#Then that sweater was always going to take me two and a half months

[turbocao]

I started my very first sewing project two days ago. I think it's going to be a complete disaster but I kinda don't care. At least so far. This shit is so therapeutic. Idk if it's because I'm a beginner but it requires my full focus in a way knitting doesn't. Every moment I have to concentrate on what I'm doing and it doesn't leave my brain any space to think about anything else. I love it. And it's so fun too. Even when I fuck up it's fun. I had to stop because I couldn't get the zigzag stitch right even after lots of tries and I wasn't even mad. It's just fun.

[rememberwren]

A Complete Set (Whatever That Means) || 2

A continuation of Skin Deep. Part one of this sequel is here.

About this: previous warnings apply, oral sex (f receiving), alcohol, gross imperfections, not a single nipple unfortunately, an eyebrow though. For @/moody-alcoholic, I hope this manages to quench even the tiniest portion of your thirst. 1 more part left. 7k

-

“Simon?” 

“Hm.” 

“Are you seeing anybody else?” 

Simon looks up at you. His hair is getting long, falling over his forehead and looking nearly brunet in the dim lighting. You don’t think he’s cut it since the two of you have started dating. 

He’s been drawing for half the night, hunched over with the sketchpad in his lap, doing terrible things to his own posture and blocking his own lighting all at once. When he answers you, it’s in that dry tone that lets you know he thinks you’ve said something funny or clever: “No.” 

A knot in your chest loosens. It’s hard to believe you worried over such a question for so long just to receive such a simple, earnest answer. He goes back to sketching. 

You content yourself with this and stretch your legs out until your toes touch his thigh at the other end of the sofa. His mouth twitches, but he keeps working. 

-

Six months pass, and how do you celebrate? You climb topless onto Simon’s lap, eager and anxious in equal measure. Your nipple piercing had stopped hurting months ago (save for the time you had snagged it on a cable knit sweater and nearly seen Jesus), but you had read online that piercings heal from the outside inward, and as such you had made every attempt possible to leave the thing alone even when all you wanted to do was play with it. 

In his own way of celebrating, Simon had bought you your first new barbell: a black one with black gemmed studs at each end. You couldn’t help but notice that it looked similar to his, only with a more delicate, feminine touch.

“Will you change it for me?” you ask him. Your hands are shaking.

“Alright. Let me wash my hands.” He shifts you off of his lap and disappears into the bathroom where you hear the faucet turn on. You cross your arms over your breasts, feeling silly being half naked without Simon in the room. Your foot bounces impatiently, but you know that if cleanliness were a love language, it would likely be Simon’s. 

Not that he had told you he loved you—nor had you told him. You had promised yourself that you would wait until he said it first (the only sure-fire way to avoid coming across as overeager and scaring him off). Still, there were a thousand ways in a day that Simon made you feel as if he loved you: the way he would go out to start your car in the wintery mornings when your remote start stopped working; the way he always offered you the first bite of his food if you weren’t sharing a meal; the way he’d crack open your drinks before handing them to you. Was it wrong of you to try to read between the lines? 

Simon comes back and tugs you onto his lap again. His hands look huge compared to the jewelry through your breast as he dexterously works the ball free from the barbell. He has the hands of a surgeon: steady and calm. You close your eyes in anticipation of pain, but there is none; it just feels alien, sensitive whenever his calloused fingers brush over your pebbled nipple, even as he removes the barbell itself. 

Taking the sanitized jewelry, he carefully puts it in and screws the stud in place. 

“That didn’t hurt at all,” you say, reaching down to tug softly on the barbell. Still, no pain. 

“Great,” he says, eyes on your breasts. He grips your hips. “Up, now. C’mon, up.” 

He tugs you up onto your knees so that you’re the perfect height for him to take your nipple into his burning mouth. You shiver, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other burying itself in his hair, gripping softly to keep his mouth in place. If you had worried that getting the piercing would make you less sensitive, you were wrong. He tugs on the jewelry gently with his fucking teeth and God, holy shit, fucking hell, definitely not less sensitive.

“Been waiting to do this,” he says, nuzzling the skin between your breasts as he gives you a moment to catch your breath. “Six months of hell.” 

“Yeah?” You pant lamely, chest heaving. 

He hums. His thumbs stroke beneath your breasts along the sternum tattoo he gave you—a favorite part of you for him to touch—as his lips find your nipple again, lashing softly with his tongue. His hands have begun to tremble where they slide down the curves of your sides and to your hips, touch soft and worshipful as he brings you down to rest your weight against the hard line of his cock still confined in his jeans. The shaking says more than a thousand of his words ever could. 

“I want you,” he mutters. “Say yes.” 

“Yes, God, yes.”

Simon guides you off of his lap, kneeling down into the space between the couch and the coffee table. He pushes the table backwards with a little more force than is necessary when there isn’t enough room for his long legs and accidentally sends a cup full of charcoal pencils tipping over onto the carpet. You snort with laughter. He peels your leggings and panties off and drags you to the edge of the couch, pressing your thighs open wide. 

Getting head from partners in the past had been a fraught, mostly unenjoyable experience. Even your first few times with Simon had been tense, with him quickly moving on to something else after noticing your inability to relax. A less eager man might have counted his blessings and moved on, but Simon’s gentle persistence had gone a long way toward reassuring you that he truly wanted to please you this way. It had gone a long way toward reassuring you that you could let him. 

He spreads you apart, thumbs slipping against your slick folds, heated gaze pinpointed on your most intimate parts before he leans in and licks a broad stripe over your entrance and up to your clit. You shut your eyes (and cover your face for good measure). His warm breath fans against your pussy as he laughs. He could be mean and pull your hands away, but he lets you hide this way and you are grateful for it. 

Simon takes his time mapping each part of you with his mouth, nose brushing your clit whenever he doesn’t have his lips sealed over it. Your thighs shake, toes curled, as he pulls whines and choked gasps from your throat. 

You peek through your fingers when you feel him shifting beneath you to find that he’s worked his cock from his jeans and is jerking off, only noticeable by the tell-tale rhythmic motion of his arm against your calf. 

“Jesus, Simon,” you whine. 

He makes a little sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, shifting on his knees to change the angle of his mouth against you. Something about him so unashamedly enjoying himself makes it easier for you to enjoy yourself too, to let your hands come away from your face and thread them through his hair. 

“Can we fuck?” you breathe, aching inside deep where his tongue can’t reach. 

He nods against you and kneels up to kiss you. You still aren’t used to the taste of yourself in his mouth, but it’s growing less foreign—and nothing could ever make you turn away from one of Simon’s kisses. 

He pulls you off the couch onto your knees, his legs spread to either side of your own. You arch your back, feeling his cock brush against the back of your thighs. Two of his thick fingers slip inside you, testing your give and your wetness. He twists them; turns to hook them against that soft, vulnerable spot inside you that makes your legs shake. Simon works a third finger into you, a stretch that your body struggled to take before but which it accepts eagerly now, the sting welcome and familiar.

“Fuck. I need a condom,” he rasps. 

“Just pull out,” you say. 

You can sense him rolling his eyes. Your fondness for the (dangerous) pull-out method had been formally noted by him and thus far rejected at every turn. 

“Don’t insult me,” he mutters. He grabs your hand and guides it between your own legs. “Be good and keep yourself warm. I’ll be right back.”

He’s barely gone long enough for you to stroke your fingers through your folds, but when he returns (flashing the intact condom package at you like he always does), he watches you for an endless, lingering moment.

“I like that,” he says at last, taking his spot behind you again, condom in place. 

“Like what?”

“Watching you touch yourself.” The head of his cock nudges your entrance. He finds the right angle and slips inside you, stretching your walls to make room for himself. You groan, your fingers digging into the couch cushion. It stings a little, right towards the end, but he just softly saws himself in and out of your pussy, soothing the ache with pleasure. His words go completely over your head. 

He reaches so deep inside you, like with his every thrust his cock bullies the air out of your lungs. The slick sounds are lewd, keeping time with your moans and sighs as his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, manhandling you further onto the couch to the perfect height for him to fuck into you, your knees barely skimming the carpet.  

Your hand ends up crushed between your pelvis and the couch. You let your fingers find your clit and the touch reminds your body of how close it is, that coil deep in your belly stretched tight and ready to release. Your fingers trail down to where his cock pistons in and out of you, and at your touch he groans, slows to a smooth drag, his length slippery with your own arousal. 

“Touch yourself, not me,” he chides, his voice rough. “I’m close enough.” 

“I’m close enough,” you say.

He flops against your back, nearly crushing you with his weight to hook his chin over your shoulder and ask: “Then what the fuck are we waiting for?”

You can barely draw in the breath to laugh, and it’s only worse when you cum. You bury your face into the couch cushions, giggling, fingers rubbing a gentle, hectic rhythm against your clit as your pussy spasms around him. He snorts at your laughter, a soft quiet exhale against the back of your neck. Then he cums, his thrusts sloppy and hard, turning his head at the last moment to bite your shoulder lazily. 

“Sex makes you so weird,” you pant. Your face hurts from smiling. 

“You like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He ties off the condom and throws it away. The two of you sit naked on the couch together, curled up. It’s a little alien to be this open about your body with someone and to have them be so open about their body in return, but it’s a good strangeness. So much about loving Simon is. 

“I need to get the other one pierced now,” you mention, toying with his unpierced nipple. “Have to complete the set.”

“I never did.”

“You’re incomplete. Don’t you know?” 

He snorts. “I feel quite fulfilled, thanks.” 

“Please Simon?” you ask. “I want to.”

“Don’t ever say please. I’ll text Soap in the morning,” Simon says, trailing his fingers up and down the length of your arm, making goosebumps appear. 

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you’d been thinking about for the last several months? Would it offend him to know that you didn’t want to go to Johnny for any more piercings? 

Whether it offended him or not, your pride couldn’t rest easily going back to the tiny room behind the curtain in Skin Deep. While there had been only a few other tense interactions between you and Johnny since Simon’s birthday (and usually he seemed to favor outright ignoring your existence), the situation had not improved. 

“Simon—I think I’d rather go somewhere else for my other nipple. To someone other than Johnny, I mean.” 

Simon frowns. “What’d Johnny do.” 

He phrases it like that—more of a statement and less of a question, immediately assuming that Johnny is at fault. 

“It’s just—it’s like I said on your birthday. He doesn’t like me much.” 

Simon turns to look you in the eye. When your gaze tries to skirt away, he lets out an irritated breath through his nose—but doesn’t fight you. Simon always lets you run. Maybe because he knows his legs are long enough to catch you. “You really feel like that?” 

“You’ve never noticed?” 

“Thought it was in my head,” he mutters. Then he says the most dreaded words he possibly could: “I’ll talk to him.” 

“No!” you nearly shout. You struggle to lower your voice to something more appropriate for indoors, your heart tap-dancing to an anxious beat inside your chest. Just trying to picture Johnny’s irritated expression at any of Simon’s potential efforts to talk to him made your stomach turn over. “I mean—don’t. Really. It’s fine.” 

“It’s not. I need you two to get along. You and Johnny—you’re the most important people in my life,” he says baldly. His honesty does something to your lungs—empties them, crushes them. You only just realize the position that you’re putting Simon in, and it makes you feel about two inches tall. How could you let your petty problems with Johnny potentially get in the way of their longtime friendship? Their brotherhood?

“I’m begging you, Simon,” you plead. “Promise me you won’t talk to him. Just, give me more time to get to know him or something.” 

“Can't promise that.” He stands up and stretches, joints popping as you stare at him, your stomach tearing itself to pieces at this knowledge. This is not how this conversation was meant to end. But he disappears into the bedroom before you can gather your wits enough to say another word.

-

There is nothing like sleeping beside Simon, his arm beneath your head, your body turned and cradled against his side, a leg thrown over his thighs. His heart is as slow and steady as his breaths, his calloused thumb tracing a line back and forth on your naked side, a line which grows slower and slower as he drifts closer to sleep. 

You ruin it like this: “Simon?” 

“Hm.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“If you got’a.” 

“On your birthday, you said that women meant for you sometimes ended up being Johnny’s. What did you mean?” 

He’s quiet for so long that you mistake him for falling asleep. You’ve resigned yourself to asking him another night when he speaks, his speech is slow and thoughtful, like it is hard to put it into words. 

“When Soap and I are in a room together with women, I’m like a ghost. He’s a fucking human being. Flesh and blood. Alive. People want to talk to him, to know him, to laugh with him, to have a drink with him. I’m not like that. I haven’t ever been like that. More than once Johnny would try to get me together with a woman who would end up falling for him instead. Eventually I convinced him to stop trying.” 

“Were you jealous?” 

He makes an ambiguous sound. “It’s hard to be jealous of Soap.” 

“Not impossible, though.” 

He rolls you over onto your back, coming to rest over you, your legs a tangled mess beneath the sheets. The darkness lengthens the shadows of his eyes, but you can still feel his gaze, tangible as any touch. He braces himself on his elbows over you and lets his forehead rest against your own. “I just wanted someone who was mine,” he says. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue, those words that are building inside of you and growing harder to withhold by the day. But you say it like this and hope he can translate: “I’m yours.” 

He ducks his head and kisses you. 

-

In the morning, Simon has slipped a piece of paper just beneath the edge of your mug of tea. When you look at it, written in charcoal pencil is DARCELINA: Dream City Tattoos and Piercings XXX-XXXX. 

-

It’s one for the record books: the rain. Thick pregnant clouds carry more than eight inches of rain to your city in the course of a day. The last time it rained so much was apparently during the Civil War era. The city floods, including the basement of your apartment building, which leads to a building-wide power outage. 

Simon has you pack a suitcase, junk the majority of your refrigerator and freezer, and come stay with him. You’re giddy, feeling like it’s a semi-permanent sleepover when he gets the call that Skin Deep has flooded as well. 

Then things take a turn for the worse. Simon is gone for nearly 36 hours straight making endless calls to attempt to clear the water and begin repairs, and sometime in the midst of that, the fight with Johnny happens. 

It’s an ugly one. 

Simon comes home in the foulest mood you’ve ever seen him in. It turns him positively stony as he moves around the apartment making himself a hasty meal, avoiding your eyes every chance he gets. After he eats, he sits heavily on the sofa, pulls out his sketchpad, and trashes no fewer than six entire pages before you get the nerve to ask him what’s wrong. 

“Soap,” he mutters, crumpling a paper in one strong, dextrous hand. He throws it toward the small garbage can beside the telly and misses. “He’s looking for other locations to pierce at.”

“Is the building that bad?” you ask. “You guys will have to find a new place?”

“Soap is looking for a new place. One without me.”

You gape, the shock of this news reaching all the way to the core of your being. 

“You don’t think it’s because of—?” Me. You can’t even finish the sentence, the thought upsets you so much. You tuck your legs beneath you on the couch, curling up, seeking to become small and harmless as grief and horror wash over you in wave after wave. 

“This is my fault. I tried to talk to him but he’s so fucking—he gets under my goddamn skin like he was born to do it.” Simon pauses heavily, before adding: “I need to tell you something about the night Soap pierced me.” 

Story time. Alright. You uncurl your legs, choosing to sit with them criss-crossed, your body turned toward him, giving Simon your entire attention. It’s been months since you found out that Johnny had been the one to pierce Simon, but you had been no closer to getting the story from either of them. Your curiosity was a dangerous, corrosive thing, eating away at your insides. 

“I’m listening,” you say, hoping you don’t look as eager as you feel. 

Simon looks to be at a loss for words, running his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth. When he speaks, it’s hardly the lengthy story you had been anticipating: “We fucked.”

You blink. “You and—Johnny?”

Simon sighs and shrugs a shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you were…” Simon stares, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “…interested in men.”

“You are. Why can’t I be?”

You feel a chilly pang of horror, like someone has slipped a dagger between your ribs. You rush to assure him: “You can! You—“

Simon’s mouth twitches as he rubs at the crease of one eye, and your panic fades. He mumbles: “I’m just fucking with you.”

“So you’re bisexual.”

“I’m… I don’t fucking know. I’m attracted to who I’m attracted to. I never named it.”

“Okay,” you say gently. “We don’t have to. But what does that have to do with now?”

“The day after we—y’know. Fucked. I told him it was a one time thing. Maybe it’s in my head,” says Simon, frowning. “Maybe I’m crazy. But sometimes he looks at me or says something to me and it makes me think it’s not over. Not for him.”

“Is it really over,” you ask, “for you?”

Simon looks at you, quiet. He says: “I want you.”

And you are so relieved by the obvious honesty in his answer that it never crosses your mind to think that’s not what you asked. 

-

Simon is uptown at a café holding consultations while Johnny directs cleanup efforts at the shop, and you think that now’s the perfect chance. 

Your hands shake against the steering wheel the whole drive there, nerves less like butterflies and more like great winged moths in your belly. A part of you says that this is a mistake, you should turn back and let Simon and Johnny work it out on their own. But another part of you feels personally responsible—even if Simon says you aren’t. All your life you have taken things too personally, shouldered burdens which were not your own, bent over backwards to solve problems that weren’t yours to solve. If there was any chance that you could resolve this, you would put your pride on the line to do it. 

You park alongside the street and are thrilled to find the front door unlocked. The entire place smells musty, like a basement. The wooden floors have warped a little under your tentative steps, announcing your presence sooner than you’d like. 

Johnny sits in the chair where Simon tattoos clients. Sunlight streams in through the blinds and lights him up like some kind of punk-rock angel, his mohawk freshly clipped, dark finger nail polish chipping. Sometime between now and the last time you’ve seen him, he’s pierced his eyebrow: a black barbell with studs that reminds you a little too much of the one through your nipple (and Simon’s. Was that intentional? Did Johnny pick jewelry to match Simon’s? To match yours? For some reason just the thought makes your nipples tighten). In his hands is one of Simon’s sketchpads, and he’s flipping through it leisurely. 

He glances up toward the sound of your footsteps. 

“If you’re here about the water—“ his words die out on his pierced tongue as he stares at you, gobsmacked by your appearance. 

“Hey,” you say lamely. 

“Where’s Simon?” he asks, eyes flickering toward the protective spot where Simon usually hovers just over your shoulder. “He said he wouldn’t be in today.”  

“He’s not. It’s just me. I thought maybe we could talk.”

Johnny openly grimaces. He shuts Simon’s sketchpad and sets it down (hopefully where he found it). Standing from the chair, he takes a few casual steps away from you, clearly heading towards the curtain that leads to the back of the shop. “Really cannot think of anything we have to talk about.”

You square your shoulders, fighting down that instinctive urge to make yourself smaller, to give in and be manageable. “I think we do.” 

“You should go.” 

“Not until we work this out.” 

“There isn’t any this, alright, just—does Simon even know you’re here?” Something guilty must splash across your face because Johnny gives a mirthless laugh, reaching up to palm at his eyes. “Tha’s great. Just great. Could you be more incriminating?” 

“Incriminating—? Look, Simon told me about the night you pierced him.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Johnny says flippantly. 

“About how you two slept together.” 

Now that stops Johnny in his tracks. It’s clear that he didn’t expect Simon to really tell you about that night all those years ago. He looks at you with a fresh caution, waiting to see how exactly you’ve taken this news—what you plan to do with it. “Aye, then. I guess he did.” 

“I’m not trying to take him away from you.” 

Johnny makes a derisive sound. His words are well-rehearsed, like he has said them to himself a hundred-hundred times: “Cannot take what isn’t mine.” 

“He was your friend first,” you say, aiming for conciliatory and gentle the same way you might approach a feral animal. Johnny stares at you with flat, suspicious eyes. They’re so fucking blue—so different from Simon’s own dark ochre ones. “He told me that you’re one of the most important people in his life.” 

Johnny’s face softens. He says: “You shouldn’t tell me that. He wouldn’t.” 

“He’s not always good with words. Please don’t leave the shop, Johnny. I think it would break Simon’s heart.”

“I didn’t know he had a heart to break,” Johnny mutters. He leans against the wall beside the curtain and sighs, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll think about it. Now out. You shouldn’t be breathin’ in this air.” 

Johnny ushers you to the door, hand hovering just above your back, careful not to touch you. Once you’re out on the street, he shuts the door and locks it audibly. Then he leans in and huffs a heated breath beneath the “NO WALK INS” sign. In the fog, he adds: “No GFs!”

You flip him off. 

He flips you off. 

On the way back to your car, you find yourself smiling. You force yourself to scowl. It’s a more appropriate expression. Giving one last glance back toward Skin Deep, you find him still standing there, watching. 

Likely just to make sure you’re really leaving. 

-

Not long after you are moved back into your apartment, you find that Simon stops sleeping. 

You’re ashamed to say that it takes you a while to notice; nothing changes on your end of things. Anytime you are sleeping over, he lays down with you, tugs you up against his chest, and holds you for ages, his body still and breathing even. But one night you wake to a cool, empty bed. And later in the week, it happens again. Until more often than not you realize that any moment when you expect Simon to be sleeping, he isn’t. 

Usually you find him sketching, shadows like charcoal smudged beneath his eyes. He doesn’t meet your gaze and tells you to go back to bed, that he’ll be there soon. Sometimes he even does come to lay back down beside you—but only long enough for you to convince him that you have fallen asleep again. Then he is shifting away from you, disappearing into the other room, shutting the bedroom with the quietest click behind him. 

You know that he’s busy. His schedule has been booked—and with deposits nonrefundable, people more often than not kept their appointments. He’s been working with a client on mock ups for a sleeve, and the various pieces and the way they all come together around the contours of the person’s body are very delicate. Johnny’s threat to find a new job doesn’t help, either. Have they talked and resolved things yet? Simon never says so. 

You can’t imagine the stress that he is under, and you’d do anything to be able to shoulder a fraction of it for him. 

That’s how you end up with drunk Johnny in your car. 

It starts with Simon falling asleep before you—for once. You can tell he is well and truly asleep by the sheer weight of his arm over you, the soft snores that he gives out against the nape of your neck. After so many nights of sleeplessness, his body has finally given in. You’re about to slip off to sleep yourself when the buzzing of a phone startles you back into wakefulness. 

Not your phone—Simon’s phone. And it goes off again. And again. And again. Who the hell could be sending so many messages at midnight?

You know you should leave it alone—if it was urgent, they would likely call—but curiosity gets the better of you. Carefully you slip out from under Simon’s arm. It’s a testament to his sheer exhaustion that he doesn’t wake as you jostle him. In sleep, he looks painfully young and relaxed, and it makes you long to reach out and brush back his hair that has fallen onto his forehead. But not at the risk of waking him. 

Sure that all you are planning to do is shut Simon’s phone off so that he can get some restful sleep, you are surprised to see that Simon has his text notifications visible on the homescreen, so all it takes is a simple tap to open them up. 

Johnny. All Johnny. 

Ghost. 

Ghost

Are you uo? 

Up* fuck my fingers 

I need a ride home

Simon

I’m at that bar on… The text is cut off. To see more, you would have to open his phone. So Johnny is stuck at some bar, drunk more than likely. Well good riddance, you think to yourself, the hurtful way he treated you still very much fresh in your brain. But then you remember your talk at Skin Deep, and your traitorous heart softens. Could you really just put the phone back now and pretend you hadn’t seen the messages?

Simon doesn’t even have a password; that’s how much he trusts you. Would he still trust you after this, if he knew that you had gone through his phone, even if it was for a good cause? 

Making a spur of the moment decision, you could only hope so. Your conscience wouldn’t let you wake Simon, and as much as you disliked him, it couldn’t let you leave Johnny stranded at some bar either. 

You open his phone as quickly as you can, swiping so that it goes straight to Johnny’s texts and nowhere else. The name of the bar is right there, and you scramble for your own phone to type it down in Google Maps. He’s not far. Probably would be within walking distance, if he weren’t drunk. You could be there and back before Simon ever knew you were gone—you hoped. 

As Simon, you send back to Johnny a simple OMW. 

There is no hint of spring in the frigid March air as you slip outside into your car. The parking lot is dim and quiet, and traffic is minimal as you follow the GPS on your phone to Johnny’s location. The pub nightlife spills out onto the pavement and you struggle to find a place to park, grimacing at the knowledge that you will have to get out of the car and go inside to find Johnny, considering you see him nowhere on the street. Leaving the warmth of your car is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, especially in just a thin tank-top and a pair of leggings. Gathering your coat more tightly around yourself, you rush out of the car and through the people on the sidewalk and into the warmth of the pub. 

You keep your eyes peeled for Johnny, but can’t spot his silly haircut anywhere. What if he’s gotten a ride home from someone else? What if he’s decided to walk, or found someone to go home with? You shift up onto your toes, looking over everyone in the bar when you spot him in the corner at a table with a few other men. 

Johnny doesn’t even recognize you at first—either a testament to how unexpected your sudden appearance is or how drunk he is based on how difficult it is for his eyes to focus on you. When he realizes who you are, his mouth drops. He points. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, accent so thick and slurred that you can barely understand him. 

“Picking you up. You said you needed a ride.”

“Aye but not from—oh, Jesus make me still. Yer not wearing a bra, are you?” 

All the men at the table turn to gape. You snatch the sides of your jacket closed where they had loosely fallen open, your face flushing with warmth. The table roars with laughter, but Johnny in his drunkenness doesn’t seem to notice your embarrassment. 

“That was mine!” Johnny shouts, elbowing the man next to him. “Did you see that? That was my work!”

“We get it, bruv,” the guy says with a roll of his eyes. “She’s no ten.” 

“What’d you fuckin’ say?”

The table laughs. 

Johnny grabs a fistful of the guy’s shirt and drags him nearly clean out of his seat. “I said, What’d you fucking say about her?”

The table stops laughing. Johnny cuts an impressive figure even when drunk; he’s easily the largest guy of the group. Your stomach drops and lands somewhere between your shoes. This is not going to plan at all. Reaching out, you try to insert yourself physically between the two of them but can only wrap your fingers around Johnny’s wrist, feeling the strength poised in the tendons. 

“Johnny,” you say, loudly to be heard over the sounds of the pub. “Come on. Let’s go, yeah? Simon…Simon’s out in the car.” 

“Simon?” Johnny let’s go of the guy’s shirt, his bad mood evaporating as quickly as it had manifested. He nudges his way out from behind the table, all politeness. Once free, he stumbles into a woman in a slinky dress who gives him a look that could melt glass. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize to her, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist and doing your best to keep him steady. “He’s an idiot, and he’s drunk. You look amazing by the way—“

“Control your boyfriend,” she snaps. 

“I will,” you promise, guiding Johnny away from her and into the crowd. 

His nose brushes the shell of your ear, breath fanning across your neck as he says with a laugh in his voice: “I’m not yer boyfriend.” 

You flush. “Thanks for letting me know, Johnny. I had no clue.” 

He says something back, some Scottish phrase, his accent so thick you couldn’t understand the words even if you knew them. 

“English, please,” you mutter. 

“Je-sus,” he groans, dragging the words out into multiple syllables. He takes your chin in his hand and squeezes your cheeks a little. “You’re just like him. ‘English, MacTavish’. Ha!”

You bat his hand away. 

“He’s been rubbing off on you,” Johnny mutters, laughing a little. Beneath his breath (though far more loudly than he likely intends), he adds: “In more ways than one, I imagine.”

Your face goes hot. “Johnny, stop talking.” 

The two of you exit the pub out into the cool night air. It seems to sober Johnny some, as he takes in deep, gulping breaths. He walks a little steadier as the two of you cross the street, and by the time you’ve made it to your car, he has shrugged you off altogether (even if he is still a little unstable on his feet). He stands outside the car for a moment before opening one of the rear doors. 

“What are you doing?”

“Rather sit back here.” 

“I’m not your cabbie.”

“Strange manner of dress if you were,” he says snidely, slipping into the backseat. 

In the driver’s seat, you let yourself have a small breakdown. You grip the wheel tightly, taking a few deep breaths of your own, searching for inner peace. You thought that you and Johnny had a tentative truce after that day at Skin Deep, but clearly he is still holding some grudge. Your search for peace turns up empty. 

“Sorry I lied about Simon being here. I just really needed you to leave the pub,” you explain politely. 

“Knew you were lying,” Johnny says from the darkness of the backseat. He sounds remarkably like Simon: brooding and irritable. “He’s got no idea you’re here, does he? He’d never let you come alone.” 

You frown. “No. He doesn’t. He’s sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him.” 

“Nightmares?” 

“Huh?” 

Johnny leans forward. You glance at him in the rear view mirror. “I said, Has he been having more nightmares?” 

You didn’t know anything about Simon having nightmares. That sour feeling in your belly was back, the one that made you feel like you would never truly know Simon, not the way his friends did. 

“No,” you say, a little defensive. “He’s been working on this sleeve for a client. Staying up way too late to finish it on time.” 

“Aye. Nightmares. Anything else is just an excuse he’s telling himself—and you.��� 

Done with the conversation, you turn the key in the ignition and pull out into the street. “What’s your address?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Left my keys at the bar.” 

“Goddamnit.” 

You turn towards Simon’s apartment. “Then you’re staying with us—with Simon. You can sleep on his couch and get your keys in the morning; I’m sure he won’t care.” 

“Are you staying there?” 

“Yes.” 

Johnny mutters something under his breath. You consider yourself lucky not to have heard it. For a while, the two of you drive in silence. Then Johnny says: 

“You never came for your second nipple.” 

“It’s only just been six months.” 

“So you’re due for an appointment then, aren’t you?” 

You steel yourself, gripping the wheel tightly at ten-and-two. “Actually, I’m going to someone else.”

Johnny’s seatbelt unclicks. He hovers at your shoulder bringing with him burning warmth and the scent of whisky. When he talks, his breath brushes your neck, fury tangible in every syllable. “Who is it? Who the hell is he taking you to? Darcelina? Astrid? Dusty? Whoever it is, consider the appointment canceled. No one is piercing you but me.”

“You don’t get that privilege,” you grit out between your teeth. “Not anymore, not after the way you’ve treated me!”

“Oh, did I offend you?” he breathes, clutching one hand at his breast. “Not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on?” 

“Fuck you, Soap! I wanted to be friends.” Your voice cracks embarrassingly. Suddenly the road goes blurry. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to calm down—you’re driving for fuck’s sake. You swallow past the lump in your throat, the silence interrupted by rustling as Johnny leans forward again in the backseat, trying to get a look at your face in the passing streetlights. 

“Fuck,” Johnny groans. “Are you crying?”

“No!”

“You are. Fuckin’—pull over, before you get us killed.” 

Keen embarrassment only has your eyes watering more, until you have no choice but to do as he asks, pulling over to hastily parallel park and throw on your hazard lights. You let your elbows rest against the steering wheel, face in your hands. His words echo in your head, said in that stupid Scottish brogue: not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on? Are those really the things he thought you wanted? Is that the sort of impression you gave to Johnny, to Ghost’s other friends? 

The backseat door opens and Johnny climbs out. A small part of you hopes that he will walk himself home—and good riddance. But he horrifies you by walking all the way around to the driver’s side of the car and tugging on the door handle until you begrudgingly unlock the doors. 

“C’mon,” he says, trying to pull you out of the car with your seatbelt still on. 

“What’re you—?”

“Just—wouldya—so stubborn—“ he drunkenly leans over you and mashes his fingers against the button of your seatbelt until it releases. For that brief moment, he is a warm weight across your lap, bringing with him the scent of cologne and whisky. Then he pulls you out of the car—and into his arms. It’s a tight, full hug, chest-to-chest, not bone crushing per se, but all-encompassing. 

You don’t realize how badly you need it from him until you’re getting it. 

“You’re such a dick,” you groan against his shoulder, sniffling.

“Aye,” he says, swaying a little on his feet, like the two of you are dancing. “But I’m right. We cannot be friends. So you’ve got to let this go, alright? Just breathe out 'n let it go.”

“I don’t understand,” you mutter. “He wants us to be friends.” 

“He doesn’t know what he wants,'' Johnny says, one hand rubbing gently at your shoulder blades. “No more crying. It’s out of your hands. Aye?”

You shake your head, hands gripping his shirt. 

But your tears slow and eventually stop. Cars pass occasionally. One of them honks at the sight of you both entwined on the side of the road, rolls down their window to let their passenger yell something suggestive, and it makes your face go hot. Johnny pulls away, nearly stumbling out into the road to give the car both middle fingers as it peels away. He slips on the damp asphalt and goes down hard on his side, taking the skin off his elbow and palm. 

“Fuck, I’m hammered,” he laughs. 

“Clearly,” you say, struggling to help him up and into the backseat. 

Once in the driver’s seat again, you feel exhausted, emptied, like a washcloth wrung out and left to dry. The drive back to the apartment is silent, and when you’re in the parking lot, neither of you make a move to get out of the car. 

You warn Johnny: “Simon’s asleep, so be quiet inside.” 

Johnny warns you sleepily: “Ghost is right there.”

There’s a tap on the glass of your window. It nearly makes you shriek—but it is only Simon, half-smoked cigarette in his fingers, bundled up outside the car door. You roll down the window sheepishly. 

“Need a little help?” he asks, taking a drag and turning his head so the smoke doesn’t touch you. His eyes are on Johnny in the backseat. 

You hold up your fingers with just a smidge of space between them. 

[nouearth]

blue current.

clark kent x male reader headcanons.

warnings: fluff, co-workers at the daily planet, maws!clark, soft!clark, intern!reader.

a/n: it's been a hot minute since i've written anything! i feel so bad because i've been swamped with school, so hopefully this will hold you guys over until i post my next fic! it's not much, but i've been feeling fluffy as of recent, and clark is the perfect candidate, HAHA. idk, i've been feeing low-key creatively stuck for writing, so hopefully this well get me out of the slump!

—clark was smitten from the moment he first laid eyes on you.

—it had only been the fourth month into his internship, but it was no secret that the higher-ups, and even his colleagues, have been impressed by clark's rapid growth.

—it was enough to ensure their trust in clark to train the new intern as the lead journalist had taken a month off for vacation. while he had his doubts if he would do a good job, clark always loved challenging himself.

—his mother had always reminded him: one who feared failure will never achieve greatness.

—sure, you weren't being mentored by the best journalist in the city. though, you had to admit that you felt defeated since miss lane was the only reason why you chose the daily planet over other internships.

—but bitterness turned to throat-drying, cheek-flushing, and hand-flexing sweetness when you came in your first day and met the man who would be training you.

—for clark, it was the drowsiness in your gaze that suddenly brightened when he met your eyes. if he could have seen his own face, clark would reckon that his eyes lit up the same way yours did upon meeting you for the first time.

—he's so... handsome. maybe training him wouldn't be so bad after all...

—his blue eyes sucked you in like heavy ocean current, but instead of fighting back the pull like any sane person would, you allowed him to drown you in the gorgeous wash his gaze doted on you with.

—god, are you toying with me right now? have you finally come around to my reckless behavior back in high school? i knew you always would!

—it began with a handshake. when clark's large hand cupped into yours, a current of sparks flickered from the bone of your knuckles to his own, and you both released with a gasp.

—"sorry! it must be my vest or something—has a lot of... cotton, i think—" clark assured with a laugh, but cursed his lame excuse in between breaths.

—"no, you're fine! i guess your sweater vest knew i was half-asleep, huh?" you laughed with him, and almost as if it was choreographed, you reached back to rub at your nape when he does, and the discomfort left the collective laughter in a fleeting dance.

—"well, lucky for you, our first stop is the break room! i'll show you how to make a poor man's mocha if you get sick of the coffee here!"

—from then on, you two had quickly become close friends.

—where clark would teach you more hacks to spice up an ordinary roast of coffee, you would return the favor by surprising him on random days with lunch that you prepared the night before.

—on nights where you were too tired to function, you simply settled for sandwiches and prepared an extra meal for clark.

—whether he claimed he forgot his lunch, or was too busy to even take a glance at his lunchbox; eating lunch had become a rarity for him.

—unless it was with you.

—even before opening the brown paper bag, clark knew it was going to be delicious.

—you always remembered what ingredients he liked and disliked since the first time you had lunch with him.

—clark smiled to himself as he ate the meal you didn't have to prepare for him in big bites.

—and then laughed when you watched in amazement and mirrored him like a parrot with messy bites.

—somehow, the thought of cared for was more filling than the actual meal.

—in moments where clark suddenly felt guilt for liking you as more than a friend, he sat silently, staring blankly ahead, with the tissue crumpled in his hands.

—and you sat beside him on the bench, compelled by his silence, while the birds watched from their home of oak and birch.

—it had been happening more frequently: clark's sudden mood shift. no matter how much he tried to deny it, how much he attempted to pacify your silent worries with his handsome smile, it was clear that something was bothering him.

—at first, you tried to break him with a joke.

—"geez, was my sandwich that bad?! i guess i shouldn't have used that expired mustard..."

—you've studied clark enough to anticipate a half-hearted chuckle from him; weak, but still had the intention to please. to masquerade his thoughts.

—instead, the birds chirped in his absence, and your frown only deepened as clark maintained a fixed gaze to the pavement.

—"clark?" you nudged him once on the arm, and he immediately dropped his head in between his legs with a heavy sigh.

—"what's wrong?"

—"there'ssomethingigottatellyou..." he muttered into the crook of his elbow, and your brows knitted together in worry, despite your amusement at the fact that he was behaving similarly to a puppy throwing a tantrum.

—"huh? didn't quite catch that when your mouth is full of linen." you gently nudged him once more to vacant the space between his legs, then another with a gentler squeeze to his arm when he doesn't.

—"clark, come on. talk to me." you squeezed harder to the sound of his groans. "people are staring—"

—then another squeeze.

—"there's something..."

—and another.

—"i gotta tell you..."

—and before you could alert him once more, clark returned the pressure into your own palm when he suddenly took your hand into his, and held it as if it was a pirate's lost treasure.

—the warmth of your skin compelled him to sit back up, but he refused to look at you. instead, he gazed every perimeter that didn't involve your eyes.

—the birds again, the sky, the trees, anything to drown out the sight of potential rejection.

—but how you wished he would turn to you right now, because you smiled. wide enough to sting the apple of your cheeks, and as much as you wanted to yell out his name for him to do so, you wanted to let clark do it for himself.

—to take upon the challenge of potentially meeting failure or success.

—heat crept onto his cheeks as he stared at a couple who were charmed by chubby ducks floating on the nearby lake. for a brief moment, he could see you two walking hand-in-hand, while the other free hand threw feed at the eager ducks.

—he was lost in his imagination. a blink turned into a dream, and a dream turned into a desperate paradise.

—it wasn't until the trail of your hand that looped your fingers into his, tightly sharing the warmth of anxiousness with a sticky clamp, that clark opened his eyes again and finally turned to you.

—wet eyes and shaking blues, they told a story that you didn't need to read into.

—silence filled the space between the two of you, then groaned in annoyance when you scooted closer until your knee was pressed to clark's. you folded his hand into yours, still clutching onto him tightly, and laid the joined affection on your lap.

—"i like you too, smallville." your thumb ran several laps over his knuckles to calm the tremors clark had possessed.

—he watched, open-mouthed as if he was about to respond, but the shock trapped the remainder of his words within his throat.

—you lounged back and squinted at the radiance of the sun, the brights of the sky.

—"(m/n)..."

—the sunlight faded into the background as the beauty of your best friend came into frame once again. he absorbed all the color and light of the world until your focus was on him.

—"i really like you."

—the sigh on his lips told a different tale compared to the previous exhales. it curled his lips upwards and finally pacified the shakes that had been bothering clark for months.

—when he pressed his palm back into yours, folding his fingers over your own, you braced for impact as you felt the electrical current from the first day you met him return in stronger pulses. it nipped at your skin, then at clark's, in its desperate escape.

—but clark held tighter, as did you, until the shockwaves melted in his skin, into his veins, then into his blood, and became one with the victorious cheer of his heart.

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like! feedback is also much appreciated!

[folkwhoredoll]

soothing touch - rafe cameron x fem!reader

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

synopsis: after a tiresome week, your boyfriend knows just how to help

word count: 2.1k

warnings/tags: smut! (f oral, unprotected sex, nipple play), soft bf!rafe

a/n: hi everyone! i don't think i can ever say this enough but thank you for your support! however i might be inactive for the next days or weeks because easter break is over :< but i promise to keep writing whenever i can <3 i hope you'll like this one. happy reading!

masterlist

+*:ꔫ:*﹤

“Baby, come lay with me.” You heard your boyfriend whine from the bed.

“Just a few more minutes, Rafey. I need to finish this essay, or I’ll lose my train of thought.” You replied without looking at him, eyes steady between your laptop screen and keyboard.

Rafe groaned, growing impatient after hearing you use the same excuse for the third time.

It had been over two hours since he laid on the bed and over two hours that you refused to join him. The past weeks have made you busy, considering you were a graduating student. There were deadlines here and there, you have experienced sleepless nights for the past few days, and coffee is probably the only liquid cursing through your veins.

Rafe knew it was coming and made sure to help in any way possible, but it doesn’t mean he was okay with it. He missed taking you out on dates and golfing sessions, but it has been almost a month since he was able to do so.

He came to your house a few hours ago and brought you snacks you felt incredibly grateful for. You welcomed and greeted him, then returned to your room to sit in front of your laptop.

“I’m sorry, babe. I promise I’ll just finish this essay, and then we can cuddle, okay?” You offered to him softly, feeling bad that you’d ignored him.

Rafe, who has a stern exterior towards other people, is always soft towards you. His eyes softened upon hearing your offer, wanting nothing more than for you two to spend the night together.

“Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

You flashed him a smile, your fingers desperately working to finish your essay.

Around half an hour later, you were typing out the last sentence for your draft. You inhaled deeply and stretched your back before shutting down the computer, deciding that you would just do your revisions in the morning.

“Finally.” You heard Rafe’s voice, making you chuckle, and excitedly made your way to the bed where your boyfriend was adorably tucked in the covers. “Hi, baby.”

You crawled in his arms, feeling extremely relaxed now that you were out of your stiff chair. “Hi, Rafey.”

“What do you want to do now?” He asked you sweetly, letting you decide depending on how you were feeling.

You thought momentarily, looking at the time and realizing it was almost midnight. Yet, surprisingly, you didn’t feel an ounce of sleepiness.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I’m not sleepy yet. You?”

 “Nah. I’m not sleepy, too.” Rafe shook his head before an idea popped into his mind. “You want me to give you a massage?”

Without hesitation, you agreed, nodding your head quickly. “Yes, please. My back hurts so much.”

Rafe gave you a pitied look. “Aw, baby. I got you; go get ready.”

You positioned yourself on the bed, grabbing a pillow where you can rest your head on. You sat up for a while to remove the thin sweater that hugged your torso. Your bra followed after you skillfully removed the clasps on your back. The amount of times that Rafe had seen you naked has made you shameless in making such gestures in front of him.

Meanwhile, Rafe watched your actions as he positioned himself behind you, hungrily eyeing your bare back before reminding himself that he was supposed to help you relax.

“Lay down on your stomach, pretty girl.” He spoke.

You did as he asked, sighing relief when your front side made contact with your sheets.

Knowing your room like the back of his hand, Rafe grabbed a bottle of lavender oil from your bedside drawer. He squeezed out a small amount, only enough to cover your back. Once satisfied, he warmed up the oil by rubbing it between his palms before putting it on your skin.

You let out a soft moan at the contact; the minty feeling from the oil and the feeling of your boyfriend’s large hands on your back made you instantly relax.

Rafe continued to give you a massage until his hands were dry from the oil, giving your back continuous strokes while you were on the verge of sleeping.

Little do you know, your breathy sighs have awakened something in Rafe.

He cleared his throat after several minutes, leaning down to check if you were sleeping. After seeing your opened eyes, Rafe relaxed and gave you a smile. “You feeling better?”

You mumbled a ‘yes,’ groaning as you slowly turned around on your back. “Thank you, Rafe.”

Rafe replied nothing, instead just lowering his face to yours in order to press a kiss on your lips. You smiled into the kiss, making Rafe go crazy. He wanted nothing more than to go further but hesitated as he thought of your tired body.

Unexpectedly, you were the one who deepened the kiss, your hands subtly moving up to his hair.

“Baby…” Rafe gasped, pulling away slightly. “Are you not tired?”

“Not really.” You said honestly as you looked into his eyes. “Feels good, Rafe. Please.”

Your words were confirmation for Rafe, making him press his lips back to yours. You let out a gasp when your boyfriend’s lips went from your mouth to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin softly.

“Hey, no marks.” You reminded him, remembering the time that your parents almost fainted when they saw Rafe’s love marks on your neck and chest.

“Yes, ma’am.” He cheekily smiled.

Rafe’s attention was suddenly on your breasts. He already had easy access to them after you removed your top. You moaned in surprise when his lips wrapped around your left nipple, your back arching as you tried to catch your breath.

“Rafe.” You heaved when his mouth attached to your other nipple, his fingers now working simultaneously as he toyed with the other one. When he was satisfied with the attention that he gave to your breasts, he straightened up his posture, and you took the opportunity to start removing his shirt.

You quickly get rid of his shirt, throwing it sideways as you focus on his shorts.

“Someone’s excited.” He chuckled.

“It’s been a while.” You pouted.

“I know, sweetheart. We have a lot of time.” Rafe replied softly. He pecked your lips once before crouching down. “Lift your hips slightly, baby. Let me take this off of you.”

You obeyed, pushing yourself up from the bed to allow Rafe to pull down your shorts and underwear. You took a deep breath at the realization that you were fully exposed but paid no attention when you caught Rafe eyeing your pussy while licking his lips.

“Well, what do we have here?” He smirked, his right-hand landing gently on your thigh.

“Rafe…” You whined lowly, feeling frustrated as his fingers teased you by drawing random circles along your skin.

“What do you want, Y/n?” He asked innocently.

You groaned. “Stop teasing me.”

He smirked. Rafe loves nothing more than seeing you surrender to his touches. And right now, he’s enjoying the growing smell and wetness of your arousal.

Removing his hand from your thigh, he pressed a finger against your clit. You jolted forward; the pressure alone is enough to stimulate pleasure to your core. “Fuck.”

Rafe’s finger gently circled your clit, both his cock and smile becoming more prominent at the sight of you. He surprised you by pressing two fingers in, his thumb taking over your clit. He began pumping, enjoying your moans mixed with the sound of your wet folds.

“Fucking hell, Rafe. More.” You demanded through deep breaths, your chest rising and falling.

He didn’t respond, pulling out his fingers after a few moments. Your brows pinched together in confusion, looking at him as he brought his fingers to his mouth.

“You taste amazing, darling.” He smirked and watched as you stared at his lips. After licking his two fingers clean, he lifted his hands and brought his thumb to your face. “Open.”

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth and took his thumb in. You sucked, tasting yourself and letting out a moan while maintaining eye contact.

“Fuck.” Rafe spoke, feeling his cock straining. “I was planning to go soft on you. But you seem more eager than I do.”

After you’re done licking his finger, he pulls down his trousers and underwear. Despite seeing him naked multiple times, you still can’t help but be amazed at his size, your thoughts growing wild with desire.

You watched as Rafe kneeled before you, his eyes on the same level as your folds. He pulled you nearer to him, your lower half almost hanging off the edge of the table as he wrapped your legs around his shoulder.

“You gotta keep quiet, baby. We don’t want to get caught by your parents, do we?”

Without any warning, Rafe pressed his face to your pussy, his tongue expertly slipping inside and sucking on your clit.

“Fuck!” You moaned aloud, instantly forgetting his words as you pressed your weight against the bookshelf behind you.

He slapped your thigh softly. “What did I just say?”

You ignored him, too focused on the pleasure that you’re feeling to control the sounds from your mouth. You squirmed against his lips, grinding your hips upwards to get more. Your boyfriend smiled proudly.

“Yes, yes, Rafe…. Shit.”

He pulled one of his hands away from you, lowering it to pump his manhood. His occasional moans caused vibrations throughout your body, your toes curling and your eyes shutting.

Rafe felt your legs shake, and he started to pull away. He needed you to cum, but not yet.

“W-what?” You asked desperately, almost whining at the loss of contact.

He gently shushed you, pushing himself up and lining his cock directly at your slits. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll finish you right here.”

He pushed himself into you inch by inch, your warm folds wrapping around him perfectly. Rafe groaned at the damp and tight feeling surrounding him, head falling back in pleasure as he settled perfectly within you.

You moaned once more, loudly this time as he started thrusting, his rhythm steady yet forceful. You repeatedly called his name, hands gripping the sheets around you as you shook in pleasure. Rafe looked down to watch himself disappear inside you, eyes filled with lust and pride every time his hips meet yours. He grabbed your thighs and pushed your legs forward, almost keeping them against your chest.

“That’s right, darling. Moan my name.” Sweat started to form on his forehead, his thrusts becoming harsher and quicker in desperate need. “C’mon, Y/n. Let me see you cum.”

“Rafe…” You cried, your cunt clenching and throbbing. The bed was creaking slowly, and you could only hope that your parents were currently deep in slumber.

The pleasure was overwhelming as Rafe focused on every part of you as much as possible. Both of you panting and covered in sweat, his hands working wonders on your clit and nipple while he perfectly filled your cunt.

“R-Rafe, I’m…”

“I know, baby. Cum with me. Come on, pretty girl.” He whispered closely in your ear, maintaining the speed of his thrusts as he rubbed your clit faster.

Your heart rate was increasing, and your body was shaking. But it was Rafe’s direct eye contact and sudden pinch on your clit that pushed you over the edge, eyes rolling at the back of your head as you released.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Rafe moaned at the sight, loving the feeling of your tight walls and warm release around his cock.

It wasn’t long until he pumped several more times before he gave in, releasing his juices inside of you with heavy breaths.

Neither of you moved for a while, still breathless and shaking.

Rafe pulled out of you slowly, making you whine. He cooed at you, pressing kisses on both of your cheeks. “Are you feeling better, baby?”

Unable to form words because you were still catching your breath, you just grinned and nodded, your hand rising to cup and stroke his cheek.

“Let’s get you ready for bed now, sweetheart.”

The rest of the night, you didn’t break any sweat. Rafe took charge of changing your clothes and sheets, even giving you a quick bath to refresh you.

On times like these, you thank the heavens for giving you a boyfriend like Rafe Cameron.

[enluv]

in another life.

lee heeseung x f!reader x ??? (it'll make sense when you read I promise)

SYNOPSIS: in which losing you is the least of heeseung’s worries, until he’s forced to watch you slip through his fingers.

wc: 1.9k (almost 2k fr)!

genres: best friends to strangers, unrequited love (or is it), best friends to lovers

warning(s): heavy angst, toxic friendship/relationship, heeseung is mean, very very mean, manipulation (nothing too crazy), refusal to take blame, and heeseung needs to be humbled imo...ANYWAYS, small plot twist but not really! (a/n: header is ugly because I made it in like 2 minutes since it felt naked without one 🤣☝🏽)

Lee Heeseung knows about your feelings for him at  the mere age of eight, when you give him the other half of your popsicle stick that you’ve just bought with your very own allowance. His smile is so bright taking the food from your hand that it doesn't even matter if you've spent all five of your dollars on the popsicle because as long as your youthful heart can see Heeseung smile, that’s all that matters to you.

Heeseung also knows about your feelings for him when you're both sixteen and he proudly exclaims that he’s finally asked Jisun out after months of pining after her. A hurt look flashes across your face for one, two then three seconds, then as if it was never there, it’s gone. He thinks it might have been a bad idea to tell you but he doesn’t reciprocate the feelings you have for him and in his mind, he never will. 

“Come on Y/N, it’s one party, please come with me please, I don’t want to be alone all night,” he pouts tugging at the sleeve of your sweater. Heeseung knows it’s not right to do things like this, knows he shouldn’t force you to go with him everywhere but he likes that you can’t say no to him, it swells his heart with pride to have someone care for him as much as you do.

“I already told you I have to study for midterms, go alone or with Jay.” Your tone isn’t dead-set and Heeseung knows he’s cornered you. He smiles as an idea forms in his head, maybe he can persuade you with just enough charm, it’s worked in the past so why not now?

“I seriously can not believe Heeseung got you to come, I know he said he could do it but honestly Y/N, I thought you were stronger than that.” It’s always the same sentence or form of it. It tugs at your heart, just like in high school people in college are just as aware of how you feel for him, even he knows it himself. He plays a blind man to your feelings.

An ache begins to pump in your heart, whatever liquor Yeonjun had handed you when you stepped in seems to not be working and that night as you watch Heeseung dance with Mina, you vow to yourself silently that you'll start your process of healing from whatever feelings you have for Lee Heeseung.

A few days later Jay watches a frantic Heeseung search for his phone charger in amusement, “Missing an important call?” He quips playfully, the whole house knows why he’s so desperate to charge his dying phone. The past three days since he ditched you at TXT’s frat party you’ve been ignoring his texts, calls, and even him.

“Hyung, why are you so worried about Y/N calling? Didn't you ditch her? I wouldn’t call either if I was her,” the small comment earns Sunghoon a smack to the back of his head.

“It doesn’t matter, Y/N would never ignore me like this. All I have to do is apologize with breakfast and she’ll accept it every time, we’ve done this before and never gone a day without talking.”

The boys can’t fully grasp why Heeseung is acting the way he is, to them he sounds like a desperate boyfriend after a fight that’s resulted in the silent treatment but Heeseung has continuously said he does not feel the same towards his best friend so they write it off as some form of separation anxiety and leave his room.

“I’m surprised you’ve held out this long Y/N,” jokes a sheepish Jeongin as he takes a glance at your phone screen that’s currently being lit up by multiple unread messages from Heeseung.

“I told you I’m ready to move on, I’ll talk to him when I see fit, I just need a few more days to myself.”

He hums in response as he lifts himself off his chair reaching a hand out for you to follow, “I’m proud of you ‘s all, he’s an asshole for using your feelings against you and making you feel the way he did, you don’t deserve that at all. You deserve someone who'd never ditch you." 

Two weeks. It's been two weeks since you've spoken to Heeseung, his room is a mess with clothes and books scattered on the floor, usually you come by and help him organize things. He's had enough of this. Your contact suddenly flashes across his screen while he's out on a date, he doesn't hesitate to answer, bidding the girl he's dropping off a quick goodbye.

“Hello? Y/N? I’m really glad you called me, I have so much to ask you but guess what, I just had the most amazing date-” he’s cut off by your loud sigh and for a moment his heart drops, you've never stopped him from ranting about dates.

“Heeseung,” his name sounds foreign coming from your mouth, “we really need to talk, I have a lot to say to you so could we please meet tomorrow?” He isn't sure why but his stomach twists at your request.

The meeting between you two is quick and to Heeseung's surprise, brief. You explain to him that leaving you at a party he begged you to come to had upset you since it wasn’t his first time doing so, you also tell him that you needed the two weeks of space from not only him but everyone else to care for yourself, and you’d hoped he understood that. Of course he did, he felt shitty just thinking about the situation and promised to never do it again, to be a better "friend."

Things after your initial break from Heeseung fall back into place quickly and it's as if you never left his side, but he could tell you were different now, you refused to go with him to parties if he asked and any charming tricks he had up his sleeve fell flat when you'd respond with a hard “No.” Heeseung also noticed the interest you'd taken in Jeongin, and that made him feel things he'd never felt before. 

It’s difficult to watch you flirt with one of his best friends, on one hand he should feel happy watching your attention sway to someone else after having caught it for so many years but on the other he isn’t happy at all, to be completely honest he feels bitter at the thought of you two together. 

“You're an asshole Heeseung, like a really big one, do you know how long Y/N has been in love with you? Since we were like eight playing cops and robbers in the streets, and she loved you throughout the time that came after and every time we asked, you denied any feelings for her, but now all of a sudden you think you might love her back? Just when she's finally healing from the shit you put her through? That’s such an asshole move dude, super low of you,” and as Beomgyu’s rant subsides Heeseung stares at him puzzled, what did he ever do that was so bad to you?

“Don't give me that look, you've done so much shit to her, hell I don't know how she’s still your best friend, if I was her I’d have left you already.”

Heeseung continues to give Beomgyu the most confused look ever and with a small eye roll Beomgyu answers his question, “You use her to get what you want but never have you done anything to show her gratitude or any reciprocated feelings. All you ever do is give her hope, you act like you like her back when you need her but as soon as you get what you want, you leave her behind. It’s fucking sad dude. You're a horrible friend to her honestly.”

Heeseung’s heart burns, he’s known his whole life that he’d done this to you but to hear it laid out in front of him now, he can see how terrible it all actually is. How had you continued being his friend? If he was in your position he’d have left ages ago, but you didn’t, and that single thought is what gives Heeseung hope for you and him. He knows it’s dumb, he knows he doesn’t deserve you at all, but he wants you terribly and if he has to beg he will, if he has to lie he will, hell Heeseung would drop everyone for you. All that matters is that you stay with him, not with anyone else, and especially not with Jeongin.

Heeseung can spot you from a mile away. His smile grows wide before dropping instantly as he watches Jeongin hand you what looks to be a flower. The look on your face mirrors Jeongin’s, it’s happy and full. You've never smiled at him that way. Heeseung realizes that the only smiles you give him now are filled with sadness. His stomach knots, why does he feel so unsure of you right now. He’s never felt this much uncertainty from you ever. 

He blames it on the fact that you two haven’t been talking as much lately. He blames the short break you had because there’s no way you’d actually stop wanting to be his friend, no way he’d ever lose you. You’ve always been by his side, and it will continue to be that way, because you love him and he has you wrapped around his finger. But, Heeseung knows deep down this security can’t be fed any longer as he watches you walk past him, hand in hand with Jeongin, not a single look his way, he's lost you.

It’s proven to him in the months to come as you slowly slip out of his pinned messages, as you take him off your private stories, and he has to watch you live your life through others. Heeseung knows he’s lost you especially when all together you stop coming to his rescue, won’t pick up the phone to hear his ramblings about dates and girls. He knows he’s lost you when you tell him you’re busy and can’t do what he wants. When you send him an awkward smile and gesture to your hand entwined with Jeongin's, as if to say, "sorry I'm with him now, you're too late."

If anyone ever asks Lee Heeseung about his one true love, he’ll say your name. He’s never been sure of what love is, never found it for himself, but he knows deep down that if he’s ever loved anyone, it’s you. You were the person he called at 3am when he crashed his car into a pole, you were the same person whose dorm had housed him a multitude of times when he was too drunk to crawl back to his own, the same person who loved him for years, until you couldn’t any longer and stopped waiting on him to give you the same love back, thinking he could never give it to you.

Heeseung likes to think that in another life he wasn't a complete asshole, realized your worth sooner, and maybe even had the balls to ask you out. He pictures himself in Jeongin's place, dating through college, moving in together after, getting married, having kids, living domestically. All he can do now is dream, maybe that's why he likes to sleep so much, because in his sleep-ridden mind, you're with him.

coco’s love note: mwahahahaha did you guys like the plot twist? are we happy 😁 are we mad? should we fight heeseung?! tbh writing this fic has been a wild ride, originally i had mc & heeseung end up with one another but then I decided that no, i didn’t want that, I wanted to show the results of a toxic “relationship” running it’s course through and through, that’s why heeseung never quite admits he’s wrong/he still feels entitled to mc even till the end! I wanted to show that he’d never change, even if he did “love” mc. anyways…thoughts?! comments?! concerns?! make sure to leave a comment or rb this with anything you’d like me to know or tell me how you felt about this fic :) muah ily! ty @odxrilove for reading it for me and not letting me change it again 😁🙏

ENHYPEN TAGLIST! - yeoforce @bloom-bloom-pow @nikis-mum @yourlocalhotgf @kyublr @spoooooooooooon @enhacolor @yoongimooni @blaqpinksthectic @gyuuss @eternallyhyucks @dinosdance @simpforsung @misschubswrites @junityy @jjunry @jwonsgirl @fxckingshame @stealanity @haoreo @jxp1t-3r @chaerybae @bobariki @vatterie @tytrackfebreze @veryjeongintxtkid @w3bqrl @heefys @haechan-nahceah @telesvng @queen-klarissa @odxrilove @s00buwu @j-wyoung

[dallaji]

can you do bada lee smut, where bada wants to film while 🤟🏻 with reader HEHE i'm gonna leave the others to u:*

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

WORD COUNT: 5k

CW: exactly what it sounds like tbh!! established relationship, porn without plot, once again giver!bada, filming 🔞 (consensually)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is loosely a part two of this / "Hope we make it to the Cloud". i received these two requests and felt they were alike enough to "combine" the two, hopefully that's ok! 🩷 thanks for the request and hope you enjoy. (ꈍ꒳ꈍ) ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆⋆

Living alone wasn’t so bad.

When spending a long month performing, interacting with hundreds of people every day and flitting from one schedule to the other, getting to wind down in the comforts of your humble apartment almost felt like a privilege. And as soon as your promotions had ended, you had to take the time to get reacquainted with the place that you called home; time spent away, sleeping in cars or planes, almost made you forget what it felt like to have your own bed. 

Sometimes you felt pangs of loneliness, when you were no longer experiencing the rush of backstage and the fleeting interactions with other celebrities, some of whom you now considered friends. The feeling was especially present when you were on break, fighting the urge to get a pet to keep you company on several occasions. Though calling it a “break” was a bit premature, your team always surprising with a last minute schedule on your calendar. 

Still, living alone wasn’t so bad when you finally got a break from bright stage lights, sore limbs and buzzing eardrums. 

Besides, you aren't so lonely nowadays.

It was the middle of the day and you were watching a game show, feet propped up on the table and hair tied together, when you heard your front door unlock. 

“Honey, I’m home,” A tired voice sounded.

Tossing the spare key you had given her a few weeks prior into the little bowl on the table next to the door, Bada entered the room with the nonchalance only a person who spent a lot of time here could have. And well, she did spend a lot of time here.

As you beamed up at her from your seat, Bada was kicking her shoes off: donned in her practice cargos and a comfortable sweater, she looked as effortlessly attractive as ever. If you didn’t know her well enough by now, you would’ve almost missed the metaphorical thunder cloud hanging over her head.

You patted your lap eagerly. “C’mere!”

And with quick shuffling footsteps, Bada made a beeline for where you were seated, first dropping her backpack to the floor with a sigh and then unceremoniously flopping onto the couch, her head snuggling into your lap.

Your hands immediately caressed along her face, fingers gently pushing her bangs aside as you ran them through the pink streaks. 

“Long day?” You asked as you fanned her hair over your lap, combing through and detangling the knots.

Her eyes were shut, zoning in on your soothing touches. “Maybe I need a manager,” She muttered quietly, “I don’t know why I thought three choreo sessions in one day would be doable.”

You placed your forefinger between her eyebrows, smoothing over the frown that had started to form there. “Try not to hire mine. Before you know it, three sessions become six.”

Bada laughed at that, eyes opening to gaze up at you affectionately. “Missed you.” She mumbled, head turning to nuzzle into the palm of your hand.

“Is that so?”

She sat up slowly upon hearing your playful words, turning to face you with half-lidded eyes. Leaning in, gaze dropping to your lips, she placed her hand atop your thigh and gave it a firm, meaningful squeeze. “Want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You held your breath expectantly, leaning closer with a barely-there nod as Bada inched towards you to close the gap; she tilted her head and your eyes fluttered shut.

But then, the growling of a stomach sounded through the room.

Bada groaned as you erupted into giggles, shoving her off of you: “Please go eat! There’s some leftover rice and salmon in the kitchen.”

Her disgruntlement faded immediately at your words and she swept down to press a peck to your lips. “You’re the best.” 

“I know...” You hummed against her mouth, tugging her down again to steal seconds, feeling self-satisfied when Bada complied without hesitation.

You let her scurry off to the kitchen with a smitten grin plastered across your face.

“Did you finish the routine for that boy group?” You asked, watching her scavenge with your chin propped on the palm of your hand.

Bada dug into the rice cooker as she nodded, already chewing on a piece of salmon: “Yeah, it came together nicely! Wanna see?”

Clasping your hands together, you perked up. “Yes, please!”

“Laptop’s in my bag. All my recent recordings should be on it.” 

Bending over to unzip her backpack, you carefully pulled her laptop out and set it on your lap. You heard Bada heat up the remaining salmon as you booted up the computer. Her password was just her birthday, which she had sheepishly confessed to when you were still practicing your choreography together. As you opened her files, a screen popping up with over fifty recordings, Bada came to stand behind you, shoveling food into her mouth as if the bowl would sprout legs and run away from her. 

You scrolled through the recordings, which were arranged chronologically, until you noticed a thumbnail with a very familiar practice room.

As your mouth fell open in disbelief, your mouse hovered over the picture of what was undoubtedly Bada hunched over you in front of your practice room’s mirror; both your backs turned to the camera, but the scene all too recognizable. 

You didn’t know why, but you felt your lower stomach warm up at the thought of her having kept the recording. You barely registered the audible gasp behind you, and you turned around.

Bada was frozen in her tracks, chopsticks motionless at her lips as she stared at the laptop on your lap. 

“Oh my god, I—” She began, eyes searching the room for a place to set her bowl down as your eyes scrutinized her, “I could’ve sworn I deleted that! How did that— How did that get on my laptop?” She was stumbling over her words, and always had been a terrible liar.

You wordlessly navigated to the top of the screen and clicked on ‘Sort by last opened’, the videos reorganizing at your command.

The video was the third one on the list, even though it was over two months old. Once again your stomach curled, face heating up at the implication spread out in front of you.

Bada pressed her lips together in a fine line, face beet red as she was unable to meet your eyes, entirely unaware of your inner turmoil and instead cowering away from you. “I’m sorry, you— you can delete it. I shouldn’t have—”

“I never told you to delete it, back then.” You cut in hurriedly, and it was true, but you felt embarrassed at the words leaving your mouth all the same. “You’ve watched it?”

Bada stared at you in bewilderment, but she nodded, perhaps comforted by your words and thus no longer seeing the point in lying: “Several times.” She admitted bashfully, gaze moving back to the laptop.

You felt lightheaded, briefly imagining Bada alone in her studio with her hand between her legs and her eyes glued to the screen. 

“Oh,” You responded, “Why didn’t you...?” Unsure of how you were even trying to finish that sentence, you trailed off.

“We’ve just been so busy…” She said, sounding solemn, leaning over the backrest of the couch as her arms draped themselves over your shoulders. You leaned back into her embrace, your hands curling over her arms. 

It was true: between a grueling comeback schedule and the heightening demand for Bada, especially following the release of your single, made it difficult to see each other regularly. Bada had visited you backstage a handful of times, the both of you savoring your short moments together, hungry lips meeting while hiding away in your dressing room, until you were inevitably whisked away for your next schedule. Similarly, you dropped by her studio whenever there was an opening on your calendar, but the curious eyes of her students made it difficult to do much of anything. It was then when you had given her a spare key to your apartment, hoping you could meet each other halfway more often.

“I miss you so much.” She murmured, cheek resting against your temple, and the way she said it left you breathless. It had a hidden meaning to it, clear to no one but you. It almost sounded like a plea with the way she nosed into you.

“You were gonna show me how much you missed me.” You whispered, angling your head to look up at her properly. Her eyes were already on you, gaze heavy. You didn’t have to say the words back to her with the way you looked at her.

She barely gave you a moment to let the words hang in the air before she pressed her lips against yours with a desperate inhale, hand curling over the crook of your neck. The position you were in brought you right back to your first time together; Bada crowding over you with an insatiableness she only reserved for you as your mouths fit together, her warmth washing over you. You felt her nails scrape along the nape of your neck, her lips parting against yours, pleading, as you slipped your tongue past. She hummed pleasantly, lips closing around the wet muscle and sucking as her fingers dug into your hair.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need of wanting her all over you, the couch separating your body from the comfort of her lean figure, you parted the kiss unwillingly. Before you could beg her for anything more, however, she moved her lips to your neck; immediately sucking a bruise against the unmarked skin. You gasped, instinctively baring your neck for her.

“Bada-” You began, but the words died in your throat as the tip of her tongue circled the mark.

“Click on the video.” She spoke in a hushed voice and only then did you become cognizant of the laptop resting on your lap, cursor still hovering over the video. “Fast forward a bit.”

With your eyes locked onto the screen and without moving your head, afraid you would lose the warmth of her mouth against your skin, you did as you were told; skipping through the recording until you found the exact moment Bada had turned you around, her chest pressed against your back. The sounds that came from the laptop speakers after you unpaused the video were sinful: the smack of lips gliding together and your quiet gasps as Bada smoothened her hands along your figure. You were feeling overwhelmed already and the two of you had barely done anything.

“You’re so beautiful.” Bada spoke as she watched the video from over your shoulder, still pressing soft kisses against your neck.

You could say the same about her with the way she was, and still is, able to command your body like an instrument. You were putty in her hands then and now, turning whichever way she conducted you.

She straightened her back slightly, looking down at you as her hands lowered to your front. In tandem with the Bada in the video, she found the hem of your shirt and pulled upwards, your arms raising to aid the process. You weren’t wearing a bra, and the cool air of the room made a shiver run down your spine. Bada, however, was delighted, warm hands immediately cupping over your breasts.

You craned your neck, chasing after her lips and she let you indulge: with your head tilted backwards your tongues met before your lips did, Bada angling her head to deepen the kiss impossibly more, fingers pinching your nipples inquisitively and stiffening them. You were sensitive straightaway, gasping into her mouth.

Then, an idea. Your fingers managed to find the space button and pressed, effectively pausing the video. Bada parted the kiss reluctantly, curiously peeking at the screen before looking down at you.

“Do you have your camera with you?” You asked, voice breathless.

She blinked at you in wonder but nodded: “Yes, in my backpack.”

You gave her a suggestive look, hands coming up to rest atop hers; still covering your breasts. “Do you… want to film a new one?”

You hoped you hadn’t misjudged Bada, and for the few seconds she was silent you feared you had ruined the atmosphere, but that feeling didn’t last long. The look she gave you was nothing short of infatuated.

Bada smiled, albeit entirely flustered, before giving you another kiss and you sighed in relief. She walked to her backpack, where it still laid on the floor, and began searching through it for the camera. As you shut the laptop and moved it off your lap, Bada reemerged with the familiar device.

The display was already flipped open, Bada’s fingers fiddling with the buttons with an almost childlike excitement that made you giggle. She looked up at you as if breaking out of a daze, and softened instantly at the sight of you: topless and patiently waiting for her. She lowered the device.

“You’re certain you’re okay with this?” Her eyes looked into yours, searching for any hints of doubt or apprehension.

“More than okay,” you assured, “Just tell me what to do.”

And as soon as the words had left you, Bada hit record. “Be you.”

She slowly walked around you, angling the camera as her eyes were glued to her display, taking in your appearance with the delicacy of someone who practiced this often enough in their head. You were starting to feel skittish, despite her attention on you almost feeling reverent, and fought the urge to cover yourself up.

Instead you crossed your legs, head tilting to the side as you looked straight into the lens of the camera: “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to keep your distance the whole time.”

You heard the buzzing sound of the lens zooming in on you, though you had no clue what exact part of you it was focusing on. “That would be impossible when you look like this, baby.”

The nickname, which was usually reserved for when the two of you spent time tangled up in each other, visibly flustered you. You sucked in your lower lip to hide a growing smile and glanced down, Bada smirking at your reaction. 

“Trying to set the scene for my future self.” Bada added meaningfully, and the implication made you feel warm.

She strode over towards you, eyes still focused on the camera display as she sat down on the table in front of you. You followed her movements intently, anticipating whatever request was burning on her lips. But instead of asking anything of you, Bada wordlessly nudged her knees in between your thighs, forcing your legs apart, and you adhered.

“Take your pants off.” She commanded and virtually immediately your hands dropped to the waistband of your trousers, tugging it below your hips. You would have time to ponder how embarrassing your submission to her was later, but for now you wanted to give her everything she asked for. 

With her unoccupied hand she helped you pull the fabric all the way off, with an almost impatient tug, and you made sure to stretch your legs as elegantly as possible, doe eyes never losing track of the lens; hyper aware of the camera following your every move as if this were just another music video recording. 

You let your hands slide up your thighs, fingers momentarily hooking into the straps of your panties before snapping them against your skin. Bada angled her camera, tracking the movements of your hands intently as her tongue peeked past her lips; wetting them. The palms of your hands moved along the curve of your waist, trailing them higher and higher, until you were pushing your breasts together ever-so-slightly. Then, you brought one hand behind your neck and leaned back into the couch. Your other hand dropped back to the strap of your panties, toying with the fabric between your fingertips, granting a sneak peek for the skin underneath - not that there was much more left to the imagination. 

For a moment Bada’s eyes moved away from the display, zoning in on your ministrations, and then she leaned back herself, the movements forcing your thighs further apart by the dull push of her knees against yours.

“You’re a natural.” Bada said teasingly, but remained cemented in her spot, much to your frustration.

You pulled the strap of your underwear below your hip, blinking up at the lens through long eyelashes, and pressed your crotch down into the couch. Subsequently, you slid your hand to your front, fingertips digging below the waistband of your panties; your eyes never losing track of the lens. You went lower and lower, gauging the taller girl’s reaction.

Once again you heard the noise of the lens zooming in, and your fingers finally found the top of your heat. You were already wet, spreading your folds with a quiet hum, and began lightly rocking against the fabric of the couch. The friction made you gasp, the thrill of your predicament making you feel increasingly more responsive to any touches. 

Bada parted her lips, watching on in awe. “Take those off.” Her voice was almost uncharacteristically deep, dripping with want.

And because you knew her well enough to know she couldn’t hold off for much longer, you gave her the most coy look you could muster and answered: “Come do it yourself.”

The sound of the table moving backwards echoed through the living room, Bada using her body to push it away. You didn’t cease your movements however, dragging your crotch against the couch again as you watched Bada in anticipation. She had placed the camera on top of a stack of books lying on the table, pointing the lens at you in a sideways angle, and stepped towards you. She towered over you before pulling her sweater over her head, and you watched as her slender frame appeared; still touching yourself. She was unbelievably pretty.

Then, she dropped to her knees, arms hooking under your legs as she pulled you to the edge of the couch in such a sudden motion you couldn’t help the soft yelp that fell from your lips. Her thumbs hooked under the straps of your underwear and pulled them off brusquely, leaving you completely bare in front of her.

She settled in between your thighs like she belonged there and leaned up, her hand on the side of your neck as she brought you in for a hungry kiss. The noise you made was desperate, but she silenced it immediately by plunging her tongue into your mouth; licking into it with a groan. Your fingers tangled into her hair, clinging onto her as your body begged for more, tongue gliding back against hers through parted lips. 

Bada cupped your jaw tightly as she swallowed the sweet noises you made, and parted the kiss to catch her breath; your own chest rising in exhilaration. Her thumb trailed along your bottom lip, moist from saliva, and pulled it down: “Just look pretty for me.” She muttered.

With that she slid down your body, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck and to your cleavage, her hands feeling along the shape of your upper thighs, squeezing them. You felt your lower stomach curl when her lips pressed to your navel, and you put your arms at either side of your body; palms pressing into the couch as you gave your body away to her.

Her thumbs pressed into your hip bones when her mouth got closer to your core, but she immediately pivoted to the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing the skin before parted lips began to suck down a bruise.

Your head lolled to the side, letting out another soft gasp as her lips covered every area except the one where you needed her the most. You were going mad, wondering if you should start begging.

Her eyes met yours and she had the audacity to smile, a happy glow dusting her cheeks as her fingers dug deeper into the skin of your thighs. She pressed another openmouthed kiss near your hip bone before speaking: “Anything you want me to do?”

Your hand automatically moved in between your legs, but Bada stopped you with a firm hold on your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” she tutted, “I’m directing here. Tell me what you want.” Her gaze was intense, smile growing wider as you grew more flustered, thighs twitching.

“I—” You began, struggling to find the words, “I want you to touch me. However you want.”

“However I want?” She tilted her head to the side, feigning confusion in a sweet voice.

“With your hands.” You added quickly, something in you stirring at the way her grip on your wrist remained resolute. “Please, I need it so bad.” More words escaped you before you could dwell on the humiliation: “I’m so wet for you.”

The look in Bada’s eyes darkened as she placed your hand back onto the couch, grabbing onto your thigh once again. She looked down at your glistening heat, momentarily sucking in her lower lips before meeting your eyes again. “For me?” She asked again, knowing the answer well enough.

“Only for you.” You near whimpered, and she finally released you from your misery.

Bringing her hand to her mouth, she lapped at her fingers before promptly lowering it to your vagina; spit-slicked fingers moving along your folds to spread your wetness with a purpose as her other hand held down your thigh, making sure you kept your legs apart for her. A groan of relief escaped you before you could realize and you bit down on your lower lip, feeling her explore. You heard her suck in a breath between her teeth as you glistened underneath her, marveling. 

You felt yourself get impossibly more wet from her touch, and Bada immediately took advantage of that. She started to rub against you in slow, circular motions as your hips involuntarily jerked from the sensitivity. With a soothing shush, her grip on your thigh tightened as she let her fingers dig into your folds with more pressure, a soft moan falling from your lips. 

“I’m starting to think you like begging.” Bada whispered longingly, fingers that knew exactly where to be circling against you with a deepening pace. 

Unable and unwilling to answer, you brought a hand up to your mouth and pushed two fingers past your lips; you sucked around them, muffling your moans. The look Bada gave you was simply ravenous, and you then realized you were here to put on a show for her camera. Her thumb brushed down against your clit, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure, the ministration sending electric shocks across your lower belly as you were unable to stop your hips from rutting into her touch. You withdrew your fingers from your mouth and brought them to your breast, rolling your nipple under them.

You heard the taller girl cuss between your thighs, her fingers dropping lower as she followed the noises you made; spurring you on. Then, you felt her forefinger catch at your entrance, drawing circles around and all you could do was hold your breath. 

Bada sank a finger into you, slow enough that the burn wasn’t overwhelming you, but you moaned all the same. She tentatively crooked her finger inside of you, intently watching your reactions, the grip she had on your thigh almost bruising. She began pumping her finger in and out of you, not too fast but fast enough to have you gasp her name, rewarding every honeyed moan with a curl of her finger. 

“More…” You begged, toes curling.

“Yeah?” She whispered, pressing a kiss right where your inner thigh and core met before handing you exactly what you wished for. 

Her middle finger pushed into you along with her index finger, and this time you felt the stretch more acutely. You audibly keened, nails digging into the fabric of the couch as she scissored her fingers inside of you, whispering soft praises encouraging you.

“That’s it, baby, let me make you feel good.”

Soon enough the burn was barely present, making way for an electrifying bundle of pleasure running up your spine. You rocked into her touch as much as Bada’s iron grip on you allowed, and she met you halfway, fingers pumping in and out of you at a steadily building pace. 

The way she looked up at you was maddening: somewhere between wondrous amazement and self-satisfied smugness, drinking in every second of the way you opened up to her in more ways than one. She gave a sharp curl of her fingers, and your thighs twitched dangerously. Bada caught on immediately and began moving her fingers inside you in a come-hither motion, pulling every sweet noise from you that she could. You thrusted down harder, mouth agape as you zoned in on the ecstasy that overtook you.

“Third finger, baby girl.” And you somehow found a way to part your thighs almost impossibly further, your body eager to receive more.

While her two fingers were still curling inside you, the third one joined, and you choked on a moan. This time Bada didn’t give you time to get used to the stretch, as all three fingers curled inside you over and over again.

Feeling overwhelmed almost instantaneously, hushed cusses spilling from your mouth, you inadvertently wriggled backwards; but Bada immediately pulled you back, keeping you locked in place as she pumped her fingers in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. She knew your body too well, because soon enough you had your head thrown back and thrusted back into her motions, her long fingers finding the spot to curl into.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She mumbled, and before you knew it her mouth was on you, tongue digging between your folds as she continued pumping her wrist. 

With her arm still curled around your thigh, she brought you closer to the edge of the couch; she wanted to dig in. Her name came out as a yelp as her lips closed around your bundle of nerves, sucking harshly as her moans began to reverberate against you. You brought a hand to the back of her head, fingers digging against her scalp as you held her in place, needing unfathomably more from her. Anything she was willing to give.

She swallowed around you so eagerly, so greedily, and then her hand let go of your thigh: she brought it between her own legs instead, fingers digging into her trousers.

You had to force yourself to look away or you would orgasm right then and there, feeling your eyes roll back instead. She was touching herself, rocking into her own hand as her mouth bobbed against you; her other hand still fucking into you. She was getting off to getting you off. 

You thought you were going insane, only able to give into your instincts and rock into her movements, all the while pulling on her hair which she seemed to relish in: the both of you building up to a pace where she pushed in exactly as you thrusted. You felt your toes curl again as that familiar pressure in your lower stomach began building up, and your head lolled to the side. You were a sweaty, writhing mess, and Bada was moaning against you so loudly it made you lightheaded. 

You noticed her own movements getting messier, too. Her wrist circled against herself as she slurped around you, and you brushed her bangs from her forehead to watch her own desperation overcome her. She curled her fingers inside of you again just as she sucked down on your clit, and you could've sworn you saw stars.

“Bada, I—” You began, warningly, as you fucked back against her, chasing after the uncoiling of your lower stomach. 

Bada hummed encouragingly, nodding against you in a frenzied state herself and crooked her fingers sharply, beckoning you to let yourself go.

Something about the way she gasped and moaned against you, yet still remained so dedicated to give you exactly what you wanted, is what did it for you. You felt your orgasm ripple through you so sharply you felt dizzy. You clutched onto Bada’s head between your thighs as you shook all over, her fingers curling into you harshly as she sucked on your clit through your implosion, until you felt her tremble against you too.

She fell forward, teeth pressing down on the inside of your thigh as she came with your name on her lips, rutting into her hand. You moaned, sensitive all over but running your hands through her hair soothingly, nails caressing along her scalp.

The both of you stayed like that for a solid minute, catching your breaths, until Bada leaned up on her trembling knees; far enough to wrap her arms around your waist and lean up for a tender kiss. Completely smitten, you kissed back despite the heaving of your chest and you wordlessly urged her to get on the couch with you. The taller girl obliged, immediately climbing on top of you and nuzzling into your hold with a tired smile, her cheek pressed against your collarbones.

The both of you giggled at nothing in particular, your fingers tracing delicate lines along the side of her face. 

As if experiencing a déjà vu, your eyes went to the camera perched on the table, inevitably recording, but the both of you too spent to do anything about it. 

“You know,” you began, fingertips still absentmindedly caressing along Bada’s jawline, “You’re gonna need a better password for your laptop.”

[familyvideostevie]

come care about me

joel miller x reader a quiet evening at your house in Jackson with the man you call home | implied but unspecified age gap, domesticity, jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip [2.2k] a/n: my first attempt at joel! hope it's alright. read part 2 here! part 3 here! series masterlist here.

Jackson is quiet at this hour. The whole world is pretty quiet these days and sometimes it's more suffocating than peaceful. The white noise of life is so different -- you remember how car horns and humming power lines and the thrum of planes overhead used to remind you that you weren't alone. Now, most of the time, you're hoping you're alone. The snap of a twig or click of a safety or a muffled cough are signs of danger. But this town is safe. You know it, you feel it, but sometimes it catches up to you: how tiring it is to be on guard all the time. This is just how it is.

You hear little but your own footsteps as you head for home, hands tucked into your pockets and book wedged under your arm. The warmth of an evening spent at the town book club is still in your veins -- well, that and the finger of whiskey -- and it chases away your melancholy musings for the moment. Even better is the promise of what awaits you.

The porch light is on when you round the corner. You half expect Joel to be strumming away in his chair but there's no sign of him. Not unusual, not really, given that there's a chill in the air and Ellie was meant to come over for a movie night. Maybe she's still here and they're inside watching some shitty action flick on the couch. One or both of them always doze off before it's over. Regardless, you know he won't head to bed until you're home.

You ease open the door. The hallway smells like Ellie's favorite tea and slightly burnt bread but there's no splash of light from the TV, no clash of swords or quiet laughter.

It's dark in the house but that's not unusual either. "Took a few years to stop flicking light switches," Joel once told you. "Reckon it'll take a few more to get used to it again." He's the kind of man who would rather sit in the dark than chance disappointment.

"Joel?" you call. Your jacket goes on the hook next to his and you sit on the bench you dragged in last month for unlacing your boots, which will go next to his spare pair. He's undoubedlty still got his on, wherever he is. The tell-tale trail of belongings that often indicate the presence of a teenager is absent.

Your name echoes down the staircase followed by heavy, slightly uneven footsteps. Joel emerges into the hallway, guitar in hand. His hair is mussed like he's just thrown on the sweater he now wears and his expression softens at the sight of you, an ever-so-slight ease of his jaw and upturn of his mouth. It took you a while to learn how to spot it.

There are nights when you'll make a joke, tease him a little to try to get him to laugh. It's easier than it used to be but he likes to make you work for it. But tonight you're just glad to be home and you want to tell him so. He leans the guitar against the wall and beats you to it.

"Was gonna wait for you on the porch," he says. "Bit early to be back already." He's right. The after-discussion drinks will be going for at least another hour, thought the sun has been down for ages. You just shrug, fingers a little clumsy from the whiskey and the cold as you undo your laces.

"Wanted to come home," you say. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he crosses his arms, shoulder pressing into the wall above the guitar. Joel rarely takes, rarely reaches for what's in front of him even if he wants it, even if it's already his. It's a patience, a self discipline painfully constructed from years of survival and two rounds as a father mixed with the deep guilt he'll never allow himself to be rid of.

Point is, he'll wait for you to touch him. But that's okay. You've worked on your patience, too, and you've been doing this dance for a few years now. His arms will be open once you finish getting your damn shoes off.

"Ellie still here?" you ask. Joel's words are heavy with his drawl, heavier since being around Tommy, if Ellie is to be believed, his sentences clipped of unnecessary words and syllables. It seems that you've adopted some of his speech pattern. He'll never admit it but you think he likes it.

"You just missed her."

"I think she'd like this." You nudge the book on the bench beside you with your thigh. "I'll drop it by tomorrow. Movie night go good?"

Joel dips his chin, eyes on the floor. He shows you so much but there are some things he can't. The scabbing over wound between him and Ellie is often one of those things. "Was nice," he allows. "She n'Dina will be at dinner this weekend, she said."

You finally get your boots off and sigh, tossing them into the corner. The thud is loud enough to make you wince. "About time those girls graced us with their presence." You reach your arms above your head and stretch, joins popping and muscles sore from the sheer exertion of existing after the end of the world. Joel watches you.

"Alright," he says. He pushes off the wall with a groan. "C'mere."

It's the easiest thing in the world to walk into his embrace, socked feet soundless on the hardwood. You love Ellie like she's your own but her absence means that Joel will touch you more. He's a private man, reserved around people he knows and downright stony around those he doesn't even though the years in Jackson have softened him a great deal. He'll squeeze your hand, your shoulder, hover his palm on the small of your back as he moves around you, but that's it. He worries constantly that you'll wise up and realize he's too old, too boring, too mean, that people in town whisper the same behind your backs. Funny how in a time where you fight against fungus-powered flesh eaters, gossip still makes its rounds.

Still, you feel Joel's eyes on you in every room and you'd rather he worry about things like that than life and death beyond the walls. It's like your cells know he's near, a compass needle magnetized to the set of his shoulders and smell of wood glue and gunpowder. The rasp of his voice and his rough hands and the lines on his face. In the privacy of your home he's all yours.

"Hello," you say into his sweater. It's a new find, different from the threadbare button-ups and flannels he wears into the ground. His beard scratches against your skin and you sink into him, arms around his waist. He cradles the back of your head in one warm palm and holds you steady with the other on your back.

"Howdy," he mutters because he knows it'll make you laugh. It does. You match your inhales to his and any remaining tension from the day leaks out of both of you. "Do y'wanna to sit on the porch or go to bed? You hungry?"

His knuckles trace your spine as you shake your head. "Astrid had Seth make sandwiches. So, bed. Too cold to be on the porch."

"S'not that cold," he retorts. You roll your eyes and pull away from his embrace to look at him. His hair could do with a trim, the silver strands falling into his eyes. Your own hair has greys here and there by now, a byproduct of the times. Nearly everyone born Before has some. It's damn stressful to be alive. Joel often grumbles that you're too young for that kind of shit, not far enough from twenty for such visible signs of age.

"I've got gossip for you." That gets his eyebrows to raise.

"Do you now?" He releases you and grabs the guitar, gesturing for you to head upstairs first. "Should'a led with that."

Joel Miller is a lot of things, some of them better than others, but one of your favorites is that he's become a gossip. Maybe he was Before, too. Small-town life and safety and a teenager of his own and you have turned his eye back towards the business of other folks. Information gatherin', he calls it. Important to know what's going on.

But really he's just nosy. Good thing you are, too. It's basically the only reason you go to book club. If you actually wanted to talk about books you'd do it with the teenager living out back -- and you do -- since she's a bigger reader and miles smarter than anyone else in town.

The stairs creak like they always do. Joel has put away the laundry that you finished this morning and despite his inclination towards darkness, has left on the lamp in the bedroom. He sets the guitar back in its stand and sits in the armchair to unlace his boots, grunting a bit as he goes.

"Jesse's mother brought a new batch of whiskey for after the discussion. Caused some loose lips, I think. I hope she did it on purpose because it was worth it."

You eye the book on Joel's side of the bed. Something about...woodworking? Typical.

"Whiskey, huh?" he drawls from behind you. "Could smell it on your breath," he says. You look up and he startles you a bit by appearing in your space and tilting your chin up with two fingers. Joel presses his lips to yours firmly, tongue dipping into your exhale for just a moment before he pulls back. "Can taste it, too."

He's gone before you can lean into him. You sit down heavily on the bed. Whiskey aside, Joel's touch, his kiss, his attention always make you feel a little overwhelmed. And he knows it. You hadn't even heard him creep over to you.

"Asshole," you mutter.

"Say somethin'?" He's wandered to the closet to shuck off his jeans and sweater.

"Remember Scott?" you ask instead. "Short, got that scar across his face."

"I might be old but my memory is fine," he grumbles. "Patrolled with him last month."

"Well, he's been with Duy, that guy who works the gardens, for almost half a year, right? But according to Wendy, as of yesterday, Scott's not living in the house on Spring Street anymore. She saw him moving into a split level on Crescent."

Joel whistles through his teeth. You watch him slide into flannel pants, catch flashes of his tanned skin and your palms ache to touch him.

"You think it has to do with...what was his name? The other guy Scott's with sometimes? Phil? Peter?"

"Patrick. Yeah, that's what I thought too. Something must've been happening there." You tuck one leg under you on the bed. "What was that about a fine memory?"

He ignores you. "Never did like him much," he says. "He talks a lot." He reappears from the closet in his pants that belonged to some other man long dead, his chest bare despite the cool evening. He's a furnace, this man. You barely need layers to sleep in as the seasons change so long as he's next to you, all solid warmth and muscle. He tosses you the shirt you like to sleep in. It smells like what passes for detergent these days.

"You don't like anyone much," you tease as you unfurl your leg. It's not true, not really. Joel likes a few people a great deal and tolerates everyone else just fine. He's respected not only for being Maria's brother-in-law but for the way he can fix things, for his calm head on patrol. Children in town adore him and Ellie's friends used to revere him like a god, or so she tells you. You didn't know him before Jackson but you know enough about what happened twenty years ago, four years ago, and everything in between. You know that it made him hard but hollow. You know that that dear girl in the back shed brought him back to life and now that they're on the mend, you can see even more pieces of who he was.

You know that you've helped, too.

"I like you plenty," he says. He stands between your knees and frames your face with his hands. The callused pad of his thumb drags over your lower lip as you just stare at each other for a few moments. You press your palm to his stomach, nails sliding through the thatch of hair that leads down under the band of his pants. His abdomen contracts and his nostrils flare.

You give him a grin. "I like you plenty, too, Joel Miller." There isn't much more to it. He's probably your favorite person on this god-forsaken planet.

"Get outta these damn clothes," he grumbles around a small smile of his own. He tugs at the shirt in your hand.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him. "Oh, so we can f--"

Joel steps back and heads for the bathroom, leaving you behind with a dramatic sigh. "So we can go to sleep."

Laughter spills out of you as you head for the closet. "Whatever you say."

"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

The end of the world isn't so bad.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 5

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, slight slut-shaming, brief mention of death, minors do not interact

word count: 2.3k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the isa song “sometimes you lose your soulmates”

Present Day 

Though you didn’t exactly enjoy Mondays, it was at least the one day of the week when you got to wake up naturally instead of at the crack of dawn. Your first class isn't until noon, so when you wake up at 9:30 in the morning, you decide to get your day started early. 

You weren’t always the type of person to completely do themselves up just to go to class. Maybe in freshman year for the first few weeks, but you were a seasoned vet now. Most of the time, some leggings and a simple shirt or sweater sufficed. But after such a shitty weekend, you figure you could at least make yourself feel good by looking good. 

After half an hour of getting ready, you look yourself over in the bathroom mirror. You smile, fairly satisfied with your appearance. Despite the cold breezes of Saturday night, the forecast called for a rare warm day. As a result, you allowed yourself a floral sundress, decorated with a puffy knitted, button-up jacket on top of it in case the season’s true weather decided to show. A pair of simple white sneakers finished your outfit; not the most stylish, but practically, you still had to walk around campus. 

Your lips shine from the bit of lip gloss you’d applied. You’d only applied some light mascara on today (you figured that your Literature and Sexuality class did not warrant your bold, false eyelashes). You’d lightly painted your eyes with colours that complemented those of your sundress, blending them seamlessly onto your eyelids. As you did this, that one memory that was prodding you two days ago became clearer. 

“I have no idea how you do that so naturally, dude.” Ellie’d said, watching you in awe from the foot of your bed. 

Her ocean green eyes watched the meticulous strokes of your makeup brush applying eyeshadow to your lids. It was early on in your “friendship” and it was still a couple more weeks of her calling you “dude” before you became “babe” and “baby.” 

“It’s not that hard, honestly. Just takes some practice.” You’d said, trying to keep your hand steady as you grew nervous under Ellie’s watchful gaze. 

“Nah, it’s natural talent. You’re an artist.” She’d replied. 

You’d scoffed, saying, “Ellie, all I’m doing is my makeup. You’re the actual artist, remember?” 

“No,” She’d shaken her head. “I just draw. You’re the artist here.” She’d said decidedly, eyes full of admiration as she continued to stare. 

You’d blushed furiously then, and you would continuously do so when you’d replay that memory the months following after. 

But it was two years later and now, the memory instead has you staring at your reflection tight-lipped and frowning. 

Why is she still everywhere? 

It was roughly a fifteen to twenty-minute walk from your apartment to the university. You lived in an off-campus apartment complex that was in a decent location from both the school and a downtown area nearby. It was less convenient than living on campus like several of your friends still did, and this certainly wasn’t what you’d had in mind when you were planning out your social college experience. But after the freshman year events of Rafael’s death and Ellie’s abandonment, you were far more comfortable where you were. 

You liked walking anyway. You found solace in the strolls you took, accompanied only by your thoughts and headphones. 

About five minutes into your trek to campus, you pull out your phone to text your friend Tara. 

A couple of minutes later, you were just officially entering the campus when Tara texts you back. 

You continue walking as you frown down at your phone. Dina had spent most of the previous day at your place, cheering you up and taking your mind off Ellie. Your group chat with your other friends was blowing up and by the end of the night when Dina had left, you were overwhelmed by the amount of unread texts you had. The group chat remained unopened until right now. 

The chat consisted of your friends Tara, Sidney, Astrid, Rebecca, Kristen, and Mina. You’d met them all in freshman year. Tara was your assigned roommate and Astrid was Dina’s. They were all initially casual friends, ones that you saw on a usual basis and got along well with, but they weren’t necessarily very close. You were better friends with the gang from Jackson. But after you came back to campus for sophomore year, you detached yourself slightly from Dina and Jesse, knowing full well that Ellie had them first. They both tried to remain closer to you; but they remained inseparable from their childhood best friend, not fully knowing what events led to what “broke up” you two. It wasn’t the same and it was a much different dynamic with this other friend group, but the girls were there for you all the same. 

Reluctantly, you click on the group chat named “Wilson Crew ❤️‍🔥” (Wilson Valley had been the name of the freshman dorm building most of you had resided in the first year). Scrolling up to where you’d left off, you scan the messages your friends had left the previous day. Your eyes grow wider and wider the more you read. 

The previous day, Tara, who worked at a campus coffee shop called Ruston Coffee, was tasked to train a new girl. To her, your other friends’, and now your shock, the new girl Tara was training was Freshman Girl. The same Freshman Girl who stayed glued to Ellie’s side for most of Saturday night. The same Freshman Girl who drooled over Ellie’s every word and move. The same Freshman Girl that mistook your Ellie’s signature lavender-laced joints as lilac. The same Freshman Girl who wore Ellie’s old motorcycle jacket the entire night. 

It turned out Freshman Girl did have a name: Daniela. Your friends had sent messages with different levels of shock and horror. Kristen called her a whore, to which Sidney agreed, to which Astrid reprimanded and told them both to be nice. Mina sent memes as a response. Tara also texted that Daniela would be working with her again today. 

You look up. Ruston Coffee is just down the way. You don't have to go in. You can skip coffee for today and hide out in the library instead. 

“I’m not expecting you and Ellie to magically make up. I won’t try to get into the middle of it because I know that’s between you two. But you definitely need to figure out this out, babe. This doesn’t seem like something that should remain unresolved.” Dina’d said.

“But don’t also let it affect all the other parts of your life, okay?" She continued. "She shouldn’t be stopping you from hanging out with me and Jess more often or going out to parties we’re at or anything that involves Ellie in some way. Don’t let her stop you from enjoying your life.” 

And Ellie certainly shouldn’t stop you from getting coffee. If you want to get a coffee and relax before class, Ellie should not be getting in the way of that. 

You take a deep breath and march towards the coffee shop, fingers gripping tightly onto the straps of your backpack and feet stomping in rhythm to good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo blasting loudly through your headphones. 

A bell above the door tinkles as you enter Ruston Coffee. The shop was a little busy, most seats taken up by other students sitting with their laptops or biding time before class. There's a line of people by the register and you begin approaching it until you hear your name being called. 

Your friend Tara waves you over by the counter where orders are usually dropped off. In one of her hands is a straw and your ready-made mocha frappe. 

“You’re the literal best, Tara.” You sigh, pulling your headphones off and walking up to her. 

She hands you your coffee order. 

“No problem.” She says, smiling. “You know that I don’t mind.”

“Thank you for indulging in my caffeine addiction,” You say, whipping out your phone and sending her $6. 

Tara frowns and says, “You better not have given me a $3 tip this time.” 

You sip from your straw. 

“Dude!” Tara reprimands, laughing. 

“$2 tip!” You say, defensively. 

“Just for a $4 coffee.” She chides, shaking her head. 

You shrug. 

“So uh,” Tara begins, her voice lowered slightly. “Did you see what I said in the group chat yesterday? Cause you weren’t responding.” 

You gulp. 

“Uhh. Yeah, I did, just now. Sorry, Dina was at my place yesterday, so I was busy—” 

“Nah nah, it’s cool, man. But like. You saw what I said about that girl, right?” 

“Is she here?” You ask, chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“Not yet. But—” Tara checks her watch. “—she’s supposed to be here in less than five minutes or so.” 

Fuck. 

“Oh, okay.” You gulp, your heart rate increasing. 

“Are you okay, dude?” Tara asks. 

“No, yeah, I’m fine.” You lie. “How did training her yesterday go?” 

Tara crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. 

“Literally the worst. She kept on looking at her phone instead of listening, she left one AirPod in her ear the whole time, she kept asking when we were gonna be done. And now I have to go through it all again once she gets here.” 

You give Tara a sympathetic look. 

“I hate that,” You say, sucking on your teeth. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, not hire her?” 

“We’re short-staffed as fuck, so we don’t have much of a choice.” Tara sigh. 

One of Tara’s co-workers comes up behind her and attempts to elbow her ribs which she dodges easily. 

“Get back to work, Maclay.” He says, putting down two cups of coffee next to her before heading back towards the register. 

“Fuck off, Khanh!” She replies, shooting a middle finger to his back. 

“Should I let you get back to work?” You ask. 

“Nah,” Tara reassures. “I wanna shit talk this Daniela girl first before I have to deal with her this morning.” 

“Do you know how often she’s gonna be working with you?” You inquire. 

“I’m not sure yet, but if Bonnie thinks she’s gonna stick me with a lazy new girl this early in the year—” 

You hear the bell above the door tinkle as someone enters the coffee shop. Both you and Tara look instinctively at the new arrival. Tara groans silently and your throat goes dry. 

Freshman Girl Daniela walks in. Wearing Ellie’s jacket once again. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Crap, I gotta go now, I guess.” Tara whines begrudgingly. 

“Y-yeah…” You say, unable to take your eyes off of that same jacket that used to often adorn your shoulders back in your freshman year. You hate that it looked good on Daniela. 

“I’ll see you later, dude.” Tara says, wrenching her elbows off the counter and walking towards the register. 

“Good luck.” You reply. 

You aren't exactly subtle with your stare, but thankfully Daniela doesn't seem to notice. It's a little different seeing her now in the daytime. She was very pretty, you have to admit to yourself. She has a short, pixie cut that complements her sharp bone structure. She's wearing a bright yellow tank top below Ellie’s jacket that clings to her lean figure, making her stand out slightly. The light makeup she has on looks so simple and natural. 

Daniela wasn’t Ellie’s first conquest since you ended things with her. She didn’t waste much time dating around after you all came back for your sophomore year. You’d avoided her as much as possible so you wouldn't have to come face-to-face with the girls she’d get involved with. You still heard about them, of course, and you were sure there were even more than the ones you’d known about. 

But Daniela was the first you were forced to encounter. You weren’t prepared to be thrust right into Ellie’s love life once more. But here you are, staring at the most recent fling of the girl who you were once so desperately in love with. 

As Daniela lazily makes her way through the shop towards the back, you eventually tear your eyes off her and head straight for the exit. 

♫ Maybe she’ll come through / If he waits some more 

But she doesn’t / No, she doesn’t ♫ 

You're leaning against one of the trees in the quad, backpack laid next to you and headphones back on your ears. Your next class is in the building right behind you, but you still have a while until it started. 

♫ It’s not like the movies / Like you dream it’ll be 

Sometimes you lose your soulmates / And sometimes they leave ♫

Your journal and pen are laid out on your lap but abandoned as your fingers pick at the grass around you. Your mostly empty coffee cup sits next to you, condensation dripping into the soil. Your eyes are completely glazed over, watching the clouds in the sky. 

♫ She’s not a girl you forget / She’ll run through your head 

With all of the moments / You loved but now dread 

To remember / Burning like—♫ 

Your hands and voice react quicker than your mind does. Your sudden movements cause your headphones to fall onto your neck. After a second, you realize that you had shrieked and that your hands had flown up to your face to catch something. As you bring the object down to look at it, you realize it was a football. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” 

You look up to see a tall girl in a dark t-shirt and grey sweatpants jogging towards you, a dirty blonde braid bouncing behind her. 

“Abby?”

author's notes:

sorry for the delay in uploading this! i'm back from my brief vacation, and after i settled in after getting home, i almost immediately plopped down in front of my laptop to finalize this ldksfjsdlkds

not very chockful of ellie in this chapter, i know, i'm sorry! y'all got plenty last chapter! but don't worry, more will be coming up soon. i just enjoy keeping y'all in suspense.

i just wanna mention that most (if not all) of the names that i use in this fic are picked out people in the games themselves. also tara's last name is maclay as an homage to my lesbian queen tara maclay from buffy the vampire slayer. she's not the same character obvi, but i just enjoy putting in the reference :)

freshman girl aka daniela may have been named after and based on some whore girl that my ex left me for and that i'm still bitter about it oops

i hope y'all enjoyed the surprise guest appearance at the end of this chapter! she will be integrated further into the story from this point on, so stayed tuned :)

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @oatmilkchaii, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky

[grogusmum]

IRL

Part 3 @han_shot_first

JAVI X F!PLUS SIZE!READER

SUMMARY: Set before the events of The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent. Javi and Reader are friends online, and after a year of DMing they decide to meet. (The only change is Javi and Gabriela are just friends)

WORD COUNT: 1800ish

WARNINGS: Reader has insecurities about her size and appearance. Javi is adorable, be warned. Things get spicy.

Part 2

“Girasol,” he whispers; voice husky. Your knees go a little watery not only from the want in Javi’s voice for you but for the sweet nickname, sunflower.

His warm, plush lips taste your mouth, chin, and neck. Tickling behind your ear, you had never kissed anyone with a mustache or much facial hair. It tickles and rasps over your soft skin deliciously, especially your neck, causing your shoulder to jump with a smiling gasp. 

Being pressed against the wall was also new to you like this gorgeous man can't get enough of you and needs to be as close as he can possibly get. One hand is cradling your jaw; the other travels from your hip under your sweater, where he has found that the dress is sleeveless. He hums, pleased by his discovery. You try not to feel emotional and keep the thought - thank you. Thank you for being attracted to me, even though… inside your head. But it brings up some tears that you blink away. 

The moment you open your eyes, the lights flicker, signaling you to return to the theater.

“Javi?”

“Hmmm?” He murmurs, distracted by devouring your neck.

“The next film-”

He pulls away as the lights flicker again. 

“We will pick this up back at the hotel,” he rumbles. 

Javi takes your hand and leads the way to the theater. Since you are among the last to sit, Javi looks and tugs you toward the back of the theater. He noticed your glassy eyes when he pulled away. He wonders if he overstepped.

After you settle into your seat-

“I'm sorry,” Javi looks at you with his puppiest eyes.

“For?”

“Well, I- for,” Javi struggles. “ Maybe I was too forward, and now we don't have good se-”

You smile; Javi really is the sweetest.

“Javi, I have never been so turned on in my life,” you murmur in his ear, and his face breaks into a broad smile, his eyes dancing. 

While the rest of the day flies and is more fun than you've had in a long time, every once and a while, you get a little in your head when hobnobbing with “the beautiful people.” But somehow, Javi seems to feel it every time, and he brings you closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, murmuring a sweet check-in.

Online, late at night, you would talk and talk, and you thought you felt a tension in the last month before planning to meet, but you always half-heartedly dismissed it. And when you saw his picture, you wholeheartedly dismissed it. How can someone like him…but here you both are. He doesn't even see the other women. Javi has at least one hand on you at all times. Holding your hand or on your thigh with his thumb chasing little circles during the films and Q&As, his arm wrapped around your waist during intermission. This new layer to your relationship is exciting, if a little scary. 

All you have been thinking about since the alcove is getting back to the hotel, but as Javi checks you both in, your traitorous brain starts to race; you know Javi is a good guy, he would never just presume, and if you put on the brakes he would respect that…but now that it's here. It's not that you don't want to; you want to, by the gods, do you. But what if he doesn't like what he sees when you are, quite literally, laid bare?

Javi returns with the key cards, his stomach knots in new and exciting ways. 

“It's a two-bedroom penthouse suite,”he murmurs, primarily to his feet. He can feel the tips of his ears going hot, “I got them before - but you know, if you don't - I mean, if we-”

Javi doesn't know what you are thinking. But he can easily see the anxiety scrawled across you. But he doesn't know what has you in this state—

Watching him, you can see his effort. To keep you comfortable, respecting your boundaries, and he keeps showing you he is attracted to you, all of you.

So you tell your liar of a brain to shut up for once, and your first finger goes gently under his chin, tipping his head to look at you. 

“Javi? Please take me upstairs.” 

This is when Javi’s brain short circuits.

The penthouse is, of course, gorgeous, just as Javi hoped. There’s a fireplaced living room, with the spread of chocolate-covered strawberries, soft cheeses, warm crusty bread, and the champagne he asked for on a coffee table. 

“Javi! This is, does this just come with penthouse suites or…”

“There are always, well, ‘amenities,’ but um, I asked for your favorites.”

“When?”

“As soon as you said you’d come to visit.”

“But-”

“I know it was a little bold of me, but I - sort of had this big plan to try to win your heart this weekend. But like I said, I got two rooms, I wasn’t, you know, ‘expecting something’,” All of this comes out in a rush, but Javi takes a breath and slows down, his eyes taking in your lovely face.

“‘Han Shot First’, I’ve been having feelings for you for a long, long time.”

It's your face’s turn to warm, as romantic as his nickname Girasol is, as beautiful as it makes you feel... There's something about him using your url handle at this moment - the name he knew before he had seen your picture… You fling your arms around him, and without hesitation, his mouth seals to yours. His hand goes to your cardigan, peeling it off. Before you can have another wave of anxiety, the groan Javi lets loose as his hands run up and down your upper arms and around your back settles your qualms. He presses you as close to him as he can without occupying the same space, thus defying the laws of physics.

“Girasol”, Javi murmurs. “I can't believe how lucky I am.”

His hands rove your back, hips, and backside. You keep beating back your traitorous brain, so you can just enjoy how this feels. He likes everything he's touching. 

One of his hands comes to the side of your face, holding you tight in his kiss. 

“May I undress you?”

Javi begins unbuttoning your dress, his hands so sure at every button. He pulls back the top of the dress off your shoulders, and his needy kisses travel from one to the other, stopping to enjoy your collarbones and the hollow of your throat. Then he lets the dress fall, a circle at your feet. You slip his blue blazer off his shoulders and start unbuttoning his shirt. You peek back at his face to see adoration.

You nod, and the look he gave you in the alcove returns causes a pleasant zing in your lower belly.

Javi becomes impatient and brings his arms hurriedly out of his sleeves, and pulls you against him once more, his arms wrapped around your waist. With urgent kisses, he walks you backward until your calves hit the bed. 

Giving a yip as you drop onto it, a nervous giggle bubbles up, and you take a breath, eyes closed. Mirroring your action in the lobby, Javi's curled forefinger gently lifts your face to him.

“I am enamored with every inch of you, Girasol. Every last inch.”

Against your will, your eyes swim, so that is where Javi decides to start in his worship. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brush the tears away. Pressing kisses to your cheeks. 

Your hands rest on his narrow hips as you look up at this beautiful man, this silly, passionate, delightful man.

He wants me, you think, all of me.

Your hands travel up his sun-kissed torso, the sweet curve of his belly, but just as your hands settle on his chest, he has your shoulders, pressing them to the bed. And this was that moment you feared, laid out on the bed. Suddenly Javi’s got you behind your knees with those enormous paws of his, and with a quick and decisive pull, he's got your ass at the edge of the bed and thighs over his broad shoulders, and you can feel his breath at your core. 

“Javi!” Breath quickening, you are pretty sure you almost came from being moved like that; you don’t get “thrown around”

Javi's hands run up your thighs, his thumbs massage the crease where your hip meets them  -

“Did you like that, Girasol?”

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[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TEN — THE NEW FACE OF FAILURE

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: a surprise visitor shows up at nancy wheeler's house during your sleepover. eddie has a run-in with steve harrington and gets some hard-to-choke down news from a teacher. things with your newly released convict father seem to be going... eerily well. content warnings: does excessive yappin count. cussin! shitty dads! allusion to past physical abuse! drugs and smoking! heavy pettin! lovesick and scared about it edlacy! word count: 11.6k

Dear reader, 

For the first time in forever, I have nothing smart to say. I mean, really. For the first time in forever, when things have reached a previously unprecedented crescendo of shit-hitting-fannery, when my life has truly shown every possible sign of being headed toward complete ruin, when it’s not just opposite day but bizarro world incarnate, I feel…

Good. 

Because I’m looking at him. 

And he’s looking back at me.

And Nancy Wheeler is yelling for him to get in the goddamned window. 

Eddie Munson has no business standing outside the Wheeler’s garage with a fistful of pebbles, cautiously flicking them at a second story window, yet he is. The soft pelting noise had made your neck jerk up from where it craned over Nancy’s nails, painting them a springy green and go, “Do you hear that or is it my paranoia talking?”

See, when you woke up that morning, you knew you had two phone calls to make. Instead of using the traceable line of your house phone, you’d snatched a handful of quarters and booked it to the payphone at the edge of the lot. You’d almost stopped at the Munson trailer, tossing your own rocks at Eddie’s window, but thought better of it– there was always a chance that the newly exonerated (sort of) Ray Doevski would be peering through the blinds, taking a Rear Window affect to his newly instated house arrest. 

Yeah. House arrest, and you were sure that the same crack had run concurrently through the minds of you and both your parents– we’d hardly call this a house. But Ray was ordered to stay put, and even had this nutty gadget tagged to his ankle, this new fangled monitor that they were just rolling out. 

“Always on the cutting edge, aren’t you, Daddy?” 

With shaking fingers, you thunked in Eddie’s number, which he’d scrawled inside the cover of a Flannery O’Connor short story collection you’d been carting around a couple of months ago. It was one of those days that came up every now and again, where you couldn’t quite keep the lid on feeling blue. The weight of everything came down on you in an avalanche, leaving you unable to throw your pithy remarks into conversation with him or with Ronnie like you usually would’ve. Pretty much silent, pretty much staring a hole through the middle distance. He grabbed the book from you in the library during free period, your free period which he wasn’t even in, and whispered, “Just in case that curse gets lifted and you get your voice back. I’m sure you’ve got, like, a laundry list of barbs you’ve been dying to unload on me all day.” 

You remembered the way his eyes softened as he slid the book back to you, pressing his ringed hand against the cover for a couple seconds longer than he needed to. 

“Or just… for anything, y’know. We can just talk. About nothing. If it helps.”

At the time, you fought the instinct to put your hand over his.

“Won’t Wayne care that I’m calling?” you’d crackled, voice weary from underuse. 

Eddie shrugged. “Not if you pretend you’re Gareth.”

And that was exactly what you were hoping you wouldn’t have to do, shivering in your thin sweater as the dial tone to the Munson’s droned out. What if Wayne answered? What if you couldn’t rightfully approximate the voice of a balls-half-dropped freshman? What if he knew it was you, what would he do? 

Well, you needn’t have worried, because you apparently had a future in impressions. You squeaked out something about being the aforementioned Emerson looking for Eddie (at this ungodly hour of the morning?), something about Hellfire. 

“Gareth the Great! What’s the problem, the Arcane Brotherhood finally scoop your ass? Need me to come bust you from their tower? I told you, goin’ all Fear and Loathing in Luskan is gonna cost y–”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, it’s me,” you chattered, but even through the worry, a tiny smile pulled at your lips. 

 “Uh. Disregard everything I just said.” His voice had an early-morning static to it that you wanted to stay tuned into. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

“Hi… are you… shivering right now? Need me to come warm you up, because I’d be more than happy to cr–”

“Eddie, I’m at the payphone–”

“--what the hell are you doin’ out there?”

“--will you shut up so I can tell you? I don’t have a lot of time, so I need to cut right to the chase.”

“Sorry,” and this breathy little laugh runs through his voice that nearly knocks you clean out. God. What you wouldn’t give to hear that breathed into your ear instead of through some handset flaking rust. “Please, cut away.”

But, uh, yeah. That other thing. 

“My father got out of prison some-fucking-how–”

“Wait, what? Like he esc–,” you listen as Eddie drops his voice to a hiss, “Like he escaped?!”

“Oh my god, let me finish! –but, psh, no. Ray Doevski is a man of manicured hand, alright, he’s not tunneling out of anywhere. It’s all apparently legally above board, but… he’s– he’s at home. He’s in the trailer… He’s there right now.”

The fear in your chest was beginning to make your breathing feel white hot, hard to get out. Walls closing in. Your dad is at home. He is in your trailer. He is there right now. Five minutes alone in your room, a flick of his eyes over your belongings, he’ll know everything– everything that you’ve done–

You didn’t even notice that your breaths were turning into low, panicked gasps until Eddie’s voice broke through the receiver again. 

“Lace, stay put. I’m comin’ out there.”

“Eddie, no!” you barked down the phone, and a couple of birds scattered from the powerline overhead. Despite the fact that you were pretty sure collapsing into Eddie’s arms would have put a temporary stopper on the panic, you weren’t awarded such luxuries in this life. Figures. “I’ve got to get back to have some phony-ass breakfast with them in, like, now and you cannot be seen near me. Not here, okay?”

What Eddie crackled back with was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart chamber. It wasn’t a plea, or a demand. He simply said, brimming with a bright resolve, “Say the word and I’m there. Right next to you. Hear me?”

You had never heard anyone sound so sure about you before. 

Well, Eddie’s valiance was rivaled only by Nancy Wheeler, who you phoned up next. Karen Wheeler answered in a chirpy voice that even sounded blonde, her voice pitching higher when you announced who was calling. 

“Oh, Lacy! Of course. I’ll grab her for you, sweetie.” A little too goddamn knowing-sounding for your liking. 

But Nancy was all firm edges, picking up on the tremble in your voice just like Eddie had. “Well, you’re coming over. Obviously. Pack a bag– we need to put in serious work for that Streak article you’re finishing, right? Might even be an all-nighter. I’ll order pizza.”

With your dad shackled to the trailer and your mom reluctant to leave his side, there wasn’t a whole lot they could do to prevent you from swanning off to the Wheeler residence. Had to stay true to your commitments, after all, something your dad constantly impressed upon you. But when you reminded him of this as you hitched your overnight bag over your shoulder, heading out to Nancy’s waiting car, he met you with a serene smile. 

“Of course, honey. Do what you need to do.” No argument. No pushback. Not even a snide remark. That chilled you to the bone. 

You attempted to distract yourself from… well, the whole meal of it, by allowing the Precious Moments-themed decor of the Wheeler household to wash over you. The house is warm and chintzy inside, with shoes piled up by the door and laundry overflowing in baskets. Nancy’s bedroom is just as achingly normal in tones of pink and cream, a sanctuary and a strangle between girlhood and growing up. She’d shyly batted a couple of stuffed animals away from the bed that had seen the throes of her and Steve Harrington. Her Tom Cruise poster hangs opposite a pinboard of college brochures. Barbara Holland’s memorial card on her mirror. 

Guilt and innocence and upward mobility. 

As you looked around, you thought about the photo strips from the mall of you and Tina and Cass and Carol, how they were stuffed away in a box somewhere. You made a mental note to tug Nancy into the next photobooth you both came across. And Ronnie, for that matter. 

Nancy was kind about everything, of course, like she always is; she didn’t push for information about your dad’s surprise return, but you gave it pretty willingly as you cracked into her Cosmo and nail polish collection. Everything but the you and Eddie of it all… that juicy morsel you were saving until the witching hour struck, the customary time for girls to tell secrets at sleepovers. 

But somebody always has to try and get the jump on you. 

Which is how you and Nancy end up hanging out of her window, a beaming Eddie staring up at you from the pavement. 

“What the hell is he doing down there?” Nancy hisses, her eyes panicked and flaring. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” but even through the initial flash of panic, your voice has taken on this dreamy quality that makes Nancy roll her eyes–and rightfully so! “Munson, what say you? What the hell are you doing down there?”

“I–”

Nancy doesn’t even let him finish, just lets out an exasperated sigh and tells him, “Just– come up here, alright? I do not want to answer for what’s gonna happen if my dad catches you in the driveway!” 

Without a second thought, Eddie makes to hoist himself into Nancy’s dinky bedroom window. He falls over the little seat in a jangle of silver and leather and hair and gleaming teeth– “Ow! Jesus!” “Eddie, shut. Up!” Nancy winces, you wince, but as Eddie rolls onto his back and clears the hair out of his eyes, you realize that fluttering in your stomach is not a fight or flight response. 

He smiles up at you, all teeth and mischief. “Hi. Whatcha doin’?”

Oh, no.

You nudge him in the ribs with your foot, way too light for him to yelp like that. Nancy looks like she’s going to kick the shit out of him for real–and you too, maybe.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know about this?” she demands, turning on you. You notice that she’s still holding her fingers aloft, which you appreciate! No one seems to care about manicures as much as you do. It’s nice to finally be seen, for Chrissake. 

“Like I’d bring the heat around your place, Nancy! Come on, currently in a precarious situation much?” 

Hilarious to describe Eddie Munson as heat when he is, at best, a bull in Wheeler’s overstuffed china shop. Adorably so, you have to concede, watching him pick up a little porcelain figurine from her dresser. 

Nancy’s not buying it.

“I plead the eternal fifth!” you exclaim, eyes wide and willing the laugh to stay out of your voice as Eddie peers around Nancy’s stuff. “He operates on his own logic.”

Nancy eyes you warily before her gaze darts to Eddie. “Can you not touch anything? ”

“You have a cat just like this!” Eddie barks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” the both of you chorus.

Delicately, Eddie replaces the little ceramic cat with a severely offended look. “Sheesh, ladies, I thought we were friends.” He drops the pretense pretty fast, jerking his chin in your direction with a smile that has I ain’t goin’ nowhere written all over it. “I need a word with the duchess here.”  

“So leave a message!” 

“He can’t–” “--you think we got answering machines in Forest Hills?” “--my dad–” “--life might be different for all you up here on Maple–” “--will have him taken out by sniper rifle.” “--you know this woman used a payphone for the first time in her life today?” 

A squinting Nancy lets this settle in the air for a second, like a stink bomb that’s just been deployed. I mean, you don’t know if she can see it exactly, but the charge between you and Eddie isn’t exactly subtle. Changed, maybe, from will-they-won’t-they to they-did-and-it’s-hazardous. Realization soon dawns on her. 

“Oh, you–ohhh,” Nancy nods, and chirps another, “Oh!” 

Then, a thunderous hammering that just about brings down Nancy’s bedroom door. The three of you lurch and freeze. Your hand instinctively goes to grab Eddie’s arm, fingers finding the soft leather. Your lashes flutter.

“Nan-cyyyyy!” 

That high-pitched, middle-schooled, reedy little tone? “Oh, shit. It’s just Mike.” 

“Mom said you were getting pizza so you have to get a pie for me and the guys! Wait,” some juvenile sounding muttering, “Two pies!” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Nancy snarls, in the way only an older sister can, “I… am going to go out there and run interference and you– five minutes, okay?! I’m–” She goes so far as to set a timer on her watch. “I mean it.”

Both you and Eddie make noises in the affirmative, him sidling closer and closer to you as Nancy moves out of the room. But she pivots, nailing you both with pointed index fingers. “And don’t– don’t you even think about it. You two are not subtle, I will know!” 

“Wheeler, I resent that perverted implication!” Eddie hisses, but his fingers are already walking themselves over the curve of your ass. You’d say something if you weren’t desperately trying to keep yourself under control. 

“Mike, quit yelling the house down like an asshole!” “Who is that? Have you and Lacy got a guy in there? Gross, are you sharing a boyfriend or something?” “Shut up, don’t be disgusting, I’ll kill you, get downstairs!” 

Soon as Nancy’s door clicks behind her, you wrestle an easily malleable Eddie down to sit on the bed and climb right into his lap, thighs planting either side of him. Your body is completely abuzz now that you’re alone with him again, physical form melding instantly to the heat of his body. Eddie’s gaze darkens just a touch, like he’s dimmed the switch inside his head from mischievous to slightly dastardly. “Oh, shut up!” you say, and catch your mouth on his.

“I didn’t say shit!” Eddie breathes in return, falling right into your rhythm. 

“You heard the chief,” you struggle through desperate lip smacking; that lived in taste of him, cigarettes and sweet soda, makes your head feel all baubly on the stem of your neck, “Five minutes,” Eddie’s hands web into your hair, your knees sag into the comforter, “Explain yourself.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Eddie’s mouth clicks sweetly against yours, words a bullshit mumble against your tongue. A heady mix of relief and desire flood you as you brace your hands around his shoulders. 

“Don’t lie,” you say, tinge of a whimper creeping in as Eddie’s grip starts to harden, indenting the flesh of your thigh. “I’ll kill you.” 

Looking at his grin is one thing, but feeling it against your neck as his mouth embarks on its own journey is something completely different. “Prom–”

“Eddie, how did you even know I was here?” A light, mindless slap comes down on his shoulder. Your breathing is becoming troublingly labored, head becoming troublingly spinny as Eddie’s teeth graze your collarbone.

“Rudimentary guesswork!” he gasps, coming up for air that’s soon stolen by the ready plushness of your mouth. “Okay. Okay. Fine, I saw Wheeler pick you up in her goddamn station wagon and–” Eddie’s voice cracks a touch as your hips press harder into him, “--put two and two together?”

“And you came here because…? Expound, already!” Your furious, air-starved hiss is a stark contrast to the way your lips keep chasing his.

“I wanted to c– I needed to come–” he swallows your stupid blooming smirk with another kiss, “Shut up. I wanted to make sure you were okay. And I couldn’t sleep. Could you sleep? I couldn’t sleep, just kept thinkin’... Kept… hnm, thinkin’ about you… About you like this… ‘n last night…”

As he babbles, your heart jackrabbits. Christ, you want him so bad. You’d listen to him like this for hours–talking like this alone, open and wanting, is enough to get you off. Eddie’s easing your skirt up your ass, rucking that fabric up slow like he did last night–but you want more than last night, if that’s possible, you want all of him, and for longer and for good–

You want him so badly that you forget where you are. Eyes snap open to catch direct iris-on-iris contact with Nancy’s Tom Cruise poster, hung strategically in view from her bed. 

Nancy’s bed. Nancy’s room. Nancy’s fucking Tom Cruise poster.

“Shit,” you say in a strangle, right against his cheek. “Shit, what are we doing?” You rear right back, getting a good look at Eddie’s ruffled demeanor, his blush-high complexion. That intoxicated look he’s wearing just from feeling you up.

Someone looking at you the way Eddie is right now feels completely, totally brand new. Ardent and urgent, untouched by influence. 

You’re almost positive that your gulp is audible.

With a couple of rapid blinks, Eddie seems to come back down to earth. 

“No. No, you’re right, um– listen, at the risk of completely humiliating myself–”

“More than you did crawling in that window? This is crazed.”

Eddie pauses a beat, a genuine look of offense constricting his features. His hands have moved from your ass to your waist, and don’t shift. 

“Hold on–Doevski, are you marking my dismount?”

You assholes just can’t help yourselves, can you? Mouth twitching at the corners, you harden up your gaze.

“I’m just saying, if you weren’t wearing ten tonnes of regalia, you might be able to make a more subtle entrance–”

“--who died and made you a hellenodikas?”

“Oh! Pulling out the Ancient Greek mythology on me now, huh?”

“I would never… pull out on you,” Eddie says and manages to hold his stone faced expression for a grand total of half a second before both your faces split in two. See, you hate him for this; that he can keep perfectly in time with you, and has since the jump. 

You’re the first to move. You edge yourself off Eddie’s lap, his hands mournfully side along your legs as you move.

“C’mon. Montague moment’s over. Kick rocks.”

He gives you one good, solid nod and mockingly straightens himself out before attempting to worm his way back out the window. Crouching half in-half out, he pauses. Some remnant of a smile he smiled at you about a million years ago flickers across his face.

“You know, Lace,” Eddie says, “you keep throwin’ me out of windows like this, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t like me.”

The door of the record store. The hot blast of stoned realization. Your fingers around his wrist. 

Knees working faster than your brain, you bend to Eddie and meet his mouth again. The kiss is soft and gentle, devolving into several little pecks around his smiling cheeks, his eyes, his forehead. To tide you over. To be continued.

“Eh, I don’t like you,” you mumble, tips of your noses brushing. “That much.”

“Yeah? Well, you got a funny way of showing it.”

You watch Eddie’s dismount (an easy six) and nervous jog all the way ‘til he’s disappeared through the shrubbery of the Wheeler’s. Soon as he’s out of sight, you’re almost positive that you catch a flash of burgundy paintwork zipping past the driveway, but it’s too fast to tell. Weird. 

Nancy near slices your fingers clean off as she noiselessly returns to the room, slamming the window shut. For as enraged as she’s trying to look, this girl with her half-painted nails also bears the familiar expression of someone baying for gossip. 

“Spill everything. Right now.” 

—

Eddie is a living, breathing, stink bomb of a cliche. He’s walking on air, he’s signed a lease on cloud nine, he’s all Gene Kelly’d out and still tap dancing down the locker lined steel trap of Hawkins High. Push back his curling bangs and he’s sure that PROPERTY OF LACY DOEVSKI is etched on his forehead, by the delicate hand that wields your fountain pen. 

Dude’s a goner. Lights out, KO’d, hit the bricks gone. And he only has himself to blame. 

If it were anyone else, he’s pretty sure it’d be different. Easier to stamp out the flame of hotheaded lust beneath his sneakers like a bag of dogshit on fire if it was some other right-side-of-town type girl. If it was just about being his diametric opposite. But it’s not. It’s you, sharp and silly and sexy, a total turn on even when you’re doing your best O’Donnell impression to sic him into studying. The you that he’s been slyly slipping into the NPCs of Hellfire, in ways that make Ronnie’s eyes roll (but she still tries to flirt with them, and that weirdly makes him a little… jealous? That dwarf is slick when she wants to be). The you that sometimes make a cameo appearance at his lunch table when you’re not holed up in the newspaper room, sat with poise and pith that the rest of the gaggle of nerds just don’t know what to do with. 

Eddie can’t count the amount of times he’s wanted to crawl across that table and kiss you. And he’s been close to doing it. Couple times. Remnants of sloppy joes on his hands and knees.

But now he can kiss you, at least in private anyway, because there’s still a roadblock or two you have to navigate. And so what! What’s a little challenge when you’re this blissfully, head fuckerly, heartburningly in l—

“Watch where you’re going, asshole.” 

This particular dagger comes straight out of the maw of Hawkins High’s crown jackass, Steve Harrington, whose shoulder Eddie’s just accidentally checked. Now, Eddie’s never cared much for Harrington, but never thought much about him either—the feeling, outside of scoring a baggie or two, is apparently mutual. But the glower Steve is sporting says anything but nonchalance. 

“Jeez, Harrington,” the grin Eddie’s sporting makes a full meal out of a plate of shit, “If you like me so much, you can just say so. No need for the whole pullin’ pigtails routine.”

Steve stares at him for a good, hard second or two— so rigidly, in fact, that it nearly makes Eddie’s face falter. Who pissed in this guy’s Cheerios? Because, even if he double counts on his fingers, Eddie’s sure it wasn’t him. 

“I,” Steve starts, pretty dumbly, “I’m havin’ a party on Friday. You should come.”

Eddie knows an order when he hears one, but it’s usually couched in something like, You got any good stuff, man? Y’know, phrased in the strained way popular kids do when they pretend not to hate his guts for half a second. 

He knocks a mocking two fingered salute off his forehead and Steve’s grimace deepens. “Be there with bells on, sire.”

Up the hallway, one of the classroom doors creaks open. 

“I don’t have all afternoon, Mr Munson.” 

Steve looks past him to the imposing, near-six foot figure of Ms O’Donnell, impatiently tapping her shoes against the linoleum. Eddie’s smirk flattens into a tight line.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m in high demand! As you can see.”

Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response and takes off toward the exit. 

“Quit gazing after the quarterback and get in here,” O’Donnell demands. And who is Eddie to deny her, Amazonian Baba Yaga that she is? 

“Ms O’Deeeee, you call yourself a Hawkins Tiger?” he says, turning on heel, “You oughta know that Harrington is one of our finest ball players. Loves to play with balls, that one.”

“You can attest to that first hand, can you?” O’Donnell snarks, settling down behind her desk and gesturing Eddie to get comfortable at the top of the class. 

Oh, Iris. She’s right on his level, when she’s not tearing him a new asshole, scholastically speaking. 

Her name may not be Iris either, but tomato potato. Eddie slumps down into the desk like a graceless, clinking cat.

“I know you didn’t bring me here to talk about my extracurriculars. That would be a breach of propriety on your part.”

“Sure as hell I did not.” O’Donnell removes her eyeglasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, as she often does not even thirty seconds into an interaction with Eddie. “I’m missing my granddaughter’s recital for this, I want you to know that.” 

He’s pulled out the there’s no way you’re old enough to be a grandmother line half a dozen too many times for it to fly again. Not that it ever did— look at this woman, with her tented fingers! She has a clear sight line right through his bullshit. 

“I appreciate that you value my education more than some pipsqueak with a cello.” 

“The problem is that you don’t,” O’Donnell sighs. There’s a note of defeat in her voice. “Eddie, we need to talk.” 

In all the years O’Donnell has been on his case (four consecutive), she’s never addressed him by his first name. Eddie shifts in his seat a little, good mood not quite punctured yet. But askew, slightly. 

“They finally found out about our clandestine little tryst, huh? Well, you can tell Higgins and the school board that I’m—“

“Shut up.”

He does. Right up.

“You understand why I push you so hard, don’t you?” O’Donnell asks him, and instead of some smartass response, Eddie clams. Ask him honestly and he’d say she’s a past-prime faculty lifer in desperate need of a power trip. That’s the narrative he’d always gone with anyway, the reason she’d always single him out and make an example of him and insist on the repeat exams he’d rarely end up passing anyways. Like, just flunk him, okay? Get the humiliation over with. 

“It’s because I know your situation,” she tells him, “And I know you’re better than it. By a goddamn country mile.” 

That knocks him. He blinks. Huh?

“You’re bright, you know. If you only allowed yourself to be,” O’Donnell nods, leafing through a manila folder in front of her, “If you could only find some way to focus, you’d be a halfway to decent student. Might even make it to college.”

“Don’t be too generous,” Eddie scoffs, arms folding over his chest. He can feel the defense rising. 

O’Donnell stares at him over the rim of her glasses. “Oh, I’m not. Because the reality is, you’re too far gone. I’ve done all I can to try and drag you out of the sandpit of shit you’ve managed to fall into, but our time is coming to a swift and brutal end.” 

A beat.

“Christ, who died and made you my guidance counselor—“

“You’re not graduating, Eddie.”

A cold sear runs down Eddie’s spine. “Um.”

Alright. Alright, look. It’s not like he hadn’t expected this, in some way or another, but again, if he is really honest… Eddie had expected some eleventh hour miracle that ended up with him with that diploma in his hand. Walking the stage in that godawful green gown, scooting down the line to take his place beside Ronnie and… and you. 

First Munson to ever do it, at least in the proud township Hawkins. Something solid to his name, finally. A GED that wasn’t necessarily a ticket to college, but proof that he could break the family curse of not following through. He didn’t need to be valedictorian or anything, he just needed… 

“But—but,” begins the scramble, “I’ve been doing… better, right? Like, I’ve gotten my grades up… not massively but a little!”

And he had. Fact is, these last handful of months, he hadnt just been dicking around with you and Ronnie after school— you’d actually gone out of your way to slice off some of those legendary brain smarts and slide them his way, bumping him up a letter grade in at least three subjects. 

You’d said something similar to O’Donnell.

You’ve got something, y’know, beyond all the hair and regalia. This system is rigged to fail anyone who surrenders to being, like, a bad test taker— so you just have to game the system and make it work for Eddie Munson. Right?

Then you’d poked him in the cheek with your number two pencil and he’d forgotten everything he’d ever learned, brain lingering on that little touch for days. 

That was before. Before your bedroom. Before Wheeler’s bedroom. Shit, before Granny Ecker’s closet. 

“Now, Eddie. Jesus. You’d need a miracle to get you anywhere close where you need to be to get out of here. Look, I am telling you this because I—“

“Why? Why do you even care? You’re the one that’s been failing me half the time.”

“Yes, because you’ve been failing, smartass! Think I’ve got a choice in the matter?” O’Donnell and her high Midwestern fury shuts him up again. “I’m telling you this because… well, it’s time to weigh up your options.” 

“Which are none.”

“Which could be none. The question on almost the entire faculty’s mind is, why haven’t you dropped out by now? And I’ve got a pretty good stab, I think.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Because, contrary to popular belief, you’re not your father.” 

Eddie has to look away. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I knew Al Munson. My first year here, I taught him. And I was green then, sure, in the goddamn dark ages but even then I knew he was just looking for any easy way out.” 

“And I’m not, huh?”

“No. Because you would’ve dropped out by now.” O’Donnell closes the folder like she’s seen enough. “Eddie, you have something to prove. And it’s worth proving.” 

Far be it from Eddie to believe that any teacher in this school actually gives a shit about him, but the glance he steals to O’Donnell makes a damn strong argument otherwise. 

“So w… what do I do?”

“God knows half the staff doesn’t want you around for another year. Sorry, but it’s true,” O’Donnell rolls her eyes and Eddie feels the sting of his last name, the skid mark of his father’s legacy following him wherever he goes, “I’ll work on it. Starting with Higgins, which should earn me canonization of some kind.”

“Castle in the sky and all that shit.”

Eddie doesn’t exactly nod; defiance is as strong as his white blood cells. He kind of wants O’Donnell to prove that she’s serious about helping him. About caring at all. 

She goes on, tone strict and pushing. 

“But you– keep your nose to the grindstone. Just because you’re not gonna pull through this year completely doesn’t mean that the improvement in the last couple of months meant nothing. I have noticed, by the way. And, uh, keep up the peer tutoring.” 

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Peer tutoring,” there’s amusement dancing in O’Donnell’s words that makes them a little uneven, “Lacy Doevski’s been so kind as to take you under her wing, hasn’t she?”

A shock of heat takes seat on his cheeks. Right. He’d forgotten about that scam you ran like a ride on lawnmower through Kaminsky’s class. 

“Y—yeah, somethin’ like that.”

“Well, keep that something going. It’s good. For the both of you,” O’Donnell clips with a knowing look. “I knew her father too.” 

She dismisses him with a wave and Eddie, feeling like she’d just made him tie up a pair of leaden boots, follows the tug of his deflated heart like a compass. A tread through the eerily empty after-hours halls brings back a memory here and there. Getting caught smoking under the stairwell on the first day of freshman year; a girl named Phoebe lending him a pencil in Biology, which he ended up using to pretend-stab Tommy Hagan who made fun of her stammer (Tommy cried like a bitch, as if Eddie would ever actually do that); fighting against his better judgment and jimmying the lock of a classroom open so he could help Gareth make a new character sheet for Hellfire and getting detention when they were found out, while the freshman hid under the desk so he wouldn’t be caught too. Plenty of little battles lost. But this is the big one–the one that tells him he’s doomed to repeat this adolescent torture for at least another year. 

However, as soon as he shoulders the swinging door open and sees you, bathed in a pool of lamplight with reams of typewriter paper surrounding you, and you pull your fountain pen from your mouth with a tired smile, stitched together just for him… 

KO. The big gold belt. Eddie Munson, heavyweight champion of the world.  

“Hey, Hildy,” he says, sliding down the short handrail into the typing pool, just because he knows it’ll make you roll your eyes and laugh. And it totally does, a croaky little giggle rasping out of your lips. “What’s the scoop?”

“Don’t you dare come any closer.” Your voice, your outstretched hand, makes Eddie freeze in a rigged marionette’s pose. It’s like your words have actual alchemic pull, how powerless he is to obey you and shit. “Let me just…”

“Seriously?” Eddie lets his arms drop, playing with a ball of elastic bands from the desk he sits on as you painstakingly reorganize your papers. “Y’know, I really should have an early preview of this, given I’m the star of the goddamn article and all. What if I object? What if you paint me in, like, an unflattering light? I could sue. Character defamation.”

“You’re taking care of that defamation all on your own, darling,” you yawn, the punch of your words not quite hitting like they usually would as you stagger across the newsroom to him. You’re exhausted–Eddie can see it. The deep shadows under your pretty eyes, new ink stains appearing on your fingers every day. You’re jerky and shaky, overcaffeinated to the point that the drug ain’t even working anymore. You’re working yourself to the bone. It’s been like this for ages; every spare moment that Eddie doesn’t see you, you’re playing catch up for college applications. “But no. Not ‘til it’s cooked and printed. My portfolio needs this article for a lead-in and it has to be bulletproof. Watertight. Unassailable. Other words for–”

“--perfect?” Eddie steps in, tossing the elastics over his shoulder and tugging you closer so that you’re just about sitting in his lap. “In that case, you chose a real winner of a subject.”

“Eddie.”

“No, seriously! Trailer park nobody with a fantasy game club. Wah-wah. I don’t envy the amount of fluffing you probably have to do to make it remotely appealing to… whoever’s in charge of reading that shit.” 

“Admissions board,” you supply. You’re close enough that Eddie can taste your perfume and honestly, he’s doing a great job of not just licking it clean off your neck. “And I know this is one of your self-pity rally cries, and I won’t entertain it. Besides, it’s not just about you. It’s about Hellfire. The whole… well, I’m not saying any more. You’re just gonna have to read it and find out.” 

“But I want my ego massaged,” Eddie pitifully whines, right out his nose. He clutches onto you harder, the pressure of your body against his alleviating the pressure of his total failure. His breath snags as you, so tired that you’re nearly trembling, kiss him softly. 

“Mm, let’s compromise. I can massage something else,” you hum against his chasing lips, but something saintly touches him before you get the chance to move your inky hand. He uh-uhs you. 

“Much as I appreciate the offer and will immediately curse myself for turning you down the second I get back to the trailer… you’re worn out, Lace. Seriously.” Eddie flicks a lock of your hair out of your face. Were you always like this, even when you were queen bitch? Did anyone ever think to check in on you before? “You been sleepin’? At all?”

“I have a countdown to my future and a convict father taking up residence on my couch. Of course I’m not sleeping. I’m optimizing,” you snit in the sleepiest voice he’s ever heard, your head is lolling against his shoulder. The pout you’re wearing makes Eddie want to bundle you right back to Forest Hills, tuck you up in his grody sheets and not let the rest of the world in ‘til you’ve got your strength back. Just you, him, some records. He’d read to you from The Silmarillion, because that was a surefire way to send you unconscious in seconds. 

“I just need to get this article done and then I’m… I’m good. It’s out of my hands,” you croak.

“Then it’s… NYU’s problem, right?” says Eddie.

“Columbia,” you murmur, “with Emerson as a safety.” 

“Lofty safety.”

“I’m a lofty girl. But you know what? I’m gonna get in.”

A pang in the key of dread hits Eddie in the throat. “I believe that.”

“But you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because of a silly little story I wrote about you.” You curl Eddie’s hair around your finger and he wonders if you can feel the physical sensation of him melting. Dripping all over you like a pathetic soft serve. “It’s so beyond comprehension but… You’re gonna make my dreams come true, Eddie Munson. I can feel it.”

About time I returned the favor, huh? is what he wants to say, but it’s not the time and it’s not the place and he thinks you might be drifting off in his arms. So he just breathes you in, and takes the win.

—

One thing Ray Doevski was always known to do was move. Not so much in a without exercise, the body devours itself kind of fashion, but in a without constantly one-upping oneself, the self devours itself kind of fashion. With Ray, moving was always some new business venture, some new property acquisition. Some other new reason for a cocktail party, so your mom would have an excuse to pretty herself up and you’d make your on-cue cameo, sweeping through the room and waving at all the important people your father had charmed and collected like stamps. And like stamps, the people he tended to collect all got more valuable with age. Ray liked old money, even if your family was on the newer end of the see-saw.

You saw all that for what it was now. Running the big scamola, charming these people out of pocket with that ugly Hawkins High class ring on his finger. Gold, garish, glaring, a glimmering green stone set right in the center. You hated that thing. 

So, to see someone so diligently dedicated to movement and momentum sit docile on the sofa is pretty fucking disturbing. With that ankle monitor permanently welded to his leg, Ray can’t do so much as stand outside for a smoke without the heat coming down on him. Such are the conditions of his parole. It’s a humiliating fate, watching someone so previously well-kempt rot before you. 

And more disturbing still, your father seems… not unhappy about his situation. As far as a man on house arrest goes, he’s not angry. He’s not irritable, he doesn’t even seem that frustrated. It’s strange. He’d even asked you to borrow a couple of your books to keep him occupied. That threw you. He’d never taken an interest in your voracious love for literature before… but boredom does absolute downright Invasion of the Body Snatchers type shit to a man.

He smiles at you from the corner of the sofa as you come in from an evening shift at the bookstore, your worn copy of Answered Prayers by Truman Capote in hand. It sends a cold dart through your tummy. 

“You!” comes a snarl and your elbow is being snatched before you can even regain your bearings. 

“What the f–”

Your mother slams her bedroom door so hard it seems to shake the trailer. It occurs to you that you haven’t stood inside her bedroom in weeks–months, maybe–or even seen inside of it save for the odd glance. Even then, it was always the sad staging of dresses and hose strewn across the bed, glasses with scarlet staining sitting on the nightstand and the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume growing old and flat and stale. But she’d straightened the place up– now the bedsheets sat tight around the corners of the mattress, and Gloriana’s jewelry was tidied away somewhere. No used wine glasses to behold. Like housekeeping had breezed through. 

She told you she worked as a maid once, ‘For about a minute. Before your father rescued me.’

“What’s your problem?” you snipe, rubbing your pinched elbow through your sweater sleeve. 

Your mother exhales a furious stream of smoke through her grit teeth, Dunhill poised, lit and ready. “You have to do something with him!” 

“Me?!” you hiss back. Alarm sets off a roil in your stomach. You’d made incredibly delicate work of avoiding your father since he landed on the other side of the trailer’s formica table, notching it all down to I’m eighteen, I’m about to graduate, I’ve got work to do! All of which is definitely true, but you’d padded it out a little. 

Padded it out with the time you spent with your lips on Eddie Munson’s lips, sure, but…

“Yes, you!” Gloriana spits, “Don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve been skirting around him since he came back. Shouldn’t you be over the moon with yourself?”

“I am. I am over the moon.” Greatest lie you’d ever told. “He’s back! Hurray! We’re all happy families again. Do we get the house back? Do I get my car?”

Your mother’s lip lifts into a little smirk. “Oh, Lacy. Has someone gone and turned your head about Daddy? Knocked him off his pedestal?”

See, your mother’s always had this thing– this seething jealousy about the way you looked up to your father. Not necessarily because you never looked up to her the same way (you’d written plenty in your journal about the vapidity of being a ‘society wife’, as she definitely was– a kind of cornfed Midwestern Slim Keith, an ex-pageant girl from the unremarkable middle point of Hawkins who benefitted entirely from her once-poor husband’s grafting), but because you were there at all. Yearning for his approval and robbing his attention. 

Not like you ever got much of either. 

“You want I should call the cops and tell them he’s been running phone scams from the trailer?” 

Your mom lets out a little huff that could be mistaken for a laugh. “He just sits there, all day long. And when he’s not sitting, he’s curtain twitching.”

Just like you’d thought. Rear Window. Danger zone. 

“This place could use a neighborhood watch,” comes the pith through your nerves, “Has he seen anything good, at least?”

Gloriana rolls her eyes at you, hooded with the pretense of as if I’d tell you. “That’s the other thing. He doesn’t talk. But he does ask questions.” 

“Like?” you ask, after a rough swallow that alerts you to how dry your throat has suddenly gotten.

Finely penciled eyebrows quirk. It reminds you of how much your mother can resemble Ava Gardner, when she puts some chutzpah into it. “Better get out there if you want to keep him from his suspicions, is all I’m saying.” 

As if she knows more than she’s letting slip. 

“Shouldn’t you be over the moon? Aren’t you happy that he’s out?” You turn the mirror on her. Gloriana’s eyelids flicker, as if she’s exhausted by the mere question. 

“Of course I am. Don’t be ridiculous,” she sighs. “But some things… were easier. Before. You and I didn’t need to pretend–”

That we liked each other. 

“Yeah.” You snip right into her sentence because although you’re well aware of the scope of your mother’s feelings toward you, it still stings to hear it said out. She’s still your mom, after all. Or, she should be. 

Standing in this room is making you nauseous. 

“I’ll keep him occupied for a while.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Moments later, you’re tossing a pack of cards on the little formica breakfast table. It used to be a universal language in your household, when your father was still feigning interest in you. He taught you to play cards, and taught you how to cheat at them. You only retained one of those things. Little miracles.

“Want to deal?”

Ray slowly closes the cover on Answered Prayers and rises to the table. 

“Why don’t you give it a try?” he says, a smile playing around his mouth. You resist the pull to roll your eyes, as if he’s bestowing such an honor on you—and wonder when exactly you did stop worshiping him.

Sometime between the last time you’d seen the back of his hand and the guilty verdict, you’re guessing. 

You lay out his hand, and yours. He archly remarks, “Gin?”

“I’ve gotten better.”

“You’ve gotten a lot of things, haven’t you?” Ray says, focusing on his cards. “Lot of things have changed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, I admit, I came on a little… strong that first night I came home.” Strong was one word for it; you’d call it more of a three-hour cross examination delivered while you were trapped inside an iron maiden. You’d shed as little light on the whole Munson situation as you could. He gave me a ride once or twice. We go to school together, what do you expect? “But can you blame me? With you and your mother living in… this place? I had to know. To be sure that you were safe.”

You want to think, he doesn’t give a shit about safety. He gives a shit about treason. About me fraternizing with his enemy’s offspring, or whatever. But the way he says it gives you pause. 

“It’s not so bad,” you shrug, swapping out a card. “It’s cozy.”

We’re not cozy people.

Ray takes a dig into the stock pile himself, regarding you with a curious look. “See what I mean? You seem… more willing to accept your circumstances. It’s interesting.”

The line between Ray Doevski praising and insulting you is like fishing line; depends on what he’s baiting you with. Accepting one’s circumstances was usually Doevskian for accepting failure.

“What, did you expect me to be kicking up tantrums about not having a clawfoot bathtub anymore? Because I’m not,” you smirk, “I’ve even adjusted to the notion of not always having hot water.”

Your mind flashes back to the small, square shower in the Munson trailer and you make a mental note to ask Eddie how his water heated to boiling within seconds. 

“That, I could personally never get used to.”

“Plumbing wasn’t so great in IDOC, I take it?”

“No. But that didn’t register so high on my scale of problems inside.”

“Was it scary?”

“Yes.”

“And were you… in danger?”

A long beat settles between you. Ray shifts in the vinyl-backed seat, a tiny squeak the only sound between him and his apparent discomfort. Chills, again. You get a chill. 

“... yes,” he says, and meets your eyes. They’ve sunk a fraction more than the last time you’d looked into them. Some of the gray shocks in his hair have turned white. Scary, to witness real evidence of your parents growing old. And frightened. “Lacy, I’d done badly by a lot of people. Some of them were even inside with me, and they wanted retribution, and that was fair. I could live with that,” depending on what end of a shiv he was on, you guessed, “But I also did badly by you. Very badly.”

Ah, acknowledgement that their father has lied about their criminal enterprises for the better part of her life–just what every little girl wants. It wasn’t as if you had still staunchly believed the not guilty campaign that your parents had spearheaded throughout Ray’s trial, even in the face of stony evidence. He was guilty; you had to figure out if you cared about the crimes, or the fact that he’d led you to believe he was so much better than he was. 

But this is the first time he’s really copped to it. 

You’re not quite sure what his admission is supposed to do, so you stare at your spades.  

“It makes sense that you don’t trust me anymore,” Ray goes on, “But I love you, and I always will. All I’ve ever wanted is to provide the best for you, the very best I could. Better than that, even– because that’s what you deserve. The whole world, Lacy.” 

Stomach churning, you wish he’d stop calling you that. Your nickname sounds wrong in his mouth. A world apart from the girl he thinks you are. 

“I just feel like you could’ve done that without skimming money off children’s charities,” you hear yourself saying before you register that your mouth is drawling off the words, “And laundering money through those rentals. And… what was it, drug trafficking? I lost count.”

Knowingly, you brace for explosion. Ray flipping the table, scattering his hand and laying an open palm across your face, the dull thunk of his Hawkins High class ring making contact with your cheekbone. That’d be something. Something solid. Something you could point to, that said I know who he is, I tried to stand up to him, I’m not him, please don’t think that I am.

But he doesn’t, so the line of your shoulders tense for no reason. He digs a cigarette out of the soft pack laying on the table and flicks it towards you with a fingertip. His right hand, ring finger bare. He’s not wearing it. 

He is wearing a sad grin of humility, shrugging like, well, kid, you got me there. Dead to rights.

He looks like somebody else. 

“So, how’s your life been, Lacy Doevski?” A charm dances around his tone, the way a flame dances around the edge of a photograph that doesn’t want to burn. 

And despite your best fucking instincts, despite the way that nickname falls out of his mouth like upchuck, despite the fact that you should hate him, there’s a change in the lighting around him that you just cannot help but want to engage with. 

“You really wanna know?”

“I really wanna know. Tell me everything. The road to Columbia, how’s that going? The newspaper. This job at the bookstore in town. Your friend, uh, Nancy, right? She seems like a nice kid. I know Ted Wheeler, a little bit. Went to school with him and her mom, Karen. And everybody knew Karen, but, uh, don’t mention that to Nancy!” He steals another card from the stock pile, but doesn’t discard one from his hand. You decide not to mention it. “I want to know everything, Lacy. I’ve been way too distracted with things that don’t matter as much as you. Call this… makin’ up for lost time.” 

Your shoulders shrug into themselves, like when you were a little kid and he’d let you sit on the big leather chair in his office after you’d sat outside the door for a solid hour, begging to come in. The corners of your lips pick up.

“Just about to finish my applications. I’m submitting this writing portfolio–”

“--I thought we talked about business school?”

You seize. You had. An effort in setting you up for a future of undebatable prestige started to sound more like sending you off to the meet market, the more your father talked about it. Business school is where you’ll meet young men of excellent character, Lorelei. Excellent family stock. It won’t hurt if they see that you’re smart, too. 

… why the everloving fu-huuuck would you go to business school when you spend every spare second of the day giving yourself carpal tunnel and preaching about that Woolfe chick, Lace? Nope, you need someplace with climbing ivy and people whose dissenting opinions on cliterature you can cat fight with. Eddie Munson, leaning over the counter at the Bookstore and shedding light on your secret desire to bury yourself in novels and pretention with his ever-burning flare of perception. 

Cliterature? you’d asked, brow an arch. 

Classic literature. As written by the fairer sex. Bronte and broads.

Well, Jesus Christ. Who died and let you lead the third wave of feminism, Munson?

“Um…” You hadn’t prepared a good defense for this. You felt a stab of nausea.

“It’s okay!” your dad chuckles, tapping you on the wrist in reassurance, “You changed your mind. That’s fine. But it’s still Columbia, right?”

“God, of course. Couldn’t imagine anywhere else.” 

“Good.” The smile reaches his eyes. “Sorry, your portfolio.”

“Right, uh– I’m just about polishing it off and I’ve got a great lead in, my last article for the Streak…” you trail off. A warning signal travels down your brain stem. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him about Hellfire. You’ve got to keep him as far away as–

“About what?” Ray asks brightly. Picks up a card. Discards another. You see a twitch in his mouth. 

“An after school club,” you blurt. “My, um. My friend Ronnie’s in it. We were… lab partners. Junior year. Dissected frogs together.”

“Yeah, that really bonds people for life, huh?” Ray says. Not a trace of irony. “Well, I look forward to reading it. If you want me to. I know writers can be very precious about their work.” 

And their subjects.

“Uh, well. We’ll see. I might not want to jinx it after I send off my applications.” 

“Superstitious,” he smiles, “Just like your old man.”

“And I have a boyfriend.” The blurting just doesn’t let up from you, eh? Like you have to cover all your bases while Ray is swept up in this gregarious mood. “And he goes to… Ithaca. I think.”

Your father makes a face that stands up to some interpretation of, la-di-da, lookit you! and Christ, you’re nearly sure he’s bought it. College guy… he’d kind of fallen by the wayside since you took that trip to Saturday morning detention. He’d better fucking pick up if you call now, if he hadn’t gone back to Vermont or wherever. 

“Well, look, I’m glad you’ve kept that momentum even given… everything. And I’m glad you seem to be surrounding yourself with good, level-headed people.” People he would have called nobodies eight months ago. People you would have called nobodies eight months ago. “Like Nancy. And this Ronnie. And that you’ve stayed out of trouble, as much as you can.”

You swear you see his eyes flick to the window beside you. In the direction of the trailer across the way, where a warm yellow light glows from the bedroom. There’s a shake in your breath, but Ray isn’t quite done. 

“I’m incredibly proud of the woman you’re becoming, Lacy. And look at that–” His hand slaps down on the table, revealing his melds. “--gin! I thought you said you got better at this, kid!”

“You took me by surprise, Daddy. What can I say.”

—

“Quit that. That’s explosive cargo you’re flickin’.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Tap, tap, tap. One of the hinges of this rusty, crusty, dusty old domed metal lunchbox is loose, and you can’t stop toying with it. “This is what you’ve been carrying your motherlode around in?” 

“What about your mother’s load?” Eddie says, scraping the lunchbox a couple of inches away from you on the bench. Still, you reach for it, and he smacks your hand away. “Respect the receptacle, please. It’s a thing of legend.”

“Seems like a dangerously obvious hiding place for a bunch of illegal substances,” you say, brow creased. Had Eddie put any thought into his operation thus far? Because this seems extremely haphazard. He’s always swinging that goddamn thing around school, and one look inside the false bottom could put him away for a long time, if the Reagan administration had anything to do with it. 

“Exactly! Making it the last place anyone would think to look!” Eddie beams, flicking the lid open. “Class A drugs? Why, no, officer, these are my party pretzels. From home.” A deeply tragic baggie of crushed pretzel pieces lands between the two of you. Your frown deepens a degree or two. Eddie shrugs, shaking his curls out a little and starts picking through the detritus in the lunch box. Other than a couple of dime bags, a box of Camels, a lighter and some loose Twizzlers, his load’s light.

“How exactly does one get into the business of selling hydroponics et cetera out of a lunchbox, Eddie?” 

“Why, you lookin’ to diversify your criminal skillset?” That sly poke. You roll your eyes, jiggling your mary jane’d foot and pick up a bag of Mary Jane herself.

“I’m just curious about the trajectory! The more I learn about you, the more it occurs to me that you’re possibly the uncoolest drug dealer in history. You know, stereotypically speaking.” 

“The answer I think you’re looking for is that I’m a big, big boy,” Eddie rasps, taking an exaggerated chomp out of one of the liquorice ropes, “and I contain multitudes. Shit happens. Sometimes it leads to you selling pot. Et cetera.”

“What kind of shit?”

He considers you for a second, but you’re bright-eyed and curious about him. He jumps back from you when you’re like this sometimes, like he just touched a hot stove. You’d give him shit for it, but you did the same thing. The Twizzler waves in your face. “If I didn’t have such a brain-damage inducing crush on you, I’d think you were a narc.”

 “Eddie.” Though your heart does jump like a needle on a scratched record when he says crush. Particularly when he says crush like that. But he could elaborate on that for you later. 

“Fine, fine, fine– I’m not gonna get into the finer points of it now, but… basically, some shit went down with my dad that meant I had to move in with Wayne and working at the plant isn’t actually the cash cow that you’d think it is, and neither is me picking up barback shifts at the Hideout so… I hit up my dad’s friend Rick who said he’d help me out if I ever needed it and here we are. Lunchbox and all. Half ounces for halfwits at horrible parties.” Eddie toughens into this tense line as he speaks, like he’s halfway embarrassed about having to do this. “Means to an end, y’know?” 

You nod, though you want to prod further so bad. “Do what they expect of you until you don’t have to anymore.”

Exactly, Eddie mouths with narrowed eyes, another bite into the Twizzler. “You know what tune I’m singin’.”

Better than the both of you realize, it seems.

“This whole,” you gesture around the circular clearing, the place everyone knows you come to meet Munson to score product, “place does kind of look like the kind of hotspot where one might catch Goody Proctor dancing with the Devil.” 

It’s your first time out here–you’d elegantly skirted the responsibility of ever having to pick up for your group of friends but it’s… delightfully creepy. Whispers cragging through the tree branches. Eddie’s presence knocking you off guard at every turn–well, not you. Not anymore. 

“Rumors are kind of starting to add up. Satanic worship, human sacrifice… girls panties going missing. That’s all I’m saying.” 

A maddened grin peeling over his features, Eddie scooches closer to where you sit, perched on top of the rotting picnic table. “Why do you think I lured you out here, Lace?” His fingertips race up your calf and you spill a giggle, squirming away. “The Dark Lord requires another infernal bride!” He leaps up, ticklish touch attacking your sides ‘til you’re shrieking, not working quite as hard as you could to beat him away. 

“Ed–Eddie, st-aaahap!”

“It’s all cool! It’s no big deal! Just take your clothes off and sign my yearbook! Then, hey presto, the big guy’ll give you whatever you want.”

Eddie’s hands slow to a still on your hips, your uncrossed legs caging his sides. His lids fall, mouth prepping a pout for yours, but you press your thumb into his lips. 

“Whatever I want?” you whisper, eyes narrowing. 

A smirk flickers across Eddie’s mouth, a puff of breath pressing his mouth into your thumb until the tip is wedged between the edge of his teeth. Your breathing stills for a second and you resist pushing it further into his mouth. 

“Shit,” he murmurs, moving your hand across his cheek so he can kiss you full on the mouth. His tongue is needy and searching, making you curve into him just a touch. You can feel the prickle of his stubble coming up. Eddie with a five o’clock shadow… “I’d give you whatever you want, Lace. John Hancock in the Book of the Beast or no.” 

The wettened peaks of his lips go straight for your jugular. You two have shared enough mouth-to-mouth episodes for him to know that feeling his tongue against your pulse is liable to make you do nutty things. 

“Tell me what you want, dahling one,” Eddie’s mouth crawls up your jaw in an approximation of Bela Lugosi, up to your ear, where he knows you’re ticklish too. You feel him smile at your breathy laugh. “Anything you desire, anything beneath the blazing sun and under the heaving mud, anything under the banner of… the Hawkins township, because I don’t have a lot of gas money right now…”

“I want you,” you struggle through a sigh–his stupid mouthy beautiful mouth, “to get rid of that goddamn lunchbox. At least, for illegal purposes. Keep it for pretzels.”

Eddie honks out a nasally groan far too close to your ear and you jerk back. “No! You’re supposed to be all, ‘I absolutely indubitably want you, Eddie,’ and then we’re supposed to, ee-ee,” he thrusts his clothed hips into yours animatedly, “on this very table top. Until you realize it’s covered in woodlice.”

“Well, I can’t fuck you if you’re in prison. I’m telling you, that old tin thing falls apart in the hallway and you’re being tried as a full adult!” Wait, did he say woodlice? 

“You worry too much. S’gonna make you warty. Plus,” he says, unlatching himself from you and tossing his effects back in the tin box, “this is a family heirloom. Al Munson made good on his last straight job at the plant for a grand total of six hours, and all he got was this lousy lunchbox.”

Speaking of Al… 

“Y’know, I was thinking… If it wasn’t for your dad…” Your hands knit in your lap as you pretend to look around for woodlice.  

“‘If it wasn’t for Al’ what?” Eddie’s tone is flat, “Grand theft auto would decrease tenfold from here to Bloomington? Less diner waitresses would have complexes about men who abuse the free refill system? Starcourt Mall wouldn’t have burned down?”

Your eyebrows knit. Okay, pause. “What has he got to do with Starcourt Mall?”

“I’m not a hundred percent, but I have a theory,” Eddie says, arms bound across his chest. “It involves horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia.”

“And you told me my Larry Kline theory was crazy!”

“Well, funny you mention because my idea actually runs kind of concurrent to that–” 

“No, let’s put a pin in that for a second,” you cut him off, “It’s… my dad. I think he might actually be somewhat rehabilitated. Knocked down a peg, maybe? He actually displayed a hint of diffidence, Eddie. I think I … kind of have Al to thank for that.”

Sure, there was an air of initial disconcert to you and your dad’s little game of gin rummy, but the more you ruminated on it, the more it felt… threatless. Your mom had even joined you for a grim dinner of mac and cheese, where the three of you had nearly fondly reminisced on the pasta alla vodka from a restaurant they always went to on New Years Eve in Indianapolis. Maybe that’s what it took; a stint in prison to crack his ego like the Liberty Bell, and now Ray Doevski had to bear the humility like everyone else. Maybe he’d make good on his promise, making up for lost time.

But the disbelief, and, in fact, concern that Eddie is eyeballing your way says something different. 

“Don’t thank Al for anything.”

“I’m just saying. Dad and I actually talked last night, for the first time in… ever, really, and it didn’t feel like he was sizing me up. It was.. He was… nice.”

“Lacy.” Eddie’s shoulder’s sag. He hops up on the table next to you, bringing you knee to knee. The tear in his jeans rubs against the webbed nylon of your tights. When he looks at you, it’s with rounded eyes that could very well have been checking you for brain damage. “I don’t mean to blow out your candle or anything, but coming from someone as well versed in the tales of a crooked father who never really changes as I… I don’t buy this Ray of sunshine bit.”

Your hackles start to raise. Hey. Just because Al Munson was a famed and patterned piece of shit didn’t necessarily mean–

Eddie clocks you immediately, your crunched brow and pursed mouth. His hands go up, requesting pause. “Look. This is your first time at the convict parent rodeo, so I know how it is. Whirlwind. They always roar in in some Cadillac full of promises, right, swearing to make everything they fucked up right by you. But it never sticks, Lace. They’re hardwired to not follow through, okay? At least not on anything that doesn’t serve their own vain little agenda. With Al, it’s always some big dick scheme, something that’s gonna set us, and by us I mean him, up for life. No matter how good it feels to have them back, it– it always feels better when they’re gone.”

His searching eyes dart to his hands, as if he’d said a touch too much. On the one hand, a couple of painful pop rocks explode in your chest. You always feel this way whenever he mentions Al– Eddie’s let you in on glimpses here and there, revealing that he hasn’t quite shucked off the essence of being a hurt kid. It presents you with the super challenging desire to soothe the memory, but you dance around it at a distance. The dad stuff, it’s still sticky for the both of you. But now that Ray is back, and Al is back, you kind of have to talk about it. It figures pretty keenly into… whatever the fuck you two think you’re doing.

Then, on the other hand, a quick flash of resentment burns in you. Yeah, your dad is hardwired–why can’t mine be different? 

“Better?” you ask. 

“Maybe–not better,” Eddie rectifies, his rings knocking against his palm. “But easier. It’s always easier when he’s gone, even if I want him to be there. At least I know what to expect when he doesn’t call or write or whatever, which is nothing.”

“So I should do the same? Expect nothing?” You can’t hide the bite in your voice, and you can’t meet his eyes when he looks at you. 

“Lacy,” he says, searching hard for you in there, “You know what kind of guy your dad is. All the pomp and circumstance in the world won’t change what you’ve already seen. What you’ve already been through. This nice guy shit is a tactic– you…”

A heavy-ringed hand pulls your face to his, forcing you to look him in his earnest, gleaming eyes. 

“You deserve more than that.” 

Confusion with a sadness chaser churns in you. The metallic chill of Eddie’s rings against your cheek. A cooling comfort. Not a harsh sting. Not an open palm. A cradle. 

“I know you don’t believe me, for whatever reason, but you do deserve more than that.”

I still want you to be wrong, a voice hisses in the back of your head. Fucking Medusa rising.

“Yeah,” you nod in his hands, surrendering because it’s the right thing to say. “Yeah, of course I do. I’ll be careful. It’s fine.”

“And speaking of careful,” Eddie’s timbre hits a more suggestive spot, his hand falling from your jaw to your shoulder, “Harrington’s having a party on Friday, s’why I need fresh supplies.”

“Oh, really?” you mumble, mood not immediately perking up.

“Yes, really,” Eddie mocks, grip slipping to your waist. “I was thinking… y’know. Harrington’s house is big. Lotta rooms. Lotta beds…”

“Lot of intimacy at big parties,” you paraphrase Gatsby. “But the last time I was at Harrington’s… Is that such a good idea? Risking a repeat of teenage gladiator?”

“You were hardly gladiating, you were performing The Crab Monologues. Now, Carol, she wa–”

A scowl starts growing on your face. “Not helping your case.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry,” Eddie grins that bitten, private grin he deploys when he’s just about to lay one on you. “Will you show if I promise to protect you from wild redheaded assailants?”

“I’ll consider it. But that better include that little neighbor girl of yours, too,” you warn, suddenly reminded of the viscous stink-eye that Billy Hargrove’s stepsister had been throwing your way the last couple of times that you passed her in the trailer park. “Orphan Annie has it out for me for some reason.”

“You’re so cute when you’re paranoid.” 

“You have a woodlouse in your bangs.”“Wuagh! Where! Kill it!”

author's notes: christ it is GOOD TO BE BACK!!! if this feels like a part one to something, that is because it very much is, my friends. this was on its way to becoming a 20k+ chapter, which would freak me out actually so i decided to have some boundaries for once and split it in two. get you warmed up for what's to come. it's drama. btw. anyway on with the show - ohhh, you guys i have been listening to so much early-mid 00s emo in order to write this story. i realized that that's my secret weapon, because it's just as melodramatic as these two fucking dumbshits are. points to anyone who knows what the title of the chapter is a reference to (bonus points if they can find it a second time in a past chapter of this story) - flannery o'connor is of course a standard doevski pick for an author, but also a nod to maya hawke playing her in the biopic, which looks exquisite btw - back at it with the extremely rudimentary dnd references! i thought fear and loathing in luskan was fun - eddie WOULD know a ton about ancient greek mythology, specifically the goings on at the olympics, but not because he has any real vested interest in it but moreso because when he researches for a campaign he goes absolutely hard, like me with my 26 tabs open googling 'nail polish shades popular 80s teen girl bonne bell' - kick rocks! montague moment's over! but real quick-- what's munson? it is not hand, nor foot nor arm nor face, nor any other part... belonging to a man :) - yet another hellfire & ice fancast moment, i must present my personal pick for o'donnell-- it's gotta be allison janney, baby. less in the 10 things i hate about you guidance counselor vein, rather in the stepmom from juno vein. - 'hey hildy, what's the scoop?' had to get a his girl friday reference in somewhere, didn't i - answered prayers by truman capote is not only the cuntiest book ever written (capote essentially sold the secrets of his wealthy socialite friends in order to write it) but is also the latest ryan murphy adaptation - we stan jordan baker from the great gatsby in this house alright! that's all for this one! hope you enjoyed it, i know it's heavy on set up but next chapter will see us right back at casa de harrington for another blowout party, so... brace yourselves. please comment and reblog to support the work, thank you hellcats i love you forever

[stragefields]

Genshin impact characters reacting when you tell them you‘re pregnant + how they would be during the pregnancy

characters: ayato,childe

T/W: pregnancy, fluff enjoy!

not proofread!

Ayato

he would await it one day that you‘d come into his office and tell him that you‘re awaiting. it would definitely happen some day sooner or later, i mean this man has clearly no other choice, he is the head of the clan and that requires that he would get an heir some day. of course he is over the moon when you told him. not only because he‘s relieved that it finally happened even with some problems at the way. on the other hand he feels a sort of relieve because he isn‘t the only one without a child on the way anymore.

but of course he is also happy for the both of you to finally get the family you wanted.

to the dismay with many other high society people the baby turns out to be a girl but you two honestly doesn’t care about the gender and nobody says that that would be the last one, aren‘t they?

he would move his whole working space into your private chambers so he can be with you in an emergency. he has experienced the pregnancy of his mother with his younger sister and he wouldn’t forgive himself if he would let you go through this.

if you would fight with nausea he would personally take the best care of you. if he‘d find you bent over the toilet he will gently take your hair back and pat your back until it‘s over. then he would carry you to your marital bed, lay down with you and massage your back until you‘re feeling better and can rest. also he would ask thoma to prepare a stomach-friendly tea and get you anything you want (i mean this man is one of the richest people in teyvat so what would be better to spend the money than his own family?).

Childe

after he came home from a 3-month mission you‘d suprised him with a tiny yellow box with a blue little sweater and a positive pregnancy test in there. he just looks at you completely confused but as he opens the box, revealing a little blue wool pullover and a positive pregnancy test. his eyes turn wide as he looks with a small smile at you.

„you are? how far are you lovely?“ he asks you. „well yes it happened on our ‚goodbye-fuck‘ and after i felt nauseous and tired i went to the doctor and he only confirmed my suspension.“

after hearing the confirmation he broke down in tears and hugged you. now everything was okay. he was with you in his homeland, you and his family were safe, and now you, you the love of his life, the person he always wanted children with, were pregnant. so this evening, in the small illuminated corridor, he let his guard down.

with your pregnancy he becomes at least 10 times more overprotective than he already is. poor man he just want you and his unborn child be safe, but you still the stubborn woman he fell in love with, you want to continue your work at the adventures guild. after a long and loud discussion with some yelling by you, caused by your pregnancy hormones, he finally obliged to continue your work but still till the 6th month and only paperwork. you were literally so upset with him after his decision so you slept on the couch. in the morning he came to you begging to you that he can‘t sleep another night without you.

he will spend much more time with you, writing the tsaritsa a letter, explaining the situation and he got the half-time of his work off. you will spend this time often with his family sitting in the warm living room playing games and looking at photos when ajax was only a baby (i want to see this pictures so bad) and his mother will knit a sweater for the baby when the name is decided. like the weasley christmas sweater thing (ofc you and the others already have one)

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other charcters will follow soon…

btw my commissions are open so write me :>

[andreafmn]

12 Days of Ficmas ❅ Day 6

Word Count: 3.5K Paring:  Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader Prompt @12-days-of-ficmas: fighting while setting up the christmas tree/soft emo reconciliation

Summary: (Y/N) took her girlfriend's death very hard. But when Emily reappears seven months after everyone thought they had buried the agent, things between the couple seem to go back to how they were. (Y/N) always understood how important her girlfriend's job was and she never complained. Still, it can be hard to remain understanding when yet another plan is canceled and another promise is broken.

A/N: well, another sad one with a happy ending... I told y'all it'd be a sorta sad Christmas 🫣

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There were so many things that (Y/N) was that Emily loved. She was smart, witty, and understanding. Over all things, she was understanding. 

After Emily’s supposed death, she had been devastated and had found it hard to get her life back during the seven months she was by herself. Although life went on, (Y/N) was stuck mourning for her partner without any knowledge that the woman would walk through the door alive and better than ever. Everything in her life had fallen down a monotonous spiral of dread, and suddenly she was there. 

And (Y/N) understood. Even after she had lost seven months of her life, she understood. Even if she had mourned her girlfriend that entire time, she understood. Even if she had prepared to go the rest of her life without the woman she had given her entire heart to, she understood. 

Because that was Emily’s job. It entailed high-risk situations, secret keeping, and even the potential fake-death scenario. Simply unavoidable work problems. And, of course, she just understood. 

Two months had passed since the woman’s return, and things had seemed to settle down. They had fallen back into their normal routines, living as though they hadn’t lived completely different lives for over half a year. As though Emily hadn’t been only a continent away when (Y/N) thought she was six feet under. And with the holidays coming up, it was no use bringing up the past. 

“Hey, baby,” (Y/N) said through the phone. “What time were you getting home tonight? I got us some matching sweaters and another one for Sergio. Oh, and I made some chicken pot pie, and I had Joe bring up the tree. So we can decorate it tonight. And…”

“(Y/N), honey,” Emily interrupted. “I’m not gonna make it home tonight.”

“No, but… you said you’d be home tonight,” she chuckled softly. “You told me you’d taken the week off until Christmas so we’d have some time together.” 

“I know, and I’m really sorry,” the woman said. “We just got this massive case, and it’s out of state. It’s probably gonna take the entire weekend. But I promise I’ll be home by Monday —Monday night at the latest.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) said, swallowing the anger that was bubbling in her throat. “I understand. Just be safe, Em. I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey. Thank you for being so understanding,” Emily responded. “And don’t decorate that tree. I wanna do that with you.”

”Of course. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The second the dial tone sounded, (Y/N) crashed onto the couch, sighing as Sergio climbed onto her. She ran her hands over his fur, allowing the purring to unwrench the coil of anger that was tightening in her chest. It was just another missed promise, another day where work was more important than their little family. And she couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer she could withstand being a family of one. 

Once upon a time, all (Y/N) had wanted was to spend the rest of her days with Emily. Then she had died, and (Y/N) thought she’d never find anyone to love like she had loved Emily. Only for the love of her life to rise up from the dead and settle back into her life like she had never been gone. It was as though the distance had not made any difference. Emily’s job came first, and everything else, including her own life, came second. And the woman didn’t know how much more she could take. 

There was only so much cleaning (Y/N) could do to pass the time. Only so many garlands she could decorate without touching the tree. Only so many songs she could play to forget just how empty the apartment was. She couldn’t even go to work as she had taken the week off to be with Emily. And there she was, no girlfriend and all the time in the world. 

“I don’t know what to do, Jess,” she told her friend that Monday morning when Emily hadn’t come home. “I thought this was the person I was going to marry. But after everything that’s happened… I don’t know what to do. And I’m trying. I’ve been trying for the longest time.” 

“Have to talked to Emily about this, (Y/N)?” her friend asked before taking a sip of her coffee. “Since she came back from everything that happened last year, have you actually sat down and talked about how you felt during that time?”

“Well, not exactly,” she shrugged. “It’s just… I know why she couldn’t tell me that she was alive. Telling me would have put me in danger. And I know her job is really important and that she has to be away a lot. But I just wanted to spend some time with her this Christmas. Try to make up for all the time we lost.”

“Honey, if you don’t work through what happened before, how do you expect to be good now?” Jess stopped for a beat, setting her mug down and taking her friend’s hand. “Can I be honest about something, and you won’t get pissed at me?” 

“Why do I get the feeling that I won’t like what you’re gonna say?” 

“Because there’s a very likely chance that you’re not gonna like it.”

“Just say it,” she gave up. “If it’s something you think I need to hear, then go ahead.” 

“I think you’ve been too understanding in this relationship,” the woman said. “I know that Emily’s job is very hard and that it requires a lot of her attention. But I also feel like there are times when you have to come first, (Y/N). And I know you don’t want her to think that you’re making her choose between you and her work, but you need to have your needs met. You need to tell her how you’re feeling regardless of how she’ll react.” 

“I don’t know how to do that, Jess. Her job is literally saving people. How can I tell her that I want her to save people less and be with me more?” 

“You know she’s not the only one on that team, right?” her friend continued. “The world is not gonna end just because Emily took a couple of days off. There will still be bad guys, and there will still be people to catch them. I mean, she disappeared for seven months, and the team kept working.” 

“But she loves that job.”  

“She should love you more, (Y/N),” Jess insisted, squeezing her friend’s hand comfortingly. “If not… honey, I’m sorry, but that’s not the person you should start a family with.” 

“This is crazy!” (Y/N) sighed loudly. “This is not the way I should be thinking during the holidays. I love her so much, Jess. I can’t lose her again.” 

“Then talk to her,” her friend pressed. “That’s the only way things can get better.”

As morning turned to night, Jess’ words kept swirling inside (Y/N)’s head. The last thing she wanted to think of was breaking up with Emily days before Christmas and only a few days before they hosted a holiday dinner in their place. She was terrified that saying what she felt would break them apart, and she’d actually lose her girlfriend forever. She wanted to spend the rest of her life by Emily’s side, but she understood she couldn’t do it at her own expense.

The hours passed, and (Y/N)’s disillusionment turned into anger. The bare tree mocked her presence as it reminded her of the reason it was still unadorned. Its branches shuddered under the A/C, needles of pine sprinkling onto the floor as the tree reminded her how much time had passed since it had been resting in their living room. She wanted to tear it down, to tear everything she had decorated down. She wanted Emily to see how angry she was the second she walked through the door. 

Instead, she turned off all the lights and went to bed, with the tree still naked and no Emily. 

The next morning, she awoke to the loud pang of a pan, and her heart sank. She remembered locking the door and checking it three times before going to the bedroom. Whoever it was outside had definitely broken in. 

(Y/N) took Sergio into her arms, using a hand to dial 911 as soon as she confirmed there was someone in the apartment and it hadn’t just been a pan she had left too close to the edge. Slowly, she peeked her head out of the door, making sure there was no one on the second floor before quietly making it down the top couple of stairs. She knelt on the ground and looked to the kitchen to find something she had not expected. 

Emily was trying her best to make breakfast quietly. A task she was failing immensely. She had her back turned to (Y/N), and that gave the woman the advantage to walk down the stairs without being noticed. 

“So, you’re home,” she said, clearing her throat, making Emily jump and drop the pan on the stove. “A whole day late.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” Emily started as she turned to face her girlfriend. “We got stuck in Washington and couldn’t get the plane out until very early in the morning.” 

“And did your phone stop working, too? ‘Cause I didn’t even get a simple text.”

“Honey, I’m sorry. I was exhausted, and I forgot to call you last night. We spent so many late nights on this case, and it finally caught up to me. Can you forgive me?” 

With a sigh, (Y/N) found herself falling into the same pattern. “It’s fine,” she said as she let Sergio down. “Let’s just eat breakfast so we can finally decorate the tree. We have the party on Friday, and there’s so much to do.”  

The couple ate in silence, pushing their food around on their plates rather than enjoying the meal. The air around them was tense, filled with unspoken words and frustrations. But, as always, it was easier to move past it rather than talk about it because (Y/N) always understood. 

Still drenched in silence, (Y/N) dragged the boxes of ornaments from the corner of the living room to the tree. She pulled the lids off the containers and started decorating without saying anything else. And Emily followed suit, working around her to help but keeping out of her way.

“Why don’t I put on some music?”

“Sure,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Whatever you want.” 

“O~kay,” she said, connecting her phone to the speakers. “Actually, I just remembered there’s something I got for us.” Emily pulled a box from her purse, handing it to (Y/N) with a bright smile on her face. “I got it before leaving Washington, and I thought you’d like it.” 

From the box, (Y/N) pulled a snow globe ornament with a lit-up Christmas tree inside, the tiny specs of white making the entire scene look like a winter wonderland. And where she would normally love a present like that, that specific morning, it felt like a slap to the face. 

“Thanks,” the woman said. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s the first ornament of our new place, baby,” Emily cooed. “It even has the year engraved under it.” 

“Yeah, I see. It’s… yeah, it’s great.”

“Is everything okay, (Y/N)? I feel like you’re somewhere else today.”

“I’m fine,” she shrugged. “Just fine.”

Emily wouldn’t have had the kind of job she did if she didn’t know how to read people’s emotions. She could tell (Y/N) was holding something in. Her shoulders were tight, and her expression was stoic. But it was her eyes that she could see held the most pain. They didn’t have their usual glimmer, and she knew it was her fault. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby,” she pleaded, tentatively closing the distance between them. “I know there’s something wrong.” 

“I don’t wanna fight today, Emily,” (Y/N) sighed as she took a step back. “I just wanna finish what we have to do and move on from this.” 

“Who said anything about fighting? I just want us to talk, (Y/N). You’re angry and upset, and I want to resolve things.”

(Y/N) slammed the ornament onto the couch, placing her hands on her hips and turning around as she took steadying breaths. She knew if she kept looking into Emily’s eyes, she’d simply break down before she could get a single word out. “You wanna know what’s going on? Fine. I’m mad, Emily,” she started. “I asked you –begged– for one week of your life, and you decided to take another case. You were gone for seven months, and all I wanted was one week.” 

“Is that what this is about? I thought we were over that.” 

“Over it? We haven’t even talked about it, Emily!” she exclaimed. “You were dead for seven fucking months! I grieved for you. I had to get used to being without you. I had to plan the rest of my life without you. And then you walked back in like nothing had happened. But something did! You died. I buried you. I lived without you. While you were in Europe, people here had to get accustomed to you not being here. And after all that pain and suffering, you came back. “I wanted to be fine with it, Em. I really did,” she sighed, feeling tears fall from her eyes. “But you just picked up where we left off, and I had to change an entire mindset that had been ingrained into my mind. For you, it was business as usual. You went to work, you took your cases, you were good. Meanwhile, I had to get used to waking up next to you and not thinking I was hallucinating or dreaming. I had to go back to worrying if your next case was the one that would take you from me. I had to be fine with you putting your job first and hope that one day you had any time left for me.” 

“(Y/N)...”

“No, Em, you have to listen to me first. I need to get all of this out of my chest before I explode,” (Y/N) cried. “From the moment I entered this relationship, I understood what I was getting into. Your job… it’s one of the most important ones out there. So, I bit my tongue, and I said I was fine with canceled plans and broken promises because it was all for the greater good. But when you died, it put everything in perspective. I couldn’t stop thinking of all the moments we had missed because of your work and all the moments we were never gonna have. And I don’t know if I can go back to that. Because I love you, Emily. I love you like I haven’t loved anyone before, and I want to build a family with you. But if the work-life balance is not something you can do, I don’t know how we could build anything together.” 

(Y/N) crumpled to the ground as she felt the weight of her emotions take over her. Her shoulders slumped forward, and her chest heaved, and the tears streamed from her eyes faster than she could stop them. As Emily remained quiet, she thought that was it. That was the moment that would break them. Three months before, she was still wondering how she would spend the holidays without Emily. And now, it seemed her fear had come true, even if her girlfriend was standing right before her. 

But, suddenly, (Y/N) was enveloped in arms and warmth. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” Emily whispered against her hair. “I never… why didn’t you tell me? I never wanted you to feel like my work was more important than you–than us. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through when I was in hiding, and I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that without me. But I want you to know that if I had been able to take you with me, I would have. Because at the end of the day, once the job is gone and all those responsibilities are put to rest, you are the only thing that I want in my life to be there still. I want the family. I want the future. I want everything with you. (Y/N).”

“It doesn’t feel that way most of the time, Em,” (Y/N) breathed as she leaned into Emily’s touch. As much as she had put space between them, she couldn’t help herself from sinking into her. “We moved in here only two months ago, and I think you’ve slept here a handful of times. All I asked was for you to take this one week so we could find our center again, and you took a case that you didn’t need to. It was a choice you made, Emily. Your days had been approved already, and you still took an out-of-state case. So, I think you can see how I would feel like you care about the BAU more than your own girlfriend.” 

Emily’s arms wrapped tighter around (Y/N), her own tears falling and staining the fabric of her girlfriend’s shirt. “God, I know. I’m so sorry, baby,” she sobbed. “I just… I guess I’ve been trying to make things feel like they did before, and it seems my way was to throw myself into work. I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t value you because you’re the only thing in my life that I want to hold onto until the day I die. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sor…”

(Y/N) swallowed her words as she turned and crashed her lip onto Emily’s. She kissed her until her worries melted away. She kissed her with all the love and passion they had been lacking for months. She kissed her until they both understood their love for each other was the one thing that remained intact. 

It wasn’t until Sergio jumped onto their laps that they finally released each other, chuckling as the cat meowed for attention. (Y/N) traced Emily’s lips with a smile, finally allowing herself to stare into the woman’s eyes. She caressed the skin of her cheeks, smoothing every worry line that had painted her face. She kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, her nose, her jaw, and finally her lips. Because she was there. And she was alive. 

“I promise things will be different,” Emily whispered as she rested her forehead against her girlfriend’s. “I’ll take another week off. Hell, I’ll take a whole month off if you want. But I want you to know just how much I love and care about you, (Y/N). And I’ll do anything to prove it.” 

“Wait here,” (Y/N) said as she got up from the floor and ran to her bag by the door. She rummaged for the red velvet box that had been inside for an entire week before March 7th, and she had kept it as a reminder of the woman she loved and would never get to wear it. But she was there now, and there was no better promise than what was inside. She ran back to where Emily sat with Sergio, taking her spot once more. “Do you mean it? Do you really mean anything?” 

“Of course, baby. I love you.” 

“Then, marry me,” (Y/N) said as she opened the box to reveal the ring she had carried for seven months on a chain and had put it back in the box when Emily came back. “I love you, Em. And I want everything with you. I want a house and a family. And I wanna grow old and wrinkly with you by my side. So, Emily Prentiss, will you marry me?” 

“Yes! God, a thousand times yes,” she exclaimed as she crashed her lips onto hers one more. “And, well, I guess there’s no point in waiting until Christmas,” Emily chuckled as she stuck her hand under the couch cushion to pull out a similar blue velvet box. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will you marry me? Because I don’t want to ever know life without you. Not now, not ever.”

“How could you steal my idea?” (Y/N) chuckled. “I’ve been wanting to ask you this since the start of the year.” 

“Would you believe me if I told you I bought this ring after our third date?” the woman smiled. “And I’ve been carrying it around for almost two years now. I wish I would have given it to you so long ago. But no better time than now. Will you marry me?”

“Can’t believe you have to ask. Of course, I will.” 

With matching smiles on their faces, they each slipped a ring onto the other’s finger and took the other in their arms. There, in front of their half-decorated tree and their cat, Sergio, they professed their love for one another and cemented their most important promise yet. They were in love, and that, (Y/N) understood.

Next ->

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[peachesofteal]

Banana Pudding

Same pairing as Cupcakes.

GIF by hbothelastofus

Joel Miller/reader One shot - 2.3k words - AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, mentions of blood, violence, gore. Joel is bad at feelings. Protective Joel, pining, kissing. Very brief mention of Joel thinking about sex.  You're late.

“It’s just for the day.” You said this morning as you shifted the backpack around. Joel unzipped the top compartment, packing it tight with replacement first aid supplies. “Just the day, and then I’ll be back. We can play go fish tonight.” The kid, the one you rescued a few months back, had been crying, standing by your front door, making a fuss. When you bent over to wipe his face, the curve of your ass pressed directly into Joel’s hips, and his hand darted out to lay on your side, like you were unsteady or needed comfort. You looked back at him with a wink before you wiped the kid’s nose with your sleeve and said, “Keep an eye on the old geezer for me, okay?” 

You were one hour past due. He wasn’t worried, not yet. It wasn’t unlike you to get distracted by something, veer off onto a different path, go crashing through the woods because you swore you saw a discarded sweater caught in a tree somewhere. One time, you followed a bushwhacked trail to where someone had carved out a little hovel. Didn’t find much, but you did find the electrical tape you’d be looking for. And a half-drunk flask. 

“For you.” You tossed it to him, mischievous smile on your face, eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Your favorite. Smells like gasoline.” You teased him, and he had thought about what it would feel like to hold your face between his hands. 

When you went out for the day, he could always count on you being a little late coming back. He wasn’t worried, not yet. You’re alright. You’re fine. 

You were two hours past due. You and Alex, the new guy, hadn’t been spotted on the outskirts of the area either, and worry was starting to burn in his stomach like bad liquor. It was hot as hell today, and he wonders if you brought enough water. John swore he vetted that guy. Swore he could hold his own. Swore he could handle it. Joel fixes his eyes on the horizon, waiting. Watching. 

“C’mon sweetheart. Where are you?”

You were three hours past due. The kid is hovering near him now, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Joel hates this kid. This kid almost got you killed, almost got you infected. He’s also come to realize that the kid really likes you. Follows you around, running away from the group of orphans he’s supposed to stay with to knock on your flimsy front door all hours of the day. You sit with him at dinner, you take walks with him in the morning. He doesn’t like it. He hates how he feels when he sees you walking next to him, his little hand clutched in yours, big wide eyes trying to take in his surroundings. He hates how he feels when he watches you teach the kid how to play go fish at your kitchen table, Joel’s skin sweating under his clothes. He hates how you crouch down in front of him, smile on your face, your voice murmuring to him in low, soothing tones. The kid trusts you. He stares at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

It’s the same way Joel stares at you, and the thought pulls at him. Scratches at the surface of his skin, tugs at the things he’s buried so far down, they’ll never see the light of day. 

“He has a name, you know.” You said one day. Yeah, he knew the kid’s name. Grey. What kind of a name is Grey? 

“I know.” He matched you step for step, whacking through the long grass that’s grown over the interstate.

“Wouldn’t kill ya to use it.” It might. 

“Sweetheart.” You turned, your face all sweet and smiling. “I don’t think you should get too attached to the kid.” The grin faded from your face like the setting sun.  

“Go on home.” Joel tells the kid, and he pouts. 

“But I wanna wait.” The boy whines, and Joel clenches his fist. 

“I said go on.” He points, putting a little more authority behind his voice, and the boy scurries off. You’re alright. You’re fine. 

You were four hours past due. He hates this. Hates this feeling. Hates the idea that you’re out there, with someone he didn’t know watching your back. He’s started packing a backpack, just in case. John tries to talk him down, but he can’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut. Could the new guy handle a Clicker? Could he handle a Bloater? He thinks about last time, only a few weeks ago, when the two of you stumbled upon one during a routine run. 

You heard it first. Your body tensed like a deer in headlights, and then you immediately stepped into a crouch. He followed suit, noticing how you raised your hand behind your back, fingers waggling out in invitation. You wanted him to hold your hand, he realized. You wanted to know he was there. When he reached for you, your fingers stretched outward, feeling for the band of his watch, and his heart sputtered in his chest. 

Bloaters are huge. They were a bitch to kill, their weird scaly skin more like armor, and they’re as strong as ten men. Fortunately, their echolocation was not nearly as good as Clickers, and they were slow as molasses. That didn’t always save everyone though. Last summer, you both watched Kelsey get her jaw pulled apart like a banana peel, her brains splattering on the wall like some overpriced canvas of modern art. He didn’t want to take this one on. He wanted to sneak away, with you, and hole up in the run-down house a few hundred meters up the road. The idea of you getting close enough to a Bloater to lob a Molotov at them made his skin crawl, so he squeezed your fingers twice to get you to turn around, and then he jerked his head in the direction of the shack. You looked at him like he was crazy, glancing down at the bottle already in your hand. He shook his head. A clear no. 

“That Bloater.” You said later, absentmindedly while the two of you passed a cup of whiskey back and forth. “Got me thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“About Kelsey. When her head got peeled like a banana.” You used the same analogy that he did when he thought about it, a symptom of the truth. You two spent entirely way too much time together. 

“Yeah. That was rough.” 

“Yeah… Makes me want banana pudding real bad.” He surprised you by laughing, a deep chuckle that started in his chest, and you looked at him bewildered for a second before laughing too, the sound of your voice sticking to his ribs like sugar. 

You were five hours past due. It was dark now, pitch black, and he was pulling his backpack onto his shoulders. 

“Joel, it’s late. I’m sure they’re just layin’ low somewhere for the night, if you just wait-“ He doesn’t bother to listen to the rest of John’s plea. He can’t leave you out there. You’ve never told him, but he knows you hate the dark. Anytime you get assigned to do something after sunset, he watches your face flicker and change, the sweet, happy nature of your eyes tightening with a sprinkle of fear. 

Once, he was the one who was late. Three hours late to a promise he had made you, a date with Egyptian rat screw. By the time he got back, the sun had well set, and you were standing on the little porch, lantern by your side. You were standing in the dark, waiting for him. The sight of it made his breath catch in his chest. 

“Hey-“ He started to say when he saw you, but you cut him off immediately. 

“Where were you?” your voice had been a higher pitch than normal, off key, like you were afraid. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s just John said someone got held up and when you didn’t show I started to think maybe you were the one who got held up, but that doesn’t make sense because no one in their right mind would hold you up and-“ He grabbed your flailing hand with his, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles, and watched the tension drain from your body, bit by bit. I’m here, baby, he wanted to say. I’m right here. 

“I think I owe you a game.” He said instead. 

He remembers when you got that pack of cards, when you went back inside a building crawling with Clickers, just to pluck them from the pocket of some rotting corpse. He was furious. The feeling of rage in his chest was so strong that he wanted to scream at you, scare you bad enough that you never did anything that stupid again. 

It wasn’t until later in the day that he realized it wasn’t anger at all, but fear.

He doesn’t let anyone else know you have them, because he remembers when Rich found out, that night when you drank just a little bit too much and let it slip. He remembers watching the gears in Rich’s head turn, eyes staring daggers at your bag. He tried to snatch it from you the next day, shoving you on the ground to tear your backpack away from your body. He gave you a black eye, but you rolled over on him with a knife pressed to the vein beating under his jaw. He ran away scared after that. Joel will never forget the disappointed look in your eyes as he scampered off. “That’s what I get for trying to be nice, I guess.” 

Rich was dead two nights later. Everyone assumed it was a Stalker. 

You were five and half hours past due. Joel’s walking out of camp now, flashlight shining on the road ahead. He would find you. You’d be alright. You’d be fine. 

Something snaps in the dark of the trees to the right and he whirls, shining the flashlight in that direction, working it in a pattern across the ground. He hears a cough, and then- 

“Joel?” It’s your voice, your soft, sweet voice saying his name, and when you come closer into the light splattered in blood, he nearly falls to his god damn knees. 

“What happened?” he barks, his tone aggressive and edged in fear. “Where are you hurt? What happened?” He runs his hands over your body, your shoulders, your arms, your waist. He could run you back to camp faster if he carried you, he had a good amount of first aid in this pack, he could certainly staunch the bleeding if it wasn’t an artery, fuck if it was an artery, he didn’t think he had anything, probably could make a tourniquet, what if it’s a bite, what would-

“It’s not… It’s not my blood.” His mind stops racing and he blinks. 

“It’s not your blood.” His hands come up to hold your face, one palm on either cheek. You’re shaking. He’s shaking. 

“Not my blood.” You repeat again, fingers coming to wrap around his wrist, right below his watch. You stroke the spot where his pulse races with your thumb. “I’m alright. I’m fine Joel, I’m just a little-“ He doesn’t let you finish. Instead, he presses his mouth to yours, a fever rising in his own blood when you open for him, soft whimpers slipping from your lips. You taste as good as he’s imagined, and he wants to devour you. His blood is racing beneath his skin, and he wants to bury himself so far inside you that you can’t go anywhere without him again, wants to ruin you and lock you up, so no one can even so much as touch a single hair on your head. He wants to rewind time and kill the fucker who put that scar on your face. He traces a finger down your neck, across your collarbones, and your skin is so soft, so warm, he can’t stop touching it, his fingers moving over every inch of bare flesh available to him until you let out a little moan and it jolts him. He pulls back abruptly. He shouldn’t. He wants to. You blink at him in surprise, and then a smile stretches across your face. “tired.” You finish your sentence, and then without hesitating, you lean your body into his, arms coming around his waist in a hug. He lowers his head until his nose is in your hair, and he’s so relieved, so fucking relieved his brain is having a hard time working. His hands rub your back slowly, slipping behind the backpack, stroking up and down until a thought occurs to him. 

“Whose blood is this?” 

“Oh uh. It’s Alex’s. We ran into some trouble. He didn’t make it out.” You chew on your lip for a second before you speak again. “I had to get back, you know. Wanted to get home. I couldn’t… I couldn’t help him.” Home. You wanted to get home.

“That’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” He cradles your face again, rubbing a thumb across your cheek. You give him a sad smile, and then he brings you into his chest, where his heart is pounding against his ribs, a hand wrapped around the back of your head. 

Your feet drag along as you walk next to him, fingers curled around the inside of his elbow, head leaning against his shoulder. You’re exhausted, covered in blood and who knows what else, but all he can think about is sliding his arm behind your knees and lifting you off the ground. 

“You know what-” You start to say before your sentence is cut off by a yawn, and you press your face into his bicep. “You know what I could really go for?” you mumble into him. 

“What’s that?” 

“I could really go for some banana pudding.” 

[gimmeurtummy]

Over A Bowl OF Food

Pairing: Lee Minho x Fem reader

Genre: Fluff

Request: Nopesies

Warnings: Nothing? Jus' fluff, not proofred, Chan and Innie being realistic

A/n: @michelle4eve all credits to this cutie 🥺 brought out the writer in me again

2023:

As the winds tousled her hair, she hurried down the bustling streets of Seoul, her gaze darting anxiously between her watch and the door ahead.

Bam—

She collided with a solid chest, nearly stumbling backward until strong hands steadied her. "I'm terribly sorry," she blurted out, then swiftly resumed her rush. Dodging left, her favourite restaurant plus cafe loomed into view, and she paused before it, catching her breath and stealing a glance at her watch. She had made it just in time.

Entering the opulent establishment, she took her seat, greeted by the familiar waiter, Mr. Yang, who approached carrying her tray.

"You've made it," he remarked with a smile she knew all too well, to which she simply nodded. "Give a ring if you need anything else."

"You know I won't," Y/n replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Six months prior, she had stumbled upon this restaurant plus cafe with friends and discovered her favourite dish, though it stretched her budget. Through a budding friendship with the chef, she managed to enjoy half-priced meals, a small luxury she could afford. Her gaze lingered on the meal before her, just as she had always desired: simple and unadorned, unlike the other half adorned with pricey ingredients. As she ate and scrolled through her phone, her attention was drawn to a rabbit keychain clinging to her sweater. She carefully untangled it, admiring its cuteness.

"It must belong to the man," she mused, her thoughts drifting back to their collision earlier. She sighed softly, hoping he wasn't too inconvenienced.

He watched as the girl's figure gradually faded into the distance, a sigh escaping him before he resumed his journey to the dance school. Being a dance choreographer wasn't as effortless as it appeared, especially when the steps were as demanding as they were. Pausing momentarily, he realized his rabbit keychain was missing, cursing softly before pressing on; time didn't allow for detours.

He turned around resuming his steps down the crowded streets, his heart doing a weird reaction, making him want to see her one more time.

May, 2024:

She stretched arms, stretching her body in a cat-like manner. She leaned back comfortably in her chair, her eyes catching the shine of the key chain, she leaned forward gently taking it in her hand. She had taken care of it as best as she could, a part of her giving up hope on finding the man.

“Y/n,” she looked up to see her friend, Yunjin, rushing inside with a giddy smile. “Do you remember the restaurant plus cafe plus cafe where we went to have lunch?” Yujin pushed back a giggle, as she slammed her hands on Y/n's desk. She gave her friend a weird look before nodding. “So apparently, I have heard, they have half meals, which two people anonymously share.”

Y/n stared at her blank, her mind not responding to what she said. Yujin's smile dropped to a scowl, “It kinda looks like fated people you know? Like what if, the other person who is eating the other half, maybe is your soulmate!” Once Yujin realized Y/n was not going to give any reaction, she gave her one last scowl before leaving.

The door dinged as Minho walked in, his eyes focused on his phone, his arm brushed against someone making him look up, but he could only catch a glimpse of a girl rushing out. Minho stared at her for a good few seconds before shrugging off the uneasy feeling and taking a seat.

“Come on,” Minho whined a little, it was break time, the restaurant plus cafe was nearly empty. Mr Yang, or rather, Jeongin sat opposite to Minho, enjoying his break. “It's a girl? Or a boy?” He pressed further.

Jeongin took a deep breath, setting down his phone, “Hyung, that is personal information, and second, why?”

“I just,” Minho paused, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. Why did he even want to know? Was it because he hoped it was ‘her’ or something else? “I just want to know who this nice person is.”

Jeongin gave Minho a long and hard stare before sighing, “It's a girl.” Minho grinned slightly, digging through his bag. He picked up a sticky note and scrambled down messily, before handing it to Jeongin, “Please hand this to her.”

“This is for you,” Jeongin handed Y/n the small blue sticky note, along with her meal. She gave him a confused look, before he continued, “The person, who has the other half of your meal, gave you this.”

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she unfolded the note, her eyes scanning the hastily scrawled words:

"Hello, I hope this reaches you well. I couldn't help but notice your kindness and thoughtfulness. Thank you for being my anonymous food partner, Sincerely, Minho."

A warmth spread through Y/n's chest as she read the note again, her mind racing with possibilities. Could this be the man from that fateful collision? The one whose keychain she now held in her hand? The thought sent a thrill through her, igniting a spark of hope.

As she savoured the message, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a tale woven by fate—a dance of serendipitous encounters yet to unfold.

She took out a pen, and hastily scrambled down her small note, before handing it over to Jeongin. Jeongin scanned her handwriting and shot her a nasty look, before carrying it away. Y/n sighed, staring out of the window, leaning her head on her elbow. Even all this time later, she couldn't forget her encounter by chance, her Rabbit Man. She gently grabbed the face of the rabbit, who stared back at her, “Where are you?” Her lonely eyes scanned the face of the rabbit.

Minho scanned the note, trying his best to hold back the giddy smile that kept creeping out. He smiled like an idiot at the small note given by this mystery woman, Y/n. He sighed as he shoved another spoon of the food in his mouth, chewing it slowly. He sighed, taking out another piece of sticky note, and twirled the pen, thinking of another message; before writing it down, his stupid smile was on display. 

He handed the note to Jeongin, who shot him a nastier look, “I don't get paid for this,” He whined. Minho's smile fell, replaced with a scowl, “You want to eat tissues?” Jeongin, clearly knowing his Hyung wasn't joking, quickly took everything away. 

The manager of the store leaned against the front desk, watching the interaction between his two close friends, family even. His heart swelled with happiness seeing how Minho's eyes lit up getting her note, it was the same way hers did. He couldn't help but deep down hoped the Red string brings them together. 

“I haven't seen you this happy in a while,” Chan smiled as we returned back the extra money, Minho grinned from ear to ear showing off his perfect teeth, a light coat of pink covering his cheek. “Oohh~ I smell love on you.”

“Hyung,” Minho whined, fixing the strap of his bag, he knew his only Hyung wasn't going to let him live his down. 

November, 2024:

The man closely observed the girl, from the door of the kitchen. He has been doing this since she first ever came here, with her politeness and charming smile, she caught his eyes. He had been meaning to tell her all this time until he came along. Her new admirer. Minho. He had known the boy longer than her, he had read the notes they shared secretly when Jeongin wasn't around, and his heart flared with jealousy seeing that boy get the girl of his dreams.

He straightened up, knowing the girl was about to leave as she took back her receipt exchanging words with the manager. He knew it was now or never. He watched as the girl slowly walked closer to the door, her figure becoming smaller, he quickly took big steps across the restaurant, yet Chan suspected nothing. No one did.

“Y/n,” he called out, Y/n froze looking back she silently scanned him for a moment before asking, “Yes?”

He took a deep breath, he knew this was wrong, but he couldn't let her go. He had overheard the conversation between Minho and Jeongin earlier a few days ago, he was planning on meeting her. Face to face. “It's me, Minho,” he took the risk. 

Something flickered in her eyes. No. This wasn't how she imagined him. The words and the face, it didn't match up. She looked away for a moment, internally cursing herself for being delusional. For even hoping the owner of the rabbit was the owner of the notes, she forced a smile, “Hey, it's uhm—great to finally meet you.” 

He was too blind to read the signs clearly visible on her face, and went on, “Yeah, I have been watching you for a long time, I just never had the guts to come up,” Y/n nodded, standing there awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. He took a deep breath, he was down to do anything to get her, “Hey, how about we get to know each other, face to face you know?” He scanned her face for hesitation, seeing none, he grinned, “My shift ends in 10.”

Y/n sat opposite to her so-called Minho, in the corner of the same restaurant plus cafe by the window. Every once in a while, she looked outside, nearly bored out of her mind. It has been nearly an hour since she has been here, and she wished she hadn't. All this man did was talk about what he liked, and what he was good at and gossip about this place.

“Hyung,” Jeongin leaned closer to Chan. “Why is he with her? When did they become friends?” Chan frowned following his gaze, he looked at the pair in disbelief shaking his head. “I don't know, Innie.”

“So Y/n,” her eyes flickered to his face, “Woah you look..bored, everything alright?”

Y/n quickly straightened up, putting on a small smile to go with the situation, “Yeah, just college, drained me out.”

“College?” He looked surprised, Y/n's face turned a little suspicious, because she clearly remembered telling Minho about her college, as soon as he noticed her expression he smiled nervously, “Oh college, right right.”

Y/n leanest back letting it drop, “How is choreography going?” He stared at her blankly for a moment, not really knowing what to say, he didn't know anything about this Minho guy, “Well, it's going good.”

The door opened, getting their attention, as well as Chan and Jeongin's. Minho walked in and flopped down on one of the front seats by the counter, “I want coffee,” he whined out loudly in English leaning back in the chair. Jeongin and Chan shared a look before he went to make his coffee. Chan decided not to comment anything about Minho, as Jeongin handed him his coffee.

Y/n frowned, as so called Minho tried to get her attention, the side of the man's face, it had to be him, she hurriedly took off the rabbit keychain from her bag, and threw it over her shoulder, “Excuse me,” she quickly said and stood up, racing up near the counter. “Excuse me,” she called out, getting their attention. Minho's eyes widened seeing her, “You?!” He was astonished , staring at her. She nodded and before holding out the key chain, “I am sorry,” she apologized by pushing it in his hand. She stood there for a few more moments, because Minho didn't even utter a word, she took a few steps back slightly embarrassed before walking back to her table. 

“Y/n,” Jeongin called out, making her stop and turn back. Minho's eyes snapped towards her, Y/n? Is it her? “What?” Y/n asked frowning, because the trio went silent. 

“Y/n,” she felt a hand on her shoulder, she knew it belonged to the so-called Minho. Jeongin kicked Minho's foot, urging her, Minho kicked back harder. So called Minho, already knowing he was on the edge of getting caught, paid the bill, and nearly forced Y/n to leave with him.

“Hyung, go after her,” Jeongin stared at Minho in disbelief when he shook his head. “No Ayen, she..I don't even know her.” But deep down he felt something. 

“She is Y/n,” Chan finally spoke up. “You have been exchanging notes with her all this time.” Minho froze for a moment, before shaking his head, “She is with someone.” 

“Who was that Y/n?” So called Minho forced the words out, once they had walked at least a few good minutes away from the place. “Someone I bumped into,” Y/n mumbled, stuffing her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. They shared an uncomfortable silence, the nervous air just grew thicker. 

Minho sighed standing up, hastily grabbing his things, “I gotta go,” he blurted out, racing out of the place spotting Y/n and the man, so it seemed like a heated argument.

Y/n rubbed her arm uncomfortably, as the man in front of her kept raising his voice, “Minho all I am saying is it was nice to meet you, but I don't feel like that, okay?”

“What do you mean? Come on Y/n, your notes said otherwise,” so called Minho said exasperated. 

“But,” they simultaneously looked to their left, at him, “I wrote the notes.” Y/n once looked at the so -called Minho and back at the owner of the voice, “Minho?” She dared to ask. Minho stepped closer, protectively, eyeing the imposter. 

So called Minho looked between Y/n and Minho, before bowing quickly, “I-I have to go.” He raced away as soon as he finished saying it. 

Y/n stood dumbfounded before realizing what had happened and rubbed her face, “Oh god, I'm so stupid.”

“It's okay, really,” Minho smiles. “I'm Lee Minho,” he offered his hand.

“L/n Y/n,” she smiled, taking his hand, “it's great to finally meet you.”

Chan and Jeongin stared out of the window, “We don't get paid for this.”

[k-slla]

Hello, goodbye.

A/N: This is my second post for @jacklesversebingo / All mistakes are mine

Square filled: Break-Up

Warnings: Angst, mentions of alcohol, language, cheating, hurt, tiny bit of fluff/comfort

Word count: ~3.5k

My Masterlist

Staring at the bottom of your almost empty tea cup, you waited for Jensen to come home. You grabbed your phone again from the table to send him another text but ended up throwing it on the couch because your previous messages, sent yesterday around noon were left on read by him.

"Hey, babe! I know you're going to board the plane soon, but call me when you land. Miss you!❤️"

Few hours later followed by next one.

"Hey, you haven't called yet:( I know you should be home by now..I'll finish up work in a minute, see you soon!"

And before these were even more calls and messages. More "I miss you's", "Can't wait to see you's" & "Love you's". All went to voicemail or were just left on read. He's just busy, you had tried to reason this silence on his part so far. But when you got home yesterday evening, he was not there. Probably his flight got delayed or phone battery ran out you had thought but as the hours passed, you felt that it was something else. Never has he ignored you or been radio silent for this long. Another full day had passed, without him contacting you. And now you were getting more anxious by the minute. Jared should probably know where Jensen is, right? You wanted to call him but it was already past midnight so you settled on sending him a text. Maybe they went for a drinks and he forgot to tell you. Unlikely, but still a possibility.

You dragged yourself to the kitchen to make another tea, so you could try to get some sleep. While waiting for the kettle, you sent another text to him.

"Jensen, where are you? I'm worried. Call me."

You let out a frustrated sigh and cursed yourself for being such a nervous mess. You decided to ditch the tea and go straight to bed instead. You were certain that his flight was just delayed, which wouldn't exactly explain him ignoring your messages but you were probably just overthinking about everything as always.

You had no idea how long you had been asleep but when you woke up hearing the front door closing, light was dimly shining in through the blinds. Confused, you sat up in bed and looked for your phone. Almost 10am. Jared had sent two messages.

"Sorry, he's not with me:( trying to call now"

"Couldn't reach him, please let me know when he's home"

You could hear Jensen's heavy footsteps downstairs but decided to stay in bed. Mostly to see if he'd come upstairs to wake you. But he didn't, so you threw on a pair of fluffy slippers and a sweater and went downstairs. The smell of fresh coffee hit you as soon you opened the bedroom door.

You tried to stay mad at him longer, for making you worry but when you heard him humming in the kitchen, you couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. He sat at the island with his back towards you, so that gave you a perfect chance to sneak up on him. You hugged him from behind and he flinched.

"Jesus!" He quietly muttered under his breath. "Nope, just me. I missed you!" You whispered into his ear and kissed his stubbly cheek. "You scared me. I thought you were working today. Didn't see your car out." He sounded almost disappointed.

"Sorry." You smiled apologetically. " Didn't I told you that I'm taking the weekend off? We can spend it together before you have to go back." You turned around to pour yourself some coffee. "Did you your flight got delayed? I thought you were coming home on Thursday."

While you were searching for creamer from the fridge, you didn't notice Jensen tensing up at your question. You grabbed your cup and sat down across from him, looking at him questionably. 

"No, it's just- I-" he started evasively. " I just needed some time alone." You stared at him in disbelief. "What?" You asked laughing half-heartedly. "Jensen, we haven't seen each other for two months and you needed more time alone?"

"Did I do or say something?" You asked after a minute of trying to process what he told you. "You've been almost completely ignoring me for the past weeks. Actually it seems like few months even. I feel like-" You reached for his hand across the table but he pulled back. "I feel like I'm losing you."  He took a deep breath in and leaned back in his chair. "I thought- hoped actually- that you were working today, so I could figure it out how to tell you." Your breathing quickened. "Tell me what?"

Jensen looked straight into your eyes. "I'm going to file for a divorce." The coldness in his gaze and tone cut deep. You got confused for a second and squared you shoulders, forcing back tears, that were threatening to spill. You did not expect that. "But what- I mean why? Because I started talking more about having kids?" You had hoped the timing was right for the two of you to start trying at least. You had been together for over five years, married close to two now. Of course you wanted to have kids with him one day.

"I wanted to start family too but- " he stopped, looking for the right words. "I guess people change."

You scoffed. People change. People do change, but it doesn't happen almost overnight like this.

Your thoughts started to run now in one direction only. You were kicking and cursing yourself internally for allowing you even think this. "Is there someone else?" You asked, not really wanting to know the answer. Jensen's face turned stoic. "Does it matter? It's not gonna change anything." He shrugged. Anger was already slowly boiling inside you and that was the last straw.

"Of course it fucking matters, Jensen! If you're cheating on me, the least you could do is to man up and tell the truth." You snapped poisonously, got up from the chair and turned around to leave the kitchen.

"Fuck me." He muttered quietly and called after you bit louder. "Okay. Yes, I cheated on you. There. Do you feel better now?" He asked, sarcasm in his voice unmissable.

You immediately felt sick to your stomach. You turned around to face him again. "Do I feel better? Are you serious?" You were truly astounded and didn't even know how to react to his confession. You couldn't stay there anymore. You walked out of the room and tears finally broke loose. Jensen got up from his chair to follow.

"No! Just leave me alone. Please. I can't do this right now. I'll get out of here and-" you let out a sharp breath "-go to, I don't know, to Elaine's or something. "

"Of course.." he whispered. "Y/N, come on. Don't act like you're without blame here. You-" You cut into his sentence.

"How could you even say that? What did I do for you to go and cheat on me?" You hissed back at him and entered your bedroom. Jensen followed and sat on the bed, as he stared after you walking into the closet and pulling out a suitcase. "I'm sorry, Y/N. Please. Come sit down." You ignored him and started to pack your clothes. "I'll get rest of my stuff next week." You sniffled. "When you're back at work or something."

You folded your clothes sloppily and refused to look at him when he joined you in there. This was not the weekend you had imagined when he said he'll be coming back home. You were excited to finally see him again and just be together and do nothing. You had missed your husband for a long time. Apparently, he did not miss you. You quickly wiped the tears away, when Jensen came to stand behind you and put his hands on your shoulders to turn you around. "Please, Y/N. I want to talk about this. To explain."

Trying to calm yourself down, you looked straight into his eyes. "Okay. Talk."

"No. Come sit down." He nodded to the bed. He tried to guide you towards the bed but you shrugged off his hand and sat down on the bed. Leaning against the headboard, you pulled your knees to your chest. Two of you sat there for few minutes before Jensen started talking. "I really don't know how else to say it. And I don't expect you to believe but I didn't mean to hurt you this way. I'm sorry." His voice was quiet.

"I'm sorry I was such an asshole before. You just caught me off guard and I didn't know how to react."

You still couldn't wrap your mind around it. What went wrong with the two of you? "You're right. I don't believe you. You do not sleep with someone by accident. I'd try to understand- "

"Y/N, I-" You raised one hand to stop him. "No, Jensen, let me talk please. I'd try to understand you if it was just about having kids. I'd try to somehow accept it. But cheating? This was something you chose to do. And this probably wasn't a one time thing either, right?" His silence gave you the answer to your question. You nodded knowingly. "That's what I thought. You did this over and over. While I waited for you at home. Alone. Do you really think your apology will make me feel better?" You took a deep breath, silent tears were rolling down your cheeks again. Last few months had been especially hard without him. Work had gotten crazy with your boss demanding more and more from you. Yes, you had your friends and sister you kept in contact with regularly, but still at nights you felt alone.

 "Is that why you're leaving me? To move on with someone new?" You noticed Jensen tearing up. But still he didn't answer. "Jensen, please. Why can't you just tell me?" He said nothing so you got back up to finish packing. You didn't see the need to sit there and wait for him to answer. "Fine. You say you want to talk, but still won't talk to me, so I'll just go." You threw few more items from the closet into the suitcase and closed it up.

"Y/N, this is your home. You don't have to leave." He finally spoke up. "Well, I can't stay here either." You walked to the bathroom to pack some toiletries. This time Jensen didn't follow you. You closed the door and sat down on the floor. You felt a pressuring pain on the back of your head, but tried to think through it, to figure out your next steps. Of course you didn't want to actually leave, but staying in the house you and Jensen worked hard on to turn into home, would've been even harder. So you chose the easier of the two.

With a deep breath, you pulled out your phone and dialed your sister's number. She has always been very protective over you, so you knew, if you'd tell her about Jensen on the phone, she'd be over in a heartbeat to kick his ass. And he wasn't worth troubling her that much. "Hey, El. Are you busy this weekend?" You tried to sound cheerful, but you couldn't even convince yourself so she'd definitely see through it. "Hey! Not too busy. Why?" She sounded worried already. "I got an awesome idea, involving you, me, bottle of rosé and probably us passing out on your couch. How's that sound?"

She laughed at your proposal. "Definitely have time for that! What's up? Boy troubles?" You sighed and tried to compose yourself. "You could say that." She groaned loudly.

For some reason Jensen and Elaine always had some kind of beef between them. They managed to remain somewhat civil around you but when you were alone with either of them, they just couldn't hold back on straight on bitching about the other. Which was the main cause of your headaches for the past years and made the family gatherings rather uncomfortable. Well, two less things for you to worry about now.

"Do I have come over and kick his ass? Because you know I would."  She said this jokingly, but you knew that there was some truth hidden there. "No! I'll be over soon. See you!"

"Oh, he really messed up this time, huh?" She asked and followed it up quickly. "Well, bring snacks then!"  There was a short pause on the line. "And more wine. Maybe some cake? I'll do the counseling, I think I'll deserve some afterwards."

"Of course. Thank you. Alright, see you soon." You said quietly.

You ended the call and reality pulled you back in. Talking with Elaine always calmed you down. Made you forget your problems, even if just for a moment. You sighed deeply and got up to now actually pack up some necessities.

Few minutes later you stood at the bathroom door, staring at Jensen, sitting on the bed, head down in his hands. You wanted nothing more right now than to just get out of the house. But there was still one question that needed to be answered. You sat down next to him and took one of his hand into yours. "Please look at me." You turned his face gently towards you.

You wanted to stay mad at him.

Scream at him.

Punch him for hurting you this way.

But looking at him, you just couldn't. "It'd be probably better for me not to ask but I need to know this, Jensen. How long were you having the affair for, before you told me?" You looked into his eyes and waited for the band-aid to be ripped. But nothing could've prepared you for this.

 "I'm really really sorry, Y/N. I realize that it doesn't have any worth to you anymore but still I hope you know that I am." He said turning his body towards you. You remained silent and waited for him to continue. "But I- it started just after New Years." You pulled away your hands. You knew you should've let it go. "So almost for a year you came home to me like nothing was wrong?" You asked shakily and let out a sharp breath. Your ears started ringing. He really is an amazing actor, you thought to yourself.

You didn't know whether to cry or be relieved that the truth was out. Now there was nothing holding you back from leaving. You stood up and so was up again the wall around you. The wall that took Jensen forever to break down in the first place. "Ahem, so, uh-" you had trouble finding the words. "I think I've heard what I needed to- you know..move on, I guess." A forced smile grew on your face that didn't reach your eyes. "You can send whatever the papers you need me to sign to my workplace." You took your things and walked out of the room.

Looking around in the living room, you realized how much you're actually going to miss this house. All the memories of the late night trips to the hardware stores during fixing up the house came back to you. You were definitely more of a distraction than help for Jensen at that time. But the arguments over the tone of the flooring and style of the kitchen cabinets resulted usually in hot make up sex in the shower. Which you felt was really your only purpose of picking those fights with him. These memories brought a sad smile onto your lips. Now you refused to call this home, because your home was Jensen. And you didn't have him anymore.

"Are you sure you're not staying here? I'm leaving in two days. You can have the house." He had followed you so quietly, you almost didn't notice him standing behind you.

"No, the house is not what I want." You laughed unhumorously and turned around to face him. Jensen pulled you into a tight hug and just held you close. And you let him do just that.

Everything still seemed as you were in a bad dream. All you wished right now was to wake up. But there was nothing to wake up from. As the realization dawned on you, you almost broke down again. Pushing your face into his chest, you desperately tried to hold yourself together. Leaving him is be the hardest thing you've had to do.

Focus, Y/N, you can cry when you're out of here, you tried to talk yourself down. Put on a brave face in front him, so he wouldn't see how broken you actually are.

"I'm sorry." He whispered and kissed the top of your head.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Yeah, I'm sorry, too." After giving him a last hug, you pulled away from him. "I want to hate you right now, Jensen. So much." You laughed lightly through your words. "But I don't think I'll be able to, not before I stop loving you." He gave you a sympathetic look, and you saw that he was hurting too. You stroked his cheek gently. "And I will always love you." You stood up on your toes and pressed a kiss on his lips for the last time. With a heavy sigh you turned away to grab your purse, coat and car keys. "I want the best for you. Truly." You said standing on the door. With a one last look at him, you smiled and stepped out of the house.

Before going to Elaine's, you did a quick stop at a grocery store. Today you felt like not giving a damn, you will get drunk with your sister this afternoon. You picked up more wine and sweet and savory snacks, cake and some fruit. Definitely too much food for the two of you.

"Someone's having a party, huh?" Cashier asked you with a smile on her face.

"Oh, yeah, mhmm, big party tonight."

After packing up your groceries, you dialed El's number again.

"Hey, just got out of store. Be there in 10."

"Alrighty, should I find some glasses for us?" What a dumb question.

"Don't ask stupid questions and come outside to help me with things."

Little while later, two of you were sitting on the couch. "So. Talk to me, Y/N." She snuggled in closer to you. You swirled wine around in the glass and stared into nothing. "Jensen and I are divorcing." You didn't want to look at her and she waited silently for you to continue. "But hey- it's a well known fact that half of marriages end in divorce so-" You tried to lighten your mood but failed miserably at that. "I guess we were just on the wrong side of that equation."

She took the wine glass from you and put both on the table.

"Come here, sweetie." She pulled you into tight embrace as both of you laid on the couch. "I know that's yet another stupid question from me but how are you feeling? Honest answers only."

"Hurt. Disappointed. Sad. I just want to be angry with him, but I can't." You sat up. "He- he found someone new, you know? Well.. He didn't exactly say that but I guess so." Elaine huffed angrily. "He cheated on you?" You nodded silently and topped up your glasses. You could only imagine what was going through her head in that moment. Certainly she'd want to say "I told you so". You waited for any kind of reaction from her, so you sat there in a silence for a while, until she spoke again. "That lying piece of sh-" You interrupted your sisters swearing. "Stop. No, he's really not that." You said smiling sorrowfully.

"Why are you so calm about this? I'd be livid right now. Hell, I am! He betrayed you."

"If he feels like he's happier with someone other than me, then I won't stand in his way." You said quietly. "It hurts like hell, but I won't be some petty ass bitch to him because of that. I just don't have it in me." She laughed at you. "Yeah, you don't. I'd probably be keying his car right now."

You sighed, feeling the light buzz from the wine starting to take over you. "I thought getting drunk with you would make me feel better but what I really want right now, is to sleep. For a week at least. I just can't think of anything else right now."

She got up from the couch, reaching her hand out to you. "Come."

"What? Where?" Your brows furrowed in confusion, but nonetheless you got up.

"You want to sleep, so let's go to sleep." Elaine said so matter-of-factly.

"But didn't you have any plans today?" She pulled you into a tight hug. "Yeah, I did, but you are more important."

Read part 2 here!

Taglist is always open / Send me a DM if you wish to be added/removed :)

@jackles010378 @cevansbaby-dove @deanwinchestersgirl87 @alternativeprincess94

[earthtoharlow]

Flashing Lights

Jack Harlow x Singer!OC

Series Masterlist

9. Here We Go Again

tw: slight violence

Maryse Monet began writing “-Ugh, those feels again” following the end of a long-term high profile relationship that she’s characterized as “depressing” and “exhausting,” but half way through the writing process the unthinkable happened, “I originally wanted this album to be a breakup album, but then I fell in love unexpectedly.” The 24 year old singer-songwriter tells Apple Music. That freshness of perspective resonates throughout the album.

“-Ugh goes through the emotional roller coaster of falling back in love after having your heart broken and I feel like everyone can relate to this album.”

Here Maryse takes Apple Music through her favorite tracks on -Ugh those feels again.

Second Chances ft. Jack Harlow

“I was stuck on this song for weeks, I had the whole song written but I always felt like it was missing something, and that something was Jack. I watched him write his verse in 15 minutes. It was amazing, I’m so in awe of his talent.”

Let It Go

“Let It Go is about when you’re so blindly in love that you ignore all their red flags and fail to see them for who they really are. You get to the point where you have to let it go and doing that will allow better love into your life.”

Fun Girl

“I love this song, it’s raw and unedited. Just my voice and my electric guitar. It was inspired by an ex who called me a fun girl. Someone who is cool to hang out with until it’s time to settle down.”

Toronto

“I wrote this song on my flight home from Toronto after a Drake concert. This song and that city will always have a special place in my heart because it’s where I kissed my now boyfriend for the first time.”

To Jack, From Maryse

“This was the very last song I wrote and turned in for the album. I literally turned it in right at the deadline. It was originally just going to be a small interlude but I just couldn’t stop writing. I’m professing my love to Jack in this whole song. I actually sung this to him first in front of a large audience before I had even told him in person”

***

A weight felt like it had been lifted from Maryse’s shoulders. Her debut album was officially released. The reviews were slowly coming in, critics were raving about the album. Pitchfork who is known for giving harsh reviews gave it a 7.4! She couldn’t believe it.

Maryse was currently getting ready for her album release party that her team and label was throwing for her. After being locked up in the studio for almost a year, it’s going to be fun to go out and not have to think about finishing the album.

As she was touching up the gloss on her lips she heard a slight knock behind her. Looking up in the mirror, there was Jack looking as fine as ever. Maryse had to smile when she noticed she and Jack were matching. You had told your team that you wanted the dress code to be more casual, Jack went with a blue sweater, black cargos with matching NBs.

Maryse had a bunch of different options to choose from when it came to her outfit but she eventually decided to wear a custom blue David Koma two piece set.

“Hey baby!” Maryse said, turning around to wrap her arms around his neck in greeting. Her heels tonight gave her a few extra inches.

Jack tightened his hand around her waist and reached down to give her a kiss but frowned when Maryse pulled back. “Hey!” He said with a whine.

All Maryse could do was laugh. “I just touched up my lipstick!” She tried to explain. Jack just shook his head at her, “I don’t care.” And pressed his lips against hers before she had time to react.

After almost four months of dating he still managed to leave her breathless. Maryse never wanted that feeling to go away.

As she tried to pull away, Jack captured her lips once again. Maryse relaxed into his arms and stopped fighting it. Enjoying this moment before they were going to be around a bunch of people all night.

Jack pulled away and pressed his forehead against hers. Maryse giggled seeing that some of her lipstick rubbed off on his lips. Turning back towards her vanity she grabbed a makeup wipe, and began wiping it off his lips.

“What, not the right shade?” Jack said cheekily. All Maryse could do was smile with a shake of her head. After she was done, Jack spun her around so that Maryse’s back was facing him. He smiled at her in the mirror, pressing a kiss behind her ear.

“We look good.” Maryse nodded in agreement. They did look good.

“Look at us in our matching outfits, it’s giving power couple!” Jack said with a click of his tongue. Maryse laughed at his phrasing. “Please don’t ever say that again!”

***

JACKHARLOWSOURCE

liked by 6,890 users

jackharlowsource: Looks like Jack and Maryse decided to match for her album release party! Make sure you guys stream the album and Second Chances which features our favorite guy! 💙 (Fun Fact: Urban shot the cover for -Ugh those feels again!)

view all 245 comments

user: omg stopppp they’re so cute

user: goals

user: oh they really a power couple

user: maryse can you fight cause I want your man

user: I don’t like her for some reason

user: Jack is soooo in love

user: did y’all listen to the song she dedicated to him 🥹🥹

The party was in full swing. There was a huge turnout, not only were close friends like Saweetie and Doja there but many people from the music industry were there as well.

“BITCH!! You look the fuck good!” Doja screamed as she finally found her. Maryse was getting pulled in so many directions since she arrived at the party.

Maryse let out a sigh of relief and gave her friend a tight embrace, happy to see her. “Thank you babe! You look amazing as well!”

Doja thanked her before giving Maryse a once over. She looked happy but maybe overwhelmed. “You good?”

Maryse immediately nodded. “Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting so many people here. This has been a crazy few months. This time last year I was just known as “star New York QB girlfriend who sometimes dropped music on SoundCloud.”

Doja pinched her friend's side hearing her talking down on herself. Especially on a night like this. “OW!”

She just rolled her eyes at friend. “I’m not gonna stand here and let you talk down about yourself, especially at your release party. You deserve all this and more. You’ve always been the hardest worker in the room and this year proves hard work pays off.”

Maryse wanted to cry hearing Doja say that, she needed to hear that more than ever. She opened her mouth to thank her best friend but Doja immediately shook her head. “I know, now let’s go find Saweetie and get crazy drunk!” Maryse laughed as Doja dragged through the crowds of people and towards the bar.

As the night went on, she noticed that Jack kept disappearing. Pulling out her phone to text him, the music suddenly stopped. Maryse looked up and her eyes widened when she saw her manager, CoCo and Jack on stage both holding a microphone.

CoCo spoke first. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn the music back on in a second!” The crowd laughed as she continued. “I wanted to come up here and thank everyone for coming to Maryse’ album release party. Maryse worked on this album tirelessly to make this the most successful debut album, and I can proudly say she succeeded.”

Maryse watched as Jack pulled out a framed plaque with the cover of her single Focus on it.

“Not only is -Ugh those feels again already on pace to becoming the number one album in the world but we just got word that her single, Focus just went 5x platinum!” Maryse’ eyes started to water as the crowd turned towards her and cheered, celebrating the achievement.

“Now, come up here girl and come get this plaque!” Coco said, waving her up towards the stage.

Maryse made her way to the stage and embraced her manager. She couldn’t have done any of this without her guidance. Maryse then turned towards Jack who was standing there, looking as handsome as ever. He placed the plaque on the stand and gave Maryse a huge hug, lifting her off her feet slightly. “I love you, I’m so proud of you always.” He whispered in her ear, and gave her a small kiss. Not wanting to show too much PDA.

Pulling away, Jack lifted his microphone to say a few words. “I’m going to make this really quick, I promise. Maryse, I see you everyday, whether it’s on FaceTime or in person and not a day goes by where you don’t amaze me. I’m fortunate enough to witness your passion and tireless work ethic and your ambition. I don't think you even realize how iconic you are. You’ve earned every bit of this, I love you.”

Maryse had to try and keep her body from shivering, she wanted nothing more in that moment than for Jack to carry her off somewhere private so that she could have her way with him.

***

The party was coming to an end, Maryse spent the rest of the night sitting in Jack’s lap in a dark corner of the club as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

In her buzzed state, Maryse became more bold and touchy, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re amazing.” She murmured, delighted.

Jack grins lazily at her, pulling her closer to him. “No, you are.” His face flushes as Maryse continues pressing kisses up his neck and along his jaw.

He hisses in a breath and squeezes Maryse waist. “You shouldn’t tease like that, M.” Jack mutters. “Play nice.”

Maryse giggles with a playful shake of her head and pecks at his lips. “Never.” She teases.

“Ok, it’s time to go. I need you right now.” Patting her ass to motion her to get her up. Maryse was getting excited, more than ready to go home.

“Wait for me by the door and we can go alright?”

Maryse nodded and stole another kiss this time tugging the bottom of his lip with her teeth.

“Fuck.”

“Hurry back!” Jack immediately nodded before heading off to the restroom.

As Maryse wanted for Jack to return, despite most of the crowd clearing out, it still felt hot and stuffy. She texted Jack that she was going to wait right outside the exit of the club.

Leaning against the brick wall, she sighed in relief. Enjoying the breeze and quiet, the moment of peace was rudely interrupted.

“Aw man! You threw a party without me?!”

Walking towards her was her ex Nate. Maryse groaned loudly. “Just when I was having a good night, you decided to show up!” She said, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly feeling uncomfortable around him.

“Don’t do me like that, baby!” Nate said with an almost evil smile.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” Two years ago, hearing Nate call her that would’ve made her smile but now it made her stomach turn.

Maryse tried to walk further down the sidewalk as Nate kept inching closer. “I just think that the inspiration for your album should’ve been invited to the party!”

Her eyes almost popped out of her head with how hard she rolled them. “Good thing you don’t get paid for thinking.”

She continued, “Please don’t ruin my night, Nate. Go home, I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here. Besides, Jack will be out soon.”

The mention of Jack made his ears perk up. “OH! So that’s what it is, you don’t want Jack to see me. Scared he’ll notice that you’re still in love with me?”

Now it was Maryse’s turn to laugh. That was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “You should really go to the doctor and get your brain checked for early CTE, if you honestly believe I’m still in love with you!”

“What did you just say to me?” Nate had cornered Maryse now, roughly grabbing her by the shoulders and pressing her hard against the brick wall. Drinking always made him angry but he’s never put his hands on her.

Before she could even react, Nate was roughly pulled away by Urban. His drunken state made him fall back on the concrete. “Fuck off, dude before I kick your ass for real!”

Shooken up by what happened, Maryse jumped when she felt hands wrap around her. “Hey, it’s just me.” Hearing Jack’s voice immediately made Maryse put her guard down.

Jack could tell she was trying to stay strong as he pulled her into his arms. He couldn’t help but place blame on himself, he should’ve never left her alone.

He didn’t have time to think about that now as he felt his sweater turn wet from Maryse tears. Tapping her bottom with his hand, “Jump.”

Maryse listened, wrapping her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist tightly so he could carry her.

Jack was pissed that such an amazing night was ruined by some dickhead. He didn’t know much about Nate Williams other than the fact that he was her longtime boyfriend. Maryse only talked about him in her music, never mentioning why they broke up. At least not to him. He knew that eventually they would need to talk about it.

Right now that conversation could wait. He needed to get her home, tucked in bed, snuggled underneath him. Where he knew she was safe.

***

AN: damn you Nate for ruining such a great night!! 🤬

As always please let me know your thoughtssss

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