#and i like a little queer angst every now and then so

[2econd2ight2eers]

Scollace

So.... I may or may not have created a Scollace playlist fueled by my newfound love for the Scott Pilgrim series. :^

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love? 

                            Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week. 

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught. 

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out. 

Oh no. 

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too. 

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack. 

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.” 

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes. 

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name. 

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!” 

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again. 

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics. 

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours. 

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around. 

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance. 

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along. 

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-” 

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”  

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries. 

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump. 

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry. 

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.” 

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit. 

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change. 

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips. 

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop. 

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

            all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek. 

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm. 

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.  

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself. 

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible. 

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real. 

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again. 

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist 

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs. 

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,” 

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?” 

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.”  He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours. 

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.” 

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

🌻 chapter four

[eddiesxangel]

Me and You? Together? | Eddie Munson x Best friend Reader

Eddie Munson + You = BFFLS that’s all you’ll ever be… unless?

Cw: Angst? Small fluff, Queer!Eddie, reader uses she/her pronouns, open ending? One mention of the upside down (ikr who am I?)

wc:1.7k

I think the story needs more pages, yes I've been in love with her for ages 🎶

"Oh, you two are just the cutest couple in here." the older waitress with the retro yellow diner dress and apron with a name tag that read Judy, fawned over you and Eddie. However, you were quick to correct her.

"Oh no, no, just best friends," you lightheartedly giggle.

This stung Eddie. Friends. Best Friends. Two decades worth of friendship, and it haunts Eddie. That is all you'll ever be... Best Friends.

Not once had you shown an ounce of interest in being anything more, but Eddie, on the other hand, fell in love with you in stages throughout his life.

When you were three years old, you moved to the trailer park where Eddie and his family lived. Being the only two kids, you were immediately drawn to one another. Eddie remembers that summer, the scorching summer sun beat down mercilessly on the trailer park as you both ran around in your underwear, laughing and shrieking, under the cool spray of the garden hose.

When you were both five, you had a "wedding" and promised one another vows. Eddie always remembered his promise to be your best friend and to always be your best friend. He told you he loved you, and you told him you loved him and sealed it with a small kiss and a slew of giggles. Your parents gushed about how adorable it was and how they couldn't wait for the real thing. Too bad Eddie's parents never would make it to the real thing.

As you both got a little older, around ten years old, you huddled together in your sleeping bags, whispering secrets and sharing stories that only best friends could tell. The sound of your laughter would fill the air, mingling with the chirping of the crickets and the rustling of the leaves. Your makeshift tent made out of bed sheets and sticks would only last so long as a barrier before you got scared of bats and earwigs, but Eddie promised to never let anything hurt you. He held your hand until you fell asleep.

When you and Eddie were twelve, and he struggled with his parents, you lent him your unwavering support and helped him weather the storm. You were his rock, his confidant, his best friend.

Eddie's world had begun to feel unfamiliar and uncertain during that period. Puberty had started to alter his body and yours, for that matter. Eddie saw the changes happening within you and within himself... He noticed how you got more attention from boys as your chest started blossoming and how he also longed for that attention. An ugly feeling would bloom in Eddie's gut and he hated it when the boys would stare at you or talk to you.

But you would never stray too far. Even with your first boyfriend, Eddie didn't understand why he hated the guy so much. He was a nice boy and never picked on Eddie like the others, but for the life of him, Eddie hated his guts. Especially when he would watch him hold your hand or kiss you on the cheek. He wanted that with you, but he also wanted to be you? He was so confused. He, too, wanted to hold your boyfriend’s hand and have him kiss him on the cheek, and that scared him.

Both your emotions lead to changes in the dynamics of your friendship, such as sleepovers. Previously, a fun and carefree activity had become different since it was now mandatory to sleep in separate rooms, a rule both your parents and Eddie's Uncle Wayne agreed upon. Yet, through the difficult times of teenage angst, you both powered through and came out stronger than ever.

When all the shit happened with the upsidedown a little over two years ago, you were at his bedside every day until the visiting hours were over, and the hospital had to physically kick you out; you would be back the second they started up again the next day. That was the last straw for Eddie. He could no longer deny his feelings for you anymore. He was in love with his best friend.

"Oh well, that's too bad; if you ever change your mind, invite me to the wedding, okay?" She smiles and takes your orders to the kitchen.

When the waitress left, Eddie saw his window of opportunity.

"Hey, uh, what if I took you out?" Eddie fiddles with the paper straw wrapper.

"We are out, Stupid." You laugh.

"No, no, I mean, can I take you for a drink?" Eddie was never this anxious around you, and you noticed. Like something in the air had shifted.

"Like a drink?" you raise your brows.

"Uh... yeah." You had never seen Eddie so nervous with you before. Where was this coming from?

"Oh God, I'll have to think... We're friends, Eddie, I don't know? It-it doesn't feel right." This had caught you so off guard.

"It's cool... no, yeah,- I-I was just messin'," he waves off, and your heart alleviates.

"God Eddie! You really had me there." you laugh and Eddie's heart sinks, and you can see him slouch back into the booth. His body language completely shifted.

Fuck, how he hated this; you were the only one who ever made him feel right. You were it for him.

No matter how hard he tried, his mind would always wander back to the same vision of a future with you. He saw the two of you building a beautiful life together in his dreams. He imagined the joy of raising children with you, cooking together in the kitchen, and sharing parenting responsibilities. He could picture himself changing their diapers while you watched with a warm smile.

Visions of you going to the Winter Fair, which was not the most exciting event; he envisioned you, him and your hypothetical child going there every year, enjoying the festivities and watching the colourful lights glow in your eyes. These thoughts filled him with happiness, and he couldn't wait for them to become a reality.

Unfortunately, you have shot down any possibility of being more than friends with Eddie, not to hurt him but because you only see him as a friend. Never once had it ever crossed your mind to see Eddie as anything more. Honestly, you questioned his sexuality over the years.

One memory, in particular, flashed in your brain as you pondered on the possibility of Eddie being serious or just taking the piss?

"Eddie, what are you doing?" You walked into your bedroom to see Eddie standing in the middle of your room, facing your full-length mirror.

"Oh, me? I liked your dress and wanted to see what it would look like on me? Kinda badass, no? Some may even say... metal?"

You can't help but laugh.

“Ed’s, you can’t even do it up; you’re going to rip it!”

“You’re being a hater… Imagine! Me on stage shredding to Ozzy in this?" He gestures to your floral church dress, which he’s paired with his black Converse all-stars. He’s always been flamboyant.

You can't help but roll your eyes. Your mom just bought you this dress.

“What, Sunshine?” He smirks.

“Ed’s, are you?-Is there something you want to tell me?” You bite your lip, not wanting him to freak out.

“You know me, sunshine! I’m just me,” he twirled and showed off his boxers.

“Okay, but if you ever wanna tell me anything, I’ll be here for you.”

“I know.” He smiled.

Sometimes, you wondered about Eddie... He never fully came out to you, and you never pressured him to do so because you loved him regardless. You wouldn’t ever have a chance with him; he’s your platonic soul mate. Sure, he’s handsome if you like that bad boy-leather-metalhead thing, but who’s to say you were even his type? You were a girl.

When Eddie asked you out just now, you had no idea how to take it? He’s him, and you are you… you’ve been attached at the hip forever, but never did you think you’d cross the threshold? Did he want to cross it? Did you want to cross it?

He was so nervous as he asked you. His hands wouldn’t stop fiddling, and he fumbled his words. His breath got all gaspy, like when he was trying to brush off something that bothered him. Maybe he was being serious?

“Ed’s?”

“Yea?” You saw a glimmer of hope behind his eyes.

“Don’t you like… boys? I’ve never seen you-“

“It’s okay- lots of people think I’m gay, but it’s cool, right? We’re friends! Why would it not be?”

“No, no, of course, but you’ve-you’ve never been with a girl or at least that I know of? So I never thought… Really? Me and you? Together?”

“No, you wouldn’t have thought.” He bit back bitterly. “I know, I’m queer; you know I’ve always been different.”

“Ed’s, I’m sorry I just- I never thought of you like that because I’m a girl…”

“Ask me, Sunshine.”

“Ask you what?”

“You know.”

“Do you like girls?” You spit out.

“No, sunshine, I like you.”

“But you-"

“I know how I am!” He raised his voice. He never raised his voice. Not at you. “I don’t like conformity and social norms, and sure, I like men, and sure, I like to dress up in your clothes and like to put on your makeup, but fuck, I especially like it because that stuff belongs to you, I do it because I love you.” There he said it, finally he felt like the 100lb weight had been lifted off of his chest.

“Ed’s-“

“No! I love you, and I do it because I like it and to be close to you because you’re my whole world, sunshine, and if I can’t have you, I don’t know what I will do.” He reached out for your hand across the table, and you let him take it. Your fingers intertwine.

It was quiet for a moment. You needed to process. Things between you won’t be the same after this.

“Talk to me, Sunshine?”

“I just never thought this was an option between us, Eddie. I need time.

“I’ll wait for you; I’ve waited this long.”

You only stay in silence for a moment before Judy comes back around.

“Okay, kiddos, 2 burgers and fries, enjoy.” The waitress smiles and places your meal in front of you.

“Excuse me, Judy?” you call out.

“Yes, darling?” She turns back with a smile

“Can we see the drink menu?” You chide

“Coming right up”

[perotovar]

bloody kisses — part one: less than zero

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 5k content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, hurtful names (fairy boy, faggot, queer as a slur, etc), a gay porn magazine, lots of references to peter steele of type o negative (and his playgirl issue), male masturbation, acab, some angst, if i missed anything lmk! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @chronically-ghosted (ily ♥)

summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

The kid was a fucking regular at this point.

Tim just happened to be in the station every time the kid got caught. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, who knows. 

And God help him, Tim sorta liked the little shit.

“Don’t you ever get tired of coming here, Shane?”

“I told you, my name is–”

“I’m not calling you that and you know it,” Tim sighed exasperatedly, rubbing a large hand over his face. “Why did you steal the magazine?” Tim’s voice was almost bored when he asked.

Shane stayed quiet, picking at the chipped black nail polish on his fingernails. He was looking down, chains jingling from how quickly he was bouncing his leg. Was he nervous? Tim didn’t think the kid was ever nervous. Or, well. Acted like it, at least.

Shane Morrissey, twenty-three, twenty-four next month, was found at a convenience store stealing an issue of Playgirl Magazine. Tim wasn’t judging, but his reading on the kid veered off in, well, the other direction. He had the vibe that Shane could go either way; either aggressively straight, or trying to cover something up.

“Look, I really don’t care why, kid. I’m not going to… judge you, or something–”

“Whatever, old man,” Shane sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from him. “Can I just get my community service and go?”

Tim quirked a brow and crossed his own arms over his chest, standing tall behind the chair pushed into the interrogation table. Tim had asked Ron to turn the microphones in the room off. Tim knew the kid better than anyone here, and he knew Shane wouldn’t talk if he knew he was being recorded. Or he’d go off about aliens or “drones” or whatever other bullshit he came up with next.

Shane wasn’t an idiot, Tim knew that. Shane knew that. He just had a hell of a wall put up.

Tim sighed and pulled the chair out. He spun it around so he could sit on it backwards, arms perched on the top. “Kid,” Tim started. “Listen, I’m not going to do anything. It’s a fucking magazine and this is New York City. Your little theft is pretty far down the list of my priorities right now.”

Shane actually looked a little offended, looking at Tim incredulously.

“I’m going to let you off with a warning this time. And to be honest, I don’t want to see you back in here anytime soon, okay?”

“Aww, kicking me out? Thought you liked our little chats,” Shane batted his eyelashes, an exaggerated pout on his lips. He rolled his eyes after that and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, bored.

“I said I didn’t wanna see you back in here, Morrissey.”

Shane looked at him, big brown eyes squinted accusingly.

Tim reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, digging out a business card. He slid it across the table until it was next to one of Shane’s hands. He didn’t really know why he was offering this to Shane. Well, he did, but he couldn’t really say, ‘I see a lot of myself in you,’ without Shane taking it the wrong way. This wasn’t one of Shane’s normal petty crimes. Shane didn’t strike him as the type to steal this sort of thing. He’d vandalize the side of a building or go on joyrides. Things that were mostly just annoying. This magazine was… different.

Tim had his fair share of this sort of thing. He got into being a cop because he got caught when he was in his twenties. He was angry at the world because people didn’t accept him, so he lashed out. He got the feeling that Shane was the same way. Things were different in the 80s, so hiding this part of himself worked for Tim. He didn’t want Shane to feel like he had to.

“If you wanna talk, give me a call, okay?”

Shane rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but Tim held up a hand to cut him off. 

“I know, you don’t want to call a cop, but I promise I’ll be off duty. I’ll just be Tim when you call, not Detective Rockford.”

Shane blinked at him before a giggle bubbled out of his mouth. “Your first name is Tim?”

It was Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. He sighed heavily and got up, pushing the chair back in. “Or don’t call me, whatever, kid. I’m just saying, if you need someone to talk to about… anything, just. I’m all ears, alright?” He kept things vague on purpose. Once he was back at the interrogation room’s door, he turned back around. “Seriously, I don’t wanna see you back in here again, alright?”

Shane raised his eyebrows, eyes wide as a mocking facial expression crossed his features. “Whateverrr,” he sighed, standing from his own chair. He looked down at the business card on the table and picked it up as the door clicked shut. He rubbed his thumb over Tim’s name before stuffing it in the pocket of his leather duster.

He hastily left the interrogation room and made his way toward the exit, but was stopped by a secretary.

“Shane Morrissey?”

Shane cringed as he froze, staring at the older woman. He glared a little, but raised his arms in defeat. “Yeah? What?” He bit back at her.

“Detective Rockford said you had personal items,” she said sweetly, rolling her chair to the wall of lockers behind her.

Shane raised a brow. “I didn’t bring anything–”

“Here you go, sweetie. Don’t go getting into trouble now!”

Shane sighed and grabbed the black plastic bag from her. “What did this old man give me–?” He gasped as he looked inside the bag, cheeks burning. It was the magazine he’d stolen. The Playgirl magazine. He squeezed his eyes shut and got out of the station like a bat out of hell.

Honestly, the only reason he’d stolen it was because Peter Steele was on the cover. He was in that convenience store for a pack of smokes and saw the frontman’s face on the cover, bare chest on full display, with a large hand cupping the cock in his underwear.

He’d been staring at the cover for a few minutes too long, because the convenience store clerk waved his hands in front of his face. “You gonna buy somethin’, man?” The clerk’s name tag said “Dante” and he looked very bored. 

Shane shook himself out of it and looked up, the bright red of the magazine piercing the corner of his eye. “Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat, digging into his baggy pants to pull out his wallet. “I’ll get a pack of reds,” he mumbled, pulling out a couple greasy bills.

Dante didn’t bother asking for his ID and just turned around, digging into a drawer below the case of cigarettes for the key to open it.

Shane’s eyes were like a magnet, pulling directly back to the magazine. He looked at Dante’s back for a second, and quickly rolled up and stuffed the magazine into one of the deep pockets of his leather duster. 

Dante pulled out the pack of cigarettes and locked the case shut again. He sighed as he tossed the pack onto the counter. “That’ll be ten bucks,” he said, voice monotone.

Shane handed him a ten dollar bill and turned to leave.

“Hey!”

He turned back, standing in the doorway just as the bell dinged above him, and saw Dante’s bored face now looking angry. “The fuck you doin’, man? Put that back!”

Shane raised his brows and looked down, the magazine poking out of his pocket. He looked back up at Dante’s face and booked it, running as fast as his legs would take him. 

His lungs burned as heavy boots thundered along the concrete, chains and jewelry clanging against each other. He turned down an alley and gasped for air, leaning against a dirty wall with his hands on his knees. He waited until his breathing was back to normal and checked his surroundings. When he figured the coast was clear, he took a step out of the alley. 

“‘Scuse me.”

Shane whipped his head around and saw a cop standing there. “What?” He frowned, voice having a little more bite than was probably necessary, but well, Shane hated cops.

“You just come from a convenience store down the road?” The cop pointed his thumb in the direction behind himself.

“No. Can I go back to what I was doing?”

“What were you doin’?”

“None of your business, pig,” Shane rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but the cop grabbed his arm and cuffed him. “Hey! Fuck off!”

“No can do, kid. Clerk called about a kid matching your description with a, uh… well, an interesting magazine in his pocket,” the cop grumbled, tugging on the Playgirl poking out of Shane’s pocket.

Shane’s cheeks burned in embarrassment and shame, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, fairy boy.”

“I’m not–!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Before Shane knew it, he was in the back of a cruiser and was headed toward the station.

He couldn’t even look at the magazine now. Shane laid in his bed, in the middle of his messy bedroom, and stared at the ceiling. The bright red of the magazine cover was just out of sight. The heavy guitars and vocals from his shitty speakers pierced the silence of his room, soothing his anxious thoughts. His mind drifted off to Detective Rockford. Or Tim, he guessed. He leaned over his bed and dug through the pile of clothes he’d discarded when he got home.

Tim’s business card now in hand, he laid his head back against the pillow and stared at the embossed text. The first thing that came to mind was Tim’s gravelly voice saying, “If you wanna talk, give me a call, okay?”  

What would he even say to someone like Tim? Tim was a cop. He wasn’t exactly Shane’s first pick in literally any scenario.

Shane sighed and tossed the card onto the pile of clothes. He looked over to his left at the magazine laying next to him on his wrinkled sheets. Peter Steele’s come hither facial expression stared back at him. 

He’d had these… thoughts for a while now. Feelings he had no answers for. He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be. Shane liked women, he liked pussy. He did.

Did he?

He picked up the magazine and started looking through it. Of course, there were photos that went along with the cover, of The Green Man standing in front of a mirror without a shirt. He stuck his large hand down the front of his pants, lips parted and eyes closed. Shane adjusted how he was laying, feeling a minor stirring in his pelvis. Obviously Shane was looking at the woman Peter was heavily making out with on the next page.

The photos started to get a little more risqué as he went. They started out pretty tasteful, with Peter laying on a bed, fully clothed, and a hand gripped around his cock through his jeans. But they quickly became… less tasteful.

Shane stared at a photo of the singer sitting in a chair, completely naked, with a large hand wrapped around an equally large, hard cock. Shane’s own cock twitched in his boxers as he felt a light sheen of sweat at his hairline.

“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself. He slammed the magazine onto his sheets and stared at his tented underwear. There was a small wet spot where there was precum already gathering. He started to breathe unevenly and worriedly looked up at his ceiling. He couldn’t even hear the music in his room from the rushing of blood in his ears.

He leaned over his bed and frantically searched for Tim’s business card. He didn’t even know what he was thinking, but he was terrified. He grabbed the landline on his nightstand and stared at the bland text on the white background.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He couldn’t call Rockford when he had a fucking boner.

An image of Tim’s face flashed behind his eyelids and he gasped, cock twitching in interest. His eyes snapped open and he frowned. “What the fuck?”

He looked down the tent in his boxers and felt betrayed. It was bad enough that he was hard when thinking about a man, but a cop? He couldn’t fucking believe it.

“This is bullshit,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He refused to entertain his dick at all.

But his dick wasn’t listening, hard and starting to throb underneath the thin material.

He sighed in defeat and looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom. “One time,” he breathed. “I’m doing this one time. No one ever has to know.”

Before he knew it, his boxers were thrown onto the messy pile on his floor and his hand was curled around his cock. He moaned at the relief he felt, thumbing the head teasingly. He shut his eyes, Tim’s face appearing behind his eyelids again. He groaned. Whether from frustration or arousal, he couldn’t tell and honestly didn’t care at this point.

He slowly built up a rhythm, stroking himself steadily. He bit his lip and sunk further into his sheets, feet planted flat on the bed. He started fucking his fist, lifting his hips off the bed. The cool air coming in through the window gave him goosebumps all over and made him whine weakly. He was thankful the music was turned up enough that he couldn’t hear himself.

“Good boy.”

Tim’s voice whispered in his ear. His imagination started to run wild, imagining Tim sitting on his bed and watching him. 

“Show me how you get yourself off, baby.”

Shane groaned, the steady beat of his fist on his cock speeding up. The cool metal of the jewelry he wore on his hands had grown warm, giving him a delicious friction. It grounded him, telling him it wasn’t actually possible for it to be Tim’s hand around him. 

“Want me to touch you?”

Shane nodded to himself, eyes shut in bliss. “Please,” he whispered. He slowly removed his hand and gripped himself with his left hand. It was a little awkward, but it was enough for him to imagine that it was someone else. That it was Tim. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, rubbing the head with his thumb. “Gonna–”

“Come for me, Shane.”

Shane nodded to himself and sped up his left hand. Precum dribbled out of the tip, easing the way as he fucked his fist. It felt like only a few seconds had passed, completely lost in his own world. And maybe it had been only a few seconds.

“F-fuck!” He whimpered, balls drawing up. He groaned, stroking himself through it as he came hard, thick white cream covering his hand. 

He came down slowly, panting hard as he kept his eyes closed. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked down at his chest. He was completely covered in his own spend and he felt heavy. That was probably the most intense orgasm he’d ever had alone.

He picked up Tim’s business card and shut his eyes in defeat.

“Fuck.”

One Week Later

Shane had no idea how he got to this point. He was laying on the concrete outside of a club downtown. His face was throbbing and he was exhausted. The faint sounds of people shouting kept him conscious as he rolled onto his back. His vision was blurred and the buildings towering over him started to spin.

“Hey! Get the fuck back up! I ain’t done with you.”

Shane groaned and tried to look up at whoever was yelling at him, but his body felt too heavy. That didn’t last for long, though, because the next thing he knew, he was being hauled up by a man twice his size.

“You gonna try that shit again, faggot? Huh?” The brute’s breath smelled like shit as he spat in Shane’s face. Shane twisted his face in disgust, his head pounding even more with all the yelling.

“Nah,” Shane smirked, eyes barely open. “I’ll suck your cock before I do that again.”

The brute squawked in disgust and punched Shane square in the jaw. Shane laughed shakily, suddenly feeling more alive than dead. He was past the point of feeling any of the pain.

“Aww, c’mon, you don’t like it when someone sucks your cock?” He taunted.

“Alright, break it up, you two,” the bouncer for the club barked, pulling the brute off of Shane. Shane sagged against the wall he was pressed up against, head hanging low. “You okay, kid?”

Shane snapped his head up, but groaned in pain before he could react. He could’ve sworn that it was someone else’s voice for a second… 

“Kid?” The bouncer shook his shoulders and handed him a plastic water bottle. “I said, are you okay? You got somewhere to go? Someone you can call?”

Shane drank from the bottle with shaking hands and looked at the bouncer, eyes half-lidded. The man was big, had dark skin, a beard, and thick ropes of hair cascading down his back. He was really handsome, in Shane’s opinion. He didn’t have the energy to fight with himself about it right now.

“Y-yeah. There a phone nearby?” He croaked, licking his dry lips. The bouncer nodded and hauled Shane up onto his feet. Shane lost his footing at first and fell into him, gripping onto the man’s thick waist.

“C’mon, man,” the man grunted, basically carrying him to the club’s phone. Thankfully, the bouncer brought him to a quieter area of the club. “Can you call them yourself?”

Shane’s throbbing head moved to look up at the bouncer. He nodded slowly, opening and closing his eyes like a cat falling asleep.

“I’ll be in the hall if you need me, okay? I’ll get you another water.”

Shane hummed and picked up the club’s phone, gently pressing it to his ear. He dug into his duster pocket and pulled out Tim’s business card. It was all rumpled up and dirty, but he could still read the numbers, surprisingly. He’s pretty sure it takes him far too long to dial the numbers, but the faint sound of the phone ringing tells him he actually did it.

Tim picks up on the third ring.

“This is Rockford.”

A shiver travels down Shane’s spine at the familiar gravelly voice.

“Th-thought you were ‘just Tim’ with me,” he says weakly, a faint smile on his face.

“Morrissey? Didn’t think you’d actually call me, shit. Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” he grunted. His voice sounded pinched when he said it, his face curled up in pain again. He’s pretty sure the brute split his lip because that’s throbbing now too.

“Where are you, Shane? I hear music.”

“C-club downtown. Got–” he paused, swallowing around a lump of pain in his throat. “Pissed someone off.”

“Shit, kid. Do you need me to come get you?”

Shane groaned in pain as an answer and nodded, even though Tim couldn't see him. The bouncer came back, putting another plastic water bottle in front of him. Shane made eye contact with him and nodded in thanks. “Can you–” He gestured to the water bottle, asking for the large man to open it for him.

“Is someone there? Give them the phone, kid.”

Shane didn’t answer and just handed the phone to the bouncer. He didn’t hear the one-sided conversation and just laid back in the swiveling office chair, the now opened bottle in his hand.

The bouncer hung up the phone and chuckled down at Shane. “You got friends in places I didn’t think you would, man.”

Shane smiled, eyes shut. “We’ve got history,” he said vaguely.

“I’m sure you do. He’ll be here soon.”

Shane had no idea how much time passed, but the sound of Tim’s low, soft voice in his ear woke him up. When he opened his eyes, Tim’s tired, handsome face greeted him, making him smile softly. 

“You came,” he said softly, genuinely a little surprised, and tried to stand on wobbly legs.

“‘Course I came, kid. Said I’d help you out. You okay coming back to my place?” 

Shane hummed and wrapped an arm around Tim’s broad torso, fingers fiddling with the tank top’s material. He was wearing one underneath a button-up. He probably just got off work.

“Take that as a yes,” Tim sighed. He looked to the bouncer, and nodded in thanks. He led Shane out to his Caprice and buckled him into the passenger seat. “Keep drinking that water, okay?”

Shane mumbled in response and lolled his head against the back of the seat.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, kid, Jesus.”

“Hit ya real hard, didn’t he?” Tim grunted, pressing a wet washcloth against the cut on Shane’s cheekbone.

“More of a lovetap.”

Tim sighed and cupped Shane’s face in a large hand to hold him steady. Shane held his breath, eyes glued to the focused expression on Tim’s face. He studied every detail, never getting a chance to be so close to him before.

“Why were you at the club, Shane?”

Shane sighed and looked down at Tim’s broad chest underneath the tank top. He’d taken off the dress shirt when they walked in the door of Tim’s apartment. They were sitting at the bar in Tim’s kitchen, Shane’s chunky boots on the bar of the stool Tim was sitting on. He looked at the slacks pulling at Tim’s thick thighs and forced himself to look elsewhere, inadvertently giving Tim room to clean up the blood on his split lip.

He hissed in pain at the sting and mumbled, “Wanted to get out of my apartment.”

Tim gave him a look that said, ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

Shane rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I dunno,” he sighed. 

“That was a part of downtown I didn’t think I’d find you in, to be honest,” Tim said softly. He picked up another damp washcloth and cleaned up some of the dirt on Shane’s neck. “Couple more blocks and you’d be in the… more colorful side of town.”

Shane froze, eyes wide. “What are you saying?” He asked defensively, eyebrows furrowed.

“‘M not saying anything, kid. Just making an observation,” Tim shrugged back. He removed his hands slowly and nudged Shane’s chin with the knuckle on his index finger. “There ya go. Lookin’ good.”

Shane blushed a little and looked away. He crossed his arms over his chest and mumbled, “Thanks for getting me.”

Tim smiled softly. “Sure, kid. You got anyone to let them know where you are?”

Shane shook his head and didn’t say anything.

Tim nodded and didn’t press any further. “Well, I’ve got a couch if you want somewhere to sleep for the night. Sorta late now.”

Shane turned up his nose at first, but deflated, too tired to keep the mask on. He didn’t say anything else and just walked over to Tim’s couch. He laid down on his side, facing the back of the couch and hugged himself.

Tim’s eyebrows turned down in concern, but he left it alone for now. He got up and took his shoes off, quietly making his way into the kitchen. He got Shane some water and left it on the coffee table.

Tim looked at Shane’s sleeping form one last time before he turned and went to bed.

Shane’s entire body ached. He turned his head and groaned in pain.

“Awake?”

Shane opened his eyes and immediately shut them, the light from the window blinding him. He tried again, looking over at Tim standing in his kitchen. He was wearing that same white tank top from the night before and some plaid pajama pants. His normally put-together hair was ruffled and starting to curl.  Shane’s heart pounded at the sight.

“Sorry, I know it’s bright. Want something to eat?” Tim asked gently, holding up a pan and spatula.

Shane turned his body but couldn’t, legs getting all tangled in a blanket. When did he get that? He looked down and noticed his jacket and boots were off. He looked up at Tim and raised a brow.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t want you getting dirt on my couch,” Tim grumbled, turning back to his cooking. 

Shane felt… something in his stomach. Were those butterflies? He didn’t get butterflies in his stomach. Least of all for a cop.

“You like eggs?”

Shane looked up again and nodded.

“Think this is the quietest you’ve ever been around me, kid,” Tim chuckled, cracking an egg into the pan. 

“Sorry,” he croaked, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Don’t be, it’s alright,” Tim hummed. He transferred the eggs onto a plate and grabbed a fork, bringing it over to Shane. He sat on the edge of his coffee table and handed the younger man the plate. “Eat, please.”

Shane looked at the plate of scrambled eggs and almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time someone did something like this for him. He took the plate and started eating quietly.

“How you feeling?” Tim asked softly, taking a drink of his coffee. He held the mug in both hands between his thighs, Shane’s eyes glued to the sight.

“‘M alright. Sore,” Shane mumbled around the eggs.

“I’m sure you are,” Tim snorted. “I mean how are you feeling, kid.”

Shane shrugged, chewing silently. “Fine.”

Tim sighed and got up, walking back to his kitchen. Shane frowned to himself as he finished off his eggs. He set the plate down on the coffee table and stood up. He really was sore, but pushed through it as he walked into Tim’s kitchen.

“You wanna know why I was at that club?” 

Tim froze at his opened refrigerator and slowly turned toward the younger man. He shut the fridge door and gave Shane his attention, leaning against the counter to the bar.

Shane shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He kept his eyes downcast as he spoke, staring at the hole in his sock. “I was at that club because I wanted to… I dunno, see more people like… like that.”

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, listening intently. “Like what?”

“Like–” Shane sighed in frustration. “Gay people,” he mumbled. “Got the address mixed up, so, this–” he gestured to his face. “Was the result.”

Tim smiled internally. There it was.

“I felt– I’ve been,” he paused, looking for the words. “I don’t really know. I don’t,” he sighed in defeat.

Tim hummed in response, unsure if Shane wanted his advice or not.

“If you’re gonna be a dick, I can just leave. I don’t wanna hear what you have to say,” Shane frowned, looking up at Tim with a hard expression on his face.

“How do you know what I was gonna say?” Tim replied, shrugging easily. Shane stared at Tim’s bulging biceps, the tank top revealing more skin than he’d ever seen.

“Well–! You’re,” Shane frowned, cheeks warm. “You’re a cop. You guys are always saying shitty things to guys like me.”

“Sure, some–”

“Don’t ‘not all cops’ me, Tim.” 

Tim’s eyes widened at the response. Not necessarily the words, but the fact that Shane actually called him by his name. “Alright, I get it,” he said softly. “I know you’ve had a lot of bad experiences with cops, I’m sorry.”

Shane huffed in response, but didn’t retort. 

“I mean it, though. I wasn’t going to judge you, Shane,” Tim said, stepping closer to him. 

Shane’s breathing picked up, looking at Tim’s large hand on the bar’s countertop. “You weren’t?” He asked shakily.

“No, kid,” Tim chuckled. He cupped Shane’s face and gently rubbed the pad of his thumb along the split in his lip. “You can’t keep getting into trouble over this sort of thing. There are other ways.”

The air left Shane’s lungs, big brown eyes staring at Tim’s handsome face. He was so close now, Shane had no idea what to do. “L-like what?” He breathed shakily. He stared at Tim’s lips, subconsciously licking his own.

Tim looked over Shane’s face, trying to read his body language. Not yet. He took his hand away and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “Talking about it, for one,” he said quietly.

Shane exhaled a heavy breath and looked down. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought he was going to pass out. Was Tim about to kiss him? He looked at the back of Tim’s head, eyes looking over the curls intently.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Shane said quietly. “Not right now anyway.”

Tim turned around, face unreadable, and handed Shane the water. “What do you want to do now, then?” He asked, leaning against the bar’s countertop again.

Shane set the glass down and stepped closer into Tim’s space, eyes glued to the older man’s lips. He looked up at his eyes, then back down at his lips. He surged forward and pressed his mouth to Tim’s, kissing him roughly.

Tim grunted into it, arms raised at his sides. It took a second for his brain to kick in and he pulled back, turning his head to the side slightly. 

Shane’s cheeks burned and he felt like an idiot. He turned away and grabbed his jacket that was hanging over the back of one of Tim’s dining room chairs.

“Shane, wait,” Tim started, but Shane ignored him, roughly pulling his chunky boots on.

“Don’t,” Shane snapped. “I’ll be out of your hair.” His face was hard and left no room for argument. He stormed over to the door of Tim’s apartment, heavy boots thundering loudly across the hardwood flooring. 

The last thing Tim saw was Shane’s retreating form and the sound of his front door slamming, the sound echoing throughout the apartment.

[alexxncl]

‼️NIGHTBRINGER LESSON 49 SPOILERS‼️

masterlist | all lessons | season 3 | lesson 48.1 | lesson 48.2 | lesson 49.2

now...

it's CANON that he knows he can't cook

so why the fuck 😭

luke :(((( baby :((((((((

i'm glad simeon is finally opening up though. luke being able to event talk to simeon about (before simeon himself, mind you) this proves that he's more than mature enough to have conversations like this. i love seeing how much he's grown since the beginning of the game

didn't take a screenshot of this bc i can only post 10 pictures per post, BUT i'm glad the fact that raphael showed up out of nowhere wasn't glossed over bc why is he here ??? respectfully

this is why simeon don't talk to nobody 😭 y'all can't take SHIT seriously

but in all honesty i'd just shut down and stop talking bc i get overwhelmed easily

but oh luke...

i hope he takes this as a "hm maybe the celestial realm isn't as good as it seems, maybe things aren't just black and white" instead of immediately jumping to "no simeon's too kind to be a demon bc all demons are mean and they suck", but i feel like the devs are gonna go with the latter simply bc they love giving luke development and then ripping it away seconds later

(for context, the other response was something along the lines of "he really cried his eyes out, huh?")

regardless of how much luke has grown and matured, he's still a kid. like, a kid kid. they cry when they're upset, when they're angry, when they're throwing a tantrum, and when theyre confused and/or overwhelmed. i feel like the latter might be the case with luke, which is why i chose the "i'm sure he'll be ok" option

more on this here

they're making it sound like simeon is queer/trans and honestly...i'm here for it. but that's partially bc i fall under both umbrellas. i love projecting 🫶🏽

i do wish it were this easy to come out and have your family/friends accept you bc it was a doozy for me 🫠

ANYWAYS

angst. give me more. PLEASE

i'm just so so glad that he's actually opening up. in the past, it felt like every time we get a crumb of vulnerability, he'd shut back down and act like everything was okay. idk if it's because he's more comfortable in his identity and place in the world, or his place in mc and the brothers' life, but he's more prone to actually talking about what's bothering him. it makes me happy

...this makes me a little less happy

ik simeon his his qualms with the celestial realm, but all in all, he probably still sees the place as his home and the people there as his family

what if this whole arc ends with the celestial realm opening its gates to (certain) demons? what if the boys get to visit their old home for the first time in literal millenia? and what if they get to show satan around?

idk y'all i'm trying to be hopeful, but hope can only get you so far when it comes to this game 😭

development at its finest

not focusing on a way to "fix" simeon, but to help deal with the situation at hand despite and because of simeon's condition

...ig the angst could only last for so long. back to the nerdy shit

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: One Foot Out the Door (Won't You Come Back Inside?) 1/2

Eh, I got a little stalled on Come Away, O Human Child and felt like writing some different flavored angst :) (Happy Ending guaranteed though!) Besides, all the cheating 'fics in the Buck/Tommy tag on AO3 made me sad this week (no hate, I just don't like infidelity stories) so I thought I'd give Tommy some angst that didn't involve him getting cheated on.

Pairing: Buck/Tommy (mentioned Buddie, but it's one-sided in this)

Being perfectly honest, Tommy had always kind of known that Eddie might eventually come between him and Evan.

The concept hadn't even really bothered him at first. Kissing Evan had been an impulse decision…he was unfairly hot and kind of adorable when he was flustered, and he said he wanted Tommy's attention. What was he supposed to do? Not take the opportunity to see if any of the (admittedly, kind of mixed) signals the kid had been throwing off would lead anywhere?

Even after their (disastrous) first date, and the (awkward) encounters at Howie and Evan's sister's wedding, he really and truly hadn't thought things with him would go anywhere serious. He liked Evan, sure. He walked that line between pretty boy and muscle man that got Tommy's motor running, they had great conversations, and (and Tommy knew this was selfish, but he'd never claimed to be completely altruistic) being with Evan brought him plenty of chances to reconnect with the 118 in ways that his text-every-once-in-while friendship with Hen and Howie just hadn't provided. Sue him—he liked Harbor just fine, but that was a job not a family and he was kind of bummed that the 118 had only become what it was now after he left.

He'd honestly thought his relationship with Evan was just going to be a fling. He'd have a nice time with a gorgeous man and maybe get the chance to resolidify his ties to the 118, and in exchange he'd give Evan the kind, gentle introduction to life as a queer man that Tommy had never really gotten. They'd have a good time for a few weeks or months and then probably part ways…hopefully amicably so Tommy could keep his friendship with Eddie and his place with the 118. In the best case scenario, he and Evan could still be friends too.

That had been the plan. That had been the logical conclusion just based on his observations of Evan and his own experience and relationships. He saw where this was going, and he was okay with that. Really, he was. Tommy had learned a long time ago that Happily Ever After was only easy to find in the movies, and even when it did show up in the real world, it wasn't people like Tommy that found it. Didn't even have anything to do with being gay. Life had taught Tommy Kinard to temper his expectations long before he'd ever realized that part of himself. So. He'd scouted the terrain, decided it was worth his time, and settled in for the perfectly predictable ride.

And then Evan had fucked it all up by making it completely, utterly impossible not to fall completely, utterly in love with him.

Evan…Evan was fucking sunshine.

Tommy had known he enjoyed talking to him…he'd been unprepared for how much he'd come to love the way Evan's brain worked. The random facts and research binges, the constant shifts in focus. Evan was so curious about anything and everything, and Tommy had grown used to the cadence of his boyfriend's voice washing over him like the waves of the ocean whenever they were together, the way Evan filled the silence of his house whenever he was there, but always let Tommy talk too, always listening attentively and engaging, even in topics that didn't really interest him.

He'd expected Evan to be a good lay. He just had that vibe about him and…look, people gossip okay? Evan's…exploits right after he joined the 118 weren't exactly discreet. He had not been expecting to discover a lover. Evan was generous in bed, adventurous and creative in ways that left Tommy a little breathless. He'd expected to have to take the lead, but apart from some understandable hesitance at the start, Evan had never been shy about…well, anything they did. He could be coy and sweet, happy to be manhandled and bossed around, to look up at Tommy through his lashes and call him Daddy in a voice that went straight to Tommy's core. But he was equally thrilled to turn the tables, be loud and demanding, pin Tommy down to the nearest surface and go to town…whatever suited their mood. God, Tommy had never had someone match him like this. Never had someone who felt like they were made to be in his arms. Never found someone who could slot so seamlessly into his life.

They had their hiccups, of course. They were both stubborn men who weren’t always great at communication. They had to learn each other's tells and signals. Evan got into his head about things, could be clingy and needful in ways that were a little foreign to Tommy at first. Tommy tended to bottle things up until they festered, could become snappish and aloof in ways that had clashed badly with Evan's abandonment issues a few times. They worked through it, though. They learned together, improved together. Tommy didn't think he was exaggerating when he said this was the healthiest relationship he'd ever had. He couldn't help the warm glow of pride the day Hen had confided in him that she thought it was Evan's healthiest relationship as well.

He loved Evan. He hadn't expected to, but looking at where they were now, it seemed inevitable.

But. He had always kind of expected Eddie to eventually come between them.

Tommy wasn't an idiot. He wasn't unobservant. It took him approximately zero point five seconds past meeting them to clock the weirdly intense energy between Evan and Eddie. Tommy was no stranger to the kind of bonds their line of work tended to inspire. He was ex-military and a first responder…he knew you didn't rush into life-threatening situations with someone and have a normal friendship with them. Whatever was between Evan and Eddie wasn't that.

They were entrenched in each other's lives. Damn near inseparable. Tommy had seen plenty of guys become unofficial family, plenty of guys who stepped in as uncles and godfathers for their squadmates’ kids. But Evan was effectively Eddie's co-parent. Christopher's other father. Eddie clearly relied on Evan for emotional needs that a partner (a life partner, not just a work partner) should fulfill, and Evan did the same.

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't a little off-putting for someone who wanted to date one of them. But he liked Eddie a lot, and Evan was so damn gorgeous…and he really wasn't expecting it to get serious. Their connection read to him as intimate, but not sexual–even if he privately thought that was mostly because Evan could be charmingly oblivious and Eddie was deep in the kind of denial that only intense therapy and self-reflection could break through–and so he decided to risk it.

In a way, he thought that he had it easier as Evan's partner than anyone who tried to date Eddie would ever have it. He understood Eddie and Christopher’s place in Evan's life, cared about them both, and was perfectly content being a “trusted adult” rather than any kind of parental figure in Christopher's life. And it wasn't like Evan was Chris's primary parent. Evan just had more room for a partner in his life and his heart than Eddie did.

To be completely fair to Evan, Tommy didn't think he was a replacement or a substitution. He knew Evan loved him. Just…he had never been able to shake the feeling that he wouldn't have been his boyfriend's first choice. And if Eddie ever figured himself out, ever got to a place where he was comfortable offering Evan a choice, Evan would take it.

It wasn't something he dwelled on. Not something he spent all his time waiting for. But it hovered on the peripheral of his growing feelings for Evan, snuck in haunt him at odd times, a darkness that never overshadowed their love, but never dissipated either. He thought he had it handled. He really did.

*

“So,” Karen drawled, flopping down in the lounge chair beside him with a glass of wine and a slice of the (very excellent) cherry pie Buck had made for the gathering. Tommy was considering going to get another slice himself…he loved Evan's dedication to his fitness routines, certainly had no complaints about the results, but he did enjoy it when his boyfriend took breaks from his more restrictive nutrition regimes.

“So?” he repeated with a raised eyebrow, well used to the roadmap Mrs. Wilson (both of them) tended to follow with serious conversations. And judging by the tilt of Karen's mouth, this was going to be a serious conversation.

“How are things? Haven't seen you in a while,” Karen replied, taking a sip of her wine.

It was true. Tommy hadn't been able to attend the last few get-togethers at Bobby and Athena's new place for work-related reasons (wildfire season was the worst no matter how you sliced it, but it was especially shitty for air support), and his and Evan's schedules had been lining up infrequently enough the last few weeks that when they did have time off together, they mostly spent it in bed rather than socializing.

“Going great,” he said, settling more comfortably in his chair to watch Evan swing Jee-Yun up onto his shoulders and start galloping around the yard while she shrieked in delight. He didn't even try to hide the dopey smile he knew was spreading across his face. It wasn't like their friends weren't aware of how smitten he was with his boyfriend.

“Did you and Buck have a good time up in San Diego? I had to work late the night Buck came over for dinner. Missed the pictures.”

The smile widened, a warm flush flooding his chest at the thought of the trip he and Evan had taken just last month. An anniversary trip. Their one year anniversary (okay, more like fifteen month, because wrangling PTO from two separate stations was a bitch), a milestone Tommy had only made it to a handful of times, and never since coming out. It wasn't anything extravagant or fancy. They hadn't even flown, preferring to drive up the coast and stay for the weekend in a charming bed and breakfast Evan had found online. They'd gone sightseeing, eaten entirely too much “viral” food Evan found on TikTok (a surprising amount of which had actually been worth the hype), and filled their nights with the kind of unhurried, earth-shatteringly intimate lovemaking Tommy thought existed only in romance novels.

“We had an amazing time,” he gushed. As if drawn by a magnet, his eyes found Evan again, watching his boyfriend fondly as he tossed his niece in the air a few times before spinning her around and dramatically pretending to ‘drop’ her, only to catch her and resume tossing her high.

Karen nodded to herself, smiling gently. “Gotta say, you really messed up a few betting pools. Romantic getaway, one year anniversary…we were pretty sure you’d come back with some kind of announcement,” she said, wagging her eyebrows significantly.

He froze a bare second, but his wits rarely let him down. He smirked at her, and rubbed his belly. “Sorry, nobody's pregnant. I've just packed on a few pounds. Evan's a damn good cook, you know? Although I did notice Athena's not drinking tonight…”

Karen leveled him with a look. “I dare you to go say that in earshot of her,” she said dryly.

“Oh God, do I really look that stupid to you?”

“Kinard.”

“What?” He held his pretended ignorance for a few more seconds before cracking.

“Not to be all stereotypical on main, but showing up to the second date with an engagement ring and a UHaul is more your tribe's deal, Mrs. Wilson. It's only been a year.”

“Hey!” She balanced her plate of pie on her lap and reached over to smack him lightly on the bicep. “And no, it's not like we expected you two to come back engaged–”

“What'd Howie have the odds at?”

Karen waved a dismissive hand. “Seventy-five to one, but that's beside the point. You two have been solid. I've never seen Buck this happy, and you seem pretty content yourself. But you're not even talking about taking next steps? Moving in together? Getting a dog? Something?”

For the second time that evening, Tommy froze. He knew he was staring at Karen like a deer in headlights, knew he was giving away far too much in his expression. His brain ticked over a few times, like an old engine trying to cough to life on a cold day. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He and Karen were friends, he liked her a lot…but they weren't this kind of friends. They weren't confidants like this. Unless…

“Did Evan say something?” he sputtered finally.

Karen took a contemplative sip of her wine, watching him with sharp, assessing eyes. Fuck, he'd prefer getting grilled like this by Hen. She was scarier, and fiercely protective of Evan, but also a little less surgically insightful in her observations.

“Hen brought it up last week,” she admitted after a moment, with a slight wince. “She was teasing him, since she knows his lease is up in a couple months. Buck…spiraled a little.”

And damn it. Damn it. He'd known about the lease, of course. Evan had mentioned it in passing a couple of times. But not in a way that had any weight of expectation…not in a way that made Tommy think he was hinting at anything. Fuck.

Karen narrowed her eyes at him, brow furrowing a little. “I mean--it’s not a big deal. Stereotypes aside, a year really isn't that long in the grand scheme of things. Buck's not expecting you to ask to move in together. I think it was more that you two haven't talked about the future at all. Which, again, everyone has their own timeline, but just in case you were waiting on him to bring it up, it's gonna have to be you. Buck's too gun-shy.”

Tommy couldn't help grimacing at the words. Yeah. That tracked. He knew all about Evan's previous girlfriends, and the couple times he'd ended up cohabitating. Of course Evan would be wary of even broaching the subject. Goddamn it.

“Hey,” Karen said suddenly, her voice going a bit quieter. “Tommy, I was just curious. Maybe a little worried. You two have seemed really happy….”

Tommy shook his head, sighing. “We are. Yeah, no, we are. I should've figured he was…I just should've noticed.”

Karen seemed to be realizing she had stumbled onto a larger issue than she initially thought. The wineglass joined the pie plate on the grass and she scooted her chair a little closer to his, turning her whole body towards him. “Okay, I feel like I'm missing some context here. What's going on?”

Such an easy question. One he even knew the answer to.

He wanted to take the next step with Evan, was the thing. Fuck, if he was honest with himself, he'd been wanting to take the next steps for a while now. Moving in together. Joining finances. Getting a goddamn dog.

Little pieces of Evan had been finding their way into his place for months, now. His toothbrush and preferred shower products in the bathroom. His spare clothes in the bottom drawer of Tommy’s dresser. His weird-ass organic oat milk and protein powder in the kitchen. Small little pieces and Tommy wanted more. Wanted it all. They'd been together for almost a year and a half. Karen was right, if Tommy saw a future with Evan it was well past time to start the discussion. The way they'd been going, their anniversary trip would have been the perfect time to bring it up, to ask Evan to just give up the loft and come stay, come be with Tommy all the time.

He could see a future with Evan. He could see everything with Evan. Rings. Vacations. Pets. Fuck, Evan had him thinking about kids and he'd never thought that was something he wanted. He could see it, though. He could see them growing old and gray together. So what was the hold up?

A loud burst of laughter startled him, and he looked over to find Eddie had stolen Jee from Evan and was spinning around and around while she shrieked for him to go faster. Evan was perched on the arm of Christopher’s lounge chair, watching the scene with a soft smile as he draped his arm around the boy's shoulders.

Yeah. That was the hold up.

Something must have shown on his face, because Karen followed his line of sight. He averted his eyes when she looked back at him.

“Tommy,” she started, but he just shook his head.

It wasn't like he hadn't known going in that Evan's place in Eddie's and Christopher's lives (and theirs in his) was…a lot. Probably more than a lot of people would be willing to put up with. He cared about the Diaz boys too, though, and again…he hadn't been expecting to love Evan so damn much. And really? It had been fine. A little awkward at first, but he liked to think that they'd all learned to walk a line that let all of them get what they needed out of the relationships. It had been fine.

Then Eddie started getting more serious about therapy. Not that he hadn't been before. After the…situation…that had resulted in Chris going to spend the summer with Eddie's parents, he'd started seeing one of the department counselors again. But eventually he'd moved on to more intensive therapy–sought out more specialized treatment. Tommy had actually been the one to put him in touch with a veterans’ group some of his friends from the service attended, and through them, Eddie had found a therapist he really clicked with. Someone who worked with combat veterans exclusively, saw PTSD every day.

It had been great. Even knowing him for a relatively short time, Tommy could see how much stronger he was. How much more settled and sure of himself.

How much he was realizing about himself.

Tommy wasn't going to say anything. He wasn't going to bring it up until Eddie did, knew intimately how difficult it was for you to admit something like that to yourself and live honestly…especially for guys like them, however unfair that was. He'd supported his friend, he and Evan both had, but privately he thought it was kind of a tossup if Eddie would ever let himself finish that journey.

It was fine. It was all fine.

Eddie was getting braver, though. Tommy could see it. Could see him settling further and further into his own skin, getting closer and closer to being able to be who he was meant to be. It was wonderful, and awful at the same time. Wonderful because Eddie was his friend who he cared about, and no one deserved to have to live a lie. That kind of denial festered inside you. It poisoned you from the inside out. Eddie was a good man. A good friend. Tommy was glad it looked like he'd be able to lance that wound and drain the poison.

It was awful because Tommy wasn't an idiot. And he could see the way Eddie looked at Evan.

He'd always kind of thought Eddie might come between them eventually.

“Look, I love Evan. I really do. I want a life with him. But–” he gestured towards the charming tableau: Evan with his arm around what was for all intents and purposes his and Eddie's kid, while Eddie played with Evan's niece. He shrugged at Karen, twisting in his seat a little so he wasn't facing his boyfriend and the man who was also in love with his boyfriend, and who had a connection to his boyfriend that Tommy deep down didn't think he could compete with. “Writing on the wall's a little obvious, isn't it? Sue me, I'm kind of hoping to at least keep my dignity when he…” He broke off, gritting his teeth so hard he felt the muscle in his jaw jump. “When he moves on,” he finished, as steadily as he could. Fuck. He'd never said it out loud before. It fucking hurt.

“What?”

He hadn't heard Evan approaching them. Neither had Karen, judging by the way her eyes widened. Slowly, agonizingly, Tommy turned in his seat to find his boyfriend staring at him with the most hurt, betrayed expression he'd ever seen on Evan's face.

He'd always kind of thought Eddie might eventually come between them.

But not like this.

[eternalbuckley]

I don't regret it. — evan buckley

SUMMARY: They always say that you shouldn’t sleep with your friends, correct? They always warn you about it. But if you do it anyways what should happen? Well it lead to an awkward atmosphere between you two and you‘re scared it will ruin your friendship with Buck.

word count: 3.020

genre: angst? with fluff at the end | gn!reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is a firefighter (works with the 118 together), mention of past with buck, mention of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual act (no smut), teasing?, mention of reader almost falling down a tree, jealous reader, mention of car accident and giving birth, a lot of tension between reader and Buck, use of Y/N a few times, english is not my first language, not proofread! — if there’s something i forgot please let me know!

a/n: i feel like the end was a bit rushed but i didn’t know how to continue this, i‘m sorry. especially because this is my first proper buck fic. keep in mind that i’m only on s4 of the show, so i tried to get everything right! i hope you can still enjoy it! :)

my requests are open so if you have some, send them in and i‘ll see if i can create something! (look at my rules first)

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know! reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated and welcomed!

navigation | masterlist | taglist

(gif is not mine, credits to the owner!)

"Everything alright, Y/L/N?" Hen asked you after watching you for a few minutes being silent and staring into nothing. Only nibbling at your cup of coffee.

You quickly blinked with your eyes and looked at her. "Hm? Oh yeah. Yeah, everything is alright. 'm just a bit hungover from last night." You smiled and tried to assure her you were telling the truth.

She shouldn’t know that all the things you had on your mind right now were the events of last night. Being out with the team and staying at the bar longer with Buck. The both of you drank more drinks after one another and laughed together. You were dancing together and well. One thing led to another thing and you ended up in Bucks apartment.

Stumbling through the door with shared laughter and holding each other. You went to his kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. Giving him one as well. It was silent between you but there was something unspoken in the room. Your head was spinning but you both looked at each other in a certain way. Buck and you‘ve been friends since he joined the 118. Well after some time you became friends. In the beginning, you didn’t really like each other. You were heavily irritated by him and his behavior. But he felt the same way about you. After all, you can thank a tree and you almost falling that you both became closer. Since he saved you from falling, screaming after you almost fell.

You looked at him. Eyes filled with lust, you tried to ignore it the past months but it was getting harder and harder each day. Seeing him every day at work, needing to resist the urge to shove him against the wall and kiss him. Little did you know it was just as hard for him as well.

He looked you up and down, you did as well. He came closer to you. Very close. Your nerves getting the better of you. He set down his glass right behind you. While he bent down, he brushed against your arm. You followed his action with your eyes, not moving a meter. Not being sure you‘ll be able to hold back. The alcohol still being in both of your systems. Your knees were getting weak after he looked directly into your eyes. Which is the reason you held the counter behind your back.

"I.. Uhm probably should go." You whispered, not trusting your own voice.

"You could stay here. It’s already late." He answered, "You can sleep in my bed."

You shook your head and wanted to pass him but he gently held your arm. Stopping you from moving. "Y/N…" He whispered now and reached up with his other hand to touch your cheek. "I really want to kiss you right now."

Surprise was written on your face. "You.. We‘re drunk we shouldn’t do things we don’t want in that state, Buck."

Both of your eyes met after you looked at him again. You immediately pulled him to you and kissed him. Ignoring the voice in your head that told you to stop. He immediately kissed you back and put his hands on your waist. He gently put you down on the counter and you put your legs around his hips. The kiss was getting more heated. And you indeed ended up in his bed. With him together. Naked. Panting and sweating. Roaming over each other’s bodies and exploring them. You still felt his lips on you and how amazing it felt having him so close to you.

But you will never tell Hen this part of the story. She nodded and eyed you suspiciously but decided to not dig deeper. Her curiosity grew even more after Buck came up and greeted you both. Him looking at you longer but not saying more. And that‘s where things started to be more awkward between you. After you guys woke up in the morning you didn’t really talk with each other. You gathered your clothes and said goodbye very quickly to get home before work. You were nervous and didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t sure what to do as well, either if he should let you go or stop you and talk about the last night. But he let you go.

"I‘ll go and find… Eddie." You quickly got up and went down the stairs. Hen and Buck watching you leave.

Hen looked back to Buck and eyes him suspiciously. "What was that?"

"Uhm I don’t.. know." He tried to ignore the look on her face. She raised her eyebrows and slowly nodded her head.

"Don’t look at me like that, Hen."

She raised her hands as well now. "I‘m not doing anything!"

Chimney joined them now. "What‘s going on?" He chuckled and took one of the snacks that were laying on plates, prepared by you.

"Something’s going on between Buck and Y/N. I just don’t know what."

Buck wanted to defend himself but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to give in and out himself. They shouldn’t know what happened between you and him. Before anything would be talked about with them, he wanted to talk to you first. Alone. He didn’t know how to process the fact that you slept together. Buck didn’t mind obviously since he had a soft spot for you but he needed to know what you thought about it. His worst nightmare would be that you wouldn’t talk to him anymore and your friendship would be over. He definitely didn’t want it to happen like that. He never even imagined it would actually happen but he didn’t want it to happen while you’re both drunk. But maybe this was needed to get things rolling between you and to talk about each of your own feelings for one another.

Chimney tried to analyze Bucks body language. Eyeing him very clearly. Buck tried to ignore it but it got harder after Eddie came to join them too. Bucks look was hard to read but Chimney immediately looked in the same direction as Buck and was met with Eddie.

"You know something!" Chimney pointed to Eddie, who shockingly looked at everyone.

He shook his head. "Don’t drag me into this."

Buck cleared his voice. "I‘ll uh.. Leave you guys alone." And quickly went down, trying to find you.

Chimney whispered to Hen. "Ten bucks they’re sleeping with each other."

Eddie looked at him and rolled his eyes.

Chimney read this as an answer. "I knew it!"

"I didn’t even say anything! I have no idea what‘s going on between them." Eddie defended him but Chimney didn’t believe him even though Eddie was kind of telling the truth.

Buck walked around the station and found you outside. Standing in the sun and waiting for the next call. It was a quite peaceful day. There was only one call. Saving a puppy from the roof of a house. It got there through a window but it was nothing you and the team couldn’t handle with ease.

Buck stood next to you. "H-hi."

"Hey." You turned your head to him. "I.. Sorry that I left so quickly in the morning." You didn’t know what you should say. It was the first proper moment you had today to talk with Buck.

"Don’t worry. It was a surprising situation." He held a cup of coffee to you which you happily took. You thanked him with a smile.

You looked back to the sun, he did too. Both of you not noticing the group of your beloved family watching the scene between you and talking about it.

"Yep. They definitely have something going on."

"Chimney!" Hen slightly slapped his arm but chuckled. "It was very weird. Y/N was very absent while we were sitting here and after our sunny boy joined us, they quickly had to leave." She added.

Eddie watched you both but didn’t comment anything and just listened to Hens and Chimneys chatting. He didn’t officially know what was going on between you but he knew you guys fancied each other for some time now. It was hard not to notice the longing looks you gave each other. Internally he hoped you would realize soon what was going on in front of you.

You slightly nudged Bucks arm. "We‘re being watched." You whispered to him.

He chuckled and turned around to see Eddie shoving Chimney and Hen away. Trying to act like he didn’t watch you as well. You joined his chuckling.

Buck looked at his feet, stammering out his words. Nervosity and seriousness suddenly took over his body.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You opened your mouth to answer but that‘s when you were interrupted by getting a call to an accident. You didn’t answer him and immediately ran towards the engine, leaving Buck alone. It took him a second to get his mind focused and he followed your tracks. The rest of the shift went along very easily. You had to help a mother giving birth to a boy at a parking lot. Her car was not working anymore and it was already close to giving birth. And there were another two car accidents with a few injured people but not a big deal. And it continued to be like that for the whole week.

Buck had no chance to talk to you anymore and he thought you were avoiding him. He knew you weren’t but he was anxious about it. Especially after you were no way to be found after your shift. He waited a few more minutes outside for you. And saying his goodbyes to Chimney and Bobby but you were already gone. Buck sighed to himself and got in his car, driving home. He definitely thought about it now that you were avoiding him. And he didn’t know why.

Bucks feeling that you were avoiding were still true. You were avoiding him because you heard how Buck talked with Eddie about someone, he recently had sex with. He mentioned that he wanted to go with them on a proper date. It was a few days ago, two days after you slept together. You thought it was some other girl and you got jealous. It probably didn’t mean anything to him, you thought to yourself. So, you did avoid him.

Seeing this, Chimney and Hen grew more suspicious about the tension between you and Buck. They were seeing that you avoided him each time he was in your near and how you tried not to be too close to him. But there was one thing you didn’t hear when Buck and Eddie were talking. Buck didn’t talk about some random person, in fact, he was only talking about you. Eddie told him he should go for it and officially ask you out but there was no chance to do it.

You were currently sitting on your couch and looked at the couch table. Your head was filled with different thoughts and things you were overthinking about. You didn’t give Buck an answer to his question and left without saying goodbye to him. You didn’t even text him. What if he‘s mad now or thinks you‘re avoiding him on purpose because you were embarrassed that you slept with each other? Your phone was already in your hands, and the chat opened with Buck. You were thinking about texting him and started multiple times but each time you deleted your typed words.

You huffed and got up to get something to drink but your fridge was not helping you. "Damnit!" You looked at the clock. "Fuck it."

You put on your jacket and shoes. You almost forgot to take your keys with you after you were already out of your apartment but you were quick enough to gather it. You quickly walked down and got in your car. You looked at your phone and thought about texting Buck if he was still awake but you decided against it and drove to his apartment. He wouldn’t leave you outside if he would open the door and be faced with you. But if you texted him and he wouldn’t answer it would be even more weird.

When you stood in front of his door anxiety took over your body. You wanted to knock but you weren’t sure if this was a good idea. Right when you were about to knock the door opened and Buck looked at you with a surprised look on his face.

"Y/N?" He still had his hand on his doorknob. "What are you doing here?"

You pushed his arm away and entered his apartment. "I know it‘s already late and it was an exhausting shift but.." You deeply breathed in and looked at him. "We need to talk. And it can’t wait until tomorrow."

He closed the door behind you and that‘s when you noticed he was wearing his jacket as well. What if he was on his way to you as well? No, you were just delusional. He probably wanted to go to a bar or something. He wouldn’t come over to you, right? Right.

He looked at you, waiting for you to continue but you were silent. "Is everything okay?" Buck was hoping you would want to talk about the events of the night that happened a few days ago.

"No. It‘s not."

Buck looked at you, worried but didn’t interrupt you. You started walking up and down. Nervousness built up even more and Buck stood there and watched you.

"I uhm.." You started, "I‘m sorry?"

"For what?" He was confused.

You deeply breathed in and looked at him. You were standing right in front of him. "For avoiding you and basically running away from you." You chuckled but it was your try to light up your own mood. Which in fact didn’t work.

Buck put one of his hands on your arm and squeezed it. "Whatever the reason was, it must have been a reasonable one."

You shook your head and shoved away his hand. You were not ready for any physical contact. His heat was too much for you, all it caused were goosebumps and the want to feel him close to you again. It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. The way he softly looked at you all the time. No hatred in his eyes. Just pure adoration. You loved that about him. The way how he always tried to be there for you and comfort you whenever you had bad times. And how he showed himself when you guys were alone and you were able to be there to comfort him when he needed it.

"Ironically it‘s not. It‘s stupid." You looked to the floor. "I guess I was just jealous…" You mumbled, he almost didn’t hear it but he did.

Your confession caused him to smirk. You didn’t have to look up, you already knew it. It was Buck after all.

"So…" He took a step closer to you. "Why were you jealous?" He asked you, a teasing tone in his voice.

You huffed. "A few days ago, I overheard you talking with Eddie. About someone you had sex with and I.."

"You really thought I was talking about someone else?" He smirked and got closer to you.

You slowly walked back and nodded your head. "Hm.." You bit into your lower lip. "But you know what it‘s just stupid."

He chuckled and looked to the floor for a second before he looked up again. "What if I tell you that it was just about you? And the night we had?"

You gulped. He was getting closer to you and you tried to get away but at some point, you were cornered by him. Buck stood in front of you. There was no physical touch but you were able to feel his body heat. The more you were in his presence, the hotter it got in the room.

"Uhm.." You chuckled nervously. "That‘s a good point you know? And now that you mention the night, we…"

"I don’t regret it."

You said no word. Just looking at him surprised but happy about him admitting it. Now it was Bucks turn to be nervous. Especially because you said nothing. No reaction.

"Unless it‘s the wrong time." He held up his hands and backed up a bit but you took his hand.

You pulled him to you and kissed him. He kissed you back and put his free hand on your lower back. A few seconds passed by until you ended the kiss. Your foreheads were touching and your eyes were closed. Buck was smiling from ear to ear.

"I don’t regret it as well, Buck. I would never." You whispered and he squeezed your hand.

The both of you ended up staying awake a bit longer and spent the time with talking. Talking about what would happen now especially because you were working together. Buck eventually officially asked you out on a proper date to take things seriously to which you happily said yes. You both fell asleep and the next morning you didn’t run out of his apartment without barely saying anything to him. Instead, you woke up in Bucks arms and tangled legs. You smiled and listened to his heartbeat while he was still sleeping. After a few dates and months of dating in secret and stolen glances while working, you made things official. Telling Maddie and Eddie the news first and then your team.

It was a day on your shift when you and Buck walked in while holding hands.

"I KNEW IT! Hen, Eddie! Give me your money!" Chim yelled once he saw you and he congratulated you both.

Everyone else was in awe, especially Bobby. After Chimney and Hen found out that Eddie was the first one to know about your guy's relationship, they jokingly ignored him but, in the end, everything turned out well.

And well little did you know that Buck had planned many more things for you and your now-shared future. But after all, breaking the rules? It was worth it.

[justsome-di]

Now a Pulitzer Prize winning book (don’t fact check this, just trust me) and featured on Obama’s 2023 Summer Reading List!

You should be reading Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs! Why? See above.

It’s a good story if I do say so myself. And if you read it, you’re a cool kid. Don’t you want to be a cool kid? This is something called peer pressure, and it usually works.

But for real, if you read Nobody Ends Up Dead then you’re going to go on a good adventure with good characters I guarantee you will love. Not to brag, but it is a pretty good story. There’s funny one-liners, a cute plot, and relatable characters that have been developed for years. Just heed warnings at the beginning of chapters. NEUD deals with some heavy topics such as eating disorders.

NEUD is officially all online for free. But you can still access bonus chapters and short stories on Patreon for only $4.

Links: 

AO3

Wattpad

Patreon (Patrons had early access to the whole novel and also get exclusive short stories with the characters and sneak peaks for new projects!)

Netflix Previews

Characters’ Playlists

You can also check out my carrd if there are any updates to how/where I post, it’ll probably be the most accurate place to find new or updated links.

Transcript under cut:

The Story is Dope

A New York office worker and a sex worker get set up on a date--one thinking it's a real blind date, the other under the impression it's an ordinary appointment. After realizing it was all a shitty prank, they set out for revenge. Their plan: show up to an upcoming Halloween office party as a genuine couple, convincing the pranksters they genuinely fell in love and refusing to let themselves become the butt of the joke.

Our main characters are Alex, an awkward admin assistant for a medical company who hasn't been on a date since he was a teenager, and Damián, a sex worker who seems way out of Alex's league but keeps insisting on spending time with him so they can perfect their revenge scheme.

The novel features a diverse cast and explores sex positivity. I also like to believe that it portrays sex work well. Damián is a hardworking man, doing what he loves, and meeting mostly great people along the way--but he also would benefit greatly if sex work was decriminalized and therefore had better resources at his disposal.

If you're looking for a story with LGBT characters that's mostly light-hearted but still packs a punch every few chapters, this is it! Overall, it's a happy story.

The Characters!

oh boy the characters!

we got Damián who's hardworking and doting on his lil bro but oh wow does he have some angst

we got Alex who is nothing more than a burning ball of anxiety trying his best--all too relatable

Leo, Damián's bro, is an ally, and he will make sure everyone knows. Also has angst.

Eve, Alex's lil sister, is an edgy teen who's failing calc and runs a queer book club

together, they're a weird lil dysfunctional family

I'll be honest. There's a lot of love in this story. From me and among the characters. The characters love each other, and I think the readers love them, too.

It touches on a lot of loneliness--inspired by how I've felt since Covid started--and a lot of the conflicting emotions that come with being gay. What happy endings do we deserve? What about happy middles?

It's a touching book about learning to be a better person and finding people who love you--platonically and romantically.

Here are some of my fave parts:

And then there was a streak of gray hair that shocked Alex. A streak of gray hair off to the side, nestled close to a salt and pepper beard. Textured hands held cocktails. Little, subtle lines creased when mouths laughed. Alex held his breath. On the packed floor, they were the only people Alex could see. They were laughing and holding each other and enjoying themselves, firmly in the place they knew they belonged. Flashes of teeth pressed against each other, disappearing for long seconds at a time.

--

“Sorry,” Alex said. “Your arm got heavy on top of me.” “You’re a little mouse of a man. I didn’t mean to crush you.” “I’m what?”

--

“A dog!” Damián cooed as he sat across from the lesbians. “His name is Yam,” Martin said.

“His name is Yam,” Damián cried. Kris and Clara released Yam and gently nudged him to Damián. Ecstatic, Damián picked him up and set him on his lap. “His name is Yam,” he repeated to Alex. “I heard.”

--

But he couldn’t deny that he was having a good time. It was like intense yoga with the perk of having a cock shoved up his ass. He was going to feel limber as fuck after.

--

“Can I do anything?” Alex asked. “To help cheer you up?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’d like to. If you let me.”

--

“Wow this sounds great where can I read it?”

Tumblr @justsome-di

Watpadd @justsome-di

Patreon @just some di (link on Tumblr)

AO3 @justsome_di

Updates every friday!

[musicalmoritz]

What are your thoughts on the chapter 118? MitsuKou fans are eating GOOD I can say that much

My thoughts on the best chapter thus far of the current arc? I’m glad you asked

I must say this chapter launched me into a full blown Mitsukou/Soukou brainrot. I have like a million fic ideas for both of them now and there’s no way I can possibly write all of them AND complete my requests so I just have to be sad. But omg, what a chapter!! I’m still stuck on the “smothered him with attention” line, that sounds like some shit I’d write. And ofc Kou being “captivated by that loser.” Ugh they’re so in love. I am now fully convinced that Sousuke had a crush on Kou in the former timeline when he was alive, you literally cannot convince me otherwise

The fact that if Kou’s mother hadn’t died and his father wasn’t neglectful, he would’ve used his free time to befriend Sousuke…and him being the one to save Sousuke’s life in the new timeline…oh I’m ill. The finger scene. Kou’s little blush. MITSUBA TEACHING KOU HOW TO USE A CAMERA BY STANDING BEHIND HIM AND GUIDING HIS HANDS. This was their cheesy romcom moment. The dead wife montage in an action movie

I love how their former selves are trying to reach out to them. No.3 was so unhappy with his existence to the point of wanting to die, and he wanted Sousuke’s life so badly but now that he’s lost it all he wants it back. Kou learned during the Red House arc that it’s okay if life is complicated, it’s okay if he’s stressed and doesn’t have everything he wants, and now he has to see a version of himself live in blissful ignorance. I don’t understand how people can say this timeline is better unless they’re fluff addicts, them staying in this timeline would do nothing for their character arcs and the overall narrative themes of growing up and facing reality. This life may be easier, but it robs each of them of their natural growth. I understand people are gonna have different preferences but the conflict of the old timeline MADE the story, do ppl rly want all of that to be thrown away for some “and then it never happened” ending?? Do you genuinely think it would be better writing if we never saw No.3 Mitsuba again and his arc ended with another shock value death???

Sorry for the rant lol, I couldn’t help myself. Absolutely no offense to anyone who prefers this timeline, it’s not like the fans are writing the story anyways so these opinions are harmless

I love how every version of Mitsuba wants to be someone else, they each perceive themselves as the “fake one” (excluding OG Sousuke) and feel disconnected from their existence. When I get around to writing my character analyses for TBHK I WILL talk abt all the queer allegories that go along with Mitsuba’s character but for now I’ll hold my tongue. All ik is this chapter made me love Sousuke sm more

Oh, and adult Amane…jump scare of the century. I can’t wait to see what his role is in this new timeline, I have a feeling it may be similar to Baby Tsukasa in the previous one. I love whenever the Yugi twins interact with Mitsuba (yes even the angst with Tsukasa) so that scene made me cheer. Also Kou saved his boyfriend!! Yippee!!

Sousuke and Kou wanting to run away together gave me major Picture Perfect Amanene vibes. Also HKOTO vibes, pls bring back the yaoi kidnapping🙏🏻

I think that’s all I have to say, Mitsukou fans were well fed this chapter. I’m eager to see the next one, still manifesting that Kou villain arc

[riizegasm]

Space & Time || P. SH

❀ pairing: roommate!sungho x implied fem!reader

❀ genre: roommates to lovers, college!au, fluff, minor angst

❀ word count: ~6.1k

❀ warnings: explicit language, minor jealousy, literally one implication of queer!sungho

❀ summary: The space that you share with Park Sungho sometimes feels a little too small. In time, the closeness proves to grow into something neither of you can contain. But hey, that's the case for all roommates...right?

❀ a/n: Once again, my writer's block went craaaazy for this piece. I spent so long hating it, but now I actually really love it! I feel like the style is a little different from what I usually do, so I hope you enjoy. As always, likes, reblogs, and replies are encouraged!

masterlist

Truthfully, Park Sungho is the perfect roommate. It doesn’t matter that sometimes he sings a little too loud in the shower because at least his voice is melodious. It doesn’t matter that sometimes he scolds you for leaving a dirty dish out because he laughs with you equally as much. It doesn’t matter that he frequently has his friends over, because they are always polite and include you in every outing. 

Park Sungho is perfect, almost a little too perfect. 

You first start to realize after coming home one night, two years into living together. Your feet are aching from your nice heels and your ears are ringing from the car horns on the street. It’s enough to have you entering your apartment with a sigh, kicking off your heels the minute you can see your welcome mat. 

“You’re home early,” Sungho says as you round the corner, standing up to greet you in that overly respectful manner of his. “How was it?”

The question instantly has tears springing to your eyes, stinging your corneas as if they were poisonous. Sungho is clearly panicked by your change in demeanor, flailing slightly as he approaches. His coos and attempts to shush you just make your tears turn into sobs, throwing your head back as you finally let all of your pent up emotions out. 

“It was horrible,” you hiccup. 

For a moment, Sungho flails once again. But then you’re encased by strong arms, a hand on the back of your head guiding you to lean into an overly wide shoulder. He smells faintly of clean laundry and sea salt, the latter due to the undertone in the cologne he constantly wears. A large hand smooths down the expanse of your exposed back, palms cool against the heat of your skin. You let your tears flow into the cotton of his shirt, feeling comfortable for the first time all night. 

“Come on, let’s sit down.”

Sungho doesn’t let go as the two of you move, waddling your way through your shared apartment. Instead of pulling you down to sit next to him, Sungho gathers you so that you’re seated straddling his lap, face still tucked into his shoulder. It’s an intimate position, far too intimate for mere roommates, but you’re too distracted by your sobs and the feeling of Sungho’s cool hands on your back to care. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sungho coos, voice melodious and overly soft. 

You just shake your head, not trusting your voice. It was simple, actually, why your date went so horribly. One ill-timed glance at his phone revealed a slew of texts from someone saved under the name “wifey.” The man then proceeded to point out all of your insecurities, no doubt comparing you to whoever that contact was. He ended up taking a “work call”, leaving the date early and making you responsible for the hefty bill. 

“That’s fine,” Sungho soothes. “He doesn’t deserve you, anyways. You are such a catch and he doesn’t even know what he’s missing.”

You sniffle slightly, finally moving from your position buried in Sungho’s shoulder. He smiles when the two of you make eye contact, using his thumb to wipe a few stray tears from your cheeks. You’re sure that you look a mess, face ruddy with your makeup in various states of disarray. But the way Sungho is smiling at you makes you feel like the most beautiful person in the world. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re my roommate,” you whisper. 

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

A moment of silence lingers in the small space between the two of you, with the occasional hiccup interrupting your peace. Sungho’s gaze is too intense, peering into the depths of your eyes. For a moment, you find yourself getting lost in the eye contact, taking note of the deep hue of his irises. It’s only when you feel a slight fluttering in your chest that you snap out of it. 

“I’m going to go shower and get out of these clothes,” you say as you stand, mindful of the way your halter top shifts across your chest. “But maybe we can watch a movie after that?”

Sungho smiles softly. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Something shifts between you and Sungho after that moment. 

It’s almost as if you’ve both unlocked a deeper level of comfort with each other, making physical contact in ways that you never had before. You spend your movie nights cuddling instead of sitting on opposite ends of the couch. You greet each other with hugs when either of you comes home, Sungho even going as far as to place a kiss on your cheek or forehead in friendly greeting. He’ll place a hand on your lower back as he passes by you in the kitchen, or squeeze your exposed thigh when the two of you are seated next to each other. 

You don’t think much of it, knowing that it’s nothing more than a few friendly touches between roommates. Sungho had seen you at a particularly vulnerable moment, and now seeks to comfort you. There’s nothing wrong with that! Roommates can hold hands in the grocery store and hug each other tightly after a long day. 

It’s how you find yourself snuggled up to Sungho’s side during a movie night, head leaning on his shoulder. It’s one of the few times that the two of you aren’t alone, surrounded by some of Sungho’s closest friends that you equally adore. They sit in various places strewn around the living room, leaving you and Sungho seated alone on the loveseat in the corner. 

About halfway through the movie, Woonhak complains about being hungry, causing a heated debate to erupt about what snacks everyone wanted. Through the commotion, you feel a set of sharp eyes on you. When you look to the side, you find Sanghyuk’s gaze trained on the points where you and Sungho are connected. It’s a simply observational gaze, his eyes holding no hint of judgment as he regards you. But, the intensity of his gaze makes your skin crawl. 

Under Sanghyuk’s scrutiny, you begin to peel yourself away from Sungho’s side. But before you can get far, a hand guides your head to lean back onto his shoulder. A quick glance upwards reveals that Sungho is still in the heated snack debate, not having blinked an eye at your movement. It’s almost as if he moved reflexively, not even having to think about drawing you closer. 

When you look back at Sanghyuk, the boy is smirking, simply rolling his eyes before he looks away. You try your best to fight the heat that is beginning to rise to your cheeks, to no avail. 

At some point between a new round of popcorn being distributed, and everyone settling back into their seats, you fall asleep. You have no idea how much time has passed as a soft hand shakes you awake. An ache overtakes your neck muscles as you straighten up, pulling back to see Sungho smiling down at you. A quick scan of the room reveals that it’s empty save for the two of you, causing you to cock an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Where’s everyone else?” You slur out, voice thick from sleep. 

“They left. It’s almost midnight, pumpkin.”

Pumpkin, that’s new. Your sleep addled brain doesn’t have the capacity to question it, simply nodding in understanding. 

“You should go to bed,” Sungho whispers, tucking a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You nod, still not moving from your position on the couch. As your eyes flutter closed once again, you hear a soft chuckle. It’s enough to startle you back awake, not surprised to see a shy smile painting Sungho’s face. It’s impossible to not note how handsome he looks at the moment, long hair in disarray from leaning back on the couch and clad in a large sweatshirt. You imagine that he would be much cozier than your bed, but your mouth can’t quite part to form those syllables. 

“Come on,” Sungho says softly, dragging you up from the couch by the arm. “Let’s get you to bed.”

.         .         .

At some point, it becomes strange to not be greeted by Sungho the minute you enter your shared apartment, especially since you both have shared your schedules with each other. The man should be home, but your persistent calls of his name are met with nothing but silence as you toe off your shoes. Venturing further into the apartment still reveals no signs of life, a truly odd sight. 

You round a corner to step into the small hallway that leads deeper into the space, only to collide directly with a solid expanse of skin. A strong arm reaches out to steady you as you stumble backwards, keeping you firmly upright. Sungho’s eyes are wide when you meet his gaze, clearly flustered by your sudden appearance. 

“Shit, are you okay?”

You are unable to respond, too engrossed in scanning the view in front of you. Sungho’s entire torso is exposed, the man clearly having forgone a shirt. Wide shoulders taper into an impossibly small waist, leaving you swallowing thickly as you note the pair of basketball shorts hanging low on his hips. It’s clear that he has just showered, hair still dripping down onto his torso in clear rivulets. You find yourself watching as one slides down a firm pectoral, making a trail in one of the multiple divets in his abdomen, until it’s finally absorbed by the fabric of his shorts. 

You shake your head a bit, trying to snap out of it. It doesn’t help that Sungho is still grasping your upper arm, the strength in his hand obvious despite the gentle hold. Suddenly, your mouth feels arid, as if a sandy sediment has coated its surface and sucked up all of the moisture. You imagine that Sungho’s body is coated in enough water to quench your thirst. 

…wait…what??

“I’m fine,” you rush out, clearing your throat of its obvious thickness. “Sorry for bumping into you.”

Sungho just smiles softly, finally releasing his grip on your arm. “It’s all good. I felt bad that I wasn’t around when you got back. I thought I timed my shower well.”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you going somewhere?”

A slight flush rises to Sungho’s cheeks, the man ducking his head slightly. His hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, allowing a few residual drops to fall from his hair. It’s odd to see Sungho be anything other than confident and bold, the sudden change catching you firmly off guard. 

“Yeah, I’m actually going to go hang out with this girl Daeun. She’s in my astronomy class so we’re going to the observatory a few towns over to do some constellation research.”

“Oh! That sounds…” surprisingly romantic… “Nice. That sounds really nice.”

Sungho chuckles, a sheepish smile taking over his face. “Yeah, I’m excited. Oh, let me finish getting ready! I might come to you for outfit advice, if that’s okay.”

You nod slowly, plastering a smile on your face. “Of course it is.”

Your chest feels tight as Sungho retreats, disappearing into his bedroom. As much as you try and ignore it, it continues to encompass you as you busy yourself with the latest episode of your favorite reality tv show. The pain doesn’t subside even as you try and immerse yourself in the latest drama. Instead, your face begins to heat and your palms begin to itch, almost as if craving to dig into something. Into what, you can’t quite determine, but you imagine it feels like milky smooth skin pulled taut over firm muscle. 

“How do I look?” Sungho asks with a little turn when he emerges from his room. 

Once again, you find yourself scanning his figure, taking in the way his jeans make his legs look impossibly long and how his shirt highlights the broadness of his shoulders. When the two of you first met, you used to joke about how Sungho needed to abandon his university endeavors to become a model. Times like now make it feel a little too real to be a joke. 

“Great,” you answer softly, ignoring the way your face burns. “You look great.”

Sungho looks absolutely giddy as he approaches the couch, leaning over to place a soft kiss on your forehead. The close proximity allows you to smell all the notes of his cologne, a scent that you have gotten used to transferring onto your clothes after every tight hug and cuddle session. The tightness in your chest returns, but this time it burns. 

“Thanks, pumpkin. I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up.”

Despite the man’s warning, you can’t find it in yourself to fall asleep. Instead, you remain awake in your bed, tossing and turning every few moments. Eventually, your body tires out, allowing you to slowly drift into slumber. If you dream of the mellow scent of sea salt and water droplets sliding across skin, that’s no one’s business but your own. 

.          .          .

The two of you part with a hug, Sungho gently pecking your forehead before heading off to his own class. You can’t fight the soft smile gracing your face as you approach your own building, your friend waiting for you near the entrance. 

Minji looks thoroughly perplexed as you approach, eyebrows drawn together in clear confusion. “Was that your boyfriend?”

The question makes you choke on your iced coffee, beginning to double over as a fit of coughs wrack your body. Minji doesn’t even flinch at your dilemma, still staring at the spot where you and Sungho had previously stood. 

“Holy shit, no!” You exclaim through a slew of coughs. “He’s just my roommate.”

The two of you move to enter the building, but Minji’s confused gaze remains firmly locked on you. 

“You’re joking, right?”

“What? No!” You emphasize as you slide into your seat. “Sungho is really just my roommate.”

“Then why do you guys do…,” Minji makes a vague gesture with her hands, “that?”

“You mean hug?”

“And kiss!” Minji’s voice drops to a whisper as the professor announces the start of his lecture. “I mean, if I had anyone treating me like that, I would definitely think we’re dating.”

You roll your eyes. “We are not dating!”

Minji just looks you up and down, lips curling into a soft smirk. “Does he know that?”

Any retort you have dies instantly in your throat. He does know that. You and Sungho have never been anything other than roommates, close roommates, but roommates nonetheless. The friendship that you have developed via sharing a space will always be nothing more than just that. Besides, he’s clearly seeing that girl Daeun from astronomy, right?

The amalgamation of thoughts about your non-relationship with Sungho distracts you throughout your entire lecture. Before you know it, your professor is dismissing you and you frown at your notebook, empty save for the date scribbled in the top right corner. You bid Minji a goodbye, reminding yourself to text her later for the notes. 

As you exit the lecture hall, a familiar figure makes you stop in your tracks. Sungho’s silhouette is bathed golden by the mid afternoon sun, giving him a cherubian glow. His head is tilted back in laughter, hand covering his mouth. It’s not uncommon to see Sungho lost in laughter, but you wonder who could have him so giddy this time, especially since Jaehyun is nowhere to be seen. 

And that’s when you see her. 

She’s pretty, unbelievably so. Long dark hair cascades past her shoulders, falling down to her trim waist. Her rounded eyes are emphasized by the slight shimmer of gold eyeshadow, full cheeks painted delicately with blush. Her smile is powerful, rivaling the sunshine that covers the green. The worst part is that she looks so good next to Sungho, as if they were a proper couple. So this is the Daeun that Sungho took to go see the stars. 

A hot feeling blooms in your chest, forcing you to avert your eyes. It makes sense, of course, that Daeun would be gorgeous and Sungho would be smitten with her. It’s only right that Sungho would have a partner equally as amazing as he is. 

So why aren’t you happy for him? Why does your chest burn and why do your eyes sting? Why is there a lump in your throat that feels excruciatingly painful to swallow down? Why are your palms growing clammy despite the early springtime breeze cooling you to your core?

You push your spiral of thoughts to the side, letting your legs carry you away from the green as fast as possible. It’s impossible to focus on where you’re going, letting your body move on autopilot. It’s only when a familiar warmth and the smell of pastries overcome you that you exhale for the first time in what feels like forever. You breathe in the smell of freshly brewed coffee and exhale with a smile. 

“Y/N?” A voice calls from the register. “What are you doing here?”

You’ve always mentioned that Donghyun looks particularly cute in his work attire. His hair is kept back off his face with a visor, the brim of which is shaped like a fishtail. His aquamarine apron is tied tight around his waist, covered in stains from the busy shift he likely had. Even the glittery name tag pinned to his apron suits him, matching the overeager sparkle in his eye. 

“I just wanted to stop by for some coffee.”

Donghyun cocks an eyebrow at you before scanning the practically empty cafe. “It’s 4pm.”

“I know, but I just need a pick-me-up.”

There’s another moment of silence as Donghyun regards you. With the minimum chatter from cafe-goers, the silence almost feels awkward, Donghyun clearly pondering something before he chooses to reply. After a moment, he simply shrugs. 

“Alright, but I’m giving you half-caf! I honestly don’t feel like brewing an entire new pot of regular.”

In mere minutes, you’re sitting alone at a table by the window, a steaming mug warming your fingers. You choose to ignore the concerned glances that Donghyun shoots you from behind the coffee bar. He would probably ask about what’s bothering you, since you’re sure your crisis is painted all over your face. But that’s the exact problem—you have no idea what your crisis is. 

So what if Sungho has a new girl that he’s been seeing? It’s not like that affects you in any way. If anything, it’s expected, with his round eyes and overly caring nature. You’re sure most people 

would swoon at the mellow tone of his voice or at how quick he is to laugh at a joke. No one is immune to falling for the way he’s hyper-attentive as he listens or the way he squeezes a tad bit harder right before he’s about to release someone from a hug. 

So you’re not surprised at all that someone has fallen for Sungho, especially someone so pretty. It’s expected. So why does it hurt?

Once again, you force the question out of your mind, letting out a groan as you lean your head into your hands. The steam rising from the mug begins to heat your cheeks as you stare into it, warming you up in a way that you didn’t know you needed. Despite the burn in your chest and your clammy hands, it feels like the rest of your body is frozen over, forced to malfunction at the thought of Sungho and his new lover. 

Oh shit. You’re jealous. 

Your stomach twists and turns at the newfound revelation. It makes sense, of course, that you would fall for Sungho just like everyone else. He’s the epitome of a perfect gentleman. And with the constant touches, it’s hard not to crave that little something more. What would those ever so soft lips feel like against your own instead of your forehead or cheek?

But he has made it clear where he stands. Sungho is your roommate, no matter how much you crave for him to be more. He has Daeun. He chose Daeun. It should be easy to accept, but the swirling feeling in your gut says otherwise. 

You don’t know how long you spend in the cafe, letting time pass aimlessly as you remain lost in your thoughts. It’s only when your phone vibrates with a text that you are snapped back into reality. You don’t even have to look at it to know who it is, likely wondering about your whereabouts. After all, you’re usually home by this time, freshly showered and cuddled up with him as you chat over takeout. 

With another groan, you grab your stuff, taking your time to collect your belongings and shoot Donghyun an appreciative smile. He nods in return, shooting you a thumbs up that you’re sure is supposed to be a wish of good luck. 

He doesn’t even know how much you’ll need it. 

.         .         .

Meeting Daeun is even more tortuous than seeing her from afar. She’s even prettier up close, with a blinding smile and fluttering eyelashes. However, her beauty isn’t what strikes you the most. It’s how she’s hugging Sungho in the middle of your doorway that leaves you shocked. 

She’s clearly just saying goodbye, Sungho trapping her in one of his notorious hugs before she leaves. The sight has you frozen in place nonetheless, the grocery bag you were carrying now hanging lower in your slackened grip. Sungho seems to sense your presence as the two release from their hug, eyes lighting up as he sees you standing beyond the doorway. 

“Y/N! I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” he beams. “This is Daeun, my research partner.”

“Oh, this is Y/N?” The woman questions, shooting you a soft smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You force yourself to return the smile, although you’re sure yours comes out awkward with a hint of confusion. “You too.”

There’s a thick silence that ensues as Daeun regards the two of you. Her gaze flickers between you and Sungho a few times before she lets out a small chuckle, as if she knows something you don’t. At least you feel like you’re one step ahead of her, knowing that something’s going on between her and Sungho. You just didn’t quite expect to see it so clearly.

“Well I’m going to get going,” Daeun sings. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sungho. Nice to meet you again, Y/N.”

The woman disappears down the hallway with a little wave, ponytail swaying behind her with every step. The minute she’s out of sight, Sungho moves forward, relieving you of the grocery bag that is basically on the floor at this point. He holds the door as you take slow steps forward, finally forcing your body to enter the apartment. As you slide off your shoes, Sungho ruffles your hair before moving to unpack the groceries. 

“So,” you begin, sitting on the countertop next to where Sungho is fussing over the various fruits that you had bought. “She’s cute.”

Sungho shoots you a confused look. “I mean, I guess.”

“You guess? Isn’t she like your girlfriend or something? I feel like you should think she’s cute.”

“Woah,” Sungho chuckles. “Where did you get that from?”

“What?”

“That she’s my girlfriend? She’s literally just my partner for my research project.”

You shrug, trying not to oogle the breadth of Sungho’s shoulders as he leans down to place an egg carton in the fridge.

“I just thought you two were close. And you look kinda cute together,” you mumble, beginning to swing your legs where they hang over the edge of the counter. 

Sungho stares at you incredulously. “Ummm…okay, I guess. She’s not really my type, though.”

“Really?” You hate the way your voice comes out in a rush of excitement. “I mean, um, I’m surprised. Like I said, you two look cute together.”

In the blink of an eye, Sungho is standing before you, slowly making space for himself in the vee of your legs. His palm is warm as he places it on your knee, right on top of the rip in your jeans. The new proximity has you leaning back a bit, only to be stopped by the wall behind you. You find yourself going a little cross eyed at the closeness, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact. Sungho just smiles, squeezing your knee softly.

“I mean it,” he mumbles. “I already have my eye on someone else, pumpkin.”

It feels as if the distance between the both of you is getting smaller by the second, some sort of invisible pull bringing you closer. At the last minute, Sungho leans upward, letting his lips gently peck your forehead. The warm sensation on your skin lingers, even as Sungho pulls back to shoot you another smile. 

“Welcome home, by the way.”

The man then retreats as if nothing happened, going back to unpacking the groceries. You don’t dare move from your position, heart still hammering in your chest. It takes a moment before you are able to exhale, your breath coming out short and shaky. If it weren’t for the stability of the counter underneath you, you’re sure you would have fallen over. It makes you wonder if Sungho would’ve caught you if you had. 

“So, what do you want to do for dinner?” Sungho calls over his shoulder, shooting you a small smile. “I’m really in the mood for sushi.”

.         .         .

You impatiently rap your knuckles against the heavy door in front of you, shifting your weight from foot to foot. Never before had you felt this sense of urgency, limbs feeling jittery with every passing moment that you spend standing still. It’s enough anxiety to have you running a marathon, and even then, you swear you would still have some anxious energy left. However, the minute that a confused face opens the door, you feel a bit of the tension leave your body. 

“Y/N?”

You smile sheepishly. “Hi, Sanghyuk. I need your help.”

You’ve always found Sanghyuk and Jaehyun’s shared apartment to be extremely homely. The two of them have arrays of stuffed animals and trinkets in every corner of the home, along with an assortment of fuzzy blankets in every nook and cranny. It’s cozy and calm, especially with the way it’s never quite silent. Usually Jaehyun is the culprit, either joking and laughing loudly or playing some music to set the vibe. 

But even now, as it’s just you and Sanghyuk in the space, the cozy feeling is amplified. You’re wrapped up in one of his fleece Pokémon blankets, cocooning yourself in warmth. It’s quiet for a moment, Sanghyuk never pushing you to speak before you’re ready. After a few deep breaths, you finally feel ready to open up. 

“I think I like Sungho.”

You expect something to shift in the moment, maybe for Sanghyuk to squeal in surprise or for the world to stop turning for a bit. But it’s nothing like that. Instead, Sanghyuk just continues to look at you, a neutral expression coloring his face. 

“Okay,” he murmurs softly. “Tell me more.”

And you do. It’s easy to confide in Sanghyuk, with his soft smiles and solemn nods. He listens as you pour your heart out, explaining everything from the first bit of physical contact after your shitty date to meeting Daeun in the apartment. As every piece of the story comes out, you feel your chest begin to grow lighter. 

“And now I’m here because I don’t know what to do.”

Sanghyuk just hums, clearly pondering your words before he speaks. “Well, are you going to tell him?”

“I can’t!” You all but whine, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “He’s just going to pity me and reject me and then it’s going to be weird when we have to see each other all the time. I mean, we live together.”

“What makes you so sure that any of these things are going to happen?”

“I don’t know.”

Sanghyuk shrugs. “Exactly, you don’t know. So what’s the harm in trying?”

You can’t help but groan, head beginning to pound at the mere thought of telling him how you feel. “But what if he hates me?”

“And what if he loves you?” 

What if Sungho loves you?

It’s hard to imagine, but for a moment you get a glimpse of what that would be like. Forehead kisses would trail down to meet your lips instead of just stopping there. Cuddles and hugs could turn into more meaningful touches. A hand on the waist would be a show of belonging, not just a hint of guidance. The man that you want would finally be yours. 

“I’m scared, Sanghyuk.”

The man across from you sighs, beginning to pick at the corner of his own blanket. “I know, but you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“And Daeun?”

“Has Sungho ever lied to you?” Sanghyuk cocks an eyebrow when you shake your head no. “Exactly. You have no reason to believe he isn’t telling you the truth.”

You know that he’s right, just like he always is. It’s just hard to ditch the niggling feeling in the back of your brain that there’s something you don’t know. The glint in Daeun’s eyes and the surprise in Sungho’s had to have meant something. It had to. 

“I know that, but I just need to hear it. Can you please be 100% honest with me?” You ask softly, eyes firmly fixed on Sanghyuk. 

“I always am.”

“Does Sungho have a thing for Daeun?”

Sanghyuk chuckles. “No. Like he said, he has his eye on someone else.”

The phrase bounces around your head the entire walk home. Someone else could be anyone. It could be another person in his research class or one of his gym companions. It could be that one really cute guy that works at Donghyun’s cafe. It could be anyone. It could be you. 

As you unlock your apartment door, you’re greeted with the familiar sight of Sungho wiping down the kitchen counters. It’s a little thing he does, constantly cleaning and tidying to the point that it’s almost motherly. But his habit is endearing, especially as he scrunches his nose while scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain. 

The minute he looks up, though, any trace of tension is gone from his face, melting into a soft smile. He’s quick to abandon the cloth he was using, approaching you with wide arms. The hug that he engulfs you in is all too tight, but you find it freeing rather than suffocating. However, the breath leaves your lungs when Sungho places a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“Welcome home, pumpkin,” he coos softly.

As you two part, you can’t help but stand frozen in place, a warm rush flooding your body. If Sungho notices, he doesn’t show it, choosing instead to go back to cleaning. Before you can stop it, the warmth travels upward, escaping your body before you can catch it. 

“I want you to mean it.”

The short phrase makes Sungho stop, turning back to you with a confused furrow in his brow. “Mean what?”

As much as you want to race to retract your words, Sanghyuk’s voice echoes in your mind. Someone else, you remind yourself. It could be you. You take a deep breath. 

“When you kiss me,” you explain, squeezing your eyes shut as embarrassment begins to color your cheeks. “I know it’s just on the forehead or cheek, but I want you to mean it.”

Sungho makes a confused little noise. “But I do mean it.”

“Not in the way that I want you to. Not in the way that I mean it.”

The silence that overcomes the room makes time tick by ever so slowly. What are mere seconds feel like hours as the two of you simply stand in the hallway, neither of you daring to say a word. Even though your eyes are closed, you can tell Sungho is shifting his weight back and forth, the motion making the floorboards creak slightly. 

“Y/N, I need to understand. How exactly do you want me to mean it?”

Somehow, the question gives you the energy to open your eyes, instantly sweeping them over Sungho’s form. The white tee shirt he wears is marred with splotches of water, likely from his earlier time cleaning. His hands are calloused as they run through his hair, grip permanently rough from spending too much time at the gym. There’s a bit of redness around his temples from what looks like the beginning of a blemish. He’s stunning like this. 

“I want you to like me the way I like you.”

Sungho’s confused expression deepens. “And what way is that?”

“Like more than a friend or roommate. I want you to like me romantically.”

The laugh that Sungho lets out comes as a surprise. It even surprises the man itself, it seems, based on the way he instantly covers his mouth with his hands. His eyes have grown wider in shock, gaze uncertain as it remains locked on you. But soon that all melts away, replaced with a subtle smirk. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just—who says I don’t already?”

The apartment seems to shrink around the two of you, compressing all of the air in the room. Even the hallway feels tighter, invisibly drawing you and Sungho closer together. It’s as if there was a shift in the space, in your space. 

“B-but, Daeun?” You manage to stutter out, trying to ignore the way that the walls are pressing in on you, forcing you closer to Sungho. 

It seems that your roommate is feeling similar effects, slowly stumbling towards you as well. 

“I told you,” he mumbles softly. “She’s just my research partner. I like someone else. Y/N, I like you.”

The apartment shrinks a little more.

“You do?”

Sungho nods, smiling sheepishly. “I have for like, two years now. I mean, I tried to show you! Why else would I be all over you like that?”

“Because you’re a touchy person?” You question, not sounding too convinced of yourself. 

“Because I like you, pumpkin.”

The space is finally completely compressed, you and Sungho now standing toe to toe. He feels so much broader like this, taking up his fair share of the newly tiny space. It’s dizzying to be pressed so close together, even though it’s far from the first time. Once again, you find that it’s freeing rather than suffocating.

“I thought you were just being a really good roommate.”

Sungho chuckles, the sound vibrating through both of your bodies. The closeness allows him to easily wrap an arm around your waist, his free hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He lets his hand trail downward, cupping your cheek. 

“I don’t think really good roommates would do this.”

As much as you have felt Sungho’s lips on your face, the feeling of him pressing a kiss to your mouth feels utterly foreign. His lips are made soft from his constant use of peach chapstick, rivaling your own soft pucker. The kiss is both just as quick and equally as gentle as his pecks to your forehead. When he pulls away, you can’t stop the small whine that escapes you. 

Your eyes flutter open, trying to tamp down the immediate feeling of embarrassment that floods your core. You don’t seem to be the only one, though, with Sungho’s cheeks taking on their own rosy hue. For a moment, the two of you are silent, letting the apartment around you expand and contract with every breath you take. 

“Sungho,” you whisper. 

It’s all it takes for Sungho to instantly reconnect his lips to yours, this time kissing you deeper. The hand around your waist pulls you impossibly closer, leaving no room between your bodies. It gives Sungho the leverage to lean over you slightly, letting his lips capture yours again and again. The feeling is dizzying. Never has Sungho’s touch electrified you so much. 

When you finally pull away, heavy panting fills the silence between you. It takes Sungho a moment to open his eyes, finally staring back at you with dark eyes. It’s different from the Sungho you’re so used to seeing, playful and easygoing. Instead, this Sungho desires. 

“So,” you can’t help but ask. “This means you don’t like Daeun, right?”

“Holy shit,” Sungho curses before breaking out into laughter.

His chuckles shatter the moment, both hands dropping down to his sides. It’s endearing to watch how his nose scrunches and his eyes squeeze shut. But honestly, you don’t know what is so funny. 

“Y/N, pumpkin,” Sungho begins in between chuckles. “Daeun has a girlfriend.”

Oh.

.FIN.

[tadpolesonalgae]

The Pleasure Hall[*]

Au from the His (Mine.) universe but more along the lines of Filthy Mongrel

Summary: Reader sneaks away from Azriel and winds up in a sex club. Azriel gets pissed that reader escaped after he implicitly told her not to so decides to partake while simultaneously dolling out your punishment.

A/N: we love a little emotional vulnerability between enemies <3

Warnings: reader being a bit cruel to Azzie, basically a sex club, orgies, face sitting, pussy eating, exhibitionism, voyeurism, threesome fmf, femdom in parts, miscommunication which leads to slight dubcon but gets sorted out, some queer vibes (it’s June, what do you expect from me?), angst, 7.2k words

“Fuck off, Shadowsinger,” you snarl up at him as he bars the doorway. “I know how to handle myself.”

He doesn’t budge.

“Gods, why do you have to be such a dick? This is why the rest of the camp despises your filthy blood,” you growl, crossing your arms indignantly across your chest, wings twitching at your back. “What’s even the point of staying in a town like this if I’m not able to go out?” His brow narrows, “I’ll let you off your leash when you prove to be trustworthy.”

You snarl at the metaphor, hands balling into fists at your side. “So, what? I’m just expected to sit here while you go out and do whatever questionable things you came here to do?” You snap, brows narrowing in a scathing scowl. “That’s it,” he replies. Despite his unreadable expression, his voice is dripping with condescension. The kind he uses whenever it’s just the two of you and your twin’s out of the picture. “Now are you going to follow my instructions without hassle, or am I going to have to leave my shadows at the door?”

He’s such a dick. A piece of shit scum-bag.

“I don’t think you’re giving me a choice here,” you scowl, anger bubbling away beneath your skin. A glint of smug arrogance crosses his neutral gaze, “you didn’t bring a book to pass the time?” He delights in the furious flush that heats your cheeks. And after you’d assumed you’d both be tiptoeing around the events of your last trip.

Your gaze skips away from his, too embarrassed to focus on hurling abuse his way. “I’m not making the same mistake twice,” you manage, refolding your arms over your chest. He hums, the sound rough and sonorous. And so, definitely, self-satisfied. “Then I suggest you keep from making another mistake, and stay put.” You can hear the conceited drawl to his voice clear as day. How long is he going to hold that over you? Probably as long as he can, you think, miserably. You would were your positions switched.

Seething, you spin on your feet, stalking over to one of the beds before you take a seat atop it, legs crisscrossing as you keep your back to him. He lets you hear as he turns, about to leave, but not before you throw him a taunting look over your shoulder, “not going to take your things with you?”

Azriel stops in the doorway, brow narrowing as he looks over at you. Watch it. The gaze says. He doesn’t have to speak the words for you to read the message loud and clear. You hold his eyes, challenge glittering in their depths, and you can sense he’s just as eager as you for a spark to catch, a reason to unleash his silver-tipped tongue. Maybe more.

But he knows his responsibilities, so leaves it at that. The door shuts behind him, shadows dancing beneath the wood long after he’s left, suggesting he’s left them on guard. It doesn’t occur to you it might be for your own safety, rather than as a preventative for your escape. It doesn’t occur to you that scaling down the tavern’s wall well past sundown will invite nothing but trouble.

————

You’re sure you’ve been wandering the streets for hours, feet getting a little sore from refusing to take the bastard’s advice to bring proper walking boots - out of pure spite. But the town’s pretty, fae lights decorating every street with a pleasantly warm glow you’re unaccustomed to. It’s a jarring change compared to the sharp ice of Windhaven.

A group of females stumbles past you, loud, warm laughter drawing your attention as they tipsily sway their way along the street. You’re stunned at their skimpy clothes, small strips of fabric lacing over their pristine bodies, wearing shoes that are accented with sharp points on the heel. So promiscuous.

You turn, following after the group, smoothly blending into their small party as they move toward a cleaner looking establishment to the one you’d escaped from. Among the bright, sparkling colours and slips of fabric, you stick out like a sore thumb, yet the group seems a little too far gone to notice their additional member as they enter the luxurious looking building.

The inside is scented with a smokey but floral flavour, something resembling morning fog rolling thick across the floor. It worries you at first, but the group of females seem unperturbed, so you take it to be fine. Then they’re pushing through two large doors, framed with elegant - and shockingly lewd - carvings.

What on this realm have you found?

The entrance reveals an astonishingly large room that seems to ooze obscenity: beautiful paintings decorate the walls depicting various erotic acts, stunning marble figures set throughout the hall, Fae engaging in pornographic activities together. Naturally, you’ve read about these immoral rooms, yet to be confronted with the reality of one is a whole new flavour of debauchery.

You’ve hardly stepped foot in the feasting hall, dripping with satyric opportunity, when a large hand is biting into your shoulder. You tear your eyes from the licentious display, only to be met with icy hazel. You freeze when you recognise the Shadowsinger’s cold demeanour, displeasure subtly lining his expression as he drags you from the hall, back to the streets.

“Get off me you brute!” You snarl, jerking your wrist from him once the night air smacks some sense into you. It takes a little while longer to rid your mind of the heady scent of arousal that had been coating the air, turning it thick until you could taste it on your tongue. He turns, and you know he’s furious with you. He’s just perfect at concealing his rage.

“I gave you one simple instruction,” he growls.

Almost perfect.

You scowl, “I believe that’s your fault for having lax security measures. How are you going to monitor the door, but not the window, you dumb mutt?” Your mind is still a little hazy from the smoke, but you attempt to lock your eyes on his.

It’s then he looks at you properly. His brow narrows as he moves closer, and you instinctively take a step back but those damned shadows are bracing your hips, keeping you still as he prowls forward. He moves like he’s about to touch you, hands moving for your jaw when he jerks back, nostrils flaring, nose wrinkling. Your brow furrows, “what?”

His expression neutralises but you can make out the slight grimace. You’re confused, until you lift the fabric of your top to your nose, inhaling. A cough bursts from your throat at the harshness of the scent, sharp and arousing. “Mother above,” you curse. Azriel smacks your hand away, making the material drop back against your skin, “stop inhaling more of it.”

Under any other circumstances, you would curse at him, spit out something obscene, but you’re too foggy at the moment, “what is it? It’s so…”

“Sharp? Tangy?” He suggests, practically glaring at you with distain.

“…messy.” The male’s brow narrows, seemingly muttering something to himself before he’s turning, moving down the streets. “You stumbled straight into a pleasure hall, what did you expect?” You flush at the crude words coming from his irritably eloquent mouth. “I did not stumble,” you insist, moving after him when his shadows push you into motion. “You most certainly did. There was hardly an ounce of awareness in you mind at what you were doing. You never think,” he growls.

“That’s rich coming from you,” you snarl, catching up with him, scampering to get slightly ahead of his hard pace. He spares you a heated glare from the edge of his cool hazel eyes but continues on his path. You grit your teeth as he ignores you, speeding your pace until you’re set in front of him, “you know, since you’re the one who lost his cool last time,” you snap, jabbing your finger out.

His shadows curl around your waist, tugging you out of his way as he refuses to slow, completely set on his path, eyes straight ahead.

Your jaw drops open as he tosses you aside, disregarding you entirely. Fury surges in your gut as you steady yourself after being so unceremoniously tossed away. You steel your spine as you spin on your feet, turning to storm back into the streets, away from him.

No sooner do you take a determined step away from him, his shadows snag around your waist, harshly tugging you to follow him. You gasp as they squeeze a little too tightly, a little too suddenly, shoving the air from your lungs. Desperately, you scrabble for escape, fingers trying to wriggle beneath the darkness but they just faze through.

“Shadowsinger,” you snarl, attempting to dig your heels into the ground but he drags you forward mercilessly. You push forward, storming to catch the back of his ankle, aiming for the seem of his boot but he side-steps, moving and capturing your wrist. He tugs you against him harshly, glaring down at you beneath a narrowed brow.

“You’re being an asshole,” you snarl, now that he’s finally giving you attention. “Considering the moment you sneak out you’re looking to fuck the night away, I think I was right to have you stay in,” he growls back at you, hand tightening painfully around your wrist. “I was just looking around! You’re making it out to be something it’s not,” you snap, continuing to try to pull out of his dominating grip. “Please,” he drawls, as he jerks you closer, your body pressing firmly against his own, “you looked like you were ready to jump into the lap of the first male you saw.”

Your eyes widen, “I did not!” Heat flushes your cheeks and you want to shrink away from him but he holds fast. Your lip curls back from your teeth, pushing back against him, refusing to be overpowered, until you’re practically sharing breath. “You’re just like all the other Illyrians,” you growl, tipping your chin so you’re glaring him in the eyes, “you can’t bare the idea of a female with agency. Having a will of her own.”

His eyes darken into frozen blades of ice, “I have no problem with females having autonomy. It’s you that’s the issue.”

“Like I’ll believe a single word that comes out of your stupid mouth,” you scoff, feeling that familiar heat of aggression rising for him. His fist tightens, forcing a wince out of you but you refuse to step back.

Azriel’s words are lethally soft as he gazes down at you, “you’re saying, had I not intervened, you would have turned from the pleasure hall?” He expects you to deny the accusation for the sake of the argument, to at least flush at the reminder. But instead you shove yourself against him, so he can feel the soft push of your breasts against his chest as you snarl, “I would do no such thing.”

You tilt your chin, staring him down menacingly, “I would have spent the night enjoying myself, rather than being cooped up in that dull room with only you for pitiful company.” Tension winds and coils around his bones, tightening like rope suspending a counterweight. “I do not believe you were calling my company pitiful when you had your legs spread for me like a desperate whore.” You push up onto your tiptoes, breasts dragging deliciously over his chest until your mouth is brushing his, “you pounced the first chance you got, Shadowsinger, so who’s the real whore between us?”

The fight you put up is mouth-watering. It’s a rare delight he gets to partake in. Seldom does he allow himself this loose, but your aggression is so appetising, the mere suggestion of confrontation a luxury he normally refuses to indulge in. But it’s so irresistibly decadent, the fire you bring to him to feed off, how is he expected to endure you?

He doesn’t.

His hand snakes round your waist, pulling your hips tight against his own, “do you wish to put that to the test?” He can practically feel the thrum of your heartbeat at the sinister suggestion. He knows you’re going to stumble straight into his trap, unable to resist his temptation. It’s much more enjoyable if he can manipulate you into giving into him, convincing yourself that it’s of your own volition you’re crawling to his will.

“What do you have in mind?”

————

You hadn’t expected him to lead you back to the pleasure hall, hand circled tight around your wrist, shadows twining up your forearm. You hadn’t expected him to drag you into the midst of hedonism, nor for him to be the one to push away your clothes. And most of all, you hadn’t expected him to back away once you were left in your underclothes, a charmingly wicked grin dancing over his mouth. “Let’s see how quickly you lose yourself, shall we?” And then he had blended away into the synchronised thrum of beautifully carved fae bodies, swept away in the rhythmic flow of seducing depravity.

Now you’re left, seemingly entirely alone, caught between the frames of revelling creatures, enjoying themselves in ways you haven’t had the chance to even think up. Before you know it, you’re being swept away, hands landing on the sweep of your hips as a body presses against your back, between your wings. A hot mouth is opening over your throat, kissing up the side of your neck, stopping beneath your jaw to nose at your scent.

The heady arousal that’s fogging the air whisks away your defences, even your instincts are crumbling beneath the sinful beat of movement. The lessons you’ve been taught since birth - wings like yours are sacred, gifted only to the Illyrians, nothing is to touch them. Burn to ash. Because it feels good.

A male body is pressing against your front, large hands folding around your waist, pulling your clothes hips against his bare ones, something hard poking against your middle. A slight wave of horror laps at the back of your mind but is easily overpowered by the obscenity that’s taking over you. His mouth is opening over yours, the body at your back moving so your breasts are pressed flush against the male’s chest. He groans, and the sound pleases you.

… your legs spread…

…like a desperate whore…

Shit.

You’re not supposed to be getting so swept up in the intimate touches. You’re supposed to be proving to him that you can keep your head. Even when confronted with such mouth-watering amorousness.

Slowly, you bring your hands to trail up his vaguely muscled arms, slopping over his shoulders as he releases yet another sinful sound over your lips. Your fingers slide up the back of his neck, slinking their way through his intriguingly light-coloured hair. Fascinating. But you can admire later, instead, you grip the gilded locks, nails scraping against his skin. The male hisses, nipping your lips, so you loosen your hold ever so slightly. His tongue flicks out, lapping over your mouth pleasurably. There we go.

The fae at your back has stopped, their hands sloping down your waist to the fabric clinging to your hips, their fingers tracing soft patterns over your delicate skin. They’re watching.

You pull the male’s mouth from your own, tipping his head back until you have unobstructed access to his throat. It surprises you, how easily this male is willing to submit, given a few sharp tugs to his golden hair. It’s intriguing. Certainly no male you’re aware of would ever dream of following the movements of a female. The power is addicting.

Revelling in your new found supremacy, you attach your mouth to the column of his neck, mouth opening over a pulse point as you nip and suck over the unmarked skin. The male moans, his hands pulling you tighter against him, hips bucking against yours. You pull at his hair, giving him a warning to keep still and you’re rewarded with a delicious whimper, teeth scraping across his delicate, creamy skin.

A second sharp tug has him collapsing to his knees before you, and you nearly preen at his obedience. Is this what he felt when you were played before him? A shiver of startling pleasure zaps across your skin at the idea of Azriel kneeling for you. Your breaths become shallow at the prospect of having him on his knees.

The male’s hands stroke over another’s, the fae at your back dipping their fingers beneath the fabric concealing you from them. Then they’re both utilising their hands to push away the material until it’s discarded on the floor. The male moans, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs as he tries to pull you closer to him.

The second set of hands glide over your stomach, running upward until they come to cup your breasts. It’s then you bother to look at their hands: they’re soft, and dark. You’ve never seen skin so black before, yet it’s coating the fingers of the fae behind you, and suddenly you’re yearning to see them.

You attempt to turn your head to peak at them, the male at your feet pressing adoring kisses to your thighs, littering you with soft nips and licks. They push more against your back and you freeze as you feel the recognisable push of a full chest. Female. You release the male’s hair in favour of snaking back, finding the harsh line of her jaw, sloping around the back of her neck as she lets you look.

She’s beautiful. Sharp dark eyes watching you intently as you drink her in. Her hair is a glorious mess of curls, so thick you wish to tangle your fingers in it; pull her closer. Set your mouth over her full ones.

You blink.

She’s female. You’re female. It’s not right. That’s not how it works.

Your brow dips, studying her sharp features. It’s not how it works, but she’s touching you as a lover would. She’s beautiful and she’s setting her pretty hands on you. And it feels good. Your gaze drops to her mouth again, this time looking with analytical curiosity. You’re taking too long.

Her hand curves around you from the other side, tilting your jaw as her mouth opens over your own, lapping and devouring hungrily. A whimper claws from your throat in surprise at the softness of her, from her lips to her hands to her breasts pushing against your lowered wings. Her fingers flick over your nipples and you keen, submitting to her when her tongue runs across the seam of your lips. There’s no way for you to deny her.

You want more.

She pulls away, eyes locking on yours. “Lie down.” She’s staring you down but her words are directed at the male, who pulls away, dropping further to the floor until he’s laying, vulnerable, on his back. You wonder if it’s comfortable.

“Why don’t you put him out of his misery?” The words brush softly over your lips, her breath catching with your own, heady arousal slinking around and filling your senses. She pushes you forward gently, and you follow. You sink down atop the male, shifting so he can loop his arms beneath your thighs as you suspend yourself above his mouth. He whines, nipping your skin again.

You’re too busy watching the female as she prowls around you. Your wings are raised, wary as she positions herself atop a table, spreading her legs. Your thoughts eddy to a stop as your eyes latch onto her sex, slick with wetness, dark curls decorating her skin. Her scent hits you full force, your eyes rolling.

“Come here,” she orders, softly, hand reaching for you. And you lean into her, allowing her fingers to tangle in your hair as she pulls you closer to her heat, your eyes widening marginally as you’re confronted with the reality of your situation. You’re seated atop a male - a willing one - both of you following the instructions of a female.

It’s all backwards.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.

The male’s supposed to be in charge. Not the one at the bottom of the food chain.

“Don’t stop until I tell you,” the female breathes softly, fingers tightening in your hair. “Now settle down.” You sink down onto the males mouth the same time she wraps her legs over your shoulders, pulling you into her wet heat.

————

Azriel’s been enjoying himself, indulging in the abundance of sexuality that’s flooding the pleasure hall, leaving you to your own devices. He’s sure you’ll leave should it become too much. Besides, your confidence could use being knocked down a peg or two so he doesn’t have to put up with your bratty attitude.

A tendril of pleasure curls at the base of his spine at the thought of finding you, sucked dry from the night. He’s certain this’ll shut you up.

He scans the writhing bodies for your form, hinting for a pair of wings. His brow dips when he fails to locate you. Sighing to himself he raises from the chaise longue, the female that had attended to him already slinking off to find another source of pleasure. The heavy fog of arousal in the air hinders his concentration as he scans again.

The hall is too packed for him to resort to his shadows, not wishing to cause a panic. He’ll just have to use his more traditional methods.

His eyes catch on a loose circle forming in the centre of the room, Fae crowding around as touching becomes more frenetic, cartloads by something. He decides you can wait, curiosity drawing him in as he approaches the circle. Azriel stops short when his eyes land on a familiar set of wings, momentarily shocked by the sight.

You’re seated atop a male’s mouth, one of his arms wrapped snuggly over your hips, keeping you pressed against him while his free hand pleasures himself. You’re winding your hips languidly over him, clearly enjoying the pleasure of his tongue as it laps at your entrance. A dark-skinned female is sat atop a large, ornate table, lewd carvings etched up it’s legs, her hand threaded firmly in your hair as she keeps you tight to her cunt.

Inexplicable arousal sparks in his abdomen, his cock twitching at the sight. The way you’re kneeling, thighs spread, wings relaxed in obvious submission as your tongue laps fervently between the female’s legs, burying your face into her desperately.

The female’s hand tightens, your back curving, drawing attention to your ass as appreciative moans ring throughout the hall in response. The impact is incredible, his cock already hard as he thinks about what you would do if he interrupted you, let you know what he’s seen. Would you flush? Would you beg him not to tell anyone? Would you get down on your knees as you plead for him not to take advantage of you?

He can’t tear his eyes away as the female drags one of her feet over your back, dangerously close to your wings. So close that Azriel’s automatically fold inward, as if she’s a threat to his own sensitive skin. He watches, fascinated, as you don’t pull away. You don’t even flinch, too submersed in her heat to care.

Your wings twitch as she makes contact, brushing over the bone. He can tell she’s enjoying herself, having most likely never had an Illyrian before. She’s close, and bringing to the peak with her, uncaring for the male you’re seated on. His breath catches as she repeats the action, wings shuddering as your shoulders go taut before losing their tension, suddenly pressing deeper into her heat as she moans. Her own breathing stutters at the action, back arching as her thighs spread wider before tightening, pulling you closer as she bucks her pretty hips against you.

Azriel watches, fixated, as you’re allowed to pull away from her, the female’s elegant hand snaking beneath your jaw as she urges you upward. You follow, managing to stand as she hails your mouth to hers. And the flame is relit. Your mouth is sloping over hers as your hands roam her body, going from her waist to snake behind her back, to brushing over the plump curve of her ass.

Arousal spikes in his blood as your hands cup her ass, squeezing as you press yourself between her thighs. Her own hands are pulling you closer, allowing you to push her down onto the table as your mouth dances over her own. Your arms brace either side of her as your tongue laps over her own, dropping down to open over her neck, sucking and biting at the dark skin until it bruises.

The circle has dispersed a little now that the climax has been reached, a few bystanders still watching hungrily, but their eyes are glazed with lust, so he doubts they’ll be too alarmed at his shadows. They writhe forward through the fog, curling up your thigh as the tighten. He’s pleased when your instinctive reaction to the silky darkness is to buck your hips against hers, as if you’re desperate to be inside of her.

Your head rises, her own arms locked around your neck, as you look around, focusing in on the cool brush of his darkness. He feels your breath catch as you locate him, marking how your wings flare ever so slightly, curling your body over the female’s. It’s a subtle gesture or possessiveness, claiming her as your own, despite it being juxtaposed by the hedonistic surroundings.

He cocks a brow mockingly, beckoning you away, the signal it’s time to leave; that the challenge’s over. Your eyes clear slightly, but the female’s legs tighten around your waist, vying for attention. Her eyes lock on his, flicking between the two. She seems to recognise the acknowledging glance you give him, her legs loosening from your body, knowing it’s your time to leave. Your gaze flicks to hers as she releases you, arms moving to brace herself on the table instead.

She knows which fights to pick.

————

“What the hel was that for?” You snap as you follow after him, reluctant leaving your female. His gaze skims to yours, “it’s late.”

“You’re hard.” A shadows wraps over your hips, licking between your thighs. He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re wet.” You flush, glaring at him, “I just had a male between my thighs. What’s your excuse, Shadowsinger?” You’re fully aware as his icy gaze slides to you, hairs standing on end as his eyes narrow. “I just watched you go down on a female like it’s the best damned thing that’s happened to you.” Your brow narrows at his words, the blatant insinuation he’d dropped without so much as blinking.

“Yeah,” you mutter, heat rising to your cheeks, “she was.”

You hope he’ll leave it at that.

Of course he doesn’t.

“Looks like between the two of us, you’re definitely more of the whore.” You scowl, fire seating in your stomach. “That’s not fair. I didn’t see what you were doing. You could have been panting and pleading for someone.” You nearly added an unnecessary and exposing, too, on the end. He laughs, oblivious to your private confession. “That would be something.”

Your eyes flick to his, looking him over through your peripherals.

“Would you ever do that for me?”

“You’d have to work very hard to get me on my knees.” He responds easily, male arrogance dripping from him. “So it’s not out of the question.” You push, attempting to gauge his reaction. You’re stunned when he rolls his eyes. It’s something you’ve seen Ed do a thousand times, and it’s shockingly normal. Familiar.

“It’s as likely to happen as if the tables were reversed,” he replies instead, eyes sliding to yours, catching you watching. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You snap, irritably. It’s so late. The edges of his mouth kick up into a devious smirk, “would you ever willingly lower yourself for me?” He’s delighted when your lip curls, relieved by the familiarity that you’re falling back into. “Fuck no.”

He grins, “then there’s your answer.”

He doesn’t know that at the beginning of the night, you would have given the same answer had you been asked whether you would ever fuck a female, yet here you are, wanting a second taste.

No, you keep that to yourself.

————

Your thoughts have been swirling for the past few hours, and you sweat the room’s getting lighter already.

‘Lie down.’

She’s ringing through you your ears, your mind replaying her over and over.

‘Why don’t you put him out of his misery?’

The soft push of her breasts against your wings. Gods, she had touched your wings. And you’d let her. Enjoyed it.

‘Come here.’

You shove your face further into the pillow.

Shit.

There’s no way for you to get yourself out of this one.

You lift your head, glancing across the room to where the Shadowsinger lies. His shadows stand out even in the near pitch darkness, softly lapping in gently undulating sways. His eyes are closed, breaths deceptively even. You wonder if he’s actually asleep or not. Whether, were you going to stab him, should he wake easily.

“Something on your mind, whore?”

Despite the softness of the drawl, you startle, muscles tensing as his sharp eyes slide open. Wide awake in an instant. Your brow narrows at him in a hateful glare, “don’t call me that.” You can practically hear the taunting grin that slides up the edges of his mouth, “isn’t that what you are? A whorish exhibitionist? A rakish harlot who derives pleasure from having her mouth between the legs of a fe—”

“Don’t.” He stops, watching you. Your head is raised from the pillow, all your attention set on him. He heard the slight tremor in your vocal chords. The waver. He delights in it.

“What would your father think?” He drinks in your reaction: the absolute stillness of your wings, the tension in your shoulders, the stiff set of your jaw. All of you freezes.

It’s not enough. He wants to see your head bow in shame. “What would Edvard think?” Your hands ball into fists, eyelids trembling as you struggle against his piercing gaze. “Leave him out of this,” you manage, but the words are strained. Azriel raised an eyebrow, making to settle down into his pillow, “who knows, maybe he has similar tastes.”

He’s rewarded by the sound of your feet on the wooden floor, stalking over to his bed. “You say what you like about me, Shadowsinger. But keep his name out of your filthy mouth.”

He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, his shadows doing the job perfectly for him. “Shadowsinger,” you hiss, stepping closer to his bed, so you’re standing over him. “I’m fucking talking to you,” you growl, quiet fury coating your words. This time, his eyes open, sliding awake with awareness, piercing up at you. You still.

The male moves with languid lethality as he raises from the bed, settling his feet securely on the floor as he unfolds to his full height. It’s only now you’re aware of his shadows that have crept up from the ground, locking you in place. “An awful lot of fire coming from someone so weak,” he murmurs, the words slicing through the air like blades of ice. A dark energy thrums throughout the room, skittering silently across the floorboards. “You were out of line,” you growl, keeping your ground.

He laughs, the sound lacking amusement. “I was out of line?” You don’t deign him with a reply. His lips settle into a bland line, practiced neutrality rolling across his features, “and what can you do about that? Really?” You open your mouth but he leans down, his shadows constricting around your torso, “aside from clumsily hurling your blunt words around like a child with a wooden blade.” Your lips part in surprise.

What can you do?

You’d never really considered he would ever attempt to do anything.

“You’ll get in trouble if you hurt me,” you warn, pressing against his shadows as his wings slowly slide open, branching out from his powerful form. There’s no amusement in his eyes as he speaks, “do you honestly believe you’re the first to treat me as a stain of dirt?” You try to hold your ground but he’s shifted, cold hazel sharp in the night air.

His brow narrows. Answer me. The gesture says. “No.” The word escapes your mouth before you have a chance to resist, following his order instinctively. Azriel leans closer, invading your space as his shadows coil tighter, squeezing you for breath. “How do you think they ended?” He asks softly, steel slicing down your spine.

“What?” You breathe, voice lilting with fear.

“I’m asking how you think I killed them,” he murmurs, eyes slicing you open, carving you out. “You—…” Words don’t come to you. His shadows constrict, another silent demand. Answer me. “I don’t know,” you stammer, tongue heavy in your mouth, bloated.

He leans closer, mouth so close to your own. You try to shrink away. His shadows twine higher, slowly snaking over your collar bones, hugging to your neck. “Would you like to?” You feel the words brush over your lips, but ashy hazel is encompassing your vision. A blade catches the silver glint of moonlight over his back.

“Azr—” you gasp, hands lifting to your throat, “I can’t—” His shadows curl tighter, squeezing. “Breathe—” your eyes are wide, nails scraping over the soft flesh of your neck as they faze through the darkness.

Then they’re gone. You gulp down lungfuls of cool, burning air. You stumble backward, legs giving out as you crash to the floor, hand still cupping your throat as you scramble away from him. “You bastard,” you rasp, scuttling away until your wings are pressed to the wood of your bed. “Filthy, vile, beast.”

You panic when he steps forward, completely silent, eyes trained on you as you scrabble up onto your bed, shuffling until you’re against the wall. “Stay there,” you rasp, pushing backward, shrinking into the darkness as he prowls closer. “Stay there, shadowsinger,” you hiss, curling into yourself as memories flood over you. Running from a towering figure through the darkened streets, breath tearing raggedly from your lungs as your hunter pursues you with large, striding steps. How they gained on you, closer and closer, tighter and tighter.

A shadow snakes around your ankle and you jerk, racing back down into your body. You’re met with hazel, staring down at you.

You’re half lying down, braced on your elbows, knees bent and parted. Azriel arms are either side of you, caging you beneath him on the bed, resting above you, barely a breaths width between your mouths. His brow is almost imperceptibly dipped, mouth set in that same bland line as before.

Nerves fire all at once as instincts slam into you, curling up as you shove your foot just inside the bone of his hip, kicking back at him with all your force. His hands tighten in the bed, keeping him where he is, completely immovable despite how hard you’re pushing. “Get off me you brute,” you snarl up at him, and you’re certain he can feel each word.

His upper lip twitches in a suppressed curl, the first sign he’s given you that he’s actually in there. Darkness twines up your leg, squeezing viciously. If he reaches your throat, you’re gone. How the hel are you supposed to guard against them? They were straight out of a nightmare, no way to fight except to match him or run.

You remember when you were younger, you used to have nightmares a lot. All revolving around running tirelessly, running from something looming at your back, stalking close behind as it swept closer. Ed used to tell you to try to stop running, to turn around and look at what was chasing you. He used to say if you were ever scared of a monster, turn around and blow it a big kiss.

If he was going to use his shadows, you were going to weaponise yourself.

His darkness winds over your hips, covering you in a lethal blanket of night.

You sharply pull your foot away from his hip, the sudden lack of force providing a fraction of a second for you to snake your arms around his shoulders, crushing your mouth against his. The muscles in his arms turn to stone as your legs spread, wrapping around his hips, pulling him flush against you.

His lip curls, mouth opening to snarl down at you, but your hands thread through his silky hair, fisting as you pull him down. You arch your back, thighs squeezing him closer as your breasts press flush against him, tongue shoving into him as you switch the playing fields.

You’re startled when his hips roll against yours, pushing you into the bed as his mouth shoves back against your own, tongue lapping out over your lips as his teeth nip and bite. You swallow down a moan as his hips force your legs apart, pinning you to the bed as he sweeps in, hand looping beneath your head to tangle in your hair.

The two of you pull back for breath, and you’re panting, startled by the abrupt turn from nightmare to fever dream.

His eyes flash as he pulls further away, standing at the edge of your bed, hands dropping to the ties in his leathers. You hiss when his shadows tangle in your hair, mimicking the feeling of his fist, jerking your head back as you’re forced upright. You hate it when he uses the tendrils of darkness to malehandle you into whatever suits his tastes. It’s degrading.

“Stop squeezing so tight,” you snap. His lips curl as they tighten, making you wince, before they loosen again. His hand replaces them, tugging you uncomfortably. “Come on, whore,” he drawls softly, eyes sharp and menacing, “put that mouth to good use.”

Humiliating heat flushes your cheeks as your eyes drop to his crotch. He’s set the ties loose, but left it for you to actually pull him out. To put your hands on him. You swallow, shame crawling beneath your skin but he keeps your head so he can see your expressions. He revels in your degradation, heat seating inside as he watches your shaky hands raise to the ties.

Your digits fumble at first, trembling too much as they attempt to pull the strings loose. He observes intently as your slim fingers work work the bonds free, slowly. Reluctantly. It’s only when you’ve finished with the strings that your gaze raises to his, hands trembling as they settle on his leathers. His brow narrows.

“If I do this…” your words are muted, hushed. He stills. “…you won’t tell anyone. What I did, I mean.” His gaze hardens, staring down at you with an indecipherable look. You swallow, humiliating heat rushing to your cheeks, “if I—,” you swallow again, lower lip trembling. “If I let you use my mouth,” you stammer, quietly, “you won’t tell anyone, that I let a…female…use it.”

Your scent hits him then, horror kicking him in the gut as the sharp tang of fear shoves it’s way up his nostrils. His hand releases your hair as if he’s been burnt. He steps back, faltering. Your eyes flick to his, scared at his movements. Nausea roils in his gut. He almost—

He doesn’t think about it.

Your hands are frozen, suspended from where they had been placed, before dropping to your lap as you attempt to hide the tremors. Somehow he manages to steel his voice, “if you do not want to do something,” he starts, not a hitch to be found, “you tell me so.” You blink your eyes, fingers wringing together in your lap.

Now he’s aware of it, it’s obvious. Your blown out pupils, the shakiness to your lower lip, your fumbling hands. Dear Gods.

“Huh?” You peer up at him, wings tucking tight behind you, shuddering for an entirely different set of reasons than when they had been in the pleasure hall. The sound is small to his ears, soft and scared. How much damage had he just inflicted upon you from not being aware. From getting caught up in his anger for your kind.

You trace the roll of his throat, the air having shifted. “I was not planning on reporting back to your father,” he speaks, the words dull against your ears. “I would not force you to—,” your breath catches, fingers tensing, “…do that.”

A muscle feathers in your jaw, eyes darting away from his, head bowing in shame. It doesn’t illicit a pleasured response as he had thought. “Why not?” Disgust crawls in his stomach at the question, noting how your finger are tracing your throat. “You made it clear you have no qualms involving yourself in immoral acts.” The soft rasp of your voice grates against his senses. He did that.

“Crossing lines does not mean you forget them.”

“You seemed pretty content to do just that when you tried to strangle me.”

His expression hardens. He refuses to apologise for that. “So you’re going to tell me it wasn’t deserved?” You freeze, then resume breathing. “What do you expect, Shadowsinger? You’re the scum of the war camp. A bastard and a torturer.”

Your eyes lift to his and he’s taken aback by their depth, the superficial hatred you wield against him having collapsed into a broken spiral of conflict and repression. “You think I would be treated favourably if I sided with you?” He takes in your admission, trying to decipher your tangle of words, attempting to reconcile them against your past actions. “You’re a brute, but I don’t believe you to be stupid.”

Possibly the most free-spoken you’ve been around him.

“Your brother doesn’t have a problem with us.” Bastards.

“He is male. He is allowed to make those mistakes,” you reply, pinning him beneath your loathing gaze. “I am not afforded that luxury.” He can see fatigue swirling in the darkness of your eyes. How many times have you had those words repeated back to you? How many arguments had been sparked within your own family and how many of those battles had you lost simply because you don’t know any different.

Your gaze slips away from his, sensing he’s seen something he’s not supposed to. “I will not begrudge him of the opportunities he’s extended solely for being born into the stronger sex. But I cannot act upon them myself.”

That familiar rage burns inside of him as he witnesses already how deep the roots run. How the Illyrian ideologies have already been enforced firmly, carved into your mind from an early age. The icy flame sears, scorches as he takes you in: a near perfect archetype of everything he hates about Illyria.

“Even so,” Azriel speaks, his words firm, “I will not turn a blind eye to your cruel nature. No matter what reasons your actions are born from.” He expects a rebuke, to have you attempt to slice him apart with your bladed lexicon.

“That’s fine.” He finds your eyes latching onto his, a thread of recognition connecting you for the span of a second.

“Just don’t try to murder me for keeping myself safe.”

Maybe there’s more to your surface level bitterness than he thought.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[rimunagenius]

I’m Not Talking ‘Bout Boys I’m Talking ‘Bout Them.

ఌ pairing: Naomi Mcpherson x AFAB!reader

ఌ Warnings: RPF!! homophobia!! , slight smut, slight angst?, fluff, fluff, and some more fluff, realization about the preferred sexual preference (if that’s even a warning)

ఌ Word Count: 3.5k words (major whoopsie…no it’s not)

ఌ okay so as you may not already know, this fic is based off the song ‘girls’ from girl in red. it’s basically the prompt of the story. another thing, this fic is loosely based off me, being a bisexual woman, and not experiencing homophobia personally, but seeing how others around me speak and feel about people in the LGBTQ community, i haven’t come out to my parents. so writing this, i hope this helps in anyway, whether it’s a tiny small or big significant way, to help whoever reads this know it’s okay to be queer. to love women. to love whoever the fuck you want to love. be yourself unapologetically and once you stop caring what the people around you feel, and stop thinking about how you may offend them for your choices and feelings, you’ll truly live a blissful life. okay that’s it, enjoy!

ఌ

❧ I've been hiding for so long

These feelings, they're not gone

Could I tell anyone?

You have always been an ally to the LGBTQ community. You had many friends who grew up to be gay or lesbian, nonbinary, all of the above. You even have family members part of the community. You didn't realize until you had hit high school that you were into a spectrum of people. Freshman year, you were curious and never even experimented with anyone other than boys. But by your junior year, you had realized you loved anyone…you were queer.

The thoughts of wanting to understand someone so deeply and have a beautiful connection that would manifest in a caring and long relationship, was all you seeked. It was never a phase that every teenager convinces themselves they're going through—it was real.

But you knew your parents. They'd say they were supportive because you had family that were queer. But now and then, the unsupportive side of them would slip and it made you scared for the reaction you'd get if you had said you not only liked men but everyone.

❧ Afraid of what they'll say

So I push them away

I'm acting so strange

You so desperately wanted to tell your parents about the feelings you had and the thoughts you wanted to share. You just could never get past the what if.

Any conversation about your love life you had dismissed. You couldn't possibly say that you liked a girl or someone who was different than themselves in their eyes. You knew it was getting obvious with the way you'd shut down the topic. You knew that your siblings would catch on.

The jokes they’d make about you being queer because you haven't mentioned the idea of being with a guy recently were starting to irritate you a little more every day. You just had to suck it up and "forget" to tell them about the most beautiful person you had ever met.

❧ They're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

You don't know when it happened but you just knew you had to speak to this person. Their beautiful curly hair, the perfect height, the perfect style, the perfect facial features that were accentuated with the prettiest gold jewelry in their nose. They caught your eye the second you had walked into the club.

You had been with friends and you just couldn't stop looking. Your friends picked up on the longing glances you'd throw their way any chance the conversation got dull someplace.

"Just talk to them!" Your friend yelled over the loud music. "What's the worst that could happen?" They sipped through the straw of their drink while moving their eyes from you to the person you couldn't stop looking at.

"No. Absolutely not. They're way out of my league, dude." Oh, absolutely not. Your friend was not about to take no for an answer. They knew about your family situation. Even though you were a grown woman, your parent's opinions still mattered to you. What they thought of you was important.

"Babe, you are so beautiful and hot. Please be real here. They're coming over here anyways, now's your chance." They smiled, sipping their drink again watching the person walk up to the bar.

"Are you fucking serious?" You took a small step back and bumped into someone. Turning around immediately, you saw them. The perfect person you had been staring at all night long. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I did not know you were right there,"

"No it's okay, don't worry about it." They smiled at you. The height difference was stirring a nervous feeling in your belly. Like someone had released a butterfly sanctuary in your belly.

"Let me pay for your drink, it's the least I can do for someone as gorgeous as you." It slipped out. You hadn't even realized you said it until you said it and saw their face looking back at you. The embarrassment was unbearable. A small smile graced their features and they were thankful you couldn't see the small blush creeping on their cheeks.

"Oh, you don't have to but thank you. What's your name, pretty?" They leaned down so they could hear you better over the music. Your knees were weak.

"Y/n. And yours?" You looked at them, batting your eyelashes. It was hard not to try and make them interested. You thought they were so pretty, you had to have them.

"Naomi. Nice to meet you." You both smiled and insisted on paying for their drink. You paid for it and smiled. The smile faltered as you realized this may or may not be the very last time you see them ever.

"Hey—" You both spoke at the same time. You giggled and looked up at them, signaling for them to finish. "Can I get your number? Sorry if that's forward but your beautiful and want to know if you'd like to get coffee sometime?" They asked, leaning back up to gauge your expression.

"Oh yeah! I'd love to." You gave them your number and for the rest of the night, you both went about your own business with your separate parties. Catching each other's eye from across the room every now and then.

They were the most beautiful person you had ever seen in your whole entire life. It hurt your brain to even fathom how they could exist.

❧ They're so pretty with their button-up shirts

I shouldn't be feeling this

But it's too hard to resist

You and Naomi had hung out a lot of times after the club incident. You were so glad you had decided to get out of your house that night. You didn’t think you could sit through anymore phone calls of your mom telling you how nice her coworker's son was for the last 5 months. You did have to, every now and then.

They had told you they were in a band. A relatively famous one. You hadn't known any of that and were about to explode when they told you they opened for Taylor Swift on her Eras Tour. What made you so oblivious to this information? You had been there. You even asked about the dates and you didn't even realize you had watched Naomi perform.

They also told you that they had a show this coming weekend and needed help picking an outfit or two for the music festival. They invited you over to their house, which was a pretty close range from your condo that you lived in. You had been over more than a handful of times. You guys have been seeing each other for almost 5 months, making it official in the third month. 

"I say, you give me a fashion show and we can decide from there." You smiled at them. You honestly believe that you have never been this happy. Yeah, a few hetero relationships you had in the past you were happy. But you weren't truly happy. Not like this. You haven't told your parents about them but you truly wanted to. You wanted to tell them that Naomi had awakened a newfound liveliness to you. That they had made everything so much easier. You thanked your lucky stars for bumping into them five months ago. 

"I say, that's a great idea, gorgeous." They walked up to you sitting on the foot of the bed, planting a kiss on your forehead, and then walking to the closet to grab an outfit to try on.

They changed in the bathroom and walked out in long basketball shorts, a white wife beater, a jean jacket, and a backward black LA hat. Heat rose to your face, and all over your body. Especially there. You blushed intensely and smiled. "So this outfit is a yes, then?" Naomi laughed as they noticed the immediate reaction your body had. 

"Oh, hell yeah. I honestly think you should never take it off. Unless I'm taking it off you." You smiled and laughed. Their face flushed as they turned away for a second and looked back at you. You gave them a small wink as they walked up to you, crouched down, and grabbed your face pulling you into a kiss. 

Both of you smiled into the kiss, which started to grow more hot and heavy. A small sigh left your nose and you pulled away. "As much as I love doing that, you have a fashion show to finish, baby." A small frown pierced their lips as they grabbed a few new articles of clothing from their closet and walked into the bathroom. 

Walking out in a white button-up shirt, a tie hanging loosely around their neck under the collar, and black vintage Versace jeans. You absolutely loved this outfit. You loved the other one but something about this outfit made them look so professional, endearing, and just overall adorable. You had always loved when they would pick you up for dates and they were wearing an outfit similar to this with a button-up shirt. 

"Oh my god, I love this nomi. You look so good." You smiled as you pulled out your phone and took a video. Naomi does a small spin before flipping the camera off. They laughed and immediately apologized. You both now laughing together. 

❧ Soft skin and soft lips

The soft light from the sunset started creeping in through the bedroom window, adding an even more romantic ambiance to the room. Your soft pants fill the room. 

"Oh..my...god." You sighed heavily, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. Your chest rose and fell with the swift motion and pace Naomi had set with their fingers curling inside of you. You could not lie and say this wasn't better than any sex you had ever prior to now. 

"You're doing so good for me, sweet girl." A whiny moan left your throat as their soft praises and new pet name coaxed you closer and closer to the finish line. Your eyes looked into theirs. Your walls tighten around their slender fingers. How could someone be so good with just their fingers?

"Uh...don't stop. So close, baby." Your voice rose and thighs closed. "Just like that. I'm so close." You could not fathom the feeling they were making you feel. In almost a mere second, their fingers curled in just the right spot causing a soft scream to escape your lips. 

"Oh, baby." Naomi looked down at you, head dropping to kiss up your neck. Their soft lips traveled across your jawline, lips brushing the lobe of your ear. "Let go for me." They whispered, another soft whine left your lips as you did what they asked of you. "Yeah, just like that, baby." 

Naomi maneuvered their body back in front of your aching cunt. Sliding their fingers out, catching whatever slipped out with their tongue. You let out a soft cry, overly sensitive to touch as you were still coming down from what felt like the best high in your life. Naomi then put the fingers they had buried inside of you in their mouth, sucking and licking off any remnants of your orgasm off their fingers. 

You wouldn't lie...you could've come all over again just by watching them watch you while they did that. They then placed a soft kiss on your clit, a soft satisfied hum leaving their lips. Their lips trailed up your body until they found solace on yours again. The passionate kiss left you breathless and tasting yourself on their tongue. 

Naomi’s arms planted on either side of your waist, you ran your hands slowly up their arms. From their soft and slender wrists, all the way to the open expanse of their shirtless back. Naomi sighs at the cool sensation of your rings dragging across their body. 

You then pulled them in for another kiss, your arms slung over the back of their neck. Your fingertips graze the beautiful crazy curls on their head. 

You could stay here forever. 

❧ I should be into this guy

But it's just a waste of time

He's really not my type

I know what I like

"No, mom." I am not going on a date with Nick. He's not my type at the moment." You looked at Naomi, an incredulous look on your face, a quiet tut of laughter leaving their lips as their hand glided up your thigh. 

"Why not? What is your type then?" Your mom asked over the phone. You didn't know if you had wanted to flat-out say that you had been seeing someone. The someone being a famous queer public figure. Your mom on speaker, Naomi being able to hear the whole conversation. 

They nodded their head at you, a look of encouragement in their eyes. This whole ‘your mom trying to set you up’ thing was getting old. You just wanted to tell her that you were so in love with your partner.

"Mommy, I'm already seeing someone. And they make me very happy, any more than a man could." Naomi squeezed your thigh, their head resting in their hand that was leaning on the back of the couch. You smiled at them, mouthing 'I love you.' They did it back. Big smile across their face.

"What do you mean "any more than a man could"? Are you dating a woman? Are you seriously dating a woman? Y/n, don't make me tell your dad about this. What do you think he'll say?" She sighed loudly over the speaker. You started to get super nervous. 

You rubbed your other hand that wasn't holding the phone, across your chest. A heavy feeling weighing down on you suddenly. "No, mommy. They're not a woman either. They're nonbinary, which means they don't choose to identify as a boy or girl. I love them. They make me happy." 

"I don't want to hear details about this gay relationship." 

"I never said anything about that." 

"Well, I don't want to hear about it. I have to go. And I'm going to tell your father about this." You didn't even feel nervous anymore. The hard part was over and you honestly felt irritated that your mom couldn't just be happy that you were happy. Why did it matter who was making you happy?

"Okay, whatever." You hung up the phone and flopped your head against Naomi's chest. "I'm sorry she said what she said, baby. I didn't think she'd take it that bad. For once I thought she’d just listen and still accept what’s happening." You looked up at them. They leaned down and placed a kiss on your lips. 

"It's okay. We'll be okay. At least she knows now. The hard part is over, love." 

"Yes. It's finally over." You both lay there on your couch, cuddling for the rest of the morning. You could only think about how their opinions slowly started to not matter what they thought of Naomi. It only mattered what you thought and you thought the absolute world of them. You had truly never met anyone like them. 

❧ No, this is not a phase

Or a coming of age

This will never change

You and your parents had been fighting over the phone and dinner for the last week. They couldn't get used to the pronouns Naomi had gone by and not identifying with a gender, how they lived their life, and how we both chose to live it together. 

You had slowly started to get over your parent’s projecting and ignorance and felt at peace with your life. With your Naomi. They had known how stressful this had been for you, so a nice romantic weekend was planned for the both of you. Granted the weekend had consisted of you two at Josettes parent's vacation cabin by the lake. It was honestly so beautiful. 

The second night you were there, you celebrated your one-year anniversary with a nice candlelit dinner and walk outside by the dock. When you reached the end of the dock looking out across the lake, the moon casting the perfect light over the royal blue waters. "Naomi look how beautiful." You looked across at the landscape in front of you, your smile faltering when Naomi said they couldn't see it. "What do you me- Oh my god." 

Naomi was on one knee, a beautiful diamond ring in their hand. "Holy shit. No way. Naomi." You couldn't help the tears falling and the laughing trying to hide the fact that you were literally sobbing. 

"Y/n. You are so perfect. From your hair to your contagious laugh. Everything about you is engraved in my brain. I think about you when I'm thousands of miles away and when I'm right under you while you sleep against me." You could not stop the loud sob that escaped your throat. You immediately got on your knees and cupped their face. "I can't even remember what my life was like before you were in it and I don't want to know how it is after. I never want to have an after-you. This," they motioned their index finger between the two of you. Their eyes welling up with tears too. "Is forever. You and me. Will you marry me?" You kissed their lips, the kiss so tender yet so full of every emotion you could possibly feel in a moment like this. 

"Yes. Yes. It will always be a yes, baby." You continued to cry as they slid the ring on your finger. You could not have imagined that this would be your life a year ago. You never wanted to forget this. Forget them. 

Your parents would never understand you both. No matter how much they tried to will this relationship away. You both had already left an imprint in each other's lives. This was forever or nothing. Happiness or nothing. Your love for each other was never going away. 

❧ They're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

You had spent the next day at the cabin wrapped in the sheets and each other's embrace. The bliss that came with Naomi was something so sacred and real. You knew that when you looked at them. 

You had woken up before them. The sun shining through the window behind you. Sitting up, wrapping and holding the sheets over your naked frame, you reached over and took a picture of their peaceful state of sleep. 

The way the sun shines on their features, accentuating the gorgeous freckles across their face, you posted it on your Instagram story. The first time your family will see that this was never a phase. It was real and it was happening.

Captioning the picture, "I can't wait to marry you." You had tagged Naomi before turning your phone off and laying back down next to them. Snuggling in closer, they wrapped their arm around your frame and pulled you closer before placing a soft kiss on your head. You both had gone back to sleep. Just you two against the world. 

❧ They're so pretty with their button-up shirts

They're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

You knew you couldn't count on them to be here. The one special day that you'd ever have in your life and your family couldn't set their pride aside and be there. It didn't bother you much because you had friends and they showed up for you. That's what counted. That's the only thing that matters aside from marrying the love of your life. But it still hurt.

Josette had suggested she walk you down the aisle and you loved the idea. As you both walked down the aisle, you looked at her and then at Naomi. You three had all been crying as the seconds ticked that the marriage was official. 

Naomi in their tux, you in your long white wedding dress. This was perfect. They were perfect. A button-up shirt never looked as good on them as it did right now. 

❧ They're so pretty with their button-up shirts

'Cause I don't know what to do

It's not like I get to choose

Who I love

Your honeymoon consisted of laying in bed, sex, beach, sex, laying in bed, more sex, and sleeping. Falling for them was singlehandedly the best thing you had ever done. You could not believe this is who you got to do life with for the rest of it. 

You didn't choose to be queer. But you sure as hell glad that it got you here in this moment.

❧ They're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

They're so pretty with their button-up shirts

And they're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

They're so pretty, it hurts

Being out, not giving a single damn about who had to say what about your marriage, was a blissful life. You get to watch your soulmate do what they love, be who they are, and choose you to be a part of it. Going through the suppression and ignorance to get here...was so rewarding. 

Naomi. They were so pretty it hurt to even express the amount of attraction and admiration you had for them. You got to have them. All of them. 

Forever.

ఌ loving someone for who they are is all that matters. Whether your bisexual, lesbian, pan, etc. You don’t owe anyone a damn thing. Even if your not out yet, that’s okay. You won’t be in the closet forever, you will be yourself openly and unapologetically, whether it’s tomorrow or in the next year (and i’ll be on that journey with you); Loving a woman, loving your partner, is not a crime. It’s not wrong. No matter what anyone says. They can’t take your love, your identity, yourself, away from you. Never forget it.

[absolutebl]

Rules: List 10 of your comfort shows

tagged by @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle (thanks doll)

I rarely pass along tags but you should do this one and tag me if you do so I can see, comfort watches are my absolute FAVORITE.

This is a BL blog and I've watched most of them, so I will be picking BL. But I will only be picking BL I am rewatching for comfort right NOW.

Some of these may surprise. Ready?

My Top 10 Comfort BL's right NOW

1 kiss x kiss x kiss - perfect scandal (short)

My favorite of this series because it's basically office romance sexy bits we all wanted from Old Fashion Cupcake.

2 Jun & Jun

his show made up for in style what it lacked in substance. I like fluff. I loved this. I smile every moment I'm watching. This is very much MY style of BL.

3 Love is Science (BL cut)

Mark and Ouwen gotta be one of my all time favorite side dishes. LIS? is a noona romance with added mature side couple as well as these two, mostly interwoven. It’s a big buy in just for Mark & Ouwen but WORTH IT, and some kind soul uploaded a BL cut to YT. Everything is a touch quirky but the BL boys are beautiful, earnest, and high heat. It's one of Taiwan's favorite dynamics: the bisexual himbo meets the confident gay, but they are just LOVELY, plus tiny queer family at the end.

4 2 Moons 3

What can I say, it's utter trash but there is something about the main couple I love. A Thai pulp that felt like it came out 5 yrs ago with many of the flaws inherent to that time and studio system, including manufactured angst and convoluted plot, but an ultimately sweet main couple that (as a pairing) feels a bit more modern and is satisfying to watch. This will probably go down in history as one of the few BLs where I genuinely didn’t care about any of the side couples.

5 Love Class 2

But only "my couple." ( the mature student and the TA). I still hold that they probably should’ve had their own series.

6 Big Dragon

I didn't love this when it first aired but I am coming around to it more on the rewatch. (I may even up its score from 7 to 8 if the eventual movie sticks the landing). This is a pairing that proved itself to be a lot more sophisticated than I expected with nods at kink in a more respectful way than Mame could ever dream, plus excellent chemistry.

7 Why R U? Korea

The Korean remake of Why RU? is BOTH bizarro land, and EXACTLY what I expected. There is something comforting in watching the Cliff's notes version of a show I enjoyed before just in a different BL style. I don't know why I like this one so much, but I really do.

8 Takara & Amagi

I gnawed on my knuckles and squealed a lot with this show first time around. Now I still love it but I'm more calm. It is beyond charming: soft and gentle, packed with cuteness and high school angst, thirst, & yearning.

9 About Youth

A truly lovely little coming of age high school BL with a classic YA low drama but high angst and an earnest depth.

Clearly I'm having a bit of a high school phase because I've been thinking of doing this one next:

10 My School President

Yes, we’ve seen it all before, but I still ADORED this. And there is a lot to be said for the classics being re-executed perfectly. Who let my BL be this wholesome and funny?

[a-yellow-van]

Wish You Were Here | Part 1

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. Running over the same old ground, what have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

20 years after the outbreak, you’re a stable, well established member in the community of Jackson, Wyoming. You have been for a long time now, the horrors, the brutality of survival buried deep inside, leaving place to the safe simplicity of routine. You didn’t think there’s anything that could disturb that, after all you’ve been through. That is, until you meet Joel Miller, and a drunken choice leads to…much more. Set in between Part I and Part II. Canon compliant (I'm breaking my own heart)

Series masterlist

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC for Part 1 : 4.5 k

Warnings for Part 1 : drinking, swearing, implied sexual content

New Year’s Eve 2034. Jackson’s tavern is packed to the brim, people in every corner of the room, almost shoulder to shoulder. It’s hot and humid inside; layers have been shed, revealing patches of sticky skin. A musky, sickly sweet smell assaults your nose : a mix of sweat, booze and dust, making you nostalgic for a time you never knew, before the world fell apart. The windows are fogged up, blocking out the view of snow falling peacefully, coating the street. You’ve rarely seen anything like it. Nearly every adult survivor in the community has seemingly decided to come out tonight, and the fact that Eugene has finally dipped into his batch of mead, home brewed by the barrel, is most certainly to blame. Maria, Jackson’s leader, doesn’t exactly approve, but she’s making an exception. Just for the holiday. You spot her at the back; she’s holding hands with Tommy, her husband, protectively watching over the crowd. Eugene’s feeling particularly generous this evening; he offers a hefty bottle to whoever asks, reminding each lucky recipient to “savour ‘cause she’s been fermenting since July!” You must have heard that sentence a good twenty five times since you got your own bottle, the words getting progressively less intelligible as Eugene indulges in his creation. You’re still not certain why he refers to his mead like it is a woman, and frankly, you’re afraid to find out. One thing’s for sure, the beverage is incredibly strong, has a horrid taste, burning your throat like acid with every drop. It’s questionably safe for consumption, but the occasions to get shitfaced in the midst of an apocalypse are quite limited, so you endure. Even Jackson’s most reclusive members agree with that notion. Including him. Joel Miller. He’s nursing a drink at a table near the bar, opposite to the one you’re sharing with your usual group. You wouldn’t exactly call them friends, but they’re fellow patrollers, close to you in age, so, naturally, you’ve grown familiar. 

“What are you looking at?” Max, the one you’ve known the longest, nudges you with their elbow.

Your gaze quickly snaps back to meet theirs. You realise you’ve been staring at the older man. Noticeably. You don’t quite know why. Maybe he intrigues you, all quiet and pensive in the middle of a rowdy celebration. His expression is hard to read, but there’s a hint of…sadness? You get a hold of yourself and brush off the thought. 

“Nothing,” you lie. Max cocks an eyebrow, a little grin forms on their lips, freckled cheeks dimple. 

“Uh-huh.” There’s a glint of malice in their green eyes. “You sure? No one particular caught your attention?” 

You don’t let their teasing get to you. “Nah. Just checking at Seth trying to hit on Leanne,” you reply without missing a beat, “for the millionth time.” This one isn’t a lie, as the scene really is unfolding a few metres away. You blink at Max, feigning innocence. They narrow their eyes, not buying it. 

“Man, when is he gonna get the hint?” Fred chips in, breaking the unspoken exchange between you and Max. She quickly peeks in the direction of the duo, a muscly arm propped on the back of her chair, long cornrows draped across the other shoulder. She scoffs, and takes a swig of her drink. “She looks like she’s seconds away from kicking him in the balls.”

“Don’t know how she hasn’t done that, like, years ago.” It’s Astrid’s turn to talk. She sighs, shaking her head, her wavy golden blonde hair rustling with the movement. 

“Maybe you should go beat him up for her, A,” Fred jokingly suggests. “Bet she’d like that.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” Astrid responds, seriously. “I’d have him in a wheelchair for the rest of his days.”

“Oh, yeah. And then you and Leanne would run off into the sunset,” Max adds, taking their attention off you, finally. They start screeching in a horrible, high-pitched voice. “Oh, Astrid! Oh, thank you! You saved me from the big, bad man! I lo-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Astrid cuts them off, cheeks reddening. 

“Hmm. I think they hit a little nerve there, A,” Fred continues, laughing, moving her arm to playfully put it around a flustered Astrid. She’s too easy, you think. It’s pretty endearing.  

“Who are you kidding,” you join in Astrid’s torment. “You can’t even say hi to Leanne without stuttering.” The woman gets even redder, the angry tint reaching her pale neck. Fred and Max giggle. “You’re such a teenager,” Max strikes. 

“Just fucking drink.” Astrid commands the three of you, pouring the group another round. 

“Fair enough,” Max says, before clinking glasses with Fred in front of them. Astrid finishes hers in one gulp, which makes her cough, while you sip slowly. The buzz is setting in. It’s nice. It eases the burden on your aching shoulders.

You let your companions carry the conversation as the night progresses, occasionally humming or laughing at a remark. You’re not exactly concentrating. You keep getting drawn back to Joel Miller, for some reason. He arrived in Jackson last summer, about six months ago. Him and a kid, a girl, around fourteen or fifteen. You assumed that was his daughter, but soon learned that you were wrong. People talk, especially in such a small community. Something about Joel smuggling her across the country for the fireflies? A failed operation, clearly. You heard the organisation disbanded since then. It was about time. You’re surprised they lasted that long in the first place. He’s Tommy’s older brother. There’s history there, you know some of it; Joel already had a bit of a reputation before ever passing through Jackson’s gates. He hasn’t done much to help it since then; he barely interacts with anyone besides Tommy and Ellie, the girl. He keeps to himself, brooding, silently observing, tough, cold, detached. That’s how Joel’s treated you on the few patrols you’ve had to go on together these past months. He usually works with Tommy, you usually work with Max, but Maria likes to switch around the schedule occasionally to test out different pairings. You and Joel have done a very efficient job, only speaking when absolutely necessary, technical terms only, mumbling salutations. However, on the last patrol, in early December, you made a great shot at a stalker, and you could have sworn Joel’s mouth twitched in approval. It was so short it might have been a product of your imagination, but then, after coming back to Jackson and bringing your horses to the stable, he mumbled your last name instead of his usual grunt goodbye. It’s fair to assume there’s mutual respect for each other’s skill there. Nothing else. So then, why does your gaze keep returning to his tousled, greying curls, scruffy beard, piercing brown eyes, and the scar on his left temple? Maybe it’s the alcohol. Yeah, that must be it-

Joel’s eyes suddenly lock with yours. Your heart skips a beat, making you choke on your drink. Shit. What the hell was that? Fred immediately interrupts the story she’s telling and you feel three pairs of eyes on you. You clear your throat, looking down at the table. 

“Sorry. Went down the wrong pipe,” you mutter. They keep staring. “Uh, Fred, what were you-”

And then, as if the universe takes pity on you, Mike, Jackson’s butcher, jovial fellow in his early sixties (but barely a wrinkle creasing his dark skin) claps loudly and calls out over the incessant chatter. 

“How about some music, huh?” A few supporters acclaim him. He pushes through the crowd, reaching the old console piano standing at the south wall, underneath a window. Around, some tables have been stored away, allowing some space for dancing. The instrument is in poor shape, the keys are yellowed, a pedal has fallen off. Mike sits on the worn piano bench. Most survivors in the tavern have momentarily lowered their volume, following the man’s moves. He tries a little riff. Not as bad as was expected, just slightly off tune. You know he’ll make it work. “Alright. Get ready to groove, everyone!” He plays the intro to Johnny B. Goode by Chuck Berry perfectly, earning cheers and applause. Chair legs scrape on the ground, glasses and bottles are snatched up as the crowd converge around Mike. 

“Woo! Come on!” Fred exclaims. She stands and takes Astrid’s arm, forcing her patrol partner up. Astrid resists, but just for the principle, a beaming smile on her face. The pair leaves, already bobbing their heads to the rhythm. Max takes another shot before shuffling away from the table on legs rendered wobbly by the booze. They hold their hand out to you, but you don’t take it yet. You dare look over at a certain someone again, who is grounded in his seat, indifferent to the change of mood. Max wiggles their fingers impatiently.

“I’ll, uh- I’ll join you later,” you say, averting their eyes. 

“Ugh. Fine. You suck,” they reply.

You raise your middle finger in response. They turn away abruptly, flashing the back of their frayed jean vest, the sleeves cut off by hand. Max catches up with Astrid and Joey, and you watch as they start dancing, snorting at how uncoordinated the three are. You’ve downed a good five drinks now. One more won’t do any harm, right? You fill up your glass with the last drops of mead from the current bottle. Warmth spreads through your veins, making your head throb in a pleasant way. Your eyelids are heavy, your surroundings blurred. Something is clear, though. You and Joel are amongst the very few survivors that aren’t taking part in the fun. Hell, even Maria’s letting her husband spin her around. 

And then it happens again. Joel meets your gaze. But this time, he holds it for a couple of seconds, before looking to the side and rubbing his chin. Almost like he’s doing it on purpose. You must be drunker than you thought, because that makes no fucking sense. And what your clouded brain makes you do next is even less logical. Slowly, you rise, and walk unsteadily to the now deserted bar, heading towards Joel. Your heart picks up its pace. This is so stupid . You sit down at one of the stools, just a few feet away from him. You lean over the counter, resting your head in your hand, staring straight ahead at the row of vintage bottles aligned on a shelf behind the bar. On the piano, Mike has moved on to I’m Still Standing by Elton John, his voice strong, smooth. You catch a glimpse of Joel in your peripheral. He’s tensed up ever so slightly, his back straightened. He’s aware of your presence. This is so stupid.

“Hey, Miller,” you hear yourself speak, still looking ahead, but loud enough he can hear you. 

He sighs. That’s something. He hasn’t gotten up and walked away, he hasn’t told you to get lost. He’s acknowledged you. It’s full of irritation, sure, but it gives you enough motivation to keep going. 

“Not a fan of the music?” You attempt a sultry tone and make yourself cringe. Great start. Joel grunts, takes a swig of mead and crosses a leg over the other, nonchalant. 

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly peg this as your scene,” you continue, gesturing vaguely at the crowd. The booze has taken the reins, and you can’t hold your tongue. 

A full minute passes in silence. You’re about to give up. And then Joel talks, gruff, sarcastic, the inebriation accentuating the southern drawl in his voice. “Right. And like you’d know, of all people.”   

A sentence. Joel Miller just spoke a full sentence to you. You’re stunned.  

“Fair point,” you recover after a few seconds. “You just, uh, don’t really seem like the social type.” A pause. You feel Joel’s gaze burning the back of your neck. “No offence,” you add.

“None taken.” Joel downs the rest of his drink, exhales. “You’re not dancin’ either,” he observes. 

“Perceptive,”  you retort. You spin on your stool, now facing him. A corner of his mouth curves upwards almost imperceptibly. It goes back down immediately, but you caught it. And it gives you a boost of confidence. You’ve made the grumpy bastard smile, or, well, the closest to it he can probably manage. 

“Why not?” he questions. “Your friends looks like they’re havin’ fun.” He nods his chin over at Max, who’s gone up to the piano and is belting the lyrics to the song, stomping their feet, while Mike plays the melody. Two things : first, Joel knows who you hang out with, which means he’s not completely oblivious to who you are, and second, he’s making conversation with you. Astonishing. 

“Guess I’d rather be bothering you.” You shrug, trying to suppress a smile. “Thought you’d have cursed me out by now, if I’m honest.”

Joel scratches his forehead. “Dunno why I haven’t,” he mumbles. 

“Maybe you should.” Did you really just say that? Did you just try to flirt with him? And why did his gaze flicker to your lips?

He looks back up and narrows his eyes at you. “Nah. You don’t want that.” 

You don’t miss a beat. “Hey, I could take it.” You’re maintaining eye contact from your seat at the bar. “I’m tough.” Well, this is happening. Damn Eugene and his mead .

The ever-so-subtle smirk passes over Joel’s face for the second time. He shakes his head.  “Don’t wanna make you cry.” 

“Hm. How considerate,” you reply, unable to fight a little smile. Joel emits a short, low, rumbling sound. 

“Was that a laugh?” You ask, the smile growing larger. 

“Hm. No.” He goes right back to irritation. But still, he’s not pushing you away. So, in your drunken state, you decide to test the limits. You slip off the stool and take a step towards Joel. He furrows his brows, but doesn’t say anything. You take another step, and then another, until you reach his table. There’s no going back now. 

“Uhm, mind- mind if I sit?” 

“Are you really gonna leave if I say no?” He asks, rhetorically. He’s challenging you. You feel your cheeks heat up and your stomach drop. You pull the chair out and settle on it. You’re suddenly very conscious of your near proximity to Joel. The courage you had mere minutes ago is disappearing; you have to fuel it up. You grab an empty, upside-down glass sitting near two bottles of mead, one empty, one half full. Joel is acting quite coherent for a man who’s had that much. You tilt your head in request. 

Joel scoffs. “Go ahead.” 

You pour yourself a seventh drink, knowing perfectly well that it is an absolutely terrible idea. You down most of it in one gulp, wincing, before putting the glass back down with a thud. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Joel asks, the nickname dripping with irony. Still, your stomach does another flip. “Can’t hold your liquor?” He mocks. He leans back in his chair, legs open, right hand on his knee, left hand palm down on the table. Your gaze travels from his face, down his neck, to his broad chest where the small unbuttoned portion of his flannel reveals a few dark hairs. What the hell are you doing? Your eyes snap back up

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath. Joel looks pleased with himself. You finish your drink, looking straight at him, taunting.

“What was that?” he asks, even though he heard you perfectly. His smug smirk is assured now. You don’t answer. Joel fills up his glass. You take it as a sign that he intends to see this interaction through. Fine by you. You search the depths of your sluggish brain to find something witty to say.

“So, Miller. What’s with the accent?” This is the best you can come up with. The words are slurred. 

He scoffs again. “Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he says, pointedly adding your last name. He’s playing you.

“Ah, come on, cowboy ” you continue, impressed by your own audacity, “Where you from?” 

Tommy has mentioned this to you before. Definitely somewhere south, but you can’t recall in your current state. And you want to hear Joel say it. 

He rolls his eyes at the nickname, but he doesn’t stop smirking. “Texas. Austin.” He takes a sip. “You?” 

Texas. Right. Makes sense. In a way, you feel proud to have gotten this minimal piece of information out of him. You didn’t think you’d ever witness Joel Miller opening up to you, not even a tiny crack. But here you are.  

“Washington. Seattle.” You copy the structure of his answer; Joel nods, casual. “Uh, you’re a long way from home,” you add.

“Yup.” He doesn’t elaborate. Takes yet another sip. “Seattle, huh?” His gaze pierces through you, eyebrows knitted in reflection. “Born and raised?”

“Yeah…” You’re not certain what he’s getting at. 

“There’s a QZ, right?” A pause. “D’you end up in it?” he questions. 

The words are like a slap in the face, sobering you up a little. You don’t want to think of that right now. Not at all. You look down, fidgeting with your empty glass. 

“Hmm,” you confirm. 

“Damn. Heard things got pretty bad up there,” Joel says. You wish he’d just shut up. You don’t like this turn the conversation took. 

“Yeah, well, I left, so.” The sentence comes out harsher than you had planned. Joel understands the message; he raises his hands up in defence.  

“Got it. Sorry I asked.” The guy doesn’t look one bit apologetic. It frustrates you, and yet…You’re enjoying this little game. 

“Yeah, watch it, Miller,” you warn, but your tone has gone back to being playful. Joel relaxes in his seat. He rests an elbow on his denim-encased thigh, shifting his weight. 

You proceed. “So what’d you do? In Texas?”

“Hm. Contractor.” He really is a man of few words. His past occupation suits him like a glove.

“Fitting.” You give him an unimpressed pout; he stays unbothered. 

“Yeah, yeah. What’d you do, then?” He asks. 

It makes you chuckle. “Uh, middle school student. 6th grade sucked ass.”

Joel takes a second to register. Something quickly washes over his face, an emotion you can’t quite discern, before vanishing. You’re too drunk to analyse it. 

“Huh. I would have guessed elementary,” he states. 

“Aw. Don’t flatter me,” you reply, dryly. 

“I’m not. Just sayin’ you don’t seem like you’ve learned much past fourth grade,” Joel says with a shit-eating grin. 

Wow. You’re speechless. And then you burst out laughing. And, miraculously, Joel starts chuckling with you, the corner of his eyes crinkling. The sound is hearty, surprisingly warm. It’s the kind of laughter that you would try your hardest to hear as often as possible. That could make you all fuzzy inside, if you’d let it. And just like that, the tension that had been building between the two of you breaks. It’s comfortable, you’re at ease. The moment stretches out; you feel a strange connection with Joel, and you wonder if it’s mutual, or if you’re going completely insane. It’s probably the second option. You manage to utter a few profanities, between two breaths. Joel watches, amused, waiting for you to calm down. 

“Alright, you’ve got me there,” you concede, a smile lingering on your lips. 

Joel’s expression has softened. He looks younger, somehow, like a few years of constant stress have been erased just by talking with you. 

“I may not be the brightest, but at least I can take a joke.” 

“You’re not wrong there.” Joel fills your glass with the remnants of the mead, while you push a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to conceal a blush. “You deserve it,” he explains, “if you can take another round.” 

“You keep underestimating me.” You raise your glass up in the air. 

Joel imitates you. “No hard feelings?” He suggests. 

“Deal.” You clink Joel’s glass with your own, and tilt your head back to swallow the foul liquid as quickly as you can, your gut churning in protest. You groan.  

“Think my estimation was correct, actually,” Joel quips. You look over at him. Besides a slight glaze over his eyes, he appears unaffected by the alcohol.

“How are you doing this?” You ask, baffled.

He shrugs. “You’ll get there eventually.” 

“And by there, you mean kidney disease?” You naively bat your eyelashes at him. 

“I’ve survived worse,” he remarks. It’s lighthearted, but it hides a bleak truth you know all too well. You ignore it. 

“Yeah. It shows.” You tease, giving him a scrutinising up-and-down.

“Hm. Funny. You didn’t seem to mind it that much when you were starin’ earlier.”

Jesus Christ.

Game over. Joel wins, one million to zero. You want to bash your head against the table, or run very far away, preferably out of Wyoming. And get torn apart by clickers. Instead, you stay right where you are, mouth agape, cartoonish. Fucking idiot. Are you twelve?

“That’s not- I- I- wasn’t-” 

Joel is delighted by your reaction. 

You wisely decide to shut up and quit stuttering. As if on cue, Mike hits the iconic intro to Don’t Stop Me Now. Max starts singing dramatically, in an offensively bad Freddie Mercury impression. Some survivors join in, not a single one on key, resulting in a cacophony. You take it as an opportunity to get out of the situation. You scramble off the chair and start walking away, stumbling and catching yourself on a nearby table. 

“Where you goin’? We weren’t done.” Joel calls after you. You turn around. 

“Me? Oh just stretching my legs.” You start stepping side to side and swaying your shoulders, following the rhythm. “Showing some love to the artists.” You shoot two fingers at him, moving your arms to the music. Joel shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re terrible.”

“Well then why don’t come here and try to do better!” You shout back, doing a ridiculous twirl as the sheer quantity of mead you ingested finally hits you. The room spins, transforming into blobs of colour. So, you close your eyes, and you flail around carelessly, your mind too foggy to worry. The tempo of the song increases. 

I'm burning through the sky, yeah! Two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit-

Suddenly, there’s a presence next to you. You crack your eyes open, checking on who’s intruding. Joel is standing about three feet away from you, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets. His left heel is tapping the beat. 

“S’a good song,” he mumbles. 

Joel Miller, nervous to dance with you? Anything truly is possible tonight. You approach him, not interrupting your dance. He stays put. You two are away from the crowd, and it feels like you’re alone in the tavern with him, like no one can see you. 

I'm travelling at the speed of light, I wanna make a supersonic man outta you!

As Max puts all of his might into the chorus, you get closer to Joel, because he lets you, close enough that you could reach out and take his hands if you wanted to. And you do, but they’re hidden in his pockets. So you keep dancing, wiggling your hips, jumping up and down. Joel still isn’t budging, but you feel his gaze on you, eyeing your bare arms, the tattoo right under your left clavicle, and going lower down your chest…You take a step towards the man. 

“Who’s staring now?” You hadn’t planned to say that out loud, but it’s too late. You take another step, now inches from Joel’s  chest, which is rising and falling faster than before. His lips are parted, his eyes intense. It’s now or never. Fuck it.   

Your right hand moves up to rest on Joel’s shoulder, causing him to tense up. His expression goes stern, serious, like he’s fighting an internal conflict, debating whether he should pull away. Yet, he remains still. So your left hand goes to his other shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes. He holds your gaze, then inhales like he’s about to say something.

A clunking noise interrupts him, shattering the moment. Your arms fall back to your sides and you glance over Joel’s shoulder, searching for the source of the disturbance. You find it easily. Astrid is standing near the table your group had claimed before, her hair thrown in a ponytail, face glistening with sweat, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up. Her water gourd lays on the ground, its content spilled. Her eyes are wide with surprise, jumping between you and Joel. Her mouth contorts in a silent, one worded question. 

That’s bad. That is very bad.  

Joel notices the shift in your attitude and whips his head around, as a snickering Astrid jogs up to the crowd, merging into it again, certainly to tell Fred about what she just stumbled upon. Joel turns back and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers:

“Outside. Now.” 

His breath tickles your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Something stirs in your lower abdomen; a longing, a desire that demands to be dealt with, urgently. 

Joel snatches his coat from the back of the chair he sat in, before striding towards the exit. You follow behind, docile, not bothering to retrieve your own jacket. Once you’re out of the tavern, the freezing wind barely even pinches your skin. You’re too preoccupied with another feeling that’s dangerously rising up inside. You need his touch. And you get what you want. Joel grabs your forearm, and drags you to the alleyway at the side of the building, lit up by a single, flickering street lamp. In a second, your back is pressed against the logs, Joel’s face taking up your entire field of vision. He’s seething with anger. His pointed finger digs into your sternum. 

“You- you- ” he growls. You look back at him like a deer in headlights.

And then he kisses you. Hard. His lips crash onto yours and you let out a startled yelp, jerking your head to the side. Joel stares, anticipating your reaction. You don’t let him wait for long before you kiss back. His hands glide down to your waist, gripping it, while yours go to the nape of his neck. You pull each other in and a burning heat spreads between your bodies. Time seems to slow down as you part your lips to deepen the kiss, letting his tongue in. He tastes bittersweet like the mead. Your heart races. An ache forms where your thighs meet.

Just as suddenly as he came in, Joel shoves you away roughly. Your head bounces on the tavern’s facade. He storms out of the alley without another word, leaving you alone in the cold, panting, riled up, confused. 

What the fuck just happened?

Next chapter

To read on AO3

[undead-supernova]

HIGH TOLERANCE

Only 10mg / Masterlist

Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

warnings: so much angst, a night gone wrong, more (derogatory) Steve, Gertrude (extra derogatory), Delta-9 gummies

pairings: modern!bestfriend!Eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

plot: dates aren't always what you want them to be...let alone with people who you don't really want to be on dates with

wc: 4k

song inspirations: VOID by Melanie Martinez, We Are Nobody Else by Lady Lamb

“What do you mean you haven’t seen any movies this year?”

“I mean, I’ve seen movies. I just haven’t found anything I thought was interesting in the last eight months.”

“What do you watch then?”

This morning you actually found someone on Hinge named Gertrude and by the afternoon you were on a lunch date. And you’d thought they were cute when you met up at Grub Burger, like really cute, with thin-rimmed rectangular glasses and a long dark braid down their back. They had a soft voice and an even softer smile…but it was quickly starting to go downhill.

Every question they threw at you felt like an investigation where you were wrong every single time, as if your preferences weren’t good enough. Even the lack of movies you’d seen.

In your defense, you usually went to the movie theater if Eddie asked. He was really good at guessing when a movie’s going to be worthwhile (and you weren’t). He never once disappointed. He’d also never taken you to a movie without at least giving you something of the cannabis persuasion and buying a large popcorn for you to share. 

Sometimes he even bought your ticket.

Which you always pretended were dates like the desperate woman you were.

“Yeah, I really like 2000s movies,” you replied, shrugging. “I’ll pop on a Seth Rogan film every once and a while. Like, I know they’re a little outdated or whatever, but they’re fun. Oh, especially if you smoke some weed. Then it’s super funny. Like, This Is The End? It’s just cool to see all these actors—"

“I mean, they’re, like, super problematic,” Gertrude interrupted.

You nodded. “No, I know,” you agreed, scratching at your neck. “I know. It’s not the best, but like, I recognize that. I don’t think it’s all funny. And it’s not just Seth Rogan, there are other genres like dramas and fantasy and horror. Have you heard of the movie The Invisible? It’s about this guy who dies and is a ghost and can’t talk to anyone and finds out he—”

“I just thought because you’re queer, you’d have better standards for the media you consume.”

Pausing, you felt yourself deflate. You shrugged again, wondering how this conversation was turning into something else entirely. “I mean, I think you could argue that every piece of media is problematic, depending on the way you look at it. If you acknowledge that the media you like is flawed, you’re still allowed to enjoy it. It’s not that hard.”

Gertrude gave you that judgmental look again, pushing their fork around their French fries. “Agree to disagree. Anyways, maybe you should ask me a question now.”

As if I had had any chance to ask anything since we sat down.

“Uh, okay. What’s your favorite color?”

Gertrude finally smiled for the first time since you’d greeted each other. They really were pretty. There was just something so grating about their attitude…

“I think I like a soft yellow, something bright and cheery.”

You nodded, trying to seem more interested than you were. Some part of you even felt like laughing. “Yeah, yellow’s a good color. Very vibrant. Makes you happy.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe black? Red?”

Steve sighed, scratching his bare thigh before going back to his cherry and goat cheese ice cream. Eddie merely stared down at his cream puff flavor, unsure as to why he thought this date would be a good idea. He’d suggested they go out to get ice cream (definitely not to distract himself from what was probably happening across town with someone who he definitely wasn’t thinking about). 

But Steve didn’t remotely hesitate, making Eddie think that maybe that was a sign. He was in it now. They were getting somewhere…

If only it hadn’t started going downhill just from asking basic questions that they somehow hadn’t thought of in the last however many years of knowing each other.

“Ah, come on, Eddie. You can’t say red!”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed, trying not to get irritated. “Why not?” he asked. “It’s a color. That was part of the assignment.”

“I just feel like it’s a little stereotypical for you.”

“Why, ‘cause I like metal?” Eddie guessed with a sigh sitting in the back of his throat. He was careful not to release it.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replied. Like it was obvious. Like it was stupid. “Precisely.”

“Okay, then what’s yours, big guy?”

“Probably red or green,” you answered. “Not a soft green. More like a deep emerald?”

“Like Christmas?”

You shook your head. To give them credit, it was a common question you got whenever anyone cared enough to ask.

Well, except for one person...

“Well, no. I wouldn’t consider myself someone who likes Christmas all that much.”

“Let me guess, your favorite holiday is something weird, like St. Patrick’s Day.”

What the hell was this person even talking about? Were they hearing themselves talk?

You successfully suppressed your sigh before you decided to answer honestly. “Uh, my favorite holiday is Halloween.”

“Next you’re gonna tell me your favorite holiday is Halloween.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Uh, because it is.” What was Steve even talking about? Why was he suddenly being so fucking judgmental? “Let me guess, your favorite is Christmas,” he bit back.

Steve laughed, oblivious to Eddie’s venom. “Yeah, the lights are cool. The hot chocolate with the peppermint in it. Oh, and the snow. You can layer everything. I mean, it’s cute. Plus,” he stopped, clearly trying to make his next sentence sound less rude. “I just think Halloween is a little…meh.”

“Meh?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah.”

“What beef do you have with Halloween?”

“It’s just a little overdone, don’t you think?”

You shook your head, appalled as to why they didn’t get how important the holiday was. 

“No, I think it’s about expressing yourself and becoming something more than what you are. It gives kids a moment of exploration of themselves and creativity. Not to mention its importance for queer people and how they can have one night where they can be themselves—"

“—without the scrutiny of the public. We could walk out in drag or anything feminine whatsoever and it’s not considered threatening, even if that’s shitty in and of itself. But it’s still that opportunity.” Eddie smiled to himself. “That chance. It’s bringing a sense of fucking safety that’s otherwise missing.”

Steve nodded before he shrugged, scraping at the bottom of his cup. “Yeah, you make a good point. I guess I haven’t really thought about it like that.”

Eddie forgot that he and Steve never really had conversations like these. It was usually you who he could talk to for hours on end, deconstructing what it meant to live and how everything was about perspective. Inebriated, sober—it didn’t matter. Like those days at the aquarium, you were able to see the bigger picture at the end of the day. You talked about stuff like this without even having to be asked.

That ticket still sat in his wallet. He always took it out whenever he needed a pick-me-up. It gave him a spark of hope that life could change for the better if someone like you existed.

Steve kept talking, but Eddie was pulling out his wallet and running his fingers over the ticket like it would bring you here and he could have you here instead. 

As you and Gertrude fell into silence, you put your hand in your skirt pocket, feeling the smoothness of Eddie’s yellow pick. Tracing the edges, you wondered what it felt like for him to run it down his strings. How it fit in his fingers. 

How he was doing.

Where he was.

If he was available.

You looked at Gertrude, watching them scroll through their TikTok feed, volume up, before you stood and grabbed your purse.

“I have to go.”

Eddie watched Steve reach the very bottom of his cup, hoping there was a way for him to slip in a reason to leave. Because, holy shit, this was a piss poor excuse for a date.

He looked back over at the long line forming at the door, knowing you would die to have a cup of the wildberry lavender flavor. You were a big fan of Jeni’s Ice Cream and always gave him grief whenever he went without you. It was kind of funny how your face would screw up as you yelled at him for being a traitor. He nearly chuckled at the memory. 

And it suddenly hit him that he was way more concerned with his thoughts of you.

How your date was going.

Where you were.

If you were available.

Fuck having a good enough reason to leave.

“Can we go?”

You basically sprinted to your car, barely registering how rude you had just been. You didn’t say goodbye, didn’t even give them an excuse. But you argued to, well, yourself that telling them some shitty excuse would be ruder than not saying anything at all. 

All you wanted was to talk to Eddie and tell him about how awful your date was. How mean Gertrude was and how confused you were about what the hell you’d done to deserve their scrutiny.

Sighing, you scrambled into the front seat and tossed your phone onto the passenger seat.  Pulling out Eddie’s guitar pick, you tried to calm yourself down. You studied the brand, the tiny tortoise outline with the shell replaced with the Tortex brand name. It read that it was a Dunlop, 50mm. Smooth. Thin. The kind Eddie always said he preferred, always said it hit the strings so magically. Said it rang out the bottom E string, like it was trying to reach the heavens and got there every time. 

And there was your eyeliner, ruining it.

You shook your head, resigning to the fact that you probably should just go home and isolate yourself for a while. Try and figure out how the hell you were supposed to be normal around Eddie and Steve the next time you saw them together.

Is that how it’s going to be now? you wondered, feeling nausea pool in your stomach. Are they going to be a package deal? Is that something I could survive?

For how long?

Before you could even start your car, your phone started going off. As soon as you saw Eddie’s picture pop up, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey,” he breathed, sounding as exhausted as you felt.

“Hey, hello,” you replied, trying to calm yourself down. “Hi. I was actually about to call you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I just had the worst date ever,” you grumbled, trying to rub the eyeliner off the pick.

“Me, too.”

You sat up straighter, shoving the pick back in your pocket. “Really?”

“God, yeah. I’m never going to Jeni’s without you again.”

“You went to Jeni’s without me?” With Steve, you felt like adding. 

But you were going to be good. Just this once.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Like I said, I’m never going without you ever again.” You let out an irritated huff. “Listen, Weirdo, would you mind if I came over and we took some edibles and, like, watched a movie?”

Thank God.    

“Yes, please.”

“See you in twenty?”

You smiled. “See you in twenty. Traitor.”

Eddie had gotten back to your apartment at the same time as you, both fighting for the closest parking spot with playful honks. You may have almost hit his van. And he could (maybe) admit that he almost deserved it.

“That’s rude,” he said as he hopped down from the van. “That’s just—”

He stopped as he finally got a look at you. Because it wasn’t even fair anymore, the way you just being you flustered him. Just standing next to your car with a simple Joan Jett t-shirt tucked into a short skirt and black Converse. Some sword earrings. And fishnets. Fucking fishnets.

Did he mention that you were wearing a different pair than the night before?

How many do you fucking own?

“That’s just what?” you asked, looking confused.

Eddie had to get a grip. He couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t keep losing his focus whenever you were around. Hell, he was already losing his focus when you weren’t. When you were looking like this, it made everything worse. Much, much worse. 

He shook his head before poking your shoulder. “Extremely rude.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hand away, starting the short walk up to your apartment. “Hey, you asked me to hang and then you tried to steal my favorite parking spot? Where are your manners?”

“I think we both know I lost those years ago.”

“Okay, weirdo,” you said.

“Uh, what did you just call me?” Eddie asked playfully, clasping his hand over his chest. 

A giggle escaped your lips as you ascended the stairs, making his smile widen.

“You heard me!” you exclaimed as you quickened your pace up the steps. “And I will not be taking it back!”

The two of you bickered like always, going back and forth with seemingly no end to each bit that you started and never truly seemed to finish. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t help himself around you, always excited to hear what you had to say or what you wanted to do. Anything you wanted, because any opportunity to be around you was an opportunity worth taking.

You decided to heat up leftover soup for you both, maneuvering around the kitchen while you complained about the weather and your upstairs neighbor who was taking all the warm water these days despite the scorching heat.

Eddie wouldn’t admit it, but he was having a hard time paying attention to your words. How could he when your hands were waving around the air and putting your hair up? How in the hell was he supposed to pay attention when you decided to run chapstick over your lips? Or when you bent down to take your shoes off, skirt riding up just enough to reveal the lining of red underwear? And how was he supposed to feel normal when you were wearing the cutest fucking socks, with black cats sporting witch hats next to a brewing cauldron? 

“I’m gonna go pick out a movie,” Eddie said suddenly, backing away from the kitchen.

“Oh, yeah,” you said absentmindedly as you fiddled with the microwave. “That’s a really good idea. What’re you gonna put on?”

“No idea,” he lied. “Absolutely no idea.”

After you finished the chickpea and sausage soup, you and Eddie popped 10mg Delta-9 gummies and decided to chill on the couch. As soon as Eddie pressed play on your remote, you immediately knew it was the opening to When Harry Met Sally. Like always. 

But it wasn’t like you were paying attention. If anything, you were talking over it like you were in a crowded room. Small talk here and there until you were unable to keep your questions to yourself.

“So, you said your date with Steve didn’t go well,” you said. “Do you want to maybe talk about it?”

Eddie groaned, throwing his hands over his face. You may have taken the opportunity to stare at him, how his tattoos were visible. He’d shown up in his jean jacket but discarded it as if he was taunting you with only a black tank top and jeans. His guitar pick necklace around his neck. Rings. Threaded bracelets and watch. That fucking nail polish…

Focus, you told yourself. Just focus.

“I don’t know…” he trailed, biting his lip.

“I’ll share mine if you share yours,” you suggested.

A sigh left his lips before he gave in. “He thought it was predictable that I liked black and Halloween.”

“Has he even met you?” you asked, scoffing. “Of course you do. That’s, like, your whole thing. It’s not predictable, it’s just who you are.”

“I know! It was so weird. We’ve known each other since high school. I don’t know how he didn’t know that already. Rob knows more than him, apparently.”

“She’s extremely observant,” you noted.

Too observant.

“That’s a good...observation.” Now it was your turn to groan, making Eddie laugh before he added, “Now’s your turn, Weirdo.”

Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire time. So what does that say about me?

“I got absolutely slammed for my shitty 2000s comedies.”

“But Michael Cera is a visionary…” he trailed, confused.

“Well, apparently they’re all problematic and I’m damaging our community.”

Eddie shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. So is everything else. Besides, you don’t even laugh at the bad stuff. It’s like eating around a bad food you like. It’s not like the whole plate is bad, right? Most of it’s good.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaimed, throwing your hand up. “It’s like eating at Waffle House. You know it’s not going to be the best meal you’ve ever had, but damn if those waffles don’t hit the spot every time. Especially when you’re fucked up.”

“You get it! You may be the smartest person I’ve met.”

“Or maybe the dumbest.”

“Nah, you’re pretty intelligent…when you want to be.”

“Ouch!” you said, grabbing one of your throw pillows and whacking him with it. “Take that.”

Before you could take another shot, he took the pillow from you and hit you back. “You deserved that one, Weirdo.”

You fell into gentle laughter, shaking your head at him before you sighed and leaned your head on the back cushion. Eddie readjusted, also leaning his head back so he could make eye contact with you. He wrapped his arms around the pillow, hugging it to his chest.

For a moment, you just kind of sat there and looked at him. Watched his eyes flicker back and forth between yours while you did the same. Studied the brown, the way his pupils dilated as you kept staring at each other. You couldn’t say how long that lasted before you finally said something.

“I just don’t think it’s supposed to be this hard.”

 “What, dating?” he asked, tightening his grasp on the pillow.

“Yeah.”

He nodded, letting out a hum. “I don’t think so, either.”

You looked away from Eddie’s gaze to find him fiddling with the pillow’s black fringe, clearly anxious about something. It was exactly how he played with his lighter or tapped his leg. Rapid, incessant. Finding his bearings through the texture as if it could keep his attention longer than a few seconds.

And then he said your name, bringing your eyes back to his.

“Should I keep seeing Steve?” he asked.

This time you were the one readjusting, feeling yourself scoot even closer to him. Your legs were touching, the blanket seeming to slip halfway off you two. But neither of you moved to fix it. 

“Does Steve make you happy?”

“I…I don’t know.” He let out a staggered breath. “I think so.”

And you tried not to, but your leg was slipping further down his calf. Blanket be damned—you were already starting to burn.

“Tell me something. Why do you always put When Harry Met Sally on?” you asked, trying to steer away from the subject of Steve Harrington. Trying to distract yourself from the heat building inside you. Trying to distract yourself from thinking something stupid. “I thought the second Lord of the Rings movie was your favorite. The Two Towers.”

He shrugged. “No, yeah. The Two Towers is my favorite. I just think I’ve just always related to When Harry Met Sally. Always missing my chances, opportunities. Always just one step away from getting what I want.”

Was Eddie getting…closer?

You raised an eyebrow. “Missing your chances?”

And why was he staring at your mouth?

“Yeah.”

But weren’t you also staring at his?

“Are you, um, Harry?” you asked, trying to keep yourself from doing something stupid. “Or are you Sally?”

Why was he so close to making you do something stupid?

“Depends on the day,” he said, softer this time.

And why was he leaning closer, searching your eyes for some kind of confirmation that this was okay?

And why were you about to let him?

“What do you want?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Eddie didn’t answer, the hum of Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal being the only sound left in the room other than your shared breathing. 

“What has she done? She makes desserts.”

It was growing heavier the closer he got to you, maybe the closest you’d ever been since you met. And it was so strange, the way he affected you.

“You all went to a Met game together?”

Your fingers reached out, searching for his. Found it on his thigh, also reaching for yours. Fingers touching, itching to twine. And it was so strange, the way he moved you.

“But Sally hates baseball.”

And there Eddie was, leaning in more and more, his breath seeming to intoxicate you the more it fanned over your face.

“Harry doesn’t even like sweets.”

But it was dangerous, the way he could break you.

His lips just barely brushed yours before you pulled back.

“No,” you said.

“What?” Eddie asked, leaning back. “Are you okay?”

All you could think about was Steve. Eddie literally just told you he was happy with Steve and then he was going to, what, kiss you? What business did he have doing that? And what business did you have being a homewrecker?

“I think you should go,” you said sternly, throwing the blanket off and standing.

Eddie looked up at you like he was confused. As if he wasn’t just trying to do something incredibly stupid.

“What? Really?”

You walked over to the opposite end of the living room, desperate to stay the hell away from him. Because there was some part of you that was wondering how stupid kissing him would really be. But maybe if you stayed as far away from him as possible, you wouldn’t be tempted. You couldn’t be. 

“Yep.”

Eddie shook his head, standing. “What just happened here?” he asked. “Like, seriously.”

You shook your head. “I just want you to go, Eddie. Okay?”

“No, not okay. Jesus H Christ,” he huffed, throwing the pillow on the couch. “You can’t just kick me out and not even tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“You should figure that one out for yourself. You’re probably too high anyway,” you said, maybe a little too bitterly.

“It was only ten milligrams,” he emphasized. “And maybe, just maybe, I need to be given some clear fucking communication.”

“You’ll figure it out.” 

He gave you a hard stare. “Really? Is this really what you’re doing right now?”

“What?” you pushed. “What am I doing?”

Say it, you thought. Eddie, please just say it.

“Maybe you should figure that one out for yourself,” he mocked.

And before you could figure out how to respond, Eddie turned away from you. He stomped over to the kitchen counter, grabbing his keys and wallet before walking towards the door.

“For the record,” he said, turning back to look at you in the eye. “I’m completely sober. You of all people should know I have a high tolerance.”

Eddie opened the door and slammed it right behind him.

Eddie couldn’t stop his thoughts firing at a rapid pace as he nearly sprinted to the van. He was going to pass out, he was so sure of it this time. Hell, he was dying. He had to be dying. There was no way he was going to survive this.

The kiss. The fucking kiss. He was going to kiss you. He was actually going to do it.

Eddie’s fingers trembled as he tried to unlock the driver’s side. But the keys slipped from his fingers, clanging onto the asphalt. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, barely able to fight against whatever was grabbing hold of his throat and tightening its grasp. Shaking his head, he leaned his back against the driver’s side door. “Shit.”

Eddie clutched his chest for real this time, feeling his heart race. The panic was flooding his system, tears pricking at his eyes as he tried to focus on the breeze. The white noise of it moving through the trees. The stupid fucking squirrel nearly getting run over as someone barreled through the speed bumps. Your fucking Halloween socks.

This was going wrong. All of it. Every single last scrap of dignity he had was gone. He blew it. He fucking blew it.

If he was stronger, he would turn back around and bang on your door. Demand that you talk about this and tell you how your shared avoidance was going to be the death of any and all chance at a relationship. Kiss you the way he knew he could, knew he would. 

Because there was no way, no way, that nothing was happening between you two. 

He knew it. You knew it.

If only he was strong enough.

And it was occurring to him that he didn’t feel this way about Steve. If anything, he could never feel this way about him. And, frankly, he was starting to truly understand that it had nothing to do with Steve. It was everyone. He would never be able to feel this way about anyone else.

This time, Eddie couldn’t shake that off.

This time, Eddie knew that something had to change.

You couldn’t help but hope he’d turn back. That he’d walk right back in and kiss you the way you knew he could, knew he would if he wanted you like that. And maybe he did want to kiss you, you couldn’t say. But why would he continue to see Steve, bringing him up in nearly every conversation if he wanted you? What would be the point of that?

You were more confused than ever, finding yourself haunted by the scene playing on the TV behind you.

“What’s the matter with me?” Sally exclaimed.

“Nothing,” Harry said softly.

“I’m difficult!”

“You’re challenging,” he countered.

You fell back on the couch, sobbing as you listened to Harry and Sally go back and forth, nearly taunting you with how fucking accurate it was. How fucking accurate everything around you was, from music to movies and back again. 

“No, no, no! I drove him away!”

This was your fault, and now you had to live with those pesky little consequences you hadn’t thought of. You drove Eddie away and now you had no idea how much longer you had before he would fade into a stranger, a fever dream of what once was. And a reminder of what could’ve been.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hi!! 🍄 again I was wondering if I could get a platonic newt x reader (from tmr) where maybe it’s while newt is still new to his limp and reader is helping him do Is jobs

(Also just to let you know if you didn’t newt from tmr is canonically gay (as stated by the author ) I just wanted to let you know so you didn’t write him with a fem reader btw I didn’t relizie how rude this sounds not trying to be rude just and fyi also sorry if you did know just a lot of fans didn’t )

Thank you once again sorry if it seemed rude

ooooo okay I like this! ; also I know, don't worry, and you didn't sound rude! i do see newt as a queer character 100 and I always have, even before learning about James dashners tweet about it, which I find sketchy bc I'm pretty sure he tweeted that after being accused of being weird to women or smthn?? idrk, doesn't matter here bc gn readers only + I wholeheartedly see newt as queer and I can rant ab it for hours ; I don't plan on writing for tmr much but pls send requests, I love writing for this fandom lol

NEWT ; personal aid

summary ; youre helping him after he gained his limp

warnings ; language, talk of/about suicide and mental health

genre ; platonic fluff, kinda angst

word count ; 1k

masterlist

Newt was recently injured in the maze. He'd been as fixed up as possible, given a brace made of tree branches and some painkillers sent from the box. At least no one was using the pills for bad, considering they're a fragile item to give to a bunch of teenagers. The only thing you'd ever thank WCKD for was those painkillers, because seeing the blonde hurt like that killed you inside.

To put it as blankly as possible, he tried to kill himself. He climbed his way up of one of the walls surrounding the glade using the ivy that grew on it, and jumped. He fell about thirty feet, considering he only climbed up the wall about a third of the way, apparently thinking thirty feet would kill him.

He'd never been the type to express happiness within the glade, but he never expressed the opposite either.

But, everyone struggles inside, especially in the Glade. Reoccurring dreams and nightmares, unanswered questions, the will to live dwindling down each and every day, they only fed into the growing depression. Everyone was struggling in the Glade, but Newt, he took the first place trophy for that.

Once he'd been able to walk around again, you took helping him into your own hands. He was clearly never running in the maze again, due to the limp that slowed him down. So, he had a few options, hopefully one he'd like.

Alby took pity in him, making him his right hand man not long after. He needed someone around for when he wasn't, Newt was a good choice for that. He was responsible, good at directions, and keeping order.

You were working as Newt's personal aid, being a medic. You were very much an empath, and your true goal was to just help anyone and everyone. You brought him food and water, washed his clothes, sewed up his ripped up clothes from that day in case he'd be strong enough to wear them again, you did everything for him.

But now he leans into you, looking up at you with a certain displeasure, clearly uninterested in working outside of the maze.

You obviously were never going to let him be a builder, that was already off the table. But he got to look around and make his decision between slicer, cook, track-hoe, med-jack like you, slopper, bagger, and map keeper.

He easily put his money down on track-hoe. Something you didn't know about him was that he found gardening therapeutic. You didn't blame him whatsoever, you never wanted to be in the shoes of the sloppers, slicers, or baggers. To be fair, it was a little too gruesome and gross for you, you'd rather be helping people around the Glade than washing everyone's clothes or killing the animals, just a personal opinion.

He needed help while working, though. He couldn't put too much weight on his one foot, and he couldn't bend down on that knee at all yet. So, while he worked, you stood off to the side, making sure he was alright while you watched the others work around the Glade, enjoying their peaceful, warm day.

While he was picking fruit and vegetables off the vines of ivory, you were by his side, either holding the basket or getting the ones he couldn't bend down to reach. You couldn't help but feel bad for his poor spine as well, considering your back started to hurt after a few hours. The gardens were pretty large, considering there was about thirty or forty boys in the Glade to feed, meaning there was always hours and hours of work or expansion to do.

"Y/n, sorry, can you help me?" The dirty blonde asks, groaning as he stands back up, holding a hand on his knee. "I can't get those tomatoes at the bottom"

You quickly nod, kneeling down to grab them for him while he moves to the next bush, plucking off all the ripe tomatoes off the vine. You retie a string around the support branches, which heald the bush together and let it grow vertically rather than horizontally and try and choke out and kill any other plants nearby.

"Fry is gonna love it when he sees these tomatoes, they're the biggest and ripest they've been in a long time" You comment, looking over at Newt.

He nods, tossing a cherry tomato in his mouth to amount to a little snack. "He sure is, we'll be eating good this week" He chuckles with a little smile. "You wanna work on the cucumbers for me? I'll get the corn" He suggests, wanting to work a bit quicker and suggest some things he could actually do without feeling a pain shoot through his leg.

You nod, taking a new basket over to the cucumber lane. You feel something pang in your heart as you see him attempt to kneel down on one foot to reach one last tomato, groaning and furrowing his brows in the process, clearly still hurting him.

"How are you feeling? Physically and mentally, nothing is off the table."

Newt shrugs, watching you examine and touch around the bruising and his ankle. Your fingertips slide over his ankle a little harshly, and he quickly inhales and furrows his brows, which you respond to by quickly pulling your hands away and apologizing.

"On a light note, it looks much better than before already. How are you doing in a mental sense?"

"I hate this bloody place, I feel dumb for not climbing higher-" He strays silent, watching you wrap a fresh bandage around his ankle. "Sorry..."

"It's okay. I'm here as your personal aid, Newt"

"That's the damn thing! I don't want you to waste your days on me. You have other important stuff to do, I don't want you to have to babysit me." The blonde expresses, watching you properly stand up.

"It's fine, really. You're still in a lot of pain, and I swear I'm not babysitting you. I'm just watching over you so it doesn't end up hurting more, alright?"

"Alright..."