#especially older patrick

[poppy-metal]

just thought of being scumbag patricks pretty little girlfriend and saying you love him mid-stroke and he groans, puts a hand over your mouth because you dont mean that shit - he's gonna pretend he didn't hear it, cause hes bad for you and you falling in love with him would be fucking awful for you both - doesn't stop him from fucking you deeper though, immediately after you say it. like the words have a lasso affect and his hips crash into yours, not parting this time, just grinding his cock inside - way more intimate than he usually allows. biting his palm, wrestling your mouth from under his palm in defiance like the brat you are so you can pant and whine another breathless "i love you - i love -" he fucks you harder until the words fade out into moans. acting like his balls aren't twitching to unload inside you the moment you said those words, like its just to shut you up, the desperate slam of his hips, and not like the confession means anything.

[luvmoonie]

am i gonna have to be the one to say it … i know the end is challengers coded

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

the implications....

folie a deux meaning / folie a deux album cover / pete's bear hat(s)

[definegirlfriends]

.

[nottsangel]

— artrick and camgirl!reader ੈ♡˳

moodboard

it began as just a quick way to make some extra money during college and nothing more than that. you were a bit apprehensive at first, aware of the risks and consequences of someone finding you, but eventually, you started to find joy in it, especially because you received a lot of attention— even more than the other girls on the same website. people, who where mostly older men, started to like you, and money began to pour in like never before. but no matter what, you had to keep it a secret from everyone.

yet, patrick who scours the whole internet for porn that matches his specific taste, managed to unexpectedly find you while you were live. he almost couldn’t believe his eyes— his best friend, with her legs spread wide as she touched herself and loud moans escaped her mouth. and god, the way you moaned sounded so angelic, with your pretty, soft lips parted in ecstasy. he simply had no other choice— he had to tell art.

“i swear to god patrick, i don’t wanna see those golden shower porn videos again.” “just, trust me, you’re gonna wanna see this.” patrick insisted as he opened his laptop. he glanced at the time. 10 pm. that was usually when you came online on thursdays, because yes, patrick had already watched you so many days in a row, he memorised your streaming schedule. “who are these girls?” art questioned with a raised brow, puzzled as to why patrick would show him random camgirls, until he noticed he noticed you— fully naked while you held a vibrator against your swollen clit, causing his eyes to widen as he leaned closer to the laptop screen. “holy… fuck.” “yup. i know.”

and that’s how it all began. now, every day right before you would come online, patrick and art would sit impatiently next to each other on the bed, eagerly waiting for you to go live. “you think she’ll use that pink dildo again?” art asked patrick with clammy hands resting on his knees. “god, i hope so. that one’s my favourite.” and when you finally appeared on screen, a smirk spread simultaneously across both boys’ faces as they stared mesmerised at the screen, quickly adjusting their positions as their pants grew uncomfortably tight.

it was somewhat odd— it almost felt like video calling with you, as if you were touching yourself just for them, until they were hit with the harsh reality of the comments and countless men thirsting over you. the wave of comments flooding in during your streams, especially when you would interact with them, evoked a complex mix of emotions in patrick and art. they were consumed by jealousy— they wanted you for themselves, and they hated the fact that others could see what they saw. “jesus, these men are fucking desperate.” art exclaimed while reading the quick-paced comments with an unamused face. patrick shook his head in disapproval as he let out a chuckle. “i bet they’re all jerking off while watching her, fucking creeps.”

and ultimately… they found themselves becoming what they once criticised the most, as they’re now shoulder to shoulder in art’s stanford dorm room, hands tightly wrapped around their throbbing erections as they pumped it quickly. “this, uhm… this isn’t weird, right?” art questioned, his breaths coming in quick pants as your moans echoed through the shitty speakers of his cheap laptop. “no, no… i mean, we’re looking at her, right? nothing weird about that.” patrick reassured art as his eyes stayed fixed on your movements, and art nodded in agreement.

and even now, as they masturbated not only on their own to you but together, while watching you strip and bring yourself to your orgasms over and over again, they still hung out with you as usual. you noticed a change in their behaviour though— you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but they seemed more, nervous around you. you brushed it off quickly though, thinking it was just you. but little did you know they were indeed nervous to be around you now, as their eyes scanned every inch of your body covered in clothing, knowing that they had seen all of it— all of you, naked.

“do you… do you think we should tell her? that we know?” patrick asked art as they were once again, sitting in art’s dorm room, their hands lazily pumping their cocks. soft fucks and oh my gods slipped from your lips and resonated through the room along with the buzzing sound of your rose toy, which was the usual on fridays. “i mean, yeah, we should, eventually. maybe… uhm, next week… or something.” “yeah, yeah. next week.”

ੈ♡˳

🏷️ tags: @maizweig @swamp-box @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @unhingedbanks @imawhoreforu @mcugirl @skylerwhitwyo @maybankswifey @hearts-4-kai @takaosin @imbabycowboy @badesire @parkerloves @diorrfairy @jizzlle

[yzzart]

"Oh, hello, Vogue!"

pairing: Tom Blyth x actress!reader.

summary: invited by Vogue, you and Tom participate in a famous panel about answering quick questions.

word count: 1.323!

notes: here it is! i focused all day, without drama, on this writing and finished it minutes ago. — enjoy!

"We're, like, Patrick and Kat!" — Tom nodded in agreement, looking and paying attention to your words and almost forgetting that you were being recorded. — "Anakin and Padmé?" — You wrinkled your nose gracefully.

"Lady and the Tramp?" — He suggested, smiling tenderly and was won over by your laugh and a long touch on his arm made by you.

"Oh my god, yes!"

"Hi, Vogue!" — In a gesture of introducing yourself, you waved to the camera in front of you accompanied by an inviting and friendly smile. — "I'm Y/N."

"And I'm Tom Blyth." — Tom introduced himself to the camera and future viewers. — "… and we are about to play Off the Cuff." — He moved the small cards, which contained countless and random questions, and directed his eyes to you.

"Uh, a great entrance!" — You crossed your legs, making yourself comfortable on the chain, and held out the small cards as your eyebrows arched at Tom.

"Thank you, my dear." — He winked at you and took, carefully and planning a bit of suspense, one of the white cards; the topics were random, they could be about TBOSAS, behind the scenes or something related to your relationship. — Everything was a mystery. — "What was the last song you listened to?"

"Hm…" — You rested one of your hands on your chin, trying to fake a thoughtful image. — "A song, which is still unknown to me, that you hummed in the morning." — Your laugh was registered and echoed throughout the room, and Tom was amused when he remembered what happened. — "I should have recorded it!"

"It was a little chorus, and it stuck in my head." — He explained, placing the small card in a reserved place next to him. — "I don't remember the name of the song, but it must be saved on my phone" — His eyes fell on you again. — "Then i can sing for you again." — Tom uttered with melody and his lips curving in a shy smile.

"So adorable and romantic" — You tilted your head, with a pleasant and welcoming smile, at your boyfriend finding your words cute. — "Oh, i think i know the answer to that, what is an item you never leave the house without?" — Your hands shook the small card, waiting for your boyfriend's response.

"You definitely know the answer!" — Tom stated in slurred words accompanied by a laugh. — "In New York, the key to my motorcycle and i have it all the time." — His chin bowed a little. — "And maybe, in the future, in your bag."

"One day i'll ride it, you can be sure." — One of the cameras focused on her face, capturing her words, or rather, a promise that you would love to keep one day.

"And i'll be there, my love." — Blyth took another card. — "Among all the characters' looks in the film, which one would you wear?"

"Definitely, all the looks worn by Tigris." — You moved your hands. — "In addition to being beautiful, they seem to be so comfortable, especially the one where she talks to Coriolanus after he tells her about Lucy Gray." — The image of the aforementioned scene was then shown in the video with editing. — "Hunter looks so beautiful in them."

"Definitely." — He agreed

"With all the sets and locations in the film, which one was your favorite?" — Another card was discarded by you. — "Tell us!" — His voice sounded curious and excited by the older man's response.

"Hm, i loved recording them all." — Tom turned his eyes to an invisible fixed point. — "But, i think i choose the cabin." — His attention returned to you. — "Even with those mosquitoes and little bugs that i've never seen in my life."

"You were scared of most." — Your laughs came in sync.

"It was impossible not to be scared!" — Tom added. — "There was one that almost got into my shirt and another in the river." — Taking another card, Tom read the words written on it and continued with a peculiar and curious expression. — "Name one unforgettable thing i've ever done for you." — The question came out slowly, delicately and with a touch of enthusiasm; and several moments, memories flashed in his mind. — "I'm excited for this."

"My god, it's impossible to give just one answer." — A slightly euphoric and nervous question left your lips, and you laughed nervously as you tried to think and choose just one of the moments and deeds that Tom has done for you. — "It's so hard to choose one." — And it wasn't exaggeration or drama.

"You don't have to think so much, darling." — Tom's voice calmed your mind so tight and focused on the answer; nervousness was visible on your face. — "I see the gears in your head locking up." — He joked, trying to relax you and leaving the cards in his lap and resting one of his hands on your leg.

Finally, something landed in your mind; It was completely automatic. — Like a lamp being turned on when touched.

"Well, it's recent, but, it's stuck in my head!" — You started. — "Ah, during the L.A premiere and you were wearing a pendant necklace and there was my initial." — The way you responded was sweet, soft and passionate in front of the camera lenses and people in the room. — "And i was speechless, just admiring that little piece and feeling like the most loved person in the world." — You sighed, with your eyes shining against the oldest's blue orbs.

"In my world, you're." — Tom confessed, looking directly into his eyes and his hand still remained on his leg. — "It was a surprise and i was so excited that i wanted to show it to you ahead of time." — That tall, young British man smiled with passion, which burned in his chest and had no embarrassment in showing it.

"A secret that no one knows and can now be revealed?" —Another slightly peculiar question.

"I have a photo, actually, a polaroid in my wallet." — Tom ran his hands through the pockets of his pants, looking for what he had mentioned, but, from his disappointed frown, the object was not present. — "It's not here, so it must be in your bag."

"100% chance." — Your head nodded, nodding in confirmation. — "Which photo is it?" — You asked, curious and wanting to see her later.

"One of the ones Rachel took backstage and it quickly became one of my favorites." — Without specification, several photos scrolled through your head. — "It was in the forest, and you were wearing a helmet, that of Coriolanus, of peacekeeper." — Oh, that!

"I think I even posted it on Instagram!" — Either it was still in your gallery, with a favorite star next to it, or, actually, in your feed. — "She's so adorable, i had her as the wallpaper on my phone for a long time."

"Now, that one I know very well." — Your boyfriend looked at the card between his fingers and then at you. — "A song that reminds me." — Tom bit his lip, vibrant and with the answer on the tip of his tongue.

"Definitely Daylight by Taylor Swift." — You pointed your index finger in his direction, thinking about more songs or explaining why you chose her. — "It's impressive how you manage to fit so well into almost all of her songs.

"And in all of our playlists, you always, always add this song." — He wasn't lying. — "I'm sure it'll be in my Spotify retrospective."

"Oh, and also that line." — You sat down in the chair again. — "In a world of boys, he's a gentleman." — Tom's ears, and those of some people behind the cameras, were witnesses to your quick and small singing; a lyric, which was also from Taylor, where fans marked it and made a point of putting it in each of his edits. — They've already shared it with you in your DM and you've already saved some videos. — "There are so many songs, i can't choose just one."

"Perfect." — Tom murmured, as his deeply, crystal clear irises admired and contemplated you.

[augustjustice]

That Healing Touch

AO3 Link

They stand in the Mayfield’s darkened living room, all looking at each other like they can’t quite conjure up the words for their next move. Eddie rubs a hand over his head, eyes darting away from the gazes of the others, just barely managing to bite off another Jesus Christ by digging his teeth into his bottom lip. 

They can’t be certain where Mrs. Mayfield is. Maybe she’s been cleared out because of the hellscape currently seeping through Eddie’s trailer ceiling, like he assumes Uncle Wayne has. Maybe–she’s out for some other reason. The pinched expression on Little Red’s face suggests that wouldn’t be all too uncommon, for her mother not to come home in the night. 

Eddie knows that song and dance well enough from his own youth.  

All they can do is hope for the best–that she doesn’t show up. Eddie isn’t sure what they��ll do then, but he’s gotten pretty damn good at this whole running thing, bitter as he is about it. 

“We should try to get some sleep,” Nancy finally breaks the silence, clipped and authoritative, like she hadn't just been dragged through a landscape of nightmares by Vecna’s own design. 

After Chrissy, and then Patrick, Nancy makes the third time Eddie’s seen it, a pair of eyes glazing over, ghostly white. As shaken up as it’s left him every time just to see it from the outside looking in, he can barely understand how Wheeler is still on her feet, isn’t just a quivering mess in the corner somewhere, like he imagines he would be. Full of surprises is a fucking understatement, at this point. 

“Nance–” Steve starts, one arm stretching out towards her, the worry on his face transparent. 

“I’ll be okay, Steve,” she takes a step away from him, putting distance between them.

From the thin line of her mouth, Eddie gets the sense that any comfort offered might make her reach her breaking point. Steve must feel it too, because he drops his hands as though in surrender. 

“Just…” Nancy sighs, steadying herself, “we won’t be any help at all if we’re all too exhausted to function.”

“You heard the lady,” Robin gives a wobbly, uncertain smile, “she’s in charge, after all.” 

She pulls out that old adage, like it’s a well worn joke. Eddie has the good grace not to call her out on it, doesn’t quite drawl out a sarcastic That’s not what you said in the boat, but it’s a close call. 

Steve’s eyes dart back and forth between them, lingering on Robin, the pair of them managing some kind of silent communication through nothing but frowns and eyebrow twitches. 

“Alright, alright,” he finally agrees, however reluctantly, giving a defeated nod. “I mean, you’re not wrong on the sleep thing. Not like we can play our best game when we’re totally out of it, after all.” 

There’s something in his tone, the way his gaze flits briefly to the kids and then catches Eddie’s own, that reminds him of that moment right before launching off the bank out into Lover’s Lake. Steve’s being glib, casual, the way Eddie had been when he’d refused to let Dustin get on the boat with them, the four older teens all playing along with an unspoken plan. He’s trying so desperately to seem perfectly normal for the four munchkins currently in the room with them. 

Eddie barely understands how any of the kids are holding their shit together as well as they already are, especially when he feels like he’s about to shake apart himself at any second. But behind the brave faces, he can see it, the exhaustion beginning to settle, making them look older than they have any right to.

The least he can do is play along. 

“Not the sports metaphors, Harrington,” Eddie sighs, long and loud, as he sways into Steve’s space, grin too bright. “Please, be merciful, there are nerds present.”

“Yeah, well, when aren’t there?” Steve asks, low and dry. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s, gratitude obvious.

“I am not a nerd!” Erica protests loudly.

“You’re joking, right?” Dustin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Erica Sinclair. You are as nerdy as they come.” 

It’s a little uncanny, because the amused but fond look Dustin pins her with almost perfectly mirrors the way Eddie has seen Steve look at Dustin himself, the way Eddie suspects he also sometimes looks at the kid.

“Plus, some of us? Are jocks and nerds, thank you very much,” Lucas says, swiveling around to Erica’s other side and shooting her a pointed look. 

“Yeah, turns out Lucas isn’t too cool for the rest of us,” Max teases, eyes crinkling at the corners as she knocks her shoulder into his. 

“That’s true,” Erica agrees, hands on her hips in a way that reminds Eddie, hysterically enough, of Harrington. “You’ve always been the one who’s way too cool for my brother, not the other way around.”

As their bickering continues, Steve catches Eddie’s eyes again, mouthing a quick Thank you while they’re all too distracted to see. 

Nancy and Robin both look a little heartened, too, by the familiar sounds of the kids arguing, their rigid edges softening.

“Nine has long since past, so you know what that means–time for bed, kiddos!” Robin interrupts the petty squabbling before it gets entirely out of their control, starting to corral them back on track. 

Several groans ring out, but Steve cuts them off with a quick clap of his hands, jumping in right where she left off, their rhythm as fluid as a well-oiled machine. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he makes a motioning gesture with one hand, the other firmly planted on his hip, “Come on, you knuckleheads, and get a move on.”

The combined force of Robin and Steve seems, miraculously, to be enough, the younger four members of their little monster-fighting brigade getting into gear to set up their various sleeping arrangements, even as they grumble about it. 

“Robin, you’re with me,” Nancy declares simply before turning on her heel and marching from the living room.

Eddie catches the subtle look Steve and Robin share again.

“Better somebody stick close by Nance after…everything,” Steve says quietly, the tightness of his voice making it clear he’s still a bit shaken up.

“I’ve got her,” Robin assures him, giving Steve’s arm a quick squeeze at his grateful nod. 

Max clears her throat, then, drawing Eddie’s attention away from the pair as they hunch their heads together and head out of the room, still talking in soft voices.

“Erica can stay in my room. There are sheets and shit in the hall closet for the rest of you,” she directs.

Eddie nods, following her and ignoring the heated game of rock-paper-scissors that’s broken out between Dustin and Lucas to determine which of them is going to claim the couch. As they make their way down the hall, they pass what must be Mrs. Mayfield’s room, catching a quick glimpse of Nancy and Robin beginning to quietly settle in for the night.

Max stops in front of a wooden door, shorter in width than the rest, and yanks it open roughly.

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she gestures at the contents inside for Eddie to see. 

“Whatever you guys need, take it.” The words are brusque, a cover for the generosity of her statement, the ease with which she’s letting them all into her space, into her home. He’s noticed it to varying degrees with all of them–it feels transparent how much they know and trust each other, the way they’re willing to give up nearly anything to help the others, to help with this entire life-risking hero’s quest they’ve put themselves on.

But Eddie’s the outsider, here, not a member of their little party, the odd man out. So it still feels like he should be especially grateful, every time they extend that willingness to give whatever they’ve got to try and help him.   

“Sure thing. Thanks, Red.”

“Night, Eddie,” she murmurs, back already to him, quiet enough he almost doesn’t catch it.  

He’s turning to retreat back to the living room, blankets piled up in his arms, when a voice behind him stops him in his tracks.

"Psst! Eddie! Hey, Eddie!" Steve calls at a stage whisper from down the hall, reminiscent of the way he'd called after him in the Upside Down. When Eddie catches his eye, Steve motions with one hand for him to follow. "C'mere."

Eddie drops the stack back in the closet for now and dutifully makes his way towards Steve. 

“Yeah, dude. What’s going on?”

Grabbing onto a loose fistful of Eddie’s leather jacket, Steve tugs him into the bathroom in one quick motion, and then shuts the door behind him with a click.

Eddie tries fervently to ignore the thrill that goes up his spine at being manhandled by Harrington. 

It shouldn’t come as all that much of a surprise, really, that Steve’s capable of it. Eddie might not know shit about sports, but he did know that Steve was on, like, pretty much every team known to Hawkins back when he was in school. So, of course he can tug Eddie around like a floppy-armed ragdoll. 

That said–Steve seems winded from the exertion, after he does it, leaning back to basically slump against the bathroom door. The move serves as a reminder that he’s a little worse for wear, at the moment, despite the fact that he definitely hadn’t showed it earlier. Not while he was busy running around the world hidden beneath their feet. 

“Harrington, seriously, man–you doing okay?” Eddie asks, wincing slightly in sympathy pains even as he tries to keep his tone light, conversational. 

“Just–give me like…one second here,” Steve holds up a finger for emphasis, the fact that his breathing is still clearly labored not doing much to soothe Eddie’s nerves. 

But he does as Steve asks, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him–a check in with absolutely no subconscious ulterior motive, thank you very much. 

And, well–Steve is a far cry from the pristine, preppy visage Eddie had gotten used to seeing swaggering around the halls of Hawkins High in his perfectly pressed jeans and popped collar polos. Here, in the lowlighting of the Mayfields’ bathroom, he’s bare-chested–apart from Eddie’s battle vest still slung over his shoulders–skin smudged with Upside Down soot, his sides mottled with angry crimson gashes where the bats had dragged him across rocky ground. 

That famous hair of his is still somehow swooping perfectly into place, though. Annoyingly enough, and as fucked up as it probably is…Eddie thinks he manages to be mouth-wateringly hot regardless, whether he’s totally polished under the high school’s harsh fluorescents or mussed and panting beneath the dim orange glow of the single working lightbulb currently flickering above the sink.

He’s gotta admit, though, in his fantasies of Steve Harrington cornering him alone in a bathroom–of which there had been none, obviously, because that would be ridiculous, not to mention colossally stupid–approximately zero of them had panned out like this.

Especially when the next words out of Steve’s mouth are a hurried, “Eddie, man, you, uh–think you can change this bandage for me?”

Eddie's eyes dart down to the scrap of Wheeler’s shirt wrapped around Harrington’s middle, the darkened stain of rust colored blood coating it–and, yeah, shit. Definitely makes sense now, why Steve dragged him in here.

“I’d ask Robin,” Steve is saying, “but, dude, you saw how she got about the rabies, and I really don’t wanna freak her out more than she already is. And Nance–well, after the shit she already went through tonight, I’m not gonna put this on her too. There’s Henderson or Sinclair, I guess, but–”

Steve bites at his bottom lip. And, sure, Eddie’s never been great in school, but he likes to think he can read people pretty well. It doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientis to put the pieces together, especially after the little show they’d put on in the living room–Steve doesn’t want the kids to realize just how badly he’s hurt, and clearly he doesn’t want to burden the girls, either. 

Eddie wonders exactly how he should feel about the fact that Harrington’s singled him out as the one he’s willing to let carry some of the responsibility currently weighing on his own broad, more than capable shoulders…and decides to take it as a compliment. 

“Harrington,” Eddie cuts him off by clapping a hand gently to his arm, meant to be reassuring, “you don’t have to sell me on it, man. I’ll do it. Happy to help.”

“Oh, okay…good,” Steve’s shoulders slump, like he was expecting to have to put up some kind of a fight. He catches Eddie’s eyes, giving him a quick, almost uncertain half-smile. “That’s–thanks, man.” 

Steve moves around him, then, allowing himself to collapse into a sitting position atop the closed toilet with a pained wince. 

“Don’t mention it. Uh,” Eddie spins around once in the small space of the bathroom, searching, “has Little Red got…alcohol pads, gauze, shit like that?”

“Under the sink,” Steve pants, one hand clasped against his side, “second door.”

That one simple sentence from Steve is enough to paint a picture in full. Steve’s been in the Mayfields’ trailer. He’s been in it enough times he knows where things like the first aid kit are kept. 

Eddie squats down, ducking his head below the counter–and spots it immediately, the slender first aid kit, exactly where Steve had said it would be.

And, sure, Eddie had at least been aware that Steve knew his mouthy little red-headed neighbor. Dustin and the other boys had often regaled him, disbelieving as he might have been, with tales of their incredibly cool babysitter, the former King of Hawkins High. Eddie had even seen Harrington’s infamous BMW parked over here a few times, a sight so surreal he couldn’t help but register it. 

But, still–there’s a difference in knowing abstractly and actually seeing the familiarity between Steve and the kids in words and gestures, his importance in their lives taking concrete, undeniable shape. 

Like Eddie had told him while they trekked across the woods in the Upside Down–the Steve Harrington of reality? Is nothing like the one he’d pictured all those years they’d shared space in the same halls and classes. 

“Seems like you know the lay of the land pretty well,” he can’t help but comment as he tilts his head toward the cabinet.

“Yeah, well, Mayfield wipes out on her skateboard a lot.” Eyes widening, as though he just realized what he said, Steve points in Eddie’s direction. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Eddie shoots Steve a toothy grin. “You scared of a fourteen year old girl, Harrington?”

“Absolutely,” the corner of Steve’s mouth quirks up into a half smile, “and if you know what’s good for you, you will be, too.”

“Trust me, man–I’ve got a healthy respect for Red’s fearsomeness. Even if I think she’s totally a lot softer than she lets on.”

Steve shakes his head, giving him a rueful smile. “You’re not wrong there.”

Popping open the kit, Eddie surveys their supplies. There’s an assortment of things inside, including an array of bandages in a variety of sizes alongside gauze, scissors, and hospital tape. 

“Jackpot.” 

Eddie holds up an alcohol wipe, shaking the little white package triumphantly.

“Great,” Steve agrees, though he sounds ragged, eyelids fluttering shut for a brief moment as he sucks in a sharp breath.

“You need me to,” Eddie tilts his chin towards the scrap of fabric wrapped around Steve’s middle, “undo that for you?”

“...Could you?” Steve asks, a flash of hesitance and uncertainty crossing his face. 

Eddie isn’t sure if Steve really thinks he might refuse, that he’s overstepping some kind of boundary by asking, or if it’s just costing him immensely to admit he needs the help. 

“‘Course I will, man. Absolutely. Said I’d help, didn’t I?”

Steve nods, then stands up, reaching out and gripping the bathroom sink briefly in order to steady himself. 

Once he’s up, Steve shrugs out of Eddie’s battle vest. The move puts himself–and that thick pelt of his chest hair over firm pecs, the hard planes of his stomach just above Nancy’s makeshift bandage–on full display…revealing the very physique Eddie had been desperately trying to get him to cover up by tossing him the vest in the first place. 

Eddie tries his damnedest not to ogle Harrington’s body too obviously, reminding himself of Steve’s wounds, of the task at hand. The task in which he’ll have to get up close and personal with Steve’s bare stomach. 

Jesus Christ. Maybe he’s still in Hell, and climbing out of that impossible, gravity-defying hole in the trailer’s ceiling had actually all been part of some elaborate fantasy. 

Eddie squats down in front of Steve, putting himself on eye level with his stomach. He shouldn’t be glad for the stain coating that strip of white fabric, the reminder of blood–he’s not, really, obviously he’s not–but he’s not mad about the fact that the sight is helping his boner just…calm the fuck down. Because now is absolutely not the time, but the wires in his brain can’t help crossing, taking very interested note of the fact that he’s all but kneeling in front of Steve fucking Harrington on a dingy bathroom floor. 

As Eddie reaches out for the makeshift bandage, he braces one hand on Steve’s hip to steady himself, his fingers grazing against the unmarred skin just below his wound. That initial brush is enough to have Steve sucking in a sharp breath.

“That hurt?” Eddie asks, spooked as he blinks up at Steve worriedly.

“All good, dude,” Steve shakes his head in answer before tilting it up to the ceiling, hands settling on top of his head.

He grips at his own hair tightly, mussing those luscious waves with the force of his tugs. The move is enough to have Eddie seriously doubting the truth of his denial. He’s got a feeling trying to argue the point, however, would get him absolutely nowhere. 

“Just keep going.” 

So Eddie does, unwinding the fabric in slow, careful movements, tongue poking unconsciously out from between his lips as he pours all his focus into the task at hand. 

He’s just managed to get off the first layer when Steve’s body gives a subtle shift, the only warning Eddie gets before the other boy sways on his feet. 

The pair of them let out an alarmed Shit! in unison just before Eddie catches Steve around the waist, careful not to press against his injuries.

“Dude! Holy shit, be careful!” he chides sternly. “You’re not gonna be a damn bit of good to any of us if you collapse on the floor and conk your head on the side of the tub or some shit.” 

Steve lets out a humorless laugh.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do about that, Eddie?” he asks, sarcasm on full blast as he gestures weakly to his belly, body still pressed close in Eddie’s arms. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not, like…exactly at full fighting shape here.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, man. Look around,” he thrusts out his free hand in exasperation at the empty bathroom. “It’s just you and me in here. So you can give up the heroic, stiff upper lip shtick for a minute, and just–I don’t know, hold onto my shoulder, or something. Jesus Christ, Harrington, scare a guy to death, why don’t you.”

Steve lets out a huff, but Eddie’s pleased to feel his body loosening beneath his touch, the line of his shoulders no longer so taut and rigid like he’s a warrior who’s about to be called right back onto the battlefield. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, you’re right, you’re right.”

“No shit I am, Harrington,” Eddie reaches over and bops him lightly on the end of the nose, “and don’t you forget it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Uh-huh. No one likes a smart ass, Eds.”

But Eddie can see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up into a private half smile. 

They untangle themselves then, resuming their prior positions. Miraculously, Steve does as instructed, settling a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, large palm warm enough Eddie can feel the heat radiating even through his leather jacket. He really hopes that’s not a sign Steve’s running some kind of infection induced fever. 

So Eddie returns to the task at hand, peeling back the last scraps of Wheeler’s shirt, he and Steve grimacing in unison at the way it tries to stick steadfast to his skin. 

With the wound finally free, Eddie hisses in sympathy as his eyes dart all over the bite marks beginning to scab across Steve’s stomach. They look raw and angry, bright red where all the skin has been scraped off or gnawed through. He’s seen his fair share of cuts and bruises, from brawls at the Hideout to scuffles at school, but nothing quite like this. 

"Shit, man. We could really use a Healer right about now."

Steve lets out a wry little noise of agreement, understanding enough.

“Guess that’s gotta be you, Munson,” he says, giving Eddie a jocular, almost apologetic pat on the shoulder. 

Eddie can’t stop himself from shaking his head, because Christ, this guy–all heroic, death-defying stunts and sarcastic comebacks one minute, and then big, sympathetic puppy dog eyes the next. He kinda can’t believe he’s even real, let alone that this is what the Steve Harrington is like.

Scrambling to cover up how awe-stricken he’s suddenly feeling, Eddie shoots Steve a smirk as he quips, "Admit it, Harrington. You just wanna see how I'd look in the skirt."

Idiot, Eddie mentally berates himself, posture stiffening the second the words leave his mouth. Just because you’re a sixth year senior, that’s no excuse to be a fucking moron, do not flirt with the former jock King of Hawkins High. 

After all, just because he's hurt…that doesn't mean he couldn't break Eddie clean in half if he wanted to, and flirting with a straight guy is practically a one-way ticket to just that.

So shock hits Eddie with all the force of an ice cold bucket of water dumped over his head when Steve simply huffs out a laugh, good-natured.

"You caught me," he sticks up his hands, like he's surrendering in a hold-up. "That's been my real plan all along."

For once, Eddie’s too flustered to speak, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he feels the distinct heat from a blush spreading up his neck, splotching his face and ears. 

There’s a playful glint in Steve’s eyes, then, like he smells blood in the water. It’s nice, after everything that’s happened this evening, to see them shine with something other than the foggy glaze of pain. 

“Oh, seriously, did I catch you off guard with that one for a change?” Steve leans a little closer into Eddie’s space, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smirk. “What is it, Munson, cat got your tongue?”

Eddie finally recovers enough to shake his head and quip, “Can’t turn off that infamous Harrington charm for even a second, can you, Stevie? Bleeding all over the place, and you’ve still got it.” 

“Well, how do you think I get all the nurses at Hawkins General to take such good care of me when I end up there?” Steve shoots him a wink, being distressingly glib, in Eddie’s humble opinion, about the multiple trips to the ER he’s apparently got under his belt. “A little charm goes a long way, Eds.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, so they tell me.”

“Come on, man,” Steve waves a dismissive hand at him. “You’d know all about it.”

Embarrassingly enough, the mere suggestion that Steve Harrington finds him charming makes Eddie’s cheeks go even pinker.

He clears his throat, soldiering on quite valiantly, if you ask him. 

“Well, uh…Nurse Munson’s on duty tonight, and, in my totally accurate medical opinion, we need to get those scrapes cleaned up asap, big boy. No more dalliances,” Eddie wags a finger in his face, “and then I’ll think about letting you earn back your lollipop at the end.”

Steve laughs again. “Yeah, well, no way in hell I’m gonna miss out on that.”

But he stills dutifully, like he really is serious about being the model patient, earning back his treat. 

As he starts tearing open the alcohol pad, prepping for the next part, Eddie can’t help but shoot him a sympathetic look.

“Harrington–sorry, dude. This is probably gonna sting like a bitch.”

Steve’s grip, where his hand has settled back on Eddie’s shoulder, tightens, but Eddie refuses to shrug him away. As Steve nods his head, Eddie can see the way he’s clenching his teeth. 

“Just…try to make it quick, yeah? Lickety split.”

Eddie’s lips twitch in amusement from the dorky turn of phrase, yet another layer to Steve Harrington he finds irresistibly endearing. 

But he promises just the same. “You got it. Fast as lighting, that’s me.” 

Keeping his swipes gentle, Eddie begins to clean the wounds gouged into his sides. Almost instantly, he can see sweat beading on Steve’s brow. 

It feels kind of like a parody, of the handful of times Eddie had attended gym class, found his eyes lingering despite himself on Harrington’s glistening, Adonis-like form. Something inside him stirs, deep into caretaking mode, compelled to wipe the dampness away.  

He resists the urge, but just barely. And since there’s not much else he can do for the pain, Eddie figures conversation makes as good a distraction as any. 

“You know, I thought Dustin was full of shit before, but–you’re, uh. Totally babysitter extraordinaire, aren’t ya, Harrington?” 

“For all the good it does me,” Steve lets out a huff that’s at once amused and exasperated, and the sound is music to Eddie’s ears, breaking up the short, pained breaths from before. “Those little shitheads are total pains in my ass–but, I mean, somebody’s gotta keep ‘em alive, you know?”

“And that’s gonna be you, huh?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow up at him as he continues rubbing circles into his skin, doing his best to clean the gore and muck from the stretches that remain uninjured. 

Talking is helping distract him, too. Sure, he had patched up his dad as a kid, after a few jobs gone wrong, but, still–nothing that really held a candle to this. The less he thinks about the raw wounds spread out in front of him, the ones Steve is trusting him to help with, the better.

In honor of that, Eddie lets out a whistle. “Steeeeeve Harrington, big damn hero. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Shut up, man,” Steve complains, and even though the lighting is low, Eddie would swear there’s a pink tinge staining his cheeks, “it’s not that big a deal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear Steven. It absolutely is. Total paladin behavior, in fact.”

The little confused furrow that appears between Steve's eyebrows is ridiculously cute. Eddie isn't sure how disgusted he should be with himself for what a lovesick thought that is.

"...Pala-what?"

“They’re like knights, basically. The D&D version. Championing a cause, protecting the weak and defending the innocent, restoring good to the lands. That sorta thing.”

Steve gives a short nod of understanding, his mouth forming a perfectly shaped oh. 

“I’d say the shoe–or, you know, armor, whatever–fits.” Still meticulous in his strokes with the pad, Eddie finds himself rambling. “Diving into that lake to protect the rest of us? That’s paladin 101, man. True heroic shit.” 

“I mean…it’s really not.” Steve shrugs ever so slightly, his lips tugging down into a small frown. “It’s what I’m good for, you know? Nance and Robin–hell, even the kids–they’ve got the brains part of this operation covered. They need somebody around to just…take the risks so they don’t have to.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up immediately at the implications of Steve’s words. 

“Well, well, will you look at that? Now who needs to cut himself a break?” Eddie asks, echoing what Steve said to him back in the Upside Down.

“Just the facts,” Steve says with a wan smile–parroting the phrase Eddie’s heard the youngest Sinclair use on the boys after she’s thrown out a particularly cutting remark, and not even having the decency to look bitter about it.

Eddie shakes his head, vehement. “That sounds like a crock of bullshit to me, Harrington. Don’t sell yourself short, not like that. You’re a badass, sure, no two ways about it–but those kids, out there? They’d be fucking…lost without you, man. Hell, when Buckley realized you’d gotten hurt? Looked like she was hanging on by a thread. They need you.” 

I need you, Eddie thinks, but can’t quite say it, his throat constricting anxiously around the words. Still, he catches Steve’s eyes deliberately, willing him to catch his full meaning. 

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth to chew at it, Steve ducks his face for a second, dodging Eddie’s look. When he speaks again, it’s quiet but no less sincere.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie answers immediately, a smile breaking out across his face. “I mean, what’re friends for? You’d do the same for me–already have, even.”

“Oh, so you’re saying we’re friends now, Munson?” Steve crinkles his nose in amusement, inviting Eddie in on the joke.

“Well, I mean…hell pretty much has frozen over,” Eddie replies, playing along easily. “Besides, who else but us is there to band together, give Dustin a hard time so his head doesn’t get any bigger than it already has?”

Steve inclines his head, smile amused, soft. It’s a beautiful sight, one Eddie could get used to seeing. 

“Can’t argue with that.”

As Eddie finally finishes up cleaning the last of the scrapes and bite marks, he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, following his movements. 

“You know, you’re not half bad at this,” Steve observes thoughtfully.

Discarding the last of the alcohol pads, Eddie gives Steve a cordial half bow. “Why thank you, my liege. That’s high praise indeed coming from the king himself.”

“Never mind, I take it back. Your bedside manner sucks,” Steve says, deadpan, rolling his eyes. Then, he jabs a finger in Eddie’s direction, “And don’t call me that.”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to report me to the doctor on the floor, then…your royal highness.”

As Steve reaches out to shove his shoulder, Eddie lets out a delighted cackle, dancing just beyond his reach. 

“Strike what I said earlier, too. There’s no friendship bracelet in your future, dude, not with that attitude.”

Eddie lays a palm over his heart, gasping like he’s been hit. 

“Not the friendship bracelets, Stevie! What have I done to deserve such a cruel and unusual punishment? And after I helped heal your wounds, too.”

“Yeah, well, the job’s only half done on that front, Nurse Eddie. Better get back to it, and then I’ll think about letting you earn back your friendship bracelet. Maybe,” Steve says, mimicking Eddie’s ultimatum from earlier. “And you’d be missing out, too, dude. Just ask Robin, I come up with the absolute coolest designs.”

“Challenge accepted, Stevie boy. Prepare to witness the best bandaging you’ve seen since Boris Karloff’s The Mummy.” 

Steve’s lips twitch, like he’s trying to bite back his smile. “Thought you were trying to keep me alive, Munson, not turn me into a Halloween decoration.”

Eddie clucks his tongue. “Such limited imagination, Harrington. I assure you–I can do both.”

Gauze from the first kit at the ready, he gets right to work unspooling it, giving himself a suitable enough length to get started with ease. 

Now that they’ve managed to jump over that first major hurdle and Steve’s injuries have been thoroughly cleaned, the full magnitude of the situation hits Eddie all at once. A wave of tiredness, bone deep, rolls over him as he presses that first layer of gauze against Steve’s side, and he can’t help but say, “This whole thing is–completely and utterly batshit insane. You realize that, right?”

Steve’s got his arms raised over his head, now, but the slight tilt of his eyebrow might as well be a shrug as he looks down at Eddie, the quirk of his lips apologetic. 

“You kinda get used to it, after a while.”

“Get used to it? Jesus Christ–” Eddie groans in disbelief even while he keeps his fingers steady, holding the gauze carefully in place as he continues wrapping it around Steve’s stomach. “Don’t say that kinda shit to me, man.” 

“Sorry.” Steve has the decency to look chastened, though not nearly as apologetic as Eddie thinks he should.

“Like, sure, okay–dark wizards and magic, that’s great for D&D. But in real life? Kinda prefer that the evil alternate dimensions didn’t eat a hole in the ceiling of my uncle’s trailer, you know? Some of us need a place to live.” 

Eddie’s practically hugging Steve around the waist by the time he’s stopped talking, ready to secure his handiwork. There’s a bizarre kind of intimacy to it, Steve warm and solid in his hold, and Eddie wonders if Steve can feel it too when he glances up at him, silent communication passing between them that has Steve ripping off a long strip of medical tape and handing it down without having to be asked. 

So, needless to say, Eddie’s a bit distracted, finishing off the job and giving everything one final assessment, when Steve breaks the silence with two totally nonsensical words. 

“...the pool.”

Eddie blinks, startled enough he straightens up and gives Steve a full once over, wondering for a moment if the bats had gone for his head, too, without them being any the wiser.

“Wait–what?”

“The pool, at my place,” Steve trucks on, that determined clench to his jaw. Not from pain, this time, but something else. “That’s what it was–well, is–for me. The place, where the demogorgon attacked. It took Barbara–Holland? Nancy’s best friend. The first night that we…”

He trails off with a shake of his head. 

“Well, anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’m just saying, I get it. Maybe not to the level of, you know, having your whole goddamn ceiling ripped out, but–the Upside Down, all this shit. It takes things from us. All of us. And I’m sorry it happened to you, too, but…at least you’re not alone?”

Eddie gnaws on his bottom lip as he looks at Steve, watching the other teen wince. Like he just knows it’s not enough.

But the thing is…it is. Steve has to know that it is.

“To be honest, I think that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from just, I don’t know–shattering into a million little pieces, or something,” Eddie admits. “The fact that you guys–” 

Embarrassingly enough, his throat constricts, for a second, choking off his words. 

“...that you’re here. With me. Especially Buckley and Wheeler and Little Red–even Lucas, after I was such a shit to him…and you. I mean, you don’t even know me, not really, and the whole rest of the town is practically lined up outside with Carver, holding pitchforks…but not you. Pretty damn sure I’d never have even made it this far without that.” 

Steve clasps his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We’re not going anywhere, man,” he promises, gaze steady, hazel eyes so serious Eddie doesn’t dare doubt him. “We’ve got this. We’ve got you.”

Eddie takes a chance, settles his hand on top of Steve’s, gives it a squeeze in return. 

“I’ve got you, too. You know?”

Steve gives a little nod, his smile warm enough to light up his entire face. 

“I know you do, man. I know.”

And, for a second, looking back at Steve, the hope floods in, and Eddie lets himself believe it. That, with this merry band of misfit monster hunters standing behind him, there’s no choice–it’ll all turn out alright, in the end.  

—

By the time they make it back to the living room–“decent” again, Steve having immediately shrugged Eddie’s battle jacket back on over his now freshly wrapped bandages, the sight of which had made something in Eddie’s chest immediately flutter–Lucas is settling down on the couch with a patchwork quilt while Dustin bemoans his fate, loudly, as he piles blankets onto the floor in something that’s steadily resembling a nest. Eddie guesses, when he didn’t immediately come back, the pair of them must have gone on their own journey to raid the Mayfield’s linen closet.

“We said best of ten,” Lucas is saying with a sigh, the picture of put-upon patience, “not my fault you suck at rock-paper-scissors.” 

“It’s a game of chance!” Dustin squawks in protest. “There’s absolutely no skill involved. How can I ‘suck’ at some bullshit game that requires no strategy.”

Lucas shrugs, unperturbed. “You tell me.”

The noise Dustin lets out makes it clear he’s gearing up for a continued argument–when Steve drops a hand on his head, distracting him with a noogie. 

“No one likes a sore loser, Henderson.” 

“I am not a sore loser!” Dustin huffs, arms crossed over his chest and lip jutting out in something that dangerously resembles a pout. 

“Au contraire, my dear friend. You’re right about that, you’re not a sore loser. You are, in fact…” Eddie holds up a single finger, Dustin’s face brightening in that moment’s worth of anticipation, “the sorest of losers.”

The blue streak Dustin swears up is worth it for both Lucas and Steve’s guffawing laugh. 

He continues muttering to himself, low-voiced and difficult to make out apart from something that sounds distinctly like traitors in my midst, as he somewhat viciously tosses more quilts onto the ground.

“Gimme that,” Steve says without heat, taking several blankets from Dustin’s hands and spreading them out, laying a solid foundation for a pallet that he quickly uses the others to build upon. “Now, come on, man, quit complaining and just…lie down.”

Given the fuss Dustin’s been kicking up, Eddie can’t help but be impressed that Steve’s instruction is enough to actually get him to comply. The powers of babysitter persuasion strike yet again, it seems. 

Or, at least…half as he’s told, since settling onto the pallet still offers plenty of back talk on Dustin’s part. 

“I can’t believe this. My theories turn out to be correct all damn night, and still I get relegated to sleeping on the carpet. How is that fair?!” Dustin huffs. 

From his position on the couch, Lucas’s only answer is to snort, shaking his head. 

Hand on his hip, Steve cocks a single eyebrow, shooting Dustin the driest of looks. There’s something deeply wrong with Eddie, he’s pretty sure, that he finds the whole thing painfully attractive. 

"Dustin, man, it’s not a competition. Besides…beats the floor of a Russian elevator," he comments, and Eddie has no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean.

Dustin tilts his head from side to side, as though considering. Reluctantly, he says, "...Agreed."

Nodding, seemingly satisfied, Steve lays down on one side of Dustin. Eddie does the same, following suit until they’re bracketing him like a pair of parentheses. A warmth settles over Eddie, pleasant and bone-deep, as he tilts his face to catch Steve’s eyes, staring back at him from over the top of Dustin’s head. 

"Scoot over, dude. Eddie doesn't want your pointy ass elbows digging into him." Steve nudges Dustin in the side, causing the younger teen to readjust with a minimal amount of grumbling. To Eddie he says, sotto, "Trust me, man, I know. Those things are like daggers or something, I swear."

“Are not,” Dustin protests, though the words sound drowsy, his eyes having already drifted shut despite all the protests about how uncomfortable he’d been.

“Are too,” Steve volley backs effortlessly. Eddie catches the look he’s giving the kid, though, and it can only be described as fond amusement.

“Thanks for the warning, kind sir,” Eddie gives Steve a mock salute, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ll be on the lookout for those deadly weapons being brandished in the night.”

“Can’t believe…ganging up on me…” Dustin murmurs, the last word trailing off as his breathing begins to even out. 

“You’re the one who wanted to introduce us, dude,” Steve argues softly, though it’s clear his words have fallen on sleeping ears. To Eddie he says, voice a whisper, “You believe this kid? The arguing never stops, man, even in his sleep.”

“I know,” Eddie whispers back, parroting back Steve’s own words in the Upside Down, and the pair of them share a pleased, knowing grin.

And it’s comforting, the thought that sweeps through Eddie’s mind once he’s settled enough to start drifting off, Dustin’s snoring soft between them, Steve only an arm’s length away.

They’ve got Henderson. And as for Eddie himself?

Well…Harrington’s got him.

[brucewaynehater101]

Janet soon to be Drake, during her bachelorette party, tripped through a time portal, as one sometimes does in Gotham, and lands at another party. She's just buzzed enough not to realize she's not in the right time period, especially since Fashion in Gotham leans towards the vintage anyway and masquerade and fancy dress parties are very popular anytime of the year except Halloween.

Janet meets a very charming man and has one last fling. Janet ends up returning to her own time while she's puking in the bushes, not that she was ever aware that she ever left her normal time.

Janet gives birth a shockingly short time after the wedding. Jack gets many elbows and pats on the back while Janet gets many side eye looks because double standards.

Neither Jack nor Janet ever have any reason to think that their new baby is the product of anyone but themselves.

Fast forward about eighteen years and an investigation reveals that Tim Drake is the son of one Patrick Wayne aka the father of Thomas Wayne aka Bruce Wayne's grandfather.

Tim is Bruce's uncle thanks to time shenanigans.

This is absolutely hilarious!

Jason, as a joke, starts referring to Tim exclusively as "Uncle Timmy." To Tim's horror, this catches on with the rest of the batkids.

Now Tim is conflicted cause he absolutely hates the nickname, but even Damian uses it in a teasing yet fond manner.

Duke is the one point out that technically, Tim is older than Bruce. Since Tim was created before Bruce was, this means Tim has seniority. Hell, Tim might be as old as Alfred.

This causes Tim to have several mental breakdowns and identity crises.

This also causes the Batkids to start buying Tim "old people" gifts, such as knitting tools, butterscotch, and medical devices. Some of the compression shit Tim actually uses, but he almost strangles Jason when he gets a LifeAlert device.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"It was so nice of Walter to help you with the shopping," your mother sings as she puts away a stack of cans in the pantry.

"Yeah," you agree, "it was. Especially 'cause he can carry more bags than me."

She chuckles, "he is rather strong. And big..." she's quiet as she takes out a few more things from a paper bag, "handsome."

"Ma," you gasp and look at the doorway, your father in the next room, still in the recliner.

"I don't mean... not for me," she cackles again.

"Mmm," you put the sugar in the cabinet and turn back as she stares at you, "wait... you mean for me?"

"Well..." her smile falls, "he is so helpful. And nice. And..." she shrugs and shakes her head, "I shouldn't say. Maybe I'm just being ridiculous."

"You are," you insist, "he's... a lot older. Besides, he wouldn't be interested."

"Hon," she chides, "he looks at you." She tilts her head coyly, "he watches you, you don't notice?"

"Ma," you snort again, "stop. You're going to make it awkward."

"I'm just saying. It wouldn't be entirely crazy, would it?"

"Wouldn't it?" You ask.

She's quiet again. She goes into the pantry again as you try to focus on unpacking. She's just trying to distract herself, you're sure. How can you blame her with all that's going on?

Walter is too old and he's standoffish. He's just doing your dad a favour, nothing more than that. You wouldn't blame him for wiping his hands of it all at Timothy's next catastrophe.

A sudden clatter makes you jump and has your mother scrambling out of the pantry. She grasps her chest as you hear Heather's shrill cry, "Patrick!" You rush out ahead of your mom and watch Heather hold him under his arms, placing him back in his chair.

"What's happened?" Your mom shoulders past you.

"He's alright, we were just working on our exercises," the nurse assures as she pulls back, "isn't that right, Patrick?"

Your father gurgles but doesn't speak clearly. Your mother scrunches up her fingers anxiously and hovers behind the recliner, "did he fall?"

"No, no, it was just the table," Heather points to the TV tray overturned on the other side of the chair. "He's doing very good."

"Oh, oh," your mother touches her forehead and heaves, "I was just... scared."

"Ma, why don't you lay down?" You suggest.

"I can't, I got the groceries--"

"I can get the rest," you promise, "please, I know you're not sleeping."

"Hon," she sighs.

"Ma, please, we don't need you getting sick too," you plead.

"Alright, but you come get me in an hour," she demands.

"I will."

Reluctantly she backs away, finally turning at the door. You listen to her creaky ascension and leave Heather with your father. You tremble as you set away the last of the groceries and fold up the paper bags. You tuck them beneath the sink and try to shake off your nerves.

You need a breath of fresh air. Your heady is fuzzy and your eyes glossy. You go out the back door and sit on the back steps. You shudder out a breath and hold your head. The tears trickle out before you can stop them.

The last week you've outpaced the emotions. Keeping busy with your chores, watching after your mom as she does the same for your father. It's like a snake with its own tail. You can't run anymore. Your shoulders rack as you let yourself cry, heaving into your hand as you hiccup loudly.

You just want your dad back. You want the man who used to tell you cheesy jokes about his tractor and pretend to get his finger caught in the machinery. You want everything to be like it used to be. You want to wake up from this nightmare.

You still as you run out of tears. You stay as you are, hunched over and quivering. The buzzing of insects and gentle sway of the grass hums in the air.

A sudden pounding in the grass brings your head up. Walter jogs towards you, wiping away sweat from his brow as he slows. He wears only a ribbed white take, dampened around his chest and sides. Concern ripples in his forehead as he approaches.

"Everything alright?" He puffs as he kneels before you.

"I... yeah, I'm sorry," you mop your face with your knuckles, "I was just... it's nothing."

You try to smile and your cheeks pinch and your mouth downturns. The strain in your lips tugs at your heart again and you sniff back another wave of tears, another droplet slipping free.

"Sweetheart," he rasps and surprises you as he moves to sit beside you on the step, crowding you against the short railing.

He drapes his arm around you and pulls you to him, pushing your head on his shoulder. He rocks you and hushes you. Even trapped in grief, you can't help but be stunned by his gentleness.

"I'm okay," you insist and try to draw back.

"You shouldn't hold it in," he says as he brings his hand up to pet your head, "your father's a good man--"

Before he can finish, you sob again. You shake your head and bury your face against him. You can't stop. You throw your arm around his neck and pull yourself close. He welcomes you in as his arm snakes snugger around you.

"I'm sorry," you babble, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." you chant the apology over and over as he hushes you. You can't stop. It's all spilling out and there's no way to stem the deluge.

[gatorbites-imagines]

um could I request Conner Kent with a male reader who is just like him. Reader is a clone of another hero made by Cadmus, but the reader is a year or two older. When Conner and their first meet is during his initial escape and him coming apart from the team, and them bonding over them being clones. What would their relationship be like.

Conner Kent x Plastic Man Clone Male Reader

Headcanons

Reader is a clone of Plastic Man, cuz I love him.

Heyo my Hatchlings, how has everyone been doing? I finally finished up my assignment and I’m finally back. Did you guys miss me?

As a clone of Plastic Man, you put a good amount of people on edge when you appeared. Seeing as Plastic Man is very much immortal and unbeatable in the long game, they feared if you were good or evil, as there wouldn’t really be any way to defeat you if you turned out to be bad.

Luckily for them, you turned out to be as good of a guy as a clone of Plastic Man could be. You weren’t completely black and white, and sure you stole sometimes, and had a habit out of causing problems for corrupt people in power, but who were they to blame you.

You lived with Patrick Obrian, since he’s the closest thing you have to a family, and he never even had the thought of rejecting you because of your clone status. If anybody knows what its like to be judged and struggling to exist, its him.

Patrick plays an active supportive role in your life, and he teaches you how to use your powers. You end up being very skilled at the shapeshifting part of your shared powers. Sure, you still stretched, grew or shrank in size, anything Plastic Man could do, but you enjoyed shapeshifting the most. You even got a hang on switching colors, something Patrick struggled with.

When Young Justice was cooked up, you were one of the first they placed on the team. Mainly because of how powerful you were, and since part of them wanted to keep an eye on you, just in case.

You never took anything too seriously, it just came with the territory of being a clone of Plastic Man. Live life and all that. You did get into some arguments with different members of the team when it comes to morals, but that’s to be expected of a team.

When the team finds and rescues Conner, you immediately feel a level of kinship with him. Your clone status isn’t known outside of the league, so the knowledge Conner was born with doesn’t let him know you are a clone too.

As everyone tries to figure out what to do with Conner, you just settle down beside him, your stretched limbs dragging closer to you until they’re the normal length, where you offer him a snack or something to drink.

“Youd think they’d be better at dealing with clones, huh?” you joke, chewing on your own snack as he just looks at you, still confused and on edge about everything.

At his questioning glance, you lift your goggles and wink at him, pointing a thumb at yourself as you almost proudly declare yourself a clone of the best member of the justice league, if you were to be asked anyways.

As the league tries to figure it all out, you sit with Conner and just talk his ear off, never letting him wallow to far and making it harder for him to overhear the negative things said about him. Only Patrick knew, but the League fearing that you’d turn evil still weighed on you, and you didn’t want Conner to deal with the same thing.

Its only after you’ve made him smile and laugh that you accept that you’ve done your duty. When its time to leave you give him a way to contact you, and give him another cheesy wink before pulling your goggles back on, telling him that you clones should stick together.

Over time you become one of the people Conner is closest too, especially when he isn’t as welcomes by the people around him as he had hoped. This angers you and by extension Patrick, but your father figure just rolls his eyes and says he isn’t surprised.

In the beginning Conner spends a lot of time with you and Patrick, but mainly you, since you are closer in age. To be someone to look up too, you even stop with your petty crime for a while, just so your bad reputation won’t rub off on Conner.

Seeing him mingle better with the team, you take a happy step back and let him build the relationships he craves. Because of your different opinions and looser morals, you never became much more than acquaintances with the team, but seeing your fellow clone happy is enough for you.

But even as Conner gets closer to the team, he still holds onto you, since you were the first person to show him casual kindness without any suspicion or wanting something in return. You also have a lot more life skill than he does, so going to you for advice is normal for him.

When the time comes, you were most likely the one to leave the young justice team first out of everyone. You just don’t fit into their dynamic, and you run best on your own or with your father figure. Its hard to be an immortal who would never get to experience true normal life on a team of people who could.

You don’t leave the league, but you become more of a contractor, someone they call in when they need the help. You keep beating up bad guys, but you also fall back on the familiar feeling of crime. You only steal from those that deserve it though, and use your shapeshifting to easily get away with it.

It becomes a bit of a running gag, as the league always sends the young justice team after you since you aren’t an actual lethal threat. It kinda becomes training for them, and since Meghan can’t ever find you through mind powers, they have to work hard to find you.

When Conner leaves the team you to go out for drinks. Who cares about your ages. Seeing your father figure, you could be thousands of years old and never age physically, so it didn’t matter to you.

If your relationship was romantic, this would most likely be where it developed further, since Conner would be less tied to the team, and he could spend more time with you.

If your relationship isn’t romantic, it would still develop from here, just become more brotherly. You always joke you’re the batman to his superman, always shapeshifting into batman when you do, much to Conners fake annoyance.

Honestly even if it became romantic, youd still transform into batman and make kissy faces at him, since superbat is probably a running gag in the league.

You guys go on dates, even if its platonic, just to spend time together, maybe travel the world a bit, or even travel space, since you could easily survive away from earth. Theres probably also some very deep conversations about existence and your worth, since being a clone and always being treated like one weigh heavy on anyone.

When it truly hits Conner how much you struggle with your own role as a clone, he’s a bit surprised. Hed never imagined you were just completely fine, but you had always seemed to let the comments and suspicion roll off your back.

All in all, you two have each other’s back, always. The bond you have is deep in the way only two people created the same place for the same purpose can have. So, no matter if its romantic or platonic, you two become a familiar sight on and off the battlefield.

[bitches-who-write]

hey could you write a head cannon that the bowers gang find out that their little siblings have made their own little gang with the other bowers gang little siblings and the only reason they found out was that someone who messed with them come up to them asking for them to keep their crazy siblings on a leash because they beat the crap out of them.

Hi there!  We’ve combined this ask with your other ask similar to it.  Hope you enjoy!

(Below is character refrence from your request): 

Siblings are called the Mini Bowers Gang

Mia Bowers (Henry little sister)

Maddie Hockstetter (Patrick little sister)

Olivia Criss (Vic little sister)

Sam Huggins (Belchs little brother)

Warnings: Swearing, mild violence implied.

The Bower’s gang had no idea that their younger siblings formed their own little gang.

It wasn’t until Chad O’keif, Derry’s popular, asshole jock approached Henry, Patrick, Belch and Vic. 

Chad rushes up to the guys furiously with a busted lip.

“Hey!  Bowers!  You better keep a leash on those brats of yours or else next time-“. 

Before Chad dares to finish his sentence, he catches himself.  For once the dumb jock uses his brains.

Everyone in town knows you don’t  threaten the Bowers gang.

Especially a threat directed towards their little siblings.

It’s not that the guys are sweet and over-protective of their siblings.  Quite the opposite though

But there’s still an unspoken vow that only they can mess with their little siblings.

The guys circle in on Chad, glaring to the point that he’s so uncomfortable, he can’t maintain eye contact anymore.

Visibly nervous, Chad clears his throat. “They’re down at the barrens.  They attacked me for no damn reason.” His voice trails off.

Everyone but Henry laugh hearing the news.

Henry shoves Chad to the ground, flipping his switch blade out.

“If I find out you messed with them, I’ll fuckin' end you.  Watch yourself.”  Henry threatens, stopping his blade into the ground before lifting Chad to his feet and pushing him forward.

“Now get the fuck out of my face.” 

And with that, Chad went running. 

The guys make their way down to the barrens to see what their little sibling are up to/ what all the commotion is about.

Before their siblings are even in sight, you can hear Maddie Hocksetter yelling, clearly instigating a fight.

As the guys approach, they see Mia Bowers straddling Beverly with both Sam Huggins and Olivia Criss holding her down.

Maddie was kneeling beside them, egging Mia on.

“Come on Mia, she deserves it, look what she did to Olivia!!”

As the guys get closer, they notice Olivia Criss’s nose was bloody. 

“HEY!  FUCKERS!” Henry shouts, causing them all to flinch and stop in their tracks.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Beverly kicks and twists, breaking free from Sam and Olivia, and knocking Mia off of her.

Maddie goes to grab her again but Patrick eyes her, slowly walking toward his sister with a creepy, sinister look on his face.

Maddie knows despite Patrick being her older brother, that it wouldn't stop him from doing something bad.

I mean look at what Patrick did to his little brother, RIP.

“Maddie… I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He says, voice dripping with malice.

Normally Maddie isn’t intimidated by anyone but when it comes to Patrick (and hell, even Henry), she’s terrified.  She listens to her older brother and takes a step back.

Patrick grabs Beverly’s arms as she was slowly trying to back away into the woods.

Vic grabs this sisters face, examining her bloody nose. “Lucky isn’t not broken, kid.” 

Belch shoves his younger brother, Sam, blaming him for letting this happen since he’s in charge of looking out for the girls. 

“Someone want to explain what the actual fuck is going on here?”  Henry glare at each of them, especially his own kid sister, Mia.

Maddie was the first to speak up, nodding towards Beverly.  “This bitch hit Olivia!”

Patrick is holding Beverly in place by keeping her arms behind her back and trapped against his chest.

“Is that so?”  He smirks, getting close to Beverly’s ear and chuckling when she flinches. God he loves to make people squirm.

“Th-that’s not what happened!”  She retorts, clearly anxious as she’s surrounded. Her eyes tearing up until she begins to cry.

Vic approaches Beverly with a pissed off expression.

“Ya know Beverly, we don’t give a fuck if you’re a girl or not.  Hit my sister and I end you.”

Belch tries to diffuse the situation now, feeling somewhat sorry for Beverly as he sees the terror in her eyes.

Between being surrounded by both Bower’s gang, the Mini Bowers Gang, Vic threatening her, and Patrick giving her an unwanted embrace (cuddle with a struggle), it was enough to make even the toughest person break.

Hell even the jock, Chad, got beat up by the Mini Bowers so that’s saying something.

After some convincing, the others agree to let her go but not without another threat.

Once Beverly takes off running for her life, the Mini Bowers laugh hysterically feeling accomplished.

“So how did we do?!”  They ask the guys, looking for approval.

Henry scoffs.  “You got some work to do considering”. He says as he checks Olivia’s face.

Vic interjects. “But we’ll admit you’ll did a good job on fuckin’ Chad."

Belch nudges his little brother with approval as they laugh.

The other swing their arms over their little sister's shoulders as they walk off teaching them new fighting techniques. 

[vampylily]

Notes from the new Rolling Stones Japan article with Pete and Patrick Pt.1 :

[WARNING: The article is in Japanese, I'm not a Japanese speaker. I'm machine translating the article from Japanese to Korean & English, and then doing paraphrasing in English. Thus, the wording is not entirely accurate, and may contain errors. Please don't consider this as a proper translation. This is so I can have a reference more than anything. ]

When the interviewer noted Patrick's Los Crudos t-shirt, he responded enthusiastically that it was a Chicago band! Pete was in a Napalm Death t-shirt.

Interviewer asked about how Summer Sonic was, especially since it was their first since 2019. Patrick said the show went like they hoped, which rarely happens (lol). Said Japanese audiences are special. He gets asked about how concerts in Japan are, but it's hard to explain unless you experience it. Said can't explain it well, but there's a lot of give and take of energy.

Interviewer asked about Pete saying there was a song inspired by Japan on the SMFS album. Pete said "The Kintsugi Kid" was the song about how he felt when he was in Japan, it's obvious by the title. "The Kintsugi Kid'' bridges "I Am My Own Muse" and "So Much (For) Stardust." Said Patrick wrote the songs but in his interpretation, the sonic landscape of the song reminds him of Japan.

Patrick said he's always been quite influenced by Japan, especially on this album. Said people might not register it from the sound, but he's been influenced by the Yellow Magic Orchestra & their synthesizer sounds. He didn't use much synthesizer on the album but a lot of the songs started with synthesizers. He got the same synthesizer Yellow Magic Orchestra used and started writing songs from there. He's a big fan of Studio Ghibli movies and loves Joe Hisaishi's music. Said when doing string/orchestra horn arrangements, he wanted to create a sound that was as appealing to the heart/poignant as his. Even though their music/sound was completely different, he wanted to try it. Said he especially tried to evoke the feeling he got on "The Pink Seashell."

Interviewer asked about TTTYG's 20th anniversary and how they could have done an anniversary tour but they didn't and instead released SMFS with gusto.

Pete said the most important thing is that you stick to what you think is right. Said there was a punk band he liked when he was younger, and they didn't change at all. Talked about how artists like David Bowie or the Clash changed their styles to almost unrecognizable lengths and how some fans left because of it. But when he listens to the albums after getting older, he can reflect on his own changes and find new appreciation for songs he might not have liked at the time.

Pete said celebrating the past too much feels patronizing and not very fall out boy-like. They continue making new music, sometimes they succeed, sometimes they don't. Even if something doesn't work out as well, he's like [it is what it is/that happens], and that some people might say they liked it. He's got albums he likes and albums he dislikes from his own favourite artists. Said they always make new albums that challenge their past works. Of course they hope people like it, but getting good reviews/being appreciated isn't the only reason they continue making music.

Patrick said he doesn't like making an album to celebrate the 20th anniversary, or having an anniversary to showcase past songs. Reasons was that first, the past songs are always in rotation in their sets so they don't stop playing them. Second, like Pete said, they prefer to keep pursuing new music and that stance hasn't changed from 20 years ago. Said deviating from that feels dishonest like they're lying to themselves.

Pete was like [it's how Steven Spielberg didn't make E.T. Part 2.] Patrick was like [exactly!] and said that being honest with themselves was their pure form.

also there's a page 2 to the article but i'm tired :[. they talk about "emo" changing from a specific music genre to the word entering the mainstream vernacular, patrick talked about how when they started out they didin't consider themselves "emo," they were a hardcore band. said he liked playing hardcore though when he sang people used to tell him his voice was too cute. they focused on making the music they wanted to, and before they knew it, they were being called "emo." Pete talked about the word, how it encompasses too much, feeling restricted by that in the past, etc. Talked about wanting to become like Metallica in that the word Metallica has becomes its own thing, Metallica doesn't need a description, etc. Patrick talked about perfoming in Japan, from small venues way earlier to now, etc

-

-

I love long FOB articles and I quite liked this one.

Love that Patrick talked about musical inspirations and SMFS. It’s so cool to hear because I love how beautiful and grand the sounds are in SMFS, even with spoken tracks like The Pink Seashell or Baby Annihilation. 

Also him buying the same synthesizers is so real. He’s a music nerd <3 

They’ve been consistently talking about always wanting to make new music and looking to the future instead of the past. And getting questions about their sound changing since forever haha.

It's really cool that they're very self aware and how convinced they are about making new music. Love that Pete can look back at older albums and find new appreciation for them. I’d be down for another half dozen FOB albums if they are, so (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

The new Pete and Patrick photos!!! They've got such pretty eyes <333

[sounds-void-fishy]

ik i said i was gonna sleep but then fanfic and my cat nemesis screaming. anyways thinking about how ever since i was a teen ive not wanted to have kids but wanted to foster teens cause id be too scared to fuck a kid up but my set of skills has always been on track to being that of someone good at fostering teens.

and like. idk being maggot granddyke has rlly scratched that itch? especially with the idea of maggot summer camp? i am so so so full of care. being able to teach and help and support. this is all stuff i always wanted to do. this is what i was trying to do school to. and im so grateful that i get to.

i think a lot about this elderly dyke when i worked at an old folks home who toasted me when i told her how honoured i was.

i think about the kids at my high school who tomorrow afternoon are having a st patricks day party with my mom because she is one of the adult supervision and how i started that pride club nine years ago and how having a legacy at 24 is beautiful and terrifying

i think about my roommates when i moved into my current place who were like seven and ten years older than me and declared themselves my parents, at a time when i was freshly out of inpatient and floating at best

i think about the actor at sleep no more, and me crying from the beauty of the connection of queerness

i think about a friend of mine who was a youth leader at my congregation when i was in high school who i thought was nonbinary when i first met them. they didnt realise until quite a bit later. they are one of my dearest friends now

i think about the only time i went to summer camp, a week of leadership camp. it was the first place nobody knew my birth name. where i used just they/them pronouns. it was the first place i learned of the beauty of physical platonic intimacy, where we would all cuddle, or be close while playing cards or reading my immortal

i think of all of us holding hands across the years and the time and the space. in my heart and my mind there is a hangmans tree, from peter pan. the inside is all hollow and infinitely large and there is space for all those i love.

in my soul we are at summer camp and i am yearning so deeply for that to be real in whatever way i can make it

[carlsdarling]

Carl Grimes ℳαșțůȓƄα†ίȯņ headcanons

What Carl does when he is all alone… Everyone is 18 and over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw

A - Aftercare

He cleans himself up afterwards with either toilet paper or Kleenex, if he's not jerking off in the shower. Sometimes he also wipes his cum away with one of his worn shirts before throwing them in the dirty laundry. Imagine Michonne's face xD

B - Body

Carl is generally comfortable with his body, only having problems accepting his missing eye. He knows what he likes and it's quite normal for him to caress himself.

C - Cum

Depending on where and in what position he does it, his cum lands either on his belly (if he does it lying on his bed) or on his hand (if he is sitting or standing). He often pleasures himself in the shower. Running water and all.

D - Dirty Secret

Carl sometimes fantasizes about an older girl seducing him while jacking off. In prison he had fantasies about Beth and secretly watched her while she was changing clothes, now he has a thing for Rosita - not that he would ever dare to approach her; he'd be afraid she'd laugh at him.

E - Experience

He's pretty experienced with it, he had started doing it out of curiosity because he and Patrick were talking about it in prison when they found some porn magazines, and then they tried pleasuring themselves, sheepishly and laughing, and Carl liked the feeling. Since then he's been doing it almost every day.

F - Favourite position

Carl prefers to lie on his bed, but he finds it more practical in the shower because there are no stains left and he doesn't have to clean anything.

G - Gentle

At the beginning Carl moistens his right hand with saliva; he usually strokes himself gently and slowly, then his hand movements become faster until he rubs his cock vigorously and finally cums.

H - Hair

Carl doesn't shave his pubic hair, he lives in a fucking apocalypse and has more important things to do. He trims them though, so they are not too long.

I - Intimacy

Carl likes to be intimate with himself and enjoys it, but of course he would rather fuck you. He thinks about it literally all the time.

J - Jack off

Yes, he does it and he loves it ;)

K - Kink

Carl has a little cum kink. He likes to ejaculate a large amount of jizz and imagines filling your pussy or pretty mouth to the brim with it. Sometimes he waits to jerk off so he can shoot a larger load. He also likes the sight of the cum squirting from his cock.

L - Location

His bed, the shower, if he can't wait, it also happens that he does it quickly in the car on a tour (of course, only when he is alone).

M - Motivation

Pretty much everything turns him on, you especially. And Carl has a very vivid imagination...

N - No Go

He would never be caught doing it on purpose, except maybe by you - hoping that the sight would excite you enough to get into it with him.

O - Oral

He often fantasizes about getting sucked off.

P - Pace

Sometimes Carl is very aroused (for whatever reason), then he does it quickly and cums within a few seconds. On other occasions he takes his time, uses lube and celebrates it, pauses in his movements and then continues.

Q - Quickies

Carl has learned to do it quickly and silently. While the group was out in the wilderness before they reached Alexandria, he had to be quiet and discreet when he jerked off at night. He would have been embarrassed to death if the person on watch - Daryl or his father Rick, for example - caught him.

R - Risk

He doesn't take risks and only does it when his privacy is guaranteed.

S - Stamina

He may well do it two or three times in a row when he's horny, with short breaks in between.

T - Time

Mostly Carl pleasures himself once a day; often only in the evening before going to sleep. He can't go two days without.

U - Unfair

Carl thinks it's unfair when you walk around in front of him in tight revealing clothes, because then his cock gets rock hard and he has to find an undisturbed place to jerk off.

V - Volume

He's usually quiet when he does it; he suppresses his moans or bites his pillow. Unless no one is around, in which case he lets himself go and moans (often your name...)

W - Wildcard

Remember when you went swimming in the lake with the others, and you were wearing that sexy bikini you'd looted just before? And how Carl said he had to pee and disappeared into the bushes? Yeah, wonder what he was really doing there ;)

X - X-Ray

Carl is a bit over average, but not much. His cock is beautiful, with a nicely shaped tip that turns red when he gets excited and hard.

Y - Yes

Masturbation is very important for Carl to relax; if he can't do it for several days, for example because the situation is too precarious and unsafe, he gets snippy, argumentative and tense.

Z - Zzzzz

Carl often does it right before he falls asleep. This should also make it clear where those strange stains on his bedding come from ;)

[monzamash]

the good, the bad and what could’ve been — lando norris (part one)

summary – nine years. an age gap that you didn’t know would cause so much heartache. you tell yourself that it’s fine, he tells you that he could give you the world but this was a cautionary tale of what could’ve been if you just let love win. pairing – lando norris x you (female reader) chapter rating – mature (sexual references, language, age gap/older woman) word count – 7k inspired by charlie puth's song called boy. masterlist

part one | part two | part three

Drenched rat was the only way to describe your appearance as the late evening downpour rained all over your parade. It had been one of those days that seemed to go on forever and there was nothing you wanted more than to see that last client waltz out of the studio and into those glorious Friday night shadows. Thank god it was the weekend.

"Any plans for the weekend, lovey?" Rae, your friend and closest co-worker asked from across the room, cleaning up her station for the last time this week.

You shrugged, not really having the mental capacity to even respond but she was being polite and the least you could do was answer.

"Maybe... My little brother's turning 21 and has reluctantly extended an invite my way so just loose plans at this stage. You?"

Rae went on to detail her jam-packed weekend with her husband, who like her was the life of every party. They were freshly married – only 3 months or so but they had been endgame since their college days apparently, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. Positivity exuded them wherever they went and you hated to admit that there was a pang of envy whenever they rocked up to after work drinks together or he dropped off her lunch that she'd left at home. Smitten by each other even after all these years.

All those little things festered away and created a small pit of jealousy in your stomach that you resented. You were happy, right? You had a successful career, a cute apartment and suitors 'round the block waiting for you to make up your mind and just fucking pick one of them. Anyone.

What Rae had was a once in a lifetime kind of love, you thought as the overhead lights were turned off and Patrick motioned for you to grab your shit and go home. The studio was cloaked in darkness as you squeezed through the small door, locked and loaded with an umbrella and a backpack filled with sketchbooks and diaries. And all you could do was pray that they were waterproofed enough to make the journey home.

"See ya Monday – and try to be on time, yeah?" Patrick arrogantly jabbed your way before disappearing out of sight and hopefully out of your life for the next 48 hours – or longer if you could get your shit together.

"Fucking arsehole," You muttered as Rae huddled under your umbrella, brushing your back with understanding.

"He doesn't know how to treat you because you intimidate him," She shook her long, black hair and rubbed her hands together, attempting to generate enough heat to keep warm as the thick fog rolled through the streets.

You shrugged, knowing that she was just trying to lighten the mood and send the week off with a positive – something she always liked to do for you, especially after a week filled with the same old bullshit. You were overbooked, overworked and wishing you were anywhere but here.

"It's nothing a really expensive bottle of wine can't fix," You half-joked and made sure Rae was sheltered before bidding her goodbye, "See you in hell on Monday."

Rae sent you a sullen wave, no doubt wishing she could've cheered you up just a little before going home to her seemingly perfect life. There wasn't much point trying when all attempts fell on deaf ears – nothing could pull you out of the perpetual cycle of drink, sleep, work, repeat. That was how it was and how it would always be and you had come to terms with that.

The short walk home from the studio was a miserable one, which was to be expected strolling the streets of London in the middle of December. But the glimmering lights reflected in the evening downpour and the smell of food cooking – sizzling kebab if you had to really hone in on the smokey, chargrilled scent wafting through the cool air, made it a little more bearable than usual. That didn't mean much considering nothing had brought you joy for months. Not even the discreetly packaged vibrator your best friend had left in a box on your doorstep with a sticky note saying, 'you deserve it'. Tragic.

You grumbled quietly to yourself, noticing a nosy neighbour standing beside the entrance to your building, waiting for either you or a cab. It was always hard to tell. She was an older lady who loved to pry and nothing gave her more pleasure than to bundle people up and have a chat. She was harmless and meant well but the last thing you needed tonight was an ambush.

"Sorry Effie, I have to get upstairs and get out of these wet clothes."

You got in first with the excuse and she simply smiled and waved. Effie knew the trials and tribulations of a London winter since she'd lived here all her life, simply wishing you a wonderful weekend and making you feel bad for brushing her off.

The apartment was cold and dimly lit as you flicked on the kitchen light and chucked your backpack down on the couch with a huff. You hoped it would feel better being home after a long day but you knew you had no food, no company and a cold bed waiting for you upstairs. All things that made it impossible to look on the bright side.

"Fuck. My. Life," You groaned into the fridge and slammed it shut, internally wishing past you had organised something for dinner.

You did as you told Effie and went upstairs to change into something comfier and less wet – a tracksuit set, combat boots and new beanie to cover the bird’s nest you called a "hairstyle". The floor length raincoat you should've taken to work was waiting for you at the front door – almost taunting your never-ending brain fades. You scooped up your keys and scarf and headed downstairs again, hoping that Effie had left to wherever the hell she was going on a Friday night. The fact a 70 year old woman had more of a social life should've worried you more but you were too tired to care.

By now it was a quarter to midnight and there was really only one option to get anything resembling food this late since the closest Waitrose was a 10-minute walk away. You had already burnt your bridge there by rocking up at closing time, forcing them to keep the tills open so you could buy emergency ice cream. You couldn't show your face there ever again.

The bright blue and red lights spilling into the puddles that were still filling from the rain was a welcomed sight. It was the only sign of life for miles, besides yourself and you were grateful having a 24-hour Tesco Express right around the corner. Capitalist convenience was in working order. The florescent lights were not as pleasant as you walked in and triggered the bell hanging over the automatic doors.

A familiar voice sang out your name, greeting you from behind the counter with a half-arsed smile adorning his kind face. You grabbed a basket and gave him a wave.

"Hi Kev," You meekly returned and continued on your way down the aisles, hoping to find a few things that would tide your hunger over until the sun came up.

You stopped at the confectionary section and perused for a second, debating whether a sugar hit this late in the night was the responsible adult thing to do. Your mum's authoritarian voice rang in your ears as you reached out and grabbed a bag of skittles, smiling to yourself as you dropped them into the basket. That smile had been the first of the day, maybe even of the week and it felt nice for a split second to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders.

"Late dinner?"

The voice came from a few steps away and belonged to a smirking stranger. He was taller than you, even hunched over the bargain bin he was rifling through. His hair was curly and sopping wet and it was hard to tell if it was just dark because of that or naturally, but your confused gaze connected with his and the smile that had just been on your cold face had disappeared.

"Excuse me?" You quietly asked and stared into his icy blue eyes, prepared to strike with a snarky comeback or two.

"The skittles," He pointed to your basket, "That used to be my evening meal a few years ago until I realised I was an addict and had to get help."

The kind smile on his face softened your stern expression, "Oh, right... Well I'm glad you found the help you needed. Maybe I should too," You tried to muster a joke and he laughed – loudly.

Nobody laughed like that at anything you had said lately because most of the things you did say were either dripping in sarcasm or laced with self-deprecation. Both weren't cute or endearing the longer it became apart of your personality. But he liked your joke enough to give you a boost of serotonin and your smile was back –even brighter than before.

"I did but you should definitely level it out with something else – maybe something chocolaty," The mystery man nodded towards the rows of chocolate bars lining the racks in front of you, now openly encouraging your bad habit.

His accent was different to what you were used to – British, kind of upperclass, kind of not but laced with something else and you were intrigued. Maybe even a little mesmerised by the way he stood his ground, making small talk to a complete stranger in the middle of the night. He looked cozy too, tracksuit clad like you, giving zero fucks about how you fashionable you looked, or really what anyone thought. Comfy, friendly, warm – he was different.

"Great suggestion but I think this will do enough damage," You replied, making him chuckle again.

"I'll live my junk food fantasies vicariously through you," He said before he turning on his heel and making his way to the register at the front of the store, humming to himself.

You could hear his boisterous yet kind voice as you grabbed a pre-mixed salad and lined up behind him, "Thanks man – have a great night," He said to Kevin who no doubt appreciated a friendly face this late in the night.

The stranger sent one lasting smile your way and said 'hope you do too' before he exited with his bag of almonds and a coconut water. Simple and nutritious – which was more than you could say about your late night dinner choices.

With a genuine pep in your step and your items safely tucked under your arm, you left the shop feeling a lot lighter than you did when you walked in and that was something unexpected. A polite run in with a stranger was an unlikely mood-booster but you were clinging to it while it lasted. That was until you noticed a shadowy figure walking up ahead as you rounded into your street and slowed down, but the person heard your footsteps loud and clear.

Internally cursing yourself for wearing the loudest boots you owned, you relaxed a little when you realised it was the man from the store, who had thrown a thick puffer jacket over his orange hoodie. There was a short pause as your eyes met and a puzzled look flashed across his flushed face, wind blown.

"I'm not stalking you," You said in hopes of easing his confusion, "I live here."

You pointed to the large wooden door that led into your apartment building as you tugged your jacket closed, trying to trap any warmth left in your body. The man turned around and looked to where you were pointing before spinning back with a soft chuckle, "And I live there."

He gestured to the building across the small side street you were both standing in, looking as bewildered as each other. It was your turn to laugh as the penny dropped – you were neighbours.

"Small world," You humorously replied and took a few long strides past him. As cute as he was in the darkness, you were frozen solid and needed to thaw out as soon as possible otherwise you'd be asking him for a ride to the hospital.

"See you around?" He asked more as a question than a statement and you nodded with a small, chattering smile.

"Yep," You simply replied and buzzed yourself into the building, shivering beneath all the layers you'd put on before leaving. Even though you were smiling through gritted teeth and feeling warmth from the fleeting conversation, the several layers of clothing and a genuine smile from a stranger weren't even enough to keep you from hypothermia. You couldn't wait to get upstairs and sit by the heater, wishing you were in some quaint country cabin far, far away.

"Yep... Just keep the peel on until tonight and then wash your thigh with that soap I gave you... Yep, warm water is perfect and make sure you put on a thin layer of cream after that... It’ll probably be a little red but I promise you’ll heal perfectly so don't stress," You reassured your client who had gotten her first ever tattoo yesterday.

Your work was rewarding in so many ways but the pressure of working for someone else came with it's unique challenges. There was nothing you wanted more than to open up your own little tattoo shop with Rae and live your life the way you wanted to – not the way some washed up muso envisioned. With a few more words of encouragement, you managed to reassure your client and begin your Saturday, doing a whole lot of nothing.

The sun was shining at least and you figured you might as well enjoy some of what the day had to offer before your night out later this evening. Your brother had given you strict instructions on when and where his birthday drinks were going to be and you knew then that making an appearance at this thing was now a non-negotiable. You couldn't be seen as the flaky older sister again and you didn't want to let him down – that relationship was one of very few that were sacred in your life and turning 21 was a big deal.

It wasn't long until you were strapping on your heels, sticking a couple more bobby pins into the messy bun you were trying to tame and trotting down the staircase, ready to mingle. You had been single now for much longer than you would've liked and although there had been moments of weakness, nothing had amounted to more than a shitty one-night stand. And it was infuriating.

A complete exodus from dating apps hadn't helped your cause but you couldn't handle another ghosting, especially not from some grubby dude who had no right being anywhere near you. You had standards that were high and there was nothing wrong with that – until a couple of gin and tonics are consumed and you forget you were even human. All of a sudden your standards have left the building along with you and said grubby dude.

"Hey!" A voice echoed from across the street as you closed the building door and glanced around with furrowed brows, wondering who was calling out your way.

That's when you spotted him – the man from last night who you couldn't stop thinking about, even if you didn't want to admit it. He looked different in the daylight and definitely lived up to parts of the vision you'd conjured after your random meeting in the street. The curls were there, as were the light blue eyes that caught your attention but he was younger than you first thought, a lot younger which was an important detail that you'd missed in the darkness. One you wished you had of noticed before summoning those late-night thoughts.

"Hi again," You greeted with crossed arms, trying to cover the somewhat revealing dress underneath your jacket.

You quickly clocked his athleisure wear and concluded that he was probably going to the gym with his friend who was trailing closely behind him. They were both full of smiles as you crossed the road, figuring you had to wait for your cab anyway so you might as well have company.

"I realised after I went in last night that I didn't even introduce myself – I'm Lando," He said and held out his hand for you to shake.

"Well in our defence it was super late and my brain was definitely mush," You replied and grasped his warm hand, introducing yourself.

You'd be lying if you didn't say there was a small, flash of something resembling a spark as you shook his hand. A little buzz of excitement that in the moment you chalked up to being super alone and outrageously horny. Desperate didn't even begin to describe the mess that was your sex life and with that in mind, your snap reaction of having undeniable chemistry with him was probably not accurate. But whether it was a figment of your imagination or not, it was still a valid feeling and you were going to have to bury that shit.

"Nice to put a name to the face," Lando smiled and turned to his friend who up until this point had remained quiet, "This is my father, Carlos."

You knew he was pulling your chain, or at least you hoped he. His friend shoved him in the side, fervently shaking his head, "Clearly not his father but Hola," He sheepishly greeted, voice laced with a thick accent and a smile that would make any sane individual with two eyes and a pulse melt in place.

"I was gonna say that's a little suss but I don't judge without context."

You glanced between the two men with a smirk and held your hands up – making them both chuckle quietly. They also eyed each other, a silent nod following that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was fleeting, almost so much so that if you blinked, you would’ve missed it. Maybe you wished you did because now you were cursing yourself for not taking that body language class at university all those years ago. Pointless and too bohemian for your liking, you thought at the time but now, standing on a rain gutter, you regretted passing such haste judgment. Their unspoken conversation infuriated you internally as Lando looked back at you with an awkward smile.

"Nah, I'm an appropriately aged guy and definitely not a child..." Lando trailed off and clumsily scratched the back of his neck, "Don't know what I mean by that but um yeah, not his son obviously." He was fumbling, frantically trying to change the subject but instead looked down at his dirty white sneakers with a grimace, internally face-palming himself.

You bit down on your mauve coloured bottom lip and tried to conceal the smile threatening to reveal itself. He was cute. Awkward? Absolutely. A little dorky with his oversized hoodie and boyish grin? You could say that but he was still kind of cute nonetheless.

"Obviously," You replied sweetly and noticed your uber pulling up outside your apartment building, ready to take you somewhere you could drown your shitty week away.

"Nice to officially meet you and your dad – see you around." You winked and maintained eye contact with Lando before strutting across the street and jumping in your uber.

You wondered what they said once you were gone and whether you looked better in broad daylight or in the shadows of the night. Your intrusive thoughts were quickly pushed aside when you realised he was more than likely taken, or not interested. Or more importantly, way too young for you to even be having these thoughts about. The good ones never were right for you – there was always something. It was like a curse that you'd picked up somewhere along the way – a curse that forbid any man with a job and their shit together to look your way twice. You were invisible to those men lately and you couldn't help but blame yourself.

With a mission to find someone to take your mind off those negative thoughts, you ordered your first drink, and then your second drink and you guessed it – your third and fourth in quick succession. You swore the dance floor was falling out from under your feet as your brother and his girlfriend scooped you up and called you an Uber. The night was over before it had even begun and you knew you'd be filled with regret in the morning. But right now, you were just lucky to be standing upright.

"Will you be okay?" Your brother asked as you flopped into the back of the car, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Pfft, I'm a professional drinker," You hiccupped and covered your mouth, "I'll be fine – driver, take me home!"

The uber driver mumbled something under his breath and punched in the address your brother had given him, no doubt sick of trashed girls on the brink of vomiting, flailing around in the back of his car. You were a mess and attempting to cover that up by drinking wasn't doing you any favours. In fact you knew it was only going to make you feel worse – especially tomorrow.

"Alright, you're home," The driver said loudly, waking you up from the quick nap you decided to take in the backseat, blaming the warmth for lulling you to sleep.

"Make sure you grab everything."

A scoff slipped past your lips as you gathered your bags, "I know what I'm doing," You retorted, not realising that you were probably slurring every word and most definitely making absolutely no sense to someone who was stone-cold sober.

You closed the door and nearly fell forward over the gutter doing so, trying to balance in the heels that had caused your feet to go numb. The black car drove off and you waved like a maniac, thinking you were hilarious before rummaging through your handbag for your keys. You could barely see through blurry vision and the cold air made every inch of you exposed skin tingle as you stumbled into the brick wall of your building. At least you were home.

"Fuck," You hissed to yourself as you dug through the bag and saw nothing but a dark void. It was an impossible task without the flash on your phone to light the way.

The sound of a car door slamming shut across the street startled you out of your intoxicated rage, causing a few items to tumble from your handbag, including your phone. And there he was again, dressed smartly this time – the mystery man who's name you couldn't quite remember in your drunken state. You turned away and frantically started looking for your keys again, hoping to God he wouldn't come over and see you looking like a complete mess. Famous last thoughts.

"Early night?" His innocent question echoed through the empty street and you closed your eyes, knowing there was no way you could avoid him now – especially since you were locked out of your apartment with nowhere to go.

You bashfully looked up through your fake eyelashes and sent him a lazy smile, "Yeah, didn't quite uhm, end up – end up the way I expected," You managed to stammer through your sentence, hoping he could understand some of what you were saying.

"Well we've all been there... Do you need help?" He asked and looked down at your hands that were full, "Because you've dropped a couple of things in the gutter..."

You looked down and realised you'd dropped not only your phone but also your purse, a powder compact and a small sketchbook, "I'm – I'm a real fucking idiot and I've lost my keys... I think... I think I left them in the uber," You confessed and conceded the obvious. You were locked out of your apartment in the dead of an English winter, dressed like an expensive escort. A disaster.

"Ah, crap. Have you given anyone a spare key?"

The glimmer in his eyes as you looked up from your bag made your heart skip a little in your chest. He was handsome, the curls you’d clocked falling onto his forehead as he stood up, and you couldn't stop staring until he snapped you out of your trance, your name falling effortlessly from his chapped, shivering lips, breath causing a thick fog to form in front of your confused face.

"Oh... uhm, my – my friend... ah shit what's her name?... God, what is wrong with me," You grumbled, breath mingling in the cold air as you rubbed your face, "What's your name again?"

"It's Lando," He kindly replied with a soft chuckle and tucked away the objects he’d picked up for you, knowing there was no way you would be able to do any of that in the state you were in.

“Lando,” You repeated quietly, “Like the star trek dude? I’ve never seen it but… that’s right, right?” Even you could hear your incoherent mumblings, making yourself physically cringe because he was too polite to correct you, “Just stop talking, idiot.” You whispered to yourself, or at least you hoped he didn’t hear you. He did.

"Definitely named after the dude in star trek,” He chuckled softly and scanned the empty street, wondering what the hell he was going to do with a drunk, helpless woman.

He couldn’t leave her like this but he also had plans – a blind date that had been sprung on him and set up by Carlos at the gym. Sure, he had been regretting saying yes to it but he hadn’t been out on a date in months, maybe longer and he was sick of the late night hook up that had become too much of a regular occurrence, though completely random. He wanted more than that, something worth his precious time and he didn’t need the drama that came from the one-night stands. It didn’t even matter how good it felt in the moment. Occupied sheets and empty promises didn’t keep him warm at night. It made him physically ill.

But now he was faced with what was obviously a challenge – a beautiful mess of a rescue mission. 

“Look, why don't you come in out of the cold and we'll call your nameless friend who has your spare key?"

Your eyebrows furrowed and you blinked a couple of times before looking at the locked door beside you, "I can't go inside because *hiccup* I've lost my keys... I think I left 'em in that uber... But he was just here, I swear..."

Lando stifled a giggle again and slowly nodded, "Yep, we've been over that but I meant my place. Not sure if you remember this but I live over the street from you... Right there," He gestured towards the opposite building and you rolled your eyes.

"I know that, buddy," You sarcastically retorted, "I'm not stupid." You were slurring up a storm and he simply smiled in response – his patience was commendable.

"My apologies... But I'm freezing and you're turning blue so come on – I promise I'm not a weirdo," He held out his hand and nodded towards his building, blue eyes glimmering under the dim streetlight.

You sighed and linked your icy fingers with his, "You better not be a weirdo..." You rasped and let him guide you over the road, silently enjoying clinging to his muscular bicep and watching his ringlets blowing in the wind.

As you let your entire body weight brush against his arm, you felt something sharp digging into your ribs, a foreign object that you swore wasn’t there before. You stopped in your tracks, leaving Lando confused as you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys – "Wow."

“Oops,” You grimaced, goofy grin instantly sweeping across your face when Lando looked down at your hands, chuckling at you as you stumbled out of his grasp, “Guess you don’t get to murder me tonight, Lawrence!”

“Not even close,” He shuffled back with a smile and observed your every move, ready to swoop in if you did stack it in the middle of the street. You were like a baby giraffe, clomping across the damp asphalt in your heels, giggling to nobody. “You know where I live if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah!” You shouted back, trying your best to smoothly exit the situation and from your perspective, you were killing it.

But reality was a cruel, unforgiving beast – and you were failing miserably to play it cool as you toppled through the building door and nearly face-planted into the couch nestled in the foyer. It was a miracle that you didn’t fall, Lando thought as a smitten grin surfaced on his frost bitten cheeks while he walked upstairs to his own apartment, drafting the dreaded ‘sorry I can’t make it' text but feeling no regret at all.

You were all he could think about for the rest of the night – a beautiful hurricane rolling through his life for the briefest of moments, a burst of long wavy hair, trench coat fluttering in the wind and for a second he wished, deep down that maybe you had lost your keys. As quickly as that thought crossed his mind, he shooed it away – knowing already that you were out of his league, hell, you weren’t even playing the same sport. What the fuck was he going to do if he did get you up here, away from civilisation where it was just the two of you? God help him.

From a distance, you seemed sophisticated, witty, chaotic fun – all traits that had him staring at his ceiling, soundlessly wondering when he would see you again. Soon, he hoped.

“Six tequila shots, Jen! We’re celebrating!” You yelled over the loud EDM music blasting through the club, the smell of testosterone and Acqua di gio aftershave mixing in the already thick, humid air.

“Of course, girl! What are we celebrating?” The bartender asked smiling from ear to ear. Jen, who by day was a barista at your local café, had become one of your closest friends in the city and was always cheering you on from the sidelines while serving you the best coffee in London.

“I quit my soul sucking job and told Patrick to shove it up his arse!” You shouted, waving your arms in the air along with your best friend who had insisted on helping commemorate this magnificent occasion, “I finally bit the bullet and did it, Jen and I feel bloody amazing!”

Jen leaned over and grasped your forearms, “Super proud of you, sis. ‘Bout fucking time you did something for yourself.”

You couldn’t argue with that. She was right.

It had been a week since your drunken run in with your neighbour. Humiliating was the first thought that came to mind, head thumping for days following. You hadn’t seen him since that ill-fated night and there was a small part of you that searched for him whenever you left for work, eyes quickly glancing across the street in case fate was working your favour and he was leaving too. Happenstance.

But you were never that lucky and the week had gone from bad to worse at work – your boss had finally lost the plot and you were done, once and for all. No amount of love for your craft was worth being berated by a self-righteous, egotistical arsehole. He’d pushed too far and you were out of there, rucksack haphazardly slung across your shoulders and a smile bigger than the moon on your face. You were free – until the reality of unemployment hit.

London was your home and it had been for the better part of a decade, working at different tattoo parlours, building a solid client list along the way until you’d reached the top and now, finally opting out of the cruel, unrelenting torture that was working under Patrick. Life was too short and your thirties were well underway, that biological clock forever ticking while everyone else seemed to be settling down, buying that dream house with a picket fence. That wasn’t for me, you told yourself so you could sleep at night.

So much of your life was based around career goals and aspiration, so many of those things had been ticked off before your thirtieth birthday last year and it left you wondering where the time had gone. Your twenties had whizzed by faster than your teens and it made that hole in your heart, where you presumed personal goals were supposed to live feel emptier than ever. Especially when those friends you’d stayed in touch with since high school were having their second or third baby, getting married, some for the second time. Where had the time gone?

It was passing you by and even though you gave yourself that pep talk late at night, looking up at your ceiling, questioning whether you would ever find someone to share it all with or if you even wanted that, time continued to tick. Fleeting memories, first dates, and awkward one-night stands – they were all you really had in terms of a love life. The term ‘love life’ was probably over reaching, because if it was a life, it was fucking tragic.

But it was all you had. That and a kickass group of friends who had your back, setting you up with their husbands cute friends, until they turned out to be misogynistic arseholes, or worse – secretly married. In a population of 9 million, you would think there would be a plethora of kind, sweet men but you couldn’t seem to find one. And that led to the one question that did keep you up at night – maybe it’s me. Am I the problem?

“Babe, you’ve got it all. A gorgeous apartment, a beautiful puppy, you’re going to accomplish the dream you’ve had since you were 14 years old! There’s so much going for you that having a guy means nothing. And fuck men, honestly. I’m so glad we’re out here doing this because I’m one wet towel away from killing Jamie,” You couldn’t help but laugh at your best friend, Winnie.

“I’m serious!” And she was, the deadpan expression never faltering as you put your hands up for protection.

“I got you, I’m with you,” You defended, “I guess I just see everything else falling into place, even though my career path is a little murky right now but I’ll work that out… Love is the one thing I can’t figure out. What am I doing wrong?”

Winnie laughed and gripped your shoulder endearingly, “You are hot, like super hot. They are the issue, not you! Okay…” She trailed off and pushed another shot in your direction.

“Tonight’s the night. We are going to find you a cutie, someone fun. And it might just be a meaningless fuck like the rest but let’s deal with that in the morning,” She hiccupped, already tipsy from the shots.

You smiled and sweetly nodded, knowing that her intentions were coming from a good place but stomaching empty promises had become a regular occurrence. You’d lost count of how many guys she’d set you up with or found through dating apps when you went to the bathroom and came back to find her scrolling through, squealing every time a guy she liked matched with you. It all just felt pointless – and a little desperate. Okay, maybe a lot desperate but you appreciated her trying to help.

So you let her pull you through the crowd to where the rest of your friends were standing, all pouring shots down their throats and getting “wild”. A group of women in their early 30s, most with a kid or two or hadn’t been out to a club in months, some years. It was carnage but you appreciated them all coming out to celebrate you. It gave you something to hold onto even when the rest of your personal life was slowly sinking like the titanic, no safety boat in sight.

Until – you heard your name, loud and clearly from behind your friend. The voice was familiar, oddly so, like you’d imagined it somewhere along the lines and it wasn’t real. Lando’s face bobbed up from the side, smile adorning his sweet face, enthusiastic wave quickly followed and you returned it, the same smile too. His cheeks were flushed and eyes slightly bloodshot. You could tell he was tipsy.

“Hello stranger,” You greeted shyly, not knowing how to approach and apologise for the shameful display you showed last weekend. But before you could even get another word out, you were being pulled into a hug, a loose, one arm kind of hug but a hug nonetheless.

He was warm, perspiring ever so slightly as your cheek brushed across his damp neck, no doubt caused by the high humidity inside the club that was pumping. The lingering scent of Dior Sauvage mixed with a woody scented shampoo were notes you picked up on as your arm slipped around his waist, gently giving him a squeeze before you pulled away, half-heartedly.

“Glad you’re alive and well!” Lando shouted over the loud music, still beaming as you leaned in a little closer, “I am so, so, so sorry about last weekend… I’m not usually – well, no sometimes I get a little too heavy handed with my good friends gin and tonic but that was next level and not at all who I am typically… Just yeah, super embarrassed!”

Lando nodded empathetically, “Don’t be. You were, and I mean this is the nicest possible way; you were the most entertaining part of my week… So you’re drinking gin and tonic, yeah?” He asked, glancing down at your empty hands before turning to the bartender and hailing him over.

“Just a gin and tonic and a corona, please mate.”

Lando swivelled back your way, still grinning while he took in your surroundings, “Girls night out?” He asked, curious as to why you were out with your friends.

“Sort of,” You began to explain before graciously accepting the drink he had bought you, “I quit my crappy job and they insisted we celebrate – but between you and me, I think they’re just bored of their husbands and kids." Your whisper made him laugh, that serotonin boost lighting up your senses again, just like it did a week ago when you first met. Sparks flying.

“Makes sense," He nodded with a furrowed brow, looking serious before cracking a smile, "Congrats on quitting your shitty job, I’m sure your boyfriends here celebrating with you too, no?”

There was a glint in his eyes as they scanned the room and landed back on yours, eagerly awaiting your response. You didn’t give it to him straight away, letting him stew on that question for a couple seconds longer than humane, until he took a sip of his beer, finding something to occupy himself with while you left him there hanging.

“No boyfriend.”

Your answer was simple – to the point and Lando appreciated that as he let go of the deep sigh rattling around in his chest. Was he being nosy? Absolutely but he was also hedging his bets, knowing that if you did have a boyfriend and you looked like that then he wouldn’t have his two front teeth by the end of the night. He had to know for certain before he bought you another drink. And definitely before he asked you to dance.

There was barely a millimetre, if that between your body and his, only losing the warmth of his embrace when he twirled you around, giggling like teenagers who were superficially falling in love for the night. Your friend was the one who broke up the party, insisting that she said goodbye to you before leaving to relieve her babysitter.

“Everyone’s gone home and I think I’m gonna head off too,” She yelled before tugging you closer, “But have fun with your boy toy,” She whispered into your ear, her smirk telling as you pulled back and rolled your eyes.

“Stop it. It’s just a bit of harmless dancing,” You scoffed in return, but she’d known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper, practically experiencing all of life’s milestones in tandem – until she found her prince charming and had his babies, a betrayal like no other.

“Sure, sure,” She winked because she knew that there was a 90% chance that you wouldn’t make it home, or if you did, it was only because your place was closer than his, “Call me tomorrow morning when you get home.”

The cheek, you thought as she strutted off into the crowd, disappearing into the stormy London night. You were at a crossroads, standing in the middle of the club and searching the room for Lando. He’d given you space to speak with your friend, a subtle sign of respect while he rushed to the bathroom and splashed his face with water.

Get it together, he muttered, cursing his rosy cheeks and uncooperative curls, the bundle of ringlets gathering like a nest on the crown of his head. He didn’t want to look shabby in front of you, especially since he'd identified your expensive perfume and had noticed the red-bottomed heels adorning your feet. You were the uptown girl they were talking about in that song, the tune now on the tip of his tongue as he pushed through the bathroom door, whistling along to the silent song stuck in his head.

And there you were, lost in the crowd, searching. He wondered for a second whether you were looking for him or if your friend had just come over to tell you something and she was coming back. But when your eyes met, you smiled big. Grinning and relieved to see those bright blue eyes drawing you in from across the room, a familiar face to ease your nerves. You glided to him like a magnet magically pulling you both to the halfway point, hands immediately reaching, needy to feel the others touch again.

Winnie’s words rang in your ears, so sure of herself and what she knew about you. Your bad habits. You wanted to spite her and bid Lando farewell but when you watched his tongue swiping across his pouty bottom lip and that boyish smile tug at the corners of his mouth again, you were done for – hook, line and sinker.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

click here for part two

a/n – i really hope you enjoyed the 7k word introduction *facepalm* to this mini-series – it got away from me a little bit but i'm excited about exploring long form writing on tumblr so follow for updates and lmk what you think so far!

[jungle-angel]

Here I Am (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob are finally able to live your best lives after his honorable discharge from the Navy

Warnings: Mentions of birth, pregnancy etc.

Tagging: @ohtobeleah My dear friend, it's still Feb. 16th here in the U.S where I live and I didn't wanna get all the timezones fucked up and with my classes tomorrow I wasn't sure if I was gonna be able to get it in on time for Galentine's Day (lol). But all the same, this is for you, based off the Bryan Adams song of the same name. Enjoy m'dear.

Out on the trail once again, you and Bob, gazed out across the land that was at last yours, your youngest baby in the wrap tied across your back, snoozing with his chubby little fists in his mouth. The older ones, Auggie, Patrick and Deidre were all back at the house with Bob's mother and father, leaving just you, Bob and your youngest to bond.

The day couldn't have been more perfect. The day was bright and sunny, the mountains and the hills a soft green as the wind rippled across them. Settling in Montana had been the best decision you had ever made, heaven on earth and a place where you both felt at peace.

You had been through it all with Bob, every tough deployment, every tear shed whenever he left and whenever he returned, spending so many nights with Penny and the other Dagger spouses on the phone or at each others' houses to take your minds off of things. Only after the Uranium Plant mission did Bob finally acquire his discharge papers, the both of you relieved beyond words that you could at last start your lives together.

Down the sloping trail you went with Bob next to you and Baby Rudy snoozing away, his little camo hat on his head to keep the sun off. You gave Bob's hand a squeeze as he smiled at you, the sun illuminating his face in its golden glow.

You couldn't have asked for better. With Bob as your husband, you were completely free to be yourself and he the same. You remembered well when you first moved into your home, running barefoot like a pair of wildfolk across the hills and through the fields with Bob, fishing in the river for dinner on those hot summer nights, the way the trees and the new flowers in your garden would bloom in spring and how could you possibly forget when the two of you had thoroughly fucked each other in the field when all the wildflowers were in bloom? You remembered the days when you had given birth to your older children, each time Bob walking beside you in the field to move things along and bringing them outside for the first time, each one a treasure you would both hold dearly.

And it still felt like that now, all the world feeling like new, the both of you still together and stronger than ever.

"Whatcha think sweetpea?" Bob asked.

"I can't think of any place I'd rather be, Bob," you answered. "Especially if it's with you."

Bob leaned in and kissed you, letting it linger for as long as you both could. The horses snorted a little, eager to get back to the house for lunch and you and Bob wanting nothing more than to go for that walk he had promised to go on with you.

And in all your years together, there was no place on earth that you would have rather been than in Montana with the man you loved most.