it.

It’s a vibrator. Your heart races when you read the gift message. “Thinking of you. A lot. I’m sorry. J.” Unwanted butterflies swarm in your chest and you try to bat them away. He even included an extra pack of batteries. How. . . thoughtful. Smart, too, because if it were rechargeable, you’d never plug it in. It would feel like an admission of forgiveness. But since it’s battery-operated, you can just pull the battery tab as soon as you get horny. And of course you do. You lay on the sofa where you and Joel hooked up before and you take the toy for a spin. His ploy is working, you’re thinking of him, and you’re too horny to care.

You finally open his snapchats. They're a mix of horny and pathetic videos. They start off horny, just showing you a bulge in his pants or he's jacking off with your panties.

Video: Then something non-sexual. A closeup where he’s just looking at you with messy hair, puppy dog eyes, and dark circles. “Talk to me. Yell at me, I don’t care. I'll take anything.”

Video: Then horny. Palming himself over his joggers. Whining your name in a whisper. “Please.” His desperation turns you on.

Video: A sad one the same night. He's sweating, looking like a little more of a mess, forehead glistening, catching his breath. "Don't throw this away." He breathes for a few more seconds.

Video: Another sad one another day where he doesn’t really say anything but his face says it all. He looks awful, as if he’s not sleeping. Red eyelids, might have been crying. He starts to say something, “I—” he takes a deep breath. Then he shakes his head, looks up and it cuts off.

Video: A horny one that must have been the same night. He looks the same, but his reddened eyes look hungry. His lips are parted and he's taking in a shaky breath with his arm moving slowly off screen. "I just miss you." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He turns the camera down where his clothed erection sticking straight up in his joggers, just jutting into the air. His hand pushes it down and he slowly grabs it.

You leave his snaps on "seen," not even beginning to reply. Then a few minutes later he sends a new one. A minute after that, another one. You leave those unseen for the time being.

—------------

Joel sees you open the old snaps. That's progress, he thinks, and boldly assumes you open them when you’re horny. When he starts to second guess that assumption, he gets self conscious and thinks it might be for the better that you don’t open the last two snaps. They might have been too much. . .

Video: He’s sitting in his office chair in front of a full length mirror. He’s manspreading and his joggers are hugging him in a way that emphasizes his bulge. His big, veiny hand is slowly rubbing his inner thigh, getting closer and closer to where he desperately wants your touch. He says, “Ya know,” (deep breath) “I should be doin’ that for you.” Then he palms his arousal and says, “Ahh, fuck it.”

Video: A few minutes later, he’s slouched down in the chair. His T-shirt is pulled up well over his belly button and his hand around his cock. After just a few wet strokes, he sighs loudly as he cums all over his abdomen. It’s a lot of cum, like six or seven ropes. Then his stomach rises and falls with heavy breaths for a few seconds before he ends the video.

He’s grateful for the glimmer of hope but still beating himself up. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not even sure what you want. At times, it feels like a losing battle. He’s not even sure what you feel. At some point he thought he knew, on some level. He thought you both knew, the moment you kissed, it felt like there was something electric neither of you could articulate but both of you knew.

It felt more than skin deep, but he couldn’t say where it went within either of you. He still can’t say. It’s not like you were in love. Certainly not batting eyelashes at each other or making future plans. Half the time you were bickering. But there was something there. Even if it was only physical, it was deep in your bones and something made it electric.

The further it gets from that moment, the more he wonders what you ever wanted. Is he your play thing? Do you get off on torturing him? Did you genuinely enjoy chatting with him? Do you get off on sneaking around or would you be into him if you knew each other a different way?

He pushes those thoughts away and keeps coming back to the physical spark between you. The hunger in your eyes. Your persistence. He wants both of you to take a leap of faith–not into a relationship–but a leap backward to the beginning. This all burned down and needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. If he lets it cool and builds it right, maybe it can become something better. Abstaining from other people feels like a good start. He can’t think about whether you’re seeing anyone else or it keeps him up at night.

—-----

The next day, you’re horny again. You get comfortable and turn on your new toy. You tell yourself opening his snaps doesn’t mean anything. You don’t have to respond. It won’t have any effect on you. But when you watch those two in his office, and oh, God. It takes you no time flat to cum, and cum hard. You don’t say anything back to him. He texts you, “did you like that?” and you don’t respond. He continues, “if not i’ll stop, sorry. Lmk.” You don’t let him know anything at all. You stay radio silent.

Over the next couple of weeks, he keeps snapchatting you. Even if you don’t open it that night, he knows you might go on a spree and open several in a row, probably when you’re using his gift.

Video: It’s a computer screen with your insta pulled up. He’s at the desk in his bedroom, the one where you found him jacking off to your pictures a few of months ago. He points the camera down at his lap and he’s wearing gray boxer briefs you didn’t know he had. You see the very clear outline of his hard cock atop his thigh, straining to burst out of them. “See what ya do to me.” He runs his hand down it with a low sigh.

Video: A few minutes later, selfie mode, breathing heavily. Hand wrapped around his shiny cock, stiff and swollen. He fists himself at a beat that’s becoming as irregular as his ragged breaths. He grunts as he thrusts into his hand. “Oh, fuck—oh—-ohhh fuck, I–nngg–” He devolves into a groan as he erupts in his hand. It shoots back toward the camera. It takes a good thirty seconds of him moaning and sighing and catching his breath before he’s finally done emptying his balls.

Video: He’s on his bed, rear camera facing his lap. cock and his hand gliding wetly up and down it. “I can’t believe. . .” (heavy breathing) “-oh, fuck—I–I can’t --I can't believe,” (moan) “I ever turned you down.” (long, drawn out orgasmic groan).

Photo: Close-up of his lap with a boner. His hand resting at his groin. His hand has no business being that hot. Caption: How’s silicone joel treating you.” You roll your eyes and begrudgingly smile just a little as you use the silicone joel and quickly tap for the next snap.

Video: He’s in the office again, standing in front of the full length mirror. He’s in boxer briefs and his thighs swell out from them. No shirt. He pans so you can see him head to toe, shirtless. Then he relaxes back in the chair, manspreading. The snap ends and it cuts to the next one.

Video: Now he’s breathing fast, stroking his raging erection feverishly in the next one “Ohh-nng-Oh–God–Fu–” (moan) “Fffuuuck” (loud, low sigh). Stringy white ropes rocket onto his abdomen as he shudders loudly and strokes himself slower. You rewatch this one multiple times and count seven real ropes before it’s just gurgle. Seven.

You think about getting your ipad out and taking a video of this one for later use, but you accidentally tap for next. By now, he's completely unashamed.

Video: He’s in his car. You can only see his lap, and the ample bulge in his joggers. “Had to pull over.” He scoots the seat back, rubs himself slowly, breathing heavily. “Just thinkin’ about” (low sigh) “the way you came all over my mouth” He pulls his waistband down, spits on his cock, then sighs loudly. That snap ends, and in the next one--

Video: He's just cumming–really hard. It’s his fist around his cock. “Oh, fuck,” (a gasp, then a soft, ragged groan) “Fu–” he cuts himself off with a long sigh as he cums into a t-shirt. You can’t see the cum but know it’s a lot. You see his cock twitch and his hips lift as he sighs again.

Photo: His big, masculine hand is holding a peach. Caption: Every fkn thing reminds me of you.

All this time, you’re still not responding. Not so much as a thumbs up or sweating emoji. But you keep watching them, day after day, until one day, he doesn’t send any. You use the toy and just think about him, envisioning his videos, and replaying your encounters. You don’t just think about him jacking off, you think about him crying, too, and that turns you on just as much. You picture him crying and jacking off and you cum instantly. Then you feel kinda bad.

In your post-nut clarity, that’s when you realize you’re pretty much ready to move on from it. Because you start to worry. Maybe he’s had enough of the games. Maybe he’s given up. Maybe you shouldn’t have punished him like this. It was fucked up, so fucked up, but the memory will fade. You detached enough in the moment that it's not that vivid to begin with.

Joel is married. He’s always been married. That's why he was always saying no. They kissed in front of you days before. Instead of insisting on a conversation, within sixty seconds you were putting your panties in his pocket. Then you made a pass at him, and he got you off on the kitchen counter. Then you kissed.

That kiss. It was so loaded. Packed full of tension and potential. A glimpse of what could be had. There's no doubt in your mind the sex would be explosive.

If Joel hasn’t given up, maybe this interlude got you a little closer to what you want, somehow. There's only one way to find out.

—-----

BONUS SNAPCHATS

the silicone Joel

STEPDAD MASTER LIST - Fandango has the most advanced smut

—-----

THANK YOU for reading and engaging. Your reblogs and comments mean so much to me, and I love when I start to see new “regulars.” It’s so exciting really. Love you guys 💙💙💙

Special shoutout to stepdad’s lawyer @milla-frenchy for expert counsel!

A/N: Based on a) people wanting her to hold out on him longer (which is what this was) and b) what i want to do on vacation, I think the vacation is going to have to be after Christmas.

FAQ: I’m not planning on pursuing the jacques/cheatbacks storyline rn, you can HC that however you want as for what she did that night (if anything). Don’t really wanna address the mom situation more, and probably won’t answer plot Qs. That way maybe you'll get the next story sooner --- I’m kinda trying to make this easier to write so it won’t take so much deliberation and weighing opposing inputs lol.

TBH it was supposed to just be sexy, smutty, scandalous, “we shouldn’t be doing this” PWP and it kinda got away from me. But I at least wanted to give a little insight into Joel’s POV with this one.

Now back to the agenda: [cock, baby!.gif ].

-------

You can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications (click on the person at the top) for just the most major posts. You have to have push notifications turned on for tumblr on your phone.

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea@evyiione@xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious@chernayawidow@ambassadortotrilliusprime@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog@jasminespringtime @romanarose@fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore@blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires@taeslarityy@str84pedro@lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy@fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine@worhols@fan-fiction-floozy@cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl@feministfanboi@gracieispunk@prettypartyfavor@am-3-thyst@babeincolor@milla-frenchy@switchbladedreamz@within-the-depths@am-3-thyst@may-machin@pedromania91 @sloanexx@paleidiot

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #stepdad!joel miller #dark!joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #stepdad!joel☠️#stepdad!joel #cw stepcest #joel jacks off #ppcu jacks off #toxicanonymity ☠️

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ctheathy · 7 months

Text

Yandere Changelings w/ human!Darling

The Changelings x Reader

Yandere Headcanons

Author's note: Gotta love these big buggo babies

reformed Changelings < unreformed Changelings

The Changelings/Reader [Platonic+Romantic-ish?]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

The Reader is quite humble • Abduction • Jealousy between changelings • Stalking • Invasion of privacy • Co-dependency • Aggression • Use of adhesive/the green goo • Violence • Possessiveness • Overprotective behaviour • Predatory behaviour • Love feeding • Overfeeding/“Overdosing” on love • Heart failure • Corpses of changelings mentioned

Changelings have certainly never had a very positive reputation around Equestria. The species of bug-like creatures mainly known to have ruthless mannerisms that only acts on instinct. Especially when considering the changelings eat love and love alone to keep them from starving. As you can see... These creatures, too, need to feed. And so steal the love hidden within ponies and other living entities for themselves with brute force. And this tiny human here... has love, and a lot of it.

But despite being an aggressive species, they are also known to be rather curious towards creatures they've never seen or heard of before. Which is why being a human is really just a saving grace for you in this scenario. Cause instead of pouncing immediately purely from starving impulse, they know they'd need information to report back to the Queen first. And since this is the first human the changelings have ever met, their natural reaction to encountering a new species is to learn more about it instead of feeding off of it, atleast not before they got all the answers they'd be satisfied with. Considering you are the only source of love and affection around.

The first changelings that have noticed your presence may start seeing you as a tasty morsel. if love is like meat for them, then they're being deprived of it, and then the one creature comes along that's a walking talking buffet of love. They'd observe your actions and behaviours from a safe distance for a little while, taking note of aggression signs or being a potential threat to the hive. But in truth... you weren't. You were more of a lover than a fighter, which gave the changelings the signal to not waste any other opportunity to abduct you into the hive for some answers.

And that's... when something sparked.

Being calm and sedate in your position would usually cease a changelings’ natural instinct to hunt and would often cause in less aggression and forceful measurements. But even if they did try feeding from your love, that would be similar to essentially trying to suck from a dry well, because the transporting process from the human realm to Equestria drained you of many strong emotions to begin with, and it takes a lot more time for your entire alternation from universe to universe to take full effect. And the changelings wouldn't budge from their stubbornness until you reached out to one of them... Brushing a gentle hand over its malnourished frame.

The love that you'd contain would be a tad bit ‘different’ from normal love they'd consume, mainly due to the fact that they never had to actually take it with force. You gave it to them willingly, making the love inserted into them a lot stronger and effective than if they were to steal it. Which results in giving their bodies an intense emotional ‘shock’ as you basically feed them little by little... The shock would still feel good to them, like it would make them feel warm and light headed, but their heart would begin beating rapidly by the shot of immense adrenaline they just got.

The reason why changelings need love and affection in the first place was because they need it for their survival. The value feeds them. As they learn you're capable of feeling and giving love, they would want to keep you around permanently to feed. However, in extreme cases it might lead to a changeling becoming dependent upon one person's love. And their survival might be based on that person's love and affection. and what happens when that person's love and affection starts to falter? There is such a darker side to something so innocent as eating some consensual love.

Which could go either two ways...

Plan A being a bit more complicated. Since they ended up taking a ‘sample’ of you to basically extract the hormones and emotions of love, you had proven yourself to be more productive than all of the ponies they've held captive combined. Feeling more satisfied with the mere sip of love you've happily handed out to them than with any usual prey they had ripped the love from. But the Queen desires love too, because it is essential for their race. And because the hive is almost completely devoid of any love in the first place. You could become a sample for the Queen... Just keeping you there and farm you for love.

But there's also a considerable chance the changelings who captured you would scrap plan A and would instead focus on a plan B... Keep you a secret from Queen Chrysalis and prevent you from being cocooned at all costs, but only under the condition if you keep blindly feeding them with your lovey-dovey personality. Changelings tend to function with a very strict hive mentality... conclusions are set by the swarm's majority of drones’ standpoint. They all have a strong tendency to fall for group decision-making, but they're also quick to swap their beliefs if it seems like the right choice for the best of the colony. So it likely wouldn't even take long for the entire swarm to come to an agreement to keep you secured under high protection and warding.

Due to being a good source, you would give them more positive energy than any other creature who would falter in their fright after being captured... which would make you a rather popular target for the swarm of drones. To a point where the entire hive would start to view you as the "heart of the colony" of sorts. Because a changelings emotions are based on their diet. And the more love they receive, the more addicted and obsessed they'll become with it. So they would all be head over heels at some point, bordering on complete worship ...viewing you as an object of their affection and admiration. And getting even more physically violent to defend and protect you from what they consider a threat to their food source.

They might be feeding off of the love you give them and emotional positivity for now. But if they keep feeding and feeding, eventually they are probably going to want something else than just your emotions, which isn't good... But at the end of it all, they will want to protect you. But their methods might be a bit morally questionable. They have been looking for a more ‘sustaining’ source of love their entire lives. And from what we know... love only grows stronger.

So what happens when a creature becomes utterly emotionally dependant on someone?

What if... they begin to get obsessive?

Instead deciding to ensure no one else gets to have you?

Signs of attacks outside of the hive would become more apparent as time went on, a variety of breeds beginning to disappear aside with half dead creatures covered in adhesive emerging from their hideout as no entity even dares to get close to the shapeshifters. Some changelings would begin arguing with eachother over the delightful taste of your love. But knowing how naturally greedy and hostile they can get, these would convert to physical violence sooner or later, causing a bunch of internal conflict in the colony. A bunch of love starved changelings just riskily fighting over a single human.

It would get so bad, in fact, that there's possibly not even second you'll spend in the hive without a changeling being nearby, just ... watching you. With or without you knowing, there to strike and pull you back in at a moments notice if your demeanor gets too close to flight response. The changeling that you first bonded with would feel remorse about doing it, but the rest of them won't really care much as long as they can keep you in their grasp. Though you would still be allowed to travel closely outside of the hive, they'll keep their little eyes on you anyway...

You'd have this love that's a bit diluted, but even with just having a weaker type of love to feed off of, they'd have to feed for a longer time and drain their energy in order to get it. Which in terms causes in them taking more than they can physically handle. You aren't necessarily a dry well, but rather more of a dripping faucet while they are all dying of thirst. So they could still eat from your given love for a while, but if they try to go all out, there could be horrific consequences...

Because each of them are essentially trying to take enough to survive, their individual feeding sessions can become more aggressive. They don't want to kill you, nor do they understand how strong of a heart you have. So they don't see that they need to be gentle. Because in their eyes, you're considered weaker as a mortal. And your emotions, not being very strong, make their hearts race and they aren't feeding slowly and cautiously enough to keep the heart beating at its normal pace. You're basically a complete reverse card on them. To the point of them becoming so infatuated with you, that they literally forget what they are doing, and basically, accidentally kill themselves with a massive case of overdosing love.

The more of your love they take, the more they will like you. And the more they like you, the more they would try to suck it out. And the more they try to suck it out, the more it would turn into a "want" instead of something more natural. And then, that's when some would begin to die from overfeeding. The emotional shock and overdosing on love being much more overwhelming than the changeling's bodies are capable of handling. And of course, you wouldn't really understand why they were all suddenly lifelessly scattered around you...

It would be quite a challenge for many changelings to have the self control to prevent that fate. I doubt the majority of them would even understand the concept of death enough to avoid it even when their heart rate was going at unsafe speeds. The situation would honestly be safe for the changelings that have enough self-control to hold themselves back, but those who don't would become history real quick... Especially as changelings mainly seem to cocoon their prey. You may have more love to give when you're out in the open, but perhaps you even walking freely might just be enough to push many changelings over the edge.

Though this would also highly depend on the distinct personality of each changeling. Those who were more reasonable would try to just suckle in love. Then we have those who would become a bit feral and aggressive trying to tear the love out of you. Making it like a really twisted irony that they want love, but by trying to obtain love, in this way, they could essentially doom themselves. The ones who are more in control and more disciplined may survive. But either the greedier or younger, more immature changelings might get too excited and just want more and more. Which leads into them destroying their bodies via the very thing they wanted. The ones that do manage to control themselves will remain very interested in you however. But even if their fair sense of attachment and perhaps even bond towards you won't fade...

This is nothing more and nothing less than a parasitic relationship

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chaosheadspace · 1 month

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You KNOW I’m gonna request 21 with Dreamling for the kissy prompts 🥺

🤘five-and-dimes

Hello @five-and-dimes, thank you for sending in an ask! Here you go.

At first, Dream does not really notice.

After all, he has so much to do when he finally escapes, and Hob is a welcome distraction, a haven where he shores when his duty and the voices of others become too much, too heavy. Hob is safety, Hob is respite, Hob is a breath after surfacing after diving.

Hob helps him acclimatise again, makes humanity palatable in a thousand tiny morsels. Where Dream still feels cold glass, still tastes stale air, still sees painted stars, Hob slowly but surely replaces one hundred years of solitude with little flickers of colour.

Hob feeds him, just a few bites, of every meal he eats in Dream's presence. At first, Dream is hesitant, but he owes Hob, owes him for his loyalty, and a little food cannot harm him, can it? And Dream is surprised, the first time, how hungry his body is. Not for the offered sustenance, no, but for the care with which Hob offers a forkful of his dinner.

Hob's other offerings are easier to accept.

Soft blankets, clothes, even a black plushie called, according to Hob, mothman. He wraps Dream in warm softness, encloses him in the promise of a barrier between him and the recent past.

Television, which Hob is very enthusiastic about. Shows, films, video games. It runs human emotion through Dream on an infinitesimal scale, one at a time, easy, distinct. He tastes laughter again, fear, sorrow, lust, even allows himself to dip his toes into his sister Despair’s realm, but only briefly. The emotion does not have to be his, when he is watching. It is not overwhelming. He can feel it, and let it go. It leaves him exhausted but better, small chunks of himself puzzled into the cracks the past put there.

But Hob does not touch him, not really.

He offers hugs, and cuddles, and readily lets Dream treat him as part of the sofa, putting his feet or his head or his whole self into Hob's lap. But, Dream realises, he has never really felt Hob's touch. A squeeze on his coat-clad shoulder, at most.

It puzzles him, because Hob readily offers and gives touch to other people close to him, Dream has had time to observe. Tight hugs, claps on the back, ruffled hair, clasped hands in earnest conversation, Hob always reaches for people.

But not for Dream.

He recalls countless situations where Hob changed his mind, though. Tentatively lifted his hand, just to take it away again, uncharacteristically shy. If it is shyness at all.

And so it happens that in the middle of the game show they are supposed to be watching, Dream takes one of Hob's hands, startling him.

Hob turns his head, puzzled, trying to jerk his hand away. Dream does not let him. “Wha—”

“Why do you not touch me?” Dream asks softly. He loosens his hold on Hob's hand, turns it over in his grip and gently smooths his index finger over Hob's palm.

Hob releases a trembling breath. “Dream—”

“Please,” Dream says, even quieter, not looking Hob in the eye. Instead, he watches Hob's fingers curl slightly in the flickering light from the TV, trails the mounds of Hob's fingers from index to pinkie.

Hob switches off the TV sound.

“My hands aren't pretty,” he finally says. “They're not soft. They're warrior’s hands, craftsman’s hands, and I thought—” he swallows. “I thought you've had enough roughness in your life for once.”

Dream smiles, just a little. “Tell me,” he says, taking Hob's hand in both of his, “have you not been gentle with me?”

He raises it, cradled, moon white on sun-kissed. “Will these hands not protect me?”

He places a kiss on the knuckle of Hob's thumb, and Hob takes a sharp breath.

“These hands have fed me,” Dream continues, touching his lips to the pad of Hob's index finger. “They have clothed me, garbed me in blankets to ward off the cold.”

Dream's mouth slowly continues its way, feeling out the shape of Hob's calluses and scars, breathing the words into the space between Hob's fingers.

“Your hands will not harm me,” Dream says, carefully placing Hob's hand palm first against his own cheek, “and neither will you.”

A hitching breath, almost like a sob, and then Hob reaches for him with his other hand, drawing Dream in by the back of his head, twining his fingers into Dream's hair. And Dream goes gladly, leans forward into Hob's warmth, follows the call of Hob's lips with his own, tasting care and love and fierceness all for himself.

Send me a kissy prompt or read the other ones here

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #Chaosheadspace's writing

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

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Paradigm Shift 3

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

Summary: you get transferred to a new position but it’s hardly a breath of fresh air. (plus!reader)

Characters: Loki, Bucky Barnes, this reader is known as Billie.

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

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Dark roast, black. You're tempted to order one for yourself but the extra dose of caffeine might unhinge you after the morning you've had. Transfer, no desk, a firing, a stolen desk, and two painfully aloof bosses.

You go back up to the office, the short reprieve offering some clarity but not solutions. There has to be some way to get more than a grunt and a closed door from these men. Geez, if you wanted to work with children you would've done so.

You knock on Mr. Barnes' door. The one next to it opens first. Laufeyson considers you from head to toe and Barnes appears not a second after. He takes his cup without a thanks.

"Mm, and where is mine then?" Laufeyson challenges.

You blink, long and hard. Of course. Of course! You let out a slow breath, "what would you like, Mr. Laufeyson?"

You don't miss the quiet snort from the other door and it closes before you can glance Barnes' expression. You have a suspicion he expected this. It's like your first job when you worked with a bunch of men in stocks. Their numbers were as bloated as their egos.

“Matcha.”

The door shuts in your face. Again. You bite down and stretch your fingers wide. It’s fine. It’s fine. Growing pains.

Matcha... what? Iced? Latte? Hot tea? Smoothie? Wonderful, a guessing game.

You will be getting yourself another coffee for the trouble. Another trip to Roasters and you settle on the simplest option; just tea. You’re certain if you’re wrong, he’ll let you know.

You stand at the two office doors and contemplate your life decisions. Is this worth it? Can you beg Odinson to take you back? To send down another poor soul? You almost feel bad doing that to someone else. You’re about to give when that innate stubborn ticks in your jaw. It’s only been a few hours. You don’t just give up that easy.

Knock, knock. There’s a delay before Laufeyson answers. You’re not put off by it. You know the tactic. It won’t work on you. If his tea is cold, it won’t be your fault.

“Matcha, sir,” you hold out the cup.

He accepts it and reads the sticker on the side. He narrows his green eyes and looks at you, “note for next time, I prefer Garcon’s to Roasters.”

Click. Another shut door. You’re really starting to get angry. You laugh out the flurry of agitation and turn away. What else can you do but think of it as a joke? It has to be. It’s just that absurd.

You sit at the desk and open your laptop. You get it hooked up to the monitor and refinagle the cords. That’s an accomplishment at least. A tiny morsel of victory. You glance around and frown. It’s like the waiting room in Beetlejuice; everyone looks miserable. Well, can you blame them?

Your phone buzzes and you check the messages. Girl nights hangs like bait at the end of your day, keeping you swimming through dark waters. It’s a bit ridiculous. Your friends are all like you in one way but all vastly different in many other ways. You all spend your days taking care of men who couldn’t give a shit about any of you.

You can already taste the Paloma; bitter grapefruit with the burn of tequila. You are dying to drink away this day. You look at the clock and nearly whimper. It’s not even one o’clock. Ugh.

You plug away at your desk. You get the daily agendas templated then spend time scouring the web. You have something in mind. You’re pretty sure you can make it work. As long as those grumps can do the simplest of tasks.

You customize the survey and send the link. You doubt you’ll get a response today or even at all. It’s a hail mary, really. Barnes’ door opens, then Laufeysons. Your chest fills with dread. Great.

“Hello, sir and... sir,” you sit up as they approach.

“What is the meaning of that quiz?” Laufeyson demands.

“It’s not--

“Asking a lot, aren’t you?” Barnes crosses his arms.

“No, I just--”

“What business do you have about my dry cleaning?” Laufeyson hisses.

“I have lunch when I have lunch. I'm not a child at grade school,” Barnes sneers.

“Okay, woah,” you put your palms out, “first, there’s an n/a column, you can choose not to disclose the information. Two, I need to know what to do. What do you want from me?”

Both men frown and look at each other, then back to you.

“I can think of one,” Laufeyson raises a finger, “don’t treat us as children who need you to put our socks on.”

“Good one,” Barnes scoffs, “also, you could stop with calendar reminders.”

“Those are automatic,” you mutter.

“And the arguing,” Laufeyson points at you.

You sputter, dizzy at their onslaught of criticism. They can tell you exactly what they don’t want but they can’t give you a clear answer as to why you are there. You calm yourself with a breath and sip of coffee.

“Mr. Laufeyson, Mr. Barnes--”

“Why him first? My name’s first alphabetically,” Barnes says.

“I--” you stop yourself and take another taste of your coffee, “if my presence is getting in the way of your work, I will go back upstairs and talk to Mr. Odinson--”

“Mr. Odinson? Thor?” Laufeyson says, “no, you won’t do that. In fact, that is another item for your list, no talking to my brother. Especially of me.”

You could tear your hair out. You could hit your head on the wall. You could gauge your eyes out and drown yourself in your coffee. Instead, you smile.

“Got it,” you say, “well, sirs, good luck with your meeting this afternoon.”

“Yes, thank you,” Laufeyson intones.

“Mm, sure,” Barnes says and they both turn on their heels then stop at once. They face you in sync with each other.

“Meeting?” They ask.

“Mmhm,” you nod, “it’s in your calendars.”

They stare at you.

“If that’s something you’d like me to brief you on,” you say tritely, “you can submit that in the survey.”

Laufeyson hums dryly and Barnes growls. Neither says anything further as they retreat. You keep your eyes on the screen as your heartbeat races. You can’t believe you said that.

#bucky barnes #loki #dark loki #dark bucky barnes #dark!loki #dark!bucky barnes #loki x reader #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #paradigm shift #bad bosses #au #marvel #mcu #avengers #winter soldier #captain america #thor

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angel-of-the-moons · 10 months

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Chocolates vs Aliens

Eddie/Venom x Pregnant!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Fluff, details of pregnancy , childbirth mentions. Venom loves babies! This! Is! A hill! I will die on!

A/N: The winners of the poll! I'll do the Moon Boys next! Also okay its not a drabble but enjoy this hot word vomit asdfghjkl idk should I make a part 2??

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"SHE IS OUT OF CHOCOLATE?!" Venom's voice boomed inside his head.

"Relax, buddy, we can hit up the 7/11 down the street." Eddie scoffed, adjusting his wireless earbud. Thankfully it looked like he was on the phone, so he could talk freely to Venom without anyone thinking he was insane.

And well, he kind of was, a tiny bit.

Just a tad...

"BUT I CAN SMELL IT!" The symbiote whined childishly as Eddie scooped the frozen egg rolls into the wiry basket looped over his arms.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Mrs Chen could have eaten the last one, Vee. Just chill. How about some chocolate ice cream?" Eddie grinned at the pun.

"No! We always get brain freezes!" He entity huffed.

"Because you scarf down the whole tub in one go." Eddie chuckled.

Venom grumbled again, and a tendril snaked out from beneath Eddie's sweater and dropped a box of brownie mix into the basket. "Fine. I can settle with these."

"Whatever you say, love, but you're helping me bake the shit." The man shrugged in reply as he remembered to grab a carton of milk. He'd need some eggs, too... Well, at least his landlord let him move the chicken coop to the roof in exchange for some free eggs.

Those chickens were fat and spoiled, and Venom loved the little critters dearly, which Eddie always found humorous. Now, whenever Eddie made the joke of turning them into KFC, Venom would be aghast and headbutt him, citing that Sonny and Cher were his "babies".

He'd been talking like that a lot lately, Eddie realized. Venom apparently had a paternal streak in him. Eddie noticed that as well when Venom would find homeless kids or runaways, helping them and trying to seem as non-threatening as possible, even going as far as to change his fangs so they were blunt. (One of the kids assured him that was far creepier than the monster fangs, which made Eddie nearly keel over in laughter...)

"Deal." Venom purred happily, the tendril receding back to slip beneath Eddie's shirt and wrap around him like a hug.

"Alright, alright." Eddie chuckled, grabbing an extra box just in case as he walked around the shelves, sparing a glance at his phone to check the time.

"Eddie." Venom's voice said.

"What?" Eddie lifted his gaze, feeling Venom's haste flood him and put him on alert.

His eyes trailed the store until he landed on the checkout counter, where you were sitting. Not Mrs Chen, but cute, innocent, blissful you.

You were happily munching on a chocolate bar, one of the very ones Venom wanted. It would seem you had claimed it, eating the sugary morsel happily.

"Oh." Eddie mumbled.

He felt it as Venom seized control of his legs suddenly, sending him forward in jerking motions until he practically ran into the counter, making you jump in surprise.

"Oh! Sorry!" He smiled awkwardly, a faint blush to his cheeks.

'Venom, quit it! I'll get you chocolate later!' He said mentally to the alien inhabiting his body.

"No, Eddie. Wait."

"I, ah... Got a bit sidetracked and tripped over my feet." He added.

You smiled at him, "Oh, god. Yeah, I feel you. Lately it's like dragging my heels through wet cement." You chuckled.

Huh. You were... God, you were cute. He could tell even Venom thought so. With your cute fluffy turtleneck and your hair all done, your cheeks nice and rosy from the blush you'd applied.

Which... brought up the question.

"I've never seen you 'round here before." Eddie commented. "Mrs Chen is usually the only person I see in here..."

"Oh! I'm new in town, I live just down and street and she saw my situation and offered me a part-time here. I have a work from home job and everything, but ugh, just staying cooped up inside is so boring!" You say the last part with a groan.

"Damn, would've been nice if she offered me that job a couple years ago." Eddie chuckled.

You giggled a bit at him and looked at his basket, "Is that all for ya, hon?"

"Oh, yeah!" Eddie said, carefully organizing the things onto the glass counter. His eyes flicked to the candy bar you were still steadily breaking pieces off of.

"Bit of a sweet tooth, huh?" He teased.

"Ugh, god... lately? Yes! The craving for it has been absolute hell." You sigh exhaustedly. "Almost everything in my apartment is chocolate flavored or scented now!"

"... Cravings?" Eddie echoed, raising a thick brow.

"Okay, I know what you're thinking and no. It's not "that time of the month" like your brain is probably saying." You snort.

Eddie watches as your hand trails down to your midsection and you pat your belly beneath the plush fabric of your sweater, where a gentle swell stood out a bit more prominently as you smooth the fabric taut over your stomach.

"I just have a certain little jellybean who thinks they can dictate what mama wants to eat all the time. And apparently, chocolate is what's on the menu for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And... in between." You chuckle.

"OH." Eddie and Venom thought in unison.

"That's why she smells like that!" Venom barked, realizing the underlying scent of chocolate on you was laced with something else. Hormones. He was picking up on those, too.

"Oh! Uh, congrats!" Eddie said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I'm sure you and your, uh, partner are probably super happy, huh?"

"Oh, no, it's just me." You smiled with a hum, taking another little sweet square between your lips.

Eddie's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Okay, so I'm not gonna be rude, but I will explain." You snicker. You seemed infinitely patient and polite about the subject. Apparently this very thing must be a common occurrence with you, that random people must constantly ask this same question, and how tiring it surely must be to answer it again and again...

"No, I don't have a partner, husband, or anything. No daddy."

Eddie awkwardly pointed to your belly. "Then how did y'know... that get in there?"

Eddie controlled the flinch he wanted to make when Venom pinched him. "You did NOT just call her baby a THAT!"

"Yeah, yeah I know. But there's something everyone forgets, and that it doesn't always "take two to tango"." You smile at him again, ringing up his items with one hand, chocolate still clutched firmly in another.

"I decided that I wanted to be a mom. But I didn't want to just go out and get pregnant willy nilly. I have a good job, steady income. But I don't have time to date and there's always the concern that I'd be left a single parent if whoever I was with decided parenthood wasn't for them, y'know?"

Eddie nodded patiently as he and Venom listened to you with rapt attention.

"I went to a fertility clinic, did what the doctor said, then had my egg fertilized with a sperm donor. And then boom," You point to your belly. "Jellybean."

"Oh, that... Yeah okay I forget fertility clinics are a thing." Eddie laughed, shaking his head.

"Well I'm glad you're so open-minded about it!" You grin. "Most people judge me and go "oh your baby needs a father!" and the ever so classic "you don't even know who the father is?" line."

Eddie frowned, and he could tell even Venom was irritated on your behalf. "You don't need to have a partner or spouse to raise a baby. Seriously. What is this, the 1940s?"

"I knoooow!" You giggle again. "And besides! I can support me and my baby just fine, and I'm already happy and so far the pregnancy has been a breeze!"

Eddie could feel a tugging sensation from Venom. The symbiote was curious, and wanted to touch. But Eddie knew that was not only rude as hell, but to some people, socially unacceptable if you don't know the person or ask permission first.

"How uh, far along are you?"

"I just hit my second trimester." You chirp proudly, patting your belly. "The baby's tiny, but I'm finally showing, now."

"Ohhh." Eddie snapped his fingers. "Hence "jellybean", right?"

"Yes!" You laugh.

Eddie pulled out his card and swiped it to pay for the groceries. "It's a cute nickname. Have you thought of any names yet?"

Your brain did a record scratch, and Eddie could see the look on your face.

Nope. Not at all.

You hadn't thought of a damn one. Especially because you didn't know the sex of your baby yet.

"Uh...."

Eddie started snickering at your expression, "Ahhh. My bad." He shoots you a cocky grin, "If I can recommend a name, Eddie is a pretty strong one!"

"Weak." Venom mocked.

"Eddie?" You echo, blinking.

"Oh, don't listen to him, girl." Mrs Chen snorted as she walked up to you two, whacking Eddie with a rolled up newspaper. "This boy is nothing but trouble!"

Her words were jabbing, but not spoken without affection, so you could tell they had a history together.

"Ow! Hey!" Eddie pouted, rubbing the top of his head.

"Oh please, I'd need to shoot this out of a cannon to dent that hard head of yours!" She huffed with a smirk, crossing her arms.

She tilted her head and noticed the candy bar in your hand, and made the mental connection with Eddie and Venom. Riiiiiight. Venom needed chocolate. Mrs Chen tossed it to you when you started scrolling through your phone for door dash orders for chocolate cakes from local restaurants to sate your cravings.

"Oh, right. Sorry about your chocolate fix." Mrs Chen replied, her gum smacking softly. "Gave the lady one to help ease her stomach."

The flush to your cheeks made Eddie smile as you looked at the candy in your hand. "I'm sorry!" You sputtered.

"Hey, man, you got a baby in you. You can't exactly tell the little, uh.... eh. The little person they can't have it?" Eddie struggled. He wasn't sure how the whole cravings thing worked, honestly. Would you indeed cry if he didn't accept your offer? Would your baby get hungry? Was that a thing? He knew jack and shit about babies in general, man.

"Pff, moron."

'Parasite.'

"I AM NOT A PARASITE!"

"Oh, I know but uh..." You say, your eyelashes fluttering as you think, looking from Eddie to the bar in your hand. You decided to finish breaking off the pieces you were working on, and extend your hand giving the rest to Eddie. "Here! I'm good, if I need more I can nab some from the gas station down the street."

"Oh! Uh... I don't wanna, y'know. Take anything from you and your baby." Eddie said, waving his hands.

"Eddie, if you refuse to take it, she could cry." Mrs Chen teased. "You don't want to make a pregnant woman cry do you?"

Eddie's face was hilarious as panic started to bubble up within him as he looked from you, to your outstretched hand, to Mrs Chen, who stood as proud as can be at the chaos she had just sewn.

"Hey! I'm not that hormonal!" You retort to the older lady. But... you deflate a tiny bit. "...Okay, well not yet but still!"

Eddie was still going through the moral dilemma of accepting the kind gesture vs taking candy from a literal baby in somebody's womb.

Venom made the choice for him, extending our Eddie's hand and letting him take it.

"I, uh... Thanks." Eddie blabbered quickly.

"Now let's go home before you make an idiot out of us further." Venom cackled gleefully at the socially awkward situation.

Eddie grabbed the plastic bags and gave an awkward wave and a smile before skittering out of the store with his tail between his legs.

"Geez, he needs to get laid once in a while." Mrs Chen scoffed, going over to check inventory.

You barely had a moment to collect yourself, stopping before you laughed so hard you peed yourself.

That was the first time you and Eddie ever met. It would not be the last.

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Eddie shopped at Mrs Chen's place pretty regularly, her prices were easy on the wallet and she was close by to he and Venom's apartment.

You steadily built up a rapport with Eddie over the next two or three weeks. Venom was inexplicably drawn to you, wanting to constantly convince Eddie to touch your belly.

Eddie kept reminding him that it was frankly rude as shit to do that, and that hell, it would probably make you uncomfortable.

Not long after that, Eddie and Venom discovered--to Venom's utter glee--thay you lived in the same building, the apartment just above his. They found this out when Venom insisted on making sure you made it home after your shift at Mrs Chen's ended, knowing how vulnerable a pregnant lady looked to crooks and criminals.

Twice Venom caught and ate the brains of lowlifes who tried stalking you.

Venom, despite you not knowing of his existence, was fiercely protective of you. And... well he liked you. They liked you.

Eddie hated how quickly both he and Venom became infatuated with you, listening to you talk about your baby, your cravings... They could tell you were lonely despite your cheerful demeanor. Yes, Eddie and Venom had each other already, but they quickly thought about adding you to the mix.

But again, you didn't know about the alien slime monster living inside of Eddie. That subject would have to definitely wait...

He would check on you, leaning his head out his window on occasion to talk to you as you looked up, it brightened up the monotony of your at-home life in between work, asking about how you were feeling as your pregnancy developed. He even texted you lists of different baby names and their meanings to help you out!

When he first asked you out, you were floored. You've never met a man who was interested in a woman pregnant with somebody else's baby, before. You've heard about it sure, but... You were more surprised anyone was interested in you while pregnant with some guy's baby. Let alone your cute downstairs neighbor who apparently babied his pet chickens that were kept on the rooftop.

He even introduced you to them! You didn't hold them of course, for fear of bacteria, and chuckled as he furiously disinfected himself before even coming within three feet of you, all for you and your baby's health.

A man who was sweet, considerate, caring and he loves animals? Add the looks to that bill and that was a difference you were willing to pay. How was he still single?!

But... Well. That changed after your first date, and he was glad you accepted it all.

And it wasn't long after that (several weeks actually) you discovered he wasn't, in fact, single. He didn't have a girlfriend or anything but he certainly had a partner.

Said partner... was some kind of ooze-critter that lived inside of him. And you only found this out when you came home from a late night convenience store run for some triple chocolate chunk ice cream, walked into your apartment...

And saw him.

Venom, in his hulking form, stood awkwardly in your apartment, looking like a deer trapped in headlights when you flicked your lights back on, the ice cream in your bag forgotten.

As your door slowly swung closed due to angled flooring, you opened your mouth to scream.

Venom cut you off, his massive hands shooting up and he waved them, "DON'T SCREAM!"

You snapped your mouth shut, your teeth making an audible click as your heart hammered in your chest.

"We were worried! You weren't responding to our texts or when we knocked on your door?" His deep and rumbly voice growled out.

You shudder at the timbre of his voice, eyes never once leaving the rows of jagged fangs in his maw. You drop your plastic bag and step back, covering your belly--now very prominent as you were later in your term--protectively.

That seems to... upset him? He frowned, looking at the carpet as he lowered his hands, his large eyes narrowing as he carefully thought, trying to think of ways to alleviate the fear bubbling through you.

He took a slow step towards you, like you were a frightened animal caught in a trap that he had to be gentle with, lest you struggle or flail and get hurt.

"We were worried about you. We--" His head snapped to his left and he snarled. "Yes! "We"! You were worried, too! Don't try to say you weren't!"

You watch, in shock as he has essentially a one-sided argument with himself, getting exasperated, saying the word "love" and "dear" here and there.

You stayed, scared, until the ugly sensation of your nausea reared its ugly head and you dropped the plastic bag, literally shoving past this gigantic creature in a mad dash to your bathroom or you were gonna blow chunks right then and there.

You didn't even shut the door before you collapsed to your knees, hugging the bowl as you heaved the contents of your digestive system into the pearly white porcelain, leaving what could only be the Venom, the creature that supposedly stalked your city eating people, in your living room.

By the end of the nausea fit, your eyes were watery, your nose was runny and your face blotched with color, the whites of your eyes glassy from the strain. You felt lightheaded and dizzy as you rinsed your mouth with water right from the tap, gargling and spitting until the foul acidic taste went away.

You felt your now empty stomach growl and your first instinct was to go get food and eat again, to replenish the energy you just spent hurling everything you ate that day.

But then you remembered...

The big guy.

You didn't have any sort of object to wield as a weapon, so you merely sheepishly peeked around the corner, watching as the creature called Venom gingerly moved about your kitchen, things that looked like tentacles reaching out and grabbing a cup, some ice, and a can of ginger ale from your fridge and pour it into the cup; all the while making a sandwich. Nutella with your banana/mango spread. A favorite you'd started to enjoy in the past week.

But the only person you ever told that to was...

You froze when he turned around, locking eyes with you as he set the food on your breakfast island, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

"We... We know that you're probably hungry after... So we figured..." He said, gesturing vaguely to the food and drink in front of him.

"How do you know..." You breathed.

His colossal shoulders heave as he sighed, walking around the island and over to you, stopping just a mere few feet away.

"Promise not to be mad? Or scream?"

You weren't sure why in the hell he asked you that, but you felt already too far gone into shock to really argue. Plus, throwing up took all urges to scream from your poor sore throat.

So, you nodded.

"Okay."

You watched as the strange black goo peels back layer by slinking layer, until a man is revealed beneath.

But it's not just any man.

It's fucking Eddie. Your neighbor-turned-recent-boyfriend.

"You--!"

"We can explain! Just please, please don't be mad at us!" Eddie winced.

You felt another dizzy spell start to hit at this revelation. "How long--"

"A few years. Look, we planned on telling you. It's just... not tonight. When you didn't answer my texts or calls, I got worried and..." He sighed.

You watched as Venom's head moved out from behind Eddie's shoulder to peer at you, the thick black goo that made up the appendage holding his head up moving almost like water. He offered you a smile, and part of you wished that'd solve the tension in the air, to assuage your increasing confusion. But sadly, it didn't.

"Vee didn't want to fucking wait an extra ten minutes when you didn't answer the door and climbed through your window, which you should start locking I mean I know we're on the upper floors with no balcony or fire escape, but it's still a safety concern and with the baby--"

You interrupted Eddie's rambling. "Vee?" You echo.

"Uh--okay. That's what I call Venom when he isn't being an incorrigible shithead. Or a parasite who takes control of my body." Eddie sighed.

You almost laughed when Venom headbutted him in the side of his head.

"Stop calling me that! It's rude!" Venom snarled.

"No, what's rude is breaking into somebody's apartment!" Eddie retorted, jabbing a finger at Venom. "We talked about this!"

"You were worried, too!"

"Yes but I wasn't going to crawl through her goddamn window!"

Your eyes darted from one to the other as they started bickering like a... like a... Oh.

Yeah. It was after a two hour long conversation that Eddie told you everything. About his ex, the Life Foundation, finding Venom, fighting Riot, then the whole thing with Carnage, Venom's offspring... and of course, their actual relationship with one another, now. They argued like a married couple because they basically were one, complete with... well. You weren't ready in the current situation to imagine how the bedroom situation worked between them, yet.

You took it better than he expected. Way better.

"Honestly.... The only thing scarier than Venom is childbirth." You said, sitting next to him on the couch, your hands on your belly.

"...Eddie." you said slowly.

"Uh--yeah? What's up, sweetheart?" He asked awkwardly, Venom's eyes immediately drawn down to where your hands caressed the bump beneath your thin t shirt.

"How come you haven't asked to touch my belly yet? I'm... surprised. I've had random people come up to me and ask, but not... you."

"Wait... uh. So. You're giving... Permission?" Eddie asked, blinking his big, ridiculously lashed eyes at you.

"Well, yeah, and--"

"FINALLY!" Venom hissed.

In a black blur, Venom lurched forward over Eddie's shoulder, straight for your tummy. He pressed the side of his head against your belly, tendrils of his strange slime-like flesh wrapping around your midsection; listening to the baby's heartbeat and feeling for any movements.

Eddie meanwhile, looked equal parts horrified and embarrassed as he facepalmed, blushing all the way to his ears. "That's why. He's been fucking obsessed with you and your baby since he first realized you were pregnant."

You looked down as the symbiote cuddled you, and by extension, your baby, your jaw agape at how he was purring while he nuzzled into you.

"...That's why you're always so concerned about me?" You asked dumbly, blinking over at Eddie, who gave you an awkward smile and shrug in reply.

"Yeah, hate to break it to you, doll, but... Vee has kinda... claimed you two." He said.

"Claimed me." You repeated.

"Yeah. He has this thing... with kids?" He rolled his hand to try and think of words to describe it. "He's overprotective. He's the same with Sonny and Cher, it's just... he doesn't interact with many pregnant people so when he met you, that weird little drive kicked in. The fact that we both started feeling something for you outside of that kinda blindsided us, but..."

"So what?" Venom scoffed, resting his chin on the curve of your belly, looking up at you with a grin. "This is our baby now, and we will protect the both of you."

"Venom!" Eddie snapped.

"You claimed us?" You were having a difficult time wrapping your head around this. All of it. The whole situation in general. First your boyfriend has a boyfriend who technically isn't a boy but identifies as one because gender was a foreign concept to his species, they were together before they met you, Venom is a literal alien--

And now... was he saying...

"L-Look, I know it's early on and we haven't been dating long, but..." Eddie rubbed his sweaty palms on his faded-out jeans.

"Are you two saying... that you want to be with me? Rest of the pregnancy, birth, and all?"

The hell was your life, some kind of weird, cheap, sci-fi romance novel? The dashing, handsome alien(s) swoop in and offer to help raise your baby? What kind of parallel world were you in?

Eddie was quiet, and Venom merely stared at him, before looking back at you.

"Yes." He said. "Eddie is too much of a pussy to say it, but he likes the idea of taking care of a tiny you."

"Venom! Fuck! Stop calling me that!" Eddie snapped at the symbiote as he protectively snuggled your tummy.

Venom merely stuck his tongue out at him, "I will when you stop calling me a parasite!" He looked back up at you, giving you the best rendition he could of a hurt puppy. "Do you see how he talks to me? Despicable!"

You snorted a short laugh before you could stop yourself, and covered your mouth.

"Hah! See? She thinks I'm funny! So shut it!"

"Oh, my god, that does not count--"

"Yes it does I already won." Venom said contentedly.

"Look!" Eddie groans. "Just... We are willing to be with you. Take care of you, and help with the baby. If... you'll have us. I know this whole situation is weird, but..." Eddie trails off, looking at you hopefully.

The decision wasn't as difficult as you thought it'd be. Eddie and Venom haven't given you a reason to be afraid--other than scaring the shit out of you earlier because Venom apparently has fucking anxiety--and, well... They were so sweet, and gentle... And if Venom doting on your unborn baby currently was any indication, the affection would probably increase a hundred fold after your little bundle of joy arrived.

"Okay." You said.

All the tension seemed to drain from Eddie's body and he sighed, a relieved smile blooming on his face as he looked at you with a look in his eyes that had your heart doing a little flip in your chest.

"Thank God..." Eddie sighed happily.

Venom grinned widely at you, before shooting back to Eddie and seizing the body again, his inky black mass covering Eddie entirely.

Your couch creaked under the added weight of Venom's increased mass as he leaned over, dwarfing your whole body as he wrapped his thick, tree-trunk arms around your tinier body, nuzzling into your cheek before giving you a kiss. Thankfully no tongue, because you thought you'd probably choke if he did that.

When he pulled back, your face was flush at the boldness of his actions, and looked up at him as his opalescent eyes narrowed sweetly down at you.

But something Venom said clicked into your brain, finally, once it rebooted from the kiss.

"Venom, you said you two wouldn't mind helping raise a tiny me." You began. "But I don't know if I'm having a boy or girl, yet."

"Oh, we can." Venom grinned. "I could tell when I was holding onto you. It was easy."

"What?!" You sputter.

"You're having a little girl, by the way."

🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫

You booked an appointment two weeks later. And damn, Venom was right. You were having a girl! At least the naming situation was easier, now that you narrowed down the sex.

Many people said you and Eddie were moving fast, but you ignored them because they didn't know the real situation. Your apartment was bigger, two rooms, one for you (and now Eddie and Venom) and the other was the nursery for the baby.

Eddie was affectionate, but Venom was downright clingy. He was almost always wrapped around your belly in some way or another, purring as he used his weird slimy body to massage you. He helped with your back strain surprisingly, how he would massage you. Eddie proposed maybe letting Venom bond with you for the remainder of the pregnancy to ensure safety and good health, but Venom shot the idea down himself.

He explained it like it was a bit like an organ donor match, if you weren't a match for him you could get sick, or God forbid both you and the baby could die. And to Eddie's surprise Venom made the nature decision to settle for massaging your back and tummy to ease the strain.

Venom jumped at the chance to rub your coconut oil into your belly to help ease the risk and appearance of stretch marks, too.

Through the mood swings, crazy cravings and nesting phases and all, you two boyfriends stayed with you through all of it. Several times you woke up to Venom and Eddie cooking in the kitchen, making sure you had a decent breakfast in the morning.

The only problem was... well. They cooked like broke college boys. So, you spent time giving them cooking lessons, which was one of the funnest things you'd done in a while. The messes were worth cleaning up, the cute recordings you made were memories that'd last a very very long time.

Nighttime cuddles were great, Venom slinking beneath the blankets to wrap around both you and Eddie to snuggle, massaging you the whole night. It really helped when he would conform a certain way so you could lay on your side comfortably and ease the strain on your poor spine and hips.

Who needed a pregnancy pillow when you had a symbiote, right?

Eddie and Venom read up as much as they could on the subject of babies and childbirth and to say Eddie was terrified was an absolute understatement. The photos and diagrams alone had him chewing his nails (getting a swift smack from Venom) and he felt himself getting queasy when he found out that apparently you would be delivering the placenta as well?!

How much did you have to go through, making a tiny human?!

This whole situation amused the fuck out of you, however, as you'd done all this research and merely accepted it. A bit of blood, etcetera after delivery seemed easy to deal with given you've dealt with your period since puberty and that alone was a mess by itself...

But watching a man learn more about it? Oh, it was hilarious.

But hey! They were excited for a cute little baby girl to snuggle and kiss!

One night, you were laying in bed as you scrolled through various baby items online, saving a few cute things for later. Eddie had his head on your shoulder, watching a movie, with an arm draped over your belly, now painfully (sometimes literally) obvious bump, feeling the baby shift and move around as she kicked inside of you.

Venom had encapsulated Eddie's arm, his massive hand stroking your tummy idly.

Apparently, a thought had been bouncing around in Venom's brain and he finally decided to ask it. His head morphed from behind Eddie and peered over at you.

"The baby is a girl." He said.

"Yeah, Venom, that's been established." Eddie snorted, moving until his cheek was resting on your chest.

"Eddie, that's mean." You chuckle, running your fingers through his hair. "Venom, continue."

"Thank you, sweet thing." Venom purred at you, shooting Eddie a glare afterwards.

"But anyway... If the baby is a girl now..." He tipped his head to the side. "What if the baby decides or realizes when she's older that she isn't one? Or either?"

You lower your phone, eyebrows raised at the gravity of his question. Even Eddie sat up on his elbow to look at Venom, surprised at the depth of the question coming from his symbiote. Honestly though, the subject made sense coming from a species that technically didn't have genders in the first place...

Venom seemed happy with your reply, and looked to Eddie expectantly. He already knew what his opinion was, but he wanted him to say it out loud for you.

"Well..." You begin. "If she decides she wasn't born the right gender, or feels like she's neither, or even leaning on both scales... I won't have a problem. I just want our baby to be happy and healthy, not conformed or trapped in any way. That includes the identity she will have as she realizes things about herself."

"Well, I don't have room to talk on gender identity." Eddie snickered. "Considering how you didn't really decide to go by male pronouns until you bonded with me and stuck with that identity because it fit for you... so, yeah. Whatever the baby decides when she's old enough is fine with me."

You grin and kiss Eddie on his temple, ruffling his hair as Venom nuzzles into your belly.

Yeah...

Safe, happy, and loved. That's what your baby would be, no matter what. With her two weird dads and her mom who puts up with their nonsense.

#eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x venom x reader #eddie brock x venom #eddie x reader #venom x eddie x reader #symbrock x reader

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babybluebex · 3 months

Text

venus pt.2 | angus tully x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you and angus pilfer from the chapel on your first night alone together at barton, and, after angus gets hurts and drags you into his lie, you're reminded of the worst moment of your life. not to worry, though; angus manages to soothe your sorrows, while simultaneously confusing the hell out of you. PART 2 OF ? (14k words) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: angus tully (the holdovers, 2023) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: canon compliance (this is a complete rewrite of the film, just with the added reader insert), lots of swearing, 70s ideals about feminism (which YES is a warning), mentions of grief/loss, drug use and drinking, graphic descriptions of injuries, a tiny little morsel of fake dating yum yum, is anyone else familiar with the spider game grumps bit? spider punch! spider kick! spider...? 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: icymi, i'm splitting this fic up into several smaller parts, just bc i'm not sure tumblr will actually let me post one big chunk of text the way i wanted to (it might exceed the character limit eesh) ((also i didn't wanna make yall wait forever for another part of this hehe)) if i missed any warnings/tags, pls dm me and let me know if you think i should add something! other than that, thank u for ur patience and enjoy!

The first evening of just you and Angus alone felt like an extended stint in hell. He was still cold and bitter, hardly speaking at all at dinner, and it made your skin crawl. You hated the silence, the feeling like you had done something wrong, even though you knew that you hadn’t, and, after dinner, in the television room, you sat next to Mary as Angus sat away from everyone else, trying to pretend like he was reading. You knew better than that, though; every time you chanced a look at him, his eyes weren’t following the lines on the page and he looked… Tired. Staring off into space, obviously lost in thought.

He only spoke when Hunham mentioned something about writing a monograph, inquiring why Hunham didn’t just write a full book, and Hunham laughed at him. “I’m not sure I have a whole book in me,” Hunham chuckled, and Mary gave you a forlorn look, reading your mind.

“You can’t even dream a whole dream, can you?” Mary mumbled, and Hunham fixed his jaw firmly but said nothing in return.

The room at night was cold and lonely. You put on a sweater and two pairs of sweatpants before you slid into bed, looking out the window at the inky black night. Every so often, you would hear the wind howl outside and see fat snowflakes pass by the window, and eventually your eyes slipped closed, and you drifted off into an uneasy, blank sleep.

It felt like moments later that you heard a whispering shuffle, and a sudden hiss of your name roused you. You winced at the light that streamed through the ajar door from the hallway, and you squinted to see Angus’s silhouette. “What d’ya want?” you mumbled groggily.

“Come on,” Angus said, jerking his head towards the hallway. His hair was messy, wearing his winter coat, and your sight drifted down to his hands to see him carrying a large, silver flashlight, and—

“Are those— Why do you have Hunham’s keys?” you groaned.

“Just come on!” Angus huffed.

You reached over to the little table beside your bed and snatched up your wristwatch, and you squeezed the button on the side to turn the little light on to see the time. “Fuck, Angus, it’s like four in the morning!” you groaned. “Fuck off!”

“C’mon, you won’t regret it,” Angus told you. “Put on your coat and shoes, let’s go.”

For some reason, you did as he told you, lacing up your sneakers and shrugging on your jacket, and you followed Angus as he led you out of the infirmary, sneaking past Hunham’s open door. You heard his snoring from inside, but you didn’t stop, catching up with Angus’s long-legged stride. He shined the flashlight down the dark hallways of the school, not speaking a word to you as he led you to the kitchen. It was pitch-black in there, even with the flashlight, but Angus moved with certainty, taking you to the big freezer towards the back of the room. You almost wanted to question him, ask exactly what the fuck he thought he was doing, but you stayed quiet as he wrenched the freezer door open.

“Go grab a spoon,” he told you as he winced in the fluorescent lights inside the freezer.

“What for?” you asked.

“You remember that ice cream they gave us at the start of the semester?” Angus asked. You nodded slowly, remembering how dinner on the first day of classes had included individual scoops of vanilla ice cream; it was unusual and special, but you remembered not having eaten it and turning it over to Teddy. You followed Angus’s gaze into the freezer, and you spotted the cardboard tub of vanilla ice cream, sitting and waiting.

You furrowed your eyebrows, but you slinked back into the kitchen and used the light of the freezer to find a single spoon, an oversized serving spoon. “Won’t we get in trouble?” you asked, passing the spoon to Angus, and he pulled the tub of ice cream into his grip and wrestled the lid off. The carton itself was frosted over, freezer-burnt to all hell, but Angus still attacked the mound of ice cream with the spoon. He scooped it into his mouth, and he wrinkled his nose as he shook his head.

“I doubt it,” he replied. “How will they ever know? And by the time they figured out someone’s eaten out of here, they’ll never be able to trace it back to us.”

“Woah, us?” you repeated. “What ‘us’? You’re the one going to town on that right now.”

Angus looked at you with those almond-shaped dark eyes of his, and you scoffed at the little white splotches of ice cream on the corner of his lips. “We can change that,” Angus said, offering you the spoon.

You shook your head. “I don’t eat ice cream,” you told him.

“So, that’s what your fuckin’ problem is,” Angus chuckled. “You’re not judgmental or anything like that; you’re just low on joy.”

“Fuck off,” you said as you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon,” Angus said. “Blood oath or whatever… Except it’s vanilla ice cream.”

Your chest roiled. It felt like a petty thing, not to eat ice cream anymore, but you couldn’t help it. It just felt too bad. The memories were too hard, and even the experience of eating what you had been in that dreadful moment was too much. You remembered it like it was yesterday; your dad had taken you to Dairy Queen, which wasn’t unusual in itself, but the fact that your sisters weren’t with you was odd. After all, you supposed with hindsight, he wasn’t their dad; just yours. He had his typical ice cream sandwich while you had a cone, and he had walked on eggshells as he explained to you what the word “draft” meant. It was hardly two years ago, you were old enough to know what it meant. You chose not to remember the rest of that night, but you stayed steadfast— you hadn’t eaten ice cream since.

“What sorta blood oath?” you asked warily.

Angus shrugged. “If you don’t kill me over the next two weeks, I won’t kill you,” he said.

You quirked your mouth for a moment, trying to convey to him that you were considering it. “I told you, I don’t eat ice cream,” you said as you crossed your arms.

“Is this some kinda girl thing I don’t get?” Angus asked. “Depriving yourself of dessert or whatever?”

“I’m lactose intolerant, you dick,” you fibbed quickly. “Sorry if I don’t want an upset stomach at four in the morning.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, going back for another bite. “It’s really mediocre.” That got a laugh out of you, and Angus smiled.

He gave up on the ice cream soon after that, putting it back and washing off the spoon (“Getting rid of the evidence”, he said), and you dug your hands into the pocket of your coat. “Is that it?” you asked, and Angus laughed.

“No, man,” he said. “I got more.”

“Jesus,” you groaned, but, for some reason, you followed him out to the hall and down the corridors. It was still dark outside, and Angus fumbled with the keys and flashlight as you approached the door to the chapel. “Alright, whatever you’re planning to do in here, I’m nearly certain I don’t wanna be a part of it.”

“You know they’ve got wine in here?” Angus asked, passing off the flashlight to you so he could find the correct key.

“Duh,” you said. “Catholics really buzz off wine in communion.”

“Didn’t your old church use wine?” Angus asked. He tried a key on the door, then frowned when it didn’t fit, and moved onto the next option.

“No,” you said. “We didn’t go to church. Only when we visited my dad’s mom, which wasn’t often, but her church used Fanta Grape.”

“What sorta church did your grandma go to?” Angus scoffed. “Church of the High Fructose Corn Syrup?”

“It was mostly flat by the time it got to us, anyway,” you said. “Dad and I usually sat in the back, so he could slip out and smoke mid-service.”

“Smart man,” Angus said. He tried another key, succeeding this time, and the heavy door swung open. It was dark inside the small room, a sort of storage room for the chapel, and the beam of the flashlight hit various pieces of junk scattered around, boxes or whatnot, before it landed on a small credenza pressed against the wall. There was some sort of ceremonial tapestry on the surface, a large ornate goblet on top with a dusty bottle of wine sitting next to it. “Bingo,” Angus mumbled, and he went to the lightswitch on the wall, flicking it on so he could turn off the flashlight. The overhead light crackled and buzzed as it came on, and Angus ushered you inside before shutting the door again.

He was quick to fill the goblet partways with the wine, and he offered it to you silently. At first you hesitated— did you really feel like drinking wine with Angus?— and you quickly grabbed the goblet from his hand and took a sip. You held your face stony, not offering a reaction, and you passed it back to him. “Well?” he asked, and you shrugged.

“It’s fine,” you replied. “Are there any of those Body of Christ crackers in here?”

Angus gestured towards the heavy furniture against the wall, a sorta “Look for yourself” movement, and he went for the wine as you started through the cabinet. He gave a little shudder at the bitter sourness, then shrugged for himself and took another sip. “Not bad,” he mumbled. You quickly found the tub of little round wafers, and you worked the lid off as you sat down on the floor. You offered him one, which he shook his head at, and he took another sip of wine as he sat down next to you. He leaned up against the side of the credenza while you settled against the wall, and you put a wafer in your mouth, letting it melt a little against your tongue. “What would your body and blood be?” you asked.

“Huh?” Angus grunted.

“Like, Jesus’s body are these rice paper crackers, and his blood is cheap wine,” you explained. “So what would yours be?”

Angus furrowed his eyebrows as he thought. “Well, blood is easy,” he said. “A beer.” You scoffed, and Angus quickly said, “No, no, listen, hear me out. You’ve had a beer before, right?”

“Of course,” you replied.

“Well then, you understand,” Angus sighed. “A nice beer on a hot day… The glass of the bottle is all cold and everything and it’s sweating a little and the weird foam label is tearing from the condensation… Isn’t that, like, a godly experience?”

“Sure,” you giggled. “So, beer for the blood. And the body?”

Angus screwed up his mouth as he considered it, and he finally said, “How about, like, a cheeseburger?”

“Really?” you asked, popping another cracker in your mouth. “Why?”

“It works good with the beer,” Angus said. He reached over to you and stole a cracker, and he chewed on it as he said, “Beer and a burger? What’s better than that? Brings you closer to God and shit like that, right?”

“I mean…” you mumbled. “Yeah, that makes sense. So, taking communion, you do a shot of beer and… What? Take a bite of a burger?”

“Sure,” Angus snickered. “Or a slider, like at a barbeque.”

You laughed, and you reached out to grab at the glass of wine in Angus’s hands. He passed it to you, and you took a sip of it as Angus exchanged for another cracker. “What about you?” he asked. “What’s your body and blood?”

“Hmm,” you murmured. Your body shuddered at the warm bitterness of the wine, and you coughed a little. “A hot coffee.”

“Ew,” Angus sneered. “You drink coffee?”

“Not always,” you said. “Only when I need to warm up. It’s too bitter. But, like, the way your beer is relieving to you, a hot coffee is relieving to me. The same, but different, y’know?”

“Oh, yeah,” Angus said. “Like, coming in from playing in the snow and your fingers are all stiff and cold or whatever… My mom always made us hot chocolate that was pretty much just heavy cream and cocoa powder and some sugar. We’d dip graham crackers in it and sit by the fire and listen to Christmas records…” He trailed off then, and you caught onto his train of thought— used to. Not this year.

“Us?” you asked. “You got a sister or something?”

“No,” Angus said. “My, um… My dad.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Right. Sorry”

“What do you mean ‘sorry’?” Angus said.

“Well, a few days ago, when everyone left,” you started in confusion. “You said your dad died.”

The room was quiet for a beat, and Angus shifted as he sat, pulling one of his legs underneath himself. “No,” he said carefully. “No, um… Dad’s still hanging out, but he’s… He’s in the hospital. For, like, the past four years. He’s as good as dead.”

“Shit,” you mumbled. “What happened?”

Angus shrugged, quirking his mouth. “He got sick,” he said simply. “And Mom thought it would be better to have professionals take care of him instead of us…”

“M’sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to pry or anything.”

“You’re fine,” Angus said. “So, your dad…?”

You nodded solemnly. “His number came up,” you said softly. “He… Had something to prove, I guess, and no reason to try to get out of it. Told me he was gonna go and make me proud of him…” Your throat got thick then, and you trailed off for a moment. “January’s gonna be one year since…”

“Jesus Christ,” Angus said under his breath. “Sorry.”

You quickly wiped at an escaped tear, trying to get rid of it before Angus could see it, and you choked down a cracker. “It’s whatever,” you said. “These things happen, y’know?”

“Yeah, they happen,” Angus said. “But that doesn’t make them any less sad.”

“I don’t care about sad,” you said. “Been too sad lately. All I want is to stop feeling sad.”

Angus tilted his head at you, watching for a moment, and he started to dig into the pocket of his coat. Quietly, he extracted something, a sort-of crushed up cigarette that looked like it had fallen out of the pack and had been jostled in his pocket for months, and he held it out to you. You clocked it immediately, though— the paper too thin, the contents too packed in. You scoffed with a watery voice, twisting at a loose thread on your jacket. “Wow, you really are a Barton boy, huh?” you said. “Getting high and drinking holy wine in the chapel.”

“If it makes you feel better, it’s not mine,” Angus said.

“Whose is it, then?” you asked. “And how did you come to have it?”

“Ah, well,” Angus shrugged. “Kountze the Cunt’s always had it coming for him. I steal his cigarettes, he steals my picture, I steal his last joint out of his bag before he leaves to go ski. What’s that called? Quid pro quo?”

“That’s not really what quid pro quo is,” you laughed. “But I don’t have a lighter. And, furthermore, I don’t smoke weed. Especially not Kountze’s shit.”

“I’ve got the lighter situation covered,” Angus said. He went back into his pocket and extracted a small matchbook, and he added, “And, yeah, you don’t smoke weed, but I’m not even sure this is weed. Knowing Kountze, it’s probably oregano or tea leaves or something. So, smoking this isn’t smoking weed, because there’s a fair chance it’s not weed.”

You pursed your lips as you considered Angus’s offer, and you looked at the ornate goblet in your hands, still a little full. “Fine,” you decided. “But not here. We’re not gonna hotbox the chapel storage room.”

“Aw, we’re not?” Angus whined jokingly. “I really think that’ll give us God points.”

“Yeah, sure,” you chuckled. “Get enough of them, and you can redeem them for a free large soda at the check-out counter.”

You helped each other drain the last of the wine out of the cup, and you pocketed a handful of crackers as you exited the room. Angus did well to lock up behind him, to make sure nothing seemed awry or unusual on the off-chance that Hunham checked the grounds, and Angus led you through the school to the main interior entrance to the chapel. It was as cold in there as it was outside, and still just as dark, and your eyes adjusted to the low light as Angus took a running leap at the raised stage, hopping up there with ease. You followed suit, though not as quickly or gracefully as Angus, and you settled on the piano bench next to him. His long, thin fingers worked to strike one of the matches on the edge of the matchbox, and he brought the flame to the joint nestled between his lips.

You had never really noticed before (because when would you have ever noticed it before?) but Angus had a tiny scar on his upper lip, not really that raised or any different color than the rest of his lip, but it shifted as he puckered his lips around the joint. Come to think of it, Angus’s lips looked… Good? Wrapped around the joint, his lips looked plush and soft, just a hint pinker and darker than the golden-olive tones of his face. And the middle of his top lip poked out a little bit, a bit more pronounced because of his scar. Angus pulled at the joint for a moment before removing it from between his lips, and he offered it to you, and you fixed your expression from focusing on his lips to looking him in the eyes. “Well?” you asked. “Is it marijuana?”

“No,” Angus said. “Well, yes, but it’s Kountze’s ditch weed. So, technically yes, but you’d need to smoke a lot of it to get high.”

“Lemme see,” you said quickly, reaching out for the joint, and he passed it to you. You had only ever smoked once before, back when you went to Central, and you had gotten dizzy and sick, but, as you pulled a toke on this joint, you felt nothing of the sort. Sure, there was that weird herby taste in the back of your throat that made it unmistakingly weed, and you cringed as you blew out the smoke. “Oh, this is shitty,” you chuckled. “Like, super shitty. God, Teddy, where’d you buy this?”

“He only has it to sell to eighth-graders,” Angus shrugged. “Make a quick buck to buy Playboys with.”

“Ew,” you snickered.

“What?” Angus said. “Not a fan of Playboy? Are you more of a Penthouse fan?”

“No,” you said. “I mean, like, no, just… Thinking of Kountze doing that is… Just gross.”

Angus took a drag on the joint, and he said “I guess you’ve kissed a guy before, huh?”

“Excuse me?” you sputtered.

“I mean, there’s not an elegant way to ask if you’ve had sex before,” Angus started quickly. “So, like, gotta build up to it, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fucking hell,” you mumbled as Angus quickly muttered out a “Sorry, forget I said anything”, and you slowly added, “No. If that answers your wildly-invasive question.”

“‘No’, you’ve never had sex before?” Angus asked. “Or ‘no’, you’ve never kissed a guy before? Or a girl? Are you gay? I don’t really care if you are, but like—”

“Shut up,” you huffed. “Both.”

“Oh,” Angus said. “Not even at your old school?”

“Not even at my old school,” you echoed mirthlessly. “Guys just never really cared about me. There was always some girl who was prettier or funnier, smarter, richer, whatever. I’m nothin’ special.”

“Hm,” Angus grunted.

“What about you?” you asked, taking the joint and pulling at it.

“Oh, I get it regularly,” Angus said. “Yeah, my girlfriend’s a Playboy model. I sneak her into the dorm once a week and— Be serious, of course not.” You laughed as Angus smiled at his own joke. “I’m the same. When I wasn’t going to all-boys schools, girls just never liked me. I’ve always been a weirdo.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “I thought you’ve always gone to Barton?” you asked.

“No,” Angus said. “I’ve been kicked out of a ton of schools. S’why I’m still a junior and I’m about to turn 18, I’ve been moved around so much that I ended up falling behind.”

“Why?” you asked.

Angus shrugged. “I’m what they call a ‘troubled youth’,” he said, reciting the title like he didn’t believe it but had been told it too often. “I cheat and steal and get in fights. In fact, Stanley says if I get kicked out of Barton, I’ll be going to Fork Union.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You knew Fork Union; you hadn’t ever been or knew anyone who went there, but its reputation preceded itself. Whoever Stanley was really had it out for Angus. “Fuck,” you hissed. “That’s… Intense.”

“Yeah,” Angus nodded in agreement. “So I gotta be on my best behavior.”

“And smoking weed in the chapel is what you consider good behavior?” you asked.

“Of course not,” Angus scoffed. “But it’s fun, and that’s what I care about.”

You nodded slowly, and Angus pulled at the joint again before pressing down on one of the keys of the piano with his outstretched pinky finger, hearing a single little chime sound. He seemed to drift off then, going off in thought in silence as he absently passed you the joint. After a few moments, his eyes slid off to the side, and you followed his gaze over to see a small table set up just in front of the stage with a single picture frame on it. You knew the picture: Curtis Lamb. It was something that you and Mary could commiserate on, and you held the utmost respect for her and for the late Curtis.

You declined the joint and got up to go sit in front of the picture. You had never chosen to sit in the front row of the chapel, always trying to be as close to the back door as possible, just like with your dad, and you had never seen that picture of Curtis that close up before. He was handsome, his uniform spotless without a wrinkle, the skin on his face smooth and shiny. He was young— 19.

Angus slowly joined you on the pew, pressing his back against the arm and pulling his legs up to his chest, and he let out a gentle sigh as he too examined the picture of Curtis. “That’s why you like Mary so much,” Angus whispered eventually after a long and heavy bout of silence. “‘Cause you both…”

You nodded. “You can say it,” you mumbled. “S’not the Boogeyman or anything. Saying it doesn’t make it more powerful.”

“I know,” Angus murmured. “But thinking about it… Dying, being killed…” He shook his head, trailing off. “I used to think about it a lot. Back when Dad first got sick.”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked gently.

Angus hummed. “Then Dr. Gertler put me on some pills… They help a little, but sometimes I still… I dunno.”

“Gertler?” you repeated. “That’s your psychologist or whatever it’s called?”

“Yeah,” Angus said. “He used to be my dad’s doctor too, but then Dad went to the hospital, and they’re better for him there. Not that The Gert isn’t good, he is, just… Not what Dad needed.”

You fell into silence then. The purples and blues of the morning began to bleed in through the chapel windows as you and Angus sat still, looking at the picture of Curtis but not seeing it. You were each lost in your own heads, and you found yourself sinking down to the thin, threadbare carpet and settling on your ass, and your head leaned back just so to touch Angus’s hip. You didn’t know him too well— you were clueless about what his favorite color was, but you knew the surface level of his worst trauma— and you wanted to comfort him, but something like holding his hand or hugging him seemed like a bridge too far. So, the slightest contact, a sort-of “I’m right here” seemed like the way to go.

At long last, you heard the heavy creak of the chapel doors opening, and Angus turned to look. You couldn’t see from your vantage point, and the person nor Angus said anything, but you heard the groan of the old wooden pew in the very back row as someone sat down, and, based on the silence and the fact that Hunham was a staunchly non-Christian man, you could deduce that it was Curtis’s mother back there, coming in for her morning prayers.

You all sat quietly, ruminating on your own thoughts, and finally you heard Mary’s smooth and smoky voice, not a yell but not a whisper: “You two better get back in your beds before Mr. Hunham decides to wake up.”

You passed through the aisle towards the front doors of the chapel, and you and Mary locked eyes for a brief moment as you walked by. She gave you a small nod, then closed her eyes and went back to her prayers.

Angus wasn’t a chatty guy to begin with, but the silence as you made your way back to the main building and the infirmary felt suffocating. It was cold as hell, somehow feeling even more biting than the 4AM chill you had felt before, and you nudged away a few slushy snowflakes as you walked up the steps to the doors. “Thanks,” you said finally. “That was, umm…”

Angus shrugged, tugging the key ring out of his pocket carefully to keep the keys from jingling together. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “And now we know where they keep the good wine.”

You managed a halfway-decent smile, and you dug into your jacket pocket and handed Angus a few Christ crackers. “Not a cheeseburger,” you said. “But it’s something.”

You were sleepy throughout the entire day. Even though your excursion only lasted a few hours and didn’t give you any less sleep than a typical bout of insomnia did, you kept yawning throughout your library time and jog around the campus. Angus seemed to be in better shape than you were, his usual sullen self but not in any way looking tired, and you envied him.

The day only brightened by a bit at lunch. You sat next to Angus as you quietly ate, chancing glances at him every so often, and he seemed… Normal. Drinking his Coke, looking past Mary and out the window to the snowy expanse outside. Not attempting any conversation or showing that you had shared a moment just a few hours earlier. Of course, you didn’t expect him to really do that, but the point held true that it was infuriating. When your eyes met, he could have at least smiled instead of averting his eyes like you were Medusa or something.

The brightening came in the form of Hunham setting a large ceramic plate in front of him, covered by a napkin. “I have a surprise,” he announced. “These were a gift to me, and I would like to share them with all of you.”

Quickly, Hunham tugged off the napkin, and you saw a plate of cookies. Sugar, with hard, shiny frosting decorating the different shapes with vibrant Christmas colors. “Look at them,” Hunham added. “Look at the… Festive shapes. Snowflakes… Gingerbread men… A tree… Oh, a little mitten!” He picked up the pastel blue mitten and bit off the thumb, and he contemplated the taste for a moment before looking back up at you and Angus. “And they’ve got frosting!”

Angus’s eyes slid to you, unimpressed, then back at Hunham. “May I go to the bathroom, sir?” he said flatly, already getting out of his chair as Hunham excused him, less of a request and more of a “I’m leaving, here’s my sorry excuse as for a reason why”. You watched Angus stalk out of the dining room, his hands bouncing limply at his sides, and Mary sighed, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Well, I’m trying,” Hunham mumbled half-heartedly, and Mary scoffed out a laugh. Obviously, this was a continuation of a conversation that you had not been privy to, and you kept your thoughts to yourself as you stuck a green bean in your mouth.

The three of you sat in silence for a few moments, long enough for the tick of the second hand on your watch to bore under your skin, and Hunham looked back at the door, as if expecting Angus to come back in. “Where the hell is he…?” Hunham mumbled, and he scooted out his chair noisly.

His shoes clicked across the polished hardwood, and you nudged a few French fries around with your fork. “You’re not eating,” Mary said as the door closed behind Hunham, and you tore your eyes up from your plate to look at her. Her cigarette clutched between her manicured nails, her dark mug of coffee in her palm, she looked every bit of a mother as she should, especially with the soft, sad look in her eyes. She wasn’t admonishing you; she was worried.

You shrugged.

“Do you not want this?” Mary asked. “I’m sure I can find something else back there for you.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I-I’m fine, Mary. Just… Tired, I guess.”

“Mm-hm,” Mary hummed. “Which has nothing to do with your little excursion with that boy earlier, right?”

You shook your head, closing your eyes. “That wasn’t…” you started. “We were just…” But you stopped yourself before you could tell her why. Why had Angus dragged you out of bed to galavant around the school? From what you could tell, he didn’t particularly like you. “Huh. Weird.”

Mary ashed her cigarette. “All I’ll say is, I’m not your mom. Whatever you and him get up to isn’t my business and I don’t want it to be, but… Don’t let him do too much to ya.”

“God, Mary, we don’t…” you started softly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Mary said coldly. “I meant, don’t let that boy into your head too much. He’s a boy. And boys are, for the most part, dumb assholes. So, whatever he does, don’t let it affect you too much. After all, he’s just trying to—”

The hallway outside the dining room suddenly echoed with a cacophonous “Son of a bitch! That’s another detention!” and a sudden metallic crashing, and you nearly snapped your neck with the speed at which you turned to the door. Before you could even think not to, you got up out of your seat and made your way out the door, just in time to watch Hunham disappear down the corridor. Angus was already on the far side of the hall, the metal trash can tipped over with the lid rolling beside it, and you spotted Hunham’s pink detention pad sitting next to the payphone. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened, and you trailed after Hunham and Angus at a quick walk, staying a few steps behind Hunham.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Mr. Tully, but you are courting disaster!” Hunham called after Angus, and you watched Angus hook a corner, but peek back out at Hunham.

“Without sufficient exercise, the body devours itself,” he said with a cheeky smile, and his gaze landed on you. The smile dropped from his face for just a moment before he disappeared around the corner once more, and Hunham turned to see you. He wasted little time with you, though, going back to his huffing-puffing pursuit of Angus.

“You are careening towards suspension!” Hunham shouted, and you sped up your steps to overtake Hunham, but there was no way you could keep pace with Angus. He was standing in the middle of the doorway, waiting for Hunham to catch up, and you breathed heavily.

“Angus!” you shouted after him, but he picked up the chase once more, allowing you to get within grabbing distance of him before he sped off. “Ang— What the fuck? You— Fork Union!” You couldn’t process your thoughts efficiently, let alone in a good enough way to express what you needed to, and you hoped that the mere mention of the military school would make Angus rethink his decision.

But it didn’t. In fact, he seemed to pick up speed as he ran from you, and you skidded into the trophy room to watch Angus pull off a clumsy cartwheel. The fucker was enjoying himself. Your chest burned with agitation as Angus came to a stop at the open doorway, and an acid bile rose in your throat. The gym.

Before he had fucked off to Haystack, Jason had mentioned how Senator Osgood had paid for a brand-new gym to allow his son Jordan to graduate from Barton, and that apparently Hunham was the one who had failed him and forced the gym to happen. You knew nothing of Jordan Osgood and even less about his right-wing Republican father, but you (along with everyone in Senator Osgood’s district) knew that they had money. And the money seemed to have gone a long way, a basketball court with bleach-white nets hanging from the goals, straight and even hardwood floors with the Barton lion mascot expertly painted on them, tall and high windows that let in a blinding amount of sunlight. But the gym was obviously unfinished, only half of the floor shiny and waxy with lacquer.

You saw what Angus did, and you huffed out a breath. “Angus, please,” you said through labored breaths. “Don’t— You can’t—”

Before you could say more, Hunham came up behind you, in a similar winded state as you. You watched Angus’s back straighten, and Hunham held out a warning finger to him. “Don’t even think about it, Mr. Tully,” he said. “You are a hair’s breadth from suspension. I’ll wash my hands of you. You hear me? Wash my hands!”

Angus took half a step forward, the toe of his shoe touching the gym floor, and Hunham said, “Stop right there. You know the gym is strictly off limits. This is your Rubicon. Do not cross the Rubicon!”

Angus slowly turned to look at you and Hunham, a coy smile on his scarred lips. He gave a light, taunting shrug, then flicked his eyebrows, and said something in Latin. If you had been in a better mindset, you could have translated it in the moment, but you weren’t, and you watched Angus wink at you, then charge across the floor into the gym, towards that fucking gymnastics vault.

You had never watched someone get seriously hurt before. You hated the idea of it— even watching a scary movie was a little too extreme. But time seemed to slow down as you watched Angus bounce off the springboard and go ass-over-head over the vault, landing with a thundering thud and a sickly sound of flesh against the thin mat. Not a snap, but definitely the sound of an injury. The air was still and stagnant for a long second, a second that felt like a lifetime, before a shrill scream cut through the air.

“Oh, fuck! Mr. Hunham!”

The next few minutes felt like a blur. You ran into the gym and helped Angus to his feet, holding down vomit at his limp left arm— not that it would have mattered; Angus had already taken care of that for you. You pawned him off to Hunham, then somehow, you mechanically went back to the infirmary and gathered your coat, Angus’s coat, and Hunham’s coat and keys. You felt numb, out of your body, listening to Hunham and Angus bicker back and forth the whole car ride to the nearest hospital. You were quiet, letting Angus lean into you and sniffle and cry at the pain, and you saw his eyes all red and glassy as he choked back his tears. He was scared. You grabbed his hand— the good one, not the one he had raised and trembling with the effort— and his sniffles quieted down to pathetic whimpers.

“This is the end,” Hunham said, and you snapped back into your head in an instant. You don’t remember having gotten to the hospital, let alone maneuvering Angus inside and to the emergency room, but somehow you were there, Angus wedged between you and your teacher on the bench, his hand still clasped in yours. “They’ll inform the school, who’ll inform your parents, and then it’s curtains. You are gonna get me fired. You!”

Angus sniffled. “I’m the one who might lose an arm, and all you can think about is yourself.”

You sighed. “That’s dramatic, Angus,” you mumbled.

“When I get my arm chopped off, will you help me carry my books to class?” Angus asked.

“I’m not helping you with shit,” you snapped.

Before Angus could snark back at you, a nurse came, dressed in white, and she handed a clipboard and a plastic ballpoint pen to Hunham. Her eyes glazed you, then Angus, and she said, “If you could just fill this out, please. Admissions and insurance.”

Insurance. Fuck. You hadn’t even thought about that. Hunham’s face went sour and pale, and he slowly started to fill out the first box, putting A-N-G in block letters, but Angus spoke in a clipped voice. “Excuse me,” he said, and the nurse turned back to him. “Is there any way we could skip this whole insurance thing?”

The nurse sighed. You recognized that sigh; your mother did the same one with her customers at the diner. The ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’. “It’s just standard procedure,” she said.

“I understand. But look…” Angus started. He chewed his lip at Hunham, then looked at you, then turned back to her with a breath. “We were over at Squantz Pond playing hockey… And I slipped on the ice.”

“Angus,” Hunham said in a hushed tone. “What’re you doing?”

“My mom told him not to take me, but I made him,” Angus continued, and Hunham looked past Angus to you, seeing if you had any idea what stunt Angus was pulling now. You were just as lost as him, though, and you watched Angus with a curious enrapturement as he spun his yarn. “My folks are divorced, and we don’t get to see each other very often. She’ll be mad as a hornet if she finds out.”

“Okay, that’s your business,” the nurse said, sighing again. “But we just have certain protocols.”

“Y-Yeah, protocols,” Hunham protested weakly, but Angus bulldozed right over him with more lies.

“Please,” Angus said, his eyes going all glassy again. “I never get to see my dad, a-and I just wanted him to meet my girlfriend.” A hot shock ran down your skin, blazing in your cheeks, as you understood that you were the supposed girlfriend. God, you were going to strangle Angus Tully when this was all done. “It was my fault, all mine. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” He gave Hunham a pathetic little glance, his bottom lip wobbling, and his voice was all broken as he added, “I don’t want her dragging you to court again.” He sniffled and squeezed your hand, and you pulled his hand into your lap, stroking his soft skin with your thumb. “Can we skip the whole insurance thing? We can pay cash. Right, Dad?”

Angus didn’t drop your hand the entire time. He held onto you as the three of you were led to an exam room, and he shied away from the nurse (she never told you her name) as she tried to take off his sweater. He mumbled something about his shoulder, how he couldn’t move it right, and you carefully nudged in front of where he sat on the exam table, flexing your hand to get him to let go. Quietly, you tugged Angus’s maroon sweater up as far as it would go before he groaned in pain, and you swallowed thickly. “I know, Ang,” you said gently. “It’s alright, baby.”

His eyes got all big at you as you played the role he had assigned to you, and with gentle encouragement from his beloved “girlfriend”, you managed to get the sweater off his right arm and have it slide off his left arm. Next came his robin’s-egg-blue buttoned shirt, and you sighed as you focused on the small plastic buttons, not able to look Angus in the eye. As calm as you seemed on the surface, you were screaming and cursing and spitting like a possessed woman inside. You were so angry at him, for everything— for disobeying Hunham, for getting himself hurt, for roping you into his kinda-sorta insurance fraud. If you could have slapped him across the face, you would have. But you couldn’t, so you settled for a sweet kiss on his cheek and a whispered “There you go” as his shirt came off. That left him in his thin white undershirt, and you balked at his pale skin, but particularly the way his shoulder stuck out grotesquely. You could tell from a glance— dislocated. “Jesus…” you whispered, and the nurse moved you aside.

“Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes the things you see here are a little sickening. But you’ve been more than enough help; thank you, sweetie.”

“Guess you’re not going to nursing school, huh?” Angus chuckled, trying to lighten the heavy mood, and you folded his sweater and shirt over your arms.

“You know how I get with blood, Ang,” you said softly. “Nursing school was never gonna be for me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Angus hummed, as if he knew anything about you and was just being reminded of this fact. “Hey, remember back in August, at the football game against Choate, when Jason got flattened by that linebacker?”

You had never gone to a single Barton football game, but obviously Angus had a point to why he brought this up, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you said carefully. “Umm, i-isn’t that the same day Kountze invited us to that bonfire?”

“Yeah,” Angus nodded along with your addition. “I think you were somewhere else, bathroom or something, but Jason just got pummeled by this dude that was twice his size—”

“I was with his girlfriend when that happened,” you said. “She was hysterical.”

“But he got up and went back to the sideline, and I went down to talk to him,” Angus said, wincing as the nurse worked his undershirt over his head. “And his mouth was all full of blood, but he was laughing ‘cause he said Jenny was gonna be doting all over him for the next week.”

You nodded. “And she did,” you said. “That was… Kinda gross to watch, actually.”

Angus shrugged, but immediately regretted it, hissing in pain at the involuntary action. “That’ll be us,” he said in a tight voice. “I’m all injured and everything, and you get to take care of me.”

“Get to?” you repeated. “You make that sound like a privilege.”

“I took care of you when you got your wisdom teeth taken out last year,” Angus said, and your hand went lightly to your jaw. How in the fuck did he know you didn’t have your wisdom teeth? Had he seen it? When? “Now it’s your turn.”

“I didn’t sign up for that,” you chuckled.

“Sure you did,” Angus said. “That was in the fine print when I asked you to go steady.”

You rolled your eyes. “I think the pain’s making you delirious,” you said.

“We’ll get him some pain medication soon,” the nurse said. “First, we’re gonna have to X-ray your shoulder. Your dad and girlfriend are gonna be right here, we’re just going down the hall.”

The silence in the exam room once Angus left was deafening, and Hunham stood opposite you. Every so often, he looked like he wanted to say something, then would change his mind, and he finally settled on “I can hold Mr. Tully’s things.”

“I-I’ve got it,” you said softly. You held his clothes a little closer to your chest and chewed your lip nervously, and you mumbled, “I guess we’re lucky… It could be worse.”

“We don’t know how bad it is yet,” Hunham said, and you shrugged.

“At least he’s not, like… Dead,” you offered. “His arm’s just a little messed up.”

Hunham sighed but said nothing else, seemingly agreeing with you. You let yourself shift your weight as you waited, and your fingers itched in Angus’s sweater. It was soft, and still a little warm from his body, and you buried your cold hands in it.

Angus returned soon after, and the air was prickly with silence until a doctor walked in. Dressed in a white lab coat, he carried a thin piece of plastic, and he smiled thinly at Hunham before he threw the plastic sheet onto the lightbox on the wall and flipped it on. There, as clear as day, was an X-ray of Angus’s fucked-up shoulder, the ball-and-socket joint clearly not ball-and-socket anymore. “The good news is nothing’s broken,” the doctor told you, and Hunham audibly sighed.

“Thank God,” he said.

“But you did dislocate your shoulder pretty badly,” the doctor added, eyeing Angus down. “That was quite a tumble you took, kid. What happened?”

You saw Angus look at the nurse out of the corner of his eye, and, knowing that he had to stay with the fib he told, you chimed in quickly. “We were playing hockey,” you said. “Or, rather, Angus was playing hockey, and me and… His dad were watching. The ice was slippery, and Ang just… I don’t know, one second he was up, the next he was down.”

“Was trying to impress you,” Angus mumbled, and you lovingly brushed down his messy curls.

“I know,” you said. “It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”

“I take it you’re the girlfriend, then,” the doctor said.

“It would seem that way,” you said lightheartedly, but you gave a secret, harsh tug to the bottom of Angus’s hair as retribution. He winced and sucked in a tight breath, and the doctor nodded a bit.

“What’s that mean?” Angus asked. “Like, I know what dislocating is, but what does that mean for me?”

“That means your arm has popped out of the socket,” the doctor said. He moved away from the X-ray and went to join the nurse at the side of Angus’s exam bed, and they wordlessly began to move him onto his back. “And we just have to pop it back in.”

“Is it gonna hurt?” Angus asked, and you watched panic fill his eyes as the nurse’s hand brushed the skin of his upper arm, and he winced in pain.

“Not if you relax,” the doctor told him. He turned around to the small counter behind him, where the nurse had laid a bundled-up bedsheet, and he started to shake it out and loop it around Angus’s torso as he added, “The key is to relax. Deep breaths.”

You watched the doctor and the nurse expertly wind the bedsheet around Angus, and you furrowed your eyebrows at it. “What’re you doing?” you asked.

“We are making a sort-of slipknot,” the doctor told you. “We’re going to pop his arm back in, and then he’ll be right as rain, with only a little discomfort afterwards, but the Percodan we’ll give him will take care of all of that.”

Angus said your name, his voice a little shaky, and, even though you had never heard him talk like that before, you knew that he was scared. You stepped forward just a touch, close but not too close, but, as the medical professionals began to gently pull his arm back, readying it, Angus’s free hand shot out like lightning and gripped your fingers. His eyes were squeezed shut, holding his breath, his neck and ears red, and you looked at the doctor for a moment before you said, “Ang, baby, it’ll be okay. Just one second where it hurts really bad, then it’ll be over. Can you do it for one second?”

“...Think I’m gonna puke again…” Angus mumbled.

“That’s okay,” you said soothingly.

“Don’t wanna puke on you,” Angus added, and you frowned.

“I’ll just throw everything in the washer when we get back,” you said with a shrug. The doctor made eye contact with you from behind Angus, and he flicked his eyebrows at you in a way that told you to keep talking. Distract Angus, so he can’t see it coming. “How about, when we get back, we can watch TV?” you started, trying to find anything to blabber about for long enough. “I think a new episode of Bonanza comes on tonight. But, God, I missed the last few weeks, I have no idea what’s going on anymore. Is Hoss still courting that fancy lady? I thought maybe that was done, but I heard something about it on the radio the other day, so who knows—”

At that moment, the doctor and the nurse yanked the bedsheet in opposite directions, and Angus writhed and wormed as he let out a guttural gurgle and hiss, then a pathetic yelping scream as his shoulder went back right with a wet pop that made your neck hair stand on end. You heard Hunham behind you give a scoff of “Jesus!”, and then the ordeal was over.

Angus moved his left arm slowly as the doctor rattled about the medication he was prescribing, something where Angus couldn’t drive while on it or drink alcohol or mix with other medication, and you nodded along as you listened. Angus worked himself into his undershirt and threw his buttoned shirt on, and you took over doing up his buttons. He frowned at the sight of his sweater, though, and you knew that lifting his arm to get it into the sleeve was maybe asking too much, so you held onto it as they fixed a sling around his neck and looped his left arm in it.

“Take care, young man,” the doctor said. “And keep her around. Hard to find someone who cares about people like that nowadays.”

The first significant thing Hunham said since arriving at the hospital was spoken as the three of you approached the pharmacy counter, prescription in hand. “Barton men don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Angus asked.

“Barton men don’t lie,” Hunham clarified.

“Yeah, well,” Angus sighed. “I had momentum.”

Hunham passed the paper prescription across the counter to the pharmacist, and he mumbled, “Hello, we have this, uh…”

The pharmacist looked over his glasses at the paper, then up to Angus, then Hunham, and finally you. “Percodan, huh? Gimme a few minutes.”

He went off in search of the requested medication, and Hunham paused for a moment before adding, “You too, Miss, you’re included in this.”

“What, was I supposed to refute all of that?” you asked. “We were already committing insurance fraud, might as well play along as best we can.”

“And you said that if Woodrup finds out, you’re screwed,” Angus interjected. “So now he won’t find out.”

“What happens if your parents inquire?” Hunham asked, and Angus’s face darkened for a moment as he scoffed flatly.

“Never gonna happen,” he said. “Trust me.”

Hunham looked obviously confused at the certainty of Angus’s words, but nevertheless said “Okay, then. This all remains entre nous. Got it? You know what entre nous means?”

“Oui, monsieur,” Angus said, screwing up his face mockingly. Then, a coy smile crossed his lips, and he said, “Now you owe me.”

“Owe you?” Hunham repeated, glaring at Angus. “Oh no, do not try to leverage me, Mr. Tully.”

“All I’m looking for is a little thank you that I did something nice for you,” Angus said. “That’s all.” After a moment, he flashed Hunham a cheeky smile.

You swallowed thickly. “You look real stupid with your hand dangling out of the sling like that,” you said quickly. You don’t know what possessed you to say that, and Angus scoffed.

“God, you’re mean,” Angus said. “What happened to the little kisses and the ‘baby’s and shit?”

“You think I enjoyed doing that?” you asked. “Fuck, Angus, grow up. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You didn’t wait for a reply before you turned heel and made your way to the nearby bathroom, adorned with a silver plaque with a little stick woman on it, leaving the boys in a confused dust behind you.

Lucky for you, it was a single stall situation, a big room able to accommodate a wheelchair or walker, and, once inside, you quickly flipped the lock on the door and sighed. Your heart was racing, your cheeks hot— in honesty, you did enjoy all of that. Something about it felt almost cathartic, pretending to have a healthy and loving relationship with someone, like you were acting out your greatest fantasy. Whether or not Angus was a part of that fantasy or just a placeholder until David Cassidy paid Barton a visit, you weren’t sure, but your heart ached and cried. You didn’t want to pretend— you wanted the real thing. And the fact that you’d never get the real thing, at least not anytime soon, made your eyes burn with tears. Just more evidence to the fact that your life was doomed from the start— nobody wanted you, plain and simple.

You slammed at the tap, turning it on to run cold water over your hands, and you pressed your hands to your burning cheeks, trying to calm down. You took a deep breath, then another, and you shucked off your jacket and tugged Angus’s red sweater over your head. It smelled like him, clean but also a little sharp from the sheer boyishness of it all, and you slid your jacket back on.

By the time you left the bathroom, Angus had worked himself partially into his coat, a small paper baggie in hand that rattled with pills against the glass bottle. “We’re getting dinner,” Hunham told you, his tone indicating to you that he and Angus had had a battle while you were absent and he was the loser. His eyes swept your frame, obviously catching Angus’s sweater on your body, but he said nothing about that.“There’s a small place in town.”

“I-I didn’t bring my pocketbook,” you started to protest, but Angus dug into the pocket of his corduroy pants and produced his own wallet.

“I’ve got it,” he said simply, and gave you the same smile he had given Hunham.

The chosen dinner spot, a small pub called the Winning Ticket, was surprisingly bustling with activity. Music played from the bar portion of the place, competing against Nixon on the television and the dinging of pinball machines, and the air felt warm but not thick, the way some restaurants could feel. You slid into the booth first, then Angus settled himself next to you, nudging your arm with his slinged elbow (he had shifted his arm backwards after your comment about his hand, so now only his fingers spilled over the edge), and Hunham sat across from you.

“I think I’ll start with a beer,” Angus said, and Hunham scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Tully,” Hunham told him.

“We’ve had a hard day,” Angus continued. “We deserve to loosen up a little.”

“You’ve had ten milligrams of Percodan,” Hunham said. “You’re plenty loose already.”

He was right. Angus had swallowed down two of the pills in the backseat of Hunham’s Nova on the drive over, and already he was acting differently, just a little lighter and less reserved. It wasn’t a dramatic change, and you might not have noticed it, but Percodan Angus almost reminded you of Holy Wine and Joint Angus.

“They’ve got Miller High Life!” Angus said, looking down at the laminated menu that lay waiting on the table. “‘The Champagne of Beers’!”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked. “You and what identification, Mr. Seventeen Years Old?”

“Hey, if you could have a beer, you would,” Angus told you.

“Oh, I can,” you told him. “If the bartender’s a guy, I just gotta flutter my eyelashes at him, and I’ll get whatever I want.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you became very aware of your teacher’s presence across the table from you, and you cleared your throat. “O-Or so I’ve heard.”

Before anything else could be said, a waitress approached, and your face lit up. Dyed ginger hair, fun earrings, a soft face and kind eyes.

“Miss Crane!” Hunham beat you to the punch, and your Secretarial Studies teacher glowed. “As I live and breathe! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, guys!” Miss Crane laughed. “And our sweet Barton girl, how’re you, darling? Uh, yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

Hunham took a moment to respond, still smiling at Miss Crane, and he stammered out, “Oh, this is Mr. Tully—”

“Oh, sure, I know you,” Miss Crane said, and Angus gave her a smile.

“Angus Tully,” he introduced himself. “We met outside Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet.”

Miss Crane gave you an amused smile, and you shared a laugh. “I didn’t know about the ‘wrongly’ part,” she said.

“And, of course, Miss Y/N,” Hunham added.

“It’s good to see you,” Miss Crane cooed. “I was worried I wasn’t going to see you before you moved back to Boston. Barton sure is gonna miss you.”

“Oh, I’m…” you started. The real story was far too long and messy to get into right at that moment, so you swallowed down the truth in exchange for a grin. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“Yes, well,” Hunham started. “He’ll have a cheeseburger.”

“And a Miller High Life, please,” Angus butted in as Miss Crane began to write the order down, and Hunham grunted.

“No, you will not.”

“Where do you stand on Miller High Life, Miss Crane? Quality-wise, I mean,” Angus asked, and you groaned.

“Christ, give it up,” you said. “He’s on pain meds, Miss Crane, don’t—”

“Well, like they say,” Miss Crane started with a scrunch of her nose. “It’s the champagne of beers.”

“And she’s a professional!” Angus said, looking at Hunham as he gestured to her, and Hunham rolled his eyes, unamused.

“Okay, one cheeseburger,” Miss Crane started, and Angus sighed.

“And a Coke,” he added reluctantly.

“Umm, same for me,” you told her. “But, umm, if you can have them do no pickles, please?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Miss Crane said softly.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger as well,” Hunham told her.

“Three cheeseburgers,” Miss Crane recited. “Hold the pickles on one—”

“And a Jim Beam,” Hunham added, and Angus gaped in awe, the audacity of Hunham to say no to a beer but yes to a drink for himself washing over him. “On the rocks. Please.”

Miss Crane smiled and left the table, and you watched as Hunham watched her leave. You looked over at Angus with a smile of disbelief, and Angus grinned— Did Hunham have game after all?

“Ouch,” Angus laughed, shaking his hand like he had gotten burned. “You two have chemistry.”

“That’s the Percodan talking,” Hunham grumbled.

“No shit, Mr. H,” you giggled. “That was something. Who knew you were such a Casanova?”

“I don’t know, seeing her like this,” Angus started. “I think she’s pretty attractive.”

You snorted so loud with a laugh that you almost missed Hunham saying “Listen, you hormonal vulgarians” as he leaned into the table. “That woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculations.”

Angus looked at you with a smile, and you tamped down more laughter. “May I at least go to the bathroom?” he asked. “Sir?”

“You mean the payphone?” Hunham asked, and Angus’s face fell stony. You watched the staredown, seeing who would break first, and eventually Hunham bested Angus, because the younger peeled away from the tufted booth seat, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” you groaned, and you got up just as Miss Crane was coming back, her tray ladened with your drinks and Mr. Hunham’s Jim Beam. You tailed Angus towards the bathrooms, but paused at the corner of the bar, watching him disappear into the mens’ room. You stayed behind, looking around at the televisions mounted on the walls, and your mouth went sour at footage of the war being shown on the news. You looked away before you could even properly read the headline, and your fingers nervously went to fiddle with your necklace.

The bartender gave you a look from down the way, expecting an order out of you, and you shook your head. He (of course it was a male bartender) tilted his head with a smile, a sorta “You know you wanna” look, and you pushed a small laugh out of your nose. Driving, you mouthed simply, making a little steering-wheel motion with your hands, and he nodded and smiled, then turned back to his marginal work.

The door to the mens’ room swung open, and you watched Angus slink out. He didn’t look at you, or back in the direction of the table— he looked around the bar, and found his focus being pulled in by one of the pinball machines. You watched him approach and dig in his pocket for a moment, and he watched the guy play his game as he set his dime down on the edge of the machine.

You foolishly almost thought that the night would pass without any more incident. You’d eat your dinner, get back to Barton, and go in your room and ignore everyone and everything until the sun crested the snow in a few hours. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. If you were back home, your mom would let you and Rachel and Anna open one present from underneath the tree, which was always a pair of pajamas that somehow coordinated with everyone else’s but never matched, then you’d fall asleep on the couch while your mom listened to her favorite Nat King Cole Christmas record. Well, that’s what had happened every year up until now. Up until Richard and his daughter (you still didn’t know her name). You wondered what their traditions were. You wondered how they were changing the fabric of your family. You wondered if your mom had bothered to keep up the picture of your dad that hung in the hallway, or if it had come down when Rich moved in.

Yet, incident came. Over the din of the bar, you heard Angus’s whiny little voice say “‘Cause I don’t wanna shoot the other fuckin’ machine.” You looked over at him, and recognized his body language, tall and looming, as the guy playing pinball stepped back with a huff.

“Thanks for fuckin’ up my mojo,” he said to Angus, and you started forward as he called, “Kenny! You’re up!”

“Bullshit,” Angus said as you came up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I put my dime down, so I’m up next.”

“Angus, let it go,” you told him firmly, but a voice stopped either of you from splitting the scene.

“What was that?”

You turned to look at who spoke, presumably Kenny, he of the next round of pinball, and your heart sank. Young— older than you, but still young as hell— wearing a heavy jacke with jeans and a chain dogtag, and your throat closed up. A hook at the end of his right hand. There was no mistaking where he lost it, and a flash of fear and dread washed over you. It was too much— first the news, now this. You felt sick.

“Ang, c’mon, let’s just go,” you mumbled, but Angus was too busy staring down the hook that swung at Kenny’s side.

“Hey, sport,” Kenny said, his voice low. “My eyes are up here.”

“Look at this kid,” the pinball wizard chortled. “Spoiled little fuckin’ Barton boy. And his bitch too, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s a fancy little prick, isn’t he?” Kenny said, and he looked at you. “Why the long face, honey? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I-It’s fine,” Angus stammered, and his arm snaked around to you, pushing you back just a touch behind him. Something in your chest tightened, thinking that Angus thought he needed to protect you, but there was also a warmth— Angus was protecting you.“You can take my dime.”

“Take it?” Kenny repeated. “You want me to take your dime? Like it’s charity?”

“N-No,” Angus breathed. “What I meant is we can play together.” He lightly jostled his left arm in the sling, and he added, “You can be my left arm.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Kenny asked, taking a step forward, nearly nose to nose with Angus, and you felt Angus freeze up.

“Hey,” the pinball wizard started. “You. Prom Queen over here. You gonna let your little boyfriend talk like that?”

Your eyes darted from him to Kenny, then to Angus, then back to Pinball Wizard. You stammered for a moment, trying to find anything to say, and the only thing that came out of your mouth was “I-I—”

“No wonder he’s got a big mouth,” Kenny chuckled. “She doesn’t have one at all.”

You felt dizzy, and you tugged on Angus’s sleeve to leave as you examined Kenny for anything you recognized— a patch on his jacket, a logo on his t-shirt, anything would suffice to ground you. Finally, you saw it: a little appliqué of a purple ribbon with a heart at the end, looking just like the real thing that, last you knew of it, was stashed in the back of your mom’s closet. “My dad’s got one of those…” you mumbled. You couldn’t even think about self-preservation anymore; you were fixated on it now, saying everything you could about it to anchor you in your head and not the stratosphere. “...Got it during Green River…”

“Oh, yeah?” Kenny asked. “And why hasn’t he knocked some fuckin’ respect into your boy here?”

Your mouth felt stuffed with cotton. “He-He didn’t…” you started, and stared at Angus. “He’s an asshole… Socially inept or whatever. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

You couldn’t add in anything more before Angus was peeling away from you, hot-stepping it back to the table, and Pinball Wizard and Kenny made chase as you took up the rear. “Angus!” you shouted, and Hunham and Miss Crane both looked in your direction as Angus walked up to the table.

“Mr. Hunham, can we go, please?” Angus asked urgently.

“Why?” Hunham asked, looking back at the two men and you.

“I’ve just been called a fancy little prick,” Angus said as Kenny called after him. “We should go,” Angus added, and you passed Pinball Wizard and Kenny to get to the booth, once again taking up your assigned place behind Angus.

“Why’d you run off?” Kenny asked with a fake smile. “We were just talking to you. Don’t they teach you manners at that school?” Kenny closed in on Angus, and he brought his hook up to his chest, poking Angus in the sternum with it, and Miss Crane jumped as Hunham jostled in his seat.

“No, no, no, Kenneth!” Miss Crane pleaded. “Leave him alone, they just came in for some food!”

Kenny seethed at Angus, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You could tell that mayhem was a moment away, but then Hunham began to speak.

“Kenneth! Is that right?” he started, holding up his hands placatingly. “I don’t doubt that he did something to offend you, it’s his specialty. Perhaps I could purchase you gentleman something to imbibe, and we could let whatever this unfortunate incident is go the way of the dodo.”

“The what?” Pinball Wizard sneered.

“The dodo, it’s an extinct bird,” Angus grumbled, and Kenny put force behind his hook again, causing Miss Crane to butt in once more.

“What he’s saying is he wants to buy you guys a beer!” She exclaimed, hoping that her explanation would ease the situation as quickly as possible.

Kenny stared Angus down, then looked at you, cowering and scared. Maybe he took pity on you, the poor little Purple Heart’s daughter, or maybe he realized that what you had said about Angus’s social ineptitude was right, because he finally stepped back, lowering his hook. “Yeah, okay,” he nodded.

“Same here,” Pinball Wizard said. “I’ll have a Miller.”

It’s almost like he couldn’t help himself: “Champagne of beers!” Angus chuckled, and your arm shot out, smacking him across the stomach. You glared at him, and the smile fell off of his face.

You couldn’t even enjoy your food. Not that you were worried about Kenny or Pinball Wizard coming back for round two, but you couldn’t keep your mind off of your dad. Seeing everything had affected you for some reason, and you kept your mouth shut the whole time as you ruminated on it; the images of the newscast swirled in your head, and your least favorite but most common nightmare stayed in your mind— the Army claimed they couldn’t locate enough of your father’s remains to even send back a body, and you could only see remnants of your father in some field. Mostly, you saw his tattoo, big on his chest, the same one he had had since you were a baby, needled in as an homage to you— your father always called you his miracle, and he had a starburst right over his heart. You could only envision the starburst, charred and detached, laying in the grass somewhere in Vietnam, never to return home to you.

You saw Hunham looking at you every so often, maybe checking if you were alright, but nobody said anything until you were gone and out the door. The energy had turned prickly and stiff, and even Angus’s voice cutting through was enough to make you jump.

“Why’d you buy those guys beer?” Angus asked. “They’re assholes.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Hunham grumbled, digging in his pocket for his car keys. “Here— catch.” He tossed his keys over to Angus, and his right hand raised and caught them deftly, almost reflexively. “How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off?” He paused to give Angus a moment to respond, despite it being obvious that there was no answer, and he continued, “No, Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam! They go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not.”

“Except for Curtis Lamb,” Angus mumbled.

“Except for Curtis Lamb!” Hunham exclaimed. It wasn’t hard to figure out the implication, and Angus swallowed thickly at you.

“Were you ever in the military?” He asked Hunham, obviously looking to somehow change the subject.

“I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected,” Hunham began, pointing at his eye, then tugging at his door handle, consequently mumbling something about “I have to get in over there”.

“They made me an air raid warden,” Hunham continued, breezing by you and Angus to slide into the passenger side door of the Nova, and both you and Angus wrinkled your noses at the sour smell that followed Hunham. “Gave me a whistle and everything… Helmet, arm band…” Hunham slid into the car, scooting over to his seat, and Angus sorta shook his head.

“Before we get going, can I be candid with you?” Angus asked, leaning down to peer at Hunham through the open car door. You settled into the backseat, slightly thankful that you wouldn’t have to share space with Angus again (not that you minded on the ride up here), and Hunham grunted out an affirmative. “You smell.”

“Angus,” you frowned admonishingly. You were struck by the sheer and blatant rudeness, and you saw Hunham’s face fall sadly in the rearview mirror.

“Like fish,” Angus continued, getting in his own seat and shutting the car door. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but you never would have outright said anything like that. “And it’s really noticeable towards the end of the day; I can even smell it on your coat… Mind if I crack the window?”

Hunham sighed as Angus worked to turn the window crank, and Hunham said, “Trimethylaminuria.”

“Huh?” Angus grunted.

“Trimethylaminuria,” Hunham repeated himself. “Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell…” He paused for a moment to uncomfortably wipe his nose, and he added, “And, uh, yes, more towards the end of the day.”

“Wow…” Angus said. “Your whole life?” Hunham nodded, and Angus perked up for just a moment. “No wonder you’re afraid of women!”

“I am not…!” Hunham began, shaking his head. “Afraid of women!”

“Sorry,” Angus mumbled as Hunham continued with an under-the-breath, “Jesus H. Christ.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Angus added. “Dr. Gertler says I don’t always give consideration to my audience.”

“Ah,” Hunham began. “And who is Dr. Gertler?”

Angus looked back at you silently for just a moment, the tiniest acknowledgement of the fact that you were privy to this information, and he snapped at Hunham, “My shrink.”

“Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a good, swift kick in the ass?” Hunham asked, and you couldn’t help the scoffing giggle that left your mouth.

“Okay, all right,” Angus chuckled mirthlessly. “Now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?” Hunham asked in fake-shock.

“Sure,” Angus shrugged. “Just one thing.”

Hunham rolled his eyes. “Just one?” He paused for a moment, thinking about his answer, and he turned to look at you. “Anything to add, Miss?”

You kept your mouth shut and shook your head quickly. “Nothing nice, anyway,” you said softly.

“I concur,” Hunham said, and he cranked up the Nova.

The rest of the ride back to Barton was quiet, listening to the wind whistling through the open window as nothing was said, and words were only finally exchanged as you and Angus parted at the doorway to your separate infirmary rooms. Hunham’s room was off down an adjacent hallway, and you had already heard the door shut by the time you spoke.

“Oh,” you started, tugging at the bottom of the maroon sweater. “Here, sorry, I forgot—”

“S’fine,” Angus said. “Don’t worry about it.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll run it through the wash and get it back to you,” you said, and Angus shook his head.

“Keep it,” he said. “Looks better on you than it does on me.”

“O-Oh,” you stuttered. “I mean, i-it looks pretty, um, expensive, are you sure you don’t—”

“I’m sure,” Angus nodded. He looked down at his feet for a moment, and he softly added, “Thanks for taking care of me today.”

You shrugged. “No big,” you said.

“Big to me,” Angus mumbled. “I’ve never had a girl— or anyone, really— um… Make me feel like that.”

“Like what?” you asked.

“Cared for,” Angus said. “Cared about. I was, umm, so nervous in there that I thought I was gonna shit and die. But you… You were so gentle, and so nice, it really helped me.”

“S’what I’m here for,” you said. “See you tomorrow, Ang.”

“Wait!” Angus said quickly as you put your hand on the doorknob to your room. “Can I, umm… Can I give you a hug?”

You wrinkled your eyebrows in confusion but nodded all the same, and you stepped closer to him. His good arm wrapped around your middle, a little slow and stiff, like he had never even touched a girl before, let alone hugged one, and your arms went around his neck, holding him tight. He took a deep breath and settled his cheek against your temple, letting himself enjoy it, and your heartbeat picked up.

You weren’t sure why, but you had a sneaky feeling that Angus had motives behind the embrace. Was he going to try to kiss you? A kiss was just a kiss, it didn’t mean that much in the grand scheme of things, but it would be your first kiss ever. Did you want Angus to be that for you? For the rest of your life, your first kiss would be with Angus Tully, some kid you went to boarding school with who was an asshole ninety-eight percent of the time and a genuine sweetheart the other two percent. Was two percent nice and caring enough, though?

“Ang,” you whispered, stepping just a touch away from him to see his face. The lights in the hallway were half-turned off, only every other fluorescent bulb lit, and it left you and Angus in a slightly darker alcove of the hallway, and the dim light made shadows play on Angus’s thin face. His eyes looked half-lidded, like he was sleepy, but you could feel his heartbeat and heavy pulse— he was wide awake. “How’d you get that scar?” you asked softly, letting your fingers go to his lips and lightly trace his scarred and puffy upper lip.

“Got beat up a few years ago,” Angus told you. “Busted my lip.”

“Ang,” you sighed in a hushed tone. “You’ve gotta stop giving people reasons to beat your ass.”

Angus chuckled. “I can’t really help it…” he said, and trailed off for a moment, then added, “B-Babe.”

“Are you nervous?” you whispered. “There’s no reason to be.”

“V’just…” Angus started. “I’ve never…”

“Me neither,” you reminded him. “But I want it to be you.”

Silently, Angus shifted forwards, pressing his body fully against yours again, his arm going tight around your waist, and he helped you rise up on your toes to fully reach him. Then, before you could even think about what you were doing, you leaned into him and, your eyes slipping closed, touched your lips to his. His lips were warm and soft, and his fingers itched in the back of your shirt. You really had no idea what you were doing, but it felt right, and you tilted your head a bit as Angus put force behind his kiss and held you even tighter.

You felt lightheaded as you slowly pulled out of the kiss, touching your forehead against Angus’s and sighing. A smile slowly slipped across your lips, and a laugh escaped while your fingers tangled in the curls at the very bottom of his neck. “Um, thanks,” you whispered.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day… Since this morning, y’know…” Angus admitted. “I just, um, didn’t wanna do it in front of Hunham.”

“I understand,” you told him. “Thanks, Ang.”

“Are you okay, by the way?” Angus asked. “You got really… I don’t know. Upset. Back with those guys.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Y-Yeah, just, um… That guy was in Nam, and after the stress of the rest of the day, kinda just seeing that and remembering was…”

“Fuck,” Angus sighed. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve stood up for you.”

You shook your head. “That’s not your job,” you told him.

“Well, yeah, it’s not,” Angus started. “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t stop it.”

You bit your bottom lip as you thought, and you mumbled, “Sure. Alright. Umm, I’ll see you in the morning, Ang.”

“One more for the road?” Angus asked, and you rolled your eyes at his little cocky smile.

“I’m not even ten feet away from you for the rest of the night,” you chuckled. “Some road there.”

“But there’s a wall,” Angus whined softly. “I’m also trying to act cool here, and ask for another kiss without asking—”

You leaned up and gave him one more kiss, quicker and less emotional than the first time, but Angus still locked eyes with you and badly contained a smile when you parted, just like before. “I’m trying to not, umm…” he started, looking back down at your feet. “Not get ahead of myself here, but um… No, we can-we can talk about that tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?” you asked, but Angus shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “We’ll... Tomorrow. Get some sleep, okay?”

Even though you were confused by his trepidation, you agreed anyway. “You too,” you told him. “If your shoulder starts to hurt, just… Let me know. I’ll see if I can help.”

“Sure,” Angus nodded. He hesitated to step away into his own room for a moment, and he leaned in and kissed your forehead before scurrying away, like he was afraid of the consequences.

You went into your own room and closed the door, taking a deep breath. You had kissed Angus. You weren’t sure if you were more excited about it being Angus or just the kiss itself happening, but you felt giddy and you bit your cheek as you smiled. Carefully, you went about undressing from the day, slipping into pajama pants and doubling up on socks, and your fingers brushed down the front of the sweater. It was soft, wool, and the stitching on the cuffs and around the bottom and neck proved it to be more expensive than anything you could ever dream of.

Angus told you to keep it. Were you like those girls who wore their boyfriend’s jackets now? The girls at Central wore their boyfriends’ varsity jackets when it got cold, the ones with their names across the backs, showing everyone who they were dating. You had never really cared too much about the varsity jackets, but, then again, there had never really been anyone that you would have considered even trying to wear their jacket. First, you’d have to figure out if Angus was even your boyfriend before you started to get all giddy about having one.

Was that what he wanted to ask, but held off for tomorrow? Did he want to ask you to be his girlfriend? It was exciting, but you understood why he had chickened out of asking you then and there. You would be his first girlfriend, and that was intimidating. Maybe he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, and just wanted to be able to hug you and kiss you whenever he wanted.

Your mind began to race. Angus wanted to kiss you, but what else did he want? Did he want to have sex? Did he even care about that? Had he even thought that far out yet? Certainly, he had. He was a boy after all— boys’ brains are made up of 50% sex and 50% violence. Maybe you were just overthinking it. It was entirely possible that Angus didn’t even want to be your boyfriend, and just got caught up in the moment and kissed you.

Your head hurt from being too analytical, and you slipped into bed and pulled the blankets to your chest. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, you and Angus could talk about everything you wanted. Maybe, you thought with a sleepy smile. Your Christmas present would be a boyfriend.

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #dominic sessa #dominic sessa x reader #the holdovers

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