#can’t believe I got bitten……that’s MY thing

[polarmary]

Good morning,

bites you

Have a good day!

Morni- o-oww….HEY!!

Come on now, no bitting!! …….i don’t think you deserve it after this but have a good day too!! Ily!! <3

……

…….

*bites you harder and runs*

[whimsyprinx]

i would without hesitation give up the ability to feel emotions if given the chance

[sleepy-kuroo]

and i want it back, i want the old me.

Miguel O’Hara x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1072

A/N: Prequel to this. Angst, implied!established relationship, argument. Will not be doing another part so please don’t ask.

You storm into Miguel’s office, furious after having caught wind from Peter B. and Gwen about the chase with Miles. You were away on a separate mission at the time and weren’t there for the whole ordeal but you heard the general gist from your two friends. It’s dark in Miguel’s office as he stands atop his platform, staring at his monitors with his back turned as usual. “Miguel!” You yell, anger spilling out of every pore of your body.

Miguel simply sighs in annoyance at hearing your voice, turning around in obvious frustration. “Whatever you’re going to say…just don’t,” he threatens, his voice bitter and exhausted.

“Don’t?! DON’T?!” you laugh, outraged at his words and the audacity to dismiss you. “Tell me Miguel…what exactly went through your mind as you violently chased a 15 year old boy and told him he was a mistake?!” You were shaking at this point, voice trembling as you let out all your rage towards the man above you.

“He’s not supposed to be Spider-Man, he’s an anomaly! A threat to his universe!” Miguel raises his voice, dripping with anger.

“And you think he asked for this? You think he asked to be bitten by some spider that was never supposed to be in his universe? There has got to be a better way of handling this than by treating him like some monster.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!” Miguel bursts, jumping off his platform to loom over your form. He gets close to your face, baring his fangs and eyes red with fury. “Don’t lecture me when I’m the only one keeping things together. I’ll be damned if I let some stupid kid ruin it all.”

You flinch slightly, his large stature appearing very threatening. Nonetheless, you glare back at Miguel, refusing to step down. “I understand how important your job is but this is not the way to do it,” you say, clenching your jaw. “I know you’re angry at Miles but of course he’s going to want to save his dad. He shouldn’t be punished for that.”

“Being Spider-Man is about making sacrifices.” Miguel begins to lecture. “And if he can’t accept that then he puts his whole universe at risk.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, looking around in disbelief at his words. You cross your arms and tilt your head at him. “Is that all you think being Spider-Man is about? Deal with sacrifices and just accept that?! Have you really forgotten why we do what we’re supposed to do?” You yell, waving your finger back and forth between him and yourself.

“Save me your useless lecture and just stay out of the way (Y/n),” Miguel rolls his eyes, moving to turn away from you.

“No Miguel, I’m sick and tired of you never taking me seriously,” you quip, webbing his feet to the ground. You move to stand in front of him again, maintaining eye contact. “None of us chose to be Spider-Man, okay? Yes our lives are hard and yes we lose so many people but the point of us is that we keep going. We keep fighting and keep helping as many people as we can because we have the power to do so. Miles believes he can save his father and his universe so of course he’s going to try to do that. Of course he’s going to go against all odds that it doesn’t work because despite it all, he knows that if there’s even the slightest chance he can save both then he has to try.”

Miguel glares at you with a pointed glare before moving his face close to yours. “And that’s what’s going to get him and everyone in his world killed. You can either help me stop him or get out of my way,” he threatens, voice barely above a whisper. You don’t say anything, maintaining eye contact. You can feel his breath on your face with how close he is and part of you can’t help but flicker your gaze to his lips. Miguel notices this and smirks, standing up straight and breaking out of your webs with ease. He goes to wrap his arms around you. “Come on (Y/n), let’s go-”

You move out his grasp and shake your head in frustration. Miguel is slightly surprised, you’ve never rejected his affections before. “You're not going to change your mind, are you?” you ask, looking down at the ground. You already know his answer but you’re struggling with the decision you now have to make.

“I can't.” Miguel replies curtly, observing your body language. He sees how tense your shoulders are and how you turn away from him after his answer.

“Then I quit,” you sigh, looking over your shoulder at him. You can’t see him but you can hear the fabric of his suit as he clenches his fists and his small grunt of frustration.

“Are you serious?” Miguel growls, eyes red as he looks at you. You two have known each other for years and the last thing he needs is your betrayal.

You turn and face him, nodding your head. You look at Miguel up and down and frown. He barely even looks like a hero with the way he’s looking at you, as though you were some horrible villain. “I can’t support what you’re doing.”

Miguel sneers at you and his breathing gets heavier with frustration as he grumbles. “I should have never wasted my time on you.” 

You feel your heart break as he says this, memories of all the time you’ve spent together flooding your head. The times where he used to look at you with so much love and now you can't find a trace of that in him. You feel tears of both anger and sorrow build up as you watch him go back to his platform. 

You open a portal with the device on your wrist, preparing to go in before you look at him one last time. “Goodbye Miguel,” you spoke, one last time.

Miguel grimaces and doesn’t even look back at you as he scoffs. “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

You feel a tear fall down your cheek as you sigh. You take the device off your wrist and throw it to the ground, hearing it clatter as you walk through the portal.

The portal closes. Miguel is left alone in silence, the smallest mix of doubt and regret planted in his chest.

______________________________________________________________

Tags: @anidiotwhoreads

[kisses4kaia]

‘TIS THE DAMN SEASON… .ᐟ

synopsis—you visit your hometown for the holidays and the man who’s smile you’ve been missing has been missing you, too.

pairing—highschoolsweetheart!billy x reader

a/n—merry christmas !! happy holidays !! plz enjoy this rushed christmas special with our favorite cowboy. ❤️

—

“NO FUCKING WAY,” are the first words you’re met with as billy wearily opens the door you pounded on just moments ago. his expression, once groggy and obviously sleep-ridden, now wide awake at the sight of you.

“well, are you going to let me in, cowboy, or are you gonna leave me out here in the snow?” you tease, nose a dusty shade of maroon, bitten with the brutal winters cold, and billy cannot believe his eyes.

he picks his jaw up and nods quickly, opening the door wider for you and rendering himself speechless.

he never thought he would see you again, not after you moved to california to pursue your dreams of becoming a writer. he’d reckoned you would’ve been married by now, had children of your own. children you and billy had planned to have two of. a boy and a girl, a quiet life—and save for scarce letter from time to time, he had no idea how or where you were, and frankly, you were on his mind all the time.

“how? when? why?” billy’s eyebrows are furrowed as he watches you shrug off your heavy winters coat from your shoulders and hang it onto the old coat rack.

nothings changed in his house from since when you were an adolescent, save for the tattered couch that was once pushed against the wall now sitting in the middle of the room, facing the kitchen. other than that, the small, yet cozy, cottage felt like a time capsule—your memories from oh, so long ago suddenly feel like a decade hasn’t passed. like if you’d stayed, the world wouldn’t stop spinning, nor would your life end. you pushed the thought away.

instead, you laugh at the questions, because frankly you’d expected a much different reaction from him when you’d returned to the town you loved so much. “well, i got here on a horse,” you began, already cracking a joke. “as for when, i made it in town last night. and… i just felt like it. that suffice for you?” billy noticed your soft southern accent remained, though you had spent so long away from your beloved hometown.

“where are you staying?” yet another question from billy, but you didn’t mind, for, you were just grateful to see him.

“i’m staying at my parents house. you know it’s the funniest thing, i took the long way there… but the road not taken looks real good now. you know, considering the ass-freezing cold,” you jest again and billy finally cracks a smile. “you know i’ve missed you,” he says, and you pout to contain a smile. “yeah, i missed you, too. why do you think i came all this way? to get a cup of sugar?” you quipped again, never taking anything too seriously.

and there it is. that’s exactly what billy loved about you. so light-hearted, so good. even when he did things he deemed unforgivable, you were always there to highlight the brightness in his heart, to be the brightness in his heart. everything was whole with you, and billy can’t help but pull you into a tight, yearning, embrace. you reciprocate the energy and hug him back just as passionately.

and after a cup of hot coffee and catching up on one another’s lives by the burning fireplace, you end up on the floor, head resting back onto billy’s chest, bodies forming a T shape. “there was this girl called alice, and this other one called barbara, but uh… they were no good,” billy says after asking if you indeed had gotten married and had kids, to which your answer was a strong no, reasoning you didn’t have time for it, yet.

you kiss your teeth and chuckle humorlessly at billy’s unwarranted confession. “if i wanted to know who you were hanging with while i was gone, i would’ve asked you,” with the sting in your tone, billy could sense he messed up. because of course you wouldn’t want to hear about other women. billy was uneducated, not dense.

“i’m sorry,” he sighs sincerely, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “it’s okay, i mean, it’s only natural you’re gonna meet other women, i’ve been gone a good while.” you nod, allowing a false smile to dance onto your lips, throat pounding as you try mightily to keep tears from pricking at your eyes.

“hey, i want you. i always have, since the day we met. and you’re here now, aren’t you, baby? it’s just us, hm?” the endearing nickname slips, but you don’t correct him. after all, he was the only soul who could tell which smiles you were faking. “i’m only here for the weekend,” you look up at him, eyes honest and big, vulnerable and almost naïve. he smiles down at you, not turned off in the slightest by the very short amount of time he had with you. “well then, i guess we just have to make it count, right?”

you smile and stand, wordlessly making your way over to where, if memory serves you well, his bedroom is. lo and behold, the room is his, you know by the window being in the same place you remember staring out of while billy played with your hair as your ear pressed to his chest. difference is, the once full-sized bed has been replaced with a king—checks out, you’d taken a mental note earlier of how tall he’s gotten.

billy’s entering the room not long after you, and when he comes closer, places his hands on your waist, forehead pressed against yours, lips just a whisker away from one another’s, he asks. “can i… can i kiss you?” and you smile, because even now, when you’re full grown adults, he’s still nervous to even kiss you without audible permission. “please,”

and it’s like fireworks went off when you feel warm, coffee flavored, familiar lips on yours. god, you’d almost forgotten how much you missed kissing him. your hands tangled in his hair as he walked you back onto the bed, laying you down and not daring to pull away from your lips as he unbuttoned your blouse.

your tongue swiped his bottom lip, a beg for entrance, and he so graciously let his mouth to fall open slightly, allowing your tongue to meet with his. hastily, billy rods you of all your garments, before allowing you to help him strip himself. he only disconnected his lips from yours when he kissed down to your jaw, to your neck and to your clavicle, finding your sweet spot on your collarbone.

his hands trail down your abdomen, coming to a stop at your core, fingers drawing fast circles onto your clit, and you can’t help but moan. “fuck, billy, please, please fuck me, i‘ve missed you so much,” he smiles as he presses a kiss to your cheek, before he pushes his middle finger into your tight cunt. he lets out a groan himself at the squeeze. “fuck baby,” he breathes out, before beginning to pump the digit in and out of you, your pussy getting wetter by the second. and when he adds in another finger, curls both of them upwards to press against that one spongy spot inside of you, you come undone almost immediately. “that’s it, attagirl. cum on my fingers all pretty for me, yeah?” and you’re still desperate for billy’s cock even after your orgasm.

“billy, please,” you whine as you watch him lick the arousal off of his fingers, moaning at the taste, and he just coos at you reassuringly. “i know, baby, i know. just wanted to taste you first,” and when he finally pushes his aching cock into your impossibly tight cunt before bottoming out, you moan gutturally, and a breathy “fuck,” leaves billy. he gives you a moment to adjust to his size—necessary due to your long time spent away from his cock—before slowly beginning to move again.

for your sake, he tried to hold back, go at a pace slow enough that won’t leave your legs out of order for a week, but when you’re moaning underneath him so pretty like that? how was he expected to do anything but fuck you into the mattress like the world was ending? “billy, fuck, please, don’t stop—shit! i’m—ngh—i’m gonna cum, billy, holy fuck!” and it’s with a loud, sinful, moan that you squeeze around him incomprehensibly tight, like a fucking vice, billy thinks, and cum around his dick. he’s right behind you, looking down at where your bodies meet and seeing a creamy ring form at the base of his own cock. i did that, he thinks, and with your nails painfully dragging down his back, with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, with just you being in his fucking presence, he pulls out of your pussy and strokes himself a few times, before painting you with warm, white ribbons of his own release.

wordlessly, he presses a kiss to your forehead before he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. he runs a towel under warm water and cleans you up carefully, all before preparing a bath for the pair of you.

and when all is said and done, when the world is quiet and you are wrapped up in an old flannel of his, paired with his boxers, sitting on his bed, billy holds you close, and begins humming a song you aren’t familiar with, but the voice from which the tune flows out of is nothing but intimate, close.

“what’s the real reason you came back?” billy stops his humming, and you can only smile.

“because, billy, it always leads to you in my hometown.”

[frissy]

Earth42! Miles Morales x fem!spider/1610!Reader

(Part 1) Part 2

MAJOR ATSV SPOILERS

• Earth 1610 Miles Morales

• You are also a spider person on Earth 1610 with Earth 42 spider DNA like Miles

• Takes place right before, and when Miles (and you) are sent to Earth 42

• possessive Earth 42 Miles

• You and Earth 1610 Miles are not in a romantic relationship

• mentions of death, guns, and blood

• violence

• angst and fluff

• some OOC Earth 42 Miles

• not proofread

Let’s do this.. one more time. Hey, I’m [name] from Earth 1610. You’ve heard the story before, I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for over a year, I’ve been one of Brooklyn’s spider-people, along with my best friend, Miles Morales.

We keep the peace in the city, and we protect it. but.. sometimes it’s hard. Keeping our normal lives balanced with our crime fighting lives… but somehow, we still find time for each other. . End of introduction….

.

.

.

.

.

“DON’T LET THEM LEAVE. THEY CAN’T LEAVE.” Miguel O’Hara was shouting out at every other spider person trying to get to you and Miles.

It turns out, you guys were anomalies. You weren’t supposed to be spider-people.

But the chasing was no use, you two already made it to the machine that could send you home.

Somehow, you two managed to get inside as the almost mechanic-looking-spider began to crawl from the celling and read your DNA and build a web around you two to send you home.

But Miguel lunged over, clawing at the web, almost breaking it. He was trying to get to you and Miles. But it was no use. The avatar, who responsible for the machine looked at you and Miles with sympathy. And she pressed the ‘yes’ button to send you home. .

.

.

.

You both were shot onto a roof of an apartment complex. The one that Miles lived in. However he was lucky, and ended up near his room. .

Meanwhile you were shot out onto the roof, hitting your head. On concrete, which knocked you out. .

.

with miles…

.

“Miles?” A familiar voice echoed. Entering his room. It was his mom! .

“Mom!” He walked over to her. “what did you do to your hair?”

“nothing? Mom. I have to tell you something. But you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”

“Of course Miles. What is it?”

“you’ll still love me, right?”

“yes of course. Now what is it?”

Miles took a deep breath.

“Mom.. I’m Spider-Man.”

… “who’s Spider-Man?”

his stomach dropped. He tried explaining to her.. but she was brushing him off.

“So, you shoot webs out your butt?” She laughed. “No.. but I did have a nightmare about that once—“

He heard the apartment door open. He felt sick. Even more sick when he heard his voice.

it was his uncle Aaron… but how.

He couldn’t understand what his mom and uncle Aaron were talking about. He was in shock. But Aaron noticed him.

“Miles. Lets go.”

“oh.. okay.” Miles left his room. Walking with his.. uncle out of the apartment onto the roof.

.

.

.

Meanwhile…

.

“ah.. fuck.” You groaned, standing up. You couldn’t believe you got knocked out like that. You rubbed your head.. then you looked up.

Brooklyn was in shambles. .

Then it all clicked. This, this was not your earth.

You remembered Miguel’s words. .

“BECAUSE OF YOU TWO, THERE’S AN EARTH OUT THERE WITH NO SPIDER-MAN TO PROTECT IT.” .

How stupid could you and Miles have been? The machine reads the spider DNA.

the spider was from Earth 42… not 1610. You were mortified by this Earth’s Brooklyn. .

But it got worse. So much worse. You turned around.. facing a giant brick wall. Miles’s dad was staring right back at you. .

But your own face was looking right back at you too. .

You felt like passing out again. .

You were dead, you were dead in this universe. .

The door to the roof open. Put came Miles… and Aaron. He looked just as mortified as you. Seeing Brooklyn, and the mural.

That’s when you felt a sharp ping in your neck, and the last thing you heard was,

“I TOLD YOU TO WAIT!”

Your body didn’t hit the ground.. someone had caught you in their arms.

.

.

“I told you to wait for my signal.” Aaron said looking at his nephew, who held you as if you were as delicate as porcelain.

Who held you how he would always do.

Aaron had Miles slumped over his shoulder.

“I know. Unc.. but couldn’t help it.” .

Aaron sighed, and looked at his nephew who’s looked at your unconscious, breathing figure as if he had just found something that had been lost for a long time.

he looked at you, barely whispering, putting a hand on your cheek. “Mi querida..”

Aaron sighed at his behavior.

“That’s not your girl.” Aaron told his nephew, “Remember that.” He said, pointing at the mural behind him.

.

Miles didn’t reply. Instead he brought your body closer to him, and held you tighter.

He wanted to feel the ride and fall of your chest.

He wanted to hear your breathing.

And doing that, he felt something he hasn’t felt in so long. .

“I know she’s not my girl.” Miles replied. His voice was shaky and he didn’t take his eyes off you. .

But I can make her my girl.

He thought to himself.

.

.

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED….

[halemerry]

hii first of all, i absolutely love your metas on GO s2! your breakdown of the last few minutes of ep6 was really insightful and i love you for your meta about aziraphale and his role as a protector - it is a very astute look into his character and motivations which not a lot of people acknowledge in their theories/speculation after s2.

more to the point of this ask: this is something i've been mulling over and is the only thing that still doesn't make sense to me in ep6. why is crowley so nonchalant, or at least not noticeably worried, about the metatron showing up to the bookshop (a space he is very protective of) and taking aziraphala away for a talk after aziraphale has already been threatened by micheal? throughout the whole season crowley has been extremely protective over aziraphale and is very much aware of the real danger he is in (re: the book of life). this is also right after crowley has returned from heaven and has learned what the metatron was willing to do to gabriel to ensure 'institutional integrity' and that much bigger plans were afoot. i find it hard to wrap my head around his calm demeanor when the metatron enters the scene and takes aziraphale away, even if it's supposedly for a harmless talk. i wonder if you have any thoughts/speculation about this?

(opps this got too long and rambling). i would love to hear your thought but ofc please don't feel pressured to answer :) love your posts about the season and i look forward to reading more from you. have a lovely day!

Hi!! Thank you so much! This ask has had me by the throat basically since you sent it. It sort of touches on some things I already wanted to write about so forgive me if this spirals a bit.

So in a lot of ways I think this is a question that can have a one word answer. But since I do wanna talk about the way the show gives us this answer I actually want to start with Nina. Specifically I want to start with the thing she tells Crowley as Aziraphale’s off with the Metatron.

“You’re the hard bitten one that can’t trust anyone ever again and Mr. Wherever He Is is the soft one that still believes in magic people being basically good and all that."

I’ve talked a little bit about this line before in my meta about the build up to the Confession here because I think it’s important to view from the perspective of how it preps Crowley for the following conversation he’s about to have. But, aside from that, I think it's really important because it's wrong. Nina is describing herself here, not Crowley. She’s projecting her own issues onto him and Aziraphale in the way that she perceives herself relating to them. Crowley himself is actually the one that calls out her trust issues for what they are explicitly. 

Nina doesn’t trust and she sees herself in Crowley far more than Aziraphale both in demeanor and aesthetic so she assumes he doesn’t trust either. But she has it backwards. Because Crowley isn’t hard bitten as much as someone who tries very hard to be perceived as such. And, most importantly in this specific context, Crowley actually trusts quite a bit.

And he nearly always has. Even as far as back as the Starmaker.

Just look at the way that the Starmaker and Aziraphale both talk about interacting with God. Aziraphale is nervous, anxious and pretty much immediately clocks that what the angel that would become Crowley is saying is going to get him into trouble. But the Starmaker? Even upset about the information he’s been given, he remains confident in the fact that it can’t hurt to ask a few questions. He trusts there to be no consequence for expressing an objection. He trusts that his opinion is valued. Even if he ends up wrong here there’s no inclination at all that he thinks his words will be taken inappropriately. And even the Fall itself doesn’t burn this out of him.

We see him trust Aziraphale, the cherub who was supposed to be guarding Eden from things like him, not to smite him on sight. And trusts him enough to not only have a conversation but express his own worries about his own actions. He then approaches Aziraphale like a friend at the Flood and makes no attempt to censor his horror at what is happening there.

Job is the first time we see Crowley act in a way that implies mistrust between them. This is the first time they’ve met since the Flood which I suspect is contributing to his reluctance to be honest with Aziraphale here. They fall into their roles and then very rapidly fall out of them. The fact Azriaphale reaches out to Crowley here is important. As is the moment where Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’s sure. After Aziraphale more or less agrees to be all in something changes. Crowley is surprisingly honest about his view on the world, mostly trusting Aziraphale not to use it against him. He places himself in front of a host of angels, trusting that Aziraphale would not expose him. And then later he’s even more honest, admitting to Aziraphale he’s lonely in an attempt to show solidarity.

The entire Arrangement could not exist without them trusting each other. Crowley’s pushing at Aziraphale’s boundaries is a constant exercise in trusting that Aziraphale will come around eventually - or that he at the very least isn’t about to weaponize the treacherous things Crowley is saying against him. As early as 1601 we see Aziraphale voicing active concern for Crowley's well being. We then see Crowley actively trust Aziraphale with both their safeties in 1941 - whether it’s trusting Azriaphale to save them from the bomb about to drop on them or trusting Aziraphale’s trust in him to not accidentally discorporate him during the bullet catch. They even explicitly talk about their mutual trust in this year during their shades of gray conversation.

During Armageddon Crowley shows up trusting that Aziraphale will help him fix this and once Aziraphale agrees never once seems to consider the idea that Aziraphale would hide anything from him (even when Aziraphale is actively doing so).

He also critically knows that Aziraphale tried to reach God and got himself discorporated as a consequence. And likely specifically knows that Aziraphale talked to the Metatron and came away from that conversation realizing that Heaven would not help him. It's worth noting whether Crowley knows this bit or not that in this conversation Aziraphale not only explicitly questions the Metatron's authority but also uses the conversation to extract information from the Metatron.

Aziraphale leaves this conversation with an active lie to the Metatron and attempts to call Crowley to tell him everything he knew. He then continually chooses Crowley over Heaven. They pick their own side and help stop the world from ending.

And then, all season, Aziraphale keeps proving that the trust Crowley has always had in him is well earned. Aziraphale, even more than Crowley himself, brings up ideas of 'us' and 'our side' and 'our car'.

Aziraphale openly talks negatively of Heaven. Not only does he agree with Crowley's disbelief that Heaven managed to stay in charge sending people like Muriel down, but he even goes a step further, implying that they perhaps never had control over earth in that way.

He also, most critically, immediately and without hesitation, tries to turn down the Metatron's offer to even have a conversation. Aziraphale, who has also just brought a group of archangels to order, reaffirms his lack of interest in Heaven right then and there in front of Crowley. Right when the Metatron has reaffirmed the threat of the Book of Life is out of play.

Crowley trusts Aziraphale. He always has. And more than ever lately Aziraphale has given him proof that he doesn't have to worry about where he allegiances lay.

But. It's also worth noting. I don't think Crowley is as chill as he maybe seems like he is. Yes, he's sprawled out and speaking casually here, but to some degree this is a bit of posturing. He's playing it cool and also not encroaching on the control Aziraphale has managed to wrangle on this situation. But he also doesn't just let them wander off either. As soon as they hit the door, Crowley is out of the chair and walking to the front of the shop to watch them leave through the window. He's keeping tabs as they walk away.

He then banishes Muriel and promptly starts to clean. Now I'm always a little wary to mix Book and Show canon, but I do think his cleaning of the bookshop (as well as him carrying around stacks of books while babysitting Jim) are manifestations of Book!Crowley's tendency to want to stress clean. He's keeping himself busy and gets done too quickly then promptly glances at his watch before throwing himself into the chair with a frustrated noise. He's anxious and stressed the entire time Aziraphale is out of his line of sight.

In other words, Crowley's not actually as calm as he's presenting himself to be. He's trying to take that nervous energy out in a way that doesn't conflict with giving Aziraphale agency. Because he trusts his angel. And that in part is why it hits him so hard when it all blows up in his face.

[glader13]

Trust Me

Leon Kennedy x Reader

“Shit,” you whispered, “There’s only one.”

You stared at the vial as if trying to conjure up another one, all this for just one? You heard Leon grumble in the background as he rummaged for spare bullets and other supplies. All this for just one, you thought again, thinking of all the shit that you and Leon went through. You placed your hand on the shoulder that you could’ve sworn was bitten off by those monsters, not surprised to see that your hand was red. 

But you thought back to the more pressing issue as you held the singular vial, the medicine that Luis had given you had worn off. You stared at the inky trails running up your arm feeling sick. We’ll just need to hurry then, you thought with a frown. 

“Did you find it?” Leon asked. 

“Yeah,” you said quietly, “But it’s only one though.”

He cursed again, walking past you to look in the safe as if he didn’t believe what you said. You moved out of his way, finding a wall to lean against. You placed the vial in one of your pockets, before sitting on the floor. You closed your eyes as you held your shoulder, breathing through your nose. Your shoulder was on fire, and you were unable to move it, just thinking about movement was enough to make you nauseated. Great, you thought, I'll only slow Leon down, and won't be able to protect Ashely. A burdened sigh left your mouth as you finally opened your eyes, seeing Leon walk over to you. 

“Hey handsome,” you grimaced, “Sorry I left you by yourself out there.”

He knelt in front of you, slowly removing your hand from your shoulder. His frown deepened seeing the torn and bloody flesh. He held his hands in front of you, unable to find a way to ease your pain. He got up, walking around the small lab to find something to wrap your shoulder with. 

“Were there a lot?” you asked again, but he continued to look for medical cloth, barely sparing a glance at you, “A few of them got in here,” you continued. 

You jumped at hearing the sound of supplies being thrown to the floor, as he tore open cabinets and drawers. He cursed again, which caused you to slowly make your way toward him. You leaned against him, causing him to jump before he relaxed again. You heard him sigh, as he took your free hand, no doubt about whether he was staring at the blood on it. 

“I’m doing a fine job of keeping you safe,” he finally spoke to you. 

“Well, then it’s a good thing that Ashley needs the protection and not me,” you said, kissing the back of his neck. 

“I failed you too many times already, first, you got infected and now you’re suffering from something that I can’t control and your shoulder,” he turned his head, “I have a responsibility to protect you.”

“No,” you said quickly, “I’m not your responsibility Leon. I earned being here just as much as you did. But thanks,” you smiled,  “For being my knight.”

“You can thank me when we get out of here,” he chuckled. 

The two of you eventually found some cloth to wrap around your shoulder. You closed your eyes as he did this, finally being able to breathe. You then felt his hand take hold of your wrist, gently holding it as his other hand traced the inky veins. His hand then cupped the side of your face, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over where the same inky veins appeared. You placed your hand over his, drowning in a love that you still can’t understand. You smiled at him, trying to tell him to not worry, but he couldn’t breathe under your calming gaze. He dropped his hand, as you found it again, lacing your fingers in between his. You opened your mouth, to say something to ease him, but you thought against it.

Instead, you motioned him to your side, guiding him to lean on you. You felt yourself smiling again, the moment causing you to think about your training days with Leon. Whenever the two of you were allowed a break, the two of you would sneak into a corner and sit just like this, with Leon glued against you or resting his head in your lap.

“You’re going to be okay,” Leon finally said, turning your face to him, “I promise you, my love.”

You leaned into him, kissing him softly, “I trust you, Le.”

On the walk back, and even when the two of you made it back to Ashley, he was focused on your health. Leon constantly touched your arm, tracing the black lines that marked your skin. To anyone else, his concentrated stare seemed distant, as if he was trying to figure out the cause of the markings. But you, you saw behind the curtain. You saw the worry in his eyes, the constant movement between your face and arm. You always felt his eyes on you, ready to be there in case you need him. 

You felt his worry, it covered you like a blanket. Whenever the plague would seep further into your body, causing you to spasm in pain, Leon would be there holding you. Telling you to breathe as he would whisper encouraging words, constantly telling you that he loves you and that you’ll be okay. That you’re safe with him. He would hold you way after the pain would subside, long after your breathing has calmed. His breathing and the rhythm of his heart would get you to close your eyes, his arms are the only place that you feel safe. You would relax, knowing that he would do anything for you. Yes, Ashley is his priority, but you know that he wouldn’t let anything harm you. If it came to you or Ashley, the two of you would have to flee the country hand in hand because of the decision that he would make. 

He looked at the vial, then at Ashley’s unconscious body. The plague has spread across her, creating black veins on her arms and her face. You felt your heart twist seeing her body, and remembering the fear etched on her face, she’s just been through so much. He then looked at you, his mind moving, “I can split it,” he began, “That should be enough until I can remove the parasite.”

“No,” you said, “We got this for her. She needs it.”

“But your arm. If she’s like this, then you can’t be far behind, Y/N-“

You kissed him softly, feeling him relax at your touch, “I’ll be okay, I promise.”

He softly touched the side of your face, causing you to lean into his touch. You placed your hand on top of his, communicating that you’ll be fine. He gave a slight nod, before kissing the top of your head. You stood back, watching Leon carefully inject Ashley. 

You smiled to yourself, seeing Leon be so careful. What a softie, you thought. Relief washed over you seeing Ashely’s skin return to normal, but it was short-lived. You hissed quietly, feeling a painful contraction in your arm. You clinched your fist, gritting your teeth as the black lines spread even further up your arm. Leon held you, forcing you to sit on the edge of the operating bed. You tapped your foot against the ground, squeezing Leon’s hand as the pain only worsened. 

“Hey,” Leon grabbed your attention, “Make sure to count between breaths, okay.”

You only responded by squeezing your eyes shut, causing him to speak again, “Make sure you’re counting love.”

“Okay,” you choked out.

Between the huffs and the counting, you desperately sought out other ways to ignore the pain. You focused on Leon’s jacket, how it was too big on you, but kept you warm. The lingering scent of his cologne seemed to have a magical effect, you felt calmer, sinking into the safety of the jacket. You felt your mind begin to drift, thinking of the first time that you wore this jacket. It was after training, you were long gone from your locker when you realized that you had left your jacket. You remember how it was freezing, and Leon gave you his jacket as he walked you back. 

You felt your lips quirk into the smallest smile remembering what he told you after he handed it to you, “Please don’t jacket up, it’s my favorite,” he smiled at his joke. You rolled your eyes, punching his arm. 

You slowly released his hand, feeling bad about the red finger marks. He smiled at you, shaking his hand as he commented about firm handshakes, which caused you to laugh. You flexed your hand, seeing the black marks not disappearing. You sighed again, how much time do I have left?

“Don’t worry about that,” he turned your face to him, “I’ll handle it.”

“But Leon, we don’t have much time. It’s spreading, I feel it in my body,” you felt your eyes begin to sting, “It’s like a cancer. I feel slow, it feels like a chain is slowly tightening around my heart. I don’t want to become one of them.”

You whispered the last part, unable to look at his fragile eyes or the slight quivering of his lips. You knew that he’s been blaming himself for what happened to you, frustrated that you were the one to save him. He shakily took your hand, wrapping it around yours. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing it. The small gesture did cause your heart to flutter, causing you to feel calm. 

“Love, I promise that you’ll be okay, I’m not going to let you turn into them. I’m going to do everything that I can to save you. I came with you to this place and I’m leaving with you from this place. You’re safe with me.”

He leaned into you, softly kissing your lips. I’m safe, you thought slightly deepening the kiss, feeling his hand hold yours a little tighter. You mumbled I love you in the kiss, breathless, feeling drunk. He responded by saying I’m not going to lose you in the same breathless drunk way, as if he needed your lips, your love, to survive. He pulled away from you, giving you one last kiss on your forehead. He walked away opening a cabinet, once again looking for something. You heard him make a sound of approval as he walked back with health spray and more cloth for injuries. You hissed as he sprayed your wound, hearing him quietly apologize. He then wrapped your wound, still trying his best to be gentle. 

“Rest up,” he said, “I’m going to check the area.”

“I’ll go instead,” you said, “You barely got any rest.”

“No,” he said, “Rest up, we’ll take turns. I won’t be long, promise.”

So you got comfortable, making sure that you weren’t in Ashely’s space. You held up your gun, showing Leon that you were prepared for any unexpected visitors. He nodded before heading off. In the silence, you thought of when you first met him, though you didn’t know why, it’s probably because of the emotions you thought, now I’m a softie.

You were having the roughest day of training. Everyone was being an ass and kicking your ass in everything. It eventually became too much and during your break, you hid in the locker room, crying settled on leaving the program. You thought you were by yourself until you felt the eyes of another, causing you to snap to attention. You remember feeling a surge of annoyance seeing Mr. Leon Perfect standing at the end of the aisle, lunch in hand. 

“You can laugh, I don’t care,” you said, refusing to clean your eyes. 

“Training is difficult,” he walked over, “It’s not fair for me to laugh.”

You rolled your eyes, thinking his kind words were for show. Even more annoyingly, he sat down next to you. You watched him open his lunch, taking a bite of an apple, his eyes focused on the blue lockers in front of you. He spun the apple in his hand, as you watched him, desperately wanting him to leave. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

You looked at him, ready to form a sarcastic response, before you stopped. He was genuine, his eyes were soft. They were looking at you as if trying to figure out who you are. You felt seen, and that alone made you shed some more tears. You opened up to him about how everyone there made your life a living hell, and how training was the worst thing on Earth. Your partners treated you like shit, and you had no one to report their behavior to. 

You cleaned your eyes, finally feeling somewhat better. You looked at Leon, who gave you a reassuring smile as he rubbed your back. “I can help you,” he finally said, “With the training, you’re already perfect at the other stuff.”

“Perfect?” You echoed, “I don’t know about all that. But besides, what does it even matter, it won’t save my life or anything.”

“I think it’s important actually,” he said, handing you his lunch, you peeked in, taking out an orange, “A mistranslation can cause mass casualties, it can have you be somewhere where you’re not supposed to be.”

You nodded, consenting to his point. You plucked the orange into your mouth, as you mumbled thank you, relishing in its sweet flavor. Who knew he would be so nice? He was a loner, never really the conversation type, but everyone still tried to be around him, especially the ladies. 

“Combat is important, but,” he gave you a sly smile, “All you need is two good shots, and I’ve seen your shooting, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, “I’m-“

“Y/N,” he interrupted, then smiled again, “Sorry. I’m-“

“Leon,” you interrupted, causing the both of you to laugh. 

“Well, if it’s fine with you,” he began, “I can help you train, you shouldn’t be this frustrated over something like this.”

“Um, yeah. That’s cool, thanks. If you need help with something, let me know,” you smiled. 

That was your deal, he helped you with training and you helped him with the paperwork area, like language or coding. You didn’t know that you were making a friend at that moment, especially a partner. But through the years, you found yourself scaling the wall that he created around himself, finding layers so beautiful and fragile. It leaves you scared, praying that you won’t drop anything so precious.

“I’m back,” he snapped you out of your thoughts, “Found some more bullets.” 

“Good,” you smiled, slightly feeling a high. 

“Why do you have that look?” He smiled, “Thinking of something, or someone?”

You sat up again, “Just my sweet boy.”

You felt your face slightly burn, seeing his smirk as he placed the bullets on a spare cabinet. He swiftly, yet coolly walked towards you, placing his gun in the holster. You felt your face burn even more, paying attention to eyes that can read your soul and lips that personally knows your body. He leans over, trapping you. You moved stray hair out of his face, your breathing scarce. 

“Good,” he leaned into you. 

You kissed once again, instantly feeling refreshed. He forced your lips open, causing you to become dumb off of his tongue. He deepened the kiss, taking away your breath and causing you to forget where you are momentary. You squeezed his hand, feeling him bite your lip, before trailing down to your neck. His lips felt like heaven against the heat of your neck, soft yet commanding. You closed your eyes, cutting off your gasp as you felt Leon nip in between kisses. His smile is evidence that he caught your small reaction. 

“Once we leave,” he said in between kisses, his voice low, “We’re going somewhere nice, so I can be yours and you can be mine.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your mind blank.

“I miss this,” he returned to your lips, “I miss how you feel.”

“Then we better hurry,” you whispered, “I also miss you on my lips.”

“That’s my girl, always on top of things and me,” he smiled. 

“Leon!” You whispered, motioning to Ashley. 

“What,” he snuck in another kiss, “She can’t hear us.”

He laughed, before walking back towards the ammo. You then watched him sit in front of the bed, taking up a guarding position as he pulled out his gun. Single-handedly, Leon checked the ammo, and you felt your mouth drop, which you thought wasn’t possible. But he surprised you a lot during this mission, most notably when he did a suplex. Seeing his biceps and the veins in his arms has left your brain and mind in shambles. Once again, you were at a loss for words. 

“Pretty cool, right?” You could hear his smirk. 

“Show off,” you managed to say.

“Well, at least I’m your show off,” he said turning towards you, “Get some rest, okay? You need to.”

“And you?”

“I’m still fine from earlier when I rested,” he kissed your hand, “I’ll wake you up if I need you, promise.”

You quietly said okay, lying down facing the back of Leon’s head. You ran your hand through his soft hair, causing him to lean back even more. He hummed quietly, as you smiled, reminding you of home. Home, where you sit on the couch as you gave Leon a massage listening to the radio. 

“You want your jacket back?” You asked him. 

“No, it looks better on you than me.”

You smiled, snuggling into it, finally closing your eyes.

Part 2

Part 3

[bruisedboys]

shy!reader being embarrassed to ask eddie if he wants to make-out😭and he’s just completely in awe when she whispers under her breath what she wants… because OF COURSE he does how could he not kiss the sweetest girl in the world

this is such a cute idea pls I love him. not proofread!! & def too long to be a blurb lol

shy!fem!reader 1.3k words

Eddie always kisses you when he picks you up from work. Always. He waits for you to get in, grins at you like you’re the best thing in his life, says something along the lines of “hi, pretty girl,” and then leans across his seat to give you a sweet kiss, seatbelt pulled taut across his chest.

So you should be used to it. Used to his smiling mouth on yours and his hand on your shoulder or cupping your jaw. You aren’t.

As expected, you slide in the passenger seat and Eddie’s beaming.

“Hey, pretty,” he says.

You smile back, much more shy than him but no less fond. “Hi, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile grows somehow wider and, as always, leans across to kiss you. One hand cups your face while the other spreads over your thigh. His hand placement results in you being a flustered mess before he’s even kissed you. It gets worse when he does kiss you, when it feels longer than usual, more firm. Something about the whole thing sets your skin on fire and has your stomach rolling.

Eddie seems no less affected than usual. He pulls back with his charming smile and starts the van. Meanwhile, you’re trying not to stare too hard at his hands, their weight having left what feels like scorch marks on your skin, or his mouth, all kiss-bitten. You want him to kiss you again so badly it makes your heart race.

“Y/N? Did you hear what I said?”

You blink. Eddie’s talking to you, you realise. “Sorry, what?”

Eddie chuckles softly. “I asked how your day was,” He says patiently, thankfully forgoing any teasing related to your daydreaming.

“Oh.” You smile and try to look more casual than you feel. Your mind is still spinning from the kiss, mouth tingling with want for more. “It was okay.”

“Yeah?” Eddie drums his fingers on the steering wheel. The wind gushing throw the window makes his wild curls dance. “Any grumpy old ladies to deal with?”

You giggle. Yesterday, you’d told Eddie all about an elderly woman who’d got angry at you for the library not having the book she wanted. As if it was your fault.

“No,” you say, huffing amusedly. “What about you?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “No grumpy old ladies, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You snort. “That’s not what I meant!” You say, though you’re sure he knows.

Eddie laughs loud and it’s music to your ears. He’s got such a nice laugh. It only makes the flame in your chest grow.

“Sorry, babe,” he says. He reaches over and pats your thigh, his eyes on the road. “My day was good, thanks.” He sneaks a glance at you and you know what’s coming before he says it, “Better now you’re here.”

You huff like he’s insufferable. He isn’t, of course, but you like to pretend he is. The rest of the short ride to Eddie’s trailer is spent with Eddie drumming along to the radio, and you trying not to show how badly you want to kiss him.

It doesn’t get any easier when you arrive at the trailer. You sit on Eddie’s bed while he picks away at his guitar, his back against the edge of the bed. He’s shed his jacket and tossed it over the bed post. Underneath he’s wearing a sleeveless band tee that makes his arms look so good you think you might scream.

“What does that look mean?” Eddie asks casually.

You start and realise he can see you watching him in the mirror across from his bed. You meet his reflection’s eyes and your cheeks go warm. Well, warm-er.

“What look?”

“You look like you’re bursting to say something,” Eddie says. He sets down his guitar gently and gets up on his knees, twisting so he can face you. “What’s up, honey?”

“Nothing,” you say. I just want to kiss you til you can’t breathe.

Eddie squints at you like he doesn’t believe you. Before you can fix your features to look like you’re not lying he’s climbing onto the bed and plonking down in front of you.

“You’re a bad liar,” he says, a cheeky smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what’s wrong, hm? Are you hungry? Tired? Do you want a hug?”

You think it’s sweet how worried he is about you. You’d be endeared but it if you weren’t so embarrassed about what you actually want. A hug does sound nice, though. Maybe it will put out the flame that’s burning in your chest.

“A hug would be nice,” you say, and hold your arms out. You’re past being too shy for hugs. You’re yet to conquer being too shy for kisses.

Eddie falls into your arms heavily, his chin hooking over your shoulder while his arms go around your middle. It’s a nice kind of heavy, though. His scent washes over you. Something woody, something metallic. His cologne, a little musky and a lot attractive.

You’re disappointed to realise the hug does nothing to get rid of your problem. In fact, it makes it worse. Having him this close makes you dizzy. Having him this close also makes you think about how he’s near enough to kiss, to take his face in your hands and press your mouth to his until he’s as dizzy as you feel.

You think your thoughts are showing on your face because when Eddie pulls away, he takes one look at you and frowns.

“I don’t think that worked,” he says, half joking but half serious, too. “That wasn’t what was wrong, was it, baby?”

Baby. You don’t have it in you to lie to him again. You shake your head silently.

Eddie grins. “I knew it!” He declares. He bridges the gap between you again to take your face in his hands. You’re already hot as a furnace and you’re sure your skin burns like wildfire under his touch. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t acknowledge it, only stares at you so intensely you think you might melt. “Tell me what’s wrong, angel.”

You swallow. He’s very convincing when he wants to be.

“Um,” you say. “It’s embarrassing.”

Eddie’s eyes lose their fire and go soft. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he says, earnest and soft at the same time. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

You know he won’t laugh. In fact, he’ll probably indulge you on the spot. Still, you’re embarrassed.

“I, um. Do you …?” You stop halfway, unsure how to say it, unsure how to ask. Unsure if you should ask.

Eddie’s hands slide to your shoulders and squeeze. “Do I what, angel?”

You stare at his chest when you say it, your voice barely a whisper. “Do you … want to make out?”

You cringe as soon as you say it. Pull away from Eddie and hide your hands in your face, your heartbeat like a drum in your ears.

Eddie protests. “Hey, where are you going?” He asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Come back out, sweet girl, please.”

You do not come back out. You hide and wish the floor would swallow you up. Your heart jumps to your throat when Eddie’s hands find your thighs and pull, pull until you’re half in his lap and he can get his fingers around your wrists.

“Come out,” he begs, tugging at your wrists with much less force than he’s capable of. “Please, angel.”

You let him pry your hands from your face but refuse to look him in the eye, staring at a point over his shoulder instead. Eddie huffs and gets his hand on your jaw to tilt your head until you’re forced to look at him properly. You grumble something incoherent.

“Y/N,” Eddie says. He’s grinning like mad. “Of course I want to make out with you. Are you kidding?”

You gawp. You’d expected teasing, at the very least. “You do?”

Eddie chuckles like he can’t believe you. “Is that hard to believe?” He asks, amused. “Of course I do.”

“Oh.”

Eddie grins. The fire in your chest rises to your throat.

“Yeah. Oh,” he says, and leans in to kiss you.

Your heart pounds. And it doesn’t stop pounding for the next half hour.

-

[sapphic-gardn]

Willow | joel miller x f!reader | pt. 2

part 1

Summary: Patrol with Joel is proving to be more difficult than you originally anticipated. Joel says some things he regrets.

(no use of y/n)

Warnings (18+ mdni): mentions of loss/grief, weapons/violence, swearing, age gap (reader is 23, Joel is in his 50s), angst, one-sided pining, no physical description of reader, will specify with each chapter

Word Count: 2.9k

a/n: hiiii! this is the second part to my joel miller fic and wowza i am so excited to share!!! all the love on part one is surreal. i can’t believe people are enjoying my writing—it’s insane to me. i love you ALL so much. i also love all my moots who have welcomed me with open arms into this lil community. happy reading! let me know your thoughts!!!! 💓

credit to @cafekitsune for the cutie divider <3

During the first week of patrol with Joel, you found yourself questioning why you harbored a crush for the man in the first place. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was to scrutinize you. It was an exhausting game of who could hurt the other one more.

When the second week of patrol rolled around, you were determined to evade conflict. The morning played out as usual—a short greeting at the stables and mumbled groans from Joel. The ride out was wordless yet tranquil. Until…

You came to a halt at an abandoned cabin, one you both had passed on patrols before, because something caught your eye. You dismounted your horse and tied her to a tree nearby. Joel got wind of your sudden detour and scoffed.

“What’re you doin’?” Joel’s voice cut through the silence and you quickly signaled to him to stay quiet with a finger to your lips. He reluctantly followed suit and sauntered behind you after securing his horse.

What had captured your attention was the door to the cabin. In passing on every patrol, you noted that the little wooden building and its worn door had been closed—the door was always closed. However, today the door was open. Wide open. A portal to another realm it seemed. Ominous as the darkness beyond it taunted you.

Come and get me.

A challenge presented to you in the form of danger. The windows were boarded up, the only light inside of the cabin coming from the spaces between the wood. You moved swiftly around the perimeter, peeking in the slits before wandering beyond the threshold. With your gun and flashlight at the ready, you skulked through the first room on your right. Clear. As you made your way to the second room, you misjudged your step and tripped on a splintered floorboard. You caught yourself before you could fall but regained your footing with a loud thud.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Your body froze in place. Instantaneously, a blood curdling screech emerged from right behind you. Before you could think, you spun around and fired two bullets into the clicker’s skull. Shit. You scolded yourself. Your mind was going a hundred miles a minute and you couldn’t decipher your surroundings. You lowered your trembling hand that held the gun and looked down at the thing that once was a person. Blood was pooling under your feet and you concluded that the infected man must have been bitten recently. He must’ve broken into the cabin to isolate and wait for his demise. Your stomach sank as you imagined what the man’s life might have looked like before he was bitten. Another casualty amid a monstrous war.

Joel quickly emerged in the doorway, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. Sheer panic washed over his face. “Coulda gotten yourself killed! Gonna get us both killed with the sound’a that goddamn gun!”

With that, Joel hastily made his way to you, grabbed your upper arm, and guided you out of the cabin to the tree where your horses were stationed. You broke free from his firm grip and mounted your horse promptly, still feeling the burn of his touch under your sleeve in the minutes that followed.

Once you both retreated to a safe distance you decided to swallow your pride and apologize, “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve grabbed my knife. I-I should’ve—I was—“

“Damn right you should’ve. Meant what I said when I called you a little girl. That’s exactly what you are. Never thinkin’ before doin’. Think you’re so tough goin’ into that cabin by yourself? Not tellin’ me what the fuck you were up to?” Joel’s voice rumbled with a deep anger that made you shiver. He was fuming, but his tone held a note of worry. Was he scared? Was Joel Miller afraid of losing you? It didn’t matter. His words were a stark contrast to the sentiment.

“Fuck. You.” Those were the only words you could conjure up because…he was right. Of course he was right, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of succumbing to his cruelty. You squeezed the sides of your horse and sped up ahead of Joel from your place beside him. With your back facing Joel, tears rimmed your waterline and flowed freely down your cheeks. The salty taste of tears bleeding onto your lips brought you back to the moment Maria found you, vulnerable and tremulous.

Growing up during an apocalypse rendered the gift of resilience. The way you saw it, words were nothing but sound waves mingling with air as they escaped a bodily vessel. Harsh words deflected off of you like a bullet to fiberglass. But Joel knew exactly how to penetrate that protective shield you so carefully curated.

Before life in Jackson, you had always felt inferior. Viewed as a damsel in distress by the men in your life. But you were so far from it, gathering the courage to leave the Seattle QZ at sixteen to find your parents who disappeared on a smuggling job. Surviving on your own for two years and teaching yourself how to be self-sufficient. You quickly picked up on how to use weapons as well as raid buildings without getting caught (not your best moments). Independence came easily to you and you would be damned if you let some old grump tell you otherwise. Clearly, all he saw in you was a naive little girl.

You return to the stables before Joel. He makes his way in just as you turn to leave. In passing, you glare into Joel’s eyes and hastily shove him with your shoulder on your way out. You’re pretty sure he notices the redness around your eyes from crying. You can see a glint in his eyes that exhibits a look of sorrow. Even if he is sorry, he can’t take it back. He can’t take back the feeling of sheer humiliation that is seeping into your bones. He can’t take it back.

You traipse through the town center, in no rush to get home and sit alone with the voice of doubt in your ear. The smell of pine invades your olfactory senses and the string lights twinkle above you like stars in the night sky. It reminds you of Christmas, before the world ended, sitting criss cross in front of a fireplace with a steaming cup of hot cocoa. And your parents are there. They would buy every toy on your Christmas list just to see you beam up at them and wiggle with glee. You miss them, you never got closure when they vanished. You didn’t find them, you have no knowledge of how they died—or if they even died. You can’t help but wonder if they left you on purpose. You caused trouble in the QZ—always trying to prove a point to someone in authority. Getting kicked out of FEDRA school was the last straw for them, they barely acknowledged your existence after that. But of course you still loved them, they were your parents. You still love them, they are your parents. They were good people before it all, before they became desperate.

The sound of your own sniffle pulls you back to the present. You find yourself on a bench, staring mindlessly at a family of three.

“Hey, you alright?”

A brown haired girl emerges in front of you. She has a look of sympathy painted on her features, yet she speaks so casually. She follows your eye-line to the family in the distance. You recognize her. She is the young girl who is attached at the hip with Joel. Apparently she isn’t his daughter, but technically she is, given what they’ve been through together…Tommy made it all too confusing when he explained it to you.

“I’m okay, yeah, I’m alright. Thanks.” You dismiss the loaded question with a wave of your hand. When your eyes meet hers, your features soften and you see a tinge of something behind her brown eyes. Maybe it’s hurt, or fear, she seems guarded, similar to yourself at that age.

“I’m Ellie,” She eagerly extends her hand and you take it in a firm handshake. You introduce yourself and make room on the bench beside you. She reluctantly takes the spot and sighs, the shape of her breath visible against the contrasting cold air. The first few minutes are silent, neither one of you are keen on breaking the calm air that surrounds you.

“So,” Ellie finally breaks the silence, “rough day, huh?”

You snort, a small smile emerging on your lips, “I guess you could say that. What about you? Aren’t kids your age usually running around the commune finding trouble?” You look at her out of the corner of your eye when she giggles.

“Not much to do around this boring ass place. Plus, my best friend is hanging out with some dude I fucking hate. Count me out on that third wheeling bullshit.” Her vulgarity takes you by surprise, but you find it quite funny.

After awhile, you two fall into easy conversation. She asks you so many questions…so many. It almost feels like an interrogation but you know she’s just curious. It’s endearing, the way she perks up when you answer her questions about life before the apocalypse. You were young, so you barely remember anything, every memory is coated in black and white hues, lacking details, nonetheless, she holds onto every word.

The sun is mostly gone from the sky, which is your cue to start walking home. You and Ellie decide to make the trek back to your neighboring houses together, still entwined in your storytelling the whole way there.

You arrive at your gate and bid your farewells to Ellie with a small wave and a promise to her that she can come over whenever she feels like it.

“He talks about you, you know…Joel. He asks Tommy way too many fucking questions about you too.” Ellie’s words bounce around in your brain and leave you short-circuited. That’s the second time today you’ve been rendered speechless. First by Joel and then by his (kinda) daughter. Ellie reads the dumbfounded expression on your face and sighs, “I just—I know he’s a fucking pain in the ass, but I think he cares about you. Sure as hell doesn’t ask questions about anyone else in this fuckin’ place,” she stares at the ground before she speaks up again, “Uh…look…I-I didn’t mean to trip you up or anything…uh…I’m gonna head home now. I’ll come by tomorrow? Yeah. See you then.” With that, Ellie’s ramble ends and she swiftly makes her escape to her home. The home she shares with Joel. Joel, the man who cares about you? The thought actually makes you laugh out loud.

Joel’s best trait is hurting people. He reads you like a book, he pinpoints every insecurity you harbor, and uses it to push, push, push your buttons. The stone cold exterior you display is merely translucent to someone like Joel. He’s seen it before, every time he looks in the damn mirror. He feels drawn to you, a moth to a flame. If he gets too close, he might get burned. What happens when you set his heart aflame? Maybe you already have.

The front door opens and closes and Joel hears Ellie padding her way to the kitchen where he sits at the table, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. Ellie plops down on the chair across from him.

“What’s got you in such a bad mood today, old man?” Ellie leans over the table and playfully nudges Joel with her fist.

“Not right now, kid. Don’t feel like jokin’ around,” Joel’s eyes flicker to Ellie’s for a moment before refocusing on the amber liquid in his glass.

Ellie throws her hands up in surrender, “Alright dude, just don’t drink yourself to death—that shit would be far more embarrassing than a clicker getting your ass.” She lightheartedly laughs and leaves the kitchen with a pat on Joel’s shoulder, exiting through the back door to her makeshift bungalow in the yard.

Joel figured that a few whiskeys in, the tight feeling in his chest might loosen up. But he’s five glasses in and he can’t stop picturing you. The inconsolable expression on your face as you left the stables haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

His mind takes him to the moment he met you. You were crouching over a patch of vegetables—carrots, maybe? Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth and your brows were furrowed in concentration. When Tommy called your name and you looked up, Joel felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs. You were…angelic. Smeared dirt covered your forehead, and beads of sweat gathered at your hairline. Even in your unkempt state, your allure was ever so present. Joel couldn’t bring himself to look at you, even as you reached a hand out to introduce yourself. Then, your witty remark. Something inside of him shifted in that moment and he knew he had to leave. A young, bright woman like you wouldn’t want anything to do with an old, damaged man like Joel. So he did what he does best, he pushed you away, created a distance so you would learn to hate him.

Joel’s outburst on patrol earlier today took it too far. He knows that—but he was terrified that something might’ve happened to you. When he saw you, standing in that abandoned cabin, shock dripping from your expression, with a lifeless clicker on the floor below you, he became angry. Angry that you would be so careless. Angry that you didn’t ask for help. Angry that he cared about you so damn much even when he tried his hardest not to.

On his sixth whiskey, Joel curses to himself as he meanders to his front door. His brain is devoid of all thoughts that don’t include you. Your smile, he wants to make you smile. He wants to be reason you smile, not the reason you cry. He twists the doorknob and forces himself out onto the front porch. Your lights are on. It’s late, why are you still awake? Thank god you’re still awake.

His steps are calculated when he saunters up your walkway. He hesitates, his fist is hovering over your front door. He lightly knocks on the thick wood, but regrets it immediately and turns on his heel to leave. With his back facing away, he hears the click of a lock unlatch and a sliver of light emanating from your open door casts a warm glow on the porch.

“Joel? What are you doing here? Do you need something?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. With the sweet sound of his name spilling from your lips, he turns to face you. The door is now fully open and you are leaning against the door frame. The light coming from inside the house outlines your figure like an angel descending from heaven.

He clears his throat, “‘M sorry, darlin’, is nothing. Get some rest.” Despite his words, he makes no move to leave. You step out from the threshold and lessen the distance between the two of you. Joel searches your eyes, looking for a hint of something, anything that isn’t pure hatred. All he finds is affliction.

You scoff, “C’mon, just spit it out already. I ain’t waitin’ all damn day,” you echo his words from the morning of your first patrol together. Joel notices and he chuckles before regaining his composure.

“‘M sorry. I wanted to come over here and tell ya that. I was fuckin’ scared shitless. I didn’t mean a word I said back there. I trust that y’can hold your own.” Joel’s words catch you off guard. You stutter, all coherent words evade you and your bottom lip starts to tremble. You quickly avert your gaze to hide the imminent tears pooling at your waterline.

You sniffle, “Thanks, Joel. That was probably hard for you, apologizing and all. You can go home now, I forgive you. Just forget it ever happened, m’kay?” You sound defeated and it fractures something within Joel.

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Hey. Look at me,” you meet his gaze and simply melt. The tears fall freely down your cheeks and a small gasp escapes you, “I’m sorry. You don’t gotta let me off the hook, I jus’ gotta tell you ‘m sorry.”

Suddenly, you become hyper-aware of the situation. Mere inches separate you and Joel. He is studying your face, so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath. A mixture of lust and hate stirs somewhere within your lower belly.

“Okay,” is the only word you can conjure up. It’s a whisper, barely audible. Joel’s hand cradles your cheek and he swipes a tear away with his thumb. His eyes flicker between your lips and your bewildered gaze. His breath hitches, seeing your beauty up close is otherworldly. He feels himself leaning in, closer, closer, closer. He is a hairbreadth away from grazing your lips when you turn your head. Your buttery voice dances through the air, “Please, Joel. Just go home. I can’t do this right now.”

You turn on your heel and slink back into your house, before closing the door, you breathe a weak, “Goodnight, Joel.”

You don’t know if he says it back.

a/n: ty for reading. ilysm <3 i hope this part lives up to the last one :,) i am so nervy to post this EEEEEK!!

taglist: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @alejaa-a @cool-iguana @littleshadow17 @planet-marz1 @alyhull @joeldjarin @lizzyervs @casa-boiardi @loveisacowboyyy @thegrlwholivedd @ashleymsnodgrass @ilovepedro @dilfspitdrinker @bastardmandennis @breakfastatjoels @gracieheartspedro @chaotic-mystery

[somethingthing]

Bitter Old Man

Joel Miller x reader

Warnings: a few curse words and angst (arguing), fluff towards the end

Word count: 1057

A/n: That’s it, I’m officially writing Joel fics, I absolutely love the show and can’t wait for more episodes. That’s right, I CAN’T wait, so I’m watching the gameplays, a certain someone just got their head smashed in :’)

Joel had been hesitant to smuggle Ellie out, so had you, but if you didn't take her, someone else would. 

You were held up in one of the decaying buildings, it looked like an old shop. A few items were scattered on the floor, but other than that it was empty and secure. Joel had insisted on triple checking.

“At lest she falls asleep fast” you looked down at the girl sleeping on the floor beside you, using her backpack as a pillow.

“It´s not too late to turn back” Joels gaze was focused on her “We turn back now, dump her off and let someone else take her to where she needs to be” he switched his gaze to you.

“No we can´t” you understood why he wanted to, his brother came first and with Ellie that mission became compromised. He gave you a questioning look, not understanding why not “Joel, she´s a fourteen year old girl being handed form person to person, besides, if she truly can help end this as she says, I´m not sure I trust anyone else with her”

“She is still not our problem, we should be finding Tommy and then be done with it” he sounded almost angry, getting out a stressed whisper “A cure? Bullshit, she made that up just to stay alive a while longer” 

You looked at him disbelief “What is your problem?” you quickly looked to Ellie to see that she was still sleeping “Are you really so bitter that you´ve lost all hope and is gonna blame a little girl for your problems?”

Letting out a deep sigh and dragging his hand over his face, he got up from the floor across from you “I ain´t blaming her, I´m saying that I have more important things to do with my time than looking after a helpless brat!” the frustration was clear in his voice even if he tried to keep it down.

You got up as well, careful not to wake Ellie. You moved away from her, still keeping her in sight but enough distance to not wake her with your voices “Okey let me ask you this, if we don´t help her, who will?” he opened his mouth to answer but you stopped him “And don´t give me that ´not my problem´ crap”

He closed it again for a second, but opened it again “Three weeks” he stepped closer and lowered his voice “You really believe that she's been bitten for three fucking weeks? She´s a ticking bomb!” he wasn't wrong, no matter how long she had fought off the infection, you had no idea how long her body would be able to keep it up.

“Then lets get her to The Capitol building as fast as we can” you were sick of his arguing, turning around and starting the move back to Ellie.

“What then? For all we know Marlene could be dead and we´ll never get our payment” he reached out and caught your arm, forcing you to stay “I get that she's gotten your hopes up about a cure, but come on, you´re not that stupid”

You turned you head back to him “If you wanna be a bitter old man, then fine, be that, but leave me the fuck out of it!” now it was your turn to sound angry “And besides, I´m not leaving her out in this world all alone, would you ever have left Sarah?” the moment her name left you lips you wanted to take it back.

He yanked your arm which he still had a hold of “Watch it” his voice was dangerously low and his face dangerously close to yours “She´s off limits, got it?” it wasn't a question, more of a warning about a line he dared you to cross.

You stayed quiet for a moment, cursing yourself for bringing her up “Joel, I´m sorry, that wasn't fair, I didn´t...”

“Mean it? Yes you did” he let go of your arm “Get some rest, we move out in a few hours” and with that the conversation was over.

You didn't get any rest, but twisted and turned instead. As soon as you all were packed up again, you headed out. Ellie must have noticed something was off, after a few attempts to lighten the mood she kept quiet. 

You made a quick stop, searching one of the old buildings for supplies “Listen, I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have brought her up” you watched how Joel searched through a cabinet.

“Where´s Ellie?” he didn´t turn around, but kept looking through the drawers.

“She´s in the other room” you moved closer “Joel could you just please look at me?” reaching out you put your hand on his shoulder. He stood up straight, looking you in the eyes.

Without saying anything you hugged him, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing gently. At first he didn´t move, but then you felt him return it, slowly “I know you´re sorry, I just...” he paused, thinking of his next words “I just haven´t heard someone say her name in awhile”

You drew away enough to look at him “I know” you didn´t know what else to say, letting you gaze study his face. The memory from the night before, of his face being this close to yours fluttered in your mind. Without thinking you reached out and let your lips meet his, it was fast and thoughtless.

You made yourself ready to apologize, drawing away from him, but he stopped you with a hand on your waist. He drew you in, deepening the kiss you had started “Don’t you dare apologize” he breathed out.

Before you could respond, Ellie stepped in to the room “I knew it! I knew something was going on with you two!” she looked at you proudly as you drew away from Joel, then she gave you a suspicious look “Wait did the two of you… EW I knew I heard voices last night, gross!” She spited out making a disgusted face.

“Okey kid, that´s enough” Joel shook his head and gave her a tired look, but you could see the twitch at the corner of his mouth “Let´s get a move on, we ain´t got all day”

“I can’t believe it” she stated and turned around, exiting the room again “I was in the same room, yuck” you heard her mumble to herself.

You looked at each other, laughing quietly to yourself. Nothing more had to be said, at least she hadn’t heard your argument and that was the important part. That, and what had just happened between you, if you we’re going on this suicide mission you would at least do it together.

———————————

Thank you for reading <33 I’m gonna go and cry in a corner about Joel now

[princesssarcastia]

things i’m still thinking about after my second showing of across the spider-verse

Ham and Noir never showed up at headquarters, but they showed up at the end when Gwen and Miles needed them.  I’m actually very curious about that—they both enjoyed working with Miles, Peter B., Gwen, and Peni in the first movie, so they don;t object to working with others on principle.   I wonder if their spidey senses pinged when Miguel or Jess showed up to recruit them, and they said no.  Or: they got all the way to headquarters, caught the vibe, and refused to sign up, not even to see their new friends.  Certainly, Noir is enough like Hobie to see the problematic elements of this place quickly and refuse to take part in it.  And Ham really loves Miles.  If he made it all the way to the part where they explain the anomaly, and how Miguel believes Miles fits in...I think he’d walk out.  My boy Ham would not have stood for that chase bullshit

(Or:  Miguel took one look at Ham and Ham’s world and said “Fuck that, no way.”)

(Or: Peter B. didn’t push for Miguel and Jess to recruit Ham and Noir.  Didn’t push for them to recruit any of the people he grew to love and love working with, during the collider incident, because he knows Miguel, and knows deep down that this environment is toxic, and not at all what he wants for them)

Which brings me to another thing I can’t stop thinking about: how Peter B. definitely knew Miguel before this whole inter-dimensional spider club got started.  They are definitely friends, or they were.  It gives Peter more leeway to fuck around with Miguel, and it gives Miguel more leeway to be an uptight fascist with Peter.

I also think that the reason Peter B. and so many other Spider-People buy into that bullshit narrative about canon events is because they, like so many traumatized people before them, want it all to have meant something.  They want there to be a reason, a divine purpose, a plan, so that their suffering isn’t pointless.  Peter B. has convinced himself that purpose makes the loss hurt less—and it’s not until Miles rightfully calls them all out on it that he starts to realize it actually makes it hurt more.

“All this loss makes us who we are!”  Bullshit, Peter B., you should know better.

We never meet another Miles, not once.  I know some people are speculating that 42!Miles was supposed to get bitten by that spider, but I don’t think that’s true.  

I think the Miles Morales in 1610 is something wholly new in the entire multiverse, and I think that should and does terrify the everloving pants off of everyone involved in the status quo.  In every peter who likes feeling special, who likes being The One And Only Spider-Man, In Every Universe.  In Miguel, who’s clinging desperately to the boxes he’s shoved the universe into so he doesn’t have to try and get better.

And Miles Morales is...oh, he’s mind-blowing.  I can’t stop thinking about the way he! plows! through! an! entire! multi-verse’s! worth! of! spider-people!  All of them!  It’s hard, but he fucking does it and he beats them and he’s RIGHT.   They should fucking crown him king.

Not only that—he beats them at the violence from the moral high ground!  He doesn’t give into despair, doesn’t take the easy route of “I couldn’t stop it, leads to, I shouldn’t stop it.”  He puts the onus on himself to do both.  To save the world and his father.

Miles Morales Is Better Than You

The way that Miles and Gwen seem to have some sort of trans-dimensional spider-sense hookup is so fucking cool.  Gwen stands in his room long enough to spider-sense out through the whole UNIVERSE and tell that he’s. not.  here.  they’re CONNECTED they have a CONNECTION.

Speaking of, Gwen Stacy is trans as fuck.  Claiming her now.

Hobie is a delight.  He sees, I think, what Peter B. sees (and what I think Ham and Noir see) which is that there’s something special about these kids.  (Obviously, that something special is that they’re the main characters.  But for the most part, Miles and Gwen are fighting head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, and on their way to thinking head and shoulders above the crowd, too)

I wasn’t expecting the movie to focus on Gwen so much, but her story was heart-wrenching.  Her dad, picking her job over his daughter.  Getting a second chance, with some people she clearly desperately wants to be her new family, but that second chance is contingent on her ability to perform for the Mission—and comes at the expense of the only friend she’s made since Peter died.  And then...then she fucks up the mission.  And loses everything.  Big oof.  She gets punched in the face so many times, but every time she gets up angrier than before and starts hitting back.

[punk-in-docs]

🕷️ Vanilla Tobacco 🕷️

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.9k words

Summary: Based on one of my favourite Eloise songs- this pure mush but please believe me on the life of my dog, the next piece to follow this with smut is coming in so fast I may get whiplash- watch out- also

Thank-youuuu all of you for being such angels and commenting on my stuff all the time it’s honestly amazing. I know I’m a lazy bum and I need to reply to your astounding comments. But pls know I do see each one and it’s just what makes this all so worthwhile to see how much you all love Eddie X Pencils.

Your morning had been hell on wheels.

You slept through your alarm. Stubbed your toe stumbling out of bed in your rush to get dressed. Burnt your tongue on your too hot coffee. Ended up being late for home room. And now you’ve been lumped with an art essay. Perfect.

Self directed. Six thousand words on a particular art movement of your choice. Which somehow made it even harder to pick-

It’s pokey glass shards stabbing into the already festering wound in your side that was your day.

This would mean you’d be surrendering your lunchtime to this honey of a new project which was due in a week. If you got the books and notes gathered for it now, it would be a great help and a load off further down the line.

You trudge out of class, and back down to the hallway to your locker, with an armful of textbooks and sketchbook. A free period now that you’d spend the entirety of in the library.

In the absence of a certain jingly jacketed, metal head, the music you’ve got blasting through walkman headphones right now, is the only soothing thing that’s helping your scratchy mood stay buoyant.

Well. That and one other salient thing-

You can’t help but draw your thoughts back to yours and Eddie’s movie night. That memory certainly lifts and delights. Wraps up your stomach like being bound in sunny butter-yellow silk.

Being tangled up on Eddie’s terrible scratchy orange couch with wandering hands, seeking more, and so much making out it was like you were kissing each other’s lips raw. Seeing Eddie with those beautiful lips all bitten pink certainly tugged on your guts in the most horny way.

You devoured the pizza together, and he’d tasted like hoppy lite beer and salty pepperoni - licking the greasy cheese mess of it off the corner of your lips. Smiling with oily pizza grease fingers gripping your chin.

You’d laughed so much your ribs hurt. Prodded fun at the gore of his selected horror movies - awed by his taste too. Agreed on the worst and best parts of grainy black and white eerie tones of night of the living dead. The ham acting. The swelling suspense.

He’d grinned with the way you’d squirmed and jiggled and scrunched up your feet in unease at the bit in Nightmare on Elm Street. When Tina grabs Freddy’s face and the whole thing slips into her hand in a bloody rubbery landslide, revealing raw teeth and bulging eyes, scarlet black chasm of a nose.

I love this movie. But I freakin’ hate that bit.

Eddie curls around you tighter. Beaming. Chuckling dryly. Ringed fingers splaying over your hip. Nose nestled in the back of your neck.

Squeamish much, pencils?

Shut up

You both watch as Tina cups at the four claw marks in her stomach as she’s tumbled around the bed and jerked up to the ceiling. Crawling sticky blood up the flowery walls.

You hide again with an ‘Ick.’ Which prompts you to twist around and face him. You don’t do well with blood.

He very kindly lets you shield your eyes behind his hand. Rings warm on your skin.

Freddy’ll have to get through me first. Don’t you worry.

I’ll never let you sleep again, Munson. I will blast the loudest Motörhead in your ears. Okay?

Okay sweets. He winked.

You’d flown into swooning bits at the recollection of how you’d spent a great deal of time on that date, horizontal with Eddie’s warm nose buried deep in your neck. Or his tongue in your mouth. Spit wet lips, hoppy beer breath, and grinding hormones.

Later, much later, after two beers, his teeth and lips were plucking hickie’s at your collarbones and under your jaw. Mainly to distract you from Wes Cravens gore. But, funny how even when the movie ended, neither of you seemed to notice.

Too busy scrunching your hands in his messy hair and kissing him back hungrily. His hands smoothing up your back. Your legs curled open over the cradle of his skinny hips. Grinding into the clutch of yours. His hands were blazing hot on your ass where your skirt was rucked up. Fingertips slipping just-so, under the edge of your panties.

Whenever you hummed or moaned it made him smile. Made his hips jerk to yours. You were grinding on each other like this world would end soon. Entirely composed of rutting feel-good hormones for each other.

He pulled back because he was definitely popping a boner in those skinny jeans and you can’t lie either - you’re wet - you’re both very flimsy underwear barriers away from doing some very x-rated things.

He begs you that he doesn’t wanna be cumming in his pants like a ninth grader. You can’t deny with his hips grinding you like that it wouldn’t take much for your orgasm either. But, you both agreed, that for now, you’d keep it to second base.

All bets are off next time though, Pencils.

Deal. You grin back.

He sighed happily, blushed as a matter of fact, as you nudged a kiss under his ear.

You made out and ate and cracked jokes and chatted for what felt like hours. You tired the moon with your talking - and kissing. So much sparky hot kissing it stunned your lips numb.

You’d never get enough of the taste of Eddie. Smoke and beers on his tongue. Fake snap of chemical apple from his shampoo. Some distant lingering cedar and vanilla cologne that was definitely Wayne’s and had definitely been put on to impress you-

Hewalked you out to your car when time came for you to go. Leaving felt like a ripping pain. Like tearing layers of skin away. You kissed for ten minutes before you even managed to fumble blindly behind you for the door. He kissed you up against the door. Next to the door. All over you with your hands sunk and lost in his hair.

Don’t go I’m not done yet. As he cupped your face and waddled you up against the door - again.

Traffics bad this time of night, Pencils. Give it five if I were you.

I’ve heard a really bad storm is closing in.

Every time you levered apart, he was spinning you back with “Okay but how about one more, y’know, for the road…”

Then proceeded to melt you into another thought-stealing kiss.

Made you laugh into it when he palmed your car keys right out your hand whilst you were distracted by his tongue. And fully launched them over his shoulder.

They landed with a jingly thump over his shoulder on the malt brown carpet. He wrapped his arms around your waist even tighter. Muffled your protests onto the silky bed of his tongue. You moaned and curled your arms around him again.

Thinking of Eddie was definitely one part of your day that didn’t suck. That didn’t scrape rock bottom. It actually lifted you off your dragging heels a bit. Laced a spring in your step that you were careful not to let creep out too much around others.

You lose yourself to that, and into the jagged punk carnality, and let it be known Billy Idol’s sneering roar of a voice was a balm to you.

What didn’t help was that when you came to your locker, Linda was stood against it with the nuclear warhead of a mega-bitch that was Carol P.

They’re gaggled close and smirking about something. There should be a cauldron between them for the amount of shit-stirring and poison slinging they do. You’re thankful you can’t hear it. You turn up Rebel Yell just that tad louder.

Carol was the worst when it came to high school hierarchy. Not only an asshole but determined to drag that festering quality out of everything she touches. Withers the people she considers below her like dead leaves. Thought because she was giving blowjobs under the bleachers, and playing spin the bottle since seventh grade, that it somehow made her the epitome of cool.

You think that much like Linda, its just wearing a mask to cover over the craggy potholes and ultimate shallowness of their personality. They turn into mean, bullying people. Dog eat dog world of high school. Eat or be eaten and these are the pedigree girls with shiny hair, sharp teeth and bitchy smiles.

Really they’re just entirely composed of vanity and rot. Shallowness and arrogance entwined.

Linda barely acknowledges your emergence, as you open your locker and swap out an armful your books for the ones in your hands from an earlier class. You kept your headphones on, muffled the world away to rock music.

A hand shoots over your shoulder and annoyingly jerks on your headphones. Tugging them down the back of your head with a clatter. Making your heart flash fast at the jump of it.

You turn with a glare and see Tommy. H jaunt up to his girlfriend. Giving you a stupid grin. Sneering words back at you. “S’up, Pencil neck.”

Pencil Neck. Mother Mary. Those were some of the ingenious little pet names they had picked out for you.

Because you haven’t had sex and you aim for good grades, apparently this makes you worthy of freakdom in their rabid eyes.

Linda purses her lips a little. Smiles like it’s funny, them calling you that.

Carol barks out her shitty grating laughter. Tilts her head at you and those loose Farah Fawcett auburn curls dance around her snarky face. Popping neon pink gum and looking sly.

Tommy loops his arm around her neck. They stand and eye you like you’re something amusing. Freak show in town. Roll up for tickets.

“Original.” You bite back as you reach for your books.

“Ooh.” Tommy chirps at you. “Not in a friendly mood, are we.”

“My tolerance for vitriolic jackasses is limited.” You narrow your eyes at the pair of them.

You detest the way Carol scans you up and down. Judging your hand me down plaid, jeans and sneakers like you got them from a yard sale. Thinking you’re cheap trash, with a trampy single mom.

Just cause her manicured and caustic mother was the sales rep for a big cosmetic company, and she lives on the gleaming streets of Loch Nora, that it made her perfectly able to peer down her nose at the lower echelons.

She pops her gum with a snap looking at you. Then doesn’t even deign to pay you any attention. Looks towards Linda. A decided bitchy ally.

“You’re coming to the house party at Josh’s tonight, right, Martelli?” She grins as she chews loudly. Wet gummy clicks that get on your nerves. Raking an annoying knife up your spine.

You turn to your locker and ignore the bunch of cognoscenti assholes. You were ashamed to say that included your once fond friend among them.

“Sure I’ll be there.” Linda shrugs like it isn’t a golden gilded invitation handed over, direct from the Queen Bee herself.

“You’re gonna bring Jonny right?” Carol leers. Smile filthy. Like she wants to be the one sucking face with him, as opposed to her own boyfriend currently slung off her shoulder.

“If he can sneak out. His dads being a real dick at the moment.” Linda tells with a glum pouty tone.

“Sneak him out. It’ll be so fun. We got tonnes of beer. There’s bound to be some wet n’ wild fun in the pool.” She grinned all bright and naughty. Sticking her tongue out.

House party on a Tuesday night. These dicks really had nothing better to do than suck face, trash the place, or hump. Make a mess like silver back gorillas parading around in the zoo in their natural habitat.

Tommy decided to drag you back into this razor blade and lemon juice studded conversation. Oh joys.

“Probably not Pencil neck’s kinda evening.” He pouts sticking his lower lip out.

“She’s gotta be back in her convent by 9. Wimple on. Back home with her trampy mom like a good little girl.” Carol mocks in laughing. It’s shrill. Brings to mind a hyena.

Somewhere along the line, the fact your mom was mostly absent and single had become the butt of a joke to these people. Because you don’t live on Maple Street or dress like a Pat Benatar wannabe. You defend your ground in your paint spattered clothes, tatty jeans, and oversized hand-me-down plaid from Charlie, and tees from the goodwill.

It stung like acid each time they swiped and spit nasty words aimed at your mom. Needles pushed under your skin when they sniped their mockery.

You rose above it and grit your teeth. Even though it made you want to start swinging clenched fists. Real tempting to shove the wrong end of your paintbrush in carols stupid eye some days. Splat paint on her expensive jacket or jeans. Knock the books out her hands for once. The dream.

Tommy chuckles along. Carol loves pushing your buttons. It’s her defining character trait. Slamming down on them til they crack into spiderwebs like broken porcelain. It’s all she does best.

“I’m amazed you manage to walk like that what with your head being all the way up your ass.” You slam your locker and turn to talk to a very silent Linda.

“See you after third.” You offer blithely. She barely meets your eyes. Doesn’t answer. She shrinks down. Dumbly clings to her own silent cowardice. Shoves her hands in her pockets and looks at a scuff on her shiny white cavalier boots.

“Got bible studies?” Tommy jumps in quick to say.

You roll your eyes over, let his comment go unmatched. You didn’t have the energy for these two.

You heft your books into your arms and walk away. You hear their laughter and more snideness rips it’s razors at your back as you leave. More insults you don’t care to listen too.

You blast more Billy to blot them out. Forget about their stupidity as you head to the library. You hate the way they slide under your skin like it’s nothing.

You push through the doors and pad through the winding warren of the shelves. Thick carpet tiles muffled your steps. The overly harsh lighting almost buzzed above you. Students hunched hushed over tables, or scanning the stacks. A low thrum of noise and activity compared to the teaming hallways.

It’s a soothe for you. A harbour for you to switch your brain into a slow gear, push it into focusing on something else.

You find a table and set out your books and sketchbooks. Loop your bag on the back of the chair and get scouring through the arts section. You find a stack and pile it against your chest. Take them to your table and hunch over a legal pad. Madly brainstorming ideas for what you wanted to pick.

You settle and let the onslaught of your morning grow quiet. Meld as one into pages and passages. Art Nouveau with its goddesses, natural flowing forms and it’s mimicry of flowers under arched curves. The limpid neon minimalism of Dan Flavin and his light installations. Hockney and his searing blue pool paintings.

There’s so many influences crashing through your head. You skip from book to book. Unable to decide. Tapping the end of your pen against your chin. Raking hands through your lose hair.

You’re curled over a punk art book, looking at the ripped Jamie Reid images, jagged text and rude political satire sprayed and bastardised with paint drips, when something soft hits you on the side of your head, grazing by, and skittering down to your desk. Bouncing off your hand.

You twist back in your seat. Bewildered. Scanning the stacks and there’s nothing save for the usual soft footed librarians drifting around, with their glasses chains, sensible skirts, and hushed voices. The same few quiet kids sat at their tables, dotted around. Unmoved.

You frown and turn back around to the crumpled paper. You smooth it out and make out the chicken scratched words etched there. It was a note.

A love note. Etched in Violet sharpie. It sets a blaze in your chest.

Hey sweet cheeks. You look hot hitting the books. Making me jealous that they’ve got your undivided attention.

Signed it with an E with little sprouting devil horns coming off the top - as if he really needed to identify himself.

You smile when you suddenly feel the tickle of long dry hair feathering it’s tips at the back of your neck. Ringed hands drape for your shoulders. Cold rings even through your worn flannel. Smoke comes with him. Fresh too. He’d just had a cig break you’d guess. Reds curled new on cold leather and carried along with apple.

How was it the worlds nosiest metal-head with his jangly wallet chain and apparently limitless racket, could sneak up on you in absolute silence.

Materialising out of nowhere, like a suddenly gathering storm. Subtle as an earthquake. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. Inhaled deep like he was trying to drag you in via his mouth alone.

“There’s my little bookworm.” He hushes. Voice all trying-to-be-low and hissing. Rumbling down on your skull. Nuzzling his nose to your hair. Coconut. That Amber and Lavender perfume of yours. Clean luminosity of honeyed notes, and the plain spice of hearty lavender that drifts off you.

It’s dizzying. Consuming. He’s missed it the way a man could miss food and water.

“You threw paper at my head.” You faked mild insult.

Eddie leans up on his sneaker tip toes to peer over your head and catch onto the book that has you so engrossed.

“You looked very invested. How else was I supposed to get your attention.” Comes a clever curl of a grin.

It makes little flecks of gold stars shine and shimmer in those inky eyes.

His hand that landed heavy with a whump on your shoulder, curled up a knuckle and played with an idle curl of your hair. Cool fingers leaving sparks where he touched the nape of your neck.

“What are you doing in here, anyway? You know this is a library don’t you.” You tease him. Rotating in your seat. Gazing up at him. “Books. Studying.”

“Mistook it for something else. Won’t make that error twice.” He tells with that signature clever grin.

“Although it does have you in here, so I automatically like it very much, indeed.” He preens.

Your smile makes his spine slope into fuzziness and tingle all warm. Where his hand is on your shoulder, you edge and curl your fingers over his own. Lacing them through.

He wasn’t gonna be a complete letch and admire the way the twist of your body gaped the buttons of that oversized green and navy plaid you wore. Teased him with the silky valley of skin running downwards from your collarbones. Sternum. Bra. Tits. Your tits.

Okay he wasn’t gonna look, but he’s certainly thinking about it.

Those sweet slips of collarbones he’d been sucking and mouthing for eons long just the other night and was that-

That’s a hickie on your neck. From him.

His stomach trips and crashes into feral frenzy knowing he’s the one to have placed it there, in a rabid fit of horny hormones. Horizontal on his couch with hands all stuffed in tops or jeans, roaming in places that felt so so good.

Tongues fat with kissing and mouths smashing together, raw. Charred bodies grinding. Your fingers edging his stiff jeans zipper. His squeezing your tits through your top. Delightful touches that burned bliss through you like biting electric bolts. The muggy heat of breath on lips.

“That big beautiful brain of yours at capacity yet?” He asks. Swaying into the back of your creaking hard chair.

“I’ve yet to hear a pinging noise indicating it’s full.” You decided. Tapping your pencil down on your book.

“Can my bookworm take a break?” Eddie asks with a conspiratorial looking grin. You tip your head back and meet his gaze.

That ‘my’ warms your belly right though like bad cheap whiskey.

“Why would that be?” You ask cheekily. All lowering your lashes and peering all coquettish.

“Cause if you’re not at capacity yet. I think there’s a little more to learn.” He teases and his smile is all dirty dimples and schoolboy cheek.

He whirls back from your chair and pauses at the walkway between two bookcases. It hooks a smile right out of you when you watch him jerk his head in that particular, enclosed, direction.

Your smile grows, crawls across your lips and you keep your butt planted in your seat. “Gee. I don’t think I know what you’re getting at.”

“Need me to spell it out for you?” He asks with narrowed eyes and a wide wide grin.

You lean in said chair and cast your eyes towards the librarians. Who coincidentally have their backs turned to you. One at the desk, the other helping a freshman locate a physics book.

“I don’t know. Maybe if you could find it in book form and read it to me.” You rile. Poking him with a stick.

“Sure. Where’s that Biology section at.” He leans in and bites his lower lip and grips your sleeve. He doesn’t grip your skin with his rings. Worried they’d dig. Even when riled he’s still gentle.

Scrunching up his nose all silly as he’s yanking you out the chair. You laugh softly as you swing off the thing and slink after him.

You both pad silently down the row of bookcases. Eddie tugs you along to the end. Nestled into the crook with paper spines and a shelf digging in your back. The touch on your sleeve travels up your arm, he’s holding your forearm and then impressively smooth, he’s cupping your hip. Slings a finger in your jean belt loop - keeping you tethered to him.

“You going to reinforce a lesson for me. Munson?” You ask.

You rest your hands on his t-shirt. The almost threadbare black sabbath one that you could barely read the scratchy logo on it anymore. It’s almost flaked away. All that’s left is this beaten old black tee that hangs softly in creases off him.

“Yup.” And he pops the P. Staring at your lips. Thumb rubbing soothing circles on your worn plaid stomach. Soft aged flannel. “Gonna reinforce my brains out.” He decides.

“They say repetition is the best way to learn.” He adds. Flirty brow raised. Body flush to yours. Wrapping you in leather smoke and apples.

“And please don’t go hurting yourself on my account. I won’t allow it.” You say as you smooth a hand over the crazy hair beside his jaw. Stroking your fingers under that handsome cut of a jawbone.

You feel his nearness like a gut punch. Every damn time. Has you squirming in every single good way you can muster. This crush blazes so fiery strong. It’s swallowed you whole whilst you weren’t looking. You were too busy watching him smile.

You tip to him. Tilt to him. Up on your toes. Arms going for his neck. Circling around as his hands smooth across your belt loops and cup your hips. He rolls your bottom lip between his. Sucks you into this sloppy kiss as his hands cup you sacredly.

The moment you’ve both been longing for.

You’d never grow tired of kisses like these ones. It left a chasm when you pulled away from his lips on your date. And now again, finally, it’s like a cool clear sip of spring blue water after years of thirst.

Eddie nibbles your lower lip and it draws an unexpected squeak out of you. Plush and tongue and molten. He pulls back and his spit shiny smile liquifies your insides. Warm air puffs over your lips. “Careful pencils. Gotta keep it on the down low in here.”

You half heartedly whack at his chest with an open hand.

He sways with it. Sways into you. Barely noticed your nudge. He catches it with his own fingers, twining into yours. Through yours. Knuckles slot together. Fused. Your hand in his. He brings it up and rests your hand on his neck.

Drunk hazy eyes cast all whiskey puddle brown in yours. Soft as butter and he melts into you again. Nose brushing alongside yours. You taste like the fruity sour bite of chapstick and he’ll definitely chase some more of that fake nectar sweetness, thank you very much.

“How can I be expected to keep quiet when you kiss me like that?” You ask. Tilting in again, legs knocking into his as you press your lips to his in a slow smooch. Long, languid. Taking the kiss off his slanted mouth, honey smooth.

Your hand follows his lead. You cup his soft neck. Thumb brushing the join of his jaw. His hands rearrange themselves. Wandering to settle neatly. One bunching an arm around your waist. The other cups your head. Tilts your mouth to him so he can take and take and unleash on you more of these amazing, demanding kisses.

You should be caring how loud your making out is. Sloppy mouth sounds and little grunts he makes mixed with the thrill of your moans. It rises just a little above the din of the buzzing lights and the swipe of book pages being leafed over.

When you part again you gasp for breath and your knees are stunned into weakness. Your bodies are so close it’s pretty damn evident that soon you’ll be making noises you cannot hide in the whisper quiet library.

It didn’t help that the swelling hunger for more is prodding between your legs. As urgently as his own must be in those tight jeans. Every kiss is laced with a hunger that could proceed sex if you let it.

You really want to let it. You’re so ready to let it.

You exhale onto each other lips when you next part and take a huge pull of breath. Warm whispers sealed to mouths. Bodies tangled. Sure a book was jamming your spine, and the shelf behind you was not exactly sturdy. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered that wasn’t Eddie’s kiss bruised mouth aligned on yours.

“We should probably have another one of those date things soon. Don’t you think?” You ask. Fingers sneaking to his cheek to just touch his skin. A little stubbled.

“You reckon?” He smiles all slanted. Eyes twin honeycomb suns. You stare, stuck into them.

You’ve never seen such warmth leak out those expressively deep carob-eyes. You look at the entirely too long flick of his lashes: the raw pinkness of his cushiony lips. Entirely unfair how he was so pretty. It should be outlawed for a boy to look this pretty when kissed.

Really it was a danger to your health. Your school work would certainly suffer. Your essay sat screeching to be started from your desk.

“I really reckon.” You nod. Eddie swoops in and smooched a boyish charming peck onto your mouth almost in thanks. Pulls back from you with a wet smack.

“If you didn’t say it, I was gonna have to insist.” He teases. Stretches out the last word to almost a hiss so you know he means business.

You bite your lip. “Ok Mr. forceful. What did you have in mind?” You smile. Leaving your arms around his neck. To not touch him would be a stinging agony.

“Anything. So long as we can do this for a good 95 - 98% of the evening. I’m willing to negotiate on the exact percentage.” He asks. “But I would ask you wear that chapstick again.” He requests, no holds barred on the flirt, nudges his lips sweetly to yours.

The flick of his tongue on your lower lip makes your brain twirl and cloud. So naughty.

You kiss him quick. Yank his jacket. Pull back to speak which he pouts at you a little for.

“We could go see a Movie. Go to the arcade. Get ice cream. Go to the old quarry and 420 blaze it, and stargaze. The options are endless.” You say as your fingers find his and twist through. Knuckles stroking those worn metal rings.

“Arcade sounds good. Ice cream is a must.” He says, a little reticent. No one has ever asked him on a date. Much less delved into what he actually wanted to do on said date.

“Arcade and Ice cream it is.” You fix with a grin. “You’re easy to please.”

“Yeah but when it comes to ice cream toppings I’m very picky.” He sneaks forwards and kisses under your jaw.

You have to bite your lip cause he knows how it weakens you. Your gasp from the other night when he slipped his lips all over your jaw is etched interminably in his brain. His tongue traces a hickie he knows only all too well how it got there.

The tip of his nose brushes into anther hickie he’s just given to you. Devil boy. He knows very well what effect it has.

“Whipped cream, Cherries. Lots of cherries, sprinkles. The works.” He whispers all muggy hot into your neck.

“Gotta have cherries. Pencils.” He rasps inbetween heavy plucked kisses on your skin.

You shiver all over with the innuendo. He feels it ripple through you. The way your skin pimples with pleasure that pops, stringing along your veins.

You dig your nails into his hands cause holy shit. Every time you kiss you creep closer and closer to the idea of just slipping your hand inside those ripped jeans and going to town- that barrier of your willpower is being worn paper thin with every caress.

“All the cherries you want, pretty boy. Maybe afterwards we could take a, uh, scenic route up to skull rock and be fools, fooling around.” You smile.

It’s dizzying to him. That idea. Better than Colombia gold spreading all vibrant verdant green and dozy through his lungs.

“I’ll bring the jester hat, Mi’lady.” He flat out grins. It’s borderline Munson manic.

“Perfect evening.” You summarise. Shaking your head and eyeing his lips again.

“Perfect date.” He adds on. Biting his lower lip.

“My god. We’re corny. Even meatloaf would refuse to write a mushy ballad about us right now.” You joke. Hands still looped around his neck. Like hell would you wanna let go.

“Need some help with that essay?” He offers. Closing in for your mouth again.

“Mmhmm need all the help I can get.” You whisper. Barely a brush away from his gorgeous lips.

He kisses you again and it’s stunning. Births a wild jungle of fiery mush and kicked butterflies to rioting life in your belly.

“I promise to be such a huge help. You may not even need those books babe. Don’t you know I’m so brainy it’s unreal.” He wheedles at you.

“I never doubted your big beautiful mind even for a second.” You admit. Holding his chin as you lean in and kiss him solidly once more. Coaxing a lovely sounding whine from the back of his mouth when your tongue swipes his lip.

You drag him back out into the open. He goes - somewhat willingly.

Slips himself into the chair beside yours. Hands splayed over your books as he twirls a pen in his hand as asks you probing and philosophical musings about art.

Cubism. I’m sorry. C’mon? Those guys must’ve been on seriously good pills, man.

How about Constructivism then? You ask.

Gesundheit, pencils.

He scrawls some more devils and live hearts with your name, and leafs through another thick old book. The yellowed pages crack with age.

I got a new twisted sister tape. You should hear it.

I like watching you study. It’s freakin hot. You’re so brainy.

Hey, this chicks kinda neat. She looks like a character from Lord of the Rings or somethin’. He decided as he pawed over an Alphonse Mucha picture.

My favourite too. I love the way he uses colour. It’s dreamy.

You’re dreamy.

He laughs when you bite your lip and look bashful.

He will not stop shooting you a flirty smile as he doodles idly on your legal pad. Swirls big loopy letters of ‘I Love Eddie.’ And ‘Hellfire rulez’ and lots of demon faces, and skulls with horns. Lightning bolts and leathery bats.

His restless hands cannot be stilled. He steals a scrunchie from your bag, and it sits looped on his wrist next to his chain bracelet. Lilac borders leather. He makes no intention of giving it back. Magpie manners.

You make a face at him, asking how you’re supposed to tie your hair up for still life class after school.

“I like it loose and wild.” He says as he skims his eyes over your hair. Thumbs a piece back by your ear so sweetly.

You crook a brow. Smile tips lopsided.

He seems to realise that what he said can be taken an alternative way. “Well, no I uh, didn’t mean it like that.”

Your laugh spins his head into adoring craziness.

“Alright. Alright.” He consoles you by picking a W.A.S.P pin out his denim vest and leaning over to stud it into the collar of your plaid. Tongue bitten between his teeth as he concentrates. Fingers brushing your neck. Skin on skin contact leaving kicks and flutters that shoot stars in his wake.

You look down at it. The shiny metal gleaming in the buzzing light. “Okay, that is a worthy consolation.” You offer.

He makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you spend more time leaning into him and trying not to laugh too loud over discussing movies, favourite arcade games and music, than you do actually choosing your essay topic.

When the bell rings for next period you actually detest the thought of scurrying away to your Math class. Yet, Equations and trig beckoned.

Eddie walks you out the library. Opens the door all charming, waves a hand to gesture you on through first, like a true gentleman. You thank him and glide past with your books clutched to your chest.

The hallways are bustling but emptying fast. You twist back and tell him you’ll catch him later. Maybe at lunch.

He smiles that wide trouble-stroked grin. Clutched your hand and leaned down all showy to kiss the back of it and shoot you a dirty flirty wink, before he too whirled away.

You smile and it lingers on your lips even as you part. The press of it makes your whole arm come alive. You watch him for a scant moment before walking off down the corridor the opposite way.

You both look back over your shoulders after about five meagre steps away. Eddie gives you a melting grin, you return it. All eyelashes and beaming.

That grin said a lot. Dead giveaway. The hand kiss. The lingering and swirly body movements, not ever wanting to pull apart. Spoke volumes to those who bothered enough to really look and see it.

The feminine flash of a lilac scrunchie on Munson’s wrist. The telltale purple splotches of hickies hiding just below your collar. The heavy metal pin punched through your collar all shiny. Winking like a far off star.

Far enough down the hall that neither of you paid any notice, Jonny Lopez shut his cloud-grey locker door and leaned against it. Lake blue eyes swam cold. Watching the Freak practically skip away.

He saw him kiss your hand. Saw him pull you close by the corner of your plaid, reeling you in, and all warm smiles backed in flirting familiarity. Watched you beam back, and linger to chat a moment. Your hand laid on leather lapel, brushing at his chest.

It didn’t add up. It’s coming out odd to him. You and the Freak? Close? Since when?

He frowned and tugged his backpack on his shoulder.

Strange sight, that.

~

“Okay. Please please please for the love of god and on all things holy, don’t get weird.” You call out to your mom as you trudge down the stairs.

Not yet coming to the bottom but you could hear her rifling around in the fridge. Billy Joel’s Anthony’s song clunking out it’s piano notes from the stereo in the kitchen that she always has on when she makes dinner

Which is a strong term for when she just scrounges and grazes stuff out of there like a jackal. When she’s so dragged by jet-lag, she only has the energy to slam some pop-tarts in the toaster and throw back a beer for an evening meal.

She was most definitely not a baked ziti or a casserole mom. She overcooks tater tots, or survived on boxed mashed potatoes and a can of limp greens with some breaded frozen chicken.

More than once she’s resorted to a bag of chips for her dinner. Now you know how she stays so trim. And it’s true what she says about your older sister Charlie being the cook in the family, cause that trait had seemed to have skipped you and her, altogether.

After long haul flights like these, she’s usually all set to scarf a meal down in dribs and drabs and grab a beer, to fall asleep with, as her TV soaps blare on. More than once you’ve had to rush in and stub a Newport gold out her dead asleep hand. More than once she’s burned holes in the couch. Covered them up with a crocheted blanket.

Right now, she’s humming and tapping her toes as she eats cool whip out the tub with a spoon. Stood there in her indigo bootcut jeans and oversized cable knit sweater that slid off one shoulder. White and fluffy.

“Alright.” She calls back slowly. Digesting your words. “Colour me intrigued…” She turns the music right down for this. For whatever this was-

You round the kitchen doorway. And it becomes obvious.

Your wearing a dress, and the oversized box-back leather jacket that once upon a time, belonged to her. With rhinestones on the back that spelled out ‘rock n roll’ with a flaming skull underneath. You’d paired it with a red dress that clung and a nipping big white leather hoop belt stretched around your middle. Sneakers and white socks on your feet. Silver wet n wild on your eyelids. Liner and mascara. Your hair all fluffed and kinked

“You’ve joined a rock band? I want front row tickets. I like the jacket. Very Joan Jett.” She grins wide. The flash of that pearly perfect smile. No whiff of how it was hers that you’d poached for the evening.

“No.” You explain.

Her eyes pin you down. Widening under her shiny bangs.

“Intrigue.” As she lopsidedly and untidily stuffs more groceries into the fridge.

“Linda is dragging you to a… club? Or another trashy house party?” She asks.

“Wrong, again.”

“Ok, connect some dots for me cause I’m lost here.” She waves her hand at you as she unloaded tubs of ice cream into the freezer. Peanut butter chocolate chip.

“Don’t get weird.” You point a finger at her. She holds her hands up in surrender.

“Well, weird is my wheehouse kid. My basic operating system.”

“Mom.”

“So intense tonight.” She grumbles all chirpy.

“I actually have a date.“ You lay out.

She looks right at you as she lets the fridge door slam shut. Mouth gaping.

“A date?” She checks.

“Are you a parrot now, or what.” You tease.

“Look at you. Hiding your light under a bushel.” She beams. Hands on her hips.

“Boy or girl?” She asks, blinking.

“A boy. Mom.” You offer up. “But thank you for that.” You wave your hand at her.

“Hey. No judgement here babe. A date. My god.” She looks floored. Hand laying on her chest floored.

“Yes.” You respond. “Well. Actually to be honest, It’s kind of our second date. We had a movie night at his place last week.”

“Second date huh.” She waggles her brows at you like a dirty minded frat boy.

“Well, tell me how it goes. You can leave out all the gross- y’know.” Bringing her hand up to her face and making obscene wet kissing, slurping smacking noises. Cooing at you across the kitchen.

“You are four years old.” You narrow your eyes at her. She grins.

“Do you need me to feed you and put you to bed before I go?” You jest tiredly as you walk to the hall. Check your hair yet again in the mirror.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just be sticking my fingers in the electrical sockets and running with scissors here, totally unsupervised.” She jokes. Picking a rogue hair off the back of your jacket.

“Guess I’ll just have to sit on the couch and watch reruns of Golden Girls on my own. Eat sad Beefaroni and be a tragic spinster mom.”

“Do so quietly.” You wave off.

When you move to get your shoes: she follows. You have a shadow, apparently.

“So this booooyyy- honey tell me about the boy.“ She grins all giddy. Leaning against the door and swaying her body like a preeny high school girl.

Like she should be twiddling pigtails with a lollipop in her mouth. Candy saccharine sweet.

“Is he on the team?” She seeks. And then gasps. “Is he gonna give you his letterman jacket if you get cold?” She clasps her hands and her voice teeters all high and romantic-like.

“Yeah. Then he’s taking me and Rizzo to the sock hop in his Studebaker and then onto some racing for pinks.” You joke with her archly.

“My god. You got your penchant for dragging sarcasm from me.” She pointed out. Unhelpfully. Shoving you half heartedly in the shoulder for being smartly rude. Beer now in her other hand as she drapes herself against the kitchen doorway.

“Not a letterman then?” She scrunches up her nose. She knew well of your distastes.

“If he was I wouldn’t be touching him even with gloves on, and ten f oot pole.” You insist as you make sure you’ve got everything in your purse.

“Less Steff McKee, more Duckie. I got it.”

You smile at the way she’s phrased it. Whatever Eddie was he was definitely way more Duckie territory.

“So he’s not a jock, alright. That narrows it down. Is Duckie atleast cute? Or am I gonna have ugly grandchildren.” She asks.

“Mom.” You hiss with skated laughter as you fluff your hair in the mirror. She winced suddenly.

“It’s not Keith from the Arcade is it? Cause he’s always been sweet on you. You went in last time and I swear he was drooling over you in your Talking Heads tee.”

“It’s not Keith.” You answer nicely. You liked Keith, but he could be sleazy, and a catty kind of mean, and had a bigger chip on his shoulder than you when it came to the preps and jocks.

Plus he would literally date any girl with a pulse that breathed his way. Besides, he was way way deep into crushing on Nancy Wheeler territory.

You exhale into the mirror. Wondering if the sweet sheen of lipgloss was too much. If you should rethink these earrings. You’re a mess. It’s all whirling around a stubborn coil of packed nervousness in your stomach. A fever twist.

“What you kiddos getting up too? Something salacious? Gonna knock off a liquor store? Go to Wild biker parties with lots of vomiting and sex?”

“We’re going to the arcade and grabbing some junk food. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll have time to work a teen pregnancy or a vomit sex party into the mix.”

“Now see here, Mama didn’t raise no quitters.” She salutes towards you with her beer before she swigs back a sip. You know she can’t resist delving a little more into the nitty gritty details.

“What’s he like. Your Duckie. Blonde, tall, short, fat, thin, dark, athletic. Is he in the chess club? Is he trouble? Does he have a motorcycle or a criminal record?” She’s tapping your arm with the back of her hand as she keeps thinking of more things to ask you.

“All good if relentless questions.” You temper her rambles. “You may need to cool it with the Pretty in Pink references.” You chuckle.

“Spill spill.” She encourages.

“Less chess club, more DND club.” You tell her. Fiddling with the earrings. Definitely deciding to take them out. Untangling them from your hair.

She’s gets very excitable about that prospect. “Is he nerdy hot…” She gets close and rasps at you all low.

“Yes. The orthodontic headgear from his braces, combined with his pressed slacks, Mmmm, really gets me going.” You lie.

She smiles wider. You’re all snippy sarcasm and fluffing hair and you keep peering past her at the banana yellow cat clock with the wagging tail and rolling eyes in the kitchen.

“You’re nervous.” She hits the nail right on the head. Rubs your arm up and down. Cups your shoulder.

You let out a deep breath. “Correct.” You tell her.

You can’t lie to your mother. She’s a human lie detector when it comes to you. She’ll sniff it out of you like those bomb dogs at the airport. One whiff and she’s all over it.

“You must really like this mystery nerd Huh?” Shecomes over and strokes the hair spilling down the back of your neck.

You meet her gaze. You scrunch your nose with a kinda giddy smile you can’t hide bursts across your face. “I really do.”

“Why haven’t I heard anything about him you sneaky thing… you been holding out on me? I mean, I know my being out the country isn’t conducive to mother-daughter late night talk over a tub of ice cream… but-” She wonders. Idly playing with the bangs framing around your forehead. The soft yellow light from the cheap yellow flicks off the fine French manicure sleekly and pretty pink on her nails.

“Recent development. I haven’t been holding anything back from you. Promise. You’d root it out even if I did. Not to mention the guy turning up on the doorstep would be a big tip off.” You suppose.

“There is that.” She nods. Standing her beer down on the hallway table. Coming up behind you and idly rearranging your hair where you’d mussed it.

“Any pearls of wisdom I need to give you? Do you need the talk again of where babies come from.” She plays around.

Give her ten ways to say something serious and she’d still be clowning around.

That actually makes you laugh. You meet her solid gaze in the mirror. It’s so warm. It’s like sun skating on emeralds. The crinkled corners of the eyes that are entirely more hazel than yours.

You’d always thought she was the pretty exception. Pearly smile. Dazzling eyes. It didn’t help that Charlie got her stunning silky hair and piercing eye colour too. You got the frizz and the freckles and the big hips. The hair that more belonged on a wiry messy dog. That never laid nicely or did as it was told.

“Is my hair bad? I used too much product. It’s too frizzy. ” You wince as you ask her. Faffing with it still around your ears.

“No. Baby. It isn’t.” She tells you softly with a grin that’s circling somewhere proud and awed. She puts her hands on your shoulders.

Growing up she taught you that women didn’t need to be only pretty to get by. She’d remind you how you were stunning in your unique way and it was entirely up to you what way you made it.

When toxic high school mixed with the uncertain churning of puberty, she was there to reinforce the idea that you could be brainy, and take up space, and spit and shout, bare your teeth, and throw punches and be gritty, all that- be a fierce Amazonian of a woman. Be wonder woman. Be a sultry sizzling Marilyn. Be whomever you wanted-

“You gonna let me meet Duckie when he gets here?” She asks.

“Well, actually, I was gonna lock you in the attic.”

Her mouth gapes. Offended. “What, like I’m suddenly a Kennedy.”

“Tough choice when you’re a Kennedy. How do you even chose which one in the family to hide in the attic.” You ask dead serious.

She closes her eyes and exasperatedly makes a fist with one hand.

“Ok, kid, we’re veering off topic here. Can I meet him, please? C’mon I will only say two embarrassing things tops.” She grins. Holding her fingers up to signal the two things.

“Don’t explode all over him with questions. He’s nice.” You promise.

“Baby, he’s dating you. Of course he’s gonna be nice. I like to think I raised you with standards.”

“You did think I was dating a jock up until two minutes ago.” You level at her.

“Touché my sweet.” She holds a finger up and gives you an invisible tally mark.

“No interrogations either.” You add.

“I’ll put my interrogation lamp away. And no explosions. Promise. Internal implosions only.”

“Try not to be- y’know? Your usual level of insane?”

“Why. He’s not here to date me. I shouldn’t have to hide my eccentricity in the comfort of my own home.” She mocks, looking evil.

“Good grief.” You sigh as you double triple safety sure check you’ve got everything in your purse. Candies. Lip smacker. Money. Coin change for the arcade machines. She leans over and peers into your purse

“Condoms are in the bathroom cabinet by the way.” She winks before tipping back more beer.

“Right. No to that.” You snap. “Go get in the attic. Now.” You tell her with no evident humour. Snapping your fingers and pointing up the stairs.

She pokes her tongue out at you in a very mature move.

You twist to the direction of the door when you hear a clunky rumble of something that was definitely a van engine, music all shredding shriek and rock heavy, easing to a stop. And then the thump of a door.

She practically inhaled all the air in the house when Eddie does one of his fumbly music-riff knocks on your front door. Deep Purple, you reckon.

“I think your nerd hath arriveth. Mi’lady.” She beams.

Claps her fingers together in overdone excitement. Trying to gawk through the blurry glass in the front door to make out his general shape.

Fuck. Now this is all so real and your stomach is clenching, doing those gravity defying swoops like it’s trying to take off without you.

You fluff your hair one last time and step to the door across the spongey purple entryway rug. You take a deep breath. Palm clammy and slipping on the doorknob. You twist it open.

Eddie breaks into a sunshine stroked grin the other side when he sees you. It melts you. Makes something inside glow coal hot at the sight of him again.

He’s wearing his jacket with a Van Halen tour tee. Faded wings of an eagle and band name crackled on old wash grey. The usual ensemble of chains and ripped jeans. But you see the new sight of fancy polished combat boots.

Wayne had made him sit his bony butt down for five seconds and polish them before he whirled out the door to come get you.

“A man takes pride in his shoes when taking a young lady out on a date, Edward.” As he gruffly handed him a shoe brush. Gestured with a lit red in the other hand.

Full name. Serious. Scary.

“Listen I need to get going if I’m gonna make it out of the Victorian Era on time.” Eddie sassed. Elbow folded up. Checking his Casio.

Wayne pushed the brush into his hand. Slammed the silver pot down in front of him. The claggy thick smell of polish coming from the well used army tin he had sat on the counter. Face as stoic as an Easter Island head. He wasn’t taking any bull.

“Less cheek. Get buffing.”

“Child labour has been outlawed you know.”

“Not in the Victorian Era it hasn’t.”

Eddie did as his Uncle ordered. Now here he is.

Smelling like cologne, cigarettes and the unmovable sticky tinge of dark boot polish. Hair having had a briefly tangled

liaison with a comb.

He’s chewed gum the whole way here worried about his smoky acrid breath. Piece after piece shoved into his mouth. Sharp spearmint spiking the bed of his tongue. It didn’t settle the squirming worms in his stomach. Nor the tap of his newly polished shoes in fidgeting.

“Hey.” He smiles. Nervously tucking his hands in his back pocket. His jacket jangles. The chain around his hip and his bandana sways with him as he stands on your porch.

“Hey yourself. You look nice.” You beam back. There’s an undeniable allure in your pretty face. Honey gold smile skated in shiny gloss. He equates to something like pure magic.

“Ditto, Pencils.” He smirks. Veiled flirt. Not letting himself get too eager with it. His eyes flick up your dress, down your legs, and back up.

Holy shit. Good doesn’t even begin to cover how you look right now.

You also cannot ignore the lingering looming presence of your mom as she practically leaps into his eye-line behind you. She’s utterly vibrating with excitement. You can sense her just jiggling with it.

She sidles up behind you and shoves herself into the gap you’ve left in opening the door.

Whatever he was expecting of your mom, he certainly didn’t imagine this whirlwind of a woman behind you.

She’s young too. Must’ve had you in her late teens. Not stuffy. No silent husband like a fixture in an easy boy chair in the living room. Silently scathing with disapproval. She’s not sporting a beige cardigan and a constant threat of neighbourhood watch association snobbery. Sneering at Eddie on her porch like he’s a flea infected stray, yowling at her door.

There’s no way in hell anything resembling stuffy could cling to this woman.

Fierce hazel eyes traced with crows feet, shiny dark hair all free-wild and choppy. She’s old movie star kinda striking. That Colgate grin touted about in the 1950’s. One he recognises as the one that closely and genetically mirrored yours.

Boot cut jeans and a pearly smile and a big fluffy sweater and denim jeans. Entirely mad and friendly and she’s only met him two seconds ago. Some punchy shredding ZZ top blasts from the kitchen and something tells him that’s all her taste too. As well as pair of violet rhinestone cowboy boots sat by the doormat. Whacky.

He thinks how wildly accurate it is that this busy bright, kinetic energy ball of a woman, raised an unconventional and awesome girl like you. That’s no leap there.

“It is so nice to meet you. Duckie.” She out and out grins. You give her one of your looks.

Eddie chuckles. A little lost. “Duckie?” He asks.

“Her grip on sanity is loose at best.” You explain.

She elbows you in the the hip as she takes the grin down to a less terrifying notch. “Ok. Ugly grandchildren are struck off the list. He’s adorable. Look at those Bambi eyes.”

You really wish you had locked her in the attic. She’s exploding all over the poor boy.

“She’s loopy when she’s off her meds. And around new people.” You sigh to him. It gets an easy smile. Buffs the nervous look away.

“Mom this is Eddie. Eddie, I’m so sorry, this is my Mom.” You introduce. Skating a hand to the woman chomping at the bit behind her shoulder.

“Don’t you say sorry for me.” She slithers her arm through the gap you’ve left in the door. Fluffy jumper all cable knit bobbled and fuzzy. She’s a wave of zingy energy smelling like smoky Newports and designer Yves Saint Laurent perfume.

He shakes her manicured offered hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. She’s told me only good things.”

“Then she’s totally been lying. Edward. A pleasure. I’m Veronica but please don’t call me that, everyone calls me Ronnie. Awesome awesome shirt by the way.” She beams as she peers around the door. Releasing his hand from hers. “Like your metal huh?” She asks.

She perched her hands on the doorframe and stuck her head into this pick up between the two of you.

“Only with my oxygen, food and water.” He jokes. A little of his truer wide smile comes sneaking out. Now he knows there’s no need to stand on awkward shuffly doormat ceremony with your parent.

Because he knows he isn’t a meet the parents kinda guy.

He’s the guy parents ring Principal Higgins about. With distaste sour, and judgement nastily spewing off their tongues. He’s tatted, he’s a cheap weed seller, he’s crazy and scraggy weird, and he lives in a trailer park. Stamp mark of future-convict hovered heavy and eternal over his head.

He’s a jump out the window, hide in the closet kinda guy. No one would ever bring him home all hair combed and sparkly clean, pressed button down, to mom and pop, for a meatloaf dinner. Cause he’s no one to be proud of.

Yet here? Perhaps in the eyes of the most unconventional mom in all of Hawkins, something has shifted.

Something feels like it’s been spun off its axis and set down wrong, cause this bubbly woman is smiling at him and excitedly prodding her daughter out the door to go on their date. And maybe she is insane. As you said.

Talk about falling down the rabbit hole. Punctured through the splintered looking glass. He’s not high, but he could swear on seeing white rabbits and mad hatters right about now. It’s fucking nice. He’d never have expected this funky curveball in coming to pick you up.

“Edward? Eddie?” She asks.

“Eddie is fine.” He offers. Nodding, as he slips his hands into his pockets. Self conscious move, even though he didn’t need to be.

She widens her smile. “Where abouts you from? I know DND club and the fact you’re a white male in high school. Other than that I’m out. She’s been stingy with details.” She jerks her thumb at you.

His tongue shrivels up. She’s tolerated him so far. Maybe this is the sour turning point that will tip the introduction on its head.

“I live in Forest Hill’s with my Uncle. My folks, uh aren’t around.” He tells with a tone she can tell is used to receiving nasty scratchy criticism. Eyebrows raise and moods change when he’s said that before.

She nods. Her smile doesn’t leave. Doesn’t even drop.

“Honey. I grew up in paradise trails mobile park in Sloan Nevada. Don’t sweat it. Doesn’t make us lepers.” She shrugs.

Like it didn’t just wash a whole wave of unease aside in his chest.

“People in this town seem negatively charged when I tell them that’s where I live.” He admits with a big clown smile. Your heart bleeds at the true reverence in his tone.

“People in this town, are snooty assholes.” She chuckles wisely.

Debbie Harry is throatily singing one way or another from the stereo in the kitchen now.

“You done grilling my date?” You ask her with a sickly smile.

“If you stick around, there will be a follow up round where I fetch your baby pictures. And invite him in for a beer.” She threatens. Eyes widening. Kubrick crazy.

“Bye Mom.” You say as you step out the door to join him on the porch. She catches it where you’ve left it open. Calls out as you stand in the clear night listening to the cicadas hum and the street lights buzz and blink into sleepy orange. You leave her chuckling.

“Wise move. Now scram before I dust off my pipe, And my old ‘what-are-your-intentions-towards-my-daughter’ queue cards.” Your mom winks at you.

“Enjoy your night, crazy lady. Go feed the cats.” You answer, calling back over your shoulder as you sling your hand into Eddie’s lapel and pull him across the lawn.

“Let’s get away from this house of lunacy.” You tell him.

He stumbles after you waving a goodbye to your mother. Almost tripping over his boots.

“Home by midnight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. No 420ing it without me.” She calls out to you.

Eddie chuckles as you bring him down your front lawn. Sneakers brushing the grass alongside the gentle thuds of his foot falls. Your hand migrated to holding his.

“That’s your mom.” He states. Sounding dumbfounded.

“I know. I should’ve warned you. She’s a whole new spin on the word eccentric.” You offer.

“She didn’t bark at me to get off her porch like I’m some stray, Pencils. That’s a hell of an improvement versus the reaction I thought I’d get.” He says as he looks down.

Avoiding stepping on the dandelions that are scattered across your lawn all yellow and happy. Just trying to grow upwards and peep at the sun.

You slope your fingers through his. He looks up and gazes at you as you fall in step.

“As insane and untethered to planet earth as she is, she’s really not like other moms around here. She likes you already, probably on sight of the Van Halen tee.” You tell him with smiling weight to your meaning.

His grin lopes across his face.

“She’s cool y’know. No stuffiness. No essence of church on Sunday is the law and green bean casseroles.” He nods. He likes it. He really does.

“She had my sister Charlie when she was a teenager. Me a couple years later. Possibly too young for the likings of the pissy bible study moms in this town. She dropped out of Berkeley. Parents chucked her out. She worked three crappy jobs whilst raising us and coping with my deadbeat dad, always hoping for a little better and, being, well, as you saw, entirely unhinged.” You gestured to your house.

“And…” You add. “She’s not a green bean casserole person. She stinks at cooking even by her own admission. Thankfully, we have Charlie for that. She’s the domestic one.”

Eddie smirks. His smile is pure warmth. “You guys are close, though. Tight knit. It’s cute.”

“I love that she’s not a run of the mill mom. Growing up, others didn’t tend to be as kind about it. They see a single parent, they immediately go to trashy, trampy, drunk, who doesn’t give a shit.” You roll your eyes.

Genuine hurt backs your voice though. “They set her and me aside cause we’ve always been different. We don’t have tonnes of money or a fancy house.”

And who knows that better than Hawkins own freak?

He squeezes your fingers. Warm rings all marking their usual grooves in your skin. A thorough loving squeeze that makes your heart go pattering all soppy in your chest.

“People are assholes. So I’m reliably told.” He parrots as he brings to you both to the passenger side of his van. Rings clack on the handle as he gets the door for you.

You stand and smile. “People are assholes. Look at the unfair bad rep they give you.” You point out.

He shrugs. Smirking. “What can I say? My handsome face and awesome personality protects me from total infamy.” He grins all

cheesy.

Yanking open the van door with a hand and turning his palm up to you.

“Here now, I was prepared for a little infamy. Munson. Are you telling me I’m gonna be disappointed?” You smirk as you step up close.

Eddie’s poor little rabbit heart flashes fast with the way your dress is kinda, pretty well low cut. And skimming and squeezing every beautiful curve. When you step close he can smell perfume and cherry gloss and all things sexy sweet.

You’re looking at him directly. Eyes smouldering under your eyeliner and wet n’ wild silver glitter. Angling for a kiss that he’s happy to give you til his lips damn well fall off.

He leaves the van door open. Steps you back just a little. Nudged your hips back to the body of it.

“Think I’m flirting with bad company here.” He smiles. Traces his nose along yours.

“Doubtlessly. Wanna back out now?” You ask in a husky whisper against his mouth. Hearts racing. Pulses whipping fast. Lust stirs.

His chest may implode but he’d be fine with that. Atleast he’d die kissing you. What a way to go-

“Yeah. I’m running for the hills here.” He teases. Cupping your neck and gingerly laying his fingers over your hip. You stroke hours through his long black vines of soft tousled hair.

Then he’s leaning all the way in to kiss you properly, so firmly and urgently on the mouth. Languid spearmint tongue tasting sharp and delicious, playing with your lower lip. You tug him in by his leather collar. Loving the way his body leans against yours. You moan softly.

Maybe you should’ve taken the freakin condoms after all?

Beyond the kissing, you barely hear your front door whine as it’s cracked open. Your mom hollers across the lawn with her beer in hand, and makes the dog down the street bark it’s damn head off.

“Gross. Get a room!”

You pull apart and he can’t help bursting into a smile.

“Let’s leave here. Please.” You ask of him. He can’t contain his blushy laughter.

~

My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx @s-u-t @alyssaaaaa-r

[sserpente]

A/N: I’m baaaack! Sort of, haha! I’m gathering my forces to get back into posting lots of new Imagines from next week but for now, please enjoy this silly thing I wrote. I’m still healing from Loki Season 2 and I already have a festive idea for that too… and on that note, if you have any Christmassy prompts in mind, throw them my way! Have fun reading!

Words: 1185 Warnings: winter silliness, fluff

“It’s three snowballs, Astarion. Three. And stop nibbling on that carrot, you can’t even eat it!”

“They make them with two in Baldur’s Gate!” A crisp sound tore through the ice-cold air, followed by an indignant gasp from Gale.

“Stop nibbling on the damn thing!”

It truly was a sight to behold. Gale, wrapped in a purple scarf and a hat that practically screamed wizard and Astarion, not bothered by the cold, wearing no jacket or gloves with his white shirt and those sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his strong arms; and the white new layer of snow that had come to rest in camp overnight.

Upgrading those tents with magical heating and enchanted fire had been a brilliant idea judging by how you sank into fresh powdery flakes knee-deep as soon as you stepped outside. The cold greeted you by biting at every inch of exposed skin it could find.

Gale ripped the carrot from Astarion’s grasp who spat out the tip he’d just bitten off with a disgusted expression. In between them sat two differently sized snowballs stacked on top of each other, and another small one next to the wizard’s boots on the ground.

You crossed your arms before your chest, holding back a laugh. “What in the hells are you two doing?”

“I am trying to build a snowman. Astarion is trying to sabotage me.”

“I would do no such thing!” With a shit-eating grin, he raised his arms in defence. “A snowman has two snowballs as I, kind as I am, have made Gale aware of. I was trying to help.”

“Well… Alright, I see. We went from fighting mind flayers to arguing over snowmen’s body parts?” You raised an eyebrow, still attempting your very best to keep that hysteric laugh bubbling up your throat down.

“Building snowmen is a perfectly acceptable way to pass the time in winter,” Gale argued as he heaved the last snowball up and sat him on top of the other two. The carrot slipped from his hands as he did and it took Astarion only a split second to snatch it up and plunge it into the snowman’s “face” with so much force the snowball almost broke in half.

Both Astarion and you watched soundlessly how Gale retrieved a handful of coals from his tent and proceeded to give the snowman eyes, a mouth and buttons.

“He looks a little thin, don’t you think?” Astarion suggested all of a sudden. You blinked as they both contemplated the snowman with tilted heads and then got to work, scooping up more snow from the ground to pat it on. If only you had Oskar with you right now to paint a picture of this—no one would ever believe it.

“Now… go on… give him your scarf and your hat,” Astarion said. You chuckled. The cold was all but forgotten now—you were invested. Hells, this was better than your morning coffee.

“I think I’ll pass on that one, thanks. I certainly need them more than the snowman does. Besides, I could just do that—“ Gale waved his hand and snapped his fingers in a fluid motion. Out of thin air, he materialised a miniature scarf and hat to complete the snowman’s appearance.

You clapped your hands. “Bravo! He looks adorable. Now… has either of you thought of making some coffee before you got to work with this masterpiece?”

“I can’t say that I did,” Gale announced. “I’m more of a hot chocolate guy around this time of the year.”

Chuckling once more, you stepped closer and shivered. You’d need a jacket soon. The cold was starting to take a toll on you, not even the hot flushes Astarion’s presence gave you could help with that.

“Then go work your magic and make us some, will you? Please?”

Astarion hummed, regarding the finished snowman wordlessly as Gale nodded with a smile and returned to his tent.

It was a beautiful winter morning indeed. You bent down to shovel some fresh snow in your hands and formed a snowball before joining Astarion for a good morning kiss.

“You know…” He breathed a laugh. “It’s almost funny. I’ve never bothered playing with snow before. I never had the time.”

You cupped his cheek with your free hand when his gaze became distant, gently forcing him back to the present. “But you do now. We can make a whole snowman army. And have snowball fights.”

“Snowball fights?” The confusion in his voice was palpable, teasing almost.

“Snowball fights,” you repeated. With that, you brought the hand holding the snowball above his head and smashed it on top of his hair.

Astarion’s jaw dropped, feigned indignity paired with real indignity as the snow trickled through his hair and on his shoulders. You laughed, almost slipping on the snow campground when you turned on your heels and made a run for it. There was no need to look back to see if he was following you. He was—and with his vampiric reflexes, he had his arms wrapped around your middle in no time.

You both went down before your brain could even process you were falling. Astarion cupped the back of your head to keep you from hurting yourself as he landed on top of you, his free hand snatching both your wrists to pin them down above your head.

“How dare you, pet.” It wasn’t a question, that much was for sure. You laughed, your weak and half-hearted attempt to wriggle yourself free all but failing before it properly started.

“Ahh, oh, gods, it’s cold! It’s cold!” You arched your back to escape the snow but were promptly blocked by Astarion’s body weight on top of you. He chuckled—the mischievous sound immediately sent a pleasant shiver up and down your spine.

“Well… that’s what you get for attacking a vampire,” he mused.

“Hmm, and quite vicious it was.” There was a proud and smug hue about you but it didn’t last long for when Astarion pressed his cold lips against yours, you became putty in his awkward embrace in the snow. Your eyes fell shut, body welcoming him in and for a moment, his affection even chased away the biting cold of the fresh flakes underneath you.

“Hey, lovebirds! The hot chocolate is ready!” Gale’s voice came echoing across the entire camp. If your remaining companions hadn’t been awake yet, they certainly were now.

You licked your lips when Astarion broke the kiss, reluctance shimmering in his red eyes.

“Hot chocolate… you know… I wonder what would happen if we poured you a mug and then mixed it with some of my blood. You think that would taste good?”

“Well…” A smirk. “I am open to experimenting.”

“Speaking of experiments, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have sex in the snow.”

Astarion laughed. He rolled off of you and offered his hand to help you up. “I could be persuaded,” he said when you walked past him to get your hot chocolate. You grinned in response. You knew he already was.

[wowbright]

Fic: Authority

Fandom: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Event: december klaine fanworks challenge 2023

Words: ~ 900 words                                           

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: In 2015, the Lima bishop tries to ruin the Hummels’ Christmas. Kurt won’t let him.

Notes: This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place after Out of Eden, which I am still in the process of posting to AO3. Should you read this if you’re waiting to see what happens in Out of Eden? IDK. But what I can say is this might be part of Kurt and Blaine’s in-verse “canon” future, or it might just be one of many possible futures. Fanfic of fanfic, if you will.

*

Kurt didn't want to be fatalistic. He didn't want to assume the worst of people. He was trying to learn at least that much from Blaine.

But he wasn't naive. And the signs pointed toward a confrontation: The new, uninspired policy, of course. Elder Nelson declaring that it was a revelation from God—the same Elder Nelson who believed that God was incapable of loving unconditionally, and therefore could not be trusted to tell God or God’s revelations from the inane clamorings of his own ego. The bishop’s questions to Kurt’s dad after the wedding invitations went out. Kurt’s membership records still being held up in Lima, even though his new bishop in L.A. had put a request in several times to get them transferred to the new ward and was just as frustrated as Kurt over the delay.

Still, he had hoped the Lima bishop believed enough in the sacredness of family that he wouldn't inject himself into Kurt’s visit home for Christmas.

He had hoped, but he hadn't assumed. So when he went out for the mail on Christmas Eve and saw the ward secretary’s car parked across the street, he knew what was happening. He headed straight for the driver side window and knocked. “You do realize you two look like stalkers, don't you?”

The ward secretary smiled as he got out of the car. He held a business-size envelope in his hand. “Sorry to startle you. We just got here and were taking a moment to pray first.” On the other side, the bishop’s second counselor emerged.

“So, did it work?” Kurt said.

“I’m sorry?” the ward secretary said.

“Did the prayer work? Did you convince God that you’re doing the right thing? Or at least convince your own conscience?”

“Kurt,” the ward secretary frowned. “This brings me no joy. You've been called to a disciplinary council.” He held the letter out for Kurt.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Kurt said. “But you can keep that.”

“I’m required to give it to you.”

“I’m not required to take it.”

The ward secretary stepped forward. He put a hand on Kurt’s front coat pocket and made to shove the envelope in it.

Kurt stepped back. “Watch it. That's assault.”

“Kurt—” The second counselor chimed in. “We want to help you. The church has clarified that those who enter into same-sex marriage are in apostasy. But you haven’t done it yet. The disciplinary council is an opportunity for you to change course. You've been such an important member of our ward. I've always been inspired by your faith and your commitment to the truth. But this is a blind spot for you. And maybe it is for me, too—the natural man in me keeps questioning it and wondering why it has to be this way. But that’s why we have prophets and apostles—because we can’t trust our own feelings. And they have spoken. Elder Nelson said it was a revelation—”

“Elder Nelson is in apostasy,” Kurt said.

The two brothers looked as if they'd just been bitten by a snake.

But they hadn’t. Kurt was the one who had been bitten, over and over again, and now these two representatives of the priesthood were here to bite him once more in the name of God. And he was tired of it. “Elder Nelson usurped the prophet. Did President Monson tell us this policy change was a revelation? Have any of the other apostles confirmed it? No. It’s unclear if they were all even there to vote on it. And if it is revelation? True revelation? Then he would bring it to the next general conference for a vote of common consent, because our scriptures themselves tell us that a revelation is only true for the whole church and can only bind the whole membership of the church if we have a chance to vote on it. But we haven't had that chance, and there's no sign that he's planning to give us that chance. He thinks he can just say a thing is a revelation and we're all supposed to fall in line? What is that, if it's not apostasy?”

They continued to stare at Kurt. Then, the ward secretary spoke up. “Kurt, don’t make this worse.”

Kurt laughed. “How could something I do possibly make this worse? The bishop sends you out as his goons on Christmas Eve, away from your families, to come to my father’s home and threaten me with excommunication—which, if you actually believe everything Elder Nelson says, will separate me from dad and my mother and Carole and Finn and the rest of my family for all of eternity. Is that the Christmas present you wanted to deliver to my father? Is that your idea of Christlike love? Because it's not what I was taught in Sunday school, and it's not what the scriptures say. And you can keep that letter. I'm not going to come to a disciplinary council held by a bishop in a ward where I don't even live anymore and plead for forgiveness because I refuse to forsake the best gifts that this church has given me: love and grace, charity and forgiveness. Even of this bishop who is trying so hard to make himself my enemy. I feel sorry for him, that this is what he thinks God wants him to do. That he thinks God's love is conditional. That he thinks the love I have for Blaine, one of the greatest gifts God has ever given me, is depraved. That he thinks he has the power to separate me from my family and the people I love in the eternities. It’s so sad, and I pray for him every day that he will stop living in fear. I pray for him, and I love him. But I don’t recognize his authority over me.”

[b3rrymilks]

𝖊𝖞𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖈𝖙

synopsis ; THIS ENTIRE FIC IS BASED FROM https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8Rm5pDA/ (slide 9) PLS READ IT BEFORE READING!! ALL CREDS TO @/candle.wishes ON TT. pt 2

story note ; pure angst. no happy ending. violence, nearing character death. // i added the fact reader got bit by a radioactive spider that only gave them the super strength and ability to stick to walls. no spidey senses.

authors note ; this isn’t proofread, and it’s rushed ☹️ sauryy but I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT THIS WHEN MY FRIEND SENT IT TO ME ON TIK TOK! ART CRED : thokzu on tt

pairing ; miles morales (e!42) x fem!reader

LOOK INTO MY EYES.

🕷️. “get up, it’s time.” you’d heard your uncle say. he had pushed your legs from the relaxed position they were propped in. “now?? it’s like 1 am” you squinted at the red analog clock. “stop complaining and get ready, we need to hit this bank before they open.” you uncles cold voice had told you to stop asking questions and to hurry up and get ready.

your uncle was the leader in these big plans, but after recent fuck ups, you were taken from the main plan.

“but why??” you asked, holding your arms out in a confused manner. “because you can’t hold your own, we need you out of the actual action.” your uncle replied, ignoring your presence. “but it’s never been my fault, it’s always—“ your uncle had completely shut your statement down. “but but but? you have YET to complete something i ask you to do. you fail at every little thing. you’re not ready.” he had nearly yelled at you.

your family has been doing this for years, it was only recently when “the prowler” had began disrupting your part of the plans. even though you tried to tell your family it wasn’t your fault the plans went to shit, they never believed you. a week ago, you’d gotten bitten by a strange spider while scoping out the bank. you brushed it off as you were in the middle of escaping the authorities.

you’d gotten an intense increasing to your strength, surpassing your uncle.

the plan went active tonight.

“don’t fuck this up.” your brother warned you before leaving to his role in this. “alright, once your mother hacks the cams and alarm system, we’re in. y/n you’re on lookout. make sure no one catches wind of what we’re doing, got it?” you rolled your eyes at the fact you were lookout, and that your brother took your spot in assisting your uncle with breaking in. “yeah whatever.” you replied through the radio.

minutes of silence passed, it felt like the smallest move and your entire presence would be exposed. perching on the building for lookout, the alarms and cams had finally been hacked. “they’re down, now!” your mother announced through the radio. you watched as your uncle and brother entered the bank. “you only have about 8 minutes before the alarms reactivate and give away what’s happening here, we need to—.” the static had interrupted your moms voice, but before you could take action, a heavy blow came to your stomach.

rolling from the impact, you quickly caught yourself and stood upwards.

“you didn’t think i’d let this go by unnoticed did you?” his voice was changed by the mask he wore.

that stupid mask that he always wore. the holo eyes were slanted, and a light purple color.

“i’m so fucking sick of you!” you yelled at him before charging towards him.

you two both collided by trading punches. yours weren’t as strong due to the heavy hit you’d just taken. sharp pains had shot through your stomach. the adrenaline hadn’t kicked in yet, leaving you in pain.

“i’m not letting you continue this life of crime you seek, not here.” he spoke between every punch he threw. every attack you threw at him, he saw it coming.

you didn’t give up. eventually, his attacks had gotten sloppy, signaling he was tiring himself out. you two had gotten closer to each other, more hits connecting and blood had been drawn.

“just give up already,” he spoke again, watching you catch your breath. in his eyes, he saw your mask was ripped, catching light of your face. little by little.

glaring at him, you’d observed that there were cracks in his mask. “you’re never going to—“ you were sick of his constant mocking, talking and presence in general.

charging at him again, you’d tackled him and took hold of his neck. the adrenaline had finally come, and the pain was now gone. you straddled his waist, pressing your fingers against his esophagus. “i’m so sick of you belittling me. just like everyone in my family.” you seethed at him, watching air slowly leave his body. his claws held onto your wrists, tapping them profusely. “i’m not letting you go this time.” you began laying heavy blows to his mask, feeling it break.

your knuckles had began bleeding. blood hit the ground as you kept punching him, over and over again. you weren’t giving up, he attempted to reach up to your mask, reaching for the remains of it.

as the glass of his mask began to break, it exposed each feature, one at a time. first it cracked near his eyes. brown eyes.

then it began to crack near his nose. his nostrils were flared due to the pain he was enduring.

upon one final blow, the mask had finally completely broken. holding up your fist, preparing for one last blow, you took a look at the boy that had been ruining everything for you.

the claws had now broken, falling to the ground as he held up his hands in defense. his eyes were nearly swollen. blood had trailed down from his nose. his lips were bloodied. his face was decorated with cuts, all which were seeping blood. you relaxed your grip on his throat.

he had began inhaling large amounts of air, as you had completely frozen. he had finally peeled off your mask, revealing your face.

“wh— no, no no no no.” you silently wished it was all just a dream. this couldn’t possibly happen.

you watched miles struggle to breathe, struggle to open his eyes fully, struggle to even move.

“miles?”

“y/n?” through coughs, and broken breaths he still managed to speak.

the boy you dearly wanted to protect. the boy you went to school with. the boy that you always wanted to see in your spare time, the boy you loved. the boy you lived next to, was nearly dead from your hands.

you got up, quickly backing up. everything in your head began spinning. the pain had nearly caught up with you, throbbing had come to your head. you watched him hold his side, still coughing.

“no, no.” was the phrase you kept repeating, over, over and over again. “please.” you begged.

3 HOURS LATER.

you hid in your room, lights off, in complete darkness. hugging your knees close to your chest. the light suddenly turned on, and your uncle and brother came in. “what happened to you?? you almost ruined the entire—“ finally stopping the scolding, he had seen how injured you were. cuts and bruises blemished your skin, and your knuckles. “what happened to you?” the question had more emotion tied to it, as he kneeled down to touch you.

flinching from his touch, you remained quiet. “do you wanna tell me what happened?”

whenever you closed your eyes, all you could see was miles’ bloodied face. before you knew it was him, whenever you closed your eyes, you’d see his smile.

you trembled under anyone’s touch. the pain had died down, leaving you with sudden shots of pain every now and then. you hadn’t washed the blood from your body. you’d raise your shaking, cut open, bloody hands to show yourself what you did to the person you cared the deepest for.

“it was miles.” you silently whispered.

[tackytigerfic]

oh wow you are on your last scene for the Voldemort Wins AU long fic :o?

Hi Anon, thanks for the message, yes I'm writing the final (long) scene for that WIP. it may have taken two years but I did get there 😅. I wrote 17k each in November and December so made good inroads into the last section. Then I got covid and felt absolutely awful and had to take a week off, as the final scene is quite tricky in terms of the plot and my brain just wasn't up to it. It'll still be weeks before I finish but hope to start posting this spring. It's over 200k now and needs a good edit!

Here's a little snippet from a sex scene. Draco is undercover with the Death Eaters and has come back to visit Harry in secret.

“I can’t believe that ten minutes ago I was asleep,” Harry said, and bent so he could drop a kiss on Draco’s skin just where his thigh creased under the curve of his arse. His skin was smooth there and very pale, almost hairless. “How long do we have?” “I wish you wouldn’t ask that every single time,” Draco said tightly. Harry could see the side of his face, his closed eye, a pink flush rising on the back of his neck. “We never have much time, you know that. Just, hurry up.” “I want you to be safe,” Harry said. He felt slightly stung, a small irrational hurt. Draco was very often rude, but rarely cruel. “I have to be sure no one will notice that you’re gone. I couldn’t bear it, you know, if anything happened to you because we got careless.” “You’d bear it,” Draco said. “If you had to, you’d bear it.” “Draco.” Harry kissed his skin again, stroked all around the mess of lube, shiny in the moonlight. He tried for jokey, though his voice was too raw. “I don’t want to have to bear it. It’s a significant part of my mission, making sure that you come out of things alright by the end of it.” Draco lifted his face from the pillow so Harry could see his face in profile, the lovely strong nose, his bitten lower lip between his teeth. He was trembling again, just slightly. “You’re still wasting time,” was all he said.