#hipster café

[lame-town]

[rheya28]

Sol School of Fashion ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

♥ Hi guys, today I present to you SOL School of Fashion "SOF". This build/project is extremely special as I collaborated with the lovely and talented @farfallasims who kindly curated all the looks for the 2023 SOF Fashion Show Event

2023 SOF Fashion Show Theme: LUXURIOUS TROPICS " High end fashion meets the tropics" Looks Curated by: @farfallasims [ Look Book Link ] 25:23 Build by : @rheya28 [ Speed Build & Fashion Show ]

♥ Sol School of Fashion "SOF" is a well known fashion studio/school located in Del Sol Valley. SOF is a space that encourages boldness, creativity, and innovation. Sims can have access to a café, photo studios, a classroom, a meeting room, a lounge, as well as a customizable runway with a backstage dressing room that consist of all the fashion necessities needed to produce a professional fashion show event.

READ ME

♥ I placed this as a Generic Lot as we don’t exactly have a fashion school Lot type, so it’s all just pretend. This lot could also be set as a Café as it meets all the requirements to function as one.

♥ This build was inspired by bbygyal23's Curve Agency , another talented builder so please check out her content!

♥ Warning: This is another CC heavy lot

♥ Please make sure to turn on bb.moveobjects on!

♥ Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own.

♥ Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file but please make sure to credit me.

[VIDEO] TIME:

0:02 Intro

1:34 Speed Build

25:23 Fashion Show

27:25 Photos

♥ LOT DETAILS

Lot Name: Sol School of Fashion

Lot type: Generic lot type or Cafe

Lot size: 40x30

Location: Starlight Boulevard, Del Sol Valley

♥ MODS:

TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

♥ CC LIST:

*Note: I have all parts of all sets in this list unless noted otherwise, so I highly recommend you guys dl them since I frequently use them in all my builds!*

Awingedllama : Boho Living, nostalgia living

Greenllama: The woodwind collection

Novvas: Holz Kitchen

Qicc: Sleep Hallway, Urban Bedroom

S-imagination: Nota

Sooky: Abstract framed posters -wooden frame

Sooky: Bon ton n1 ceiling lamp - Tall

Syboubou: Daguerre Reica Camera, Ballet mirror , fency

The Clutter Cat: Dandy Diary, Mellow moods

Aira : Artist in me

Anye: Zara Bathroom

ATS4: pot 4, pot 13, plant 16 Crafting room: dressform blouse, dressform male, dressform suit, folded fabrics, jar, paperstack, patterns, sewing machine

Harrie: Bafroom, brownstone, kichen

House of Harlix: Baysic, harluxe, brutalist, coastal, kwatei, octave, shop the look 2, spoons, Jardane, Livin Rum, Orjanic, tiny twavellers

Felix Andre: Berlin, Chateau, fayun, colonial, grove, kyoto, paris, shop the look

Brainstrip: my corner cc pack desk only

Charlypancakes: Munch, the lighthouse collection, miscellanea, modish, smol

Leori: Hipster loft

Illogical Sims: Home office

Kaiso: rustico living

Kate Emerald: Blissful baby Ottoman

Kiwisims4: Blockhouse hallway, Blockhouse Dining

Leaf Motif: Devon kitchen

Little Dica: Country side Cabin, Rise & Grind, sleek slumber

Madame Ria: Back to basics paint wall, Limber lumber

Madlen: Hiru misc set

Rusticsims: Mayaken, Modular life

Myls: Simple Clothes rack nordic

Mxims: LG

Myshunosun: Sol kitchen, Arrie Office, Gale dining, Lottie, Macaron kitchen, herbalist kitchen, tranquil bedroom

Peacemaker: Alesund, Hudson, Kitayama, Terra tiles horizontal/vertical, Vera Office

Pierisim: Coldbrew, David Apartment, Domain Du clos, MCM, Oak house, Tilable, unfold, Winter Garden

max20/maxsus: Poolside lounge pack

Sforzinda: Func EP02 Espressogrindomatic, espressoimpresso, cabin slats

sims4luxury: Mcgee&co Callhan rug

Sixam: Artz Living room, small spaces work from home, hotel bedroom, kessler kitchen, stylist wood livingroom, teen room

TaurusDesign: Eliza Bedroom, Elsa kids room

mycupofcc: Modernist

Tuds: 2ndWave, beam, cave, cross, wave

♥ Thank you to all CC Creators

♥ Tray file

♥ Gallery ID: Applez

♥ Twitter: Rheya28__

♥ Tiktok: Rheya28__

[kazroze]

here's a starter apartment build i made for my own gameplay. nothing special, just a box with some decoration slapped on top😅 the roof got irreversibly messed up at some point too, but i thought you guys might be interested anyway!

the lot is playtested both as a café and a rental residential but i highly recommend @down-in-simsland's new lot traits mod for a better "living above a hipster coffee shop" experience!

town square terrace in copperdale NO CC café | residential rental 59,156§ | 14,120§ rental unit 20x15 2 bed 1 bath

DOWNLOAD tray files: simfileshare | google drive gallery id: catwort

more info under the cut!

for this lot you will need the following:

eps - get to work, get together, city living, cats & dogs, seasons, get famous, discover university, eco lifestyle, snowy escape, cottage living, high school years, growing together, horse ranch, for rent;

gps - spa day, dine out, vampires, jungle advneture, dream home decorator;

sps: - laundry day, paranormal;

kits - country kitchen, industrial loft, blooming rooms, basement treasures.

remember you can always replace the missing items from dlc you don't own, so please don't feel discouraged to download anyway <3

@vanillafinds @public-ccfinds @maxismatchccworld @sssvitlanz @publicvanillabuilds @s4realtor thanks for sharing!

[octuscle]

Full investment

Martin had been very lucky in his life. He founded his first start-up at the right time, sold it at the right time and invested the proceeds wisely. Of course, it wasn't just luck; Martin was clever, hard-working and charismatic. And with this combination, he was bound to succeed. The fact that he was extremely good-looking didn't necessarily hinder him. Martin was at every party, Martin knew everyone and Martin was at least one of the first followers of a new trend. If he didn't set the trend himself. That's why he was very annoyed when he got talking to a cool, masculine and sporty-looking guy at a party at the Turkish Embassy. The young stallion turned out to be a rising star in the mixed martial arts world and ran a gym in one of Stockholm's hipster neighborhoods. And in the course of the conversation, Mete asked Martin why he wasn't investing in the fitness sector. Martin was fascinated by Mete's engaging manner. And they shook hands on Martin's entry into Mete's gym.

The press conference was a date to Martin's liking. He was in his element. Not that Mete was not photogenic, but Martin loved the camera. And the camera loved him. One of the reporters present asked if Martin would now train here too. Martin was taken aback for a moment. He hadn't expected that. Normally, he trained with his personal trainer at his gym at home. But this was the moment Mete had been waiting for. He threw a bag with a pair of sports trousers and a pair of gloves to Martin and said it was time for them to train together. Martin hesitated only briefly. He looked good in a suit. But he also knew that he looked at least as good with his shirt off. The pictures of the sparring session were amazing. The success for the gym was overwhelming. And Martin had to admit: this kind of training was something completely different from training at home.

Martin's daily routine changed soon after he joined Mete. Mete regularly picked him up in the morning to go jogging. Martin and Mete often had breakfast in a Turkish café near the gym, and Mete created Martin's new nutrition plan. Mete provided Martin with food supplements, the contents of which Martin did not question, especially since the green packaging only had Arabic writing on it. Mete created a training plan for Martin that required a lot of time in the gym… But Martin was happy to have a real physical balance to his otherwise very stressful job. And at the moment he was only active as an investor, he didn't have to run his own company. So why not give it everything you've got in sport? And he gave it everything. Running with a lead vest, weight training, sparring, technique training… At some point, Martin was practically living in the gym. And Mete and Martin also spent more and more time together. So much so that Martin moved into the apartment above the gym, which he had originally only intended to use as a second home. So much so that at some point he went with Mete to his Turkish barber. And so much so that, out of curiosity, he went to the mosque with Mete on a Friday for the midday prayer. Mete and the Imam spoke a lot and quickly with each other. The two of them smiled a lot. They said goodbye warmly. Martin hadn't understood a word. But for some reason it felt right to be here.

At the beginning, Martin's short hair was the most obvious sign of his change. His increasingly athletic body was also impossible to miss. Martin grew a beard. Martin started wearing a prayer cap. And more and more Turkish and Arabic words crept into his speech. And while he was only sporadically in the mosque at first, a Friday without the midday prayer and without an exchange with the imam soon became unimaginable for him.

Of course, his change did not go unnoticed. There was unrest in his network of companies. Mete advised him to withdraw from the public eye. His social media accounts were dormant. Martin withdrew from most of the supervisory boards of his holdings. This task was taken over by a few guys he had met at the gym, in cafes or in the mosque and whom he had come to trust. Martin enjoyed the freedom he gained as a result. He had more time to prepare for his next fight, more time to learn Turkish and Arabic, and more time to devote to his prayers. Even though Mete had to spend more and more time managing the prospering gym and the other businesses Martin had entrusted to him, he made sure that Martin, who he increasingly called Mehmet, continued to receive optimal training and nutrition plans. And, above all, with the right nutritional supplements. The side effects of the pills and injections were becoming increasingly obvious: a dark fur was growing on Martin's chest and his beard was getting darker and darker.

MMA shorts and thobes… At some point, there was nothing else left in his wardrobe. At most, when Mehmet helped out at the gym reception or when he was supervising at the gym or training customers, he wore a tracksuit. But basically, he no longer felt comfortable in it. Fortunately, Mete gave him quite a generous allowance after Martin had given him and Iman extensive powers of attorney. This allowed him to get through the month without having to work. However, Mehmet still had to work from time to time as a temp at the gym to pay for the expensive nutritional supplements. He didn't have to overcome any great obstacles to do this: he was at home at the gym and he was proud to be part of this gym. And as a trainer, he had close contact with the hottest guys in the gym. Even though Mete was the only one who was allowed to fuck Mehmet, there were enough holes that Mehmet's cock could fill after the wounds of the circumcision had healed.

Hardly anyone recognized Martin at Mehmet's new appearances on social media. If you looked closely, you could have seen Martin's blue eyes in the otherwise more masculine features of Mehmet's face. But hardly anyone looked at Mehmet's eyes. There were other body parts that attracted the public's attention.

Ole had been following Martin's latest investment closely. Martin's new CEO, Mete, was very active in the Swedish startup scene and Mete and Ole met regularly at various events. Mete needed more capital to finance the planned aggressive growth of the gym chain. And Ole was ready to get on board. The business figures were simply too tempting.

The press event to mark Ole's entry into the gym empire was a great success. It was accompanied by the opening of a new gym in Martin's former house. And by the victory of the Swedish MMA heavyweight title by the star of the gym, Mehmet. At the photo shoot, Ole was surprised at Mehmet's good Swedish. Actually, he would have expected less from such a monkey. But never mind, Mehmet wasn't there to speak. The photo shoot with Ole and Mehmet was followed by a training session in which the two men demonstrated their skills. Mehmet did everything he could to make Ole look good. But at the end of the session, he said that Ole could do a little more to improve his fitness. After all, he was now a figurehead for the gym. Mehmet had already prepared something: a training and nutrition plan. And Mete had also already procured a few dietary supplements.

[moralesmilesanhour]

piece of cake

summary: meeting miles g at a bakery, and other happenings. wc: 3k+ warning: blood, grief (more at the periphery, not a major theme), and lightly implied mommy issues a/n: ngl i was hungry asf when i wrote this. why can't i ever write normal fluff fics anymore. first fic of 2024!!

Brooklyn Middle is closed for winter break. The basketball court where the snow-covered hoop no longer has a net is empty, save for the blinking Christmas lights strung across the chain-link fence.

In a few years, the pizza place across the street where students would linger after school will be demolished, replaced by a shiny new Oscorp building that reflects the sun from all angles of its glass exterior. But for now, the place is just closed early for the holidays, a few blocks away from a bakery.

The tall, bear-like frame of a father dressed in a long black overcoat can be seen entering with a wiry young boy in a red hoodie and bomber jacket tailing close behind. He has an afro as opposed to his father’s closely-cropped hair. The boy keeps trying to straighten his posture - as if his spine would suddenly lengthen and his shoulders would broaden from the act alone. He wants to make himself look important today, because he is on a top-secret mission: 

Operation: Get Mom a Cake.

“I think mom’ll like that one.”

The boy points at a slice of tres leches cake sitting behind a glass display. It’s not as flashy as the other decorative cakes drizzled with chocolate and strawberries or encased in pink frosting, but those wouldn’t melt on the tongue the way tres leches did. 

His father raised an eyebrow at the plain slice, but the boy looked at him with a certainty that he’d never seen before, through eyes nearly identical to his mother’s. The man knew then that he was getting an expert opinion.

“Alright, if you say so,” he chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll take that one, Val.”

The boy smiled proudly at the older woman as she handed him the pink box containing the cake. Mission accomplished.

Now, he looks up and frowns at the Oscorp building blocking the view of where his old school used to be as he picks at a slice of cake with a plastic fork.

The ‘Employees Only’ door behind the counter swings open, and Valeria Cruz hobbles out, removing her apron.

“It’s almost your shift, Miles, hurry up and finish that cake.”

Miles takes one more bite before rising from his seat near the entrance and pushing the paper plate and half-eaten slice into a small trash can.

“You got it, Miss V.”

“Did you take out the trash?”

He pauses, and his eyes widen.

“I’mma get that done right now, Miss V!”

The woman sighs, running a hand through gray and white-streaked curls as the teen sprints out the door and back outside.

A forest green puffer jacket rushes past you on the sidewalk. It’s the same one you had seen shuffling out of the back entrance of Val’s bakery the other morning, lugging two black garbage bags with a purple hoodie obscuring the stranger’s face. 

He probably works there, then, you think. Good. She could use the help.

The place had been packed the week before Officer Morales’ funeral, and for several weeks after. But over time, business began to slow down to a trickle. Hipster cafés and towering condos sprang up and choked out the little pizza shops and restaurants that took their owners’ last names, like when an invasive species of plant grows taller than the local varieties and smothers them, blocking out the sun.

You had been seeing Val’s face since you were in diapers. Families used to go there for birthdays, for elementary school graduations, middle school graduations - or sometimes just to grab something sweet to eat after church on Sundays. You continued the tradition–even if just to buy a tiny bag of cookies–in the hopes that the place might still be standing for your high school graduation. 

The bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. The once baby pink wallpaper has begun to fade, but the late-afternoon sun makes it feel as vibrant as it did when you were twelve. Valeria is standing in front of the display of freshly-baked pastries with her apron folded neatly over her arm.

“Oh, were you about to close up shop?” You begin to take backward steps. “I can come back later–”

“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine!” The woman waves her hand, beckoning you to stay. “I was just about to go on my lunch break. I have someone about to take over for me.”

“It’s cool, I can wait. I saw somebody taking out the trash, that him?”

She sighs wearily, “That’s him, alright. He’s a good kid, but he’s always–”

“Sorry I’m late!”

In rushes Mr. Green Jacket through a chilly gust of wind, who turns to nod in greeting towards you before weaving past Val and behind the counter, where he disappears through the ‘Employees Only’ door.

“That boy, I swear. Never on time!”

He reappears sans the jacket, wearing a white apron identical to the one Val is holding. The name tag on it reads ‘Miles’. 

Miles. Where have you heard that name before…?

The hood on his sweater is no longer pulled over his head, revealing two neat cornrows that cascade all the way down his neck. The surrounding hair has been shaved and faded at the nape of his neck and hairline. He’s the sort of brown-skinned that looks golden when the sunlight hits his face as he approaches the cash register. 

“You gonna be alright for the next half hour?” asked Val with an eyebrow raised.

Miles drummed his fingers on the counter and grinned. “Yup, I got it.”

“Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone!”

“I won’t, promise.”

She pushes the door open with a skeptical look and leaves.

With this new stranger temporarily in charge, you carefully approach the counter. He looks up at you with curious brown eyes.

“Whatchu want?”

“Um…” you blink before remembering what you were here for. “Just sugar cookies, please.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

He turns to grab a paper bag, then bends to drop the desired amount of cookies into it with the pair of tongs that sit on the inside of the display.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what school you go to? I haven’t seen you around here before, feel like I’d remember you if I had.”

Miles pops his head over the counter and tilts his head with a cheeky grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You avoid eye contact, shifting from one foot to the other. Suddenly it’s not so cold anymore.

“I-I don’t know. You just seem memorable.”

He laughs a raspy, breathy laugh and hands you the bag of cookies over the counter. His hand is much larger than yours with slender fingers at the end of it, but still manages to appear almost clumsy-looking. Big enough to be a man’s, but with only half the dexterity.

“I go to Visions.”

“Fancy. You like it over there?”

“It’s aight. Kinda uptight, but my dad always said it was a ‘good opportunity’, so I stayed.”

You hum in consideration. 

“Can't do everything for your parents, though. They'll have you living their dreams before you know it.”

The smile fades a bit, and Miles averts his gaze.

“Well my dad passed, so I just figured I’d just do this one thing for him.”

You cover your mouth with your palm.

“I'm so sorry, I–”

“It's fine,” he snorts without any humor. “You might be the only one that doesn't know who my daddy is. Kind of a relief.”

Miles encloses the money you just gave him in the slot beneath the cash register with a loud snap. 

“You need anything else?”

You chew on your bottom lip in embarrassment and clutch your bag of cookies.

“No. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look up from the register.

“Have a nice day.”

Your mother is leaning on the window sill, nibbling on a granola bar when you get back home. She’s silent, which means she is observing. You’ll need to tread carefully. 

“I brought cookies.”

She gives you a sidelong glance.

“Val’s cookies?”

“Yup, same as always.”

“That lady still working there all by herself?”

“She hired somebody to help out, actually - I saw a boy working the register.”

She notices the upward inflection in your voice at the mention of a boy, which interests her more than the cookies.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s got, um,” you make a gesture over your head. “Twin braids–cornrows–and a green jacket? Kinda tall, too.”

Your mother nods, thoughtful. The description rings a bell, but she needs to confirm.

“You catch his name?”

“Miles, I think.”

“Lord,” she gasps, fully turning to face you. “That’s that Morales boy! I used to work with his momma, bless her heart. Barely saw his face after the funeral.”

The image of Miles’ face at the mention of his dad makes you cringe at your comment earlier. How could you not recognize him? He practically stole his face from the mural that was plastered above the precinct. You had only heard the boy’s name uttered once by your mother over the phone at 2:00 A.M., whispered like a secret.

“I can’t imagine how it must be for Miles. Didn’t he just get into that nice school down there? Of course they’ll have to let him go home. He should be with his mother.”

“He was such a sweet little boy. Then I saw him the other day?” 

She shook her head, “Look like a different person. He had them flashy studs in his ears, nose pierced and everything.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he had tattoos under that coat as well. Damn shame.”

“He seemed nice when I saw him,” you remark quietly in a weak attempt to defend his character, despite having known him for all of five minutes. “Sweet, like you said.”

Your mother’s face hardens, all of her attention now focused on you as she folds the wrapping of the granola bar.

“That’s why you’re not bringing no boys home ‘till you’re eighteen,” she sharply reminds you. “‘Seems nice’ - How you know if he’s really nice or not?”

Again, Miles’ face appears in your mind’s eye. He didn’t seem to want your pity - rejected it, even. And what of his apparent chronic lateness? 

Still…

“You don’t know that, either,” you say despite yourself. “I spoke to him while I was there.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow. 

“Girl, I know that look. I better not see you runnin’ around with that boy, understand me?”

She looks set on not changing her mind now, so you only nod in defeat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In your head, you’re already making plans to hit up the bakery tomorrow - both to apologize and to see the sun kissing Miles’ face again. Maybe tomorrow he’d even have the piercings in.

But when you get there the next day under the guise of ‘a trip to the corner store’, Miles isn’t at the register. 

The sky has turned a pale shade of gray, and it has begun to drizzle. Pulling your navy blue coat tightly around you, you consider turning back around when–

Boom!

The sound of something hitting a trash can from behind the establishment catches your attention. It could be him taking out the trash at the last minute again.

Your assumption is proven only halfway correct.

Stepping over discarded boxes and tin cans, you find Miles doubled over, clutching his side. “Are you okay?” 

Startled, bloodshot eyes glance at you before focusing on the ground.

“Fucking fantastic,” he grunts painfully.

As you get closer, you can see a dark stain blooming from where his hand is. A sick feeling swirls in your stomach.

“Oh my God, do you need me to call somebody?”

“Nah, I’m…I’m straight,” Miles says through labored breaths. “I just gotta…patch myself up before I get home.”

You whip out your phone and frantically unlock it.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Hell no–”

“You are bleeding!”

He tilts his head towards a duffle bag lying near his feet. 

“I got First Aid in there…that’ll do me just fine.”

When he tries to reach for the bag, his knees give out, causing him to collapse right next to it.

-

Miles shivers as you gingerly wrap white bandages around his waist, the flat expanse of skin on his stomach partially exposed to the elements. He fades in and out of consciousness, between your face and black nothingness. When he’s awake, he stares up at you in disbelief.

“I didn’t call 9-1-1, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him with a grin. “This should stop the bleeding, but I can’t help you beyond that.”

“Wusyaname?” he mumbles, head lolling towards you. He’s on the brink of passing out again.

“Call me (Y/N).”

“Wasn’t gon’ call you anything else.”

“Shut up, I just saved your life.”

“Mmmm-hm,” Miles hums with a lazy smile that makes you wonder if he’s becoming delirious.

“Eeeeverybody loves sayin’ that. Everybody always…”

His eyelids get heavy before he can finish the thought, and he finally blacks out again in your lap. 

-

There’s a short line inside the bakery that weekend, and you wonder if Miles has anything to do with it. 

Word seemed to get around mysteriously fast that the former teenaged recluse had come out of hiding after that conversation (if you could even call it that) with your mother. From where you’re sitting–by the window, nibbling on a sugar cookie, observing–Miles does not seem to enjoy the attention.

Or maybe you’re just imagining the strained smile on his face as the line of customers becomes a Greek chorus of gasps and squeals.

“You got so big!”

“What did you do to your hair?”

“Oh, you look just like Jeff.”

“How’s Rio?”

“Good to see you out and about again.”

The sparkling curiosity is nearly drained from his face by the time he joins you at the end of his shift with a slice of cake. He does not have the fabled nose piercing in, but two diamond studs sparkle when the light hits them every time he moves his head.

“So?”

“So…?”

“Are you alright after I found you the other day? I saw you limping back there.”

Miles rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine. My mom’s literally a nurse. She got me straight.”

“What’d you tell her? Looked like you broke a rib.”

“Far as she’s concerned, I fell off my bike.”

“I’ve never seen you on a bike.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

You shrug. Touche.

“What did you have to say to me that was worth stalking me after my shift?”

“Stalking?”

“You buy the same thing every time, you think I ain’t notice?” Miles smirks, like a detective who’s just gotten a confession. “Who goes to a bakery and only gets cookies?”

“Lay off me, man, these are excellent,” you take another bite for emphasis. “Anyways, I actually came to apologize.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

“For what I said the first time I saw you. I didn’t know you were that Miles.”

The corners of Miles’ lips pull downwards into a frown. 

“That’s it?”

“Mm, well…”

You bite your lip by force of habit.

“I also wanted to talk to you again. Under better circumstances. That your favorite type of cake?”

Miles looks down at his plate when you point to it with your fork, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah, tres leches. What about it?”

“I dunno, I just always see you eating that and nothing else. Is there a reason?”

You expect to say something about the sweetness, or the texture, but instead he answers:

“It always tastes the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He puts down his fork and starts to construct an analogy in his head.

“It’s like when you see an ice cream truck. You run up to it before it drives off, and what do you ask for? First thing that pops into your head?”

“Vanilla?”

“Exactly. You could try one of the other ones, but what if it tastes like ass? Now you stuck eating something you don’t like–”

“And it’s a waste of money.”

“Exactly!” Miles laughs. “You get it. My mom makes fun of me because I’ve been eating the same thing since I was five. But it’s always good! And the same amount of good.”

“Can’t argue with that.” 

You tap your nails on the table, thinking. 

“But what if you find a new flavor that you really like?”

He shrugs, “Then lucky me, I guess. But that doesn’t tend to happen.”

“It could happen, though.”

He watches the strange way you eat. Slowly, teeth-first, as if you’re afraid to make a mess. It’s weirdly dainty, which makes him chuckle beneath his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh, don’t do that. What’s so funny?”

Miles gives you that same head tilt again.

“It’s cute, the way you eat.”

Your hand freezes just as it’s about to lift another cookie to your mouth, and you stare at him blankly.

“That’s…”

He pauses too. 

“...Weird, yeah. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”

A beat of silence passes that’s so heavy with awkwardness, that the two of you can’t help but burst into poorly-stifled laughter.

You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand. “That’s fine. I kept coming here just to spy on you, so I guess I’m weird, too.”

“Ah, so you admit it!”

“Hey, if I wasn’t bein’ a total creep, you might’ve bled out next to the garbage dump. Val can’t lose a valuable employee, right?”

“If you put it that way.”

You can see the white of some of Miles’ teeth peeking out as he smiles. One of his canines is charmingly crooked, and sharper than the others. When the smile fades, he suddenly looks uncertain.

“Can I ask you a question this time?” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you wanna make this,” he gestures between you, “like, a regular thing? Y’know, ‘meeting under better circumstances’.”

It’s your turn for a smile to spread across your face. 

“We should. Whatever you did to end up bleeding out in the rain, I guess I’d be a witness now.”

“M-hm. Can’t have you yappin’ about that to my customers,” He plays along, then winks. “I’mma need your number too, just in case.”

Just before you reach for your phone in your pocket, you hear your mother’s voice in your head, casting a shadow over the whole thing and giving you pause.

All jokes aside, Miles had never explained what had landed him in that predicament behind the bakery in the first place. He’s always late. He lies to his mother. You’re about to lie to your mother. 

But the sun is hitting his face again, and with the light bouncing off of his pupils, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. The shadow remains at the corner of your eye. Just the corner.

You grin and hand him your phone.

“You got it. Just in case.”

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 4)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ In the whirlwind Hollywood world, Evan and Y/N are flipping the script. With a filming delay for Evan’s Tron scenes, ten days become four tantalising months. Taking the leap, Evan proudly introduces Y/N as his girlfriend at the Emmy Awards. As they dazzle at the afterparty, they’re also plotting an escapade. Away from the flashing cameras of paps and the gossiping spectators, they’re stealing away to a secluded beach by the venue for a night of pleasure and fluids...

Warnings ─ Swearing, public sex, sex on the beach, oral (both receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, bondage, mild BDSM, nipple teasing, spanking, dry humping, vaginal sex, woman on top, doggie, extra smutty (per usual, lol)

Read Part 1 here | Read Part 2 here | Read Part 3 here

Word count ─ 5.5K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

You and Adria breeze into her bedroom like the dynamic duo of snack time, armed with a mega-sized bowl of popcorn, a killer cheese platter, and a tray of toasty beverages. Adria’s sporting that cheeky grin, like she’s about to drop the meme of the century, and you can’t help but giggle, knowing the night’s about to get lit.

As you step in, you’re met with a sight straight out of a Pinterest board. There’s this epic mound of duvets and pillows stacked up in the middle of the floor, like a cosy fort waiting to be conquered. And there they are, the squad – Val, Natasha, and Mirka – all huddled together, shuffling the cards like they’re running their own underground casino.

“Alright, girlies…gather up,” Adria hollers, flexing her sparkling engagement ring, and you both flop onto the comfy chaos, laughing. Before long, popcorn is flying like spring rain as you jump into the card game like you were born for this moment. You’re personally slinging drinks, channelling your inner barista at a hipster café, except these are mugs of hot cocoa and herbal tea, not fancy cocktails.

The room is buzzing with energy as the banter bounces back and forth like a ping-pong match, touching on varied topics—from eyebrow tweezers, acne, holiday destinations, and wedding flowers for Adria to immigrant visas, AI, wars, and recycling methods. Mirka’s laugh is loud enough to wake the dead, and Val’s one-liners are so on point they should come with a fire emoji. Natasha, meanwhile, is playing it cool, but you can practically see the competitive flames dancing behind those Insta-filtered eyes every time she slaps down a winning hand.

“Nash, why so quiet?” Mirka teases with a cheeky smile, giving Natasha a playful nudge.

Natasha lowers her head, her fingers bending and flicking nervously over a card. “I know we’re here to celebrate Ad and Tommy tying the knot since it’s only been a week—”

“No need to keep up the act if something’s bugging you, Nash. Speak up,” Adria urges, gently squeezing her friend’s hand.

Natasha lets out a heavy sigh. “About this depersonalisation…derealisation…you name it…thing I mentioned before,” she admits, her voice shaking.

Val stuffs a hefty handful of popcorn into her mouth before chiming in. “What about it?” she inquires nonchalantly.

“About feeling like someone’s cranking up the volume on your own existence,” Natasha mumbles, her gaze flitting anxiously around our circle. “Suddenly, every mundane, everyday sensation feels way too real—the scrape of the toothbrush bristles against your teeth, the movement of your tongue, the flare of your nostrils with each breath…even the blink of your eyes almost echoing in your ears.”

Adria’s eyebrows are drawn together as she rubs her temples and squints her eyes as if trying to wrap her head around the concept. “Your Latina is too stunned to speak with your Yapanese, Nash,” she quips at the confession, though she immediately reconsiders and hastily raises her hand in apology. “Sorry, I don’t know what got into me… Go on—it happened again?” she mutters, a hair tie dangling from her mouth as she wrestles her hair into a messy bun.

“Yea… today morning, actually,” Natasha is quick to respond hoarsely, her voice cracking. “It’s like you’re watching yourself do something, but it doesn’t feel like you, you know? It’s this out-of-body experience, and suddenly, bam! The curtain gets violently ripped back, exposing the raw, unfiltered reality of living, breathing, feeling every damn twist and turn.” 

She pauses to draw a sharp breath before carrying on. “And then the ontological Wh- questions start flooding in, like, ‘What am I doing? Who am I, really? Why am I in this room, in this building, in this world, in this endless universe? Where will I go after I die?’ They crash into you like a cosmic truck—the idea of the soul being immortal and stretching on and on and on and on and on into eternity.” 

You’re glued in, hanging onto every letter as your friend bares her soul, your gaze stuck to her. Your fingers running through her hair are soothing enough to serve as her lifeline in moments like this. “Sometimes, our minds pull serious pranks on us, Nash,” you begin, your voice laced with sage-like wisdom, “especially when anxiety, an existential crisis, or just some old trauma is thrown in the mix. It’s like a defence mechanism, trying to shield us from emotions that could totally wreck our sanity.”

Natasha blinks rapidly as she shrugs you away, still grappling to make sense of it all. “But why? It hits me outta nowhere…when I least expect it...like, when I’m just chilling…Not even my therapist can solve the riddle.”

You take a moment, as if you’re mulling it over and finding the right words to put it. “Mhm, think of it like a mental reboot,” you explain, your voice like a smooth jazz track as you give her arm comforting rubs. “Your brain’s like ‘Whoa, hold up!’ and creates this buffer zone, making you feel a bit detached and dissociated. It’s like hitting pause to recalibrate and protect itself.”

After a long pause, Natasha sniffles and rubs her eyes, then nods. “Alright, I’ll tuck that away in my brain’s little filing cabinet for now, no biggie. Enough of me cosplaying Courage the Cowardly Dog, freaking out over every little thing. Let’s chat about something else,” she urges, clapping her hands together before taking a giant gulp of hot chocolate and munching on a marshmallow, whipped cream all over her mouth.

Just as the vibe gets brighter, your phone lights up with a WhatsApp notification. You glance down to see a message from Evan, and your heart does a little marathon in your chest—ground breaking reaction, Y/N—as you open it. (Cue the dramatic music!) The text is concise and sweet, but it’s the attachment that sends your head spinning — a VIP invite to the Emmy Awards afterparty, followed by another cute message, reading:

I’d love to have you there with me🥰

Shock paralyses you as a tsunami of questions smashes you. Is he asking you to be his arm candy or is this just a friendly gesture?

Needing a breather to let it all sink in, you pull the classic “gotta use the restroom” move and sneak away to a quiet corner of the house. The phone feels like a brick in your hand as you summon the courage to call Evan, your heart doing backflips just at the thought.

And just like that, he picks up almost instantly. “Hey, Y/N? How’s your sleepover?” His velvety voice—a familiar anchor in the storm of your head—flows through the line with a tinge of concern.

You gulp down a shaky breath, trying to regulate the rapid fluttering you feel in your throat. “Uh, all good... I mean... What’s with the invite?” you blurt out, involuntarily scratching your head and scrunching your nose in confusion. Meanwhile, you pace in the room like a caged tiger.

“I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have with me and is not a blood relation,” he replies confidently, his determination practically oozing through the phone.

His statement hits you like a stampede of elephants in your stomach, robbing you of words as he barrels ahead with more enthusiasm than a kid at Disneyland. “It’ll be a night to remember, I promise.”

As your nerves begin to ease and excitement creeps in, you can’t help but wonder about your role at the event. “Congrats on your nomination, but, uh, may I ask, what exactly am I doing there?” you spill out, rightfully so, trying to sound casual despite the tornado swirling in your mind. “I mean, we’re not exactly best buds like you’re with Jeff, for example.”

But Evan, ever the smooth talker, doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ll be my plus one, my girlfriend,” he utters, his voice soft but resolute, like he’s making a declaration. Your breath hitches in your throat at the word ‘girlfriend,’ your whole body going numb.

You’re biting your lip so hard you’re practically taste-testing them, fists clenched and excitedly pounding against your thigh like it’s a drum solo. Girlfriend? You? At the Emmys? It’s like a scene ripped straight out of a rom-com, and you’re half-convinced you’ve somehow stumbled into an alternate universe.

“Uh, Evan, you do realise this is gonna stir up a whole pot of drama, right?” you slur, your voice barely louder than a mouse’s squeak as you nervously fidget with the hem of your pyjamas. “I mean, your fans are gonna go full FBI on me, crafting voodoo dolls and whatnot out of envy for not picking them. And then, there’s the paparazzi… those guys will do anything for a saucy headline…”

“I totally get your mini freakout, baby, and we can hash it out tomorrow after your stayover…but seriously, why stress?” He’s quick to fire back and rationalise the situation. Despite your semi-meltdown, his voice is calm and steady like he’s discussing the weather. “Just because a bunch of people recognise me from movies or TV doesn’t mean I’ll be sneaking around in a trench coat and shades, dodging public outings with my lover. I’ll do what makes me happy, protecting my relationship along the way, and if that means bringing my girlfriend to an event, then so be it…” He pauses for a minute before adding, “and I want it to be it.”

His words hang in the air, and for a hot second, all you hear is the relentless thud of your heart. You’re not usually one to lose sleep over what others think about you, even your nearest and dearest friends (since the idea of family has been absent throughout your lifetime), but let’s be real, the Evan situation is completely uncharted waters.

Following another deep breath, you finally muster up a response that you’ve been meaning to let out since you got the texts (but your overanalysing would never). “I want it too, Evan.” 

There’s a momentary hush, and you swear you can hear him doing a victory dance or something with the sound of rustling clothes in the background. Then, he lets out his signature throaty chuckle that always gets you on your knees. “Awesome! We’re gonna rock this. I’ll stick by your side, and we’ll handle this together, okay?”

You can’t help but grin at his reassurance, mindlessly twirling a lock of hair between your fingers like a schoolgirl, feeling a surge of excitement. “Yes, together. Honoured,” you reply as your heart keeps doing the happy shuffle. 

You gotta pinch yourself just to be sure you’re not stuck in some kind of matrix with Evan these past four months. Turns out, his stay in America got extended from the initial ten days thanks to some miraculous schedule reshuffling, and he’ll be shooting his scenes for Tron in Canada later this year. So, more hangout time with him, more dates…and yeah, more fucking. In his head, and apparently in his parents’ minds too—who you’re meeting soon (send help)—you’re practically official. 

And here you are now, cruising in the backseat all dolled up for the Emmys in your sparkling cocktail party dress. Evan’s looking smoking hot in his sharp tux and perfectly slick hair, making you feel like you need a paper bag to catch your breath. He’s holding onto your clammy hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish into thin air (and frankly, you’re starting to believe it). He’s giving you these adorable little kisses like he knows that your lipstick’s gotta stay put.

And to top it all off, you’ve met his stunning and bubbly sister, Michelle, and her husband. Amidst your anxiety-induced brain freeze, and out of all the phrases you could come up with to greet her for the first time, “lady in red” is all you chant to compliment her elegant red gown. Internally screaming and embarrassed, you wish you could facepalm yourself out of this world. No, but why did she serve so bad?

But guess what? She’s a massive Chris De Burgh fan and his titular song, so it’s safe to say you hit the jackpot with your accidental ice-breaker. She’s practically your biggest cheerleader now, cheering you both on as she chauffeurs you to the venue. So wholesome, you can’t even cope with it! 

The long car ride quickly morphs into a full-blown party on wheels, complete with blasting tunes and non-stop laughs. Evan’s hair has gotten hella wild lately, so he’s brought his gel along. You help him tame his mane while the chatter, mostly revolving around you, surprisingly chills you out big time. Evan keeps things snug, giving your hand a comforting squeeze or a peck on the forehead every now and then. 

At some point, you throw the ball at their court, and the couple starts dishing out stories about themselves; how they met at some random house party, bonding over their affinity for 90s hip-hop. Before you know it, Michelle is diving into hilarious childhood tales about Evan and their brother, Andrew. Like that time Evan attempted to build a treehouse but ended up face-planting into a mud pit, or when they all suited up as superheroes and terrorised the neighbourhood. And of course, there’s Evan’s legendary Sour Patch Kids and PlayStation commercials, complete with their wild backstories.

It’s an absolute blast, and you’re soaking up every juicy detail. With Evan right by you, throwing in his own anecdotes (like the deer mounting tradition with his friends every Christmas in the suburbs, which throws everyone for a loop because not much happens in Missouri), the whole vibe is elevated. You can’t help but laugh and feel all warm and fuzzy inside, realising you’re not just meeting his family—you’re becoming a part of it.

“Feeling okay, baby girl?” Evan whispers, leaving a tender smooch on your neck, his lips like a feather along your needy skin. 

You shiver at the touch, a jolt of electricity surging through you. Nodding, you try to wrangle the rave party inside you, but it’s like herding cats. 

He rests his head on the seat, facing you, the plush cushion cradling his head in comfort. “You’re sooo beautiful and hot, Y/N,” he mouths, subtly shaking his head as if he can’t believe his luck. “I wish I could kiss and use my fingers on you the way I want,” he blabs quietly, leaning in closer, his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

“Jail time for both of us if you pull that move here…Security,” you giggle softly, and you feel him join you with his shoulders bouncing with laughter. 

“I just want you to know how I feel right now, Y/N” he sighs, looking up at you again, his bottom lip rolling over his top one in his precious puppy-eyed pout.

“Evan crying in horny,” you tease in a sultry murmur, sneaking a glance up front to make sure the couple didn’t catch wind of your banter. With a sly grin, you adjust your strapless gown, adding a touch of allure to your playful attitude.

He shoots back with a playful finger-wag in your face, accompanied by a series of rapid “ts-ts-ts” sounds, as if he’s scolding you with his own audio of strong disapproval. “Evan crying in crazy about you,” he corrects, kissing your hand, his irresistibly handsome dark eyes peering into your soul from below.

Tell me you’re a die-hard, hopeless fangirl without telling me you’re a die-hard, hopeless fangirl. Despite Evan’s nudges, you choose to stealthily station in the corner, letting him slay the red carpet. It’s his night, his moment to shine, and you’re his hype woman.

With each flash of his charming smile—sometimes lowkey and tight-lipped, other times broad and toothy—you’re a flurry of activity, your phone’s storage maxing out with snapshots and videos faster than you can say “Blow Evan”. And when he pulls out that signature eye squint and eyebrow raise at the paparazzi’s obnoxious cues, you’re melting faster than ice cream in July.

His face card never freaking declines.

As you both waltz into the party ball, it’s like you’re attracting the night’s energy, twirling around you like a confetti vortex. Your shimmering dress catches the disco lights, transforming you into a walking glitter bomb. With just the right amount of makeup and your natural long hair cascading freely, you’re primed to own the dance floor.

You spot Niecy Nash, radiant in her black velvet off-the-shoulder gown, exuding vibes like she just won the lottery. Oh wait, she did—Supporting Actress in a Limited Series or TV Movie for Dahmer. She high-fives the four of you and fits you all into a hug tighter than a Victorian corset.

Evan introduces you to everyone from the Dahmer crew and other celebrities with the same wide grin, pride, and thrill of a kid who’s just aced a test. His hand remains glued to you throughout the night, caressing along your upper body and often inching towards your ass, as if he’s marking his territory. Possessive much? Yes, but you’re not complaining; you find it fascinating and such a turn-on, especially knowing how naturally affectionate and kind he is. You feel safe in his presence, your bodies are like magnets—drawn together by some transcendent gravitational pull. His grip is firm, but he looks at you with all the heart-eyed emojis in the world, fully smitten.

Poses? Oh, you all nail them like seasoned supermodels on the runway. It’s the typical hand-on-hip, the coy glance over the shoulder, and the patented “I just won an Emmy, bow down, peasants” pose—check, check, and check. And of course, there’s Evan with his props (pipe, avant-garde sunglasses, and black tie), covered in your lipstick marks as he’s photographed with you. The ladies, led by Jessica—Niecy’s wife—even bust out a new dance move right on the spot, celebrating Niecy’s win.

But it’s not just Niecy and Jessica stealing the spotlight tonight. You find yourself mingling with Pedro Pascal, who’s looking dapper as ever in his suit, and Kieran Culkin, who’s cracking jokes faster than the champagne is flowing. You’re laughing so hard, you almost forget you’re rubbing elbows with Hollywood royalty.

As the hours drift by like sand through an hourglass, Evan’s sister and her husband say their goodbyes, inviting you both over for dinner next week. Spotting the opportunity for a minute alone, you and Evan snag in a corner booth, swaying to the loud music beats with your earplugs, kissing in between giggles, clinking glasses, eyes locked, smiles broad. 

Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, Evan nuzzles his nose against yours, his eyes burning into yours. His brows furrow in a silent plea, his chest swelling with anticipation as his hands delicately cup your face.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, he’s already sealing your lips with his, his tongue slowly sliding into your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless.

“Do you kn—?” you attempt to articulate, but he’s not having any of it; he’s a changed man in need to do unholy things with you. He silences you with another passionate kiss, a soft, desperate moan escaping his lips along the process.

“Evan,” you manage to murmur into his lips as he subtly sucks your bottom lip.

“Yes, baby,” he hushes, his lips curling into a coy smile as his grip tightens around you.

You loop your arms around his neck, tilting your head with a mischievous grin as you stare deep into his eyes. “I wanna UNO card reverse you.” 

His eyebrow quirks up in amusement, his grin turning devilish. “UNO, what? Is this sexual? Subs, please,” he taunts, giving your butt cheeks a playful squeeze, totally unbothered by any nosy onlookers. In your defence, you’re not the only guests caught in a steamy make-out sesh at close vicinity, so why not have a little fun?

“My innocent, millennial baby,” you exclaim, squishing his adorable face with a giggle. “I’m saying, now that most of the press’ gone, how about we find a comfy spot by the beach where we can be alone?” you suggest, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper as you trace circles on his chest with your fingertips. “There, I’ll shower you with kisses,” you continue, and your wetness worsens as you imagine him fucking your mouth, “and finally, I’ll suck your dick until you’re gasping for air and bust in my mouth.”

His eyes darken with desire as you unravel your plan, a low groan slipping off his lips. “Sounds like heaven. Say no more.”

The distant thump of music and the soft glow of fairy lights fades as you and Evan bolt away from the bustling venue, his hand clasped firmly in yours as the adrenaline of the escape courses through your veins. With a shared glance and a mischievous grin, you dart through the shadows like a pair of rebels on the run, laughter fizzing up like a effervescent multivitamin.

Finally reaching the secluded shoreline, you both collapse onto the soft and warm sand — a delicious contrast to the cool breeze that envelops you like a fuzzy blanket. With a cheeky smile, you straddle his lap and sense him already rubbing his rock-hard boner against your pulsating cunt.

His hands find your hips, pulling you closer as he gazes up at you with smouldering intensity. With a low squeal, you lock eyes with him, teasingly licking his bottom lip before sensually sliding your tongue over his upper lip, his pupils following your every move.

With a hungry growl, he captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his hands roaming over your body with a feverish, almost primal, urgency. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a seductive, almost angelic, silver sheen on the rippling water and his chiselled abs as you loosen his bow tie and unbutton his shirt.

He squeezes your thighs gently, eliciting a soft whimper from you as he begins to explore beneath the hem of your dress. His eyes are immediately drawn to your cleavage, and you feel his heart rate accelerating. You squirm underneath his touch as he starts to trace figure eights on your puffy clit, making it increasingly difficult to focus on stroking his stiff length.

His thumb brushes against the sensitive skin just above the edge of your panties, sending a tremor across your body. “Gosh, you smell so divine...like strawberries,” he huffs, his voice low and husky as he dips his tongue in your mouth, as if he’s planning to bottle your scent up and promote it as the official elixir of happiness. “As sweet as you fucking taste.”

His fingers slip beneath your panties, stroking your bare flesh with deliberate intent. “You’re already so wet for me. Can’t wait for your little pussy to take my cock?” You nod, and your mewls intensify barely muffled by his blazer as you press against his shoulder. 

He grins, knowing very well that you’re struggling with your impending screams of pleasure. “Just thinking about how amazing it’s gonna feel when you fuck me,” you manage to coo, your voice thick with lust, and he lowers your strapless dress in a single move, his hands massaging your tits in no time and with expert skill. Meanwhile, he attacks your neck with open-mouthed kisses, his hot breath igniting a wildfire of sensations in you.

Your tits nestle on his chest — the feeling of his naked skin against your hardened nipples only worsens the pool between your thighs. Gathering your strength to strike back, your hand glides to the buckle of his belt, a wicked glint in your eye as you make your move. “But first, imagine my lips wrapped around your dick…” you breathe suggestively into his ear, trailing kisses down his collarbone.

He bobs his head to the side, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip in a futile attempt to stifle his reactions as you gradually unzip his trousers to liberate the beast hidden behind the layers of fabric.

Just as you fumble around his bulge, your lips never leaving his, a flash of car headlights jolts you. “Evan, someone might catch us,” you gasp, panicking as you shrink into a ball on top of him, frantically adjusting your dress in any which way.

He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder, instinctively pulling you closer to him—his arms a sanctuary of safety. “Chances are slim to none of anyone finding us here, especially at this hour, but…” he trails off, scooping you up his arms in one swift motion. “I don’t want my girl feeling anxious,” he adds as he wades into the cool water, the waves licking gently at his calves. He leads you to a large rock, sheltered from any potential prying eyes.

Gently setting you down in the shallows, you both burst into laughter, splashing around like carefree youth, the water lapping at your skin like an affectionate caress. With each wave that rolls over your feet, the heat between you only escalates.

Pulling his head towards yours for a kiss, you hear him groan, and it instantly sends a shot of arousal through you. Palming and teasing his clothed, overstimulated crotch, you shove your tongue in his mouth, tangling with his and repeatedly sucking on its tip—soon turning the vanilla smooch into a heated, messy kiss that drives you both nuts.

Your mouth dances over the rapid pulse on his neck that’s pumping all the more quicker against your lips. “Someone seemed a tad jealous tonight,” your voice deep with desire yet your gaze holds an lustful mischief he can’t resist. You refrain from dropping any names, curious to see if he’ll take the bait.

“No, I wasn’t, Y/N. I’m not the controlling type of boyfriend who’s gonna stalk your every move like a creepo,” he defends with a furrow forming on his brow before his hands smooth over your ass and deliver a sharp yet affectionate smack. “I know you’re all mine, my girl… my dirty little slut when I want you to be,” the syllables come out strained like he’s on the brink of losing control.

Bingo—he falls right into your playful trap. You fix at him with an intense gaze, a triumphant grin already spreading across your face. “I never said it was you, poor, naïve baby of mine,” you chirp, puckering your lips as you punctuate each word with gentle, harmless slaps and pinches to his cheek.

He shoots you a glare when you burst out laughing, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Oh, you wanna play dirty, then? I’ll show you dirty, and you’ll be sorry,” he fights back. You feel his fingers sliding along your soaked slit, applying tantalising pressure on your sore clit.

Closing your eyes, you fight the urge to indulge in your orgasm, humming, “I won’t” as you nibble on his lower lip to tone down your little sobs of delight.

“Oh, yeah? You won’t?” he exclaims, and his touch becomes immediately rougher. His fingers plunge, twirl, and scissor in and out of you with increasing fervour. Your moans crescendo to a feverish pitch, drowning out his ragged breaths. You don’t even realise he’s muttering curses under his breath as he fingers you relentlessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Evan,” you cry out the mantra as the familiar, tingly feeling at the pit of my stomach tips you over the edge of your high.

And just like that, he withdraws his fingers from your throbbing core. His gaze flickers downwards at his hand—now all drenched and glistening with your cum—as he cups your chin, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Take back what you just said,” he demands, his voice tinged with desire.

“I won’t. You robbed me of my orgasm,” your protest, arms crossed over your chest in mock offence.

Tilting his head, he gives you a goofy smile, his eyes focused on your mouth as his fingers trace your pouted lips.

A mischievous smirk curls up the corners of your lips as you take his thumb in your mouth, sucking it seductively. “But I have a big heart, so I forgive you,” you mutter, releasing his thumb with a tantalising pop before kneeling down in front of his bulge. Your lips glisten with the precum from his boxers as you eagerly wet them, ready for what’s to come.

Before he can even register your moves, his head drops, jaw slackening until all twenty-eight of his teeth are on full display in a crooked, pearly smile. 

Your tongue glides down the length of his cock, taking him deeper until your lips are hugging snugly around the base. He can’t quite keep up with your fervent pace, his throat constricting as a chorus of desperate groans escape him. “F-fuckkk,” he stutters, his voice rising to a whimper, “Feels so good, baby. So goddamn good.” 

His rosy lips can’t stop their blabbering, mind shrinking into a blissful void, where the only thing of significance is your talented mouth working its magic between his legs. As your tongue flicks and swirls, he buckles his legs out, his soft touch on your head tightening, fisting up your strands almost aggressively.

Your nails drag lightly down his thighs, your shoulders rising as you splutter around him, choking on the way he fills you whole while you deep-throat him.

“Got the prettiest eyes. So-so fucking gorgeous,” he rasps, gazing back down at you with a mix of awe and adoration, his pupils blown in a battling mess of love and lust as your eyes find him. 

“D-don’t stop, please, please,” he gasps, a sudden thrust of his hips causing your teeth to slightly pierce against his sensitive flesh that keeps forcing itself down your throat.

Yet, his cries are cut short by a final, guttural moan that draws itself out long and conclusive. You watch as his body locks up and his Adam’s apple bounces like crazy, his muscles as solid as the rock he leans against.

His eyes glaze over all blank before they roll back, his long lashes casting a shadow against his flushed face. With your cheeks hollowed, you bob your head slowly, letting him plummet through the tides of euphoria. 

The impulse to milk him dry of absolutely everything he has to give consumes you, but you rein it to get your revenge, so you stop. He stares down at you with eyes wide open, his breath uneven. You can’t decipher his expression as you stand back up and land mere inches from his face.

Although you’re at your full height, he still towers over you, and you swallow nervously when he scoffs.

“You think you can slide away with that one so easily, huh?” he mumbles in a low, stern tone, his breaths coming in wheezy puffs. Running a hand from your jaw down to your chest, he gropes your boobs, biting his lip as he does.

You rest over the edge of the rock, your smirk and raised brow are what you hope to be indicators of your ‘playing cool’ demeanour despite your misconduct. 

“I might be head over heels for you,” he pauses, letting out a soft groan as his fingertips brush the slimy product of your arousal on the inside of your thigh.

You settle back onto the sandy surface of the water before the rock, murmuring, “Aham?” and biting your lip, your mocking gaze fixed on him.

“But…” he continues, halting only to clear his throat as if to regain his composure. “...it irks me when you blow me so damn well and then deny me the finish.”

“Awh… how dare I, baby Evan, right?” you scowl at him playfully, puckering your lips again in feigned shock. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You feel his erection against your lower stomach as he stretches out over you to grab his floating bow tie. “I’m gonna edge you until you’re crying and begging me to let you cum. Easy peasy.” 

“I’d never beg for you–” You don’t even get to complete your sentence, and his lips collide into yours in a raw, animalistic force that takes you by surprise. You already fold (Question is: when are you not folding for Evan Peters?), even knowing you’re just getting started. 

“You were warned,” he retorts, his voice a deep, commanding growl. Each word carries a weighty timbre, as if it’s coming from the depths of his chest. He ties your wrists above your head, securing them to a small stone jutting from the main rock, leaving you completely at his mercy with no wriggle room.

His lips leave a blazing path of kisses over your cleavage down to your stomach, his hot breath tingling your skin. Spreading your legs, he hovers over you with a sly grin.

You feel his quivery breath on your inner thighs as he plants tender pecks and playful nips, teasingly close to your folds. Arching your back, your dripping pussy convulses in anticipation. He giggles at your reaction, his stare fixed on you. Without warning, his tongue starts lapping up your juices, and you squeal in pleasure.

He can’t help but groan at your taste, his cock twitching in his trousers as he shifts up, his mouth latching onto your clit, sucking and nibbling.

“Fuck!” you gasp, your hands threading into his hair. You hold his face between your legs, and you can practically sense his smirk against your flesh as electricity sparks through you.

When he starts whirling your clit with his tongue, his growls vibrating through your core, you lose your shit. You feel like coming right away as he stimulates your most sensitive spot, but he draws back. “Beg,” he commands through gritted teeth. 

“Never,” you shoot back out of breath, and that’s when he dives in headfirst. His lips suck on your clit even harder while his tongue ruthlessly slides along your slit, leaving you crying out but not yet caving. 

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, as you squirm under his touch. But he only tightens his grip on your thigh, devouring you like he’s famished.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he chuckles, momentarily backing away to catch his breath. His tongue then alternates between tracing patterns on your pulsing nub and flicking it with his tip. Your fingers scrape at his scalp as ecstasy builds higher and higher the faster he fucks into you.

He’s so invested in pleasuring you, his tongue twisting and twirling along your gummy, slopping walls. No one has ever volunteered to lick you up, let alone enjoy it themselves and make you see stars so effortlessly. You always had to ask for it like it’s a task, and all your pussy has only known is just some spit, a cursory touch down there just to moisture the area, and all in they went.

Evan’s nose lightly nuzzles against your clit as his tongue does wonders on your sobbing, red cunt, leaving your mind all foggy. You bite down on your hand to contain your moans, but they only get higher, and you accept your fate that you won’t last long.

Not wanting to let up, he merely grunts against you, sending seismic waves through your body that cause your pussy to pulsate around his mouth.

“Evan,” you choke out, tears streaming down your eyes from how amazing he makes you feel. You circle your hips against his face, whining when he pulls his tongue out of you but squealing when he slams two long fingers deep inside, hitting right at your g-spot. 

“Say it,” he hisses against your swollen cunt, his eyes on you. Your hips jolt up, the water becoming all foamy as you splash around, thighs shaking as he licks and fingers you through your orgasm.

“Okay… ahh… okay, f-fuck…” you stammer. “Let me cum p-please… I…I… ahh… I need to please.”

And right there, when you feel drained of dignity, he jams his tongue back inside. He performs a swirling dance, coupled with clit-sucking, that makes you lose your mind, your legs growing wobbly.

“That’s my girl…” he coos. “So fucking pretty for me. Such pretty fucking sounds.”

Your earth-shattering orgasm hits you like an earthquake, and you cry out his name loudly. Your vision blurs as you fight for breath. You’re always so gorgeous when you come for him— splayed out on display, legs spread, pussy leaking, tits flowing as your chest heaves, body coated in a shimmering of sweat. The look of sheer pleasure in your darkened eyes is a sight he’ll never tire of.

He slows his tongue, gently blowing warm air on the sides of your vulva, easing you through the aftershocks of your release. It’s exactly what you need right now to calm down, to be honest. He slips his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his lips, a greedy look in your eyes as you watch him suck his fingers clean. He nearly makes a show of it, groaning before letting them pop from his mouth.

“I was so right about the sweet taste,” he praises, “almost wondering what I should do with you next.” He smirks crookedly at the way you instantly pout, letting out a soft whine, “what, baby?”

“Need you,” you sigh, smiling lazily at him. 

“Yeah?” his hand comes back between your legs, palming at your throbbing cunt. “Need what? My fingers again?” His index delves back in, but only for one thrust, your pussy fluttering around his finger as it stretches you out, “My mouth? Or something else?”

“Your cock, please!”

He chuckles, reaching up to free you from the confines of his bow tie. You react instantly and lash out at him, plunging deeper into the water, the world above suddenly muted and serene. Underwater, you open your eyes, catching a blurry glimpse of Evan’s sly grin before he propels himself towards you with strong, graceful strokes.

You feel a gush of enthusiasm as he grabs you from the waist, drawing you close. The warmth of his body goes against the cool water, sending a tremor down your spine. With a quick, smooth motion, Evan leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate sub-aquatic kiss.

The sensation is electric. Surrounded by a bubble ring, your bodies entwine as you lose yourselves in each other, the salty water mingling with the sweet heat of the kiss. His hands explore your back, touching the curves of your body in well-executed strokes that make your heart go into override.

You both swim to the surface, gasping for air but not letting go of each other. The crispy evening air clashes sharply with your heated bodies. He breaks the kiss, a teasing spark in his eyes. “So, you accept defeat?” he murmurs huskily, wiping droplets from your plump lips with a mischievous smile.

You giggle, playfully pushing him back with a splash but maintaining the hold you have on him. “Never,” you reply, eyes daring him. He responds with a deep, hearty laugh that rumbles through you before he dives back underwater.

Emerging right in front you with a wide grin, he kisses you harder, hands framing your face, his tongue dancing with yours in a fiery connection. His fingers trace your jawline before tangling in your hair, gently tugging you closer. Your pulse races, and every nerve in your body seems to come alive with his touch.

“Okay, maybe I’ll accept a little defeat on one condition…” you hesitate, smiling bashfully as you run your hands through his hair.

Reciprocating the smile, he sweeps a wet strand of hair away from your face. “What is it? What do you need?" he asks, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Tell me, Y/N...I know you want it. Don’t be shy.”

You give him another playful nudge, rolling your eyes. “My condition’s that you go full force tonight, and fuck me hard.”

His eye pupils dilate with desire, a crooked smirk forming. “Oh, rest assured I plan to,” he affirms, his voice dripping with anticipation. “Consider it a done deal my dear,” he adds, sealing the “agreement” with one last, lingering kiss.

As you both stroll back to the place Evan recently rented near the venue, the salty night swim still clings on your skin. Your laughter mingles with the gentle chirping of crickets in the distance. Semi-damp from the ocean, the night breeze brings goosebumps.

Evan’s hand is warm and reassuring as he guides you inside. The place is spacious and welcoming, dimly lit with soft, ambient lighting that casts a romantic haze over everything. The furniture is arranged for comfort and intimacy—plush cushions adorn a deep sofa, inviting you to sink in. A rich throw blanket adds warmth. Nearby, a rustic coffee table holds curios and books, complementing the room’s cosy feel.

Tasteful artwork and subtle floral arrangements enhance the tranquil atmosphere, making it the perfect backdrop for a night of both erotic intimacy for cuddles or foreplay and the we-fuck-like-rabbits kind of sex.

He locks the door behind you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re still dripping,” he teases, wiggling his brows with a mischievous grin even though he can clearly tell you’re almost dry.

“I think we should get out of these soaked clothes before we catch a cold,” he advises, tossing the keys in a bowl and peeling off his black blazer. “Then, it’s straight upstairs, hopping into the bed together. Instead of a tea and a blanket, how about we turn up the heat by banging till the crack of dawn?”

Your laughter fills the hallway at his suggestion as you unzip your gown, deliberately pausing halfway to glance back at him cheekily, your clutch bag still in your hands. He’s practically drooling like a cartoon dog, eyeing you. “Yeah, no kidding,” you quip, flashing him a wicked grin.

His gaze follows your every move, drinking in the sight of you, a coy smirk playing on his lips as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. You hold his gaze, daring him to look as you indulge in an impromptu striptease, each movement more sensual than the last.

He draws closer, his belt hanging loose, his shirt already halfway undone, showcasing the taut muscles of his chest. “Let me give you a hand,” he mumbles, deftly gliding the zipper down the curve of your ass.

His fingers travel along your lower back and hipbones, guiding you to turn and face him. Pulling you closer, he plants a trail of kisses from your collarbone to the gentle swell of your breasts.

“You’re not playing fair,” you whisper, your voice low and teasing. “But I love it.”

“Fair is boring and overrated,” he retorts with a smirk, and your breath hitches as his robust hands cup your bare tits, his tongue assaulting your mouth in ways that soak your panties. His hands roam over your body, tracing every contour as if memorising your shape and texture.

The air is charged, dense with unspoken desires. “Y/N,” his lips brush against yours, his hot and laboured breath fanning your face. He hoists you up onto a nearby surface, his bulge pressing against your heat. “I want all of you so badly, I’m not gonna get you pregnant,” he vows, and you both giggle.

For context, you’ve mutually been dealing with some serious baby fever lately and already had the talk—hence the inside joke lightening the mood.

His eyes lock onto yours as he helps you out of your gown, letting it pool at your feet before landing on the floor. He swallows hard at the sight of you in just your underwear. Holding his stare, his tongue gets all tangled with yours, his fingers shifting to stroke the hard nub of your clit. Broken sobs escape your mouth as your hips start to move in sync with the onslaught of his hand, turning you into a writhing, mewling mess.

Just as you feel yourself slipping off the furniture, Evan quickly and safely moves you both to a nearby kitchen chair, positioning you on top of him. Taking control, you roughen the kiss, fully removing his shirt and rubbing your wet centre against his overstimulated, erected member.

In this moment, time stands still, and you lose yourself in the intoxicating bliss of each other’s presence. It’s not just physical; it’s a meeting of minds, a fusion of hearts.

He grips your hips, matching your grinding rhythm as you feel him harden and twitch beneath you. 

“Fuck you’ve got me all wrapped around your little finger,” he growls, his cock almost weeping against your cunt, begging to be paid attention to.

Suddenly, his phone springs to life on the hallway, buzzing insistently, its screen lighting up like a beacon of disruption in the dim room. 

“Leave it,” he groans against your neck, evidently prioritising pleasure over duty. The sound is jarring, opposing the tender whispers and the heated panting that filled the space just moments before.

“Take it, Evan. It might be an emergency,” you prompt, climbing off him while his hands linger on your butt. 

With an exasperated huff, he rolls his eyes as you reach for the device. “It’s my mum,” he grumbles. His thumb hovers over the screen for a moment as if debating whether to answer or decline.

“Just take it,” you persist, and he clicks his tongue, picking it up with a heavy sigh. 

“Hey, mum?”

With a playful peck, signalling your intention to slip away, you mouth, “Give my regards.” 

He smirks slyly and gives your ass a playful smack before you gracefully slither toward the staircase. He watches you ascend with a bitten lip, torn between you and the conversation, only half-listening to his mom. As you reach the midpoint of the stairs, you pause to remove your panties, flicking towards him with a swift flourish. 

With reflexes rivalling those of a wild animal, he snatches them mid-air, his gaze never wavering from yours. Bringing the panties to his nose, he inhales your essence encapsulated within the fabric, a fond smile gracing his lips. Pretending as if you’re no longer around, he theatrically sneaks the underwear in his pocket, giving you a playful wink at the end of his act to reveal his true intentions.

“Yes, mum, the ceremony was spectacular,” he reports, his voice strained with distraction. “No, I didn’t win this time around, but it’s all good. No hard feelings. It was nice to hang out with Michelle and others at the party.”

A brief pause ensues before he adds, “Yeah, Y/N is here with me, says hi. Yes, mum...if you need to be sure of, it’s that I’m taking very good care of Y/N… We’re going to Michelle’s next Thursday for dinner…” His eyes stay locked on you as you reach the top of the stairs, his focus still divided.

You disappear into the bedroom, just as inviting, with a large, plush king-sized bed draped in soft linens. You leave the door slightly ajar and sprawl on the centre of the bed. You hear him carrying over the conversation, clearly flustered. “Soon. We’ll come round soon. Gotta go, mum, but we’ll catch up more tomorrow, okay? I’ll phone you. Kisses to dad and Andrew. Love you all.”

He ends the call hastily, tossing the phone aside, and practically flies up the stairs to join you. Eagerness and passion are written all over his face when he bursts into the room. “Couldn’t wait another sec–” he stops mid-sentence when he catches you right in action, dipping two fingers into your slick folds, mouth agape.

With his blazer and shirt back on probably to facetime his mum, he gulps hard and folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the door frame to admire you. You prop yourself on your elbows, knees bent and facing up as you gather your arousal and bring it up to your clit, swirling it in small, intricate circles.

“That should be my dick doing this to you, baby girl,” he protests, his brows knitted together, his tone rigid yet painted with passion. His expression softens to a hushed murmur when he observes you throw your head back, lips slightly parted in a seductive invite, softly whining his name as you continue to touch yourself.

As if in a trance, he kneels at the edge of the bed, chucking his blazer and shirt away. Crawling up towards you, he peppers tender kisses along your throbbing pussy, making you giggle in delight.

“Then, show me what your dick can do to me,” you challenge with a coy smirk, moaning softly as he licks his way up your lips for a harsh, heated kiss.

He groans, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy and ragged. “God, Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me,” he rasps, his voice thick with need.

He floats deep between your open legs, and you help him shuck his trousers off without breaking the kiss. His hand wraps around his cock as you hungrily fondle his muscular upper body, his thumb smearing the pre-cum around it as he lets out a soft grunt, “Fuck… you always get me so hard,” he sighs, his tip sliding along your slippery folds, coating it with your juices.

“Evan…please,” you moan, your hips desperately rocking in tune with his rhythm.

“Please what?” He beckons to you with a tilt of his chin and arches a brow in your direction as he slides a condom along his member. He continues his torturous movement, eliciting louder your whimpers from you.

“I want it.”

His devilish grin expands all over his face as he looks down on you.  “Use your words, baby girl,” he urges as his tongue grazes his side teeth, his lustful eyes narrowing.

“Please, fuck me!”

“That’s what I wanna hear, baby.” He leans over you again, capturing your thirsty lips in a kiss as he lines up his hips. Satisfied moans slip off you both as his cock sinks into your heat. He fills your warmth completely until his hips are seated against yours, and you can both feel your pussy clenching around him. 

“Stay in me for life,” you chuckle breathlessly, and nods eagerly, his hand holding your wrists over your head while pounding in and out with breathy groans.

Your legs eagerly wrap around his waist, pushing him deeper into you, and he makes a home in the edge of your lips, his breath searing on your skin as he starts panting. He sets a steady, agonising pace— just fast enough to have you shivering and mewling in his arms but still slow enough to savour every bit of it; to make sure you’re sensing every inch and drag of his thick dick buried in your cunt, to get it wetter with each thrust of his hips.

As you synchronise your tongue sucking with the way he slams into you, he can’t help but moan loud into your mouth, and your stomach flips. He bucks reflexly, and you begin to move up and down his satiny shaft.

“Let me ride you, baby Evan,” you sigh with begging eyes and taunt him by pulling out momentarily to slick his head with your cum.

He clasps onto your hips again and lifts you up. That’s to slide his cock in and join your lips together once more before you get on top. You gasp, clutching the broad, sturdy expanse of his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him.

You begin to bounce on his cock, throwing your head back as he marvels at your breasts, your nipples hard from excitement and titillation. “Boobs for days, I’m the luckiest guy alive,” he cries out, grinning and biting down his lips as he grabs your tits in each hand, kneading the sensitive mounds.

He then levers his torso up so your breasts can jiggle against his chest, his hands behind supporting you on the small of your back. The squelching noises of you pussy mixed with your mutual moans echo through the room, and every time he drives his cock deeper into it, you feel new sensations, your entire body starting to shake in pure euphoria.

“Holy shit, you ride my cock like my little naughty slut,” he praises as his dick drills into you again and again. 

“O-o-nly for you,” you stutter as you plop down on top of him with shallow groans. He smirks knowingly at you, his eyes drowning into yours. Running his fingers across your parted lips, he lets his hand and eyes glide along your upper half. With a hungry growl as if he can’t take it anymore, his hips begin to bounce into the air, making you lightheaded as he snaps into you even harder and faster.

“Don’t cum for your baby Evan just yet,” he pleads as he grabs onto your breasts again, circling his thumb and pointer finger around your erect nipples.

He releases your boobs and moves downwards to grab your thighs, using the leverage to flip you around so you’re on all fours. His hands rest lustfully between your neck and jaw as you look up at him with imploring eyes.

He clutches the back of your head, and your lips collide into a sloppy kiss before he stretches you out again with his impressive length. From that angle, your cunt eats up his cock hungrily as he soon begins to strike your cervix. You feel his cock jump inside you and his body jerks, his balls continuously slapping against your clit.

Your wailing sounds resonate in the room, his grip hardening on your hips and neck, and you know he’ll leave bruises but you couldn’t care less. You’ve never been fucked like this before, and you you’re now addicted. He works hard, drilling into you, until you feel the knot of your release stiffening.

Your legs quiver more as your orgasm rips and shudders through you with newfound potency, heightened by Evan unrelenting thrusts into you at his usual harsh pace.

Tears of overstimulation prickle your eyes until his hips finally still, and he spills his warm, fresh load onto you you with a primal growl. Collapsing lightly onto your back, he affectionately hugs you from behind, peppering soft kisses at the back of your neck with heaving gasps.

Your legs continue to shake as you tightly grip his forearm, your cunt spasming around his cock from the aftershocks of your multiple orgasms.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Perfect.” you exhale, smiling faintly, stealing another soft kiss.

The rest of the world fades away, leaving nothing but the two of you, lost in the outcome of pure passion.

You jump from the bathroom and flick off the light switch, the sound of the flushing toilet subsiding in the background. You stride across the dark room, vigorously shaking your hands dry. The moon’s silvery radiance seeps through the window and bathes your naked body, casting attractive shadows on your slender figure. 

You stop by the bedside table and take a few sips of water. Lying in bed, a sheet draped around his lower body and exposing his sculpted chest, Evan spies your every move. In one fluid motion, he sits up with a coy grin on his lips, his gaze always following you.

“You scrubbed every last bit of me in the bathroom, huh?” he mocks with a thumbs up, his lips curling into a crooked smile.

You glance back at him with a smirk, your hair flipping in the air with grace. “Didn’t you take off the condom and splatter all over my thighs? Well, I had to clean your babies off me and pee to avoid a UTI. It’s post-sex 101, didn’t you learn that in school, Mr. Know-It-All?” you fire back with a raised eyebrow. 

He chuckles, unable to resist his eyes wandering over you, appreciating your beauty. “I barely remember my name when I’m with you.” 

You tiptoe your way to him, playfully sweeping the blankets and cushions that now clutter the floor. As you climb up the bed, a mischievous grin adorns your face. With your eyes locked on him, you begin to crawl like a lioness, closing the distance between you with allure. 

His breath hitches as he watches you slither closer to him. Smiling mischievously, his eyes light up with a mixture of anticipation and passion.

He pretends to ponder over something, scratching his newly shaven chin, his eyes squinting in a mock display of deep thought. “Hmm, that’s a tough one. Give me a hint...like the initial?” 

Your eyes widen in theatrical surprise, your mouth resting slightly ajar as you feign mock-offence. You nudge his shoulder away, gently sending him tumbling him back in bed. 

You lie next to him, your eyes fixed on each other. You slide your hand down and playfully squeeze his knuckles together until he winces in slight discomfort. “Does it ring any bells now?” you insist and exert a bit more pressure.

Evan, caught off guard, finally gives in. “Y/N! Y/N! Your name’s Y/N!” he cries out and instinctively grips your wrist in defence, your bracelet subtly clinking.

He takes hold of your other wrist and playfully immobilises you on one of the pillows, sliding on top of you with ease.

You squeak in delight, a giggle rippling off your mouth. “You’re not just awesome, you’re practically a one-woman army,” he chuckles out with a wide grin, unable to look away from you. 

As you stare at each other intently, the erratic tempo of your heartbeats fills the silence. “I love you,” he murmurs out of the blue, his eyes swimming into yours.

Wheezing quietly, your eyes instinctively widen in shock at the three words that hang in the air between them. For a moment, the entire universe seems to stand still, suspended in the gravity of his confession. You feel a rush of emotions flood through you—joy, disbelief, and a profound sense of warmth that flushes your cheek.

“I... I love you too,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. A tremulous smile spreads across your lips, tears glistening in your eyes as he closes the distance between you in a heartbeat.

Without reluctance, you surrender, pouring all the love and tenderness you feel into the kiss.

“Y/N... Tron shoot’s kicking off again soon. Would you come to Canada with me?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[static-symphony-fm]

you are in love (true love)

now playing: you are in love (taylor's version)

pairing: magnus chase x fem! reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: 5 people who knew magnus was in love with you before you did + 1 sword

an: FIRST FANFIC LETS FUCKING GOOOOO this took so long to write! I love how I accidentally made it blue themed even though that's magnus's least favorite colour 😭 its ok we all know he's canonically a 1989 girly

fun fact i actually took the first picture! i shit you not I was on a road trip with my family READING MAGNUS CHASE and I look up and see THAT SIGN and i SCRAMBLED to take a picture

content/ warnings: 5+1 things, background blitzstone bcs c'mon they're basically canon, shitty writing, kissing ooo spooky, magnus being a simp, there actually isn't a whole lot of reader in this x reader fic, minor allusions to sex stuff, a lot of swearing, weird use of perspective, i was trying to go for third person limited but magnus is the one it's limited to not reader? but reader is referred to using second person? sorry if it's confusing.

1. samirah al-abbas

  if someone had told magnus a year ago that in a couple month’s time, meeting for coffee weekly with one of his best friends and not getting kicked out of the overpriced coffee shop was going to be the most normal thing in his life, he wouldn’t have believed them. probably would have flipped them off, too, and stole their wallet as he walked away. but he’d like to think that he was a changed man, seeing as he was, in fact, in a hipster café in boston, trying not to make fun of all the fancy menu options. like, seriously? who orders a dragon fruit, pomegranate, and kale smoothie?

he realized he’d been thinking for too long and returned his attention to samirah, sitting across from him and discussing wedding plans for her upcoming marriage to amir as she sipped her latte. he noticed the way her eyes seemed to get brighter, and her entire body language conveyed how excited she was as she talked about him. magnus had a fleeting thought about how good it must feel to love someone so unconditionally like that, and have them love you back just as much. 

as if reading his mind, samirah finished her sentence and studied him, tilting her head as she seemed lost in thought, peering at him like he was a calculus problem she couldn’t quite figure out. 

after a few seconds, magnus broke the silence. 

“alright, it’s getting weird. why’re you looking at me like that?”

samirah snapped out of it, focusing on what he was saying.

“nothing, just… do you think you’ll ever get married?”

jeez, that was a loaded question. magnus narrowly avoided choking on his black coffee, swallowing and burning his throat before answering.

 “sam, i’m dead.”

“so? people get married in valhalla all the time. i have been to a very disproportionate amount of weddings in the two years i worked there.”

“yeah? how many of those end in divorce?”

samirah took a long drink of her coffee, swallowing it slowly as she responded.

“forever is a very long time, and no relationship is perfect, but wouldn’t it be better to have someone to spend that time with?”

“…i guess.” magnus accepted, lost in thought. truthfully, samirah was right, like always. if circumstances were different, if he hadn’t died at sixteen, he could imagine himself getting married. settling down. living in a cabin in the forest with two kids. 

a thought came into his mind, entirely of its own accord, of doing all of that with you. your laugh, your soft hair, the way your lips curled up and your eyes widened when you smile. you’d probably be a great mom.

whoa, what the hell? he should definitely not be thinking about getting married to his friend, what the fuck? that is not normal. 

he pushed the weird thought out of his mind as best he could, gulping his coffee and focusing on the burning in his throat and not what he was just thinking. samirah had gone back to talking about amir, and magnus was not going to think about marrying you any longer.

2. alex fierro

after nearly getting his head cut off by alex’s garrote for the third time that day, magnus needed a break. alex had decided that magnus needed to learn to fight without the help of jack, and it wasn't going too well for him. he collapsed on the bench next to alex, chugging half a bottle of water before even taking a breath. alex rolled her eyes. 

“it’s not that hard, you just aren’t fast enough.”

magnus managed to control himself and not say a snarky comment back, but it was a close call. instead, he ignored her, staring straight ahead and not engaging. unfortunately, you were in his direct line of sight, sparring with mallory only a few metres away. alex picked up on this quickly, nudging his side. 

“you like watching y/n fight, huh?” she teased, smirking. damn, why did she have to be so perceptive?

“what? no. shut up.” magnus replied quickly, trying to hide his blush. “i mean… she’s a good fighter. not like i like her or anything like that.” 

“mhm. suuuure you don’t.” alex replied, definitely not believing him. fuck.

“i’m telling the truth!” magnus protested. god, how was arguing with alex harder than physically fighting her? 

“yeah. did you see her necklace today? pretty, right?”

“she’s not even wearing a neck- fuck.” magnus said instantly, before catching himself. 

“go to hell.”  he swore, glaring at alex, who was grinning at him in a way that reminded him a little too much of her mother. 

“you first.”

      3 + 4. blitzen & hearthstone

“magnus? magnus?”

a pale hand reached in front of magnus face, waving and then snapping its fingers, bringing him back to reality. he blinked and looked around at hearth and blitz, sitting across from him in the dining room of the chase space. hearth took his hand back to sign finally, raising his eyebrows sarcastically.

“your head’s way up in the clouds, kid.” blitz remarked, drumming his short, well manicured fingernails on the table, his silver engagement ring glinting.  he was right. magnus definitely was pretty out of it lately. 

probably thinking about y/n, hearth signed. jeez, why did every conversation he had have to be about you? and no, he most certainly was not thinking about you and your pretty eyes and your delicate hands and the way your ass looked in those jeans you were wearing yesterday… jesus fucking christ, he needed to stop.

 he buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly, then raised his head back up so hearth could read his lips, hoping that his blush wasn’t as visible as it felt. 

“i am not thinking about her.” he lied through his teeth. 

“there’s nothing wrong with having a crush, you know.”

ugh, why did they have to act so much like his dads? 

“i don’t have a crush!”

“kid, you’re a terrible liar. everyone can see the way you stare at that girl. now remember, if you’re doing anything intimate, you gotta use protection…”

that’s it. magnus couldn’t stand up from the table fast enough

 “nope! this conversation is ending right now. good talk!”

5. annabeth chase

magnus and annabeth had been walking around new york for the past three hours, trying to make up for the ten years spent apart.  annabeth had shown him her favorite library, and pointed out a bunch of cool architecture in nearby buildings, with a promise to show him and his friends camp half-blood in the summer.

 they were currently taking a break, stopping for lunch at a falafel place that wasn’t quite as good as fadlan’s, but it was still falafel. magnus was enjoying listening to annabeth talk about her architecture projects– she was taking online classes to prepare for the higher level of new rome university’s program. 

magnus loved listening to her talk about things he didn’t understand. as a child he’d always thought she was a genius, the way she always solved puzzles and math problems easily. ten years later, that theory still held up, hearing her go on about a bunch of terms he didn’t understand.

“sorry, i’m probably boring you to tears. you wanna talk about something else?”

annabeth offered.

“no, it’s fine… i really don’t have a lot going on.” magnus replied, smiling politely.

“come on. there’s gotta be something interesting.” an idea seemed to come to annabeth.

“you have a crush on anybody?”

magnus swallowed. 

“no.”

but he was too slow. those steel gray eyes that matched his own were locked on him like a hawk, or maybe an owl. 

“yes, you do. come on. spill!”

magnus stayed silent. he was not telling his cousin about his crushes, but those metallic eyes stayed locked on him. he eventually gave up. annabeth could be scary when she wanted to be.

“fine. fine. her name’s y/n…”

+1. jack

 it was movie night at the chase space. was magnus ever gonna stop calling it that? no. it was cool. shut up. the credits were rolling on some disney movie that alex had insisted on, and everyone else was slowly but surely making their way to their rooms, yawning as they said their good nights. you had been sitting next to magnus on the couch the whole time, and suffice it to say that he had had some trouble concentrating on the film.  

it was just you and him, you in your nirvana t-shirt and gray sweat shorts, and in that moment, he decided to tell you.

 you got up to leave, waving at him, and in a feat of bravery so incredible it would be studied by historians for centuries to come, magnus managed to work up the nerve to speak up. 

“hey, uh, can i talk to you for a sec?”

“sure? what’s up?” you asked as you sat back down.

jesus, what had he gotten himself into? it’s ok, magnus, you got this. you beat loki in a flyting. you can talk to a pretty girl. 

“uh, i was just thinking… i just…” off to a great start, aren’t we? fuck off, voice in his head. he can do this. he took a deep breath.

“i really like you. you're gorgeous and funny and so insanely smart. i’m an atheist but i’m praying to god you feel the same way. will you be my girlfriend?”

you bit your lip, breaking eye contact as you looked off into the distance. fuck. you were gonna say no and then he was never gonna be able to talk to you again and he was gonna have to change his name and move to canada…

“can i kiss you?” 

what.

there were a million things magnus expected you to say, but that was none of them. he managed to stutter out a simple “please…” and then you leaned forward and your lips were on his and magnus chase died.

this felt more like the end of his life than being knocked off a burning bridge and drowning did. his heart was beating a million times a second, and he seemed to have forgotten how breathing worked. your lips were softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

 he managed to reciprocate a little, mostly acting on instinct, and all he could think about was how astronomically better this was than jackie molotov in the seventh grade.

what was he supposed to do with his hands? he was pretty sure that keeping them at his side was the wrong answer, so he moved one to your waist and the other one to the back of your neck, tangling it gently in your soft hair as his lips moved against yours.

gods, he could have stayed like that until ragnarök, but his stupid sword had to ruin the moment. jack started buzzing on his neck sleepily, seeming to have been woken up ungraciously. he hoped that you couldn’t feel it, but that was pretty unlikely, considering how close you were to him. jeez, he was blushing more and more every time he thought about that. 

eventually, you pulled away, smiling a little. 

“good night, magnus.”

he nodded, unable to form words, and managed to stand up and walk back to his room, wide eyed, operating on autopilot. he walked into his room and immediately collapsed backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling without blinking, completely still. not a thought passed through his mind for at least ten minutes, till he finally was able to reach up and pull jack’s pendant off of his necklace.

“dude, what happened to blades before babes!?!”

[salchica]

honey + hazelnut

“Are you from Tennessee?” He says. Hot Barista cocks his head to the side, confused. He’s adorable. He looks like a fucking cocker spaniel. “No? I was raised in Indiana,” Hot Barista says. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “Because you’re the only ten I…” God, Eddie’s gonna do it, isn’t he? “Because you’re the only ten I see.” He finally chokes out. The awkward silence seems to stretch on forever, the only sounds being the impatient sigh of the lady behind him in line and the weary hiss of the espresso machine.

--

When Eddie was little he made up an imaginary boyfriend. And then he meets Steve in real life.

Published: 02/08/24 | Words:5,174 | Rating: Teen & Up | Link x

Originally for the Steddie Valentine's Day Exchange.

honey + hazelnut

“Hey Eddie, what can I get for you?” 

Eddie looks up from his phone and immediately bluescreens. The barista’s  fucking beautiful is the thing; all lean muscle and swoopy brown hair, moles dotting his face and neck, a pink mouth that Eddie just wanted to--  

He quickly reminds himself that he’s public, specifically at a coffee shop with like, normal non-depraved people around. It’s called First Sip , and the vibes are chill, if a little gentrification-chic. First Sip is hipster adjacent, the outside painted a nice forest green with plenty of bookshelves and squishy couches. Cozy . 

Eddie’s only job right now is to grab coffee and book it back to Chrissy’s apartment. Apparently  eviscerating his latest draft is a very taxing job and requires copious amounts of caffeine, but when Chrissy mentioned the ‘cute little café that just opened around the corner ’, she failed to mention the fucking Adonis that worked there. If Eddie’s brain was online, now would be the time he’d turn on the good old Munson smarm. It’s a patented technique passed from parent-to-child up and down the Munson family tree; a peacock-esque display of finger guns, waggling eyebrows and bad pick-up lines. It’s a little pathetic and honestly best taken in from a distance, but four times out of ten it ends with a laugh and a number in Eddie’s pocket. Fuck it, Eddie thinks. 

“Are you from Tennessee?” He says. Hot Barista cocks his head to the side, confused. He’s adorable. He  looks like a fucking cocker spaniel. 

“No? I was raised in Indiana,” Hot Barista says. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “Because you’re the only ten I…” God , Eddie’s gonna do it, isn’t he? “Because you’re the only ten I see.” He finally chokes out. The awkward silence seems to stretch on forever, the only sounds being the impatient sigh of the lady behind him in line and the weary hiss of the espresso machine. 

Eddie is literally a writer goddammit; the fantasy series Chrissy is currently editing is full of words that Eddie himself had put in painstaking order. He wants to scream. Not even the cheesy one-liners he’s used in the past have been this bad. The Munson ancestors have failed him. They’re probably all face-palming in hell. 

“Eddie?” Hot Barista says. Eddie can’t tell if he sounds amused or concerned. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you ready to order?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. He knows a critical failure when he sees it. Eddie looks up at the menu hanging up on the back wall, the letters written in delicate, looping calligraphy against the black chalkboard. “Two black coffees, please.”  

“Great choice, black coffee is a classic,” Hot Barista says. His eyes are all shiny, like he’s holding back a laugh. Or maybe he wants to scream but can’t because he’s on the clock. He probably gets hit on all the time by poor unsuspecting people who aren’t prepared to be faced with that much cuteness before their morning coffee. Oh no, Eddie thinks, am I a creep? When did I become someone who hits on people at their literal job? 

His face feels like it’s on fire as he pulls his wallet out of his pocket and slides the money over the counter. Eddie mentally plots to buy Chrissy a Keurig or something so he never has to step foot in this café ever, ever again. As he moves off to the side to wait for his order, the woman behind him huffs a finally  under her breath. Eddie’s shoulders bunch up around his ears. Like sure, yeah, he’d held up the line, but he’s paid for it enough out of sheer mortification. 

I’m gonna fucking kill myself. He texts Chrissy. 

After a minute, she texts back: Did you get my latte? All business, that one. She’s too used to his dramatics. Eddie should ramp it up a notch and threaten to quit writing. Fuck the New York Times bestseller list; Eddie’s going to retire and move to Siberia. 

Here lies Eddie Munson, time of death 10:30 am. He hits send. 

“Teddy?” The second barista says. She’s pretty, with a sharp face full of freckles and the gayest shag Eddie’s ever seen. Eddie looks around. As far as he knows, he’s the only person waiting for their order right now, but Lesbian Barista had clearly called out Teddy… which is Eddie’s name, technically, if only among family and very close friends. Eddie makes eye contact with her and points at himself. She rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, you. Teddy, Eddie, whatever-- here’s your coffee,” She says. She shoves two cups across the counter. Eddie can see the steam rising from the little drinking-hole. 

“How did you know my--” 

“I refuse to get involved in this more than I already am,” She says, walking back to the espresso machine. Eddie picks up the cups and notices writing scribbled on the side: 

Do you like raisins? How do you feel about a date? Text me (xxx)xxx-xxxx! -Steve.  

Eddie looks up at the counter, where Hot Barista -- Steve -- is still taking people’s orders. The line is longer than it was when Eddie first walked in, and Steve is hard at work, toned arms fighting for their lives in his tight polo. “...Holy shit ,” Eddie says. 

So. The thing is, until now Eddie hadn’t taken in Hot Barista in his entirety. 

He’s noticed parts of him of course, like the aforementioned hair, moles, and mouth-- but it’s like Eddie’s subconscious had wanted to spare him this realization by only letting him perceive Hot Barista as a bunch of separate but equally hot parts. It might have taken Eddie three tries to graduate high school, but he’s always been good at putting puzzles together… even if the obvious answer to the puzzle doesn’t make sense.  His mind is buzzing as he puts two and two together-- 

Today was the first time he’d ever stepped foot into First Sip, yet somehow Steve had greeted him by name. He presumably told Lesbian Barista to call Eddie “Teddy”,  a family nickname that only Wayne calls him, now. Instead of throwing coffee in Eddie’s face, this “Steve” had responded with his own equally bad pick-up line. 

Steve is the very picture of an All-American Midwestern boy, all gee whiz and yes ma’am and aw shucks. Eddie had thought he’d looked familiar, but only in the way that most people look familiar when they share traits with the type of people you’ve seen your entire life. But as Eddie stares, his mind superimposes a younger version of Steve over this current one. He looks like… Well, he looks like Stevie, Eddie’s “childhood friend” when he was like ten. He hasn’t thought about Stevie in years, which makes sense because Stevie was imaginary.  

He wasn’t supposed to exist.  

So, to explain: 

Eddie has always been like, really fucking gay. It’s something people tend to know just by looking at him, even when he was younger and didn’t even know it himself just yet. When he went to live with Wayne after everything that happened with his parents, the entirety of Hawkins seemingly clocked him as soon as he stepped a foot within city limits. So even though itwas like 2011 and gay rights were steadily gaining traction, people still avoided Eddie like queerness was contagious . In Indianapolis it hadn’t really been a problem, but Hawkins had never quite managed to shake off its Evangelical roots.

So the first two years Eddie was in Hawkins, he was lonely . He was the new kid with a shaved head and clothes that didn’t fit, and he doodled in class instead of listening to anything an authority figure had to say. People gave him a wide berth, and his only saving grace had been the woods behind Wayne’s trailer. He’d go there for hours after school, acting out scenes from the book he was reading at the time and even things from his own head. 

It went on like that for months, until one day he’d found a boy .  

He’d been perched in the biggest tree Eddie had ever seen, almost like he was hiding in the leaves. But since Eddie had a lifetime of observation skills - thank you, trauma -, he’d noticed the boy right away.

“Hi,” Eddie had said.

“Hello,” The boy said. He pushed his face out, and Eddie swears to this day his heart skipped a beat-- the boy was just so cute. He jumped down from the tree in a controlled fall, almost like he was floating. The first thing Eddie had noticed were the small wings on his back, delicate and see-through like a butterflies. “You have wings!” Eddie couldn’t help but state the obvious. “Is it like a costume or something?” 

“Yeah. It’s a costume,” The boy said. Eddie shrugged-- he didn’t want to ask too many questions in case the boy was scared away, but he had so many. What materials did he use, was there a YouTube tutorial, how did he get them to move independently from his body-- 

Instead, Eddie went with a tried and true, “What’s your name?” Biting back every single question he had. 

“My name is Steve, but you can call me Stevie,” The boy said. “What is your name?” 

“Eddie, but my Uncle Wayne calls me Teddy. It makes me sound like a stuffed bear or something.” Eddie complained. He’d wanted to be cool, like it didn’t fill him with warm fuzzies the way Wayne said his name with such tenderness. Steve had grinned, like he’d understood even without Eddie having to spell it out. “Want to play with me?” Stevie said, and that was that. 

This went on for months; Eddie rushing into the woods after school to play with Stevie until the sun went down. It had gotten to the point where Wayne started asking Eddie to bring Steve by sometime so he could meet his new friend. But every time Eddie had suggested it, Stevie had made a constipated face, so Eddie eventually stopped. He didn’t need to know everything about Stevie to know that he has Eddie’s best friend. 

But one day when Eddie had gone to their spot, instead of the branches Stevie was sitting at the foot of the tree, crying. It was especially weird because it was like the tree was reflecting Stevie’s mood; it was droopier than usual, and even the little mushrooms at the base of its trunk were dull and shrunken. Stevie’s wings were folded against his back, and they weren’t even their regular violet-blue… they were gray and brown, so drained of color that they almost blended in with the bark of the tree. Stevie told Eddie that his mom was moving them, that there was something about a court or custody split and Stevie had to go away.  

“Will you make me a promise?” Stevie asked. And not one to deny Stevie anything, Eddie of course said yes. “Promise you’ll never forget me, okay? Even when we’re old and big and you have friends you can see all the time and not only in the woods.” 

“I’ll never, ever forget you Stevie,” Eddie said solemnly. The moment had felt charged, even if Eddie didn't know exactly why . He’d figured it out pretty fast once Stevie leaned in and quickly pecked Eddie on the lips. 

“Now it’s sealed,” Stevie’d said.They’d shared a small smile-- it was Eddie’s first kiss, and he felt giddy with it, little bubbles of excitement popping in his stomach. 

Sadly, Eddie never saw him again. Stevie didn’t have social media, or an email; in fact no one in Hawkins seemed to have known him at all. Eddie had asked everyone if they’d known Stevie, maybe from a church camp or boy scouts or some other secret thing that wasn’t hosted at the one middle school in Hawkins, but no one knew what Eddie was talking about. He never mentioned Stevie’s wings, just in case the wrong person overhead.  

When Eddie finally hit high school and figured out he was gay, he’d just begun to accept the truth. Stevie had to have been a made up dream by a lonely kid with a vivid imagination. That was the reason he’d had wings and  been Eddie catnip, because Eddie had made him up-- a cute boy with swoopy brown hair, a little shorter than Eddie so he was the perfect height for hugging, and fucking majestic wings. Looking back, little Eddie was fucking pure. All he wanted was a cute boy to hold hands with, sometimes. 

All to say that yeah, Eddie’s queer as shit because what’s gayer than making up his first boyfriend? He’d imagined a lot… Except apparently he hadn’t . Stevie was Steve , and he wanted Eddie to call him.  He was a real, flesh and blood human being, apparently living around the corner from Eddie’s best friend. The wings were nowhere in sight, but still… 

Holy shittttttt.  

Eddie wants to text Steve, he really, truly does. It’s just he doesn't know how to start. 

‘ Hey, when you were  11 did you ever mysteriously disappear from Hawkins?’  It didn’t really have a good ring to it. 

Neither did ‘ Will you marry me and help raise my children’, so… It’s safe to say that Eddie was stumped. 

As soon as Eddie had read the number on his cup, Steve had turned around and given him a cheeky little wink. Eddie had nodded first to himself, then to Lesbian Barista, then to the harried mom with a baby on her hip sipping something that looked like a marshmallow on steroids. He’d then spun on his heel and beat it  out of First Sip and out into the frosty Indianapolis winter. 

Chrissy hadn’t even said anything when he’d pushed open her door, just grabbed her coffee and thrown it back like a shot. And now it was hours later and Eddie still hasn’t managed to text Steve. When he’d first told Chrissy about all of it, tree floating and wings included,  she’d just quirked an eyebrow. 

“Are you on drugs? Do you have a fever or something?” She’d put her hand over Eddie’s forehead, her face the picture of mock concern. “ Fuck you, man. I’m trying to be vulnerable here,” Eddie said. 

“By telling me about your imaginary boyfriend. A boyfriend with wings. Okay, sure.” She was still skeptical, which was fair in all honesty. Now Eddie’s been rotting on her couch for hours, visibly flip-flopping back and forth on whether or not he should take the risk and send Steve a message.

“Chris,” Eddie groans. He draws out the ‘s’, hoping to annoy her enough that she has to pay attention to him. He kicks his legs up on her couch. Chrissy kind of hated it when he spread out all over it, but Eddie thinks it’s completely fair with the amount of back-breaking labor he did getting the damned thing up the stairs and through Chrissy’s front door. 

“Babe, just text him,” Chrissy says. “Would you like to go out with me? It’s scary, but it’s not that hard.” 

“It’s not that simple!” Eddie objects.  

“It really, really is,” Chrissy rolls her eyes, setting down Eddie’s manuscript where she’s currently going over it in red pen. Eddie revels in the dull thump it makes when it hits the coffee table. ‘The Warded Wind’ had taken him a full year to finish, and as the third book in his trilogy it needed to be perfect. 

Eddie’s favorite thing about Chrissy is that she insists on doing proofreads without a computer to fully focus and cut out any distractions. 

“He literally disappeared off of the face of the Earth.”

“Wow, it’s so hard to hide from an eleven year old,” Chrissy deadpans. 

“Okay but if he managed to do that at 11, imagine what he could do now?” Eddie says. 

Chrissy pulls her hair back into a tight braid at the base of her skill, the strawberry blonde strands twisting against her fingers as she sighs. “Eds, can I be real with you for a second?” 

“Please.” 

“You’re gonna to text him. He’s your first kiss, your childhood friend and you said he was a total babe.” 

“All of this is true,” Eddie says. “But I just… I don’t know, there’s part of me that’s like, he knew me as a kid. What if he doesn't even like me now? 

“Eddie, you’re forgetting one very important detail,” Chrissy says. She ties her braid with a scrunchie and scoots over to the couch. Eddie flops his head to the side to look her in the eye. 

“What’s that?” 

“If you don’t text Steve, you’ll never get to kiss him again.” She sounds smug… she really does know him way too well. 

‘Hey it’s Eddie. Wanna get coffee?’  He hits send. 

The response comes almost immediately: ‘what time? u already know the place (; ‘  

Eddie pulls one of Chrissy’s throw pillows over his face and screams.  

They schedule their date for a week out, so Eddie has time to do some research. He’s literally shifted his whole perspective of his life in a matter of hours; he’d thought Stevie had been a fake boy made up by a lonely little Eddie and now he thinks that Stevie might have been real, but the wings and the frankly weird attunement to the woods behind the trailer park was just his overactive imagination filling in the details. So, research. 

Chrissy’s extremely helpful in Eddie’s light internet stalking, showing him how to go to First Sip’s Instagram and look through the tagged photos since he still doesn't have Steve’s last name. He finds out that Steve isn’t just a barista, he’s the owner. There’s a lot of pictures of him with Lesbian Barista, whose name is apparently Robin. Constantly tagged is a bunch of fifteen year olds, and in every picture with them Steve gives off caring big brother energy. Eddie can’t help but find it hot. 

But… 

Part of him, probably the part that liked to write fantasy and held a little bit of hope that there was magic out there somewhere-- that part needed to be prepared. What if Steve was a fairy? Did Eddie accidentally sell his soul to him? How does he make sure this date with Steve goes well? Can he even eat the food in the café or will that make him stuck in First Sip forever? 

So, Eddie does what any young person with access to the Internet does. He turns to Reddit. 

-- What do fairies like? Shiny things. Old Buttons. Charms. Paperclips.Flowers. Berries. Honey.  Luckily, Eddie was something of a hoarder; he loved trinkets and didn’t mind pushing them off on his friends. As for the food stuff, they literally were meeting in a café, so there was no need for Eddie to go buy all new stuff. Actually, he might grab some honey candies at the Quiktrip on the corner before going to First Sip.. 

-- What do fairies hate? Iron. Eddie’s rings are all so cheap, but there is one… It’s a dragon that wraps around his thumb that he found out at an estate sale when he first moved to Indianapolis, with little divots in its eye-holes where he assumes stones used to sit.He makes a mental note to put it in his pocket before the date. Actually, maybe he should scrub his hands while he’s at it.

-- Is it fairy or fae?  All of the answers were supremely unhelpful, but Eddie decided it didn’t really matter. It’s not like he was going to ask Steve about it, and he decides to just go with the flow and let Stevie bring it up if it ever came down to that. Eddie wasn’t going to reveal that he had a weird delusion as a kid and that’s why he stopped looking for Steve over the years. 

So like, Eddie knows he’s a creep. If Tommy Hagan or Jason Carver could see him now, they’d probably point and laugh, telling everyone how they’d ‘always known’ that Eddie would wind up in jail for something. But technically, Eddie’s supposed to be here-- one, First Sip is a public space and two, he’s not being weird. He’s just… really, really early. 

It’s been a harsh Indianapolis winter, snow and the after snow-sludge making the trek to First Sip go from ten minutes to thirty, so like any sane, reasonable person he left an hour and a half before the actual date with Steve was due to start. He’d stood outside of the double glass doors, deciding on whether or not to actually bite the bullet and go inside, eventually giving up when Steve spots him with a slightly confused wave. 

“Eddie! You’re--”  Steve checks his watch. Eddie knows what it says, but it’s too late to backtrack now. “You’re really early.” 

“I know, I was just… really excited to see you,” Eddie says. Honesty is the best policy, right?  

Steve beams. 

Eddie knows he probably looks insane, with his beanie shoved over tangled curls and his nose red from the negative temperatures outside. Hawkins wasn’t that far from Indy, and it was cold, sure, but something about the city magnifies it; like all the tall buildings trap the miserable weather and keep it all concentrated over a ten-block radius. Anyway-- all of that, the cold, the biting wind, the way he can’t feel his toes-- all of that’s worth it for the giggle Stevie aims his way. 

Eddie wonders how he didn’t notice it earlier; Steve’s laugh is just like Stevie’s, ethereal, almost like tiny bells falling against each other. He wonders if that can be counted as proof that Steve is more than human; there’s no way a normal human throat can make that sound. He wishes he still played with the Corroded Coffin guys; he wants to make an album off of that sound alone. No lyrics, just an acoustic guitar and Stevie’s bell laugh and-- 

Damn , he’s being weird again. He clears his throat, ignoring the way a group of kids at a table near the counter are staring him down. They look oddly familiar-- Eddie tries not to let it show on his face when he recognizes them from First Sip’s tagged photos. 

“We’re short staffed today, otherwise I’d say we could just have our date right now,” Steve says. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He unwinds his scarf from around his neck. “I’ll just…” He gestures vaguely at the seating area. First Sip is actually fairly busy and Eddie doesn’t see any empty chairs. Even the bench by the window is full of people clacking away on their laptops. “Actually, I’ll probably come back later?” 

There’s a tap on Eddie’s elbow, and he looks down to see a curly-headed kid in a baseball cap smiling up at him. He’s one of Steve’s, Eddie’s pretty sure, but then again he sometimes finds it hard to tell kids apart. “You can sit with us, Eddie.” The kid says. He points over at his friends who don’t even pretend that they’re not watching the interaction. They all give Eddie cheeky waves when he spares them a glance.

“Dustin, no,” Steve warns. Eddie looks around again-- all of the chairs and couches are still completely full and people don’t look like they’re moving.  This isn’t the kind of thing that Eddie had in mind when he’d left his apartment, but if the kids were important to Steve he figures he can tough it out. “It’s alright Steve, I can sit with… Dustin, right?” The kid nods, holding out a hand to shake.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of the Party, come on,” He says, pulling Eddie by his coat’s elbow. Eddie looks back at Steve and gives him a small smile-- I’ll be okay. Steve’s return look could only be interpreted as-- Be safe. Don't show weakness.  

Weird. 

Eddie sits down on the couch, sinking into the cushions with a groan as Dustin goes around the circle, quickly introducing everyone. Eddie feels pinned to his cushion; something about these kids stares makes his heartbeat kick it up a notch, and not in a good way. 

“Party, like D&D?” Eddie asks. 

“You know D&D? Point in your favor,” Dustin says. Eddie gets the very real sense that Dustin has a mental point tally running in his head. “Nerd shit is negative seven, Dusty-Buns,” The redheaded girl says. Dustin rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Dustin says. “What are your intentions with my older brother?” Eddie didn’t know it was possible for a fifteen-year old to give a shovel talk and actually look like they were going to go through with it, but the murder in the eyes of every child surrounding him gave him actual pause. He clears his throat. 

“Hi, my name is Eddie. I’m in my 20s, I write books for a living, and I play guitar in my spare time.” Eddie says. "Those are answers to questions you're supposed to ask, when you meet someone for the first time."  

“Okay, so? We didn't ask.” The kid named Mike says. His features are weirdly sharp and shark-like, getting worse as he twists his face into a scowl. 

“I really, really like your older brother, so my intention is probably just to date him.” Eddie says. 

“Hmm…” Dustin says. He tugs in two other kids-- one with a bowl  cut, Will, and a little Black girl that looked a little younger than the others, Erica. They put their heads together, whispering and occasionally glancing back at Eddie. The other kids don’t say anything, just keep Eddie pinned with their unwavering stares. 

Unbidden, Eddie is thrown back back to his time in Hawkins, when he was a freshman in high school. He’d read somewhere, maybe on tumblr or something, that high school was the time you were supposed to reinvent yourself. And after not fitting in in middle school, he’d had a moment of weakness and just wanted to try.  

He’d walked to the only Goodwill in town, running his fingers along the racks idly until he’d seen it . The most butt-ugly, high-collared polo ever created. He didn’t even think it over, not really, he just shoved it inside his jacket and walked casually to the fitting room. He’d always known how to be a freak; how to be big and paint a target on his back. At that point he’d worn it like armor, impenetrable and permanent, his valiant attempt at hiding his soft and gooey center. He’d just wanted to see what it would be like to be the type of person everyone loved. To have everything come easy . 

“One more time... what are your intentions with our babysitter?” Lucas says. 

Eddie is almost  tempted to dilute himself to make sure these kids like him, pull on a mask and just have their approval. But something told him not to underestimate them; he doubts it will be that easy. For some reason Eddie feels like  one wrong word could get him kicked out onto the street to fend for himself. 

“I’m gonna have his babies,” Eddie says firmly. There’s a chorus of ' ew gross!', but the ice is broken. Somehow, things go alright after that. 

When Steve finally slides onto the couch next to Eddie, First Sip is pretty much empty and all of the kids have gone home. Dustin had left with a warning to ‘not mess this up’, which Eddie figures is pretty much a seal of approval. He hopes he wasn’t that intense as a kid. Maybe he should send Wayne an apology letter. 

“So,” Steve says. He’s shy about it, thick lashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

“So,” Eddie says back. He gives into his impulse and covers Steve’s hand with his where it sits on the middle cushion of the couch, lacing their fingers together. “Are you really my Stevie?” Steve positively shines, his smile making his nose crinkle adorably. 

“You remember me!” Steve says. 

“I mean I didn’t at first, but to be honest no one besides you and Wayne ever called me Teddy,” Eddie says.

“You can blame Robin for that. I was sad at first, thinking that I didn't keep your promise, until she told me I was being dumb and that I needed to jog your memory.” 

“Well, it worked sweetheart,” Eddie says. Steve blushes all the way up to his hair at the pet name, and Eddie makes a vow right there to keep that look on Steve’s face forever. 

The two of them sit on the couch long after First Sip  is closed, talking about everything and nothing. It’s perfect.  

Weeks later sees Steve squirming in Eddie’s lap, panting as Eddie is hard at work marking up his neck.  Steve suddenly sits upright, pushing his hands against Eddie’s chest. “There’s something you should know,” Steve says. Eddie tightens his grip on Steve’s hips, mind fuzzily trying to work through what Steve’s saying. His inner monologue is just a loop of Stevestevesteve, so he’s a little slow on the uptake. 

“What?” Eddie asks. 

“I’m a fairy.” Steve says. 

Eddie pauses for a second, tucking hair behind Steve’s ear. “I mean… I hope so? We’re literally making out?” Eddie was all for reclaiming slurs, but there was usually a time and a place. Stevie huffs a laugh, leaning in to nuzzle Eddie’s nose with his. 

“No, watch,” and he closes his eyes for a moment, sitting back on Eddie’s thighs. 

Eddie can’t help but look at Steve’s face, trying his best to memorize every part of him. He’s so transfixed that until they start glowing he doesn’t even notice the giant fucking wings that have appeared on Steve’s back until they flutter in his periphery. 

“What,” Eddie says. There’s a little jolt in his chest, like a muted surprise. But he’d always known, hadn’t he? Steve was different, but he’d always been this beautiful, wild thing. On some level Eddie had always known it. 

His eyes trace over Stevie’s wings-- they’re just like he remembers, gossamer and violet-purple, outlined prettily by the sunset. He reaches out a hand to touch, then hesitates. 

“Go ahead, Teddy,” Stevie smiles. The wings warm underneath his hands. “Beautiful,” Eddie breathes. “I love you so fucking much, baby.” There’s a beat-- Eddie knows it’s a risk, he knows it’s too early, but it’s the truth. He doesn't want to take it back. 

“Promise?” Steve says. His eyes twinkle with mischief,  like he doesn’t know that Eddie could spend all day looking at him and not get tired.  Like Eddie’s eyes focus on anything else when Steve’s in the room. Like Eddie hasn’t been absolutely gone on him since he was eleven and lonely, and Stevie was the only thing keeping him  together. “I promise,” Eddie says. 

He pulls his very real, very not imaginary boyfriend in, and seals the promise with a kiss. 

THE END.

Notes:

Later, Steve will introduce himself as Prince Steven of the Spring Court. He’ll say that he was curious why Eddie was playing by himself when his games looked so fun. Eddie will also meet the Party as their pixie selves! Thanks for reading (:

Dividers by @strangergraphics-archive

[babyarmybabbles]

"Okay." A1 D2

A Min Yoongi breakup drabble

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Yoongi Breaks up with you in a café. You... Deal. You guess.

Word Count: 1,129

Notes: This occurred in about 45 minutes at 4am last night. I dunno, man. It's more a reflection of how i was feeling than a real story, but I left room for if i wanna come back to it. For now it's... here. Have at.

Warnings: Break up. Low-key dissociating.

Masterlist Link <3 | Next Part (?)

You stare blankly at your boyfriend, useless paper straw dangling loosely from your lips. You’d been chewing idly at it when this conversation started, but even that motion froze as you processed what you’d just heard.

Sunlight beats in from the large windows on the other side of the hipster café you don't even like. You never had, but it had ended up becoming your regular spot to meet your boyfriend, given that it was the only place in a five mile radius that didn’t attract fucktons of paparazzi with a single stolen peek of Min Fucking Yoongi.

The sun hits your eyes directly from where you sit in the back corner of the café. It heats up the small building horrendously. You hate this place a little more with every second that passes. The half-drunk blended drink sat in front of you struggles for it's life. For it's ice. Whatever.

You blink rapidly, something vile crawling up your throat. You think your heart is going to burst. You think you might vomit.

"Come again?" You plead, desperately hoping you'd heard him wrong.

Min Yoongi has the nerve to look apologetic. He dares to sit there, dressed head to toe in black in the middle of a sweltering heat wave, and look sorry for you.

Even with his face obscured by his mask and bucket hat (he'd have usually pushed it down to smile at you by now. (Holy shit he hadn't even smiled at you)) you can read fucking pity clear as day in his eyes.

"I think we should break up." He repeats, tone calm and even. Bastard. "I just..." he trails off, searching for an explanation that isn't there.

"You just...?" You parrot back. You can almost see yourself reflected in his eyes. Pale, horrified, shocked. Pathetic in your sweaty t-shirt and cut-off sweatpants. (You thought he preferred when you met him this way? It was less like a...date. it was less like a date. With your boyfriend) Desperate for an answer.

"We're just going different directions in life, is all." At this you can't help but bark a sardonic laugh. Quiet, even as indignation pricks at your face. Considerate of his status as you ever were.

"No shit, Min Yoongi." You snarl at him. He has the absolute audacity to take your anger with serenity. Like he expected it. (Like he deserves it.)

"The only other people going the same direction as you are other world-class idols! Which I have never been." You feel like you're hissing and spitting like an alley cat. You're not even really angry. (You can hear something breaking)

"No, not like..." he heaves a sigh. It sounds like it comes from the heart. It sounds tired.

"We barely see each other these days. I know that's my fault, but- I don't know. What's the point of us being together if we're not together? I'm just not in a place in my life for a relationship right now."

You suddenly feel cold. As if a blizzard has just blown through Seoul during the hottest summer of the decade. You can feel the light in your eyes die out. You think maybe the shock has numbed you. You think you're drowning.

(Have all of your efforts meant nothing to him?)

(… What was it all for, then?)

You take in a shaky breath. You thank every power that might be that your eyes are completely dry. You still kind of need to throw up.

You nod decisively.

"Okay" you say. "Okay." You begin to stand, gathering your things. (You don't think about the little sketch book you'd brought with you, excited to indulge in your shared hobby for the first time in a while. You don't think about the CD in your bag, your pathetic attempts at getting to know his profession better. You don't think about the mask in your pocket, on the off chance he'd say yes to a walk. You don't. Think.)

"Okay?" He questions, alarmed, emotional, for the first time today.

"Okay." You nod again, standing to full height. Back straight. Chin high. You walk around the table, forcing him to turn his whole body to keep his eyes on you.

"That's it? Just okay?" He questions again. He sounds a tad angry. He sounds a bit hurt. Good.

"Yeah." You respond. "Just okay." You nod one more time. You might be becoming a bobblehead.

"You've said what you needed to. We're over. Nothing I can do to change that.” You shrug to yourself, head tilting down to meet his eyes. A very thin thread within you threatens to snap. You look away.

“I'm not going to beg, Min Yoongi." No, you were never going to beg for a man. It hadn't bagged you this one. And it wouldn't let you keep this one either.

He almost flinches as you say his full name again. Like you're strangers. "I wasn't asking you to." He mutters, almost petulantly.

You nod one more time. His eyes are glued to you. You haven't moved since you got up. You take another deep breath.

You bow to him. A neat 90 degrees. Customer service style.

"Thank you for our time together." You intone blankly. You really are grateful. It's been wonderful. (He means SO MUCH to you) "You've been great." (He was so SO good, so why?!)

Your chin wobbles as you face the ground. You see his hand raising to touch your shoulder. Your rise from the bow, dodging his hand, dry-eyed and blank-faced.

"Please delete my number."

You turn on your heal and march out before he can find the words to respond to you. Head held high. Dignified as can be. In a sweaty t-shirt and cut-off sweatpants.

Your drink gives up its fight, completely melted.

A napkin sits on the table. You hadn’t had a chance to show him the sketch you’d made while you’d waited for him.

You leave behind Min Yoongi, hand outstretched, something like regret painted across his face.

(You leave behind your heart too.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first month afterwards you feel nothing. You're numb to the heartbreak. Post-breakup insecurities delay their manifestations. Your questions sit halted and unformed in your head.

You go to work. You indulge in your hobbies. You eat tasteless food. You get useless sleep. You try not to think. You end up thinking too much anyways.

You think maybe you should have interrogated him more. Argued. Accused. Clung tightly and never agreed to let go. Left claw marks in him.

But that was never your way.

You bottle up the hurt and the anger and the confusion. You bottle up the tears and the depression and the anxiety.

In the first month, you feel nothing.

In the second month, you leave Seoul.

[scienceoftheidiot]

There's a big trend in my Instagram recommendations, about Americans being insane about Europeans (as a whole) having their cafés open only at 9 am.

This is a cultural difference but not the one you think it is.

In France at least, you will always find a place that can serve you coffee that opens between 6 and 7 am, and I'm pretty sure it must be the same in at least some other European countries.

It's just not Starbucks, because workers don't fucking go to Starbucks or the likes. So you're looking for a café to get your morning coffee because your morning coffee is what here we consider candy/food.

You want coffee? You get some ACTUAL coffee from a fucking BAR like all the people who don't drink it from their own kitchen do here before going to work. You sit there and drink your coffee and read the newspaper 🤷‍♀️ some of them even open before 6am in rural places.

You can also get coffee in some bakeries where you also will be able to get some breakfast. Those can also serve tea. They open sometimes at 5.

The cultural difference isn't that our coffee shops open at 9, it's that you expect the workers to get their morning coffee from them. Trendy coffee shops are for young hipsters and people who have money. These people don't wake up before 7 or 8. They don't work before 8 or 9. There's a world of difference between Starbucks 7€ grandelattewhatever and the 1,50€ coffee and croissant combo.

Here you go that's your cultural difference here, not that we are lazy arseholes (we're not, you're exhausting yourself for the grind and this is contaminating the whole world like the rest of your shitty ideas thanks to USA's soft power. Ten-fifteen years ago Starbucks didn't exist outside of Paris and Lyon here.)

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

I can't remember if this has been asked already, but what kind of dates would the ROs prefer (location and or activity?)? And if it has...well then, what kind of date (as in aesthetics or personality) would be to their taste?

I could have sworn I'd answered this, but I cannot find such an answer, so I'll answer again and hope I don't contradict myself by mistake!

Wil - Live music at a small venue. Wil is a hipster.

Mal - Likes lively environments where they can be around people. So they'd enjoy going clubbing. But on the other hand they'd be pretty cool with just being at a bustling coffee shop/café.

Teddie - Just spending time together away from other people. Going to a park would be acceptable provided there weren't many people around/he could go somewhere secluded.

Kay - Going out together! She'd love just walking around without any particular goal other than being active and being with her date.

Alistair - Wants to do whatever his date wants to do :)

Uh but genuinely he'd probably lean towards something cosier, maybe inviting around to his place for dinner and he'll make a meal cause he's ~romantic~

Beth - Sit in my workshop while I weld things. But uhhh I'm not sure she actually... has a preferred date.

CG - Does sparring count as a date

(shut up yes it does)

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

hii i luv ur stories sm

can i request a jess mariano imagine with dialogue no.24

‘’Why do you like fall so much? Everything is dying.’’ 

This is such a Jess thing to say!

-

The autumn leaves were crunching under your feet as you walked through the streets of Stars Hollow, smiling at the sight of pumpkins placed all over town and on porches.

Although you had moved out of your hometown two years ago, you insisted on making a weekend trip to Stars Hollow for fall. The silly town-wide festivities, Luke's coffee and donuts, the gazebo decorated with lights and pumpkins; there was none of this in Philadelphia.

Jess walked out of his uncle's diner with two steaming coffees and handed you one. With your hot beverage, plaid skirt and maroon sweater, you were looking like a walking fall painting.

‘’Why do you like fall so much? Everything is dying.’’

By now, you were used to his glum nature and no longer tried to tell him off for being so negative about everything. It was part of him. Just Jess being Jess.

‘’You are right.’’ You took a first sip of coffee, having missed the familiar taste. Those fancy cafés were for hipsters and fancy bitches, you preferred good old and simple coffee from Luke’s. ‘’But fall is also when I met you. It’s when we had our first kiss – right under the gazebo.’’

Jess glanced at the gazebo across the street. ‘’Luke teased me for weeks when I came back. I think everyone who was at the diner that evening witnessed it.’’ He grimaced, the memory of your first kiss being a source of spectacle for the townspeople taking away from its romanticism.

‘’You were so sweet, running after me to give me my copy of Jane Eyre.’’

Beside you, Jess’ cheeks were a little flush, a little embarrassed. He always had difficulty making moves on girls – a little like his uncle. When he noticed the book you had forgot on the counter after finishing your after-school fries snack, Jess saw it as the perfect occasion to get to talk to you without everyone at the diner eavesdropping.

‘’And you kissed me as a ‘thank you’. I definitely was not expecting that.’’

A grin bloomed on your lips. ‘’I was taught to take what you want instead of waiting for it to be given to you.’’

‘’I’m glad you did.’’ Jess wrapped an arm around your shoulders like he did when you were teenagers and kissed your cheek. He was only this sweet and affectionate when you were alone or with a very small group of people he was fully comfortable with – like his roommates, Luke, or your shared good friend Rory.

‘’Fall is also when you told me ‘I love you’ for the first time.’’

He had blurted it out during an argument, making you stop mid-sentence and do a double take. It wasn’t the right way to stop or solve an argument, it got forgotten and your emotional eyes because it was something you never thought you would hear from Jess.

‘’Is that why you love it so much? Because of…us.’’

You nodded. ‘’In parts, yes. Fall holds a lot of great memories. Hopefully, you’ll follow tradition and make our engagement a fall event.’’

Your nonchalant words had Jess choking on his coffee. ‘’Engagement? Is this you taking what you want, again? Because I don’t have a ring for you-’’

‘’I was kidding,’’ you reassured with a soft giggle.

Although he didn’t say it, a part of Jess wished you hadn’t been kidding. He was ready for that, he just needed a little push to pull out the velvet case hidden in his travel bag at the Inn.

-

Taglist: @taylordaughter  @gillybear17 @liltimmyst @eos-princess  @kaitieskidmore1ore1 @instabull

Jess Mariano taglist: @gbcslut 

[hyde-ur-monsters]

On account of me procrastinating and the idea of a Monster High and Danny Phantom crossover (with a focus on Sam and Clair) breathing down my neck, I had a tiny fic idea that i will now write instead of the assignment my grade depends on

Jackson and Claire were having a perfectly calm outing. It had been a while since they hung out, and they had a lot to catch up on. They decided to go to a nearby cafe; it had a nature theme going and Jackson was curious about it.

“You’re such a hipster,” Clair had teased him, poking him in the side.

The line was long, so they got ready for a long wait and talked in the meantime. Jackson was ranting about his biggest ongoing project (body duplication). About how he had the theory down, but so far all it would do is instantaneously produce an exact clone of the subject. He couldn’t figure out how to produce a double based on the subject’s thoughts and it was frustrating him to no end.

Jackson tended to lose track of his surroundings when he was talking about his Interests, and Clair was facing away from the line, so it was kinda his fault when they didn’t move along with the line and left a sizable gap in between them and the person in front of them.

Naturally, some guy who had just walked into the café saw the gap and thought, hey free real estate.

Clair caught the face Jackson made mid-rant, his i’m-annoyed-but-also-non-confrontational face, and turned around just in time to see the guy cut in line in front of them. Clair raised an eyebrow at the sheer audacity.

“Is he fucking serious?” She said this loud enough for the Opportunist Ass to hear.

Jackson grimaced when the guy squared his shoulders but made no inclination to move. Oh this was going to turn into a Thing, and he did not want it to turn into a Thing.

“It’s fine,” he whispered to Clair. “I got carried away and didn’t realize the line had moved.”

Clair turned to him with a glare.

“We’ve been waiting ten minutes in line, Jackson. He can take his turn like the rest of us instead cutting in line like a parasite,” she said annoyedly, before turning to the guy. “Dude, in case it somehow escaped your beady eyes, the line starts at the door.”

Instead of ignoring her this time, the guy glanced at them over his shoulder with an unimpressed look.

“Go somewhere else if it bothers you, freak. Not my fault you were wasting time talking about weird shit.”

Taken aback by his response, Clair scoffed in disbelief. She couldn’t think fast enough for something to say, so the guy turned back around and went back to ignoring them.

“Real original,” Jackson muttered under his breath with a roll of his eyes.

“I hate—”

“Clair, just leave it. We’ll get our coffee either way.”

Clair frowned, brow furrowing like she wanted to say more, but she kept quiet. She didn’t like arguing with strangers. It was more stress than it was worth. Besides, she knew Jackson hated making a scene. She could let it go.

“Hey, asshole!”

The two friends jumped at the shout, eyes wide. They slowly turned to look at a girl their age decked out in goth attire (a dark purple tank top paired with a loose, ghost-patterned cardigan, a long black skirt, and a pair of tall platform boots peeking out from under the hem). She wore heavy eyeliner that did nothing to make her look less terrifying as she glared directly at the line-cutter.

The guy glanced minutely behind him, intent on ignoring her, too.

“Yeah, you, dickhead. They told you where the line was, but I don’t see you moving.”

Everyone else in the line was turning to look at the scene, the goth girl’s shout having caught their attention. There were murmurs around and Jackson suddenly felt too many eyes on them.

The girl hadn’t moved an inch from her spot, but that didn’t take away from the feeling that she would drag him out of the spot if she could.

Oh please don’t let this turn into an altercation, Jackson pleaded silently. He wanted to melt into the ground as it was.

Clair on the other hand smirked at the goth girl. She felt braver now with someone else taking the stand, and she put a hand on her hip giving the guy a raised eyebrow.

“You heard her,” she said, too satisfied with herself.

The guy glared at them both.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he stated with a sudden air of confidence that made Clair scoff and the goth girl stomp her boot.

“I saw you cut in line, dumbass,” goth girl accused, pointing at him.

“Yeah, nice try, but we’re not blind. The line starts at the door,” Clair repeated, jabbing her thumb behind her.

“I don’t take orders from weirdos.”

“First time for everything. Get moving or get lost.”

Goth girl stared him down, but it wasn’t until other customers in the line started speaking up and telling him to “stop holding up the line” and that “people who cut in line have a special place in hell” that he finally moved, muttering angrily.

Someone from a table actually cheered.

Jackson wished he was Invisibilly so people wouldn’t keep staring at him. Clair looked deeply satisfied with the outcome.

“We’re paying for that girl’s coffee. Sorry for the mess, Jackson, but that was true goth girl solidarity. I either owe her coffee or my soul.”

He snorted despite himself.

“Preferably just coffee.”

They did pay for her tea, not coffee, and even invited her to sit with them when they realized there weren’t any other tables available.

The girl, Sam, was only there because it was the only cafe in town that had vegan options. This side of town, at least, but Jackson couldn’t tell her about the plethora of vegan food places in the monster side of town.

The three of them got to talking about what the town had to offer, because apparently Sam was here visiting a friend and didn’t know anything about the place. Then she started asking about the history of the town, saying she’d heard there were witch hunts back in the 1600s. Jackson and Clair had shared a look at this, but waved it off as rumors that came from tourists who confused Salem, Oregon with Salem, Massachusetts.

“Bummer, I really wanted to find some witch ghosts. Actually, do you guys have any spooky or haunted spots—”

Sam’s phone ringtone blared out— the Ghostbusters theme song —and she rolled her eyes at the caller ID.

“About time. Hey, Danny. Tucker with you? Cool, I’m at a cafe on the other side of town, I’ll head your way.”

She stood up, phone in one hand and tea in the other, and gave her temporary cafe buddies a friendly smile.

“Thanks for the tea, and for the satisfaction of telling an asshole off. See you guys around.”

They waved her off as she went back to the conversation on her phone. Clair thought she heard the word ‘ghosts’, but put the concern away. Lots of regular people were into the paranormal. There were even Ghost hunters all over Youtube. It was fun and dark and spooky. Clair used to watch them as a kid.

She never would’ve guessed she’d actually get to meet one, let alone be interviewed by said ghost. There was a lot in her life nowadays that she never thought she’d even get a chance to see, actually.

They sat in silence for a bit, before Jackson spoke up.

“Did- did she say she’d meet her friends on the other side of town?”

“Yup.”

They looked at each other. Jackson pressed his lips into a thin line.

“We should probably—”

Clair sighed.

“Yeah okay, fine. Let’s go.”

[cosmic-ships]

.: Charmed & Guarded :.

A Jamie and Kaden fic (listen he's like a crush or whatever-)

Words: 1,538 (I don't know how this happened. Help? lol)

Summary: A café meeting and a need to act "tough"

CW: Sickening banter.

Per Josh's suggestion, Kaden agreed to meet Jamie at a cosy little café tucked away in the city. Kaden arrived first, their nerves a jumbled mess. They fidgeted with their snake bite piercings, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. When Jamie walked in, Kaden couldn't help but notice his hipster vibe, complete with a fedora and tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves.

Kaden had heard quite a bit about this Jamie guy, he seemed pretty nice and outgoing but some people have mentioned that Jamie sometimes has a tendency to be manipulative and make friends with others solely to benefit himself. He apparently has a very intimidating energy when he's very quiet, people usually see a spark of something maybe a little darker in his eyes, Kaden would keep their guard up as best as they could at least for the time being.

Jamie spotted Kaden and approached with a confident stride, his GoPro in hand. "Hey, you must be Kaden," he said, a friendly smile playing on his lips as he extended a hand.

Kaden shook his hand, trying to keep their cool despite the butterflies in their stomach, okay nobody mentioned that he was insanely attractive… "Yeah, that's me. And you're Jamie, the filmmaker wannabe right?" They gestured towards the camera.

Jamie chuckled softly, his laugh was distinctive and somewhat deep, matching his baritone speaking voice. It started with a breathy chuckle, The sound was warm and rich, carrying a sense of genuine amusement… "Guilty as charged. I like to capture moments, you know? Might use them for my future masterpiece." His eyes twinkled with enthusiasm, and he didn't miss the slight blush that crept onto Kaden's cheeks.

"So, you just record people without asking?" Kaden challenged, crossing their arms in a defensive posture, but their eyes betrayed a flicker of intrigue.

Jamie's smirk widened, finding Kaden's feisty demeanour endearing. "I always ask permission. Consider this my way of getting to know someone. It's like showing you my sketchbook." He held up the GoPro. "Besides, it's not every day I meet someone as interesting as yourself." Jamie clearly eyed Kaden up and down.

Kaden scoffed, but their lips curved into a small, involuntary smile. "Interesting, huh? Flattery won't get you anywhere with me, you know." They started heading towards the counter to order their drinks.

Jamie laughed heartily, the sound filling the café, His laugh felt unrestrained and natural, giving off a sense of authenticity and sincerity, it was endearing and infectious and it was taking everything for Kaden to not smile themselves… "Duly noted. So, tell me about yourself, Kaden. What gets your motor running?"

Kaden raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in their eyes. "Well, I'm not sure this is the place to discuss my… preferences, especially with a stranger." They took a sip of their coffee, deliberately avoiding Jamie's gaze.

Kaden was a little worried, they weren't very good at the whole casual conversation bit, they hated when a conversation led to nowhere and died before it even really began, it was always like that, especially whenever Josh introduced them to someone new, it never worked out. Kaden always wondered why Josh did that, maybe he felt sorry for them, they really didn't have many friends or maybe he thought Kaden needed a date or something. Either way, Kaden was surprised when the conversation flowed effortlessly, with Jamie's easygoing nature balancing their own guarded yet sometimes flirtatious or sarcastic responses, they easily matched each other's energy and could keep up with one another.

As they parted ways, Jamie smiled at Kaden. "This was fun. Let's do it again sometime, minus the camera if it makes you uncomfortable."

"I've yet to make a decision on that.." Kaden playfully rolled their eyes despite the smirk tugged to their lips.

"Which? The camera or seeing me again?" Jamie asked, his brow raising quizzically.

Kaden couldn't help but grin, "See you around Jamie."

Back at his apartment, Jamie sat surrounded by screens, reviewing the day's footage. He paused as Kaden's image filled the frame, their purple hair contrasting against the café's muted décor. A soft grin spread across Jamie's face as he replayed scenes of Kaden's reactions, their sassy retorts, and the subtle signs of interest they tried so hard to hide.

"You're cute when you're trying to act tough," Jamie murmured to himself, watching as Kaden fidgeted with their piercings. The way Kaden's eyes lit up when talking about their passions made Jamie's heart skip a beat. "And that blush…" Jamie paused the video, zooming in on Kaden's face. "It's like you're wearing your emotions on your sleeve, even when you're trying so hard not to."

He stopped on a frame where Kaden was laughing freely, their guard down for just a moment. "There you are," Jamie whispered out softly. "That's the real you, isn't it? The you that doesn't hide behind walls and barbs."

He let the footage roll, each interaction revealing more about Kaden—their passion for life, their intelligence, and yes, even their vulnerability. Jamie felt a pull towards Kaden that he hadn't experienced in a long time. It wasn't just physical attraction; it was an appreciation for the person they were.

"I think I might have just found my muse," Jamie mused aloud, his fingers dancing over the keyboard as he saved the clips featuring Kaden. He couldn't wait to see where this might lead, both on and off the camera.

Jamie turned off the screens and sat in the darkness of his apartment, the afterglow of their meeting still lingering. He knew then that he wanted to get to know Kaden better, to understand the stories behind those guarded eyes, and maybe, just maybe, capture their essence on film in a way that only true connection could allow.

With a newfound sense of purpose, Jamie picked up his phone and typed a message to Kaden, keeping it simple and to the point:

<- Had a great time today. Would love to hang out again, camera-free if you prefer. –Jamie

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, hoping that Kaden felt the same spark of potential that he did. Now, all he could do was wait for a response, the anticipation making his heart race with the possibilities that lay ahead.

Jamie's phone dinged and for a second, all he could do was stare at it. After what felt like minutes but were mere seconds, Jamie grabbed his phone and opened it.

-> Firstly, I'm going to ring Josh's neck for giving you my number. Secondly, next time we hang out I'm going to bring my own camera. see how you like it! >: D"

Jamie read Kaden's message with a growing smile. He could practically hear their playful tone and saw the smirk on their face as they typed. Picking up his phone, he quickly tapped out a reply, his thumbs flying over the screen with practised ease.

<- lol, I'll be sure to warn Josh about the impending neck-ringing. 😄 And I'm all for a role reversal! Just remember, turnabout is fair play. But hey, I'm glad you want to hang out again. How about we meet up at that bookstore downtown? It's got a great vibe, and I promise, no cameras unless you change your mind and want to document our adventure. Looking forward to it!

Jamie hit send, his anticipation building. He enjoyed the banter with Kaden and was genuinely excited about the prospect of spending more time together, exploring shared interests and discovering new ones. The bookstore seemed like the perfect setting for their next encounter—neutral ground where they could both feel comfortable and at ease. Now, he could only hope that Kaden would agree.

Jamie's phone buzzed a short while later, and he eagerly checked the notification. Kaden's response was waiting for him, and he opened it with bated breath.

-> A bookstore, huh? Sounds like a trap to learn more about me. But I like books, so I'll take my chances. No cameras got it. But if I catch you sneaking in a GoPro, I swear I'll… actually, I'll probably just tease you mercilessly about it~ Set a date and time, and I'll be there.

Jamie chuckled at Kaden's message, relieved and thrilled by their acceptance. He appreciated Kaden's sharp wit and the way they kept him on his toes. Typing out his reply, he made sure to maintain the playful energy between them.

<- No traps, I promise, just a mutual love for books. Maybe I should sneak my camera in— your teasing is becoming one of my favourite things about you. How about Friday at 7 PM? Does that work for you? Also, just so we're clear, the only thing I'll be sneaking in is my undivided attention. See you then, Kaden. -Jamie

-> What did I tell you? Flattery will get you nowhere with me ;3

<- How about food? would that get me somewhere? ;)

-> See ya on Friday at 7.

Jamie read Kaden's latest messages, a wide grin spreading across his face. Kaden's attempt at playing hard to get was adorable, and he loved how Kaden's texts ended with a definitive agreement to meet up. It was clear that beneath the surface, Kaden was warming up to him, and that thought sent a ripple of excitement through Jamie.

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

Tagging people. Sorry!!!: @deathnot-e || @Kylilah || @heatobrienswife

@faerie-circle-ships || @dragonsmooch || @mauls-waifu || @mahitosoulmate

[ravenadottir]

i started playing season 6, and i've got shit to say for the half of dozen people that are still following me in this cobweb infested blog (i apologize, i'll be explaining what's happening on a different post)

i'm only on day 2 of the season, right when it's announced that roberto is coming (which is so disappointing to me that he isn't brazilian but portuguese, like... WHEN ARE WE GETTING A GOOD BRAZILIAN CHARACTER????)

anyway, here are my thoughts:

WRITING:

i actually didn't see much of a problem with it so far. it feels on par with similar conversations we had in the past, except this time we're getting to know them a little deeper than, say, season 3.

knowing bella's family situation or roberto's is kind of refreshing because we barely learned bobby had a sister on a throwaway scene on s2, so... yeah, it's ok.

i like how they express themselves because as an litg player, i'm used to some eloquence, but as someone who sometimes watches the show i HAVE to suspend my disbelief since i know islanders from the show are just... NOT GOOD AT EXPRESSING THEMSELVES, to say the least.

i like the conversations we had so far, it felt fluid and fun, but then again i've only coupled up with jamal, because obviousoly i did, who would i go for, fucking ryan? WAKE UP.

the challenges piled up but because of how many dialogues we had in this little time i think it worked pretty well.

CHARACTERS:

grace - girl, it's been a day and ozzy is not even that hot. HAVE YOU SEEN YOURSELF? he's punching, not you. chill. (and i hate they're giving the intensity they gave hope here, feels bitterly familiar and they better fucking knock it off).

bella - FINALLY a girl i like who's available and slutty (affectionate) since the beginning. i absolutely think bella might be right there with talia when it comes to arc as an LI, but we'll see. if anyone dares stealing her or if fusebox even make the slight suggestion of a slowburn i'm burning their HQ idc

ivy - alright i see you bootleg marisol, but i don't give a shit, you're annoying, die in a hole.

amelia - i think she's putting a front and deflecting the negative attention to ivy but that's just me. also, the twist of the public choosing who she should couple up with before she could tell us is extremely dumb and unnecessary, but also a reason for her to say a different name later, maintaining her image of good sister. i don't trust her, i WILL step on her head to the finale, die in a pit you're also annoying.

jamal - i like the attention but everything with moderation gives me way more tingles than a crybaby that can't stop talking about how he wants to be with me again. we were coupled up for a few hours and only had one conversation, chill bitch. it's giving ted mosby and every himym fan knows how bad that is. i'm not sure if every guy that the public chooses to be with amelia on night 1 acts the same, but i'm slightly turned off. it's too much boy, calm down, i'm here to be a slut, calm down.

ryan - get a haircut or let it grow because looking twelve and the coolest lesbian at the same time is not the look for you. its giving hipster with a chemistry kit at the local café.. also, either you're the douchey musician or a bad poet, you can't be both, PICK A STRUGGLE.

lewie - the impersonation of being stuck in traffic. i don't care for you, die in the same hole as ivy and amelia.

ozzy - fucking pulling the noah, man. i've seen this before and i'm not interested. stop being such a coward and tell grace how you feel. i know for a fact you're gonna be drama and it's because you refuse to be honest. it's so embarrassing, bestie.

roberto - HOT. i only saw the preview but i'm excited.

PACING

it's great. i think it was kind of weird how fast and furious it was with some previous seasons (remember the last season i played was 3 and half of 4 {it was soooo tedious i gave up half way through}) but i think so far it's ok. it definitely has better cliffhangers than other times when they thought they tried their darnedest.

OBSERVATIONS WITH SCREENSHOTS:

there's no fucking way they thought these were worth diamonds. and 22 diamonds for that frufru purple shit??? it looks like something who doesn't sew would put together with a hot glue gun, stop.

ivy i might kill you like they kill one of those vampires at the end of the twilight saga, by opening your mouth so wide it cracks off your skull. SHUT - UP.

and amelia... you're irrelevant, get out.

BUDDY, YOU'RE THE MOUTHPIECE OF THE GROUP NOW, HOLY SHIT. grace has me on my knees, i can't.-

bitch, we did! i kissed you in the challenge. EXCUSE YOUR BEAUTIFUL SELF! (also, for the breasts appreciators, i feel you, boobs are great, really! but like, those... two... lines... coming out of the bikini???? yeah, that is actually what gets me. you didn't need to know but i told you anyway, because i'm happy bella is hot and cool and i don't know how to shut up when i'm love, leave me alone!) whoever designed her knew EXACTLY what they were doing.

I LOVE GRACE. I JUST DO.

i'll give ryan some cool points because 1, he burned ivy in front of everyone, and 2, he admitted and owned up to it. good for you, bestie, good luck when you take a trip to the hair salon and get rid of that... hair. also, STOP SKIPPING LEG DAY BUDDY. from the waist up it's giving "abs, hot, i go to the gym", from the waist down is giving "i'm twelve and there's a reason i go to the beach in pants".

bella and grace looking naked and glamorous but feeling threatened by this ugly ass dress is the funniest joke in the writing so far. truly. i've had mermaid costumes at 4 years of age less embarrassing than this atrocity. stop lying, bella and grace, YOU'RE BOTH NAKED AND PERFECT.

and that's what i have to say so far. i'll continue playing this season until they inevitably fuck up. i'm not being pessimistic, i'm just... well, i guess i am. but i have no reason to believe otherwise.

also, i keep forgetting ozzy is here even though it's been a day. idk why.

anyways, i'll come back with more litg brain rot in a bit.

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires- Part 7

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 1193

Masterlist

If we were near your apartment, we'd probably end up at Starbucks.

Luckily we're on my turf. I'm not going to take you to that overpriced coffeeshop for hipsters and people without taste; I'm taking you to get real coffee, at my favorite café just down the road from Mooney's.

You walk beside me and you don't ask where we're going. I like that. You trust that wherever I'm taking you, you'll like it. Instead you chat idly about your week (which was busy) and ask me about mine (it was slow).

I ask you where you work. You tell me you're a copywriter at an online marketing agency. This surprises me.

“Marketing? Did you always want to do that?”

“No,” you say. “I always wanted to be an author. But you know what they say about writers who can't write.”

I actually don't. I tell you as much.

“We always end up in marketing.”

I think you're being too hard on yourself. I'm sure you're better at writing than you give yourself credit for. Then again, I haven't read anything you've written and I don't want to make assumptions. You might be horrible.

“What about you?” you ask. “Did you always want to work at a bookstore?”

“I don't know. I've worked at Mooney's since I was fifteen. The guy who owns it sort of took me in,” I explain, and clear my throat. “I've never really felt like a career change.”

“Did you go to college?” you ask.

I make a face, because I don't know how you feel about this subject. Finally, I shake my head.

“I hated school,” you say. “I can't learn that way. I've been much happier since I started working.”

“Did you become a copywriter right away?”

“God, no.” You laugh. “I was a TA for the longest time. Then I worked the lunch shift at this small restaurant. I loved that. Copywriting is kind of a recent development.”

I want to ask more questions, but we've arrived at the café. It’s a little joint with the same vibe as Mooney's: old, dusty, quiet. Old records line the walls here. On slow days, you're allowed to pick one and play it on the record player they have, but it's kind of busy today. We pick a table by the window and we order our coffees.

“I can believe that.”

You order yours with milk, no sugar. I order mine black. You tell me you used to drink black coffee until you moved to New York, but "the coffee is different here.”

You take a moment to look out the window, and I take that moment to look at you. I think that was your intention, because when you notice me staring you meet my eyes, and stare back. Most girls would have blushed and looked away.

“Tell me something about yourself, Joe,” you say. “I feel like I barely know you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What's your favorite book?”

I hiss playfully.

“You can't make me choose.”

You laugh at this, and I take a moment to think.

“There's a few,” I finally tell you. “Right now it's Frankenstein, I think.”

“That's... a choice,” you say.

I raise an eyebrow.

“How do you figure that?”

You fumble. I wonder if you said it just to say it - lots of people do that, when it comes to books - but then you shake your head.

“Well, that book, it's… Frankenstein creates this living, breathing person, and then he completely disregards it. Him. The book's about bad parenting, really.”

Did you have bad parents, (Y/n)? Is that why you moved all the way to New York?

“I didn't say I like Frankenstein himself,” I say. “I just said I like the book.”

“I'll be honest: I've read Frankenstein, but I remember the introduction better than the actual story.” You pause. “The classics aren't really my thing. Well, that's not true. I like some of them. I just don't find them automatically better than any other books.”

“You don't have to.”

You take a sip of your coffee, which has just been set down, and then suck in some air when you realize it's too hot. I chuckle, and you fake a glare.

“Now you tell me something about you,” I say.

“Like what?” you ask.

“I don't know.”

“Okay, well. I have an unhealthy obsession with serial killers.”

“Ah,” I say. “You're one of those people.”

“Well, don't say it like that.” You won’t meet my eyes now. “I just find it interesting, how the human mind can turn out like that. How do they kill so many people and still sleep at night?”

“Maybe they know the world is better off without those people in it.”

You look at me.

“Who are they to decide, though?”

I like it when you look me in the eyes, even if it's because you're challenging me. I don't want you to look away.

I wonder if you'd look at me this way during sex. I'm sure you would. You'd refuse to break eye contact first. But eventually you'd cave. You'd have to.

“I'm reading this book right now,” you say.

“Under the banner of heaven.”

Oh, no.

I've messed up. You're looking at me all wrong, and why wouldn't you? I'm not supposed to know what you're reading. You didn't buy that book at Mooney's. You must have bought it somewhere else, or ordered it online, but you didn't get it from me.

I have to bluff my way through this.

“You told me,” I say.

“Right…” you swallow, then shake it off. “Well, it's about these guys who murdered their brother's wife, and the baby, too. They thought God told them to, or something. They were Mormons. How do you ever get to that point? That you'd murder a baby and call it God's will?”

“I don't know,” I admit. “Some people are just bad people, I guess.”

But you shake your head. You don't want to believe in the worst the world has to offer.

“There has to be a reason,” you say. “Nobody is born bad.”

“Maybe not,” I concede.

“Sorry. I'm boring you.”

Not at all.

“A little bit. I mean, no,” I say, shaking my head. “What I mean is, I don't know that I agree with you, fully.”

“About people not being born bad?”

“Some people are just pure evil,” I say. “And it's only getting worse, you know. These days, it's way too easy for everybody to make themselves into the main character of their story. It breeds selfishness. That's why I hate social media.”

“I noticed I couldn't find you,” you tell me. “And I looked pretty hard.”

You looked for me!

“I looked for you on Instagram,” I admit. “But your account is private, and I didn't want to make one of my own just to follow you.”

“Stalker,” you tease. “Both of us. We're a couple of regular old stalkers.”

“Can't be too careful,” I say.

“No, you can't,” you agree. “Anyone could be a weirdo.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“Well, that's okay,” you say. “I like those.”