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beardedjoel · 2 years ago

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pretty little wife | better now

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 summary: 3.9k words, a snippet of a day in the life of husband! joel and his lovely housewife | no apocalypse au, no use of y/n warnings: 18+ MDNI! pre-established relationship/dynamic, unprotected piv, rough sex, free use kink, sub/dom relationship, cum play, spit kink, exhibition kink, dirty talk, pet names for reader, brief mention of alcohol, generally extremely submissive reader so if you're into that this is for you! a/n: not pretending this is anything other than some little fantasy i had that i needed to write out. i'm really excited about this one shot series for husband!joel though, i have some really fun (and depraved) ideas planned for these two for future blurbs so stayed tuned if you like this one! reblogs + comments are always loved and appreciated! ♡

i've decided to start a kofi in case anyone wants to consider a small donation to support my work! ♡

How’s my pretty little wife today?

The words you look forward to each day, falling from your husbands lips in some form or another, whether it’s rasped tenderly in your ear, from between your legs as he smirks up at you, or from over your shoulder as he slams his cock into you, sending you to heaven and back down as soon as he can after walking in the door after work.

Joel asks the question today after walking up behind you in the backyard, his mouth already next to your ear, warm breath tickling along your skin there as he brushes your hair over your shoulder. The wiry texture of his beard nuzzles right into your neck, sending a thrill down your spine as his arms slide around your waist and hold you tightly to him, swaying you back and forth. The motion is soothing, reminding you that you’re right where you’re meant to be.

You can smell the workday on him - sweat and dirt and the outdoors, and the lingering scent of the cologne you’d given him this past Christmas. He’d sprayed it on this morning, as he does every morning since you bought it for him. Makes me think of you all day, he’d remind you while you’d watched from your bed with a teasing smile, sheet disheveled and draped over your naked body.

You breathe all of it in, savoring this scent unique to your husband, before touching your hand to where his rests around your belly and stroking it gently.

“Better now,” you answer. More times than not, that’s your response to his routine question, knowing it drives him wild, makes a long day of work ache a little less when he hears you say it.

“S’what I like to hear,” he says, a kiss on your neck leading up to your lips - a long, deep, ravenous kiss that already leaves you breathless. He pulls away so suddenly you nearly have whiplash, your head falling slightly into nothing, missing his lips.

“Smells good out here,” Joel comments, turning his nose up in the air slightly. “Usin’ the new pizza oven already?”

When you’d made a passing comment about wishing you could make wood fired pizzas at home, just like the ones a restaurant in town serves, Joel seemed to take it seriously, as he did with most things involving your wishes and desires. The next weekend, he’d hauled in bricks and began his work. You’d stepped out into the yard when you heard all the commotion, giving him a quizzical stare, and he’d simply grinned and shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he should be building his wife a pizza oven. You’d nearly teared up, feeling grateful and giddy with excitement at your new toy to experiment with.

Within a few weekends, Joel had finished his new project, always seeming to need one to have around the house, wiping the sweat off his forehead and gleaming with pride at it as he showed you the final product. You’d practically jumped for joy but settled on flinging yourself into his arms to show your appreciation. When that had turned into him fucking you on top of the kitchen counter moments later after he went inside to fetch a cold drink, you hadn’t minded one bit.

“I couldn’t wait,” you say with a grin. When Joel nuzzles your neck again you start to lose your train of thought. His lips press a gentle kiss right on your pulse point, and you sigh into it. “T-trying out margherita today,” you manage to squeak out.

“Hmm,” Joel says, seemingly contemplating the flavor choice in between latching his lips on your neck and sucking, marking you over and over. You’re sure the ones from mere days ago haven’t faded all the way, a smattering of them going right down to your tits, but Joel always needs a fresh mark on you as soon as they start to fade, a way for you to always remember you’re his. He grinds his hard length into your back on the next touch of his lips, and you arch into it a little, your cunt starting to ache more needily for him.

“F-fresh basil… from the… gar-” you gasp as he pulls you completely flush against his cock, letting out a little, devious laugh.

“Sounds fuckin’ delicious, baby,” he replies. His fingers reach down and toy with the front hem of your dress, delicately sliding his calloused fingers up your thighs, bunching the fabric as he goes. The warmth of his hands on your bare skin blazes a trail up to the apex of your thighs, finally cupping a hand around your warm heat. You instinctively grind into the heel of his hand, and can practically feel Joel smirking behind you. His fingers brush the outside of your panties, starting to rub circles on the wet fabric. He lets out a low growl, deep and needy in the back of his throat feeling the evidence of how much you’d anticipated him coming home.

“So wet for me already, huh, doll? Couldn’t wait f’me to get home ‘n take care of ya, I bet,” Joel taunts in your ear before sucking on the lobe, and you’ve gone breathless now, nodding your head. His fingers tease the edge of your panties again, finally slipping one underneath the fabric, feeling the obscenity of your wetness directly, and he lets out an impressed tut, sucking in air between his teeth. You nearly moan out at the smallest touch he’s giving you, the way his rough, worn fingers gently brush over your clit for just a split second.

“She’s so needy, ain’t she?” Joel coos in your ear, swiping a finger to your entrance and back to your clit. You can feel how slickness quickly gathers on Joel’s digits as he teases you. You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back into him, letting your head drop to his shoulder as pleasure wracks your body already.

“Mhm… needs you,” you murmur, turning your head towards his where he meets your lips, continuing steady strokes on your aching bundle of nerves. His lips are softer than you’d think, looking at the hardened grump behind them, but like so many parts of Joel, they are only soft for you.

“Needy, needy girl… good thing I’ve been thinkin’ about gettin’ my cock in that little cunt of yours all day.”

“A-all day?” you say with a little smirk, rutting your ass back into his throbbing length, and Joel groans with the friction.

“Second I pulled out of it this mornin’,” he replies, low voice drumming against your skin, and you shudder, desperate for what you know he’s about to do.

Another routine of yours - Joel comes home from work, and more days than not, he fucks you. And you enjoy every second of it, basking in the attention and his cock filling you up in the way nobody and nothing else can. You crave him night and day, never having gotten your fill, wondering if you ever could. His hunger for you in return only fuels the fire, a vicious circle the two of you seem to have no intention of breaking.

Your weakness lies completely in the man standing behind you, burying his fingers in between your legs and making you moan out wildly before he’s even had his way with you.

“Fuck, gotta get this cock in you, baby, split you open f’me so good, fuck you stupid,” Joel grunts suddenly, interrupting your swirling thoughts, withdrawing his fingers in a flash and leaving you whimpering. It’s not fair, the way he affects you.

Nobody should have this power over you, but the minute you’d met Joel, you couldn’t deny the way he’d made you feel. Masculine and warm, rough hands and broad shoulders that you’d clung to that same night you’d met him in a bar, fucking mere hours later in the bathroom. Even in your drunken haze you’d submitted to him fully, Joel having no problem ordering and throwing you around the bathroom like you were just a toy to play with, his little doll. You’d found that you could never look back after that night, the safety he represented to you, the adoration he showered you with, the way he fucked you like it was his last time every time. When Joel saw how willing you were to be his in the way he craved from a woman, there was no stopping the insatiable beast he became, hellbent on never letting another man feel your touch again. Joel promised you a good life, an amazing life, even, and in the last few years, he had more than delivered for you.

“Hush now, you’ll have what you want in a second,” he says, running a quick stroke of his fingers through your hair, giving it a tug. On principle, you let out a little mewl at the sensation, too many instances of your hair being tugged and pulled with Joel involved to not recall those memories with the pain of it. You hear the jangle of his belt as he frees himself from his jeans, the familiar sound of Joel’s thick, heavy cock slapping against his hand as he fists it. You’re already cock drunk without having seen the damn thing yet, and it’s nearly laughable how pliable you are when Joel’s involved. It’s always been that way - you’ve been happy to oblige his every desire, no matter when, where, how he wanted it, or the frequency. You were his to use, to pleasure, to fuck senseless, and you got off on the way all of it steadily built his need for you just as much as it did with your need for him.

“Please…” you whine, trying to slip out of his grasp and start for the sliding glass door to the house, making the assumption that he’d be taking you inside at any moment to take what he needed from you.

Joel immediately tightens his hold on you, a dark tut in your ear that goes straight to your clit.

“Not so fast, little doll,” he croons, hand grabbing your cunt through your dress again to hold you to him. “Right here,” he adds on, turning your body towards the outdoor dining table in the backyard.

“J-Joel… right here?” you question, knowing you shouldn’t. It won’t matter anyways. “The… t-the neighbors…” you whimper quietly as Joel crowds you against the table, tearing your dress up over your ass, revealing your lacy little thong to him. He groans at the sight of your bare ass ready for him to claim before roughly shimmying your underwear halfway down your thighs. He places a rough hand on your back, pressing you down into the table so that you’re completely bent over, your hands splaying out into the wood to support yourself.

“Let them see…” Joel says quietly, a heady murmur as he slips his cock between your thighs and notches himself at your weeping entrance. “Let them see how much I love fuckin’ my wife.” He pushes in on the last sentence, and you gasp at the stretch and burn of his girth. Your vision goes white for a moment with the mix of pure pain and pleasure, and your mouth hangs open, panting in delight as he fills you inch by inch.

“Mmm… such a sweet little pussy, honey…” Joel says quietly once he’s seated fully inside of you. He’s just as lost in the bliss of it as you are. “Know I’d fuckin’ live right here if I could.”

You give him a little moan of satisfaction, wiggling your hips to give yourself any sensation of movement from his cock. He places his hands on either side of your hips, squeezing his grip tightly enough to bruise before starting to thrust himself into you. You cry out in a yelp, the noise passing though your lips before you can even control it.

“Yeah…” you whimper, face pressed against the table, trying to peek up as Joel looms above you, like some higher being that has the power to decide your fate, to decide the pleasure or pain you’ll have to endure in this moment. And truthfully, you do worship him. The way he moves inside of you, makes you crumble underneath even the lightest of his touches. The way he spoils you in every regard - you’ve never wanted for a single thing for as long as you’ve been Joel’s, him vowing to take care of everything you ever need, and in return, you take care of everything he needs.

To some, it might seem like there’s a lack of balance in the way you do things, but fuck do you love it, you think as you desperately cling onto the table, manicured nails digging into the wood as Joel’s cock rams back into you, pressing so deep inside of you that you see stars.

You let out a low, strangled sound, whining as Joel begins to press against your cervix, the front of your thighs bumping into the table with every new thrust from him. He grunts with the exertion, fucking into you hard, taking what he wants, leaving you both breathless with the need for more of each other. You let Joel take and take and take because of how much he gives in return - while he loves to use you, he always makes sure you get every bit of pleasure you deserve for being so good to him.

When you continuously moan louder as Joel fucks you towards your high, you glance around, the small sliver of your brain that’s still rational worried about you two getting caught by your neighbors. The thought is equally mortifying as it is thrilling, but you decide you’d rather not deal with the embarrassment today if you can help it.

“Still worried about the neighbors, hm, pretty girl? I’ve got an idea,” Joel says, responding to your sudden nervousness. Before you can even answer, his hands are wrapping around your shoulders, urging you up from the table. You follow along, breathless and dazed, letting him move you as he wishes, too deliriously starry eyed for him to care about anything else other than what Joel is gearing up to do to you next.

He accidentally slides out with the movement of your body, and immediately he’s grasping at your hips, practically clawing his way back to you as he pulls you tight to his body again. His throbbing, dripping cock slaps periodically against your ass as he shoves you forward, pushing your body towards the house.

“Here,” he grits out, suddenly crowding your body from behind to press you against the sliding glass door. “That better?”

“I- yes,” you say, eyes wide from the way you’d been roughly handled by him the last few moments. Your cunt aches almost painfully, having been getting so close to your climax only to have it ripped away suddenly when Joel decided to move you.

“Good,” he snips quietly. “Couldn’t stand to keep this cock out of you much longer’n this.”

With his words he brings his lips to the back of your neck again, just his heavy breathing fanning across the skin there, making you wild as he repositions himself and nudges your legs apart with his knee. You feel the length of him tease between your legs, sliding up to your entrance again. He groans loudly, letting you know how badly he wants you, so you try to pop your hips up at just the right angle you know he’s looking for.

He slides in effortlessly and with a renewed vigor, hips snapping into you, pressing you further into the sliding glass door with neither of you seeming to be worried about the way it’s suddenly shaking on the frame. It’s completely lewd, the way you imagine the two of you - your entire body against glass, tits being pressed out the top of your dress and bouncing, palms spread against the smooth surface, nails clawing and unable to grasp at anything.

Your body is shaking in his hold now, Joel’s cock hitting inside of you in all the right places. You can feel yourself tensing, almost like every cell is going taut, your core pooling heat deep inside of you with molten pleasure from Joel hitting the spongy bit inside of you.

“Fuck, love it when you sound like that f’me, doll,” Joel punches out as he hears your moans becoming louder and more desperate the longer he continues to thrust against your g-spot. You can’t respond, only continue your lustful noises with a renewed vigor as you try to bounce your hips back into his thrusts, getting him deeper than what’s even possible, the length of him already burying up to the hilt each time he drives himself into you.

“Know you wanna come for me, baby,” he says right in your ear, voice hoarse with need, and you whimper in response as his hand snakes around your hips and in between your legs, circling a gentle pressure on your clit.

You feel your hold on reality completely break, your eyes squeezing shut as you melt into the way your entire body is tingling with pleasure now, waves of it turning into spasms as you go practically limp with shaky knees. Joel’s hands hold you in place, his warm strength keeping you upright as you push down onto his cock, riding out your climax and screaming for him.

When your movements start to slow and your body relaxes, Joel thrusts into you even harder, loving the way you’re so compliant and soft after climaxing, letting him move in you however he needs as you ride out the sensitive aftershocks with a few quiet yelps.

“This little pussy is all mine, y’know that, right?” Joel reminds you through clenched teeth, giving your ass a firm slap. You nod vigorously, eyes still half lidded and mind scrambled from the way he’d shattered you mere moments ago.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you say when he slaps your ass again, demanding an answer. Your breathy answer is enough to get him to his own climax, and he surprises you by pulling out suddenly, leaving your body lurching back into nothing, missing the fullness of him already. Before you can protest, say anything, Joel’s hands grip your shoulders and spin you around and push down, forcing you onto your knees in one fluid, swift motion. You watch, wide eyed, as he fists his throbbing cock, shiny and coated in your own slick arousal as he spreads it along his shaft in jerking motions.

“Be a good girl and open up,” he commands, and you submit to the words immediately, mouth hanging open, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. Joel smirks at that before giving himself another swift tug, and you watch in renewed wonder as he begins to spill himself all over your face, ropes of cum hitting your skin. You taste him on your tongue immediately, savoring it. Your eyes are glued up on Joel’s face, watching his glazed gaze taking in the scene below him as he groans in pleasure, trying not to tilt his head back and get lost in the moment so he doesn’t miss a beat of your beautiful surrender to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he watches the last bits of his release hit your tongue. “Don’t you dare swallow that, yet, doll,” he adds on quickly, eyes fluttering for a moment before he tucks himself back into his slacks. He continues to tower over you for a prolonged few seconds, looking down in satisfaction at the image of your glowing, angelic face coated in something so sinful, the milky substance starting to drip down your face, your tongue trembling slightly with the need to swallow.

“Hold still,” he says needlessly since as the words come out of his mouth he grabs your chin, tilting your head upwards and gathering spit, letting a long, tortuously slow drip of it fall into your open mouth. It lands on your tongue, combining with his cum and Joel smirks again, releasing your chin.

“Swallow, my little doll,” he says, voice starting to go soft, an indication that he’s feeling satisfied and finished with his enjoyment of you. You close your mouth, smile, and swallow obviously for him, licking your lips for good measure.

Joel holds out a hand, helping you stand, your legs buckling slightly as you try to get your bearings. He carefully smooths your disheveled dress, flattening the bottom half and tugging the neckline back into place before fixing the straps to sit perfectly square on your shoulders, eyes roaming over quickly to examine his work with pride. His hands then move to your hair, brushing his fingers gently to put it back in its place, leaving every part of you like none of this had just happened besides your face, still dripping with his spill. Your smile widens, seeing him watch a particularly large spot of it sliding down your cheek. You see his composure fail for a moment before he strokes your cheek gently, avoiding any of the mess there, giving you soft, affectionate eyes.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Pizza’s probably ready,” he adds on, the casual tone taking you aback for only a moment before you blink yourself back to reality and nod dutifully.

“Of course,” you say, a genuine smile plastered on your face as you look at your handsome husband, admiring the way he’s looking at you with stars dancing across his eyes, the deepest love for you tucked away in his deep brown irises.

“After you get that, go clean yourself up, doll,” he says, and you nod again, the smile not leaving your face. You see out of the corner of your eye Joel settle onto one of the chairs at your outdoor table, leaning back casually as if he hadn’t just had you bent over that exact table, fucking you for the entire neighborhood to possibly see and hear.

You gather everything you need, serving utensils, plates, and two cold beers before bringing it to the table along with the pizza and a freshly tossed salad you’d made to accompany it. Each time you drop something off, the smirk on Joel’s face grows, watching the way you work with the evidence of his obsession with you still lingering on your flushed cheeks.

Once the table is set and your face cleaned off, you join Joel outside to enjoy the beautiful spring evening, and see he’s already served you two generous slices of the margherita pizza.

He reaches a hand onto the table, taking yours delicately into his palm, dwarfing it with the size of his thick fingers as he absentmindedly runs his thumb along your knuckles, stopping to play with the large, gorgeous diamond on your ring finger. Another reminder to him that he has you all to himself, his pretty little wife.

“Thanks for dinner, baby” he says, eyes locked on yours as he uses a free hand to pick up the pizza and take a large bite, letting out a little noise in satisfaction at the flavor.

“Anytime.” You smile, genuine and tranquil, a fresh appreciation and love for the life you’ve found yourself so grateful to be living.

tysm to @jupiter-soups @huffle-punk @rensraptor for so much help with ideas and writing this fic! love u guys x

#PLS DON'T LET THIS FLOP i'm very proud of it #fic: pretty little wife #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #x reader #pedro pascal character x reader

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hypnobeauty · 7 days ago

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the longest echo - a bob r. x ofc story

summary: two strangers touch and glimpse each other’s deepest wounds, their lives quietly entwined by something neither can explain nor escape. cw: depression, suicide ideation, substance abuse, childhood trauma, emotional neglect, domestic violence, ptsd, addiction. sorry! also, soulmates/invisible thread au if you squint really hard. word count: 14k / no beta we die like men a/n: hey! i watched thunderbolts* and i've been thinking about bob a lot. i think his character has a lot of potential and i love to write people suffering. no physical description, i just thought it would be easier to write with an oc than reader. enjoy xx

2009

the first time robert reynolds thought of disappearing, he was twelve years old, folded in half between two plastic crates in the far corner of the attic, his knees jammed against his chest, his cheek pressed to the cold, splintered floorboards. the air was thick with the dry, fibrous scent of mothballs and old cedar, so sharp it made his throat prickle, but he didn’t cough. he didn’t even breathe deeply. he was too afraid the sound might give him away.

it wasn’t a dramatic thought, the kind you read about in books or saw in movies—no lightning bolt of revelation, no cinematic sob. just something small and tired, so quiet he almost missed it: you could leave.

not run. not fight.

just… leave.

vanish.

stay right here, tucked between the storage boxes labeled in his mother’s neat, looping script—“xmas lights,” “tax docs,” and, almost absurdly, “bob’s school stuff”—as though even then, she’d already packed away the parts of him she didn’t know what to do with. he let his fingers slide across the taped edges of that last box, feeling the ridges of the marker ink through the brittle cardboard.

the attic was hot, the insulation thin, but it was the only place in the house where the walls didn’t pulse with his father’s rage. up here, there were no footsteps thudding across the linoleum, no sudden crashes of glass shattering on the tile, no sharp, wet sound of flesh meeting flesh.

downstairs, he could hear it all—muffled through the wood and drywall, but unmistakable. his father’s voice, thick with bourbon and venom, slashing through the evening:

“are you even listening to me?”

and then his mother’s voice, thin and breaking, barely audible:

“i’m sorry… i’m sorry, i—”

crash.

the unmistakable sound of something—maybe a plate, maybe her—hitting the floor.

robert pressed his palms harder against the floorboards, grounding himself against the jolt that traveled up through the house, all the way into the attic’s beams. his chest tightened until it felt like something knotted and heavy was wedged beneath his ribs, making every breath shallow, insufficient.

he wanted to go down there, to stand between them, to do what he’d promised himself he’d do since he was old enough to understand that this was not normal, not right. but he couldn’t.

he never could.

his father’s words came back to him like an old bruise you press just to see if it still hurts:

“too weak, bobby. always too fucking weak.”

he closed his eyes and listened to the floorboards creak faintly under his father’s heavy, aimless pacing below, the sound distant but constant, like the groaning of a ship in some dark, endless sea. every few steps: a slurred bellow, incoherent but sharp enough to make robert flinch even here, cocooned in fiberglass and dust.

the attic had become his sanctuary, his bunker.

he liked how the air barely moved here, how the dust settled slowly in the golden beams of late afternoon light slicing through the slats in the wall.

up here, time seemed to slow, to pause. up here, he wasn’t the boy who couldn’t protect his mother, who couldn’t fight back, who couldn’t even yell. he was just breath and skin and silence.

but by the time he turned fifteen, the attic wasn’t enough.

the ache inside him had grown teeth—small at first, but sharp, gnawing quietly at the corners of his days, leaving him hollowed out by morning and restless by night.

he didn’t want to hide anymore. he wanted to stop feeling altogether.

the boys he fell in with didn’t ask questions. older, sharper, already wearing the armor of recklessness like it had been stitched into their skin. they met behind the strip mall on saturdays, leaning against graffiti-scarred walls, trading smokes and stories no one else would believe.

robert—or bob, as he’d started introducing himself now, shaving his name down to something less like his father’s—fit into their spaces like smoke curling into a broken window.

he came because he knew they used stuff and he wanted some of that too. he wanted the numbness they carried like a secret, the easy, half-lidded way they looked at the world, like it couldn’t touch them anymore.

at first, it was just cigarettes–that was easy. familiar.

he’d been stealing from his father’s desk drawer since he was thirteen, sneaking out onto the back porch late at night to light up, the bitter smoke scratching his throat raw and making his eyes water, but it was worth it.

that first drag had made him feel something he hadn’t in years: like he was choosing this. like there was something, anything, he could control.

and now, there were pills too.

little white ovals and round blue tabs, pressed into his palm behind the gas station by hands with calloused knuckles and hollowed-out eyes. promises of soft erasure whispered into the humid florida night, as easy to accept as candy at halloween.

no one asked him why he wanted them, no one had to. they could see it in him the same way as he saw it in them. the same brittle exhaustion, the same quiet desperation to stop being inside their own heads for just a fucking minute.

that night, he didn’t hesitate. he stood under the buzzing, half-dead fluorescent light by the gas station’s side entrance, the parking lot stretching out before him in a wash of cracked asphalt and oil stains, empty but for an old sedan missing a hubcap, idling with no driver in sight.

the air was thick with the syrup of gasoline, the stale aftertaste of fast food grease from the dumpster behind the building, and something else—something he couldn’t name, but that settled low in his gut, heavy and immovable–maybe it was grief, maybe it was older than that.

in his palm a small pile of tablets, his thumb tracing the edge of one, slowly, like he was flipping a coin he already knew how to call. then, without ceremony, he tipped them all back into his mouth, swallowing them dry, barely flinching as the bitter chalk caught at the back of his throat.

bob exhaled, a slow, controlled release of air, like a diver letting go before sinking beneath the surface. his shoulders sagged, and he leaned back against the cool brick wall, his head tipping up toward the vast, indifferent sprawl of the night sky above him.

a flat sheet of gray, as oppressive and close as the attic ceiling used to be. the edges of the world were already starting to blur, the sharp corners of reality softening as the pills threaded their way through his bloodstream, dulling the things that usually screamed inside him.

he let his eyes fall shut, his body slumping lower against the wall. maybe this time, he thought, vaguely, distantly, as if the words belonged to someone else, someone already gone. maybe this time, you won’t come back. maybe you’ll just… let go.

but even now, in this self-made quiet, his body betrayed him by continuing to breathe. he stayed there, eyes closed, letting the humid night press in around him, waiting to see if the world would bother pulling him back.

or if it would finally—mercifully—let him drift away.

across the country, in a city always dry and glittering with heat, alice blake sat cross-legged on the polished wood floor of her bedroom in phoenix, the late afternoon sun unfurling itself through the wide, spotless windows her mother had chosen for their view of camelback mountain.

the mountain rose in the distance, immutable, jagged and ancient, its silhouette etched sharply against a cloudless sky that burned white around the edges. but alice didn’t look at it, she rarely did.

it was one of those things adults pointed to when guests visited—the view, the light, the perfect angles of arizona landscape filtered through glass—while alice traced her attention elsewhere: to the speck of paint on her toe, to the way the air conditioner rattled faintly in the vent, to the pool below catching sunlight in fractured diamonds on its sterile blue surface.

the sketchbook lay open in front of her, thick and heavy, the paper already buckling slightly beneath the weight of watercolors layered again and again. her small fingers, sticky and stained with streaks of ochre and viridian, worked with an intensity that narrowed the world to the page in front of her.

the colors bled together uncontrollably—no matter how careful she was—into chaotic rivers and bruises of blue and sickly green, spilling over each other, not quite making the thing she had wanted to make but becoming something else entirely.

her brow furrowed, the pink tip of her tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth in concentration, as she tilted her brush at a new angle, tried to rein in the edge of the green as it seeped too far into the yellow.

it didn’t work, it never worked. but she kept going.

at ten, alice hadn’t yet learned how to name the hollow feeling that had begun blooming beneath her ribs, expanding quietly in the silences between violin practice and sunday brunches at the biltmore.

she only knew that some people—her parents especially—moved through the world like their bodies fit perfectly inside it, like their gestures had all been rehearsed long ago: her mother’s smooth, arcing wave of a hand toward a painting at the gallery; her father’s clipped, efficient signatures at the dinner table as he signed contracts between bites of ribeye.

they wore their lives like tailored suits—impeccable, precise, impossible to imagine any other way. alice, on the other hand, always felt like her sleeves were too long, her sentences too slow, her laughter either too much or not enough. there was no handbook for being her, not one anyone had left behind.

her mother’s gallery downtown was filled with paintings alice was not allowed to touch, though she longed to—the surfaces calling to her fingers like forbidden fruit, textures she wanted to trace to understand how they were made, how they could be so beautiful and so untouchable at the same time.

sometimes, she’d stand at the edge of those cold, echoing red walls, watching her mother glide effortlessly between clients in tailored linen dresses, the low click of her heels punctuating softly measured explanations of brushstroke techniques or the tortured biographies of artists alice had never heard of.

her mother’s voice never changed between subjects; it remained the same smooth, curated thing whether she was talking about a late modernist’s obsession with despair, or about what kind of salad they’d be having for dinner that night.

once—just once—alice had left a drawing on her mother’s desk. it was a crayon sunflower: bright, ungainly, its petals too fat on one side and too sparse on the other.

she had pressed it flat on the desk mat, smoothing out the wrinkles, her small heart pounding wildly with the strange, terrifying hope that maybe this time her mother would see her. when her mother walked into the office later that afternoon, she’d glanced at the paper, her manicured fingers pinching the corner delicately, as if it were something left behind by the cleaning staff.

“oh,” she said, her voice the same bored hum she used when reviewing invoices. and then, without pause, she dropped it into the wastebasket beneath the desk and reached for the rolodex to make a call.

no malice, just… indifference. that was, in many ways, worse.

alice never left her drawings out again, but she didn’t stop drawing. it had begun as a call for attention—see me, notice me, tell me i’m good, or interesting, or something—but over time, it shifted into something quieter, more private. not so much an invitation anymore, but a map she was drawing in secret, charting out the strange and tangled territory inside herself that no one else seemed interested in exploring.

now, as the shadows dragged longer across the room, the molten stripes of sun shifting up the pale walls in slow, inevitable ascent, she dipped her brush in water again, let the pigment pool in the belly of the bristles, and watched as it bled into the paper, expanding in wide, unstoppable veins. her legs were folded neatly beneath her, the hem of her soft cotton skirt—chosen by the nanny, like all her clothes—draping over her knees in careful pleats.

in the far corner of the room, leaning like a silent accusation against the wall, was her cello case–she hadn’t touched it in days. the practice schedule was written on the whiteboard by the door, neatly outlined by her tutor: monday, wednesday, friday at 4 pm. but alice hadn’t gone to her lesson that afternoon and no one had noticed. or, if they had, they hadn’t said anything.

her parents were… somewhere. maybe in the house, maybe across town closing a deal, maybe halfway to paris for a show opening.

it didn’t matter. she didn’t wonder anymore where they went, didn’t ask. the last time she’d asked, her father had glanced up from his laptop, blinking slowly as if she’d interrupted something important, then said, “work,” in the tone of someone closing a door.

so she stayed, she watched, she painted. slowly, patiently, her small brush moving in wide, careful arcs, letting the colors blend and muddle into something that wasn’t beautiful, wasn’t precise, but was hers.

the air in the room smelled faintly of lavender from the oil diffuser one of the nannies had set up that morning, the scent soft but impersonal, like everything else in this carefully arranged house. outside the glass doors that led to the balcony, the pool filter hummed steadily beneath the low whine of cicadas, a mechanical heartbeat that filled the silence.

in florida, a boy not so different from her in ache but oceans away in everything else, slid down against the rough brick behind a gas station, the pills already working their slow, silent erasure inside him.

the edges of his world blurred and folded in. he wondered, dimly, whether his mother was downstairs cleaning up broken glass again, biting her tongue the way she always did.

bob wondered if she’d noticed he was gone. but the thought floated away before he could finish it, slipping into the soft dark like a stone dropped into deep water.

alice dragged her brush across the paper one last time, a wavering stroke that bled out too quickly at the edges. she sat back on her heels, letting the brush slip from her fingers, staring at the mess she’d made.

not beautiful, not correct. but hers.

she reached out and pressed her fingertip lightly to one corner of the damp page, smudging the paint into a dull, streaked bruise, then quietly set the sketchbook aside beside her with the kind of reverence she wished someone else might give to it– or to her.

she sat there for a long moment, spine straight, hands resting softly in her lap, staring at the empty space of floor where the sunlight had been, but now wasn’t.

not thinking of anything, not waiting for anything.

2010

robert reynolds woke to the sterile hum of a hospital room, the fluorescent light above him flickering faintly, as though even it couldn’t muster the effort to burn steadily for him.

his throat was raw, scraped and torn from the tube they’d shoved down it to pull out the pills—their bitter dust still lingering in the back of his mouth, a reminder of how close he’d come this time and how easily they’d undone it.

his skin, under the thin hospital blanket, looked sallow and pale. he blinked once, slowly, and the cracks in the ceiling paint above him branched out like veins, thin and spidery, reaching toward corners they’d never quite get to.

he didn’t cry, he didn’t do anything. just lay there, eyes open, counting the rhythm of the heart monitor beeping steadily beside him, not because it comforted him, but because it was the only thing confirming that he was still here.

the door clicked open softly, and he turned his head just enough to see the doctor enter—a woman with dark crescents under her eyes, a clipboard clutched loosely in one hand. she didn’t look up at first, just scanned his chart, flipping through the pages with the disinterest of someone who’d done this a thousand times.

“robert reynolds?” she asked, more out of protocol than genuine inquiry.

his voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges when he answered, “yeah.”

she nodded, made a note.

“how are you feeling?” she asked, but not like she expected an answer worth writing down.

“fine,” he lied, throat catching on the single syllable.

she flipped another page, pen poised. “do you know why you’re here?”

bob swallowed, the taste of plastic and antiseptic still coating his tongue.

“yeah,” he said again, staring past her at the faint smudge on the far wall where the paint had been chipped away.

the doctor let out a breath—whether relief or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell—and scribbled something down.

“you said you made a mistake?” she asked, and this time he could feel her eyes on him, trying to locate something in his face. he nodded.

“yeah. a mistake.”

there was a beat—just long enough for her to ask more, for her to ask the thing that might have pulled all of it out into the open: why? what happened? is someone hurting you?

but she didn’t. or if she did, it was so couched in the generic language of intake assessments that he didn’t recognize it. or maybe he recognized it, and chose not to hear.

either way, the result was the same. he shut the door before it could open.

after three days in the psych ward—three days of mandatory group therapy sessions where he sat in the corner, arms crossed, staring at the stained carpet as other kids sobbed or screamed or begged for someone to call their parents—he was discharged.

three days of locked windows and bland food, of staff with practiced smiles and patients with wristbands in various shades that meant something he didn’t bother to learn.

he hadn’t said much during those days–what was there to say? that he didn’t want to be here? that he hadn’t really wanted to be anywhere else either?

so when the social worker handed his mom the discharge papers and said, “you’re free to go,” he stood up, slipped his hoodie back over his thin frame, and walked out. his mom went home, bob went somewhere else.

later, when he walked through the front door of the house, the afternoon sun slanting low through the broken blinds, his mother barely looked up from where she stood at the sink, wrists submerged in soapy water, scrubbing a plate with the mechanical repetition of someone who’d forgotten what it meant to be done with something.

“hey,” he muttered, more out of habit than expectation.

“dinner’ll be in an hour,” she said flatly, as if that were all that needed saying–and maybe it was.

from the living room, he could hear the soft hiss of a beer can being cracked open, then the worn leather of the recliner creaking as his father shifted his weight.

a pause and then his father’s voice, low and amused:

“well, look who made it.”

bob glanced over, caught the smirk hanging off his father’s lips like a weapon sharpened long ago and still kept within easy reach. he didn’t bother getting up, just raised the can lazily in his direction, as if offering a toast to the one who hadn’t even succeeded at leaving.

bob didn’t respond, just turned, walked down the hall, and shut the door to his room quietly behind him.

spring came heavy and restless, the humidity pressing down like a hand on the back of his neck. his gym teacher had pulled him aside in april, clapping a heavy, too-cheerful hand on his shoulder and saying, “you should try out for jv football, reynolds. might do you some good.”

build character.

give you discipline.

all the usual clichés men like that threw around like confetti at boys they didn’t know, couldn’t understand. bob didn’t say no–in fact he didn’t say anything, just showed up to practice the next week, suited up, and let himself get hit.

over and over.

the bruises layered easily, seamlessly, over the ones he was already collecting at home, the purple fading into green into yellow into nothing, until he couldn’t tell where the field ended and the house began.

he didn’t mind the other guys on the team, most of them weren’t bad. some even nodded at him in the halls, shoulder-checked him lightly in ways that might have been friendly if he’d known how to recognize it.

but being part of a team meant being seen. it meant people noticing when you didn’t show up to practice, or when you flinched a little too hard at a hit, or when your eyes kept drifting somewhere else when the coach shouted your name.

and being noticed felt like the most dangerous thing in the world for bob–so he quit.

after about a month, he stopped showing up, left the uniform in the locker, and walked out without telling anyone. no one asked why, no one called after him.

and that was fine, that was what he wanted–wasn’t it?

on the days when the air was thickest, and the whole world smelled like wet pavement and regret, he’d sit on the back porch late at night, a cigarette tucked between his fingers, the ember flaring briefly in the dark as he inhaled, letting the smoke curl out from between his lips in slow, practiced ribbons.

counting his breaths again, waiting for something to change but knowing it wouldn’t.

what he kept doing was writing.

it wasn’t intentional at first, not something he woke up one day and decided on. it just… happened.

small scraps of words, furious and unfinished, scrawled across the backs of loose worksheets, the inside covers of textbooks, the margins of notes he wasn’t really taking. it always seemed to happen around three in the morning, when the house was dead quiet, his mother long asleep—or pretending to be—and his father passed out cold in the recliner, a half-empty bottle sliding slowly from his fingers to the carpet.

bob would sit on the floor of his bedroom, knees drawn up tight to his chest, pen clenched so hard between his fingers that his knuckles ached, pouring out jagged, breathless sentences that never made sense the next day.

not poems, not essays, not stories just static.

trying to siphon out the raw, high-pitched noise that lived in his head all the time—the things he couldn’t say, couldn’t even fully think, only bleed out onto paper where they could live in someone else’s language.

at first, he’d tear the pages out, crumple them, shove them deep into the trash under candy wrappers and used tissues, but after a while, he started keeping them in a box under his bed, filled with spiral notebooks so warped and overused that their spines barely held together, their pages warped with sweat and ink smears.

later, in his senior year, it became something more deliberate. not passion, not anything as noble as that, just inertia.

and why not? he had to be somewhere after school—somewhere to sit that wasn’t home, somewhere to let the hours burn away in relative quiet, so he joined the school paper.

bob showed up to the first meeting and sat in the back while the editor—a girl who always wore leather jackets too big for her—explained the deadlines, the column inches, the ad placements. they needed someone to cover boring shit: new vending machines in the east wing, updates to cafeteria menus, a write-up about the freshman fundraiser car wash.

“any takers?” she asked, holding up a list.

bob raised his hand. the editor blinked, then shrugged. “cool. they’re all yours.” and that was it. just like that, he had something that no one else could take from him.

for a while, it felt bearable. he liked the solitude of it—the way he could sit in the back corner of the library, next to the window that looked out onto the main road, and tap at the yellowed keys of the ancient desktop they kept there. no one leaning over his shoulder, no one asking him what he was doing, why he was quiet, why he never smiled.

just him and the soft clatter of the keyboard, the click of the mouse as he rearranged his thoughts into neat lines, like stacking bricks into a wall that might finally hold back the flood. there was something about the rhythm of it—the weight of words sliding into place, each sentence giving shape to the noise inside—that made it feel like, for a moment, the static could be contained.

at seventeen, when his guidance counselor called him in one afternoon and asked the same rote question they asked every senior—“so… any thoughts about college?”—bob had just shrugged, wiped his palms on the knees of his jeans, and said, “english.”

the counselor didn’t even look up. just scrawled it onto a generic form with a blue ballpoint, checking a box that didn’t mean anything to either of them.

bob didn’t bother adding the rest: that sometimes, when he was sitting in that quiet library corner, he thought about teaching someday. maybe standing in front of a room and talking about books, about language, about all the beautiful, terrible things words could do. maybe he could teach someone how to arrange their thoughts too, how to find a way through.

or maybe not. maybe that was bullshit. maybe it was just about getting out. getting far, far away from this town, from this house, from the man who had split his lip open just last week over something neither of them could even remember now.

escape. simple, sharp, necessary escape.

that night, after another fight—one that didn’t last long but left his brow split—bob left the house. the blood dried sticky and dark along his face as he walked, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his torn hoodie, head down, shoulders hunched against the thick, metallic breath of the rain that hadn’t yet broken.

the streets were empty except for the rhythmic, distant wail of a siren and the low, guttural groan of thunder crawling somewhere out of sight. his sneakers scuffed across the uneven sidewalk, carrying him without thought or direction until he found himself standing in front of the all-night diner on main—the one with the flickering red neon “open” sign that buzzed angrily in the humid air.

he pushed the door open, the tiny bell above it letting out a weak, apologetic chime.

the place was empty except for the waitress behind the counter, leaning against the coffee machine and flipping through a magazine, and a man in a trucker hat slumped in a booth near the back, snoring softly into his plate of half-eaten pancakes.

bob slid into the corner booth—the one by the window with the cracked leather seat—and didn’t bother picking up the sticky laminated menu.

the waitress walked over, pen already poised.

“coffee?” she asked, eyeing the crust of blood on his face but not mentioning it.

he nodded. the mug landed on the table with a dull thunk, steam curling up into the still, heavy air.

“let me know if you need anything else,” she said, already turning away.

bob wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the heat seep slowly into his fingers, the rough ceramic edge grounding him just enough to keep breathing.

he sat there for hours, not drinking much, just staring out the rain-streaked window at the parking lot outside, the slick asphalt gleaming under the harsh buzz of the sodium lights overhead.

beyond that: the highway.

stretching out into the dark like a long, gray artery, pulling away from this town, from this life, from everything he couldn’t quite figure out how to leave. he let his forehead rest lightly against the cool glass of the window, his breath fogging a small circle in front of his mouth. and he wondered—not for the first time—what it would feel like to just… go.

to push open the diner door, cross the parking lot, step out onto that road, and keep walking until there was nothing left but his own footsteps fading into the dark.

the waitress refilled his coffee once, then left him alone after that, recognizing something in him—something she’d probably seen a hundred times before.

by the time he finally stood up, the rain had passed without breaking, leaving the air heavy and expectant, like it was still waiting for something that never quite arrived.

alice blake sat alone at the massive dining table in her parents’ apartment in phoenix, her fork idling against a stalk of grilled asparagus, gently nudging it back and forth across the pristine edge of the white plate.

the asparagus gleamed faintly, drizzled with lemon oil and plated with the meticulous care of someone paid to make food beautiful rather than nourishing. the butler hovered discreetly at the edge of the room, as always—his presence so practiced in its invisibility that it didn’t even register as company anymore.

twenty chairs lined the sleek, obsidian table, spaced evenly like sculptures, cold and indifferent. tonight, as most nights, only one of them was occupied.

her mother was at the gallery downtown, hosting an opening for some new exhibit—probably something conceptual and cold, monochromatic canvases paired with long-winded descriptions about deconstruction or absence, things alice had learned never to ask about. her father was in san francisco, tucked inside some anonymous conference room high above the city, delivering presentations to other men in suits about shipping lanes and margins and quarterly growth.

the apartment was silent except for the faint, distant hum of the ventilation system and the occasional clink of her fork against porcelain. alice barely noticed the emptiness anymore; it was just the water she swam in, the air she breathed—an ambient silence that filled every grand, beautiful space her parents had so carefully designed around her.

the gallery-like living room, where modern art hung in perfectly lit arrangements no one ever sat and looked at. the marble kitchen, all imported stone and chrome appliances, where no meals were cooked, only served. the private rooftop terrace, its sculptural succulents perfectly arranged by an expensive landscaper alice had never met.

she tried to remember the last time someone had asked her how she was. not about grades, not about which extracurriculars padded her future applications, not whether she’d practiced her cello that day.

but really: how are you?

the kind of question that told you someone wanted to know—not for the data point, but for you, she couldn’t remember, and by now, she’d learned not to expect it.

she speared a piece of asparagus, chewed it slowly, tasting nothing. swallowed. another piece. then stopped. she set her fork down gently, the metal making the softest chime against the plate, and looked up at the butler, who was already stepping forward.

“finished, miss blake?”

his voice, as always, was gentle but detached, pitched somewhere between service and absence. she nodded. “yes… thank you.”

he collected her plate with a fluid movement and retreated through the side door, leaving her alone again with the cavernous quiet of the dining room, the darkening sky pressing softly against the floor-to-ceiling windows. alice sat for a moment longer, fingers drumming faintly on the edge of the table, then exhaled, pushed her chair back with a faint scrape of polished wood against stone, and stood.

she padded barefoot through the apartment, her steps echoing faintly off the high ceilings and clean, cold surfaces, her toes sinking slightly into the plush, pale carpet as she passed through the hall. the housekeeper had vacuumed that morning; she could still see the neat, symmetrical lines left behind, like careful brushstrokes across an otherwise blank canvas. her fingers brushed along the smooth, lacquered wall as she walked—just to feel something real beneath her skin.

she reached her bedroom and closed the door behind her with a soft click, sealing herself into the only space in the apartment that bore her fingerprints.

her sketchbook lay open on the floor near the wide window, the thick paper curling slightly at the edges where yesterday’s painting still dried. pale streaks of gray and blue ran down the page in soft, hesitant lines, pooling together in irregular blotches that almost, but not quite, resembled rain.

she crossed the room quietly, folding herself down beside it, tucking her knees up to her chest, her chin resting gently on the tops of them.

the city lights outside flickered faintly through the window, casting long, fractured shadows across the smooth white walls. beyond the glass, the night was already cooling, but inside, the air was still thick with the faint trace of lavender from the diffuser the housekeeper had switched on that morning.

everything here always smelled like something artificial—like something meant to comfort but never quite succeeding.

alice didn’t cry. she rarely did anymore.

she had learned how to let the numbness carry her instead, how to let the days flow together in long, unbroken threads, smooth and detached, without expecting much, especially without asking.

alice picked up her brush from where she’d left it beside the sketchbook, dipped it lazily in the jar of water, and watched as the pigment spiraled out from the bristles—soft, soundless blooms of color unfurling into the clear water like ink dispersing through a vein.

then, she let the brush fall onto the page with a faint, wet splatter, the new stain seeping into the old ones, merging without resistance.

she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes as her head tipped up toward the ceiling, the faint hum of the pool filter outside rising and falling like some mechanical heartbeat keeping time for a house that never really woke up.

2014

alice stood in front of the full-length mirror propped awkwardly against the cinderblock wall of her tiny dorm room in new york, the pale, winter-blue light of the city slicing through the half-open blinds and striping across her bare legs like some quiet interrogation.

she ran her hands slowly over the soft cotton of her skirt, smoothing it down over the constellation of small, fine-line tattoos that climbed delicately along her left hip, winding higher, disappearing beneath the hem of her cropped t-shirt and wrapping, almost protectively, around her ribs.

her fingers paused there for a moment, tracing the faint raised ridges of ink, the private map she had etched onto herself over the last few years—quiet, deliberate rebellions against the sterile, curated life she had left behind in phoenix.

each mark was hers alone: no explanations offered, none required. but always, always hidden beneath layers of fabric, like all the other parts of herself her parents had never known what to do with. the tiny silver stud in her nose, too—another secret, easily concealed with a practiced tilt of her head, the same way she concealed her sharpness, her hesitation, her grief.

she adjusted the skirt again, even though it didn’t need adjusting, watching the way the fabric fell over her hips in loose, forgiving folds.

the mirror reflected not just her body but the room behind her—the clutter of secondhand books stacked precariously on her desk, the chipped mug half-full of cold tea, the little potted succulent on the windowsill struggling valiantly to survive in the anemic winter light.

the radiator let out a sharp clank behind her, then settled into its usual low, metallic hiss. outside, the city moved indifferently, its sounds filtering in through the drafty window: the distant wail of a siren, the rumble of a bus, the murmur of a couple arguing two floors down.

the tattoos had come at seventeen, inked in cramped, low-ceilinged studios with buzzing machines and artists who didn’t ask questions, only nodded when she showed them the sketches she’d made in the margins of her notebooks. they weren’t big or ostentatious. not something you’d notice unless she showed you, unless you were close enough to press your lips to her hipbone and feel the faintest resistance of ink beneath skin.

but they were hers. her own language, her own claim over the body that had always felt like it belonged to someone else. and still, despite the thousands of miles she had put between herself and that apartment in phoenix, the silent, insistent question lingered, buried somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach:

would they be proud of me?

she wasn’t sure why it still mattered, she wasn’t sure it ever stopped mattering.

maybe it was something about how a child learns to look for approval before they learn to look for oxygen—how the hunger for it doesn’t disappear just because you pack up your life and move across the country.

she had left phoenix the week after graduation, her entire life folded into two suitcases and a carry-on, standing alone at the terminal while her parents hovered several feet away in their usual elegant detachment. her mother had adjusted her glasses, barely looking up from her phone, and said, “call us when you land,” as if alice were heading off to a conference, not leaving home for good.

her father had glanced at his watch, murmured something about traffic, and then they had both offered her quick, polished smiles that felt no different from the ones they used with gallery clients or board members.

neither of them had hugged her. neither of them had asked if she was scared, or excited, or ready–and she hadn’t offered it either, just picked up her bags, turned toward the gate, and didn’t look back.

but new york—new york had been a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in her entire life. here, in the gray, muscular sprawl of the city, she could be someone else—someone softer, looser, messier than the carefully mannered daughter they’d raised.

she worked at the starbucks two blocks from campus, learning the quiet intimacy of strangers’ coffee orders—the woman with oat milk and no foam, the man who always ordered a double espresso with two packets of raw sugar he never stirred in.

she learned the art of pouring milk into perfect spirals, the hiss of steam, the weight of the ceramic cups. the job stained her fingers faintly with coffee and made her hair smell perpetually like roasted beans, but it was hers. her money, her time, her life.

she had friends now—the kind who didn’t care about art auctions or charity galas, who didn’t ask where she’d gone to prep school or which country club her parents belonged to. friends who borrowed her clothes without asking, who dragged her to midnight movies, who sat with her on the floor of their dorm kitchen eating boxed mac and cheese straight from the pot.

she had lovers too—brief, sometimes kind, sometimes careless—but all of them chosen by her, for her. no arrangements, no negotiations over cocktails. just encounters that began and ended on her terms, leaving behind the sweet ache of a body remembered but not required.

she majored in english, minored in humanities—a subtle, defiant echo of her mother’s world, but tilted toward the things she loved rather than the things expected of her. literature classes where she could disappear into the voice of someone else, into novels that felt more honest than any conversation she’d ever had at her family’s dinner table. seminars where she could raise her hand, argue, laugh too loudly, mispronounce french theorists’ names without being corrected.

on weekends, after long shifts closing the cafe, she’d walk through washington square park with a takeaway cup of tea, weaving through the chess players hunched over their boards, the musicians busking near the fountain, the street performers contorting their bodies into impossible shapes.

the city moved around her with a pulse she’d finally learned how to sync with, its breath filling her lungs without asking for anything in return. sometimes, she thought of phoenix—the dry, punishing heat, the manicured sterility of the family home where even the plants were chosen for their ability to survive neglect—and felt the memory recede like a shoreline viewed from far out at sea, growing smaller, less distinct, until it was just a smudge on the horizon.

she didn’t look back much now.

but at night, in the stillness of her dorm room, when the sirens curled through the open window like long, desperate fingers and the radiator clanked in the corner with its familiar, arrhythmic sigh, she sometimes pressed her fingertips to the inked skin of her hip, letting them trace the shapes she’d chosen for herself.

and in those moments, she’d think, quietly, simply: you made it out.

and most nights, that was enough, at least for now.

upstate, bob lit a cigarette with a hand that barely shook anymore, the worn metal of the lighter warm against his palm, its familiar weight a comfort as reliable as anything else left in his life.

he leaned his shoulder into the cold brick wall behind the humanities building, the rough surface pressing through the thin cotton of his shirt, grounding him with its static indifference. the flame licked briefly to life, then vanished as he sucked in a slow breath, holding the smoke tight in his lungs before exhaling, watching as it curled into the crisp, early spring air.

the sky overhead was the pale, washed-out blue of a postcard left too long in the sun, and somewhere, just beyond the quad, someone was strumming an acoustic guitar with more enthusiasm than skill.

he ignored it. focused instead on the steady unraveling of smoke as it dissolved in front of him, disappearing molecule by molecule until there was nothing left but the faint trace of ash on his tongue.

he went by bob now, never robert. robert was his father’s name. saying it felt like dragging a rusted anchor behind him everywhere he went—heavy, corroded, useless, the kind of weight that left stains long after you cut it loose.

his professors still called him robert sometimes, glancing down at the attendance sheet, their voices flattening it into something bureaucratic and lifeless—“reynolds, robert?”—before moving on without waiting for correction. he only corrected the people who mattered, and there weren’t many of those left anymore.

a few classmates, maybe. a barista at the coffee shop near campus who scribbled “bob” on his cup every morning without asking, like they’d made some unspoken agreement about who he was allowed to be here.

that was enough.

he’d made it to this place—this cold, gray upstate town on the edge of nowhere—on a partial scholarship and the kind of pure, stupid stubbornness that burns you alive before you even know it’s happening.

clawed his way out of florida with a transcript that barely scraped by and a personal essay that, looking back, was probably more confession than application—a raw, aching mess of sentences about leaving, about escape, about the impossible act of survival when the people who should love you don’t even know how.

and someone, some admissions officer drowning in their own stack of desperation, must have read it and thought, why not? so here he was. he majored in english because it was the only thing that made any sense.

the only thing he could do without wanting to put his fist through a wall. books didn’t ask anything from him but attention, they didn’t yell, they didn’t bruise. they just sat there, quiet and consistent, offering up their worlds for him to crawl into when his own felt too sharp to touch.

his minor was in journalism, though by senior year, he could barely drag himself to the 8 am seminars about media ethics or news cycles, sitting through lectures while the classroom’s flickering fluorescent lights drilled relentlessly into his skull.

he’d started out thinking maybe it could be something—this writing thing. that he could become a journalist, cover real stories, dig into the fractures of other people’s lives and make meaning out of them, maybe even change something. maybe be someone, but now…

now the nights were long and cold, the parking lot outside his dorm always slick with rain or oil or something worse, and the little orange bottles tucked beneath his mattress emptied faster than he could keep track of.

weed, pills, cigarettes, coke, whiskey, when there was enough money left after rent and groceries, which wasn’t often. the old comforts and only constants. then, harder stuff—meth, opioids.

by twenty-two, the sharp edges of his ambition had been sanded down to something dull and silent, like a blade worn smooth by too many years of dragging it through stone. he still turned in essays, but they barely passed—thin, anemic things, stripped of the energy he used to believe writing required.

he sat in the back of lecture halls with his hoodie pulled up, fingers jittering against his knee, counting down the minutes until he could leave, until he could walk out into the open air where at least the world didn’t press in so hard.

he wasn’t even sure anymore what he was running from or if he was running at all, or if he’d just stopped somewhere along the way, sat down in the middle of the road, and let the rest of the world keep moving while he stayed perfectly, perfectly still.

he still wrote, though. not for class or for anyone.

but in battered composition notebooks he kept tucked at the bottom of his backpack, pages thick with ink and sweat, filled with half-coherent thoughts, long strings of barely legible handwriting, drafts of lives of people he saw in cafes—the woman in the red scarf who always ordered warm milk, the man with the limp who played chess alone in the park.

fragments of conversations overheard in laundromats at 2 am, the hum of machines spinning out their endless, cyclical songs while strangers argued softly in spanish or kissed in the corner or cried quietly over phone calls that ended too soon.

he wrote it all down, these scraps of other people’s lives, collecting them like proof that the world was still happening, even if he didn’t always feel part of it. it was the only thing that made the numbness shift, even just a little, the only thing that reminded him that he was still here still breathing.

sometimes, late at night, he’d sit on the fire escape steps by his window, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, the ember flaring briefly in the dark before collapsing into ash. he’d flip through those notebooks, thumbing absentmindedly through the pages, catching glimpses of the person he might have been, once—before the weight, before the static, before the long slow erosion of what he used to think of as hope.

but he never looked for long, never let himself linger on those pages, on those fragments of himself, for more than a breath. because it hurt too much. it reminded him that somewhere, buried beneath all this smoke and silence, there had once been a boy who thought he could get out clean.

and he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember that anymore. so instead, he just sat there, leaning against the brick wall, watching the smoke curl up and vanish into the soft, indifferent sky. and when the cigarette burned down to the filter, he flicked it into the gutter, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and walked back inside.

alice untied the knot at the small of her back and pulled the green apron over her head, folding it absently as she clocked out of her shift, her thumb pressing the worn button on the register with a faint mechanical clunk.

outside, the city was finally starting to thaw after months of bone-deep winter—the air softening at the edges, warming enough to make her uncoil a little as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, the bulk of her jacket slung casually over her arm.

her breath didn’t cloud in front of her anymore. she stretched her neck to the side, rolling out the tightness from a long shift, and tilted her face up into the dimming march light, letting it brush warm and tentative across her cheekbones.

she walked with her usual unhurried stride, weaving past delivery bikes and a man yelling into his phone, her free hand tucked into the deep pocket of her skirt. the sounds of the city poured over her: the shriek of a siren somewhere blocks away, the rustle of a newspaper caught in a breeze, the hum of conversation bleeding from open bar doors as evening crept steadily in.

as she moved toward the subway station, her thoughts drifted lazily, circling an idea she’d been entertaining all week: another tattoo. something small and quiet. maybe behind her ear, where it would hide beneath her hair unless she wanted someone to find it. or on the inside of her wrist, a place only she would see when she reached for a cup, when she brushed her hair back, when she wrote in her notebook on slow afternoons.

the idea made her smile faintly—barely a twitch at the corner of her mouth—as she imagined the sharp, precise sting of the needle, the controlled burn of ink seeping into skin, the slow, meditative breath she always took just before the first puncture.

she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder as she pushed through the turnstile, the metro card flicking in her hand with practiced ease, the rubber soles of her sneakers slipping slightly on the smooth tile as she descended the station stairs.

the train pulled in just as she reached the platform, a gust of warm, metallic air rushing past her as the doors slid open. she stepped inside without hesitation, turning sideways to slip through the crowd, gripping one of the cool metal poles as the train shuddered into motion. the doors sealed shut behind her with a hydraulic sigh.

as the car lurched forward, she caught sight of herself in the darkened window—her reflection superimposed faintly over the blurred walls of the tunnel beyond.

for a second, she just looked, as if seeing herself there for the first time: the smudge of coffee still faintly staining her gray uniform. the silver glint of the necklace she always wore, just barely peeking above the neckline of her shirt. the small, tired but undeniable softness around her eyes.

she tilted her head slightly, considering the reflection the way she used to consider her mother’s paintings at the gallery back in phoenix, standing just close enough to see the brushstrokes but never quite close enough to touch. she looked… okay. maybe—finally, improbably—free.

not all the way, not every minute. but here, in this moment, with the city pressing in around her, its veins and arteries pulling her forward through the dark, she felt something that hovered just on the edge of possibility.

far away, in a different quiet, bob tossed the last of his blunt into the gutter behind the stem building. he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunching reflexively against the chill that still lingered in the shadows.

his boots echoed across the empty quad, the rhythmic scuff of leather against stone keeping time with a campus that had long since gone still for the night. above him, the stars were faint, barely visible through the orange haze of the campus floodlights bleeding into the sky.

but they were there, still there, scattered and distant. bob paused, tilting his head back just slightly, letting his gaze drift upward toward them, but he didn’t stay there long.

just long enough to remind himself that they hadn’t gone anywhere. that they were still there, somewhere, and so was he.

2020

alice unlocked the heavy front door of the three-bedroom walk-up in brooklyn, the metal key grinding stiffly in the old lock before it gave with a reluctant, familiar click.

her fingers stayed curled tight around it even after the door swung open, knuckles whitening slightly, as if part of her wasn’t ready to let go, as if the simple ritual of entering this space still required a kind of deliberate permission. she stood there for a moment in the doorway, letting the city sounds behind her fade into the hallway’s muffled quiet—the distant hum of a neighbor’s television, the faint shuffle of feet upstairs, the soft sigh of the building settling into itself for the night. then, slowly, she stepped inside.

the apartment smelled of ever-present haze of nag champa her roommate insisted on diffusing in the living room, its rich muskiness always a little too much, edging into the cloying by evening.

but it was home–or close enough to something that passed for it.

alice toed off her sneakers by the door, her socks sliding slightly against the worn hardwood floor, and dropped her canvas bag beside the thrifted couch that sagged endearingly in the middle from years of communal use.

without thinking, without even bothering to turn on the lamp by the window, she sank down to the floor, letting her back press flat against the cool, smooth boards, her arms stretched out loosely at her sides as she stared up at the cracked ceiling. she let out a long, slow breath, her ribs expanding, then emptying completely as the last of the day peeled away from her body like old skin.

it had been a long day.

twenty children packed into the small classroom on the ground floor of the community center, finger-painting with the kind of unrestrained, joyous anarchy only four-year-olds could summon—smearing streaks of neon color across their paper, their aprons, each other’s cheeks, and sometimes, inadvertently, her.

alice had let them. of course she had, she always did.

she loved the way they barreled through the world, oblivious to consequence, untouched by the internalized scoldings adults wore like invisible armor strapped too tightly around their ribs.

that was why they adored her too. because she crouched at their level, eye to eye, letting them whisper nonsense into her ear like it was sacred gospel, because she didn’t flinch when they smeared paint across her sleeve, because she let them color outside the lines without ever offering correction—only sliding another sheet of paper in front of them when they ran out of space.

she could still feel their sticky fingers tugging at the hem of her skirt, their voices echoing in her ears, small and bright and unstoppable.

she’d told herself, when she first took the job, that it would be temporary. a placeholder. something to fill the space while she figured out what she was really supposed to be doing.

but now, a year later, she couldn’t imagine not being there. couldn’t imagine not walking into that room each morning to be greeted by the shrieks of recognition, the rush of small bodies hurling themselves at her legs, the riotous mess of paintbrushes and paper that filled her afternoons.

it was exhausting, yes. but it was also… pure. and there weren’t many things in her life she could call that.

every weekend, she biked down to bed-stuy for the community art workshops, setting up canvases on folding tables for kids whose faces lit up at the sight of paint. she showed them how to mix colors until they made something new by accident, how to smear paint with their fingers when the brushes felt too clumsy, how to make a mess and call it art without needing to explain what it meant. she watched them approach the canvas the same way she once had—as an invitation, not a test—and in those moments, she could feel something loosening inside her, something she usually kept tightly wound.

by twenty-four, she’d finally moved out of the shared apartment and into a small studio near the park—a space that was hers alone, with no one else’s clutter or rules or incense permeating the air. the walls were lined with gifts from her students: crayon drawings of dinosaurs with uneven limbs, lopsided hearts, abstract blurs of red and purple labeled “miss alice” in scrawled block letters that made her chest ache in a way she didn’t fully understand but didn’t try to explain.

above the sink, on the open shelving, she’d arranged her own ceramic pieces—mugs with uneven handles that felt steady and right in her grip, like they’d always belonged to her hands even before she made them. there was something about their imperfections that felt comforting, a reminder that things didn’t have to be symmetrical to be whole.

she drank too much tea—boxes of it stacked haphazardly in the narrow cabinet, local brands, gifts from friends who went abroad. her nails, always kept short for work, flashed with glitter polish as she wrapped her fingers around the warm curve of the porcelain, leaning her hip against the counter as she stared out at the street below.

the window stayed cracked year-round, even in the brittle cold of winter, so that the studio never smelled too much like the clay she worked or the lemon soap she used to scrub the paint off her wrists.

she liked the air moving through the space, liked the way the city slipped in with its noise and scent, reminding her that she was not sealed away from it, not trapped in a silent, sterile home like the one she’d left behind in phoenix.

her boots—worn-out doc martens, their leather scuffed and softened from years of walking too far in them—sat by the door, always ready, always waiting to pull her back down to earth when her mind started to drift too far.

some nights, she stood barefoot in the middle of the room, letting her toes press into the cool wood, running her fingers lightly over the old plaster walls, tracing the faint cracks that spidered up from the floorboards like quiet, persistent reminders that everything breaks a little over time, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still hold.

and sometimes, in those moments, she’d think: this is mine.

and that, most nights, was enough.

not all nights—there were still the quiet hours when the city outside went still and something sharp and old inside her woke up, gnawing softly at the edges. but most nights? most nights it was enough to stand there, to breathe, to be. to know that, for all the places she had left, she had made this one for herself.

at twenty-seven, bob disappeared.

there were no messages left behind. no half-hearted status update posted at three in the morning, no vague tweet about needing space or finding himself, no sudden block of friends or family. he just… left. like vapor through a crack in the window.

like a man who’d been practicing his own absence for years until, finally, he could step into it fully. the city—whatever city it was by then, because even he had lost track—swallowed him whole, the way it always did with men like him.

men whose ghosts were already more present than their bodies, men who knew how to vanish without anyone asking where they’d gone, because no one really expected them to stay in the first place. he slipped through back streets and borrowed beds, hitchhiking when he had to, sleeping on couches when luck broke kindly, on cardboard when it didn’t.

his arms grew raw with bruises and pinpricks, the veins running up the pale terrain of his skin like dry riverbeds. his body thinned out, hollowing beneath the weight of nights spent curled beneath overpasses or locked in bathroom stalls, the fabric of his clothes wearing thin, fraying at the cuffs, threadbare under the slow, relentless press of too many hours spent out in the weather.

some days were better than others.

the good moments came like rare birds landing on his outstretched palm—fragile, fleeting, impossible to predict. on those days, he’d buy minutes for a burner phone and call his mother, voice cracking as he said, “hey, mom,” into the receiver like it was a normal call, like it wasn’t months since the last one.

he’d sob quietly then, breath hitching between words, while she made soft, uncertain sounds on the other end, asking if he had food, if he was safe, if he was warm. she never asked where he was, maybe she knew not to.

since his father disappeared in the snap in 2018, things had been marginally better for her. not free—abuse didn’t slip off like a coat just because the man who wore it turned to dust—but quieter. the house didn’t echo with slammed doors or breaking glass anymore.

the bruises faded, the air inside no longer smelled like bourbon and rage. bob hated himself for thinking of that quiet as a kind of relief, but it was, ff course it was.

in those better stretches, he’d find work somewhere—slinging drinks behind a bar, unloading trucks at a warehouse, washing dishes in a diner that paid cash at the end of each shift. he’d try, then, really try.

he’d scrub the grime from under his nails, find a place with a shower, string together two, sometimes three sober weeks like beads on a fraying thread. and in those brief stretches, he could almost believe he was still a person moving through the world with something like purpose.

but the bad moments always came back. the days when the shakes started before he even opened his eyes. the days when his hands fumbled uselessly at zippers and buttons, when his heart galloped too fast in his chest as he sat in a public bathroom, the sour stench of bleach and piss rising around him as he shivered through withdrawal.

the nights spent curled behind convenience stores, his back pressed against cold brick, stomach turning itself inside out as he vomited bile and whatever else was left in him, the dark edges of his vision pulling tight as he tried, uselessly, to remember how he’d gotten there.

and yet, somehow, one good stretch stretched further than usual–almost a year. long enough that he started to tell himself stories about the future again. not grand ones, no, no. not a house, or a family, or anything so concrete. but something quieter: maybe a job he could keep. maybe a town where no one knew him but might still wave when he passed by. maybe—impossibly—a version of himself that didn’t look for the bottom of every bottle.

that was when he spent the last of his savings on a flight to malaysia. he told himself it was for “self-discovery,” the way those travel blogs always framed it—white boys on motorbikes taking selfies on cliffs, getting tattoos in back alley shops, meditating barefoot in temples, coming home tanned and enlightened.

but the truth was simpler: he didn’t know what he was looking for. or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to say it out loud. he would either find himself there–or find more drugs.

either way, the outcome felt the same, disappearance by another name. on the day bob boarded the plane at dtw, the cheap boarding pass crumpled tight in his fist like it might fly away without him, the boarding call echoed through the nearly empty terminal, brittle as glass. his hands trembled as he stood at the gate, staring out the long, flat pane of windows where the plane sat idling in the gray light, engines humming like something half-asleep. whether it was withdrawal or nerves, he didn’t know— didn’t care. he swallowed hard, adjusted the straps of his backpack, and walked toward the gate.

when he first landed in kuala lumpur, jet-lagged and sour-mouthed from the recycled air of the long-haul flight, he did what you were supposed to do. he wandered the crowded markets, fingers brushing the beaded jewelry laid out on mats, the sharp tang of durian and frying oil filling his lungs.

he ate food that burned his tongue, made his eyes water—laksa, satay, things he couldn’t pronounce but devoured greedily. he smiled politely at the vendors, refused politely the offers pretty girls made him, at the strangers who didn’t look through him the way americans did. for three days, he didn’t drink, didn’t use.

didn’t even crave it, not really.

on the third evening, he climbed the long, steep steps up to the batu caves, his legs aching by the time he reached the top, sweat gathering at the base of his neck.

he stood there, staring out at the sprawl of the city as dusk slid over it in molten gold, the skyline catching the last light like a breath held too long. and for the briefest moment, he thought: maybe this could be something else.

but on the fourth day, he let himself have a drink, just one. the old rationalization whispered smoothly in his ear: just to take the edge off. just to loosen the knot. on the fifth day, he was doing lines of coke off a dented metal table in a bar that smelled like bleach and stale sweat, the music a relentless, shapeless throb that made it impossible to hear himself think.

and on the sixth day, he met russ–an american. clean-cut in that precise way that always meant trouble, the kind of neatness that only men running their own cons could ever really manage.

“hey, man,” russ said, sliding onto the stool beside him, casual as a burn mark. “you looking for some extra cash? some easy work?”

bob barely looked up, barely shrugged. didn’t have the energy to muster even the vague indifference that used to serve him well. russ just smiled, unfazed, leaning in like they were old friends sharing a secret.

“just a med trial. legit. some new drug. they’re paying well.”

then, after a beat, almost like a promise: “you’ll be more than you’ve ever been.”

the room they brought him to was quiet, cold, low-lit, sterile. it smelled faintly of disinfectant and something else—something chemical and faintly sweet that raised the fine hairs on his arms before he even sat down.

bob didn’t ask questions, didn’t need to, didn’t want to. he had pictures taken, signed so many forms that by the last one, the repetition of his signature made it stop making sense.

he already knew he was already less than he’d ever thought he could be.

across the east river, in bushwick, alice climbed carefully down from the scaffold, her thighs trembling faintly from hours spent balancing on the narrow, metal planks, the muscles in her calves stretched tight from holding herself steady as she reached, again and again, toward the top edge of the mural.

her boots found the cracked concrete with a dull, satisfying thud, her knees flexing automatically to absorb the drop. she straightened slowly, rolling her shoulders back, then placed her hands on her hips as she looked up at the wall in front of her—the vast expanse of brick now covered in layers of pigment and shape that had taken her weeks to build.

two hands, fingers outstretched, reaching for one another, almost touching but not quite. that deliberate, impossible space between them—half an inch of air rendered enormous by the scale of the wall—felt like the thing she had been painting toward all along, even if she hadn’t known it when she first sketched the design.

the air around her was sharp and cold, cutting through her layers as she yanked her mask down beneath her chin and dragged in a long, steady breath. it filled her chest in a way that the shallow, paint-fumed inhales on the scaffold never could, expanding the tight space between her ribs before slipping out again.

there was a kind of brittle beauty to days like this—when winter hadn’t fully let go, but the promise of warmth hovered just at the edge of things, waiting for the courage to arrive. she stood there for a long moment, paintbrush still gripped loosely in one hand, the frayed bristles stiff and drying at the tip.

around her, the neighborhood shifted in the subtle, habitual rhythms of late afternoon: the distant clatter of a delivery truck’s ramp slamming against the curb, the murmur of voices spilling from an open window above a bodega, the faint pulse of bass from a car idling at the light three blocks away.

and then—unexpected, uninvited—a sensation rose through her chest. a strange ache, low and shapeless, like the lingering vibration of a sound she couldn’t quite hear, couldn’t quite name. it settled behind her sternum, soft but insistent, as though something just beyond the edge of her awareness was trying to call her attention, to remind her of something she didn’t know she’d forgotten.

alice blinked hard against it, her lashes sticking faintly where sweat and paint dust had gathered. she let out a sharp exhale, forcing the breath past her lips like she could empty herself of it, like she could push whatever it was back down to where it belonged.

then, with the same practiced efficiency she brought to everything, she crouched and began gathering her brushes, slipping them one by one into the worn canvas bag at her feet, their wooden handles knocking softly against one another in the quiet.

the mural loomed behind her as she worked, vast and silent, the space between the two painted hands still there—still empty, still unresolved. an absence that, no matter how much paint she layered around it, could never quite be filled.

2025

the city had changed so many times that alice had stopped trying to keep track of who it used to be. new york in 2025 was no longer a place moving forward, but one suspended in a permanent state of aftermath.

whole neighborhoods stood hollowed out, the bones of them stripped bare by everything the last decade had chewed through: alien fire that carved scorch marks into buildings like signatures, battles that collapsed structures under their own exhausted weight, government contractors who came to clean up the mess but left behind their own versions of ruin.

years of absence where half the city vanished mid-step, half-drunk coffees abandoned on cafe tables, apartment plants dying quietly in sunless corners, toothbrushes left damp by sinks that no one came back to. and then the blip—the sudden, violent return, like time had only paused, like the world could simply unfreeze itself and carry on without splintering.

but it had splintered, in ways that no amount of construction could plaster over. alice had lived beneath it, above it, through it—her apartment just another unit stacked in a city that had been redrawn by loss.

the apartment above hers had sat empty for all those years of the snap, sealed in like a tomb, gathering dust and silence while alice listened to her own footsteps echo more loudly than they ever had before. and then, one day in 2023, the door upstairs creaked open again.

the family returned, their same coffee mugs still sitting on the counter, their same shoes lined up neatly by the door, as though time had merely blinked and forgotten to carry them forward.

those of them who remained had grown thin and wiry, hardened by the quiet terror of survival, of walking a city that had once felt infinite but now felt fractured and contingent—like the ground itself could vanish beneath their feet at any moment.

alice had lost friends. two of them, gone in an instant, mid-text—one of them telling her about a date they were nervous for, the other asking if she wanted to grab coffee. the screen still lit up in her hand as the messages stopped coming, then they returned, five years later, they were the same, but the ones who stayed weren’t.

the city strained under the weight of it all: housing shortages that left families piled in makeshift apartments, bureaucratic chaos so thick it swallowed people whole, insurance companies inventing new, bloodless language to explain why they wouldn’t cover the damage left behind by battles fought in the sky. "acts of god" clauses now included alien invasions and superhero crossfire, rents spiked.

and then, more recently, manhattan had gone dark—literally, not metaphorically—as a vast black void swallowed entire blocks, a silence so dense it changed the air itself.

alice had walked to work one morning, only to find herself standing at the edge of an absence she couldn’t comprehend, the skyline folded inward like paper, the space where buildings had been now reduced to a nothing so complete it made her stomach churn. and what replayed in her mind, in those moments she can’t be sure if lasted seconds or years, it was enough to break a whole woman again. even now, weeks later, she avoided looking in that direction when she walked home at night.

the new avengers had repurposed the old stark tower, turning it into what the news anchors breathlessly called the watchtower, with sleek glass panels and a new emblem stamped high above the skyline, but alice didn’t look up when she passed it on her commute. no one in new york looked up anymore. there was always something in the sky, and it never meant anything good.

her family had called her reckless for moving here in the first place, and worse for staying. “you’re not going to college in that war zone,” her mother had said, aghast, her voice sharp with the incredulity of someone who couldn’t imagine choosing discomfort, choosing risk. but alice had smiled quietly, bought the plane ticket herself, and never went back, she stayed through all of it.

now, new york existed in that in-between place: not broken, not whole, a city living in the permanent shadow of what it had survived, scaffolding draped like bandages across its frame, streets funneled by construction cones and barricades meant to fix things no one really believed could be fixed.

but it was still here and so was she.

the grocery store was busy but not crowded. alice steered her cart along the wide, polished floors, the synthetic brightness of the overhead lights casting everything in a kind of antiseptic sheen. she passed a display of canned soup stacked precariously into a makeshift sculpture, cans leaning into one another as though holding each other upright.

she weaved past them, turning into the cereal aisle with the absentminded precision of someone who had done this too many times to think about it anymore.

but then she stopped. standing there for a long minute, staring at two boxes side by side, biting at the corner of her bottom lip as if the choice between them was a moral dilemma. one was an organic granola, dense with oats and dried fruit, the kind of thing she bought when she was pretending to be good to herself. the other was a sugar-bomb masquerading as breakfast, the kind she secretly loved but always told herself she shouldn’t buy.

the boxes leaned against each other on the shelf, conspiratorial, like two friends egging her on, daring her to pick one over the other. her hand hovered just above them, fingers flexing in the space between deliberation and surrender.

and then, suddenly, another hand reached out beside hers, the skin warm and unfamiliar, brushing lightly against her fingers as they both reached for the same box at the same time. he moved through the aisle with a presence too large for the space, shoulders broad, posture unavoidably imposing—but his movements were careful, almost rehearsed, as if he were constantly, quietly trying to make himself smaller.

his hands stayed close to his body, his steps measured, soft-soled, so that the sound of his sneakers didn’t echo too loudly against the polished linoleum. even here, in something as mundane as a grocery store, he was still calculating how much space he was allowed to take up. how much was safe to take.

his eyes—tired, rimmed with the faint shadows of sleepless nights but kind in a way that had always disarmed strangers—glanced toward her briefly, and then back to the shelf, to the box he was reaching for. the same one she was about to take.

he hadn’t even noticed at first. just another task to complete: grab the cereal, avoid alexei causing a scene, get out of here with minimal incident. but then his fingertips brushed against hers.

it hit fast and sharp as a pinprick, but spreading instantly, like electricity arcing through water. both of them recoiled inward, but there was no time to pull away. the images came all at once—blunt, raw, more sensation than memory—threading between them, back and forth, as if their bodies had been wired into the same current.

for a split second, alice felt her body lean instinctively into the contact, as if gravity itself had shifted its axis, as if something fundamental had been altered by the briefest touch of skin against skin. but what came next wasn’t hers—at least, not entirely.

what she saw, or felt, or somehow inhabited, arrived in disjointed pieces: a life unfamiliar, moments that weren’t hers flickering past like half-formed dreams, raw and jagged and utterly foreign, until, impossibly, they weren’t. until, with a quiet inevitability, the unknown began to feel familiar, as if she had always carried this other life somewhere deep within her body, written in invisible script beneath her skin. she didn’t recognize the attic or the precise taste of those pills on her tongue —but her chest tightened, her breath shallowed, and her eyes burned as if all of it belonged to her, as if she had lived it, or could have.

and on the other side of that same instant, bob was standing there too, rigid, his fingers curled tighter around the box of cereal as images he didn’t recognize sluiced through him in sharp, bright cuts, flaring and fading too fast to catch, and yet leaving behind the heavy, unmistakable weight of knowing.

it was unfamiliar, completely, horrifyingly unfamiliar—until it wasn’t. until the quiet house became a house he had known, until the lonely girl with watercolors staining her hands and tears staining her face was someone he felt he had spoken to before, though he hadn’t. the moments bled together, indistinct in detail but overwhelming in force, as if their traumas—separate, distant, fully formed in isolation—had been forced into contact, bound now in a way neither of them had chosen, but neither could resist.

and then—almost mercifully—the flood of images snapped into something else. not her life nor his. but something shared, something fused by whatever strange, impossible thread had just been tied between them. it rose in their minds at the same time, vast and undeniable, stretching across the cold, gray brick of the building long since gone. the familiar sweep of midnight blues and purples, stars smeared into motion across the background, hands suspended in a perpetual almost-touch.

for alice, the image was ingrained in muscle memory—every brushstroke, every shade carefully layered during long afternoons on the scaffold, legs aching, fingers numb with cold as she painted that deliberate gap between the outstretched fingers. for bob, it was something he had never seen in waking life, yet now it was as vivid as any memory he owned: the two hands hanging in that suspended, impossible moment, the gesture frozen in time.

except now, it wasn’t. now, in this shared vision, the mural had changed. the fingers were no longer reaching. they were already entwined, laced together tightly, seamlessly, as if they had always been that way. the gap was gone, erased not by another layer of paint, but by something deeper, more permanent, more real than the brick ever was.

alice gasped quietly, blinking hard as the vision snapped back, the store’s fluorescent light suddenly too bright, too clinical. her hand recoiled an inch, instinctive, the ghost of the mural still burning behind her eyes, but that wasn’t right—she knew how she’d painted it.

she remembered the deliberate, impossible space between the fingers. they never touched and that was the point.

wasn’t it?

she hadn’t seen the mural in years—the building was gone now, reduced to twisted steel and scorched concrete in one of the otherworldly battles, so she couldn’t check. maybe—maybe she was misremembering.

it had been five years. so much had happened.

hadn’t it?

bob inhaled sharply too, the small, reflexive sound of someone pulling out of deep water, his eyes catching hers with a brief, flickering intensity— like he was seeing her for the first time, or maybe recognizing her from somewhere neither of them had ever been.

his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the box, anchoring himself to the ordinary as something vast and incomprehensible uncoiled just beneath his skin. but then it passed like it always did.

alice dropped her gaze first, a small, involuntary shudder passing through her shoulders as she smoothed her hand over the handle of her cart, trying to make the world familiar and normal again.

bob cleared his throat softly, offering the box with that same quiet, instinctive deference.

“sorry,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges.

but she was already shaking her head, her mouth forming the familiar words. “no, you go ahead.”

an echo of the same ache carried quietly across different lives, an ache neither had ever fully found words for. a shared vibration in the marrow.

bob reynolds—no longer the boy hiding in attics, not yet fully the man the world would call the sentry—wrapped his fingers around the box and gently pulled it from the shelf, nodding as he took a small step back to give her room.

even now, after everything, after years spent trying to cauterize himself shut, he couldn’t quite stop the instinct to make space for other people. his therapist had said that grocery runs would help with the anxiety, with the agoraphobia, you know, small steps into normalcy. meaningless, low-risk environments: supermarkets, parks, coffee shops.

re-acclimate yourself to people, to fluorescent lighting, to the act of moving your body through the world without imagining catastrophe in every corner. the others had agreed, alexei had, in particular.

after that last incident—when the towering, well-meaning russian had cornered a poor woman in the aisle, trying to convince her that the limited edition wheatios featuring the new avengers was “historic memorabilia, yes? must be collected!”—they’d decided, firmly, that alexei couldn’t go on grocery runs alone.

bob had drawn the short straw today. well, not really short—they all thought it would be good for him. get out of the tower, get some air, be in the city like a person, not just a name in a file or a cautionary headline, but he wasn’t sure they were right.

his skin still felt a little too tight, his pulse a little too loud in his ears, the edges of everything too sharp under the store’s relentless lighting. but he’d ducked into the cereal aisle before alexei could barrel down it and find someone else to accidentally terrify.

and now—this. his hand brushing against hers, over cereal. the most banal of things. and yet, it had stopped him even if just for a second.

alice looked up then, properly, eyes meeting his, holding them with a steadiness that made something in his chest shift. for a moment, everything else—the repetitive beeping of the registers, the low hum of the overhead fluorescents, the muffled laughter from somewhere near the bakery, the rattle of a shopping cart wheel sticking just off rhythm—fell away.

there was just her. this stranger with eyes that seemed to carry something he recognized but couldn’t yet place, and his own breath caught just slightly behind his teeth.

he hesitated for a breath longer than necessary—something about the weight of this moment, this contact—but then nodded, slipping the box into the basket looped over his arm. the motion felt more significant than it should have, like a pebble dislodged at the top of a hill, quiet now but with the potential to gather speed.

for a moment, they simply stood there, side by side, separated by the thin air of the aisle and the silent negotiations neither of them knew they were making. each pretending not to notice the strange, heavy thing lingering between them—the kind of thing that, once noticed, can’t easily be undone. as if the world hadn’t cracked open and stitched itself back together a thousand times already. as if they hadn’t both been walking toward this exact point for years, their lives tracing long, indirect lines that had finally intersected here—between frozen breakfasts and novelty cereals.

bob offered her another small smile, softer now, almost embarrassed by its own existence, then shifted his weight and stepped past her, his steps silent against the polished floor as he moved toward the front of the store. he exhaled slowly as he walked, the breath rattling faintly in his chest, heart still ticking a little too fast.

alice watched him go, standing perfectly still in the aisle, her fingers still tight around the handle of the shopping cart, as if frozen in the gravity of that brief, meaningless contact. she turned her cart around and kept moving, a faint, private smile curving at the corner of her mouth.

farther down the aisle, alexei was already engaged in animated debate with a confused teenager about which cereal had better fiber content, his broad hands gesturing wildly as he mispronounced brand names with cheerful conviction.

bob sighed softly, the sound more amused than exasperated, and kept walking toward the registers. and, unknowingly, toward everything that would come after.

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jackhues · 1 year ago

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CLOWNS AND CARS - PADDOCK PASS, BABY [ PART FIVE ]

in which y/n hamilton might've accidently manifested her dad's dnf (australia 24)

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y/nhamilton

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 & others

y/nhamilton: "what did it cost you (to convince these two to step away from the track)?" "nothing (one of my dad's signed hats)"

tagged: kimi.antonelli, olliebearman

pinned y/nhamilton: guys i know the actual line is 'everything'. stop attacking me, i'm sensitive -> user: i just choked on my water -> y/nhamilton: are you okay? -> user: yeah i'm fine now!

pinned y/nhamilton: @/landonorris see how well MY bracelet would match with that fit -> landonorris: you mean mine? you're never getting it back just accept the fact -> y/nhamilton: never

pinned y/nhamilton: swipe to the end to see a wallaby sniff oliver -> kimi.antonelli: not pictured is oliver screaming very loud and running away -> olliebearman: i'm literally being bullied by two CHILDREN

user: omgg pretty 😍

user: ollie in the third slide is looking up the way y/n normally does when they talk -> y/nhamilton: i'm not short. he's built like a giraffe

user: omgg look at kimi with the koala -> y/nhamilton: that's not a koala. it's a mirror

user: queen hamilton making sure no one featured on her page gets an ego 🤩

logansargeant: invite? -> y/nhamilton: boy you were sleeping -> logansargeant: so THAT'S what all of those calls were for

carlossainz55: 🫎🫎 ->y/nhamilton: 🫏🫏 -> user: i have no idea what this means and i never will, but i look forward to carlos' comment EVERY time y/n posts

doriane_pin: pretty girl 😍 -> y/nhamilton: marry me 💍 -> doriane_pin: 👰👰👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 -> kimi.antonelli: what did i just see? -> y/nhamilton: congrats, you were a witness at our wedding!

y/nhamilton

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, olliebearman & others

y/nhamilton: last slide is me watching the aus gp if you even care

tagged: lewishamilton, valtteribottas, maxverstappen1

user: I CARE!

user: y/n hamilton back at it with the gp dumps

charles_leclerc: where are the podium pics? -> y/nhamilton: you put that filter on all of the ones you sent. it's not the vibe i'm going for today

logansargeant: are you still depressed about the uno cards? -> y/nhamilton: yes.

carlossainz55: 🏆🏆 -> y/nhamilton:🏅🏅

user: nahh you can't be clowning ferrari. that's your new home -> y/nhamilton: i've got a year

lewishamilton: well... at least i made the photo dump (?) -> y/nhamilton: TWICE

sebastianvettel: since when do you have a cat? -> y/nhamilton: it's a reaction meme seb. i don't have a cat

ausgp: we'll be back next year!!

---

TAGLIST: @67-angelofthelordme-67 , @somepeoplemaybe , @nothaqks , @theforevermorereject , @thatonesblog , @deviltsunoda , @xoscar03 , @mess-is-my-aesthetic , @d3kstar , @bwormie , @ietss , @sapphiccloud , @helaenatargaryensfavoritebug , @urfavsgf , @evie-119 , @raevyng , @khaylin27 , @champomiel <3

send a message/comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

NOTE: fifth part is heree! if you guys want to see something that already happened in prev seasons, send in an ask/comment! i meant to have this out earlier in the week, pretend it takes place before today! don't forget to like + reblog <3

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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💖 2024 Steddie Fic Recs 💖

@thefreakandthehair and i were talking about how so many of the fics we can name off the top of our heads are from right after the show came out because we were still actively making rec lists back then, so:

in no particular order i present to you an incomplete list of fics i love that were published or completed within the last two months

short fics (<10k)

Found God In A Tomato by @beetlesandstarss 5.7k | rated M | fluff, text fic

syrupy sweet strangers to first date fic. without spoiling anything, eddie is a flustered cutie and steve is a fuckin' menace who's lucky he's so hot

he tightened he grip by @steddieas-shegoes 1.3k | rated E | crack not treated remotely seriously

Mickala beloved your commitment to the bit makes me wanna commit myself to you 💍

Slide It In by gayhandshake 1.8k | rated E | multimedia crack

another truly impeccable work of crack fic, i laughed so hard at the first image that i made it the icon for my private discord server

what's that sound? (there's a funny man at my door) by @jewishrat420 4.8k | rated M | spicy six text fic

laughed out loud at this fic so many times i really don't know what else to tell you. as a matter of fact, i went to look at my bookmark note to see what else i had to say about it when i read it, and my note just says "fucking hilarious i laughed out loud like 6 times" 💀 did not do not will never know what else to tell you except that the phrase "the goyim of gender" just randomly pops into my brain once every four or so days now

medium fics (10-20k)

In the Kitchen or the Tulips by @teddywesworl 44k | rated E | telepathic soulmate AU

this fic said "watch me flip this trope inside out like a freshly cubed half of an avocado" and then DELIVERED. i finished this fic and then stared at the side of my husband's head for long enough that he looked over and went "wtf are you doing" lmao hush baby i am contemplating the implications

they're going to send us to prison for jerks by @greatunironic 16k | rated E | social media AU

okay firstly the premise of this fic is so specifically and delightfully unhinged; love that i'm not the only one who looks at a random tiktok account and manically whispers to myself "there's a fic in there somewhere." secondly the execution is a 10 outta 10 outta 10 outta TEN

long fics (50k+)

Sneaky Link by @morningberriesao3 152k | rated E | onlyfans au

the sex is HOT the boys are dumb as goddamn ROCKS what more do you need? oh, what's that? you do need more? sick because this fic also has: the tags "cum slut eddie munson" and "everyone is gay (because i say so)", chrissy the homophobe slayer being the cutest little spy, and jason getting his ass whooped, like, spiritually. on a spiritual level. physically unharmed but that boy's soul is missing teeth do u understand what i am saying

podfics!

it was love, love alone read by @reena-jenkins 21min | rated E

am i technically reccing my own fic on my own fic rec list? you bet your sweet ass i am, i don't even care how tacky that is reena's performance is hilarious and deserves to be listened to at least 40 more times while doing the dishes

relax (lay it back) read by @flintandfuss 1hr 10min | rated E | yogi dom steve x sub eddie

listen if i'm already being gauche then i gotta include my internet wife's belated birthday present to me, like i gotta. morally and lustfully obligated.

Schiava by @teddywesworl read by aheada_lettuce 1hr 30min | rated E | kas!eddie AU

said it once already today and i'll say it again, i cannot believe one of the best reading voices i've ever heard belongs to a person i mentally refer to as fucking lettuce LOL anyway this read is incredible and i have listened to it Times(tm)

and lastly, if you want more recs (like, 348 more specifically), you can browse my full list of public st bookmarks here

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fic recs #i'm still playing catch up on tbrs from 2023 so don't have a ton of new fics to rec just yet but these are all excellent i promise <3 #steve harrington #eddie munson

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couldawouldashoulda50 · 7 days ago

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Yes Day - Part Two (from the AU of William and Loren)

Part One of Yes Day is here

A/N: Just a continuation of Yes Day, where William returns from a road trip and heads straight for Loren’s house, in desperate need of some “quiet.”

This is an indulgent Part Two where they get to simply enjoy each other — pushing some boundaries of mutual pleasure, while staying firmly in that messy, intimate space that only they know how to navigate.

Word count <8k (ooof, sorry )

Warnings - I went a little heavier on the sexual content (oral, vaginal, anal play references, use of sex toys, rough sex, face riding)

18+ readers only please

Recap of the end of Part One: “You know,” he panted, pausing as his lungs tried to cooperate, “every time one of the guys on the team says how nice you are, I almost want to correct them.”

He turned his head toward her, eyes still heavy with post-orgasm haze.

“I should tell them you’re pure evil.”

Loren chuckled and rolled her eyes. She leaned over and kissed along his chest. “Who doesn’t need a little bit of evil in their life every now and again?”

William circled his arms around her, pulling her on top of him. “Just letting you know…” he smiled, biting his bottom lip, “You’re in for so much trouble once I catch my breath. I’ve got an evil side too.”

⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊

Welcome to Yes Day - part Two.

Loren laughed but her smiled faltered when she caught the mischievous glint in his eyes. His face, with his model good looks and naturally sensual expression had her tightening in anticipation for any part of William’s body that he was offering.

She tried to regain control of herself, but as she straddled his waist, the urge was overpowering as she opened her legs wider to lightly grind on his cock.

"What kind of evil?" she murmured, biting her bottom lip before trailing open-mouthed kisses along his chest.

When she circled his nipple with her tongue, William jolted beneath her, a quick, involuntary movement that made Loren smile against his skin. Emboldened, she licked the other nipple, slower this time.

“Jesus Loren -

He lightly smacked her ass before grabbing hold of both cheeks while he brushed his lips along her jaw.

"With the way you've been treating me today with that mouth of yours," he said, nipping lightly at her earlobe, "I think it’s only fair I return the favour…."

Her heart was racing - the man made her so fucking giddy.

He leaned back slightly, hands sliding down her sides shifting himself and rolling her slowly off of him before his head nestled into the pillow. He smiled at Loren as he patted his own chest.

"Climb aboard….”

Her mouth was slightly agape, her eyebrows raised. "Climb...aboard?" her chuckle did little to mask her hesitation.

He gave her a look — with this wicked little smirk — and gently grabbed her hand since it was clear she needed some encouragement.

He guided her fingertips to his mouth and lightly flicked each tip with his tongue. “Feel that? That’s a little preview - feels good, no? As you ride my face. I promise, you’ll love it.”

Loren’s face burned red as she watched him continue to tongue her fingertips. “Mmmm…. so I’ll be riding the moustache express then?”

He cocked his eyebrow. “Oh yeah…that’s right - ride the moustache express…”, he said in this sinful lowered voice. “Up you come…”

She giggled a little at first but it was soon replaced by a bashful, almost shy expression.

"I've, um... I've never done that before," she admitted, eyes lowering to his lips first and then back to his eyes.

His teasing softened instantly. He cupped her jaw and eased her mouth towards his.

"All you gotta do," he said, voice low and smooth, "is bring that delicious pussy over top my mouth."

Loren flushed —hearing him say that to her, with his eyes turning a steel-blue, sent a jolt of arousal across her belly. It was as though she could already feel his tongue between her legs.

Loren hesitated, her hand running nervously along his chest and abdomen.

"I just... it's different. It's...like….hovering," she said quietly. "I feel...weirdly kind of exposed."

William leaned in and kissed her, slowly and reassuringly. He rested his forehead against hers.

“It’s not that different from when…you know - I pin back your legs,” William said just before he kissed her, the tip of his tongue slowly stroking hers “….and go down on you. Let me show you how much I love the way you taste. Every part of your body is stunning. Let me show you how beautiful you are,” he purred.

He lay on his back again, shifting almost excitedly into position. He made this sound - like a tsk tsk with his mouth…like saying “giddyap”, all with this grin that should be illegal.

“How you make peer pressure so hot, I’ll never know,” the mock accusation making him chuckle.

In one fluid movement, Loren shifted, kneeling beside him before climbing over his torso. Her tank top was barely hanging on — stretched completely out of shape from everything they’d already done — and she figured if she was going to expose herself, she might as well go all the way.

Looking up at her, at her round breasts, her still tanned body from her last modeling job, he was sure she’d never looked more stunning. He had the same thought five minutes ago, and 5 minutes before that. He actually should thank his brother for sending him that dumb message which nudged William to Loren’s house instead of going home.

He wet his lips slowly, a wicked, cocky grin spreading across his face as she shimmied forward, straddling his chest.

"Closer," his voice was low and rough as his hands roamed around her waist to her stomach.

Loren’s nervous excitement radiated through her - her heart raced and her thighs trembled as she edged forward — she was close enough now to his mouth, the feeling of his hot breath almost tickling her clit.

"Fuck William, I’m not sure…I know what your mouth can do when I’m on my back but….what if I need to...what if I need to tap out?" she joked weakly, failing to hide her nerves. "I’m worried this might be too much for me to handle."

He could feel her already tensing in anticipation, his cock was rigid with the thought of the first swipe of his tongue in her folds. “You’ll be okay…just hold on to the headboard and you’ll be fine.”

William didn’t give her a chance to second-guess herself. He half-hoisted her up by her hips, dragging her over his face.

“Oh my God—William—” she whimpered, her thighs instinctively tightening around him.

But he only growled low in approval, locking his arms around her legs to hold her exactly where he wanted her.

She knew that headboard was the only thing that would keep her somewhat sane and grounded. The first sweep of his tongue against her clit made her jolt, she gasped a strangled “holy fuck” unable to stop it even if she tried. Her body was already reacting to the fleeting stimulation from his mouth and tongue. Loren arched her back and he responded by pulling her down further onto his mouth.

The fucking obscene sounds that boy made - in between, inside, all around her pussy - made her tense and clench every muscle group from her bellybutton down to her knees. If him making out with her pussy wasn’t enough, his beard growth added an extra layer of stimulation….stimulation so intense she thought she had dislodged the headboard from the bed frame.

Her hips jerked and bucked a little as he held her in place. She clasped her one hand tightly over her mouth trying not to sound like a yipping coyote. Her other hand acted as though it was independent from her body and couldn't figure out what to do with itself. It gripped his hair, twisted her own nipple, pressed against the wall above the headboard, and grabbed his forearm.

She knew it was going to be too much. It always was when he ate her out. But he loved it so much, and lately… it felt like she’d spent the whole fucking season in training camp — crying for his cock less, and cumming on his face more.

But this angle was new still, and she found herself overstimulated and completely ruined.

“Fuckfuuuck Will - Jesus fucking Christ….I caan't…I -”

Loren looked down towards his face which seemed to be happily smothered and shimmering with her juices. His grip was loose enough to allow her to rock back and forth but that action set her thighs into a steady tremor.

The mustache express - his mustache express was mighty. Her head almost whiplashed backwards, the ends of her long waves dancing just above his bellybutton.

"W-William," she gasped, the words barely audible past her thighs that covered his ears.

His only response was when he hummed against her clit, sending vibrations straight through her.

“Fuck - Whhil-yum - so good,” she breathed in huffs on each syllable. Her thighs were trembling alongside the erractic muscle movement in her ass cheeks.

She nearly fell over trying to dismount him and tap out, but his grip tightened around her thighs, keeping her right where he wanted her, refusing to let her shy away.

"You tap out," he rasped roughly against her flesh, beaded with spit and arousal, "I'll just pull you back down. Just hold on beautiful girl, I promise I got you. Tell me when you're gonna cum.”

If she thought he might let up — that he’d give her a second to collect herself — she was dead wrong. He pulled her pussy down against his tongue that flicked rapidly against the hood of her clit. It was wildly tormenting in the best, most pussy pleasing way. Her ass and thighs clenched hard as one hand gripped his hair and the other clung onto the headboard.

William’s one hand had let go from her hip and he jerked himself steadily. His other hand was clamped around her waist as she rocked almost uncontrollably.

“I’m so close—fucking so close…” she gasped, the words tumbling out in a hoarse wheeze. Her eyes bulged with overstimulation, her entire body shaking with the relentless shockwaves of his tongue.

When he finally loosened his grip on her, it was not a signal that he was done. He wanted tangible proof of him sending her to the edge of sanity.

William guided her off his face, giving her a break from his loving oral assault on her pussy. He positioned her on all fours but it wasn’t long before her top half collapsed and her forehead was pressed against the mattress as her hands clung to the sheets.

William knelt behind her, kissed and licked her folds once more before he gently pressed his middle and ring finger against her entrance. He smoothed his other hand over the sheen of her gorgeous round ass cheeks, giving them each a light slap that rippled on contact.

Loren was still panting, her body trembling in aftershocks, soft muffled moans slipping out without any control. Her sun-kissed skin glistened, outlining every contour of her back and the gentle rise of her ribcage. It made his head swim — watching her twist and writhe in anticipation, her thighs quivering, hips subtly shifting like her body was already begging for his fingers before he even curled them inside her.

His two finger tips were drenched from his saliva and her arousal. He took her patented move of raking his fingernails down her back just as he inserted his fingers. He knew the sensation had gone straight to her core — her hips tensed more, squirmed more, and she gasped a resounding, breathless “Holy fuck…” into the mattress.

William held his fingers steady, curling them rhythmically as he waited to find that spot. Her body told him when he did—sharp little shocks from each perfect press of his fingers made her arch her back and spread her legs wider, pressing harder against his touch. Kneeling at her side, his fingers deep inside her while his other hand massaged her breast, William increased his pace. Muffled shrieks escaped from beneath the mane of hair covering her face. Her thighs trembled and tensed, nearly straightening with the intensity.

She almost crawled away, but William held her waist firmly in place. He could feel her walls clenching hard around his fingers. "Loren—it's okay," he soothed. "Just relax. Just let it happen... I want to see you—"

Before he could finish, it happened. A sudden splish against his wrist, then a thin stream sprayed up his forearm, dripping onto the sheets and down her thighs.

Loren cried out, her whole body convulsing as her arms and legs gave out completely, collapsing onto the mattress. William didn't stop—he eased her through it, his fingers working gently while her hips jerked with each aftershock. He watched as she soaked his arm once more, her softening whimpers floating above her. He slid his fingers slowly from her core.

He moved her hair from off her face and neck - her body, still buzzing with her release - and leaned towards her ear.

"That was so fucking hot," he whispered. "You don't even know. Look at you. Fucking unreal."

Loren was still shaking, her cheek pressed to the sheet, eyes fluttering.

She didn't say anything—couldn't—but he caught the tiniest, exhausted smile curve at her lips.

He was stunned looking at her, his cock throbbing and desperate to feel her from the inside.

He smoothed her hair up to expose her long, beautiful neck. "Fuck, you turn me on so much... can you handle a little more from me?"

A slight nod coupled with a moan and tiny wiggle from her hips was his response.

He straddled her upper thighs, hovering just enough to spread her legs wider. Lately Loren had asked for him to run the tip of his cock between her folds repeatedly until she was almost begging for all of it inside of her.

He wasn’t about to disappoint — not when she loved being edged like this. He'd make her beg for it, just the way she liked.

He gripped the middle of his shaft - the head of his cock hard but somewhat pliable as he smoothed it up and down between her slit.

Goddammit - the sound of her moans was pure sex and surrender.

His eyes soaked in all the gorgeous details of her body.

The two indentations just about her ass cheeks. The definition between her shoulder blades and her biceps as she lay with her arms above her head.

Her round ass that he had marked many times before - still showing some redness from his grasps and light spanks.

“Do you want it?” William asked, his voice low and gentle.

She had been lightly grinding against thr mattress moaning, sighing his name.

“Oh my God, yes William. Please,” she whispered.

William pressed the tip firmly against her entrance, watching as her knuckles turned white from gripping the sheets.

Slowly he slid himself in, his mouth dropping open from her tight stretch.

Loren's brows furrowed as her lips parted at the sensation.

“Mmmm - fuck, William,” she breathed.

He held himself steady, as he slowly moved his cock inside her, each thrust coaxing a fresh gasp from them both.

The angle — her arms stretched out, his hands anchoring her hips just right — felt incredibly intimate and primal.

Like an elegant version of Wild Kingdom sex.

As his pace increased, he shifted his hands — one reaching behind to grip her calf, the other squeezing and massaging her ass cheek. It was all hip motion — the way he drove into her pussy, her slickness coating his shaft with every thrust.

She moaned into the mattress as he shifted his hand placement, gripping beneath her waist to pull her hips up in time with his thrusts. Each deep stroke pushed her closer to another orgasm. Each thrust elicited a “holy fuck” from her — like holy fuck, she couldn’t believe how fucking good it felt.

“Harder,” she gasped. It was barely more than a whisper.

William hesitated for a beat — like the word threw him a little — but he was more than up for it.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “You want it harder?”

Her only answer was another breathless, “Holy fuck, William,” followed by a soft, desperate: “Yes… harder, please.”

But before William obliged, he had an idea.

He spread her legs wider, adjusted one to bend at the knee, then leaned over and reached into the drawer beside the bed.

Loren caught the movement and smiled, gathering her hair as she shifted slightly onto her side.

William leaned in, his mouth brushing her cheek.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured. “I want you to come — come really hard for me again.”

He handed her the air pulse stimulator.

Loren turned it on, nestled it gently around the hood of her clit, and exhaled shakily — just as William slid back inside her.

The quiet buzz of the toy was immediately drowned out by the sound of her moan — long and aching moans— as he began to thrust again.

She rolled slightly, body stiff and shaking, not quite on her stomach — more like she was straining to hold herself together. Every muscle was tense, clenched with too much sensation. Her toes curled, ankles flexing involuntarily as if her whole lower body mechanics were trying to process the overload.

“Please,” she whispered — like it physically hurt not to have his cock driving into her and filling her up.

William planted one hand at the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip, and started to fuck her — hard, relentless, like he was trying to pound every moan from her lungs. Her body rocked with each thrust, high pitched little gasps breaking from her lips, the toy still pulsing at her clit.

Loren shifted the stimulator just slightly hitting a spot so good that within a handful of seconds, she cried out that she was about to cum. It rocked her so hard that she sobbed into the mattress from pure ecstasy and release. The problem was the clit stimulator was still lodged against her sensitive nub and William had to pull it out from under her and hold her body from bucking him right out of her.

He slowed his pace, easing himself deep inside her with one slow, deliberate thrust. His hand brushed her hair away from her face, fingers gently tucking the strands behind her ear as he leaned in close.

Loren was moaning, whimpering into the mattress — a quiet barrage of breathless “oh my god's tumbling from her lips.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, right against her ear. “You okay?”

She barely managed a nod — her body still quivering, lips parted, completely overwhelmed. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even think. Her body had a mind of its own.

That next deep thrust? She felt every inch of him. All the way in. So full it almost scared her.

William’s breath hitched. She was gripping him like a vice. His restraint completely gone as he quickened his pace again.

“Fuuuck, baby,” he groaned. “Holy fuck, Loren…”

Then came the grunts — low, drawn-out, primal.

“Uuuuuuuurghmph— Uuuuuurghmph— Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurghmph—”

He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. Not when she felt like this. Not when she’d just come so hard she couldn’t speak.

His hands clasped around her waist, his blonde hair falling around his face as he grit his teeth, his cock just about to erupt inside of her. Her pussy gripped him so tight it nearly sent him spiraling. When he bottomed out, buried as deep as he could go, he felt it — the pulse of each hot pump of his cum spilling into her, again and again, his body shuddering with every surge. He had to take a moment, blinking away the high — not even noticing he was unconsciously kneading one of her ass cheeks with his hand.

He looked down at her limp body, eyes tracing the slow rise and fall of her back as she breathed.

When he smoothed his hand along her spine, she jolted and gasped.

Fuck. She was still like a live wire.

Yes Day had already wrecked her.

There was no way Loren could ever get used to the powerful orgasms and how they left her in their wake. Her mind was clear, but her body was still lost in a physical paralysis that nearly blew William’s mind every time.

Sure, he’d always known he had a certain sexual prowess — confirmed by all the lovers that came before Loren — but this? This was on a totally higher level.

He slid next to her, mindful not to graze her too lightly — instead using warm, grounding touches. He reached for the stimulator still buzzing above her head and held down the button to turn it off.

He kissed her shoulder, then the hair on the back of her head.

"Loren?" he asked softly. "You doing okay?"

She nodded weakly, forcing out a quiet mumble. "Just need a few minutes."

He smiled and kissed her head again.

He didn’t say it out loud, but God — he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he loved her.

—

William grabbed some sustenance from the kitchen — the light salmon and avocado snacks Loren had prepped before their sexploits began. He balanced a tray with relative ease as he climbed the stairs to the bedroom, where Loren was still lying in a sort of upside-down starfish pose.

Setting the tray down on an ottoman she had next to a plush club chair, he grabbed some water - he gulped down a glass first before filling it back up for Loren. He smiled - oddly proud of the rumpled mess of the sheets, and well - his girlfriend too. He wasn’t sure if this is what she had in mind when she had cheekily declared this Yes Day but he’s in it now.

And if he was being honest?

He still had a few ideas cooking for later — once they’d had a chance to catch their breath.

Loren was slow to rise, padding naked to the washroom. William’s eyes followed her - a glint of pride and maybe even some mischief, watching as she stumbled a little, eventually bouncing off of the trim around the door with a soft “ouch - motherfucker” escaping her mouth.

When she returned, William had started stripping the bed, so she grabbed fresh sheets from the linen closet. She half giggled and half groaned about how gingerly she was moving as she tried to stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress corners.

It seemed like such a nothing moment — the two of them making the bed together, climbing onto fresh sheets with a platter of food Loren had made with adoration that morning.

The dogs were quick to return to the sanctity of the bed (they clearly knew when it was safe — and when their humans were otherwise occupied).

They caught each other up with a few stories, mixing in some innocent gossip — something the two didn’t often indulge in — and it usually ended with one or both of them shrugging and thankfully saying, “Not my problem.”

After a shared shower, they prepared breakfast together, walked the dogs, and happily sank into Loren’s living room couch to watch Season Three of Full Swing — something both he and Loren shared a mutual interest in.

Midway through the first episode, Alex called, wondering when William would be arriving home and if he was on his own for dinner. Loren, though she had no choice but to be within earshot of the conversation, tried not to pay attention to their fast-paced dialogue in Swedish. She could catch the gist, but some portions were still a touch beyond her understanding.

Until she heard her name — a couple of times.

She tried not to react, but William nudged her with his elbow, a grin pulling at his mouth, as if to say: “Oh yeah, we’re totally talking about you.”

After the call ended, William shook his head and chuckled. If for nothing else, his brother absolutely made him laugh over the most nonsensical things.

William had been sitting between Loren’s legs, but he shifted to turn toward her face.

“You okay if we head back to the city tonight?” he asked. “Alex is sick of Chipotle and all the places he goes to all the time, so he’s really hoping you’ll make that shrimp udon thing you did before.”

He grinned. “In his defense… it was really fucking good.”

Loren nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face.

“I can imagine he’s got a good appetite now. I’m willing to bet he’s taken full advantage of having the condo to himself... it was nice of you to let him have it for a little longer.”

William’s eyes trailed from hers, down to her mouth, to the indentation in her neck... where he leaned in and pressed a kiss.

“Well, I guess I should be honest... I wanted to punish him a little by coming straight here. And don’t get it into your head thinking I don’t love your house — I do love coming here — but yeah... it was partly to teach him a little lesson.”

Loren raised her eyebrows, surprised at the admission. 97% of the time, William and Alex were thicker than thieves.

“Should I ask?”

William slid down further, leaning his back against Loren.

“He was out drinking one night with some friends, and he left me a voice note saying some stuff that I guess just rubbed me the wrong way.”

Loren was confused but stayed quiet. She kissed the top of his head, gauging whether he’d continue.

“He said maybe next time I’m on the road, you could stay at the condo — sort of... cook for him.”

Loren tilted her head.

“Sounds about right,” she murmured, her lips brushing his hair.

“He said he had... another craving,” William added, voice low. “I’d prefer not to repeat it fully, but his words were... ‘sharing is caring.’”

Loren cocked her head.

“As in... you sharing me with him?”

William slid his hand under her thigh.

“Bingo.”

She paused, processing, then said lightly:

“Wow. Okay then. Horny bugger.”

William chuckled.

“That’s tamer than what I thought you might call him.”

There was a lingering silence - not uncomfortable in the least but William sensed the wheels turning in Loren's head.

William spoke softly. “Did that bother you - what Alex said? I don’t want you to feel like you can't say something about him to me.”

“I'm guessing that was the drink talking…maybe it was a slow night for him,” Loren huffed with a smile. She remained quiet for a moment.

William gently squeezed her thigh. “I can feel the questions bouncing around in your head. You can tell me…tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Loren blushed. “I'm thinking that there's a least one or two ladies….or how ever many that probably had the time of their lives being tagged-teamed by the Nylander brothers.”

William listened for a twinge in her voice that might indicate she was hurt by the notion. All he heard was her quiet acceptance — the silent acknowledgment that there might be a lot to unpack when referring to his past sex life.

She was quiet, though.

“I hope you don’t think less of me… or Alex,” William said carefully. “But yeah, there were a few times.”

Loren’s heart raced a little at the thought. “I had assumed,” she admitted softly, her cheeks flushing — mostly from the images it conjured in her mind. “Given how close you two are, it makes sense that there were times.”

She wasn’t lying. Loren was more curious than anything. She found herself… almost envious of the women who’d been so carefree, so open to something like that — something she’d never allowed herself to consider before William.

William knew Loren’s body count — she’d never mentioned or even alluded to more than one partner at a time. Still, he sensed a hint of curiosity in her tone.

“You’ve never had any kind of… ‘some’ — like a three or a foursome or anything?” he asked gently.

Loren shook her head. “No,” she admitted, sounding a little embarrassed. “I don’t really know what it was back then… I didn’t really know or understand much beyond the basics — and I probably wouldn’t have been willing to try either, I guess. I just know now I’m… curious. About different ways to give pleasure, and I—” Her voice trailed off.

William shifted, turning to look up at her face. Her cheeks were flushed almost hot pink. “That you…?” he prompted softly.

Loren groaned, dropping her head back in defeat. “I didn’t want to tell you, really — unless you noticed something different, but with your road trips lately, I haven’t been able to show you…”

She was rambling, her body tensing under his hands.

“Loren — tell me what?” Even William was starting to feel a little nervous.

Loren’s head tilted back as she sighed. “It’s just… you’ve had a lot of partners and so much experience — and I haven’t. So… I signed up for a few private sex workshops with a lady in the city… to keep, you know — learning how to fuck you better…”

William’s eyes widened as he processed her words, he was totally stunned. His cheeks flushed as he turned to look at her. His heart swelled, it ached with a pride and appreciation for her. “You signed up for… sex workshops? For me?”

The flush in her cheeks burned hot as she bit her lip. She covered her face and groaned into her hands. “It’s silly, I know. I mean… you’ve had so much experience, and I just… I wanted to—”

He cut her off, gently pulling her hands away from her face.

“Loren? Loren….hey….look at me,” he coaxed softly. When she did, he kissed her so slowly and so deeply that her core literally ached for him.

He spoke softly, stroking his thumb against her cheek. His gaze was filled with adoration for her.

“I never… would’ve thought anyone would do something like that for me.” William paused for a moment. “I hope I never made you feel that you were anything less than perfect - experienced or not, that’s what it feels like being with you.”

Her cheeks were still burning. “You never made me feel that way. The opposite in fact. I just wanted to keep building confidence, for both of us really.” She lifted his hand to her mouth and she kissed a line from his palm down along his wrist. “You’re already so good - the greatest…for me anyway. I just wanted to make you feel the same….or at least in the same ballpark,” she giggled a little self-consciously.

William shifted on the couch to turn and face her. He knelt between her legs and gently slid her body down and lowering himself back between her legs.

Ballpark? he muttered the thought to himself.

William pressed his forehead against hers. “But I noticed… when I first got here, when you climbed on top of me… something was different. The way you moved… it was—fuck, I definitely noticed. It felt unreal before but yeah…definitely next level.”

He teased her lips, his breath hot against her mouth. “I was thinking about it when I woke up,” he whispered, his cock already hardening as he slowly against her. “It made me so fucking hard just remembering it.

He kissed her, a little harder, a little more urgently. Her hands gripped his hips slightly as he continued to rub his erection between her clothed slit. She then grabbed his ass and began to reciprocate the movement, her breathing jagged as she silently begged for his cock.

He broke from the kiss - not abruptly, just to look at her. She opened her eyes - she gazed back up at him, leaving them both breathless with the force of their feelings for one another.

He leaned his forehead back on hers. He wanted to be the one to keep exploring her desires.

“Do you like the thought of having more than just me inside of you?” William’s hand moved up her shirt, his thumb grazing over her nipple.

Loren hesitated. She had to get her thoughts and words just right.

“I mean… yeah, I think it would feel… incredible. But…” she smiled shyly, her cheeks flushing even more. “It would be really hard for you to be in two places at once though. I don’t want anyone else touching me the way you do.” She kissed him and caressed his lips with her thumb. “I’m sorry if that makes me a little less wild than….the others, the other women that were more willing.”

William looked at her again. Her honesty was not just endearing. It was a total fucking turn-on.

“Lo - you don’t need to apologize.” William’s voice lowered, his tone thick and husky. “There’s still a way you could feel that…two cocks inside of you. You can maybe start with me in your mouth - and ride your dildo. I would love to watch the way you move in the mirror of your bedroom.”

A flash visualization of what that moment might look like - Loren deep-throating William while her dildo penetrates her? A nervous-excitement mixed with intense arousal travelled across her lower belly.

She smiled and nodded before she kissed him sweetly. There were moments like this where Loren felt that her gratitude for William was endless. These moments where she felt secure and cared for, Honored.

Loved.

It was a far cry from years ago, when affection was replaced with aggression. The appearance of love masked deception. Sex was, at best, unfulfilling — and at worst, not worth the memory of the emotional wounds it inflicted.

William helped Loren up off the couch, and as she stood, her eyes immediately zeroed in on the obvious bulge in his sweats.

He caught the look. His smirk gave way to a soft chuckle.

He knew immediately that if she let herself indulge in what she was clearly imagining — dropping to her knees to engulf him the way she always wanted to whenever he was hard — they’d never make it upstairs.

“Not yet, lilla snuskis (little pervert) — it’ll still be there when we get to the bedroom,” William purred in her ear, his voice low and teasing as he gently directed her toward the stairs.

Loren’s pulse raced, her cheeks blazing hot as they entered her bedroom. She felt a tangle of excitement and nerves flip-flopping and bouncing inside her. The idea of losing herself in something she’d only recently admitted — even to herself — that she thought was hot… and doing it with William? She wasn’t ashamed to admit it was a little nerve-wracking.

From behind her, William slid off his sweats. Clearly, it was optional underwear day, too — he simply wasn’t wearing any.

He ran his hands up from her shoulders, pausing briefly at her breasts. He groaned softly as he teased her taut nipples through her shirt. Loren placed her hands over his, her head falling back onto his shoulder. She could feel his cock pressing hot and hard against the curve of her ass.

His thumbs hooked into the waistband of her cotton shorts and pushed them down, far enough to expose her pussy. His middle finger wasted no time sliding between her folds.

Clearly, she’d been waiting for him — still — even after he’d fucked her to the edge of sanity earlier.

“Show me where you want me,” William murmured, pressing kisses to her neck.

Loren hesitated, her heart pounding high in her throat.

Then she told herself:

Trust him. Show him. Love him.

She reached behind her, her hands smoothing up his thighs.

“Over there in the chair — is that okay?”

“Mmmmm-mmph,” was all she heard from him as he devoured her neck.

He broke away from her, striding to the plush club chair in the corner near the bed. He rolled the large ottoman out of the way, pausing for a brief moment — thinking it might make a good surface for a quick fuck later. But that could wait for another day.

Meanwhile, Loren retrieved a body pillow she used sometimes when she was missing William (in all sorts of ways), her Cowboy Bill clone that was just a touch longer than William’s, and her other clit stimulator.

William watched her quietly gather the essential supplies, alongside two towels — one for her to kneel on, and one for… well, everything else she hoped would happen.

She padded gracefully over to him, kneeling down to unload her arms. Placing the folded towel just so, she crawled closer to where he sat, his legs splayed and his still-hardening cock resting against his lower torso.

She removed her tank top, leaving her completely naked, kneeling before him. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that the mirror he had moved showed her perfectly. William’s eyes devoured her — how her hair fell just above the dimples at the base of her back, the curve of her waist.

That apple-bottom ass of hers that he loved to grab.

She turned back around, her eyes gleaming with worship as her focus settled on his cock.

She wanted to taste it — to feel it in her mouth so badly. But she also felt he might enjoy a little tease, a bit of edging, just before she opened her mouth to lead him to her tonsils.

Her hands and nails traveled all over his lower body. The slow grazing along the back of his calves sent a twitch through his shaft, and William leaned his head back with a moan.

Then her tongue did some traveling. So did her lips, brushing along the insides of his thighs.

William lifted his head, watching as her hair splayed across her back, her hips weaving in an almost mesmerizing pattern.

Loren gingerly lifted his shaft upright, the tip glistening with arousal.

She pointed her tongue and licked a long strip, starting from the base of his balls and tracing up along the length of his shaft.

She stopped at the tip and looked up at William, her eyes locking onto his, holding him captive.

A smirk spread across her face. “This—” she motioned to the glistening head of his cock “—is the literal tip of heaven.”

Then she fucking winked at him, and it felt like he’d just been hit with the sexiest one-two punch of all time.

Talk about heaven. The hot, wet sensation from her mouth sealed around his cock, her tongue dancing and teasing along the tip, charming more of his taste into her mouth. The moans and the occasion throat “glucks” from her as she invited him deep into her mouth. The deep groans from him as he watched her reflection. Loren was moving her lower body like the only thing she was missing was the sensation of her pussy being filled.

She pulled back slightly, her full lips cover in gloss, and glanced up at him with that playful smirk — her eyes expressed this line between mischief and innocence. That look said everything: she wanted to hear more out of him and fuck, she wasn’t going to stop until she got what she wanted. Loren was loving every second of it. William’s jaw tensed, his teeth pressing down on his bottom lip as body jerked from the wickedly intense sensation from Loren’s mouth.

He gave in finally to allow his fingers to thread through her hair, gathering it at the sides like she does when she dances. He held her like that — gentle but firm — as tousled strands dangled in front of her face as she continued to play with his member.

Their eyes connected and remained locked on each other - it was connection yes, but more like communicating their mutual depth of adoration and desire.

When Loren plunged her mouth onto him again, William could feel his orgasm beginning to tighten his insides as he gripped her hair a little harder. He focused on her reflection again - her full bottom exposed with her on her knees, her head bobbing up and down in front of him. Watching her ass made him start to salivate. He wanted to see ripple as she rides his cock clone. He wanted to kiss it, suck on the meaty parts of her cheeks, lick her from behind. Fuck, they way she fucks him back in doggystyle.

“Baby - Loren….let me watch you ride that dildo. Let me see you cum on it,” William quietly commanded through a grunt.

Loren had almost forgotten about the “other show” — him getting to watch her ride her Cowboy Bill clone while her mouth worshipped the real thing.

She slid her mouth off his shaft, intentionally letting lines of saliva stretch and break. She licked her fingers, using them as lube to slick the shaft of her dildo.

William watched in the mirror as she lowered herself onto the thick girth, moaning, “Holy fuck,” while holding onto his thighs. She knew the pillow well — it provided that perfect balance of firm and soft, ideal for riding her toy.

Soon, William saw exactly the kind of things Loren had been picking up from her sex workshop.

Her mouth was already back on his cock, her hair a tousled mess in his lap as she sucked him from a different angle. The vibration of her moans and the relentless pace of her head bobbing were almost unbearably erotic as she fucked her toy.

Every so often, the tip of the dildo hit a spot that made her buckle and hold on base of his cock. His shaft would slide out of her mouth and she’d let out a guttural “Oh my fucking god William”.

Within seconds, her mouth was back on him and without breaking from him again, she reached for her clit vibrator, turned it on and slid it between her legs.

Oh my god - that’s my girl he thought as his head fell back.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind, Loren - while licking his balls - reached for his hand, placed it on the back of her head. Her voice was low, smoldering. “Kontrollera mig, älskling…” [control me baby]

He could have shot his load right there.

He gathered and lightly gripped her hair from the nape of her neck to the back of her head. It wasn’t like she needed the help at all — she was already magnificent — but this version of her, shuddering from her own pending orgasm, was next level hot sex.

As her own orgasm slammed into her, she shrieked — mid-deep throat — her body shuddering uncontrollably. She slid her mouth off him, her forehead falling against his abdomen as her body quaked from the force of her climax.

William smoothed the hair away from her face and asked her if she could get up onto the ottoman. She let out a soft chuckle and nodded her head. She was a little wobbly as she slid the dildo from her and then rose up to stand.

His cock bounced as he stood, sliding the large upholstered ottoman in front of the chair.

Loren climbed onto the ottoman, positioning herself on hands and knees. Her head fell forward, her long mane of hair cascading down as she waited for William to get comfortable behind her.

He kneaded the tops of her ass cheeks with both hands, smoothing them apart with a gentle but firm touch, spreading her wider.

“Älskling — do you want to try two cocks? Me in your pussy and the other in your ass?” William murmured, his voice low and full of desire.

She did… but she knew that either cock would probably be too big for her after being out of the anal game for years.

“God, William… I would — really… you’re so fucking amazing… but I think it might be too big for me to ease back in with — today at least,” she said breathlessly, her voice trembling with both desire and honesty.

“Maybe we’ll have to have Yes Day to Anal Play next,” she giggled weakly.

She heard William chuckle behind her. “Okay — let me know if you change your mind.”

She lifted her head, catching both of their reflections in the mirror. She smiled, biting her lip as William ran the tip of his cock through her folds before sliding back in.

She knew he was close, the deep thrusts growing more rapid, his hips slapping hard against her ass.

Loren arched her back, feeling another orgasm coil and tighten, her pussy clenching around him.

William teased the tight ring of her asshole, slick with his spit as he drove into her. Loren gasped, clenching even harder, her voice breathless. “God — slide your finger in… please.”

He positioned his thumb, pressing in, hooking the tip for extra sensation. He fingered her ass as he fucked her harder, watching her face in the mirror — brows furrowed, mouth agape, eyes struggling to stay open.

She reached back, gripping his forearm as he pulsed his thumb into her ass a few more times. Then he grabbed her arms, pulling her upright, holding her tight as he drove into her.

Just as William’s grunts turned louder and ragged, Loren’s thighs trembled violently, her cries spiraling into a loop of his name.

He gently released her arms, gripping her hips as he crossed the finish line, groaning incoherent Swedish into the air as he head fell back.

Loren’s orgasm teetered on the edge — she fucked him back, grinding hard until her own release tore through her, her voice muffled into the fabric of the ottoman as her body collapsed.

The room fell silent, apart from their heavy breathing.

William stood first and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and chuckled.

“Fuck, Loren…you’re a fucking weapon.” He leaned over and pressed kisses all along her body. “You okay, älskling?”

She covered her eyes with her forearm. Her grin, however, gave him all the information he needed to know.

She responded anyway with “I still want more.”

William stood there, slightly shocked. “Seriously?”

“Mmm — no. Can’t think. Can’t walk. I talk like I’m hammered.” She paused, her voice teasing.

“You do quality work, my friend. Shall I pencil you in for Friday at 2:00 for our Anal Play Day?”

As he carefully lifted her off the ottoman, William let out his sweet little laugh. “Pencil me in, älskling,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "We'll set up one of those automatic feeders for Alex and we'll just make it the whole fucking weekend."

⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊‧⋆✧˚₊

#william x loren #nhl fanfiction #william nylander smut #william nylander imagine #william nylander fanfic #william nylander fic #hockey romance #nhl fan fiction #nhl romance #wn88 imagine #nhl hockey smut

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n0tamused · 1 year ago

Note

*holds u at gunpoint* dr ratio helping u study for an exam/ quiz. Am i going through an exam rn? Yes. Will it stop me from reading ratio fan fics? No

A/N: *points a second gun at you* better watch where you're going cowboy. And felt this so bad, procrastination is killing me too, but Dr. Ratio fics never fail to make me feel something again, delulu is the solulu but only for a moment. Anyway, anon, hope you enjoy this blurpp, I wish you luck on your exams! <3 Wrote this while procrastinating myself, I gotta lock in tomorrow hhhhhhh

Contents: Dr. Ratio x GN!Reader, can be read as modern au, fluff, possible grammar mistakes (I'm about to pass out)

“Here” A porcelain cup slid your way over the polished wood desk. It was a pretty off-white, rimmed with a golden line and another purple one, thinner than the gold. Tea steamed from within, wafting off the soothing floral smell. You sighed, quickly averting your glance back at the books open before you. There were two books, thick and intimidating, and your open notebook you were reading your scribbly notes from.

Circling around you Veritas’ looming frame cast a shadow over your papers for a moment before he seated himself in the chair next to you, his own cup in hand. “You're still on the same problem as when you started?” He clicks his tongue, nursing a sip of his tea before setting it aside when he appears satisfied. You didn't have it in you to respond, wishing to avoid any form of an outlash, especially taken in the fact you had already told him how you struggled with procrastination for quite a handful of days. He has given his advice, but they failed to make the spark with you last long enough to properly sit and study, and that all caused guilt to claw at your belly from within.

Veritas, on the other hand, didn't seem half as phased as you thought he'd be, at first he didn't even notice how your eyes looked at him in a silent plea for mercy. His amber eyes looked over your notes, at all the scribbles and marked words, letting out a low “hmmm”.

“And tell me, what is it that has you so stumped about this? It's quite an easy equation” he wondered, a little taken aback it was taking you so long on this, yet he had to remind himself that this material was new to you, unlike him who has seen this material countless times over. You weren't dumb, however, so what is it..?

“I.. don't know... The results I've gotten previously make no sense and they do not match the one the professor got in class. His is the right result, and I don't get how every time I did the problem, I got a different result” you began, voice initially quiet as if begging his ears to become deaf to your words, but your plea went unanswered. His keen eyes regarded you with a strange curiosity, his chin leaning on his hand. Only now did he realize how tense you looked. He blinks at you owlishly, studying your features for a brief moment before turning his gaze back towards the papers. “That is a problem.. Where is the formula your professor used? Do you have his equation as a whole written down here?”

You looked at him and then at the papers, eyes flickering all across the written words and printed text. “I.. I do.. Yes, why?”

A scoff came first, “Why, so I can take a look at it so I can help you. You did ask me to help you, did you not?”, then his large hand picked up the pen you had abandoned on top of your notes, motioning for you to show him the notes. “We can go step by step and then compare the progress to see where your problem lies”

Nodding, you were quick to breeze through the old notes, paper pages fluttering as you went over each one until finally reaching a page so full of equations it made your head hurt. With your finger you point to the one you were currently trying to figure out. “This one.. This is just a copy of what the professor did on the white board.. and this is the formula he used '' you showed him, letting him slide the notebook to his side of the desk when his fingers pinched the corner.

Silence engulfed the room, and for a long while you could only watch as Veritas’ expression changed from focused, to confused and then to frustrated.

“Are you sure this is what the professor wrote down? This is entirely incorrect. The formula alone is wrong, and the process of his calculations is just abhorrent.. What is this-” he slightly nudged the notebook away from him, offended by its contents, to say the least.

Like a little wet rat, you held your hands together, feeling guilty for all reasons you shouldn’t, a pout playing about your lips as you nodded. “Yes. That is what the professor wrote! One of my colleagues even took a picture at the end of the class since she was too lazy to write it all down herself, so I know for a fact I didn’t copy the notes wrong” you rushed to explain as your eyes glared at the offending problem.

“That is ridiculous” Veritas grumbled as he opened the big math book a few pages back from where you had opened it, searching for the formulas, and pointing towards one he softened his tone. “This formula should have been used in this problem. It is similar, yes, but the functions can’t be any more different from what your.. professor used” looking down at your notes and at the problem afterwards, he sneered, seeing that the formula was used once again in the next equation. “I don’t know what your professor was thinking, but repeating the same mistake twice is beyond ignorant..”

“What..? So..? So he is in the wrong?”

“Yes. Now.. show me the way you did it. And do it with this formula I just showed you” Veritas instructed, his nose scrunched up in disgust, although none of it was directed at you but rather at this person he didn’t even know. Perhaps he should go and meet him, just to see the face of ignorance and negligence in human form.

Following his advice, you did as he asked, working on the problem with Veritas sitting at your side, his eyes occasionally flickering to the remaining problems that would follow this one.

“There… Is this right..?” You pulled back to allow him a better view of your writing, and it didn’t take the brilliant Veritas Ratio too long to check that you were - in fact - right. His face eased slightly from its previous tension, sighing he gave a nod of satisfaction and acknowledgement.

“That’s right. Well done” Veritas says, voice significantly softer as he addresses you, before turning sharper once more. “I knew something was wrong when you got stuck on this for so long. You managed to solve all those problems I gave you yesterday, which are arguably much harder than this and much more complex with extra steps.. Hmph, can’t believe someone didn’t point out this error in your professors work”

Veritas leaned back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest in a comfortable fashion in which he usually sat around you, his whole composure softening, but through and through, it was the Veritas Ratio you always knew. Hope lit up in your eyes at the unraveling of this problem that nearly had you sick to the stomach for this whole day.

“So..I know this?..Does this mean I won’t fail..?

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, of course you won’t! You’ve got me to teach you, and let me be damned if you fail”

A victorious cackle left you as he said so, feeling free of the clutches of madness this exam has put you into, and as to celebrate you all but flung yourself onto Veritas, hugging him.

The sudden embrace surprised him and made him stutter, but his arms were quick to find their place around your body, scoffing, even as he tucked his face into your shoulder.

#-dragon.treasure #Dr. Ratio #Dr ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff #dr ratio x you #dr ratio imagine #dr ratio honkai star rail #veritas ratio #veritas ratio x you #veritas ratio x rader #veritas ratio fluff #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail fluff #fluff #honkai star rail imagine #gn reader

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aimedis · 5 months ago

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WORST KIND OF FLIRT (A TEASE) | WIP WEDNESDAY !!

vincent x lovely actors!au | happy new year everybody! i hope 2025 treats you all well. as my gift to you i shall present you with none other than the unedited version of chapter one of this idea that i talked about ages ago. i've had this chapter written for like about a month and a half but don't get your hopes up for the remaining chapters 😭 i'm gonna try but i honestly can't write for shit and i have no motivation. but if you guys like it, i'll try harder ig lmao

cw - actor au obvi, directors!angel and david, love at first sight but it's literally just lovely and vincent flirting immediately (they don't actually fall in love until later), lovely being a bit insecure, mainly lovely's pov (it switches to angel and david for a second), korean!vincent and lovely, mentions of vincent being adopted by william at ten years old for unspecified reasons, we're ignoring the drama going on between them rn okay, darlin shows up for half a second and sam for even less, says 'laughs' way too much, i know nothing about acting and auditions and whatnot okay 😭

wc - 3.6k

hope you enjoy!

“You’re going to be a star.”

Lovely’s been told that close to a billion times in their life. It used to make them really happy when they were a kid. They’d grin up at their mom when she would tell them about all the awesome movies and TV shows they would act in once they were older. They’d practice in front of a mirror for hours at a time, reciting the few lines they were expected to memorise as a little eight-year-old. Even at that age, they wanted more. More lines, more chances to prove themselves worthy of the big screen, more of the spotlight. They only wanted to shine as bright as possible, to make their family proud.

“You’re a star.”

It feels egotistical to them, to say that they’re a star. But it would be completely ignorant of them to pretend they hadn’t made it far. Getting recognized every time they stepped foot outside, having people stand in line for autographs, people using their name and face for school projects, and not to mention, getting thousands of dollars just to say the name of a brand. As much as it warmed their heart, it got to be quite disorienting at times. To think that they went from being a complete nobody outside of their school plays and small commercials to being so… well known.

It was also really privacy-invading. Paparazzi was going to be the death of them.

But that’s the price I pay, Lovely muses to themselves as they try their best to breeze past the flashing lights and cameras being shoved in their face while they try to walk into the studio.

“..they could be a little less obnoxious about it though. Can’t believe this shit’s legal.”

Lovely looks up and squints to regain steady vision from nearly being blinded. Belatedly, they snort when they see Darlin glaring at the door they had just walked through.

“Yeah,” They say breathlessly, slipping their jacket off.

Darlin pats them on the head, “You need anything before they call you in? They said in about half an hour.”

Lovely leans into their hand, “‘M okay. I’ll just play games on my phone. Did Sam go in already for Daniel?”

The (slightly) taller of the two nods and gently leads Lovely over to a few seats in a slightly secluded area, “He should be done a little while though. I already went so do you want us to wait with you before you go in? We can take you home.”

Lovely was tempted to say no, say that they don’t need to look after them. They wanted to say that they weren’t a baby (even though they were significantly younger than both Darlin and Sam) who needed to be coddled.

But when Darlin guides them to sit down, fixing their hair, they only exhale softly. As long as they don’t need to call an Uber.

“Yes please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Darlin grins, “Never for you, spark.”

Lovely huffs and pouts up at them, “Don’t call me that, weirdo.”

They only laugh and sit next to Lovely, sliding their phone out of their back pocket.

They rest their head on Darlin’s shoulder, going to scroll on their own phone to kill time.

✩★✩★✩

Lovely inhales sharply when their name is called out along with someone else. They clear their throat, and stand up, “Wish me luck, I guess.”

It shouldn’t still make them so nervous to do auditions after doing so many of them in their life. And it usually doesn’t. However, not only was this film one of the bigger ones they were called in to audition for, their agent said this one was right up their alley. And after they read the summary and script, they agreed. This one was perfect for them. The character Kaia was perfect for them. They wanted this role more than they’ve wanted any role in their life.

The male lead Lucas also happened to be their ideal type but that was neither here nor there.

“Good luck,” Sam flashes them a smile, “This is easy work for you.”

Darlin nods, “Don’t stress, you’ve got this in the bag.”

But what if someone better comes around?

Lovely leaves that unsaid, now was not the time to be insecure. They needed to have confidence.

But really they couldn’t help themselves, they read a couple hate comments too. Of course, they tried to tell themselves that the positive outweighs the negative and that the good comments were always so much more detailed and substantial than just “they’re not pretty”.

They take a deep breath and nod once, hardly noticing the other actor who stood up at the same time, walking back into the audition room. They smile back at Sam and Darlin before turning around.

They’re a star.

✩★✩★✩

Lovely walks slowly into the backroom where the auditions were being held, seeing only one other person standing around the door. They were so stuck in their own head about the person they would be acting with that they failed to notice the person they would be acting with.

They’re going over their lines in their head as they step into the hallway, reminding themselves to breathe when a voice knocks them out of their train of thought.

“So, you’re my Kaia.”

Lovely’s face prematurely scrunches in disgust before they even turn to look at whoever this guy was, not registering his tone and utterly annoyed they had to act with one of those guys. Again. They’ve worked with people like him before, revolting middle-aged men who only looked younger and thought it was okay to touch and sleazily flirt with their young co-star because they played love interests. Every other film they’ve acted in since they were 18. They were sick and tired and really wanted to enjoy this one so they turned to face this supposed middle-aged man so they could tell him off and set some boundaries.

However, they were met with the most handsome face they’ve ever seen in their life. He was smiling, not smirking, at them, his eyes shimmered even in the bright fluorescent lights, and his face looked sculpted by the gods. Lovely couldn’t help but let their eyes trail further down, scanning his body that they could somehow tell was just perfect underneath his hoodie and baggy jeans.

He laughs and—holy shit, Lovely thinks they’ve died and gone to heaven, he was so beautiful. Lovely snaps out of their little trance and meets his eyes properly, his beautiful brown eyes, when it clicks.

Oh my god, this is Vincent Solaire.

They also hadn’t known him personally, they acted in very different genres. They hadn’t even been a fan, per say. But he was just as well-known as they were. William Solaire, his father and agent, was a director they had worked under and that was one of their favourites.

Lovely inhales when Vincent brushes his hair out of his face.

“I would say you match Kaia’s description perfectly but.. I think you’re better.”

“Oh yeah?” Lovely laughs breathily, “Do you flatter all of your co-stars like this, or am I special?”

Vincent looks them up and down slightly and Lovely swears he looks at their lips, “You’re definitely.. special, Lovely was it?”

They nod, “Vincent?”

“In the flesh,” He grins.

Lovely smiles back, not having it in them to feel ashamed at the blush spreading across their face, only because he was blushing too.

“You don’t usually act in rom-coms,” Lovely hums, leaning back against the wall, “Why this one?”

Vincent’s grin widens, “You keep tabs on what I act in?”

Lovely shrugs, “I mean you’re not a nobody, I’ve seen you around. And where you are, Sam is. Gotta support my best friend’s man, you know?”

Vincent breathes a laugh, “Ah, that’s right. You’re Darlin’s twin flame.”

“In the flesh,” They repeat with a matching smile.

Vincent scoffs playfully, “Copy cat.”

Lovely snorts.

“Well,” Vincent continues, “I just wanted to try something new, you know? You can only act in thrillers and shit like that for so long before you need to switch it up to something more lighthearted.” He says, still smiling.

Lovely senses that wasn’t the whole truth but they nod, “I see. I’ve only acted in a handful of horror movies but I get it. They’re a little draining.”

“Oh yeah, you were in Locked Down.” He recalls, “I love that movie, you were phenomenal in it. Your acting was so realistic.”

Lovely smiles slightly, they always got a little sheepish whenever they got praised for their acting or any skill at all. You’d think they’d be used to it by now.

“Yeah well,” They clear their throat, “Screaming so much made my head hurt for days so I would hope it was good.”

Vincent laughs a bit hesitantly, “I’d say it paid off.”

Lovely laughs as well, going to say something else but the door in front of them swings open a little. They glance over only to freeze at the familiar face of Angel Shaw themselves standing in front of them.

Not familiar on a personal level, of course not. Lovely had never met them personally, but they and their husband were some of the most famous actors turned directors in North America. Lovely grew up watching Angel on TV and they were part of the reason Lovely even wanted to act in the first place. But even as they rose in popularity, Lovely always admired Angel and David and any film they directed. It was another recent dream of theirs to act under them, and this was their chance.

Angel looks at the two actors standing around the door and they smile, stepping out to show their full body, “Good morning, you two! Good to see you again, Vincent. We’ll be right with you both in a moment.” They turn to look at Lovely specifically, “Hi, there. I know we talked over the phone once and I’ve spoken with your agent but it’s nice to see you in person.”

You wouldn’t believe how happy I am right now, Lovely cried internally, trying to hide the star struck look on their face.

They clear their throat, “I-It’s nice to see you too. I’m a really big fan of your and David’s work.”

Angel laughs softly, “Why, thank you! That means a lot. We also enjoy watching you act, it’s truly beautiful.”

Lovely nearly died on the spot and they prayed to whatever god was listening that it didn’t show on their face. They barely squeak out a ‘thank you’ before Angel settles back into their professionalism.

They look at their clipboard, “So, you’ve both been called in to play the main characters and love interests Kaia and Lucas obviously. This “audition” is mainly just to see how well you two act together. Your chemistry, if you will. You’ll have like five-ish minutes to talk with each other and introduce yourselves and then we’ll start, okay?”

They both nod and Angel looks back up.

“Okay!” They smile and peer back into the room, “David? Are we good to go?”

“Yeah, send ‘em in.”

Angel nods towards the inside of the room, “Come on in then.”

Lovely dazedly steps into the room.

The room was bigger than it looked from the outside. There was a long table with six seats, four of which were occupied, the one to the right of David Shaw was empty, Lovely assumes that’s Angel's seat.

Angel points to the small table, “You guys can sit over there and get to know each other a little better and we’ll call you over, alright?”

Lovely and Vincent both nod and step in sync over to the corner. They both sit down and smile at each other.

“So Vincent, where are you from?” Lovely asks.

Vincent grins, “Well, I think it’s common knowledge that I was adopted by William when I was 10. But my birth parents were Korean and so were most of my foster parents until William adopted me.”

Lovely’s eyes light up, “Oh same!” They pause with a small laugh, “Not that- not that I was adopted but my parents are both Korean immigrants.”

Vincent laughs as well, “Really? Do you speak Korean then?”

Lovely’s nose scrunches, “I’m like- fairly fluent. I’m not as well-spoken as I am in English. My dad dogs on me for it all the time. You?”

“God, I have the speaking ability of a fourth grader.” Vincent scoffs, “Obviously, since I was adopted at 10 by a non-Korean man, my Korean just stopped ageing with me once I stopped putting in effort.”

They nod with a smile, “I get it. Have you tried learning more now that you’re an adult?”

“Not really? I think I tried a couple times when I turned 21 but I got impatient. But hey, maybe you could teach me,” Vincent tilts his head to the side, smiling at them.

Lovely stops breathing as they glance down at his lips.

“Yeah… I could.”

They blink when Vincent laughs, focusing back on his eyes.

“Mesmerized, Lovely?” He hums, beaming from ear to ear.

Lovely scoffs playfully, “You wish, pretty boy.”

“Think I’m pretty, huh?”

“Yeah well,” They smile a little more shyly, “I’m not blind.”

They delight in seeing the slight pink tint that spreads across Vincent’s cheeks.

He grins slightly, returning the small glance down at Lovely’s lips, “Yeah? I think you’re pretty too. Gorgeous, even.”

Lovely breathes a short flustered laugh, “Jeez, is this a part of the script? This is a lot of flattery for getting to know my co-star for an audition.”

Vincent laughs a little louder, “I’m only getting into character, of course. My Kaia.” He reaches over to gently hold Lovely’s hand laying on the table.

And Lovely feels their entire stomach light up brighter than a Fourth of July night. They swallow, forcing themselves to keep their breathing stable. They sigh shakily, “Yeah…”

Neither of them realize how long they’ve been looking into each other’s eyes until David’s voice calls from the other side of the room.

“We’re ready to get started, you two. Are you ready?”

Neither of them flinch. Not at all.

Vincent looks away first and gently drops Lovely’s hand, nodding at the directors. The two stand and walk over to stand in front of the table.

“Alright,” Angel looks up from the papers in front of them and smiles, “You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Vincent and Lovely both nod at the directors and then at each other, settling themselves into their roles. By the light waltz music starts playing softly in the background, they are both fully immersed into another world.

Vincent smiles completely poised in a way that is unlike earlier, holding his hand out towards Lovely, “Kaia. I’ve heard a lot about you from your father.”

Lovely grins back at him hesitantly, taking his hand, “That so? Lucas, is it?”

He hums as he pulls them into a slow dance of swaying back and forth, holding onto their waist loosely with his free hand, “That’s me. Prince of the House of Solaire.”

Lovely rests their right hand on Vincent’s shoulder, “Not the typical name for a royal, hm? I saw a picture of you and assumed James or Alexander.”

Vincent laughs.

✩★✩★✩

David leans over to whisper in Angel’s ear as the other casting directors spoke to the two, “They’re really good at this. I could hardly tell they were reading off a script.”

Angel snorts, tapping their pen against their paper, “Uh huh.”

He furrows his brows, “What, you don’t think they’re good?”

“No, no, not that. They’re wonderful,” Angel shakes their head with a laugh, “They’re just uhh- it feels like a little more than acting, no?”

David shrugs with a small smile, “I don’t know, Angel, maybe they’re just good at their job.”

“Right.” They roll their eyes, “And they were eye-fucking over there without the script for fun.”

“You shouldn’t speak about your actors like that, Angel.” David breathes a laugh, “And you know how insane actors are these days when it comes to getting into character. Remember Milo and the FBI Agent Incident?”

Angel stifles a louder laugh, “Oh god. They weren’t even using real guns for the shoot, he didn’t need to go to a shooting range everyday for a month.”

David bites his tongue with a grin, turning back to the two once Babe had finished speaking. He writes something down on his sheet of paper, “That was great guys, thank you so much. That’ll be it. We’ll get back to you in the next week.”

Angel bids the two goodbye and rests their head on David’s shoulder once they’re out of the room, looking down at his papers and snorting, “Didn’t need any time to think about it, huh?

David shakes his head, “God, no. They’ve had the job since they walked in here.”

✩★✩★✩

Vincent holds the door open for Lovely as they leave, to which they snort.

“Thanks, prince charming.” They pat his shoulder playfully.

He laughs and closes it behind him. Lovely jerks their head to the side to indicate Vincent follow them back to the main part of the building with a confidence they did not feel.

Vincent sticks his hands in his pockets, “Not to sound too proud, but I think we nailed that.”

“Obviously,” Lovely nods with a smile,”You could have looked at my lips a little less though.”

His eyes scrunch up into those little half-moons again to emphasize his amusement, “Well, who could blame me? They’re very nice to look at.”

Lovely raises an eyebrow, stopping once they reach the end-of-hallway door, “Only to look at?”

Vincent, once again, glances down at their lips as they spin around to face him whilst leaning against the door. He breathes a barely there ghost of a laugh, “Maybe more. Who knows?”

Lovely can’t contain the wide smile that overtakes their features, squeezing a fist behind their back to attempt to contain their excitement. Vincent looks back up at their eyes after a moment, shifting back into focus.

His head tilts slightly and he smiles sincerely, “You have beautiful eyes, Lovely.”

How they didn’t collapse right then and there, they’ll never know. Feeling crimson creeping onto their cheeks, Lovely laughs lightly and scratches their nose.

They had never been able to take praise of any kind without feeling like their entire body was on fire. They always laughed the compliment off or redirected it out of pure embarrassment. Recently, that is. Being in the spotlight so often since the age of 17 had indirectly forced them to be better at accepting the praise. Being ‘The Star of the Big Screen’ meant being continuously lauded all over the internet and often to their face during interviews or fan-meetings. They had spent so many hours in their bedroom, in cars, or in hotel rooms practicing their “poker face” and willing themself to never show a single person outside of their close circle how much a little praise flustered them.

The way Vincent spoke to them undid all of that. The tone of his voice, his gaze, his fucking confidence. If their body was on fire when it came to anyone else, he made them feel like they had just been thrown into a volcano.

And they could only thank whoever was listening that their days of tripping over their feet, choking, or sometimes straight up running away were over. The only thing that would be more humiliating than being complimented by the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen would be fumbling themself in front of him.

Shaking off their inner-monologue, they grin at him again, “Thank you. All the compliments today, are you sure this is still ‘getting into character’?”

“Of course, I have to really step into Lucas’ shoes.”

“Uh huh,” Lovely shakes their head with a laugh, “Sure.”

“Really! In fact, I’ll do the most Lucas thing ever and ask for your number!” He grins again, reaching into his back pocket for his phone.

They stare at him with barely concealed mirth, “The most Lucas thing ever? Really?”

“Nah,” He snorts, unlocking his phone, “It’s a Vincent thing for sure.”

Lovely doesn’t think their heart is supposed to skip that many beats but they chuckle and accept the phone offered to them, typing in their number quickly.

“Thank you kindly,” Vincent says, taking his phone back. Lovely hums and leans off the door, swinging it open and stepping in time with Vincent back to the entrance.

They both wave to Sam and Darlin’ still sitting there in the corner. Sam stops talking when he sees the two of them, waving back and the two stand up.

“Hey.” Darlin says, stretching their arms, “How’d it go?”

Lovely and Vincent exchange a short look.

“Good,” They both say at the same time, sharing a smile.

Sam raises an intrigued eyebrow but he smiles back, “That’s good. Do you know when you’ll get the call back?”

“Ah, David said within the next week,” Vincent says.

The two in front of them nod and Sam glances to the door.

“Is William picking you up, Vincent?”

Vincent nods and takes a look at his phone, “And he’s already here.” He looks up with a little smile that was mostly directed at Lovely, “Bye, guys. See you later.”

Lovely waves back at him, letting their gaze linger a little longer than normal until Darlin’ clears their throat.

And whatever confidence Lovely had vanished the second they were alone with Darlin’ and Sam.

────────

so uh, i meant to post this before 12am where i am buttttttt.... it's surely still january 1st somewhere 😄

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted darlin #redacted sam #redacted david #redacted vincent #redacted lovely #redacted william #redacted fanfic #redacted asmr headcanons #redacted solaire clan #kae's fics

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yuyu1024 · 11 months ago

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Need you

Pairings: Hongjoong x Y/N

Genre/tags: secret relationship, idol au

Warning: 🔞 smut/angst, cursing, pet names, unprotected sex (be safe everyone), breeding kink, age gap is not big a year or two (for nickname noona)

~~~ [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 1.6k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

A/N: no plot. Just... smut

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

"Noona..." Hongjoong smiles brightly as you enter the room. He is currently sitting, waiting for you to do his make up. "Been waiting for you..."

"Sorry... traffic..." you hurriedly put your bag down and go to the bathroom to wash your hands. "Where are you going to day you say?"

"Hmmm..." he looks down at his phone and scrolls onto something. "To take pictures..."

"For what?" You ask as you go out the bathroom, drying your hands with paper towels. "And... where is your manager? I didn't see the company car outside."

A smile spreads across his lips.

"What is it?" You ask

"I don't have a schedule today... it's my day off..."

"What...?"

"I drove myself here..."

"Why?"

"What you mean why?"

"Well... I mean.... why? Like... why did you book a schedule with me on a early saturday... requesting for no other staff to be around... and why do you need make up on if you don't have a schedule?" You sigh. "I'm confused, Joongie."

"Because..."

"Because what?"

"Because... I haven't had any alone time with you in awhile." He trails off looking down, pouting a bit. "I've been busy... and... so are you.... all 8 of us were promoting.. different days and time... and most of the time... you are not my make up artist."

You relax your shoulder. "You know why..." You then go stand closer to where he sits and casually fix his hair. "We can't risk any idea... about us..."

"I know that...but..." Hongjoong takes your hand and kisses the back of it. "I miss you..."

"I miss you too..."

"Please... don't get mad at me... for making this appointment..." he mumbles while his lips are still on your skin. "I just... I badly need you, noona."

"Need? For what? Make up? What lie did you have to tell your management?"

"Hmmm..." he inhales the scent of your hand as he closes his eyes. "My parents knows about you... so I told them my plan... and what lie I told my company..." he opens his eyes to look at you. "I said we'll have a family photoshoot... and I need your make up... thats all."

"And they believed it?" You chuckle

"Thankfully... they did..." he smiles

"So... shall we go ahead and glam you up?"

He shakes his head. "I don't need that... Like I said... I need you, Noona... badly..."

Hongjoong's free hand reaches over your face, caressing your cheeks and then slowly slides down to your neck and then to your chest area. His finger tips touches your breast's exposed flesh sending shivers all over your body already.

"What will happen if I pull this string?" He asks, referring to the mini white sundress you are wearing.

"Hmm... I don't know..." you softly answer. "Joongie..." you breathe his name, almost a whisper, "what will also happen... if I..." you hand reaches for his pants, grabbing the obviously big erection he have. "Touch this..."

He takes a deep breathe as you rub your palms on him. He even had to close his eyes and open his mouth to groan at every rub.

"Looks like... you really need my help..." you squeeze him, getting a moan out of his mouth.

"Just fuck me, noona... fuck me... I need to feel you..." he whines as he moves his hips along with your rubs.

"Maybe... it's better if we take this at the back... we have a comfy sofa there..."

***

Hongjoong follows you like a lost puppy. He flops down on the sofa and already unbuckling his belt and pants.

"Noona..." he cries for you

"I'm here..." you say, kneeling down in between his legs. "I'll make sure, to satisfy you my little Joongie..."

"Ahh... noona!" He throws his head back the second he felt your warm skin on his throbbing length. He is red. He is veiny. He is hard and up right. His length is so ready to be taken.

"Ohh..." you can't help but press your thighs together. The sight of his length leaking and twitching for you made your insides feel the ache to just put it in your pussy.

You are now torn on what you should do.

"Tell me... do you want me to suck you with my mouth or..." you stand up and pull your panties down to your ankles. "Ride you till you come?"

Your question made it twitch. He lieks both ideas for sure.

"Noona... fuck me... please..."

But since its been a while since you two had sex....

"Okay then..."

You climb up the sofa, legs spread and slowly squating down as you aim for the perfect spot, to ease him in.

"Shit!" Hongjoong bites his lower lip the second his tip felt your wet folds. "Noona.... noona!" He cries

"Ugh! Joongie!" You hold onto his shoulder for support. He is fully in you. You could feel every curve and veins. You are skin to skin internally. "Fuck!" Your mouth is wide open as you slowly move your hips. "Joongie... you're making me full..."

"Noona..." he leans forward to kiss you. But then stops as he felt his dick hit the wall. Your wall. "Noona, y-your squeezing me..."

The sound of his cries of pleasure is so addicting for you. You haven't heard him be like this for a while. You've missed making your little Joongie aroused and this sexy sounding.

"Ahhh.. ugh!" He throws his head back but then comes back to kiss you whilst he pulls the string that holds the part of your dress, carrying your tits. "So perfect." He hums as he munches on your skin before he goes straight to your nipple. "Your driving me insane, Noona... you came to work without a bra." He sucks a part of yout breast near the cleavage and made sure it left a redish mark. "Don't do this again. I can't be worrying about other men drooling over you while I am busy working..."

You inhale a moan as you watch him give you a kissmark. "That's not fair..." you wrap your arms around his neck and move your upper body closer to him. "You have thousand of girls...and boys... hot, cute, beautiful and sexy... who always gives you a lot of attention... why can't I have...?" You tease

He smirks, closing his eyes. He knows what you'te doing. "Noona... "

"Kidding..." you hug him and continued to work on your hips' movement

It feels so nice to feel him again; smell him and hear his voice in a tone that he only speaks when he is with you.

It is risky to date him but who the fuck cares? You love him and he loves you. You may not know the future for you two, however, you will enjoy every moment you could have with him. You will give everything for him and make sure he will not regret meeting you in his life.

"Ahhh!" You clasp on his shoulder, shutting your eyes as you feel something in you ready to pop. "Hongjoong..." you breathe. "I'm close..." you cry. "I'm fucking close..."

He is now on top of you. Your back is on the velvet sofa and he is thrusting with all his senses now. He wants to see you melt with him. He is not letting his gaze go anywhere.

"Oh fuck! fuck! Fuck! Hongjoong!"

"I like it when you call my name like that..." he says.

You squeeze your boobs together as you try to find a way to hold your body, yourself, for support. You are so damn close. Just a few more and you will..

"Ughhh!!" You arch your back as you finally reached it. "Oh God!" You are panting

"Shit!" He hiss as he looks down. He is emptying himself like there's no tomorrow. He didn't expect to climaxed with you. "Noona..." his voice goes softer. "I fucked."

You push yourself up with your elbows and see what he meant. He didn't pulled out. He came in you and you guys didn't use protection.

You both planned to use one earlier when you were riding him but then you two agreed not to as you missed each other so much that skin to skin is what you guys needed. And he did promise he will pull out if he comes. But...

"I'm sorry..." he looks at you with puppy eyes while breathing heavy

"Joongie... I promise... it's okay..."

"But... I came in you... what if..."

You move forward to kiss your Joongie on the lips. "Whatever happens... happens... I'm fine."

He takes both your hand and shower them with kisses. "If I get you pregnant... I will take care of you..."

You smile, "thank you but... we don't know yet... so don't worry about it for now..."

"I'm really sorry, Noona. I was not careful."

"It's fine. As long as you enjoyed it and... I made you satisfy..."

"I am... Both. And I am happy..." he crawls forward to you, making you lay back down again. "I love you, Noona." Then he begins to make out with you, again. The kiss is not just a smooch. He is invading your mouth with his tongue.

"J-joongie..." you giggle as you felt him grinding on you again. "We just had an... accident..."

"I know..." he grins. "But I want more..." he kisses you again, not letting you to breathe. You can feel he is hard again as well.

You put your hands on his chest, "don't tell me... the idea... of getting me pregnant turned you on?"

He scrunches his nose and licks your lips. "It did." He whispers.

"You're an idol..."

"Yeah... but I still have a dick... and my dick said, I want more... and so...let's dp it again." He says smiling ear to ear and with no hesitation

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imagines--galore · 1 year ago

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||The Thread of Fate|| Part Eighteen

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen,

A/N: Prepare yourselves people. Note - Italics is Flashback.

It was late.

But for some reason, she couldn't sleep.

Sighing to herself as her blue eyes flitted from one waterbender form to the other, Orora could feel her hand start to fall asleep where she was resting it under her chin. Setting the scroll she had been studying to the side, the young waterbender glanced at the night sky through the window. She should probably be sleeping, considering they had an early morning tomorrow.

Picking up her bag, she put the scroll inside and was about to put it away but she paused when she spotted a paper at the very bottom of the bag. Taking it she unfolded it, and was surprised to see a drawing of Appa. Orora didn't remember keeping it.

And honestly, with Zuko being sick and then moving to the Upper Ring, she had actually forgotten that Aang, Katara and Sokka were actually in Ba Sing Se.

She gnawed at her bottom lip as set the paper aside. Had Appa found Aang? And if so, had they already left the city? Maybe if they were still here she could go and meet them.

That would be fun, she mused to herself, her mind wandering to those few days she had spent with all of them aboard the Water Tribe boat while sailing towards land.

The candle flickered low as she sat on her futon with her back against the wall. Her blanket pooled around her legs, where one was stretched out in front of her, while the other she had pulled up towards her chest a little, wrapping her arms around it in a loose embrace. As she continued to stare out the window, her mind began to wander to the first days of her journey.

They seemed like such a long time ago, and yet she remembered every single detail.

After all, she made her first friends during those few days.

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With her bag slung over her shoulder, and the gentle breeze from the open waters brushing against her face, Orora could hardly dare to bring herself to believe that she was actually about to do this.

She had initially thought even getting on the boat would be a struggle, since she didn't think Master Pakku, the appointed leader of the small expedition, would even allow her to go.

But luckily, she had asked him while Katara had been standing next to him.

And that girl had been able to convince the grouchy old man and invited Orora onto the ship.

"So, are you excited? I mean this is your first time away from home right?" Katara's happy voice had Orora breaking away from her thoughts and turning to look at her. She smiled and shrugged. "I guess I'm a little nervous. I mean, I've never even seen actual land before." She said with a small laugh.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll love it. I did when I saw land and trees and plants for the first time. More then what you've seen at the Spirit Oasis." Katara reassured her, smiling she glanced over her shoulder where her brother, Aang were helping Appa settle onto the boat.

"Come on!" The girl reached out to take Orora's hand, an act that took the other girl by surprise. "Sokka? Aang? This is Orora, she's going ashore for the first time."

To say Orora was a little stunned would be an understatement. She'd just been introduced to the Avatar.

The Avatar.

Sliding down from where he sat on top of the giant bison's head, Aang grinned and held out his hand. "Hey! Nice to meet you! You must be pretty excited."

Orora blinked.

Like any other person living in their world, she had heard fantastical tales about the Avatar. She had been told about the power they possessed, had read up on all previous Avatars out of curiosity and been fascinated by it all. She had even witnessed that awesome power during the Fire Nation attack.

And yet, here stood the Avatar.

A young boy.

A kid.

Aang frowned as he waved his hand in front of Orora's face. "Erm....hello? You alright there Orora?" He asked. The girl quickly shook her head, her thoughts returning back to her as she nodded. "Yes, I'm sorry. Its nice to meet you Avatar Aang." She said, taking his hand and shaking it. "Just Aang is fine." He replied, still smiling.

A loud grunt from behind had him continuing. "Oh and this is Appa, my flying bison and this is Momo." He added when a small creature landed on his shoulder. Orora smiled, it was cute.

"So you've never gone ashore your whole life?" The other boy, Sokka, asked as he walked to stand next to them. He looked like the typical boy she had seen play soldier in the streets. Orora shrugged. "My father didn't believe in women leaving the house unless they had to." Beside her Katara frowned. "Well that's just wrong. If we had that rule at the South Pole, Sokka here would never get anything done. He relies on me to do everything for him." She added with a grin.

Sokka frowned. "Not everything." He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Katara smiled good-naturedly at her brother before adding. "Why don't you go put your things downstairs, then we can have lunch together."

Orora nodded. "Sounds good to me."

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It was a little strange being invited to sit with people her own age. Growing up she had always been something of an outcast. Girls were taught of marriage, healing, keeping house and babies the whole time they were growing up. And that was what they talked about as well.

But not Orora.

She was more interested in reading books and learning as much about waterbending as she could. And other topics as well, but waterbending was always her favorite subject. That wasn't to say other girls didn't like to learn, they did, just not at the same obsessive level as Orora.

So there she was, sitting in a small circle with Aang, Sokka, and Katara.

With no idea what to say.

"Now that you've satisfied your curiosity about Soulmates, why don't you tell us why you decided to come on this expedition?" Katara, ever the friendly and kindhearted girl asked.

As was her nature, Orora stuck to the truth.

"My father found out I used waterbending to defend myself by fighting off some Fire Nation soldiers." She shrugged. "So he banished me."

An awkward silence followed her words, where the other three stared at her before glancing at one another. Sensing that whatever she had said was wrong, a feeling she was familiar with, Orora made to leave.

"I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I'll just-"

"Wait, where are you going?" Aang suddenly asked, reaching out to grasp her wrist since he was sitting the closest. "You didn't make any of us uncomfortable. Its just, your news surprised us that's all."

Sokka and Katara nodded along, to which Orora blinked. Sensing that maybe she didn't have the best social skills, Katara decided to intervene. "Hey Sokka? Why don't you take out one of your maps and show Orora all the places she can go visit?"

The girl had barely gotten the word maps out of her mouth before her brother was speeding away to take them out of his bag on Appa's saddle. He'd already started to chatter away, going a mile a minute, prompting Orora to glance at Katara and Aang. "Is he always this excited about maps?" She asked. Both of them laughed, with Sokka pouting slightly at her words, before continuing with his tirade of words.

Still it was fun sitting there, bent over the map and having all three of them point out the locations she could visit, should she choose to. In between their recommendations, they began to tell stories of their own adventures while they had been visiting those locations themselves.

Orora was fascinated, and began to ask questions herself. It didn't take long before all four of them fell into a comfortable and easy rhythm where they were chatting and exchanging thoughts as if they had been doing so for a long time.

And they continued to talk, long after the sun had gone down and only stopped when Pakku said it was time for bed.

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The next few days would come to be the best days Orora had ever had.

Why?

Because she made her first friends.

Orora had worried that all three of them were simply tolerating her for as long as they were there.

How wrong she was.

It actually surprised her that they wanted her around because they liked her. And truthfully, she liked them back.

Sokka with his jokes and penchant to think of himself as more then he was, always managed to make her smile. And when he got to know that she didn't know much about hand-to-hand combat, he took it upon himself to teach her a few moves. For her own safety.

"I could always use my waterbending on them." She had countered.

"Yeah, but what if you don't have water available to you?" He had asked. "Look, I've taught Katara a few moves too, even though she's good at waterbending. Its better to be prepared. Trust me."

It was strange to have someone else be so sincere with her and actually worry about her. While she went through a punching move Sokka was making her perfect, a random thought occurred to her. She paused, standing just a few feet away from Sokka and frowned at him.

"Is this what its like?" She asked.

"Is what like this?" Sokka asked with a confused frown.

"To have a brother? Is this what its like."

He may have known her for only a few days, but Sokka had learned that Orora tended to speak her mind no matter the thought. She didn't worry about offending anyone and that took guts. It kind of reminded him of Katara and her own beliefs.

Though having her ask him if having a brother meant someone looking out for her, he did feel a small amount of pity for the other girl. She'd told them about her entire family, and he couldn't really wrap his head around the fact that her brothers didn't take care of her like he took care of Katara.

Weren't all brothers supposed to take care of their sisters?

Still Sokka smiled. "Yeah, I guess in a way it is, though it also comes with healthy helping of teasing and arguing." He added with a grin.

"It must be nice." She said, her demeanor turning a little sad. "Neither of my two brothers acted like you are. Its strange. But nice." She added, to which Sokka waved an arm. "Their loss. They're missing out on having a cool sister."

Grinning at his compliment, the young girl dropped into the stance he had just taught once more, committing all that he had to teach to memory.

The best part of chatting with Sokka, was when he showed her his weapons and she created exact replicas of them out of ice. He nearly burst into happy tears when she created one for his boomerang and it had actually worked when she'd thrown it in the air.

Though it took off half of a passenger's beard as it went by.

He had looked around in confusion at the sight of the ice boomerang stuck in the post in front of him, before he began to lament the loss of his facial hair.

Sokka and Orora glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes, identical expressions of nervousness on their faces and sneaked away as if nothing had happened.

Forming a silent pact, neither of them spoke of that moment again.

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For someone who held immense power, being friends with Aang was a breeze.

Pun not intended.

On the very second day, he had offered to take her up on Appa. And Orora had very nearly screamed out in joy when he did.

"Sorry." She said, once she had calmed down. "But since I saw Appa I've wanted to go for a ride, but I didn't want to offend you by asking."

Aang shook his head. "No worries. Appa loves giving rides to new people. He thinks its the best way to travel, and I agree with him." The boy grinned, patting Appa on the nose as he did.

"Well I guess its a good thing I was saving something for him then." So saying, she quickly reached into her bag and pulled out a hunk of bread. It was a little stale, but Appa didn't seem to mind. With one swipe of his tongue, he'd swallowed the bread and let out a happy groan.

Before licking one very wet tongue all along her body.

Aang had laughed himself hoarse at her expression. Though with a quick waterbending move the saliva had been thrown into the water. Still, that did not deter her from climbing up beside Aang on Appa's head and waving at Katara and Sokka who watched from nearby.

"Appa! Yip yip!"

Her initial reaction was letting out a yelp of surprise and hanging onto Appa's reins for dear life. But that was the only sign of nervousness she showed. Pretty soon she was enjoying the cool wind in her hair and against her face. Not to mention the view from so far up.

"I agree with Appa." She said, after a few minutes of enjoying the ride in silence. "This is the best way to travel." They didn't go far, the boat they were traveling by stayed in view, but it was still an astounding experience.

"Does it always feel this freeing and amazing? Flying whenever you want to?" She sighed wistfully. Aang nodded.

"Yeah, it is. And its even better when I use my staff." Orora had seen it many times and had asked about it some time ago. "I wish I could go with you so I could fly all the time." The waterbender sighed, holding her hand out to catch a cloud as it floated by.

"Well why don't you?"

His words had her frowning at him. "What do you mean?" She asked, to which he shrugged, his arms held out in front of him where he was holding the reins. "What I mean is, you could always come travel with me, Katara and Sokka. You'll fit right in!" He added with a grin.

Orora pursed her lips, forehead creased as she thought over what he had just said.

Travel with the Avatar and his friends? That would truly be an adventure. They were all so nice and they were her friends. People who actually liked her and didn't mind that she was so forward with her words. Really Katara seemed to get a kick out of it whenever she would knock Sokka down a notch from whatever pedestal he put himself on.

And yet..........

She looked away, staring out at the horizon, the clouds floating around them. So far up here, it felt like she was in a whole other world.

Seeing her hesitate, Aang reached out to pat her on the shoulder. "You don't have to decide now. Just think about it. Its just Katara and I were talking." She stayed silent so he continued. "But I know its also important to go out into the world on your own and find yourself, as I'm sure that's what you're trying to do."

Orora raised an eyebrow at him. "How did you figure that?" Aang grinned.

"Through my mystical powers as the Avatar." He said in a low spooky voice, prompting Orora to roll her eyes and smile at him. Aang chuckled. "And also because, I'm pretty observant, and well, I can see that you feel a little lost now that you don't have a purpose in life."

Still surprised at his ability to observe so eloquently, Orora nodded. "Yeah, I mean, I want to see the world. This is going to be the first time I'm out there and just being myself and not hiding behind a mask. I've been doing it for so long that it feels strange walking around and being just myself." Aang smiled at her in an encouraging manner, prompting her to continue. "And you're right, I want to find my place in it as well. As the Avatar, you know your place in the world, and for Katara and Sokka, their place is beside you."

Silence followed her words for a good few minutes, where the both of them just sat there with Appa lazily moving through the air. Finally, with a clearing of her throat. "Maybe, in the future, when I find out more about myself, I can come with you guys?" She asked, feeling a little uncertain and shy.

Though his response told her she didn't have to feel that way at all. "Well there's a spot reserved just for you then. I'll tell Katara and Sokka too, make sure Sokka doesn't try to fill it by buying a new pet or something."

Orora laughed.

"Hey, did you know you could bend clouds because of the water in them?"

"You can really do that?"

"Yeah! Here, I'll teach you."

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Katara was a force to be reckoned with.

Orora had heard whispers of the girl who had found a place in Master Pakku's class. The Healing Huts had gossiped non-stop about it. And while she had admired the girl from afar, now Orora actually got to practice and exchange knowledge with her.

The other girls at the Healing Hut had either thought her too snobbish or too intimidating for their likeness. In reality, Orora had just been uncertain when it came to approaching them.

Mostly because she didn't know how to make friends. And no matter how hard she tried, there were no texts in her father's library that could help her with that either.

Talking with Katara was easy. She was so eager and ready with a kind word. It was amazing how she had turned out after all that had happened to her. The other girl had told Orora about their mother being taken by the Fire Nation, and while Orora had never had a strong relationship with her mother, she knew it would devastate her if something were to happen to her. And even though Katara carried that sadness with her in her heart, she didn't show it.

And that was incredibly strong of her.

With her own expertise in the art of Healing, she was able to teach Katara new things. It was fun talking to another waterbender and exchanging information. Katara, for her part, taught waterbending moves Orora didn't know. Her scrolls helped, but they could only help so much. In a span of few a days, Orora learned more then she could ever hope to.

She and Katara would go through waterbending forms together in the evening. Sometimes Aang would join them, having still a long way to go till he mastered waterbending. Between the three of them it was fun and Sokka would often get splashed with water more times then they could count.

One night, after finishing a good session where Orora had taught Katara a few waterbending tricks using ice, the girls settled around the fire to chat. "I heard you guys are leaving tomorrow." Orora's words had Katara sighing and nodding.

"Yeah, we have to start flying now that we're closer to land. We need to find Aang an Earthbending teacher." She added as a way to explain further. Orora nodded, eyes staring into the small fireplace that had been created to keep them warm.

"Did you think about Aang's offer?" The younger girl asked, her voice soft and gentle as she tried to gauge the older girl's reaction. It was strange, how Orora was older then her, and yet Katara had more world experience then she did. But then, maybe it wasn't fair to compare their lives.

"Thats all I've been thinking about the past two days." Orora finally responded. "And I......I don't know." Reaching up to where her long braid rested over her shoulder, she began to play with it by running her fingers through it. The fire crackled in front of them, casting shadows all around, and a warmth to settle in them.

It reminded her of the fire she had seen when her supposed soulmate had saved her.

Allowing the silence to continue, Orora sighed before moving to lay down on her back. Already the constellations had begun to change, the further they traveled from the North Pole. Katara glanced at Orora before grinning and laying down beside her as well, arms tucked behind her head. At last, the older girl spoke.

"Katara?"

She hummed in response to show she was listening. Orora licked her lips, eyes tracing the stars above. "Do you ever wander about your place in the world?"

"Huh." Katara frowned, pausing briefly as she thought over her answer. "Well, I don't really wander about it. I mean I've always known."

Turning her head to the side, she glanced at Katara, a little surprised. "You did?"

Her gaze trained to the heavens Katara shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, when my mom died, my place was at the South Pole taking care of my family. And when we found Aang in that iceberg and decided to travel with him, my purpose shifted to making sure he got to the North Pole safely. I mean, the whole world depends on him."

Orora smiled softly, gaze returning to the sky. "In a way, the world depends on you too. Since you're making sure Aang doesn't get himself eaten while riding a sea serpent or something."

Katara laughed softly before she continued. "True. Lately though, I've found that my place in life is to fight for the innocent alongside Aang and Sokka. To try and end this war and make this world safe."

The older girl was silent for a moment. "That's a pretty big commitment to make isn't it?" She said, her voice soft. "Especially considering you're all just kids, and I don't mean that in an offending way."

Katara pursed her lips before nodding. "No, I get what you're saying. And yeah." She moved to sit up, resuming her previous position. "I suppose it is."

The two of them remained motionless for a little while, each lost in her own thoughts, contemplating on what they had just spoken about. Finally, Katara turned her head to smile at Orora who was still on her back.

"But that's my place in the world." She said with a determined gleam in her eyes. "And, I'll be seeing it through with Aang and Sokka beside me."

Sitting up, Orora smiled at the other girl. "That's very brave and noble of you Katara." Fiddling with the end of her braid, the girl pursed her lips. "I wish I had that kind of strength."

Smiling kindly, Katara reached out to wrap an arm around Orora's shoulders. "Once you find your place in the world I'm sure you'll do the same. You're very brave coming out here and thinking of going off on your own Orora. I don't think I would be able to do it."

Orora grinned at the compliment before playfully nudging Katara with her shoulder. "Yeah, but you've already done so many other things. I mean what fourteen year old can say that she's helped earthbenders bust out of prison."

The other girl grinned proudly and nodded. "True, but, my point is, that no matter what you decide Orora, we'll understand."

Sighing Orora nodded smiling at her. "Thanks Katara." She smiled back.

"Anytime."

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Someone was shaking her.

"Orora?"

And calling out to her.

"Orora, wake up."

Reluctantly, she forced her eyes to open just a little. The room was bathed in early morning sunshine, and she could hear the birds chirping outside. But what really caught her attention, was Zuko crouching beside her, hand on her shoulder and looking at her with a concerned expression.

"Are you alright?" He asked, reaching up to brush her tousled hair from her face. "I came in to wake you, and you were just sitting up like this." Her back was aching from where she had been sitting up the entire night, and her neck had a slight crick in it. Nodding the girl reached up to rub her eyes. "Yeah, I just fell asleep thinking."

"And you couldn't have fallen asleep thinking while lying down?" Giving him a grumpy yet sleepy look, she raised her hand, only to cover his face with it and push him backwards, making him fall back.

"I'm still too sleepy to deal with you Zuko. At least let me wash my face first." She grumbled, already moving to stand up and stretching to get rid of some of the ache in her body. Zuko laughed as he stood. "Yeah well, you better be quick. Uncle wants us to set out within the hour."

She pushed him towards the door. "I'll be out when I'm ready."

Taking advantage of her still semi-awake state, he couldn't help but tease her more. "And that will take you two hours? Or three?"

He grinned at her as he stood at her door. Orora glared at him. "At least I don't spend half an hour on my hair making sure it falls perfectly over my forehead."

With that she slammed the door in his face.

Zuko stood there for a moment, reaching up to the aforementioned hair and running is fingers through it. "I only spend fifteen minutes on that." He called through the door.

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A carriage was waiting for them outside. Iroh and Zuko were at the foot of the stairs that led up to their apartment above the tea shop, waiting for Orora to come down.

"Whats taking her so long?" The Prince grumbled, tapping his foot impatiently, his back towards the stairs. Iroh, going through a last minute checking of whatever they would need for the tea serving, glanced up and chuckled.

"You should prepare yourself for such tardiness my nephew. A lady always takes her time." Seeing movement at the top of the stairs, he smiled at the sight of his descending Pupil. "But it is always worth the wait."

Hearing her footsteps behind him, Zuko whirled around. "Finally! I knew you woul....." He trailed off, his eyes widening. Behind him, his Uncle laughed to himself before sneaking away. Orora, looking up from where she had been adjusting the folds of her dress, raised an eyebrow at him.

"It takes time to get ready Zuko." She responded, reaching up to fix her signature blue dragon comb in her hair. Since their arrival in Ba Sing Se, Orora had taken to wearing dark greens and gold. And while those dresses had been pretty on her, the lighter green of the dress she wore currently, fashioned after the latest Earth Kingdom fashion, made her an absolute vision.

Or at least to Zuko's eyes.

The soft green seemed to make her skin glow and her eyes seemed to.....Spirits! When had he begun to take notice of things like that and started writing poetry about it?!

It was all Orora's fault, he mused, as she stared up at him with a questioning look in her eyes. She made him see things in a way that even the ugliest of things looked beautiful.

After all, she had claimed his scar as beautiful, despite the fact that it marred half his face.

Or maybe it was just his lovesick brain that was making her appear much prettier to him then she really was?

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, a blush clear across her pale skin, he cleared his throat. Avoiding her gaze, he reached out to grab her hand and pull her out of the tea shop. "You better hope the Earth King doesn't mind people who are late." He said, helping her into the carriage, and climbing in behind her.

She shrugged. "If we're lucky, maybe he woke up late." Iroh laughed as he sat across from the two teens. Given his more robust figure, he had to take up one side of the carriage, while Zuko and Orora sat next to each other on the other side.

The carriage ride was silent, all three of them looking out of their respective windows and it wasn't long before they were standing in front of the palace where they were to meet the King.

"Many times I imagined myself here, at the threshold of the palace. But I always thought I would be here as a conqueror." Iroh continued, as all three of them walked towards the entrance. "Instead, we are the Earth King's personal guests, here to serve him tea." He chuckled. "Destiny is a funny thing."

Zuko glanced at Orora out of the corner of his eyes, only to catch her doing the same to him. The two smiled at one another. "It sure is, Uncle." The Prince stated.

Once inside they were shown to a spacious and beautifully decorated room. Setting the small basket he had brought down, Iroh started to unpack everything. The three of them settled next to one another, with Iroh putting the ingredients and everything else on the table. Orora helped him make it appear like a proper presentation, as they waited for the Earth King.

They waited.

And they waited some more.

And a little more.

The teapot began to steam away, and Orora yawned hugely, her eyes actually tearing up as she did.

"What's taking so long?" Zuko finally spoke up, clearly at the end of his patience.

Iroh shrugged as he poured some hot tea. "Maybe the Earth King overslept." Orora smirked at Zuko. "Well maybe I was right then."

No sooner had the words come out of her mouth when several Dai Li agents entered the room and began to create a circle around them. The moment they entered the entire atmosphere of the room changed. The hair at the nape of her neck stood up on end, an icy feeling trailed down her back as her eyes darted around.

Zuko seemed to be thinking along the same lines as her, as he leaned forward to whisper. "Something's not right."

And then suddenly, Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, and more importantly Zuko's sister and her Master's niece, was standing in front of them.

"It's tea time!" She stated, a gleam in her eyes that had nothing to do with the joy of seeing her family.

Zuko quickly stood. "Azula!" He shifted so he was standing in front of both Uncle and Orora, the latter of whom was staring at the Princess with a look that could freeze even the brightest of fires.

"Have you met the Dai Li?" Azula continued as if she were talking of the weather and not the multiple deadly earthbenders that surrounded them. "They're earthbenders, but they have a killer instinct that's so firebender. I just love it."

Orora stood to stand just behind Zuko, placing a hand on his elbow. A gesture that did not go unnoticed by the ever observant Princess, who narrowed her eyes at them. Picking up the steaming tea, Iroh smiled at his niece. "Did I ever tell you how I got the nickname 'The Dragon of the West'?" He asked, his voice pleasant.

Azula made a face, checking her nails as she spoke in a condescending tone. "I'm not interested in a lengthy anecdote, Uncle."

Iroh smiled. "It's more of a demonstration, really." He brought the cup to his lips, closing his eyes as he took a deep sip. Zuko looked over at him, smiling briefly. The next moment Orora felt him grab the hand on his elbow and pull her against him, and behind Iroh.

And not a moment too soon.

Iroh opened his mouth wide, letting a huge stream of fire. It was so intense that she could actually feel it, despite Zuko shielding her. Taking the distraction as an advantage, Iroh made an escape route through a wall and out into the corridor. Zuko kept a firm grip on her hand, pulling her along. But she quickly pulled away from his grip, pulling out a stream of water from the hidden water satchel around her thigh and sending several icicles flying through the air. Catching and stopping a few rock projectiles shot by the Agents. Up ahead was a dead end, but that didn't stop her Master, who blasted a hole through the wall, and quickly jumped down and land on some bushes.

"Quick! Jump!" He called out to her and Zuko. Orora did not hesitate, creating a frozen slide and skating down to come to a stop next to him.

She glanced back up to where Zuko stood at the edge.

"Come on! You'll be fine!" Iroh called, just as Orora yelled. "Zuko! Jump now!"

But then he said something that made her heart stop in her chest. "No! I'm tired of running! It's time I faced Azula!"

She froze, a coldness settling in the pit of her stomach. "Zuko! No!" The girl screamed, moving as if she were about to go back to him. But Iroh wasn't having it. Reaching out he quickly and rather roughly grasped her wrist and pulled her away.

"No! Master! We have to go back! We have to help him!" She cried, trying her best to break away from him, stumbling as she did. "So you could be captured like him?" Her Master yelled over his shoulder. "We have a better chance of helping him from out here!"

Despite the panic churning in her stomach, and the fact that she felt as if she were choking on her heart, the girl was quick to see sense and stopped struggling, following after him.

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"That son of a hog-monkey! What in the world was he thinking?! Was he dropped on his head as a baby?! Facing off against all those Agents and his sister! I cannot believe him!"

Once they were at a safe location, all that fear had melted away to be replaced with an anger that burned in her eyes. She was growling under her breath, while also threatening to maim or seriously harm Zuko for being so stupid.

Iroh glanced at Orora as they hid behind an abandoned living quarter. He neglected to state how she had been about to follow after his nephew in the same amount of danger.

Best not to aggravate her then she already was.

Still, he shushed her, motioning for her to lean forward. "We need to secure an Agent for information. Then we shall both go to the Avatar and ask him for his help."

Orora blinked. "Wait, Aang? Can't we do this on our own? I don't want to involve him, Katara and Sokka. What if they get hurt?" Iroh shook his head. "There is strength in numbers, and it would do us well to have that on our side."

Peaking out from behind their hiding place, her Master turned back to her with a smile. "Now, lets see how good you've gotten with your bending." He motioned for her to step forward and take the lead in capturing a Dai Lee agent.

She could hear footsteps as they approached. The moment they sounded near enough, she threw her arm out, catching the Agent around the waist with a water whip and swinging him in the air. The Agent screamed his head off, his loss of composure costing him the stone gloves he wore as they fell from his hands. Twisting her arm, she slammed the man down on the ground, knocking him out.

"Excellent form my dear." Iroh applauded as he appeared at her side with some rope. "Now lets get to find the Avatar."

————————–

It really didn't take long.

Once the Agent woke, he was quick to give up any information he had. It helped speed things along that Orora threatened him with an ice dagger. She wouldn't seriously hurt him, but enough to make him see she was not in the mood for any false leads.

Iroh knocked and the door slid open to quickly reveal........the girl they had met while traveling the countryside. Orora blinked over Iroh's shoulder, having not expected her to being there.

"I need your help." Iroh stated in a grave tone, to which the girl simply waved at him. Behind her, Orora could see Sokka and Aang in varying degrees of disbelief.

"Aang! Sokka!" She called out, rushing past Iroh to envelope both boys in a brief hug. "Wait! Orora!" Aang's voice came muffled against her shoulder before she pulled back and grinned at them both.

"You cut your hair?" The girl rolled her eyes. "Really Sokka? That's the first thing you notice about me."

Sokka nodded. "Well in my defense its the first thing I observed. And your white hair." He added head tilting in curiosity. Aang, having recovered from his shock, hugged Orora again. "Its so good to see you! I like your new look." He added with a small smile, referring to her white patch of hair. Orora smiled back before Aang's attention returned to Iroh and Toph.

"You guys know each other?" He asked, surprise coating his voice. The blind girl nodded. "I met them in the woods once and knocked him down." Iroh smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. "Then he gave me some tea and some very good advice."

Iroh took a tentative step forward. "May I come in?" The girl nodded and stepped aside to allow him in. Once she'd shut the door, he turned to look at them. "Princess Azula is here in Ba Sing Se." He said, his voice grave and serious.

Aang frowned. "She must have Katara." Orora's eyes widened in horror. "She was captured too?" Sokka frowned at her words.

"Too?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow. Iroh nodded. "She has captured my nephew as well."

A beat of silence, in which Orroa glanced nervously at Aang, ready to step in. If she had to beg them to save Zuko, she would.

"Then we'll work together to fight Azula, and save Katara and Zuko." Aang finally stated, looking at Iroh and then Orora. She closed her eyes briefly, before shooting him a small smile of gratitude.

Sokka, though, had other thoughts. "Whoa there! You lost me at Zuko."

It was Iroh who stepped forward to make a case for his nephew. Placing his hands on Sokka's shoulders he spoke. "I know how you must feel about my nephew. But believe me when I tell you that there is good inside him." He said, almost sounding like he was begging Sokka to believe him.

Sokka pushed Iroh away "Good inside him isn't enough!" He stated with venom in his voice. "Why don't you come back when it's outside him too, okay?"

Aang stepped forward. "Katara's in trouble." He said, trying to reason with his friend. "All of Ba Sing Se is in trouble. Working together is our best chance."

Sokka pursed his lips, looking just as reluctant as he felt. A moment passed, before Orora stepped forward. "Sokka." She said, her voice soft. He turned to look at her. Orora gulped, pursing her lips. "He saved my life at the North Pole. I would be dead if it weren't for him. I owe him."

A beat of silence.

"Please."

Finally, something shifted in his eyes and Sokka nodded silently. Heaving a sigh of relief Orora moved to hug him briefly, to which he patted her on the back a little awkwardly.

"We brought someone along who might help us." Iroh said, already leading the way outside to the nervous looking Dai Li agent. The blind girl quickly eartbended a couple of pillars around the man, forcing him to stand up. Orora reached out, yanking away the cloth that covered his mouth.

The moment it was off, the Agent started to speak. "Azula and Long Feng are plotting a coup! They're going to overthrow the Earth King!" He confessed, eyes wide with fear at the sight of several angry looking people in front of him.

Sokka stepped forward, waving his weapon in the man's face. "My sister! Where are they keeping Katara?"

The Agent eyes the weapon nervously. "In the Crystal Catacombs of Old Ba Sing Se, deep beneath the palace." That was all the information they needed. Glancing at one another they nodded, and leaving the Agent where he was, set off to find the Catacombs.

————————–

There was no way to actually find the Catacombs.

Toph, as Orora learned the blind girl was called, was able to feel them underground. "Well, what do you know? There is an ancient city down there. But it's deep." Taking up a stance, she made a tunnel through the ground, leading downwards. Sokka stood to the side, going over what they were all supposed to do.

"We should split up." He finally said, turning to Aang. "Aang, you go with Iroh and Orora to look for Katara and the angry jerk." Turning to Iroh, he placed a hand on his shoulder. "No offense."

Iroh simply shrugged in response. "None taken." He stated in a tone that told Orora that he actually agreed with Sokka.

Continuing where he left off, he went on. "And I'll go with Toph to warn the Earth King of Azula's coup."

Orora stepped forward. "We can meet back at the Jasmine Dragon. Its the new tea shop that just opened up. Ask anyone about it. They'll know."

Sokka nodded. "Good idea. Its best if we have a meeting spot. Good luck!" With that, he patted Toph on the shoulder and led her away. Orora turned to where Iroh and Aang were standing at the entrance of the tunnel.

Inhaling deeply, she gave a nervous smile. "Well, lets get going then."

With every step they made their way deeper and deeper underground. Aang earthbended their way forward, while Iroh lit a small fire in his hand to give them light as it slowly grew darker.

"Congratulations on learning a new element Aang." Orora said, smiling at her friend. He smiled back. "Thanks Orora. I'm still getting the hang of it, but its been coming to me. Toph is a great teacher."

Orora nodded. "She looks it. Her ability to sense things with her feet is amazing." Though she was speaking normally, Orora was actually really worried about both Zuko and Katara. She just hoped neither of them were hurt.

"Have you really been traveling with Iroh and Zuko all this time?" Aang asked, a little curious about his friend's choice of companions.

"Iroh has been my teacher these past few months, and I've learned a great deal from him." She finally responded. "And.......Zuko........he...well......." She pursed her lips, her gaze flickering towards her finger where the thread was wrapped around the tip.

And that small movement was enough for Aang to stop short and stare at her. "No way!" He breathed, grey eyes wide and disbelieving. "Zuko is your soulmate?!" He asked, or rather demanded to know. They had paused where they were. "No wonder you had all those questions about Soulmates back on the boat."

He raised a hand to his forehead as he blew out a small breath. "I can't imagine what you went through when you realized your soulmate was the Prince of the Fire Nation itself."

She let out a dry chuckle. "Tell me about it. Seems fate has a weird sense of humor." Glancing at Iroh who was looking at them both patiently, she extended a hand to lay on Aang's shoulder.

"Look, I promise I'll tell you everything once we get out of here with both Katara and Zuko safe." She promised. Questions burned at the tip of his tongue, but being reminded of Katara had him nodding and moving the next piece of boulder that was in their way.

"Well at least it'll be easy for us to find Zuko. We can just follow the string." Aang said, before glancing at his own little finger. "Then again, it wouldn't have mattered since we would've found Katara the same way."

It took a moment for Orora to realize what he had just said. Grinning, she quickly threw her arms around Aang from behind in a brief yet fierce hug. "I'm so happy for you Aang. You both deserve each other." She added, to which Aang beamed, though the light in his eyes slightly diminished.

"Whats wrong?" She asked, frowning at him. Moving another section of earth out of the way, he sighed. The young Avatar was silent for a good few moments before he turned to Iroh who had remained quiet, wanting to give the both of them the time they needed to catch up and ease their worries however they could. Even if it meant idle chatter.

"So, Toph thinks you give pretty good advice, and great tea!" He added with a smile.

Iroh chuckled. "The key to both is proper aging. What's on your mind?" He asked just as Aang earthbended again before replying.

"Well, I met with this guru who was supposed to help me master the Avatar State and control this great power, but to do it, I had to let go of someone I love. And I just couldn't." All three of them came to a stop.

"Wait! He wanted you to break your bond with Katara?" Orora demanded, sounding disturbed. She turned to look at her Master.

Iroh gave her a small nod of confirmation. "Perfection and power are overrated." He stated. "I think you were very wise to choose happiness and love."

"Especially since both of them can be very hard to come by." Orora added, to which Aang nodded in agreement.

"But what happens if we can't save anyone and beat Azula?" Aang added, sounding frustrated. "Without the Avatar State, what if I'm not powerful enough?"

Iroh hummed in thought as they walked further underground, his fire the only source of light. "I don't know the answer." He responded honestly. "Sometimes, life is like this dark tunnel. You can't always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you just keep moving." Aang earthbended the last of the rocks away to reveal the Crystal Catacombs. Iroh's fire went out and the sudden gust of wind and he smiled. "You will come to a better place."

Reaching out to place a comforting hand on Aang's arm, Orora smiled at him. "You have people standing beside you Aang. Ready to fight with you. Avatar State or no, you won't be fighting alone. And that's another kind of power."

Aang smiled in gratitude. "You've changed since I last saw you Orora." He said, to which she shrugged. "We've all changed." Lifting her hand, she observed it closely.

"Come on. Lets find our Soulmates."

————————–

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he would be imprisoned alongside the water tribe girl he had hunted alongside the Avatar for so long.

Katara, he remembered Orora saying her name was. After the initial yelling, and his confession about loosing his mother, just as she had lost hers, they had both fallen silent.

He couldn't help but berate himself for trying to face off Azula. But then when it came to his sister, he tended to not think and just do, to try and overtake her. A sigh left him, as his mind conjured the face Orora had made when she had realized he wasn't going to follow them.

She was going to tear him a new one when they were together again. The thought of her yelling at him had a small smile pulling at his lips.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you before." Katara's apologetic voice cut through the silence.

Zuko shrugged, indifferent to her words because really, they hadn't hurt him. He'd been hurt worse by his Father. "It doesn't matter."

There was a brief pause before she continued. "It's just that for so long now, whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy, it was your face."

Raising a hand to his scar, he nodded. "My face? I see."

She shook her head, approaching him. "No, no, that's-that's not what I mean."

Zuko sighed. "It's okay. I used to think this scar marked me. The mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever." He paused, as once again his mind wandered off to Orora. "But then someone made me realize that it wasn't an ugly thing. Not when there was another reason behind it." He wasn't about to tell Katara the whole story. So he just shrugged and added. "But lately, I've realized I'm free to determine my own destiny, even if I'll never be free of my mark."

Katara pursed her lips. "Maybe you could be free of it."

"What?" There was an element of disbelief in his tone. Katara nodded.

"I have healing abilities." She said, pulling out the vial that contained the water from the Spirit Oasis.

"It's a scar, it can't be healed. Besides, Orora has been traveling with us, and I'm sure she's a much better Healer then you. And if she couldn't heal it, I doubt you could." He hadn't meant to undermine her abilities, but he knew Orora more, knew that she was a strong Healer and would've offered to heal him if she could.

Katara shook her head. "She is a better Healer then I am, but she didn't have this." She held up the small vial. "This is water from the Spirit Oasis at the North Pole. It has special properties, so I've been saving it for something important." She moved to stand in front of Zuko. "I don't know if it would work, but," She trailed off, reaching up hesitantly to place her hand on his scar.

Just as Orora had done so many times.

And yet when he closed his eyes, he only envisioned her, with her gentle words and the ability to knock him in his place.

Suddenly he felt a tug on his finger.

A loud rumbling sound followed by a crash had them both jumping where they stood. As the cloud of dust settled, three figures emerged from the opening.

Aang, Iroh and Orora.

"Aang! Orora!" Katara ran to hug the both of them together, while Iroh ran to embrace Zuko. Aang smiled briefly at the hug, before glaring at Zuko. Zuko glared back at Aang, not liking the way Orora was hugging him.

Granted she was also hugging Katara, but still. "I knew you would come." Katara said to Aang before smiling at Orora. "Its so good to see you again Orora." The girl smiled back.

"And you, Spirits, you had us all worried. Both of you." She added, finally moving to give Zuko a brief hug. Brief because Zuko pushed her off a little, prompting her to look a little hurt at his dismissal. But he barely noticed as he rounded on his Uncle.

"Uncle, I don't understand. What are you doing with the Avatar?" He asked, pointing to Aang.

Aang glared at the Prince. "Saving you, that's what." He said in a slightly sarcastic tone. Zuko growled, fists clenching as he took a step in Aang's direction, but was stopped by Iroh and Orora both.

"Zuko, it's time we talked." He turned to look at Aang and Katara. "Go help your other friends. We'll catch up with you." The both of them move to walk away, but then stop when they realized Orora wasn't following them.

Noticing their hesitance, the older girl quickly smiled at them. "I'll be right there guys. I hope that spot on your team is still open for me." Nodding, the both of disappeared into a cave.

Spot on the team?

Was Orora leaving?

Was she leaving him?

She was leaving him.

Orora was leaving him.

Dread filled his heart and clouded his mind, as he turned his head to the side.

"Why, Uncle?" He voiced, the hurt evident in his tone. Though from the fact that his Uncle had gone to his enemy, the Avatar for help, or that Orora was probably leaving him to go with the Avatar, he did not know.

"You're not the man you used to be, Zuko." He smiled. "You are stronger and wiser and freer than you have ever been. And now you have come to the crossroads of your destiny. It's time for you to choose. It's time for you to choose good."

Good?

He had done good once before.

And that had earned him a scar.

He had done good before.

And had saved his soulmate, who was now leaving him.

Doing good had never worked in his favor.

He felt Orora step forward. "Zuko, you-AH!" Her words were cut off with a scream as the Crystals around them grew and encapsulated her and Iroh. Zuko assumed a fighting stance, and was greeted with the sight of his sister and two Dai Li agent sliding into the chamber.

"I expected this kind of treachery from Uncle." Azula spoke, her voice soft and sweet like honey. "But Zuko, Prince Zuko, you're a lot of things, but you're not a traitor, are you?" She asked, her voice soft at the end.

"Release them immediately!" He ordered, power behind his words as he glared at his sister. Orora grunted slightly as she tried to free herself, but stopped when Iroh shook his head at her. His message was clear.

Don't draw attention to yourself.

Azula shrugged. "It's not too late for you, Zuko. You can still redeem yourself."

Iroh, not wanting Zuko to be influenced by his sister's words tried to intervene. "The kind of redemption she offers is not for you."

Azula sighed in a way a mother would sigh at a naughty child. "Why don't you let him decide, Uncle?" She said, before turning her sweetened attention back to her brother. "I need you, Zuko. I've plotted every move of this day, this glorious day in Fire Nation history, and the only way we win is together. At the end of this day, you will have your honor back. You will have Father's love. You will have everything you want."

She painted a pretty picture. She painted the exact picture he had wanted for so long. The very picture Orora had said he deserved. He deserved honor and love. He deserved everything.

Didn't he?

Hadn't he suffered enough?

For once Orora was silent. She knew if she spoke, Azula would not hold back in shutting her up. Iroh was right, maybe it was best to stay quiet and let Zuko decide on his own. He was changed now.

He would make the right choice.

Still, that didn't stop Iroh from pleading with his nephew. "Zuko I am begging you. Look into your heart and see what it is that you truly want."

Azula shrugs. "You are free to choose." She gestured to the Dai Li agents who promptly left, probably to get reinforcements. With one backward glance at the three of them, she disappeared into the darkness of the cave where Aang and Katara had gone.

The chamber echoed with a silence that pressed against his chest. His mind whirled, his heart burned. He could feel the eyes of his Uncle and his Soulmate at the back of his head.

"Zuko." Her soft comforting voice floated through the air. "Listen to your heart. What does it tell you?" She said the same words as his Uncle.

Finally, he turned. He looked to his Uncle first, who gave him a gentle smile. Then he looked at Orora.

Amber found blue.

He knew the moment she understood what he was about to do. He could see it in her eyes.

So without a backwards glance, he followed after his sister, leaving his Soulmate to call out to him as he raced away.

As far away from those heartbroken cries as possible.

————————–

As soon as he had disappeared, Orora began to struggle even more fiercely. "We have to get out. We have to help Aang and Katara. Azula will kill them." She was speaking in an almost frenzied tone as she tried to free her wrists where they were encapsulated in Crystal.

Iroh stood where he was, his eyes closed, a look of utter sorrow and disappointment on his face. "I thought I taught him enough." He lamented.

A wave of emotion rose within her, threatened to overtake her. But she stomped it down with a vicious growl.

No!

Her friends were in danger!

Now was not the time!

And maybe, maybe they were wrong. Maybe Zuko had gone to help Aang and Katara.

Maybe he would change his mind.

Suddenly the earth rumbled and a lone Dai Li agent appeared. He quickly looked around and once he was sure no one else was there, he quickly earthbended the Crystals, freeing them both.

"I am honored to help a High Ranking Officer of the White Lotus." He said, bowing respectfully to Iroh. Iroh nodded, before turning to Orora.

"Go help your friends. I need to take care of some business."

But his Pupil was already gone.

————————–

She arrived to a horrific scene.

Aang flying through the air, crashing into a building. Azula, Zuko and more then a dozen Dai Li agents, surrounding Katara who was on the ground.

Sheer anger coursed through her veins. Taking a running start, she leaped from her heightened location, using a large wave from a nearby canal to create a slide of ice which she quickly skated down, coming to land in front of Katara.

Her arms raised on either side of her body. The water slide split apart, only to create multiple sharp yet deadly daggers of ice.

Pointing straight at her Soulmate, his sister and the Agent.

"Take one more step and I'll send one right through you." She warned, her eyes dancing with a deadly gleam as she glared at them all.

One of the Agents, thinking she was bluffing, did step forward. Only to find two ice daggers embedded in his forearms. He dropped to the floor screaming in pain as blood oozed from his wounds.

Letting out a grunt, she threw her arms out, allowing each ice dagger to fly forward. While several hit their marks to various points of injuries, many of the Agents brought up shields of rock, while Zuko and Azula simply sent forward a burst of fire, melting them.

"Out of our way peasant." Azula growled, blue fire burning in her hands. She allowed a huge ball of it to fly towards Orora, who dodged, only to be knocked flying back by a Dai Li agent. She slammed into a pillar wall. Her entire body screamed with pain as she slid to the ground. Pushing herself onto her knees, the girl shot into position once more.

It was fight or die, and her entire sense of being had gone into survival mode.

In front of her, Katara had gathered enough strength to stand up. Waving her arms she created an octopus like creature around her, and not a moment too soon.

More Dai Li agents arrived.

While several surrounded Katara, even more surrounded her. Orora growled, bringing up twin whips of water in her hand. The ends of each tip was topped with a spiked boulder of ice. She panted as her eyes darted from one enemy face to another, looking for a chance to land a shot if any of them tried anything.

But then a light shone in the chamber.

Brighter then a hundred candles.

Every eye turned to Aang as he floated in the air. His eyes and tattoos glowing.

Orora gasped. Was this it? Was he about to go into the Avatar State?

So lost were they all in the sheer power of what Aang was about to unleash, that no one noticed Azula sneaking up behind Aang.

Until it was too late.

Lightning flashed, and the tips of Azula's fingers smoked as her aim found it's target.

Aang dropped to the ground.

"No!" A scream tore from her throat. With a single move of her boulder water whips, she was able to knock down the still surprised Dai Li agents. Seeing the path clear, she ran for Aang, creating a wave to catch his body just before he crashed to the ground.

And she wasn't the only one running towards him.

Both her and Katara reached him at the same time. Katara's hair was undone, her clothes torn. And Orora was sure she was in a similar state. Tears streamed down the other girl's face, as she cradled Aang's body and wept loudly.

Knowing exactly what Katara had just lost, Orora moved to stand protectively in front of the younger children. Waving her arms in a circle around her, she managed to call the water towards her and create several circular trunks of ice in front of her. With a flick of her wrist, a sharp round slate of ice lifted from each trunk. One move and they would fly through the air, cutting off limb or head if she desired.

Her eyes were full of pure hatred when she looked at Azula.

"I will kill you." She growled in a threatening manner. Azula simply smiled in a condescending manner.

But then Orora's gaze found his.

Where she had looked at him with such trust and adoration just this morning, now there was only hurt, anger and disdain.

So powerful were her emotions, that he actually hesitated in attacking her, his stance softened and his arms lowered a little.

A blast of fire stopped Azula from attacking. Iroh, the source of the blast, jumped down from the wall of the cave and stood in front of Orora and her friends.

"You've got to get out of here. I'll hold them off as long as I can." He called over his shoulder as he sent another wall of raging fire at his own family and the agents.

Her heart dropped and fear settled in her bones. "No! Master!"

"Orora!" He roared, stopping her in her tracks. "You swore an oath to do as I asked you. You swore!"

She stopped short.

After a moment a cry of utter frustration fell from her lips, and she threw her arms forward, allowing the trunks of ice to fly through the air and take several Dai Li agents down with them.

Running towards Aang and Katara, she quickly gathered them both close. Katara looked at her with such hopeless eyes that Orora felt her heart break for the young girl.

"Hang on." She said, creating a pillar of water and waterbending all three of them out by way of a waterfall.

————————–

Once his Pupil had disappeared from view, Iroh took a deep breath and submitted. The Dai Li quickly encased him in crystals. He raised his head to see his niece smiling in a triumphant manner.

His eyes met Zuko's before Iroh looked away, ashamed, disappointed, but most of all, saddened.

————————–

It was no easy task, taking both Katara and Aang back to the tea shop. The girl was barely walking, so lost she was at the realization that her other half was dead. Luckily, the waterfall had opened up to a canal close to the tea shop, and Orora had managed to get Sokka's attention from where he kept watch on Appa.

The moment they were on, Orora wasted no time. "Appa! Yip yip" She called. They had to get out as fast as they could.

Once they were in the air, she turned her attention to Katara and Aang. The girl was placing Aang's body against Appa. And though her eyes still held that lost and devastated look, she reached around her neck to pull out a vial.

Bending the water from inside, the young girl pressed the now glowing water against the wound on Aang's back.

She was sitting beside Sokka, anxiously peering over the saddle just like the rest of them. In her heart she prayed. She prayed to every Spirit out there. She prayed to Yue.

She prayed and prayed.

A gentle glow suddenly ignited the night sky and Orora watched as Katara suddenly smiled, tears in her eyes and hugged Aang to her chest.

He was alive.

Aang was alive.

He was alive.

But then, why did she still feel like the world had ended.

————————–

"We've done it, Zuko." Azula stated as she sat on the Earth King's throne. "It's taken a hundred years, but the Fire Nation has conquered Ba Sing Se."

Zuko, still reeling from what had happened, was having a hard time believing everything. "I betrayed Uncle." He said in a low voice.

He betrayed his Soulmate.

Azula stood. "No, he betrayed you." She clarified before continuing. "Zuko, when you return home, Father will welcome you as a war hero."

Zuko shook his head. "But I don't have the Avatar. What if Father doesn't restore my honor?" He asked his sister, feeling those first lick of panic along his skin.

"He doesn't need to, Zuko." She reassured him, placing ah and on his shoulder. "Today, you restored your own honor."

With that she walked away, disappearing into the dark.

His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the entire world was on them. His hand had been clenched in a fist at his side the entire time, but now with Azula gone, he lifted it up.

Opening his fingers he stared at the object within.

A small blue hair comb set with the carving of a dragon.

————————–

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captain-mj · 1 year ago

Note

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!! Write the mafia au. If you want to do just a little bit of exposition before the smut instead of fleshing it all out, I would still be thrilled!!! I'm so excited.

Okay! You've convinced me I'll make it! (Did not have to convince me at all I was already writing it)

Ghost liked his flat. It was more spacious and well taken care of than any shack he had been in as a child. As much as he liked it though, he never stayed in it long lately. He'd wake up, go to the gym, take a shower there and then go to his favorite place recently.

Soap was a nice person. He looked a little soft. Ghost knew he was 19, 20 in two months, and that he wanted to be in the military but had a shoulder injury in high school that kept him from doing so. Soap explained that if he could prove he healed enough, he could join but the damn bastards wouldn't listen.

Personally, Ghost saw the way Soap winced when his shoulder twisted too far and that he clearly didn't have full range of motion in it. He hoped the military would never take him. People like Soap shouldn't be around bad things like that.

"Simon! My favorite customer." He said it like the man didn't tower over him and had a fucking mask on. He was scary.

"Sometimes it feels like I'm your only customer."

"Not many people come in at 7:30 in the damn morning for a drink." Soap grinned at him and started fixing him his tea. Same thing every time. Ghost could probably make it better at home, but who wanted to when he could have Soap make it for him.

Ghost grunted in response and, while he waiting, got his money ready. He almost wished tipping was more common, just so he'd have an excuse to throw money at him. Maybe he could slide the bills into his pocket. For stealth, it would have to be his jacket pocket, but in his little fantasy, he slide it in to the pocket on the back of his pants and give his ass a little squeeze.

"Simon?" Soap broke him from his thoughts. "Someone turned off the machine for the water, it's going to be a minute." He didn't seem very apologetic.

"That's fine. How have you been lately, Johnny?"

"I've been good. Got any plans for the day?"

"Nothing."

Soap smiled at him. "One day, will you tell me about yourself, Simon."

Ghost shook his head. "Never gonna happen."

"Come on. Live a little. Let me know something."

"This is my favorite part of my day." Ghost gave him that, watching how Soap blushed and smiled.

"Thank you, Simon." The tea finished and handed it over to Ghost. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Always." He smiled at him.

Ghost left quietly. He hated this part of the day. He liked pretending to be normal.

So he went to work. The boss waved at him and smiled. "There ya are." He was a strangely jovial man considering their line of work. "Need you to deal with a guy that's been causing problems tonight."

"I see. What's his deal?"

"Same thing it always is. A junkie not wanting to pay his dues." He sighs.

Same old, same old.

He sticks around. Great thing about the mob is how neat they keep things. Maybe that's just Price. But there are records for everything. Nothing happens in Manchester that doesn't get a little page about it.

Ghost doesn't deal with it much. He's a glorified hit man. No need to clean his hands and work on something as tedious as making a note of every ounce of coke currently sold versus coke in a warehouse.

So he stood next to his boss and acted as an intimidating guard dog.

Once it got dark, he got the address of the junkie from one of his... coworkers and he did what he always did. He went there with a knife and made his way down the halls of the flat.

What a shithole.

It was... vaguely grimy in the way all cheap places feel. His mother cleaned constantly but it never felt quite clean enough. He wandered right to his door and raised his hand to knock.

The junkie opened the door and Ghost decked him. His target hit the ground, barking something out about if Ghost "knew who he was" and "how he was a powerful man".

Ghost put his foot on the man's chest. "John Price sends his regards." He put more weight on him, crushing his ribs under his foot like dry grass. A creaking sound came from the bone doing its best not to fumble and break underneath him.

"Wait. No. I said I'll get him his money. No need to do anything hasty."

"...What a fucking waste."

Ghost lost track of how long he hit the other man. Just that he knew it hurt. He beat him until his hands hurt. He ran his fingers through the blood on the floor, finding two teeth. After he was done, he double checked to see if he was breathing, he needed him alive to pay his debts, and he left the apartment.

Down the hall, holding groceries, was none other than Johnny. The gorgeous man. He saw the blood on his hands and paled.

"Simon?" He seemed unsure, like he might have the wrong guy.

Ghost lifted his finger and put it to his lips.

Soap swallowed and stared at him as Ghost left.

Simon thought that was the end of it. A disappointing end to an innocent thing he had with him. While he had hoped to at least get his dick wet for the first time in ages, he could admit defeat.

Ghost went back and gave Price the teeth. Blood got his desk but he just grinned. "You did great. Thank you." He smiled at him. "Sit down with me."

Ghost sat in the chair across from him and took the drink. He lifted his mask up for just a moment before drinking it.

They discussed some local happenings for a few minutes before someone knocked on his boss's office. "What is it?" Price called out, leaning back in his chair.

"Caught someone sniffing around."

"Well, bring him in then."

Ghost sighed. "Fucking hell."

Soap was flustered and he had clearly been slapped around. Nothing too bad though. Ghost was going to kill him. He didn't want to, but Price could be unpredictable and it was better for everyone if Ghost did it. He'd do it nice and fast. Easy peasy.

"Simon."

Oh my god. This dude is fucking dumb.

Price raised an eyebrow immediately. "Simon, you know this guy?"

"Know is a strong word."

"Is it money?" Soap interrupted, which luckily seemed to be more amusing to Price than infuriating. "Look, if Simon owes something, I'll pay it okay?"

Price made a face and Ghost rubbed his temples. "Johnny..."

"Look, I understand okay? You didn't have a choice in doing this an-" Ghost grabbed Soap's face and yanked him down so he'd half fall into him.

"Johnny. Keep quiet, yeah?"

Soap paused, face slowly turning more red.

"That's cute." Price laughed. "How old are you kid?"

"I'll be 20 next month."

"Cute. I guess he is in your age range, Simon."

"Sir it's not like that. At all." Ghost tried to explain, finding this more than a little embarrassing.

Price grinned. "Simon. Here's what you're going to do. You're going to make sure... Johnny here never, ever comes back. I'll leave it up to you. Want to put a bullet in his head? Go for it. But if you want to just break his legs... you can do that too."

Soap started to struggle. "Simon, you won't hurt me, will you?" He looked so distressed.

Ghost sighed. Fucking hell. He grabbed him by his coat and dragged him away. "I'll deal with it, Price."

Soap tried to get his bearings but just couldn't, feet unable to get on the ground properly. "Simon, wait, please."

Ghost pushed him up against the wall in a spare room and fit his hands around his throat. "You're an idiot. You get that right? Following me like that."

Soap had to stand on his tip toes, hands around Ghost's wrist. "I'm sorry."

Ghost growled at him. "Listen up. You're going to go home. You're going to go back to work tomorrow. And you're never, ever going to come back here. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir." He swallowed against the hand holding him.

"Good. You're not going to breath a word of this to anyone. Ever. And if you do, I'll make sure you never breath again." He pressed against Soap, crowding him.

And crowding the hard on he was wearing. He glanced down at how Soap was trying so hard not to grind against him.

"Oh.

Oh."

Soap flushed and whined. "I'm sorry. I..."

Ghost rubbed his thigh gently against him and watched him moan. "Fucking hell."

He picked Soap up by his hips and placed him down on a table, pushing him back so he'd lay down. Soap pulled his shirt up and off while Ghost unbuckled his pants and shoved them down. He grabbed Soap's jeans and yanked them down. "Your little white knight act was cute. Coming in here to save me. What were you going to do? Pay off my debts? Fight your way through them?"

Soap went to snap back at him but Ghost trailed his fingers along his cock and he quickly shut up.

"You're brave. I'll give you that. And god I want to fuck you." He spit on to his fingers and grabbed him, teasing his hole with the pad of his finger. "You going to let me?"

Soap tried to push against him. "I'll beg you for it. Got all undressed for ya."

Ghost slapped his thigh hard, watching him jump. "You're a fucking slag." He pushed his finger in gently and growled at the way the flesh gave.

Soap groaned in a mix of pain and pleasure. "No, it's not like that..." For a moment, Ghost worried he'd struck a nerve but Soap was rocking against his finger with vigor, trying to get it in deeper.

"Then what's its like? You just like this for me?"

"Yes. Just you." Soap promised, looking up at him. "I've wanted you for so long... I was just so nervo-" Ghost sank his finger the rest of the way in to make him shut up. He used some of the oil they had around to make it a bit easier and started to work him open.

"You're going to be good and tell me if it hurts too much, won't you?"

Soap nodded and braced himself against the table. Ghost used some of the... precum dripping from Soap's cock to stroke his own, getting himself nice and wet. He grabbed him by his hips and pushed in nice and slow. Soap's mouth fell open right before he screamed.

"Fuck you're so big I don't know if i can... So big..." His legs locked around his hips as he whined. He kept whimpering and crying out as Ghost just pounded into him. Those nice legs of his were up in the air and trembling as he took it.

Ghost kissed him hard and then pulled away to let him keep yelling. He should've been more careful with him. Distantly, he knew that. But Soap was gagging for it, begging him in between cries. He grabbed him tight and pulled Ghost to his throat which he peppered with kisses.

"Please don't stop! Please! Don't! Stop!" Soap choked when he came, cum spilling over his chest.

Ghost finished inside him, feeling how tight he clenched around his cock. He thrust in a few more times before sliding out. Silently, he dressed Soap and fixed his belt.

Soap rubbed his face to get rid of the tears. His legs were shaky.

Ghost looked at him for a moment. No outward marks. He didn't bite at his throat like he wanted to. But the limp he had was obvious.

"Johnny..."

"Simon..."

"Sorry. Was I too rough with ya?"

"No! No. i enjoyed it. A lot."

Ghost grinned under his mask and grabbed a pen. On Soap's wrist, he wrote his number. "I know where you live. You feeling lonely, send me a text." He squeezed Soap's ass and sent him on his way.

The horrified looks everyone else gave him clued him in to what they thought happened. It was for the best. If they thought he tortured Soap, they'd at least let it go.

Price stared at him, looking just a little confused.

"Let him off with a warning."

"I see..."

#cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap

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anthemofgvf · 2 years ago

Text

Behind Closed Doors: Jake Kiszka x Reader Fanfiction

Part Two

description: when your best friend asks for a favor, that being having his twin move in with you, you're hesitant. you've never really liked him, but you are struggling to meet your rent, so you oblige. who knew with time that you would become more upset with his presence, or upset with the fact you have underlying feelings for him that you don't want to face?

-the masterlist for this series-

trope: enemies to lovers x roommates au!

warnings for this series: alcohol and tobacco usage, explicit content (18+, minors dni), angst, swearing

word count: 6.4k+

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

You had dialed your work as soon as you shut your door, standing far away from the door as possible.

"Brewology Coffee House, this is Sydney." Your manager said into the phone.

"Hey, Sydney, it's y/n. Was wondering if you guys needed any help today or if I could come in and shadow you?" You ran your fingers over your mouth.

"Hi, y/n! I thought you were taking today off to help your new roommate move in. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, but I've already finished helping him get settled, so the rest of my day is free." You told her.

For a moment, there was silence from the phone.

"Well, we're fully staffed today so unfortunately you won't be needed. You can come in and shadow for me Friday night if that's okay with you!"

"Yeah, that sounds good. Still alright with me coming in tomorrow?"

You had strictly limited yourself to working doubles on four out of the five days you usually worked. Your manager was concerned about overworking you, so you always had to ask and make sure she was alright with it.

You'd recently been promoted to acting manager, as she was leaving the store in a few weeks and would have you replace her and run the place. That would mean more money and responsibility for you, along with taking the weight off your shoulders of working double shifts nearly every day.

"Yeah, but I want you to just come in during the morning. We've got a few trainees showing up tomorrow evening and I already have Justine and Mary lined up to train them. You'll be able to meet them Friday night, though!"

"Alright, yeah, sounds good. Thank you." You pressed your lips together with a nod.

"Of course, have a good night at home!" Your manager said to you and hung up the phone.

You sighed deeply, running your hand over your forehead and sliding your phone into your pocket. You were now left with a full day with Jake. You were given the unfortunate opportunity to interact with him a bit more, rather than staying locked up in your room and ignore your new roommate.

So, with the slightest bit of convincing yourself, you stepped outside of your room to see Jake setting a paper off to the side and dropping the pen.

"Looks like I have work off for the day." You clasped your hands together as you took a few steps forward towards him.

Jake swiveled around on the chair, standing up with a, "Hmph", and grabbing the papers off the island. He made his way over to you and held them in front of you with a blank face.

"That's everything. Can go ahead and give these to the landlord now." He said.

You grabbed the papers. "Thanks. You heard me, right? About having the day off."

"Oh, yeah, I did. But you'll be working tomorrow, right?" He asked you.

"Only in the morning. My manager doesn't want to overwork me - stuff like that."

"Huh," he nodded, "then I guess it's just me and you for the night then." His lips curled into a small smile.

"Unfortunately." You sighed. "But I think I'm going to head down to the landlord's apartment and give her these." You shook the papers in front of his face.

"Don't want me to come meet her? I'm sure she'd-."

"No, I can handle it myself, thanks." You walked past him, throwing on a pair of sandals you left by the door and shooting him a wave.

With these few minutes you took to walk over to the landlord's place, you had to come up with something to keep you and Jake busy, or better yet, you busy. You didn't seem to have much in common with him, so the night was bound to grow awkward as it went on. You ran through different ideas of things in your head to do, but they were minimal and didn't stick.

Your landlord had a small mailbox outside of her apartment, intended for lease papers, bills that were paid by check or cash if needed (she was quite lenient with payment methods) and other things intended for her.

After walking back to your apartment, which was on the first floor, along with the landlord's, you had entered your apartment to see Jake sprawled out on the couch. He was intently focused on his phone, but his mind seemed to be rather blank.

You rummaged through one of your kitchen drawers, finding the spare keys you had in there left from your previous roommate.

You placed them on top of the island. "I left your keys on the counter."

He gave you a short hum in response but didn't acknowledge your presence.

“Icebreakers?” You spat out.

He turned his head over the couch.

“Icebreakers?” He repeated.

“Yeah, so we could get to know each other a bit better considering we now live together.” You huffed a laugh out of nervousness.

You shut the door behind you and slipped off your sandals before making your way to the opposite end of the couch. You sat patiently, waiting for him to say something to you.

He had kept his eyes on you from the moment he turned his head to see you at the door. His phone was flat on the armrest, one arm rested on top of his phone while the other laid above the couch cushion.

“You're not going to leave me alone until I play along, huh?”

You shook your head with a smile, which caused him to sigh.

"Alright, fine." He exhaled. His hands were folded on his lap, and he began to watch his thumbs circle each other.

You sat on the couch, opposite of him and turned to him crisscross on the sofa. The bit of uncomfortable silence had surrounded you and him, and you decided to straighten your posture to release any tension you felt.

"Would you like to go first?" You offered to him.

"Well, you were the one that suggested the game." He threw his hand towards you.

"Okay," you sighed, "what's your favorite color?"

He chuckled. "That's what you want to know about me? My favorite color?" His lips rested into a teasing grin.

"You're the one that wanted me to go first!" You rolled your eyes. "What, do you have a better question?"

He clicked his teeth and took a moment to think of something to ask you. "What's your biggest fear?"

"Starting a bit deep then, huh?"

"Isn't that the point?" He folded his arms. "Answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine." You said in a faux aggravated tone.

He exhaled, looking off to the side before meeting your eyes. "Red. Now-."

"I figured it was black, considering you seem to wear it the most." You remarked.

"Okay..." He trailed off with an odd expression, as if he found it weird you had noticed that about him. "Well, you're wrong. Are you going to answer my question, or are we going to keep talking about colors?"

You pressed your lips together. He was growing upset, and in a guilty way, it satisfied you a bit. With his seemingly careless attitude, he never showed signs of letting things bother him. So, getting under his skin a bit always felt like a win to you, as childish as it may sound.

"My biggest fear is probably dying. Second is spiders." You nodded.

"Have you ever heard the phrase, 'life is short'? Does that scare you?"

"You're annoying, you know that?" You shook your head. "What's your biggest fear then, since you don't seem to be scared of anything?"

"Losing family and friends. It's inevitable, but I'm definitely not looking forward to that day."

"You have a good relationship with your family then, huh?" You resituated yourself, pulling your legs to your chest and wrapping your arms around your knees.

"Yeah, I do. I mean, I've always been super close with Josh. But I guess that just comes from us being twins. We're kind of supposed to be close." He gave you a shrug. "What's your dream job?"

"I'm surprised you're asking a good question." You huffed a laugh through your nose. "I've always wanted to own my own business. A bakery, to be specific. I used to bake all the time with my mom when I was little, and sometimes my work lets me bake some treats for open mic nights on the weekends. But I just haven't had the time to do it in a while."

He hummed. "Why haven't you started your own business then?"

"Too scared of failing, I suppose. Maybe I'll go to school and get a business degree, but it seems unlikely." You shrugged.

"Are you not good at baking? Is that why you're scared of failing?"

"No," you rolled your eyes, "I'm more concerned about not making any profit. Putting myself into a deep hole of debt." You rested your chin on your knees.

"I'd like to be the judge of that - of your baking, I mean."

You quirked your eyebrows in confusion. Whether it was playful banter or not, he seemed to be acting kind towards you. It was foreign territory, but you didn't mind it. Although, it did make you wonder when the arguing would start, or when your face would start to burn out of annoyance. But there was no point in putting your energy into those negative thoughts. Things were going well, and you wanted to keep it that way.

"Are you some sort of food critic?" Your lips curled into a small grin.

"I dunno, maybe. I like cooking - always have, so."

"I would've never guessed." You chuckled. "Is that a hobby of yours?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't think it counts as a hobby when I do it all the time."

"Does that mean I'll be getting homemade meals from now on?" You widened your eyes.

"Eh, I usually cook for myself. If you start being a bit nicer to me, maybe I'll consider it." He shrugged. He stood up from the couch with his palms pressed flat on his thighs.

"I think me giving you a place to stay is nice enough. A good meal would be a great housewarming gift." You said in a singsong tune.

He turned his head over to you. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it into a small smile and left you in the living room alone. If all you could get out of him were a few small facts, you considered the small conversation a successful one.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

While Jake stayed locked inside his room, you took the liberty of having your day off to meet Josh for lunch. You debated the idea of whether or not to invite Jake, but keeping the conversations short with him were the only way you figured you two could tolerate each other.

While you sat outside at the small restaurant, sipping on your water cup, you checked your phone. You had left your phone number on the dry erase board that sat on your refrigerator door for Jake in case of any emergencies. You didn't expect him to text you, nor did you expect him to see it while you were out. You were waiting from a response from Josh, who did text you letting you know he was on his way. But that was about 30 minutes ago, and "Josh time" was very different from normal time.

Josh was a bit late, per usual, so you ordered the both of you a house salad and waited patiently for his arrival.

"Sorry for running late. Lost track of time." He said in a rushed tone, taking a seat and immediately grabbing the glass of water that sat in front of him.

"I'm not surprised, but 20 minutes has to be some sort of new record." You giggled.

"I'm always beating my records, what can I say?" He shined a toothy grin. "How's living with Jake so far?"

"Surprisingly, no complaints. It started a bit rocky, but I think we're getting somewhere good. Learned a bit about him, and he was actually acting nice to me. Not really talking about himself like he usually does."

"Dare I say that I told you so?" He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

"Whatever. This is only the beginning to a very long journey." You widened your eyes to emphasize your words.

"Well, what did you learn about him? Anything good?"

"Nothing too interesting, other than that he likes cooking. Never expected that." You shrugged.

"Oh yeah, he's big on cooking. You know, when we were little, he used to stay up all night watching cooking shows?" His eyes lit up as he spoke about his brother, boasting about him and his "hidden" talent. "He's actually very good at it."

"Well, now I'm curious: what other secret factoids about him are there that I don't know about?"

"There's a lot, but I think it's his place to tell you all those things. I think that's kind of the point when you're getting to know someone." He cocked his head to the side. "And besides, I'm sure you'd want to know what he dislikes so you can bother him and drive him out of your apartment."

You laughed. "I'm not that mean. What kind of person would I be if I made him feel miserable, which would cause him to act the same way towards me? If I want to keep on tolerating him, I have to keep our conversations sweet and short."

Josh began to speak, but the waitress came out and brought you both of your salads. He thanked her graciously and picked up his fork.

"He may seem a bit quiet, while I seem like the talkative one. But, once you get to know him a bit better, he holds a pretty good conversation." He stabbed a piece of lettuce with his fork and shoved it into his mouth.

"You seem a bit more excited about the living arrangement than me." You said and began eating.

You two continued to talk over lunch, about any upcoming events in his life and yours. You didn't have much, of course, but you always enjoyed hearing about the various projects Josh was working on. Picking at his brain was always satisfying to you, and while you loved talking, you preferred to listen while he spoke.

He offered to stop by the apartment, but you insisted on him heading home instead of making the short drive over to your place. With the small progress you were making with Jake, you figured keeping him by himself for a short period of time would allow the progression of yours and his's relationship to continue down a path of positive growth.

You entered your apartment to see grocery bags lined up on the counter. Jake was exiting the small pantry you had, going into another bag and not noticing that you had entered or choosing to ignore your presence.

"Restocking my fridge and pantry?" You said.

He didn't respond to you, rather kept his continuous motions of unloading different foods into the fridge.

"I didn't know if you wanted to go out to lunch with me, so sorry for not asking." You spoke again. You tried to keep your tone light, despite how his ignorance began to bother you.

"Did you go out with Josh?" He kept his eyes on a small clear bag of fruit he pulled out of a bag.

"Yeah, it was just a small lunch. We try to meet up once a week, if not twice." You nodded.

"Something going on between you two?" He raised his brow, opening the fridge and placing the assortment of fruits in a small drawer.

"It's not like that - it never was. We're just really good friends."

He shut the fridge door and continued unpacking different foods and spices. "If you say so."

"I'm serious, Jake. We've always just been super close." You said with slight aggravation in your voice.

"How long have you known him for?" He threw away the grocery bags as he talked to you.

"For about a year or so. We met at a concert, actually. Why are you being so curious?"

He nodded with a hum, placing his hand on the island and leaning his full weight onto it. "Just making conversation. You're so defensive." He teased at you with a shrug. "Am I not allowed to get to know you anymore?"

"You're getting to know me and Josh's past. That's a bit different." You pointed at him. "Try asking me questions that pertain to me, not your brother."

"Maybe another time." He tapped his hand on the counter and began to walk away in the opposite direction. "I don't see the point when you're not opening up."

There it was. The stinging sensation that started at your neck and ran to your ears. You were waiting for it to arise; the unfortunate conversation that would tank the seemingly good path you two were on.

"Opening up? I'm making the effort to try and get to know you so living with you isn't unbearable. I'm sorry that I was getting bothered with you trying to make assumptions about me and Josh." You dug your finger into your chest.

He swiveled on his heels to face you. "Then why'd you let me live with you then? It's not even been a day and you've deemed the living arrangement as unbearable because I was just kidding around." He threw his hands up. "Were you that desperate for a roommate?"

You opened your mouth, struggling to speak. Was there a point in continuing this argument and digging the knife deeper into your guys' relationship? Everything began to look hopeless from this point on, and your doubts once again consumed you.

He decided to speak up before giving you a chance to utter anything. "Think you should try and be a bit grateful for the way things turned out instead of regretting your decisions." He grumbled at you with squinted eyes.

He left you in the kitchen and walked into his bedroom. Once the door was shut, you exhaled a deep exaggerated sigh. You circled around the space you stood in with your hand placed on your forehead. Your emotions flamed into your system, gripping tightly at your insides and burning your entire body. You didn't just want to storm into your room and sit in your frustrations, so you chose to allow yourself to run a bath in the connecting bathroom to your bedroom. Hopefully, this would bring you relaxation.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Wrapping your damp body in a grey towel, you stepped out of your bathtub and began searching through your dresser drawers for some comfortable clothes to wear for the night. The apartment was quiet, and for a moment, you were at peace. As in, you forgot Jake was right next door, and you weren't actually alone. The faintest smell of food cooking hit your nostrils, causing you to perk up. It was around dinner time, and maybe Jake had cooked something for the both of you.

Your door flew open, and you immediately clutched your towel against your figure in case you weren't as covered up as you thought. Your heartbeat rang into your ears, with your body tensing up to see Jake in your doorway.

"Do you ever knock?" You groaned. You shot him a stern look, then began to pull out a pair of sweatpants from your drawer.

"You never listed that as one of your rules, y/n." He leaned against the doorframe with folded arms.

"That's an unspoken one. It's a privacy thing, Jake. I mean, what if I was indecent?" You set the grey-washed pants on top of your dresser.

"Well, you weren't. But it won't happen again." He threw up his hands in defense, then folding them again.

"Alright, now that we have that cleared, can you get out? Please?"

"Fine," he leaned off of the doorframe, "you're a bit angry tonight, aren't you?"

"You scared the shit out of me, so I'm a bit tense. Do you blame me?"

"Did you forget that I live here now?" He stepped into your room.

You watched his movements. He didn't come over to you, but instead decided to wander around your room that he had yet to discover fully. The new environment seemed to intrigue him, but that could be him playing the role in trying to get under your skin once again.

"I tried to. I miss the silence." You turned around to see him holding a picture frame that sat at your bedside. You immediately walked over to him and grabbed it out of his hand to place it back in its rightful spot. "But, if you would please-."

"Is that your family?" He pointed to the picture.

You flicked your eyes down to see you in the middle of your parents in the photograph. You were about sixteen in that photo, with shiny teeth flashing into a smile. Your brother was next to your father, while your little sister was hugging onto your mom. "Yeah, that was during a trip we took to Hawaii." You began to notice the visible tan that you worked on, accompanied by your bright, burned red cheeks from the unforgiving sun. You let yourself remember the moment, surrounding yourself in the tropical background that was captured in the background. It was a memory that you always were fond of.

"How old are your siblings?" He pointed at your brother and sister.

"My brother is 17, and my sister is 13. I'm the oldest." You nodded.

You tore your attention of the photo and met Jake's eyes immediately. Something you quickly learned with him is that if you concentrated hard enough, you would forget you were talking to him, in the sense that you never thought he'd care about someone's life other than his own. Although, now remembering it was him who stood before you, you were filled with that gut feeling of irritation. It was something that you were unable to stop, and you weren't quite sure why you couldn't push it away. But with his body mere inches from yours, you chose to break the proximity and walk to your closet behind him.

"Are we done playing 20 questions? I'd like to change, now."

"Excuse me for trying to take your advice." He turned his body towards you. You flicked through your shirts to find one comfortable enough for the night.

He began to stride out of your room after you kept your silence, but as soon as he reached the door, you spoke up. "Did you cook something?"

He sighed, turning around to you. "Yup. Hungry?"

A faint smile hit your lips. "Made enough for me?"

"Oh, no. Was just wondering if that's why you asked." He smirked at you. He grabbed the door handle, giving you a wave with his fingers and shutting the door softly.

You threw your head back and blinked up to the ceiling for a moment. All that progress for nothing, you thought.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

You shot up from your slumber to the sound of silence filling the air. You checked the time in case you had missed your alarm only to find you were early by 30 minutes. What had woken you up at 7:30 in the morning?

And then you heard the wailing of a guitar, barely muffled by the thin walls that divided yours and Jake's bedroom. With an aggravated huff, you threw yourself out of your bed and stormed to Jake's room.

You knocked loudly enough for him to hear over his guitar, waiting a few moments for him to answer.

"Come in!" He yelled.

You flung the door open with squinted eyes. The morning sun covered your sight, and you brought the back of your hand to cover the blazing light shined onto your face to see Jake sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Can you keep it down a bit? Especially in the morning? You woke me up before my alarm for work was supposed to go off."

He pulled his pic out from his teeth and placed it in his fingers. "Told you to invest in a pair of earplugs."

"I shouldn't need to wear them to sleep because you decide to turn your amp all the way up for the neighbors to hear." You said. "If you read the papers you were signing, you'd know that quiet hours end at 8 AM, which it is not."

"You're just a ray of sunshine in the morning, aren't you?" He pulled his eyebrows together.

"Turn it down, please." You pressed.

He widened his eyes at you for a moment, then turned the knob on his amp to a lower volume.

"Thank you." You said in your best polite tone. "Why are you up so early playing anyways?"

He sighed, standing up and setting his guitar down into a stand he had set up in the corner of his room. For a moment, his figure covered the sun, and you were able to see his bare back, along with the plaid drawstring pants that hugged at his hips.

He turned to you. "Just woke up early, I guess. I like playing in the mornings to start my day. I've got a gig coming up, so I always like to make sure I'm targeting my weak points and fixing them before I get on stage."

You nodded. "Well, you can play a little bit quieter. Don't they have headphones designed to plug into amps?"

"I don't have a pair." He scratched at his head.

"Well, maybe you should invest in a pair." You lightly mimicked him. "I'm leaving for work in about an hour and a half. So, do what you want with that information."

You shut the door behind you and left to your kitchen to start on breakfast.

You quickly made yourself toast with jam, not quite examining the new products that filled your fridge. You decided to take a look when you got home, but your main priority was to just eat and wash the exhaustion off your body.

With your extra time on hand, you allowed yourself to take a longer shower than normal. Feeling the hot water trickle down your body as you scrubbed your hair with shampoo and conditioner, then turning your back to the showerhead to allow wash it all out. Relaxation overtook your body, and although that was a telltale sign that you weren't helping yourself wake up, you didn't care to dismiss the hot water and make it a bit cooler. The steam coming from the shower and fogging up the mirror in your bathroom was the perfect aroma for you as you washed your body clean and stood for a few moments to soak up just as much time as you could without wasting it under the water.

You made sure to lock your door as soon as you got out of the shower and stepped foot into your bedroom, then began to get dressed. You were thankful with how laid-back your coffee house was, which allowed you to wear a black sleek skirt and a tight white top with nonslip shoes. You went light on your makeup today, only covering up any blemishes on your skin and layering your lashes with mascara.

You checked the time on your phone, and you figured it wouldn't kill you to be early to work. Your hair was blow-dried and up in a tight ponytail, so you considered yourself ready enough and left without saying a word to Jake.

You saw Stacie at the counter, talking to your manager and turning her head over her shoulder to see you.

"We've got a lot to talk about, don't we?" She said with a sweet smile.

"Lots." You widened your eyes.

After you clocked in, greeted your manager and tied your small apron around your waist, you walked to Stacie and grabbed her wrist.

"I don't know how to win with him, Stace. There will be instances where everything is fine, having a good light-hearted conversation. And then, annoyance just builds up in my body and we start to argue. It's not like we're just teasing each other, it's more like siblings fighting over nothing. I just don't get it."

She bit back a grin. "It's only been a day and he's that bad, huh?"

"Well, I mean it's not terrible. Just...hard." You sighed. "But I'm going to stay hopeful and consider the positives over the negatives."

"So, you've made some progress? Well, that's good!" She nodded quickly with a smile.

"Barely." You leaned your hand onto the counter.

"Well, like I said, it's only been a day. I'm sure with time you guys will grow a beautiful friendship." She exaggerated with her hands.

"Ha, ha. We'll see. My hours will get cut as soon as I become manager because I'll be getting paid more to work, so no more avoiding him because I have to be here." You threw up your hand. "But I guess if he's living with me, then I should be able to tolerate him more than I do now."

"Well, what kind of progress did you make with him? Learn anything interesting about him?" She wiggled her brows.

"He likes cooking and he's close with his family. That's pretty much it. Oh, and his favorite color is red."

"How'd you learn that his favorite color was red?" She giggled.

"I asked him to play a game of icebreakers after I took his papers to the landlord. I didn't know what else to ask him, in my defense." You pressed your hand flat on your chest.

"What interests me most is that he's a cook. That makes any man a bit more attractive." She pointed at you.

"His personality cancels anything out that might make him slightly attractive. Josh told me that he was a different person when you're alone with him, and right when I think I can believe that he becomes the same person I've known."

She walked away from you to the coffee grinder. "What about starting over?"

"What?" You turned your body in her direction.

"You know, saying, 'hey, why don't we forget about our past and redo our first impressions?'" She shrugged. "It's not a bad idea, y/n."

"Maybe I should give it a few more days before I tell him he needs to reintroduce himself to me. I'm a firm believer in change, you know."

"You say that, but I think you're quite set on the fact that Jake will never change his ways."

You rolled your eyes. She was right. "So, from now on, I'm changing my mindset on him. Does that sound good to you?"

"Well, it benefits you, so yeah, it sounds like a plan. Try a breathing exercise or something next time he gets on your nerves and keep yourself cool and collected. I'm sure he feeds on your anger."

You scrunched your face at her choice of words. "That's one way to state it. He just reminds me of my little brother, always getting on my nerves."

She turned to you with a cup of coffee, placing it on the counter and pushing it out to a customer who sat at one of the barstools. "Then," she looked to you, "change your viewpoint on him. He's your roommate, not your brother."

You shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose so." You released your words with a sigh.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

You got off of work a little after lunch hour, so you weren't surprised to see Jake sitting at the island in the kitchen with an empty plate.

He lifted his eyes to you. "I was just about to call you."

You gave him a confused look. "Why?"

"Nice sentiment of you to leave your phone number on the fridge by the way," he nodded towards the dry erase board, "but I was thinking about grabbing a cup of coffee."

You set your purse onto the island after slipping off your shoes and walked over to your cabinets. "Promise me you'll never come visit me while I'm working."

He chuckled. "Why not? Are you embarrassed or something?"

You began to fill your glass with water from the fridge. "Because I don't see a point in you coming to my work for coffee when there are a ton of other places you could go to."

"Well, what if I want to visit my roommate hard at work?" He leaned over his plate towards you. "I wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to see you in that little outfit." He pointed at your work clothes.

You tugged your skirt down after setting your cup of water down. "Shut up. Your actions are usually filled with malicious intent."

"What kind of guy do you take me for? I'm harmless." He placed his hand over his heart.

You rolled your eyes. "Sure, but you annoy me. I'd like to have a bit of peace and quiet while I'm at work, since I won't be able to get it in my own home anymore."

He grabbed his plate and walked over to the sink. "Is this about me waking you up? You still hung up on that?"

You pressed your tongue into your cheek. Deep breaths, you thought, be more approachable.

"I would just like an apology, that's all. I guess I overreacted a bit this morning. I'm not much of a morning person."

He chuckled as he placed his plate into the dishwasher. "Nor am I. I like staying up late. Don't usually wake up early." He shrugged. "I'm sorry, though, for waking you up. I'll be a bit more mindful of you next time."

"Good to know you're thinking of others for once." You said with playful sarcasm. "And thanks for apologizing."

"You're so very welcome, sunshine." He said with a coy grin.

You groaned at the nickname. "Don't make that a thing."

"I think it's got a ring to it. And it's a bit ironic considering you're not really a ray of sunshine."

"Oh, and you are?" You picked up your glass.

He pretended to be in thought for a moment, lifting his chin up and pressing his lips together. "Yeah, yeah I think I am. I mean, I'm a bit more enjoyable to be around than you are."

You scoffed a bitter laugh. "You hold yourself on a high horse, you know that?"

"Well, I prefer to be confident in myself than not. Is that so bad?" He looked at you with slight confusion.

"It becomes a bad thing when you appear to be vain." You took a sip from your water and began to leave the room.

"Was that your first impression of me? Vain?" He called.

You exhaled deeply. "Yes."

You continued your steps towards your bedroom, but that didn't stop Jake from talking.

"I remember meeting you. I didn't think you were too bad. Thought you were quite nice, actually."

You turned on your heels with both hands wrapped around your cup. "Do you still think that?"

"No," he said with a grin plastered on his face, "you're aggravating."

"That's because I was annoyed with you boasting about how much of an amazing guy you were. Those kinds of things don't impress me." You nodded your head at him.

"Really? And here I thought you were head over heels for me." He teased at you with squinted eyes.

"You're funny, I'll give you that." You laughed.

He walked from the island, making his way to you with his hands shoved in his pockets. "Are you being nice to me?" He said with playful shock.

"Soak it up, Jake. Me being nice to you is going to be very rare. I still don't like you." You quirked your brows.

"Well, then I guess I'll take your very rare compliment with gratitude." He stopped in front of you. "You'll have to come around someday if you want to make living with me less 'unbearable'."

"On second thought, I think I'll just continue being bitter to you, you know, since you seem to thrive on annoying me." You cocked your head to the side.

"You might be right about that." He smirked. "But I find you somewhat difficult, so pushing you over the edge is entertaining to me."

You rolled your eyes. "And I’m the difficult one?"

"You know you didn't have to agree to this," he motioned between the both of you with his fingers, "but you did. I wasn't eager to live with you either. But I chose to be the bigger person and suck it up because in the long run, it benefits the both of us." He gave you a faint shrug. "Are we done talking about this now?"

You exhaled deeply. You wanted to push back at him, eat him out with all the anger that was built up in your body. But what was the point in being stubborn? What made you more frustrated was how true his words are. You didn't have to let him move in with you, but you did because it would help you out financially and rid you of your constant fatigue. You didn't want to pack up your things and downsize, because after all, you were attached to your apartment. You loved how it was spacious yet felt like a cozy home. And, at the end of the day, Jake was just merely a guy crashing in the room right next to yours.

You didn't need to continue the conversation any longer, so you turned away from him as a silent response and walked into your bedroom.

After shutting the door behind you, you set your water cup on your bedside table and plopped into your firm mattress. It was hard to change your mindset on Jake, despite your optimism. You couldn't force him to be a different person, so you'd have to do the same thing as him to keep yourself sane: suck it up, and let things be the way that they are. If you were unable to see him in a different light, then so be it. But that's no reason for you to act out in immaturity and make him feel miserable in his new home.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

-part three-

series taglist: @jakekiszkasmommy @anythingforjtk @gold-mines-melting @twistedmelodies @ageofhearingloss @classicsneverdie @lmaooharry @raviolilegs @mydarlingdanny @iheartjakekiszka @edtvdf @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @gvf23 @flo-gvf @madneedshelp @carlyfleet @pinkunicornsandbluecows @joshysgirl @jasminesworldd

other tags: @songbirds-sweet @sacredjake @mountain-in-springtime @ignite-my-fire @gvfsstardust @jakesguitarsolo @fallonfatality @digitalcalamity @demolitionndannn @lipstickitty @lexii-nv-c @joopsworld @gvfpall @hellowgoodbye @writingcold @loverleaverslayerbeliever @stardustcatcher @absolutely--mental @hippievanfleet @haileygvf @gretasfallingsky @dont-go-home-without-me @beckahvanfleet @threadthatssacred @indigofallingsky @audgeppp

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voxofthevoid · 4 months ago

Note

Happy Chinese New Year beloved Vox, if you celebrate. It’s actually not for a few days but I had an ask so might as well hahahah

Any ideas on snow leopard!Gojo and Tiger!Yuuji in a hybrid au? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen an idea or two? Gojou seems like he’d be the kind to have so much fun with a barbed dick and Yuuji would probably be extra girthy and barbed just to cause the maximum amount of pain ;)

Thank youuu! I'll never say no to new year well wishes, regardless of which one it is! The specific cultural new year I (sort of) observe is a few months away. Meanwhile, Chinese New Year to you 💖

Ah, the anthrofucking AU—I am incredibly fond of that one, ngl. It's fully outlined, so I have ideas aplenty. This tag (won't work on the app) has the bits I've already shared: https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A+divine+nights

As for the dick situation—oh yeah. We are absolutely going the big barbed dick route. The scene that made me outline this AU in the first place is one where Yuuji gets so overwhelmed when fucking Gojou the first time that he involuntarily does a full shift, and naturally, Gojou goes "when in Rome (trapped under a bigfuck tiger and speared on a bigfuck dick), do as the Romans do (get your asshole torn up by said bigfuck dick)."

Some mid-sex highlights from my outline:

G starting to slide off Y’s dick because gravity and Y using one gigantic paw to haul him up and keep him there, practically dangling off his cock with G’s arms and head being the only things touching the bed. G discovering way too many things about himself.

After Y comes, he kind of clumsily turns G over—and tries to fuck him again, but the angle’s all wrong, and G makes the slightly surreal decision to reach down and help. Descriptions of Yuuji’s warm eyes and soft sounds and softer fur. G thinking (maybe saying) it’s only like the time he took a fully shifted Y outside and they ran and played together in the forest: It’s still you, Yuuji. G clinging to Yuuji, hanging from his cock, hands and face buried in thick, soft fur. And after, Y kind of stays in him and also collapses on G, who makes enough space between them with Infinity to keep himself from suffocating while still being able to cuddle Yuuji and keep his cock inside

It's been ages since I wrote some good ole shapeshifted sex. Every time I look at this outline, I sigh wistfully. One day, I hope.

#zyukan #i love my anons #goyuu #my fic #fic: divine nights

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maladaptivewriting86 · 1 year ago

Text

Welcome Home - September Ch1

Eddie Munson x Reader, friends to lovers, slow burn

Also posted on ao3! This is part 1!

Summary: Reader has moved to a new city/state every few months since she was born. She shows up to Hawkins in '85 having to repeat her senior year after learning nothing last year due to changing schools 3 times.

Eddie is repeating his senior year as well, lucky for him. He meets reader in class two weeks into the year and is immediately drawn to her due to her I-don't-care attitude and her Metallica t-shirt.

The two hang out often, studying, drinking, smoking, and healing their respective traumas. But how long does reader have before her dad announces that they're packing up and leaving Hawkins forever, leaving Eddie and the new friends she's made behind forever?

Reader uses she/her pronouns but is non-binary. The term didn't exist in the 80s so she describes it as "I'm only vaguely a girl, you shouldn't really think of me as one."

Reader is AFAB, there will be references to anatomy (smut), but for the most part, she's not really "girly".

AU, the upside down doesn't exist, Eleven and Will aren't mentioned (sorry).

CW for this chapter: mentions of parents with substance abuse issues

AN: This is absolutely just self-insert for me but I really like it and maybe it will be relatable to a small number of people or just entertaining, I don't know. But thanks for reading either way!

I'm planning on each chapter being somewhere between a day to a week of in-story time. Some might be super long and others kinda short, I'm not sure. This is my very first work that I've ever written so I have no idea how its going to work. Each month will have its own chapters (all contained here in this one work) and the story will just kinda flow through the months that reader is in Hawkins. Bear with me, this all might change at some point haha. I have a lot of ideas though as this is literally just my maladaptive daydreams put to paper. Eddie makes my brain melt. Enjoy!

Walking out of the school office with your class schedule in your hand you sigh, taking in the new surroundings once again. This is the eighth high school you've been to in the past four years, and the second time you've been a senior in one of them. After moving three times last year and missing so much of your first senior year, you had to start from scratch in a new school, Hawkins High. Pretty boring to name a school after the city, but you've seen it done so many times that you don't give a shit anymore. Just as long as this is your last one.

The receptionist in the office had pointed you in the direction of your assigned locker and handed you a sticky note with the combination on it. Memorizing the numbers on the gross-yellow paper, you head in the direction she told you to go. 982, 983, 984, 985... 986. That was yours. You stop in front of it and rest your head on the door as you look down and turn the lock in the correct order. You had no faith that this year would be your last, you already accepted that if you couldn't finish high school on your second attempt, then you would just drop out and figure out what to do after that. School is fucking tiring.

The bell rang to signal change of classes and students began to flood the hall. Already missed the first period and study hall, off to a great start. As you pop the lock open and step back a little to open the door, a solid body slams into your side and a book goes sliding down the corridor.

"Hey, watch it freak!" The body yells at you.

You turn to look at who just walked into you. It was a girl with platinum blonde hair in a super high ponytail; a cheerleader uniform; and her tits on full display, absolutely breaking the dress code.

"Sorry, didn't realize you liked to walk with your eyes closed." You grumbled as you rolled your eyes and turned back to your locker, beginning to unload your binders from your bag. She walked into you , that was definitely not your fault.

"What?" She snapped. She took a few steps to the side so that she was right next to you continuing to stare at the side of your face, and at your Metallica shirt, and your ripped black jeans, and dirty shoes. She instantly clocked you as someone who was beneath her so she narrowed her eyes and gave a sickening smile. "Ohhhh... great, another freak to join the freakshow. Just watch yourself okay? And don't get dirt on my uniform." She accented the last line by wiping down the front of her skirt with her hands aggressively a few times before stepping away and bounding down the corridor with her group of friends who looked identical to her, ponytails swishing in unison as they walked. One of them stopped to pick up the book that was dropped and handed it back to who you assume was their leader. All five of them turned to sneer at you before continuing on their way.

"I fucking hate cheerleaders." You thought to yourself as you closed your locker and looked at your schedule again. Your second class was English. An easy enough class, after a bit of a rough start in the hall.

As you entered your classroom you made your way to the desk at the front where the teacher was sitting.

"Hi, I'm y/n. I'm new, I just moved here yesterday and I was told to introduce myself to my teachers when I got to class so... hi." You said quietly to your new English teacher.

"Well hi! I'm Ms. Davies, it's nice to meet you. I'll write your name into the class list. Can I see your schedule?" She seemed way too smiley and chipper for your liking, but at least she didn't seem like she was going to be a hard-ass.

You handed her your schedule and she nodded and confirmed that you were in the right class. She copied your name down on her attendance list and then stood up, handing back your schedule.

"Please don't-" before you could ask her not to, she began announcing your name and welcoming you to the class.

"We have a new student today! Y/fn. Everyone please be kind, she'll be a little bit behind as we've already gotten through two weeks of curriculum but I'm sure she'll catch up quickly!" Smiling, probably very proud of herself for embarrassing you, she turned to you and pointed to an empty pair of seats at the back of the class. "You can take a seat back there... I would say 'next to Mister Munson' but it seems that he won't be joining us again-" just as she said that, a boy with long, curly, brown hair, a denim jacket adorned with pins and patches, ripped jeans, and absolutely no school supplies walked into the class. "Well, never mind. Here he is." She said, a little surprised by this guy's sudden appearance.

Keeping your head down to avoid the stares that you were most certainly receiving, you made your way to the back of the class and sat down in one of the seats Ms. Davies had pointed to.

The long haired boy's eyes hadn't left you since he walked through the door. He also made his way to his seat and sat down just slightly after you. "Metallica fan eh?" He said, nodding to the t-shirt you were wearing.

"Yeah." You said, a little more blunt than you meant for it to sound. "One of my favorites." You added, noting that most of the decor on his vest were metal bands.

"You've got good taste." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, clearly not intending to pay attention to the class.

"Thank you." You said, honestly. "You seem to as well," pointing at one of his pins, you said "Judas Priest is pretty good too."

The boy beamed. He was honestly really cute, especially when he smiled and his dimples were on full display. He squeezed his crossed arms tighter and wiggled a little, obviously a little giddy, and leaned over to you a bit "I like you. I think I'm going to annoy you for the rest of the year." He said with a sort-of-joking-sort-of-not tone.

You let out a soft laugh and smiled back at him. "Sounds good." You replied, somewhat sarcastically, though you also weren't going to say no to gaining a friend immediately. Especially one who seemed to have the same taste as you.

He extended one of his hands toward you, intending for you to shake it. "My name’s Eddie." He introduced himself smoothly, his name sounded so royal leaving his tongue.

"I'm y/n." You replied, shaking his hand gently. His fingertips were a little rough, he probably played guitar. "I guess you missed when my name was announced to the world by Ms. Davies up there." You let go of his hand and gestured lightly up to the front of the room where Ms. Davies was writing something on the board. Something you're already not learning.

"I did miss that, unfortunately. I'm sure it wasn’t embarrassing at all and everyone was all 'hi y/n! Welcome to Hawkins High! We hope you have a wonderful time here! Go Tigers!'" He raised the pitch of his voice when he imitated the students, making you laugh a little harder than before.

"That's absolutely horrifying! You make them sound like a cult! I'm glad they didn't say that to me, I think I would've walked right out the door and never came back!"

"I think anyone would!" He chuckled. He looked very pleased with himself that he made you laugh as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, but still smiling wide.

As the two of you settled into comfortable silence, you took your notebook out of your bag and attempted to take notes on… MooBath ? With the fantastic mixture of Ms. Davies’ terrible writing, your terrible eyesight, and your lack of glasses, the board at the front of the room was nearly unreadable from where you were sitting. Squinting your eyes and leaning forward you could make out that it was actually MacBeth that she was teaching, not something a cow would say while getting cleaned.

“Forgot your glasses at home?” Eddie asked softly.

“No, I don't have any. Can't afford them.” You said simply, trying not to make a big deal over the fact that your parents didn't care enough about you to spend less money on their addictions so they could actually take care of their child.

“Oh. Well that sucks. You should sit closer to the front then.” He said, like it wasn't the most obvious solution.

You laughed lightly, “I would've but this was the only seat open and I doubt anyone would be kind enough to move just for me.” You looked back at him, he looked very comfortable leaning back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Don't ask ‘em then. Just sit. We don't have assigned seating so you can sit wherever you want.” He shrugged and leaned forward, putting his crossed arms on the desk. “Plus it would be fun to see the cheerleaders whine about not getting their way.” A somewhat devious smile spread across his face.

“We'll see.” You said with a small smile, turning your attention back to the teacher. You decided that after missing the first half of the lesson you should at least try to take notes from just her voice alone. It was a struggle, she talked very fast and went on plenty of tangents that didn't have much to do with the subject matter. By the end of the class, you had about a page and a half of notes that you were only 60% confident in being correct and a bit of a headache from squinting at the board.

The bell finally rang while Ms. Davies was mid-sentence. It startled her a bit but she dismissed you all and wished everyone a good rest of the day. On to lunch!

As you packed up your things and exited the classroom, Eddie stuck right by you chattering away. “Hey you should come sit with me and my friends for lunch! You'll fit right in! They're metal fans too!” He seemed to have a ton more energy than he did in class for some reason, or maybe he was quiet on purpose so that you could try to take notes.

Stopping at your locker to exchange your books for your lunch, you smiled at him “Okay, I'd love to.” Why not? Worst that could happen is they hate you and you spend your time at another school completely alone. Best case? You gain some friends for a bit, until you have to pack up and move to another town in a month or two.

You could feel that Eddie was practically vibrating as he led you to the cafeteria, eager to introduce you to his friends. He kept his hand on your shoulder like he was afraid you'd run away or get lost on the short journey. Approaching the long lunch table he waved his hand toward a few younger boys on the left, probably freshmen or juniors, and ordered them to “Scoot!”. They looked at him like he asked them to sacrifice themselves. “I said scoot!” He repeated, now using both hands to usher them all down one seat.

“Well, you don't have to-” you tried to stop the disruption of their natural seating but Eddie just waved at you stating “They're fine. Have a seat!” He beamed once again when you took your seat, every single boy at the table staring at you like you'd just appeared out of thin air.

“Friends, this is y/n.” Eddie gestured to you like he was unveiling a masterpiece at a museum. The rest of the table greeted you with tentative “Hi.”s. One guy in a leather jacket, on the opposite side of the table asked “You managed to bring a girl to our table? How'd you do that man?”

You chuckled a little “Well, I'm only vaguely a girl, you shouldn't really think of me as one if that makes you more comfortable. You can call me whatever you want, honestly. I’ve heard it all. But I wouldn't be caught dead hanging out with cheerleaders and doing my makeup and giggling and shit. I'm not into all that girly stuff. But uh… anyway… hi.” You gave a little wave and looked at everyone around the table. Most of the older guys looked similar to Eddie in terms of clothing style. They looked pretty metal and some of them had jackets like Eddie. The younger boys were a little more toned down but they seemed to fit in really well with the general vibe of the table.

Eddie smiled at you as he pulled up a chair and sat at the head of the table, like a king, you thought. “y/n here, is a new kid. Just moved in from…” He looked to you to finish his sentence for him.

“I don't even know, I only lived there for three months. Somewhere in south Indiana. Started with a B I think?” you shrugged. You genuinely couldn't remember the name, and the city itself was already a blur in your memory, as with most of the cities you've lived in.

“Bloomington?” one of the boys to your left asked. He had very curly hair tucked up into a hat that said Thinking Cap .

“Yeah, sure, that sounds right.” You replied, opening your lunch bag and taking out the sandwich you made this morning. “Pretty boring place if you ask me.”

“Hey, wait, are you the one that just moved next door to me?” Another boy to your left asked. This one had shoulder length black hair and bangs, it kind of seemed like he was trying to look like Eddie if you were being honest.

“Probably? I just got here, dude. I don't even know my own address, let alone yours!” You laughed, trying not to sound mean, but wanting to get the message across that you don't know anyone or anything in this town. You took a bite out of your sandwich and looked towards Eddie, who was once again leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking at you.

Eddie laughed and adjusted his sitting position so that he was leaning back just a little bit more, legs spread apart like he owned the place. “She’s new, like I said. But I think she fits in with us already. An outcast, a metal head, possibly a freak like yours truly.” He meant “freak” in the same way that the cheerleader had meant it when she walked into you at your locker; a person who doesn't conform to the normie bullshit and instead proudly displays their true self to the world.… that's probably how he meant it, you think.

“I appreciate that, Eddie.” you said, smiling at him. Something in his eyes flashed as you said his name, fear? Arousal? Just simple appreciation? You weren't sure.

The rest of the table appeared to accept that you were part of the group immediately. It seemed that Eddie was their leader and they would follow his every word. Again, like he was a king. Unlike other “kings” you had met, Eddie actually seemed to take pride in being a leader; he accepted the responsibility and he cared about his “subjects” a huge amount. He certainly had power, but his friends respected him and his ideas. It felt very fair.

“So what do you guys do in this town?” You asked between bites of your sandwich. “Sex, drugs, alcohol and loud music?” You were only half joking with that suggestion, they were the main things most people did in every place you've been to, but you were looking for more of a “places to go” answer.

“I mean, you're pretty spot on.” The guy right across the table piped up. He had sort of poofy hair and a plaid vest that had a bunch of pins on it. “We’re in a band so… we’re the loud music bit.” He gestured to Eddie and the two other guys on his side of the table.

“Woah really?” You were honestly a little excited about this information. “I assume a metal band, yeah?”

“Duhhhhh!” Eddie droned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Nothing else is worth playing.”

“Well, slow down there cowboy.” you laughed, “Other music is good too! Doesn't all have to be sick guitar solos and screaming your lungs out. Sometimes it's nice to chill out to some Elvis.”

“Oh god.” Eddie suddenly looked scared and sick as he stared directly at you. “I was wrong… you're secretly… a normie!” He dramatically flailed his arms and pretended to pass out, like the shock of your extended music taste had killed him. The whole table laughed at him, you included. The sheer drama of this man was keeping you hooked, you were already having fun and you had only just met him. He was comfortable to be around though, like you’d known him since childhood. When he opened his eyes and sat up, you were the first thing he looked at, your smiling face, laughing at his little act.

“You should come watch us play some time!” The guy in the plaid vest offered.

Pulling your eyes away from Eddie, you answered, “I’d love to! Where do you play?” You absolutely would love to see them play! You just hope that they’re some kind of good.

“Every Tuesday at a bar called The Hideout. It's a little far from here.”

“Oh… well I don't have a car, anyone I could hitch a ride with?” You asked, looking around the table. The younger kids probably didn't have cars either but maybe they had other friends who went to see the band play.

“We can drive you.” Eddie answered quickly. “You can be our first groupie.” You think you saw him wink at you.

“Hold on, really? You never offer rides to non-band members. Something about the sanctity of the van or something?” Plaid vest looked shocked at Eddie’s immediate offer.

“Yeah, well, I've made an exception.” Eddie waved his hand and his words were accepted.

“Really, you don't have to if that's not your thing. I can find my own way there some time, or I'll watch you play someplace else. No biggie. Don't make exceptions for me, I'm not special.” You pleaded. You really didn't want to just force your way into their group, it could end badly if you pissed people off. You could handle being alone or kicked out but you wouldn't be able to handle being the reason the band or the friend group broke up.

“No, really, it's fine. If we bring you along then you'll be forced to listen to our whole set and then maybe we'll finally have a fan!” Eddie explained. “We play tonight if you want to come?”

Suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed, you pulled away, “I… can’t tonight. I have a lot of unpacking to do. I still have to find all my clothes.” You laughed a little uncomfortably. “Next time though, yeah?”

Eddie looked a little saddened by that, but understanding nonetheless. “That's okay!” He reassured, “Next time.” He gave a warm smile to let you know he wasn't trying to pressure you.

“We- we also have a DnD club!” Thinking Cap kid said excitedly.

At this, your eyes brightened. You'd played DnD a few times at different schools, they always ended on cliffhangers though, because you left before the campaign could really get going. “Really!?” You asked. “That's so cool!”

Everyone at the table got excited then; asking you if you were serious, what kind of character you played, if you've ever DM'd, just question after question, none of them getting answered. You laughed as the boys bombarded you with queries and Eddie progressively got more and more annoyed with them.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” He yelled, silencing the table immediately, and a few others next to yours. He was standing now and he turned to you, “You're lying right? There's no way you're actually into DnD.” He looked a little hesitant waiting for your answer. Hopeful, maybe, that you were telling the truth.

“No, I'm not lying! Honestly, I've played a few times but none of the campaigns I've been a part of have gotten anywhere because I moved before we could get to the good stuff.” You explained.

“Ho-ly-shit!” Eddie said, emphasizing each syllable. “You're perfect. You're actually perfect. Sent from heaven, we've gained an angel, boys!” He raised his arms to the air like he was praising a God, the table roared with excitement again. Then he dropped his hands down onto the table with a bang! Making you all jump a little.

Suddenly very serious, he leaned into his hands, looming over you slightly and asked “What's your class and level?”

Realizing he was quizzing you, or maybe this was a hazing? You answered immediately, “I play a Half-Elf Paladin named Sebastian. With my limited amount of play time I've managed to eke him up to level 5.” proud of your answer you lifted your chin up to Eddie, showing him you weren't lying and you definitely knew your shit.

The table was silent again, watching the two of you battle. “Backstory?” He questioned.

“Sebastian was abducted by a group of thieves when he was 15. He spent 20 years under their command, being the muscle to their brains. One night, the thieves’ camp was raided and Sebastian joined the raiders’ side, killing the people who took him hostage. Now, he's sworn an oath to kill or punish every thief or criminal who holds prisoners or slaves captive. He’s also searching for his lost parents that he was ripped away from.” You held eye contact with him the whole time you told your story. Your character's backstory was something you were very proud of and you weren't going to let him make a fool of you.

Eddie leaned back away from you, sitting comfortably in his chair again. “Not bad.” he praised. “I'm thoroughly impressed. I guess we can add ‘nerd’ to your list of qualities that make you fit in here.”

You smiled at him, a warm feeling in your chest growing as you felt the validation from him. “Thank you. I wear that title with pride.”

“Okay! So she's joining us right!? This is fricken awesome!” Thinking Cap shook his clenched hands in front of him in excitement.

Still staring at Eddie, you raised an eyebrow to him, questioning if he wanted you to join or not.

“That's up to her.” He stated. “I think it's clear that the invitation is open.”

Glancing at the table full of smiling guys, all of them on the edge of their seat, waiting for your answer, you simply said, “Then I accept.”

The table roared a final time and you received a few pats on the back and a few “Welcome to hellfire!”s. Meanwhile, Eddie was grinning from ear to ear, trying to play down his excitement, but you could see the way he squeezed his crossed arms together, the same way he did when you talked about music in class. He was definitely happy that you said yes.

When the excitement finally died down and everyone settled into a lighter conversation, Eddie scooted his chair closer to you and whispered somewhat close to your ear. “If we're too much for you, you can tell us to back off. I didn't mean to bombard you with so much shit on your first day. You just seem really cool, and that's rare around here, so I wanted you to have some equally cool friends.”

Turning your head slightly to look at him, you noticed how comfortable he was with being so close to you. And how comfortable you were with it as well. “I'm enjoying it actually,” you whispered back. “I've never felt this welcome before.”

“Good.” Was all he said as he moved away from you, showing off his dimples again with a smile.

You finished your lunch while listening to the multiple conversations happening around the table. Two boys were bickering, three were talking about guitar solos, and Eddie and Plaid Vest were discussing something very quietly. You thought to yourself “Okay, I definitely think like it here for once.”

“Hey, lunch is almost over,” Plaid Vest announced, looking to you. “What class do you have next?”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pulled out your schedule. “Ummm… History, with O'Donall.”

“NO WAY!” Eddie yelled from right beside you, startling you a bit. “So do I! Let me see your schedule!”

You handed the paper over to Eddie and both he and Plaid Vest (you really should have asked everyone’s name) looked over every class. “None of those are with me, unfortunately.” Plaid Vest said, slightly disappointed. The end-of-lunch bell rang and students began packing up their lunches, returning their trays, and leaving the cafeteria. “I'll see you later tho!” He waved at you with a genuine smile and left the cafeteria.

“You’ll never fucking believe this, but we have every single class together!” Eddie said excitedly.

“No way.” You said flatly, you did not believe that one bit. The rest of the table started packing up their things as well and heading out. Everyone gave you a polite “bye” on their way out.

“I'm serious! Well, except for first period, but the rest of today we do! I’d show you my own schedule but it's in my locker.” Eddie insisted. He stood up as you did and kept to your side as you made your way back to your locker to gather your things.

“So what you're saying is: I'm never going to get rid of you?” You joked, opening up your locker.

“Oh absolutely!” Eddie said with a devilish grin on his face. “Guess you and I have to be friends forever now.”

“Well… forever for me might only be a couple months before I move again, but I think I can handle you for that long.” You teased, pulling the last of your class stuff out of your locker and shutting it.

“You're going to move again? You just got here.” Eddie asked. You both started down the hall towards history class, Eddie leading the way.

“Well, I've moved probably near fifty times in my eighteen years of life, so… it's not unlikely that I'll move again.”

“FIFTY!?” Eddie yelled

“Calm down,” you laughed at his sudden outburst, that number usually surprises people. “Yeah something like that. Makes it hard to keep friends.” You said, sounding a lot sadder than you meant to.

“That fucking blows. Why do you move so much?” Eddie was genuinely curious about you, he was leaning in and listening to your every word.

“You'd have to ask my dad. He pisses off a lot of people and then we’re forced to skip town before he gets his ass beat.” You explained. “He's not in trouble with the cops or anything, just like… landlords, neighbors, bar owners, liquor store employees… pissed off a mayor once too.” God your dad’s a mess.

“Wow, what an asshole.” He stepped through the doorway of your history class and held his arm out in front of him, waving you through like you were royalty. It made you laugh, and made other people stare.

“You're telling me.” You said, exaggerated. You walked past Eddie and quickly made your way to the teacher at the head of the room, wanting to introduce yourself quickly this time so that there weren't so many students in the room for her to announce your presence to.

This teacher, once again, confirmed that this was the right class and welcomed you to Hawkins High. As she finished writing your name on the attendance sheet, a shrill voice let out an exasperated “UGH!” from behind you.

“This is my seat, you freak! Go find a trash can to sit in, or better yet! Go jump off a bridge!” The same blonde haired cheerleader who had smashed into you in the hall was currently screaming at Eddie, who was sitting at a pair of desks in the third row with his feet on the table, not looking at her at all.

“Miss Blackwell! That is enough! None of these seats belong to anyone! Please find another desk to sit in. Mister Munson has already chosen that one.” Ms. O'Donall stated, sternly. She then sighed and added, “And thank you for joining us today, mister Munson.” sounding like she was annoyed that he showed up at all.

The cheerleader and her friend stomped away from Eddie who was now smiling at you, very proud of himself. They sat down at a different pair of desks which caused another two students who had just walked in, to be upset and move back a row, they caused another two to move, and another, and another, and another. Eddie had just disrupted almost every student’s seating habit single-handedly.

“What are you doing?” you whispered to Eddie as you took your seat next to him. “You really wanted to hear the cheerleaders whine huh?”

“Of course! It sounded like fun when I suggested it, and I didn’t think you would do it, so I did.” He took his feet off the desk in front of him and leaned toward you so only you could hear him. “Plus, I figured this was a good spot, you can see the board from here right?”

Did he really just force some cheerleaders to move seats just so that you wouldn't have to sit at the back of the room and squint to see the board? “Eddie!” You whispered, scolding him a bit. “You did not just do that so I could see the board.” You were looking him directly in the eyes, searching for some other explanation than kindness towards you, someone he just met.

Eddie just shrugged his shoulders with a big smile on his face and leaned back in his chair, assuming the same position as he seemed to always do, arms crossed, legs spread.

You continued to stare at him, bewildered that someone would do that for you. A loud voice pulled you away though, “Miss y/ln. I don't think today's lesson is on mister Munson’s forehead, so could you face the board where it actually is, please?” Ms. O’Donall, who you now know will be a hard-ass, was looking directly at you, lips pursed together. “Sorry.” you said quietly, and turned to face her. She nodded sharply and went back to the lesson. You heard a few giggles from behind you, probably the cheerleaders.

You took out your notebook and began copying the notes Ms. O'Donall was writing on the board, trying your hardest to not look at Eddie. Something in your head kept wanting to stare at him, to get closer to him, to really make a friend this time around. But you knew if you did that, it would end in heartbreak when you were dragged off to another city with your parents. So you pushed it all down. Hanging out with the boys won't be so bad, there's no harm in having fun, you just won't let yourself get too attached to them and the break will be clean. Hopefully.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. You managed to get some notes from Ms. O'Donall on the two weeks that you missed so you wouldn't be so behind. And your last class of the day was biology, probably the only class that you learned anything in during all of last year, so it felt like more of a review than new information. Eddie chose to sit you near the front in biology as well, though no one yelled at him in that class, which was honestly surprising.

When the final bell rang, Eddie followed you once again to your locker. “How did you understand a single thing that Mr. Grinnell said?”

“I've been through it before. This is my second senior year. Fuck every other class, but bio? That's my shit. Well, and art, but that doesn't count.” You explained, pulling your jacket and backpack from your locker.

“I dunno, I've been through it before too, but I think it made even less sense this time around.” He rubbed his forehead like thinking made his brain hurt.

You closed your locker and placed your hand on his shoulder. “If you need some help, I don't mind. After all you've done for me so far, I think I owe you something. We can help each other finally finish our senior years. Well… help each other for as long as I'm here.”

Eddie pulled his hand away from his face and looked up at you. “You serious? Because I think I could really use the help. I'm dumb as shit so it might be a challenge, but I'm not gonna say no if it means we get to hang out.” He seemed to be excited about your offer.

“Yeah, I'm absolutely serious. Gives me a reason to stay away from my house and my parents.” You really hated sitting around the house with your dad who was always drunk and mad, and your mom who was always high and stupid. “But not tonight though, I really do have to find my clothes or else I'll be showing up to school tomorrow in this exact outfit. Plus, you have a gig to get to.” You smiled at him warmly, making sure he knew that you weren't just being nice for the sake of it. You really did like the idea of having someone to keep you on track in school, and you had no problem with helping him do the same.

“Deal!” He excitedly accepted and stuck out his hand for you to shake.

You took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “No taking that back now, we've made a deal!” You said, pointing at him.

He grinned. “Scout's honor!” he swore, raising his hand to place it over his heart, his other hand still holding yours.

The two of you made your way outside, ready to head home. “Need a ride?” Eddie offered.

“No, that's okay, I'll walk.” You politely declined.

“Are you sure? If you live near Wheeler, that's a pretty far walk!” Wheeler must be the kid you moved in next to. The one with black hair that looked like Eddie’s.

“Honestly, it's not that bad of a walk. I made it to school that way.” Granted, you were late two periods, but that wasn't entirely your fault. You didn't have your alarm clock unpacked yet and you woke up later than you meant to. “It's pretty straightforward. Plus, it's how I usually learn the city. If I get lost, I'll just wander till I find my way back.”

Eddie looked a little worried for a moment so you patted him on the shoulder and reassured him, “I'll be fine. Promise. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah!?”

He hesitated for a moment but you could see him decide against arguing with you. “Alright then, yeah. See you tomorrow, y/n.” He said, nodding and smiling.

“Bye, Eddie.” You gave him a big smile and a little wave and headed off in the direction of your new house.

The walk home took about 20 minutes, plenty of time to sort out your head and take note of all that had happened in the day. You made six friends in one day, definitely a new record for you! You joined a DnD party, possibly became a groupie, pissed off some cheerleaders, and gained a study buddy. There's a good chance that this town wasn't going to be the worst you've ever stayed in. But the looming question of “just how long will this last?” would never leave your mind.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson slow burn #stranger things au #stranger things 4 #friends to lovers

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messitydepressity · 2 months ago

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Hi messy, President of your angsty aus fan club, I’d love to hear more about Red Lit Misery!

You rock!!

Of course, Mr. president 🫡

This one is also for the great @bumblepony 🐝

I've got a few scenes down for this bad boy, and I'm gonna be upfront, this fic is not going to be for everybody.

it's firmly adult Ellie, and she still gets unintentionally imprinted on by Joel, but Tess ain't the only stripper in this fic, just saying.

Also, unlike prior fics, Tess & Joel's relationship is sharing the spotlight, and they are NOT a background relationship.

And their dynamic starts a little…differently.

Here's a baby snippy of that below the line break, just because it’s a touch slutty.

The bass of the club thrums under her skin, deep and rattling, changing the tempo of her heartbeat.

Under the wash of red lights, the old building looks thousands of miles away from the water-stained shack she'd walked into six hours ago.

Rotating polls, rubbed dull from decades of use, now look bright and gleaming from the haze of the dimly lit floor.

The stage is the only place in this entire fucking establishment that gets fully lit.

Gotta make sure those tits are highlighted, no matter how big or small.

"I ain't paying you to be a wallflower, sweetheart. Grab a fella and get to work." Cutting sharp eyes over to Clarence, she offers him a middle finger and a snarl.

Ten long years of this shit.

A decade of traipsing around this hellhole in a never-ending series of thongs; a new set of tassels chafing the skin right off of her nipples every other night, and even more raw skin shredding her knees.

Getting naked is her job security, but her mouth pays the bills.

A hand, rough and calloused, suddenly grips the back of her neck tight. It's borderline painful, but she knows it won't bruise.

Never has, not unless she has asked it to.

"Got a minute?" The hair on the back of her neck stands up at the rumble of a deep southern drawl.

Slow and lilting, unlike Clarence's forced southern charm.

Joel.

"Depends, Cowboy. You paying?" She knows he would if she'd let him, but she won’t.

She needs this one thing in her life to not be bought or bartered.

Even if they don't know what the other looks like without the glare of crimson tinting their features.

The heat of his hand travels down between the dip of her shoulder blades, broad fingertips skating over her spine before slipping beneath the band of the sheer lace thong that cuts into the swell of her hip.

His thumb brushes back and forth over the crack of her ass as she feels the first scratch of his facial hair rubbing against her neck.

Heat, thick and languid, makes her shift her stance to relieve the ache that already pulses between her thighs.

"You know I never leave without settling my debt, Tessa." Scanning the floor with glassy eyes, she confirms that her boss's newest hire isn't sliding off of the pole the kid is barely hanging onto in a more secluded corner of the club.

She is incredibly green, and definitely underage.

Wouldn't be the first.

But she's holding her own well enough.

Fuck it, she decides. She has spent the last four days straight making sure to provide every ounce of pleasure she can muster for the greasy son of a bitch’s that have come stumbling through their blacked out doors.

She deserves a fucking orgasm or two, and with Joel, it might be three,

"You've got twenty minutes and I'm holding you to the promise you made me last time." Thumb hooking under the material that rests in between her ass, he pulls it tight to make it shift and bunch against her clit.

"All I need is ten, Darlin'."

🫣🤭

Thanks for the ask, guys!

I appreciate you both. 🖤

#aske game #fic ask game #answered #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou #joel miller #joel and tess #tess servopoulos

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riewritten · 2 years ago

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what do you think Erwin considers himself that he sucks at but at the same time he enjoys doing it? suddenly i thought of tiktoks that are like "having a hobby you're bad at is okay". do you have any hobbies you consider yourself not good at too?

tbh i think the "bad" and "good" stuffs are all social constructs, but i'm still struggling with crocheting just bc i think i suck but at the same time i know that's something i do for relax. still sometimes i can't afford to think that way??? do you have the same problem and have you overcome it? i have no idea if this is a prompt or just me asking you stuffs.

do you often project what you're thinking into your writing and visual arts and any other form of art?

oh my god this is getting nowhere 🥲🥲 thank you for reading Rie. have a good day!!!

THE BEST BIRTHDAY

ERWIN SMITH X GEN NEUTRAL!READER

TAGS: fluff, slice of life, kissing, comfort, office romance AU, idiots in love, insecurities, and AAAA HAPPEE BIRTHDAY ERWIN (this also goes with my most recent ask)

WORDS: 2.9k

hi @frenchdyer ❤ i know i took this long bc i've been thinking about this. like the otherworldly self-reflectio i only tend to have once in a year or whenever i'm PMS-ing lol. how's your crocheting? were you able to improve somehow months after you had sent me this msg? my sister gifted me a crochet kit, so i've been planning to learn, too!

on a personal note, the hobby i suck at but enjoy doing nonetheless is drawing! perhaps it's a self-esteem issue, but i've been drawing since i was 5. the passion came to me even before i learned how to write! due to the amount of years i've been trying to master it only to have minimal progress, i can say drawing is smth i can never admit i'm good at. but i came to terms to it now (when i was in highschool i was so insecure about it lol) and bc i did, i draw things to enjoy, not bc i'm utterly pressured to improve!

On the surface, even his closest friends would have a different time answering this question. It's Erwin we're talking about, after all! The literal embodiment of academic perfection and charisma!

Erwin also wants to think of something other than an answer. Although he admits his flaws well when someone points them out, he wants to be good at everything as much as possible. For a perfectionist like him, self-admittance would mean giving up!

It is until you said something that made him recnsider. "Sometimes, I don't see you as a human."

In hindsight, the context of your question was, "What do you want to have for your birthday?" but Erwin seems to be the type to already have the things he'd want and need in life, perhaps if one were to speak materially. Every gift he'd receive would only impact him a little, and you want to change that.

He chuckles at the remark, amused as your features remain serious, "Do I feel like an alien?"

"Dunno," you shrug without turning up at him—only at the papers, hiding a frustrated blush. "And if you're actually a slimy organism underneath? It scares me."

You hear the office chair sliding towards you, and as swift as ever, Erwin's hand is on top of yours. He squeezes it gently, and you try to hold your fluster by glaring at him. Luckily. Only the two of you are in the office; what would the others say if they saw this? You and Erwin made it clear to keep your relationship hidden by acting 'decent' in public places.

He lets you feel its warmth first, although unsure of the reason why, then he guides your hand towards his cheeks. He presses your palm on it.

"W-what?"

Erwin casually leans his cheek to your palms, albeit with a tranquil expression contrary to you, perhaps amusingly watching your reaction. "Mind repeating what you said earlier?"

"I said underneath. Hypothetically. And I don't mean it literally as well."

"Underneath? Well, that's quite a unique way of asking me to—"

You swatted your hand away and lightly hit his chest as you couldn't hold the fluster. "Stop playing with me. I'm not done yet."

"Well, I'm done."

"Please don't make it my problem."

"I'm actually offering to help."

You perk up in glee. If Erwin's to help, then you might as well consider yourself done. You pulled your chair away from your desk so Erwin could look at it.

However, Erwin asks something completely unrelated amidst the heap of your paperwork. "Why do you not see me as a human?"

"You feel like some sort of god."

"Silly, that's a metaphor that would fit you more."

"Oh, you. Stop flustering me." you huff in sarcasm. "You know about the crocheted scarf I was planning to give you before winter ends?"

"Yeah, and it's summer already. I'm still waiting for it, though."

"I threw it away."

"Huh?" Erwin looks at you in surprise, eyebrows twitched in confusion, perhaps in a whine. He knows you've been trying so hard for it. "Why would you?"

"I'm not good at it."

"But you were enjoying it. You told me so."

"Not because I enjoy it means I'm good at it," you then smile in defeat. "Let's just say I'm not as fast at learning as you are, no matter how much the task interests me. Maybe that's why I sometimes can't deem you human, too. Too good for me, I think."

Erwin could only observe you afterward. You don't try to make it a big issue, none but admittance that unpretentiously comes out of your mouth. As much as it is, perhaps, concerning self-esteem, Erwin is the one hit by it. The way you could admit your flaws a bit too easily and go home without pondering on it is something he couldn't easily do even if he tried. It takes one to help overcome an insecurity and another to admit his own.

"That's not true."

"It is. You really excel at everything, Erwin. That's something I also yearn to have for myself. You don't have flaws. Or, well, let's say you have one, but no normal being can see it so easily."

Well, you were able to lay down his flaws then and there. After all, he's having difficulty coming to terms with his flaws—or perhaps, on saying such admittances out loud. You are right. As much as Erwin demands you to open yourself up to him, some facets stay unsaid because he opts to and wants to remain an ideal image, perhaps one who can only admit his inadequacy if someone points it out. You're the complete opposite, though. You could admit your flaws and still end the day happily. The 'incompatibility', or so you might call it, could be giving him a hard time consoling you.

Oh, and when he recently enjoys consoling you the most. He really appreciates having you open up to him, enjoys the privilege of being able to take care of you as you let him, enjoys listening to your blabbers, and offers resolutions just like the strategic man he is. After all, he's one of the few people who sees that.

Only if he doesn't suck doing it.

"Oh no, did I say something that upset you?" you ask worriedly, sensing his silence.

And he's not the one to be given comfort right now, or so he thinks. It's as if you hit a nail, albeit unaware of how and where it hit him.

Just as if closing the distance is the needed nudge, Erwin pulls your figure towards him, holds both cheeks and surrenders to sweet kisses. Erwin's lips are warm, and the pace is languid. Yet, it's overwhelming enough to deprive you of your senses, let alone the urgent question of why he is suddenly acting the way he is. This might be the first time he got intimate with you inside the workplace. You know this type of kiss from him, too—he does it whenever he's dreary or after working on a significant research paper that got him weary.

The worry reverberates, and thus, you withdraw from the kiss, "Is this because of the scarf? I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have thrown it away. Don't worry, I'll make another one and—hmph!"

He cuts you off for another kiss, harsher this time, perhaps classified as a silent sulk for cutting off the lovely exchange, but no—you're wrong. It's not on you at all. Erwin is frustrated with himself. He holds onto your waist until you're seated on his lap and wraps his hand around your neck to press you further to his chest—hoping it would compensate for the distance you two have due to his inadequacies. To be great in giving you solace is to be vulnerable and imperfect; how could he do that?

He withdraws when both of you need air, albeit begrudgingly, "I'm sorry, Erwin. I know you waited for that scarf."

"No, it's not about that."

"Then what?"

He pretended to ponder for a few seconds, eyes roaming the room to gather his words. He pursed his lips before pointing out, "Don't you think the way you perceive me as a human far beyond you is a flaw I might have? Partners are not supposed to see each other that way."

"I'm merely exaggerating."

"Yes, but still."

"Are you saying you must apologize to me because you're such a perfect being?"

"No, because I'm failing to show you that I'm not."

Oh.

You finally see where he's coming from. "Are you failing by choice?"

He averts his gaze away, "Yes."

"Then it can really be a flaw," you flash him a sympathetic smile, moving his face so he'd see you in the eyes again, "can you tell me why?"

“I'm not brave enough to show it the way other people do."

"You just did, honey."

"Not because I want to, but because I'm insecure about my inability to console you like a normal partner would. The way you perceive me right now says a lot about our distance. And mind you, doing this isn't even supposed to be this hard."

Both of you stopped. That is by far the most vulnerable thing he had said about himself since you started dating months ago—and it wouldn't even sound vulnerable unless it came out of Erwin's mouth. That's how hard he's been all this time.

He expects you to be annoyed. After all, that might be one of the shallowest reasons he had ever given, too.

But then you smile as if you appreciate him for saying that much—just as if you know it takes a lot for the Erwin Smith to admit something like that, "It's not something you can unlearn overnight. Do not fret."

He lets out a defeated chuckle, "That I know well."

"What's strange is that I'm not your first partner. How come this didn't become a problem with your previous ones?"

"Because people are content to perceive me that way. At some point, I preferred that, too. Honestly—" he leans his head on your shoulder, hands on your waist to keep your balance on his lap, "had it not affected the way I console you, I would prefer things to stay that way."

You pepper him with kisses all over his face, something he accepts as a reward, "Honestly, I would prefer you this way, too. A relationship with a god can be a bit of a struggle, after all."

"Indeed it is. What a struggle I have right now."

You glare at him, "What do you mean by that?"

He shakes his head nothing, hands lurking inside your shirt to feel you more, to shower you with reverence, "Let me finish this now. I miss our bed."

Today is his birthday, and you still need to think of a gift that could be deemed special.

As a last-minute reflection before giving up the gift that has been frustrating you for days, you try to ponder on the previous days since he opened up.

Erwin has become more talkative since then. He's always been chatty towards you since you started the relationship, especially when info dumping. However, this has a stark difference. He's trying too much as if matching an expectation no one but him had set up. Wording it as "forced" would perhaps hurt, but it's not something you could deny, either. Only when afternoon came did you realize how to fix it, with Erwin on a couch and crochet yarns on his lap. He has his phone at the coffee table and the familiar tutor video playing in the background. Eventually he sighs, unties the yarn, and repeats—this time with much precision, and you couldn't help but smile. When Erwin is about to learn something new, he locks himself in his office and spends the whole day studying it alone. Only now did you finally unravel why, and it's apparently part of his mentioned flaw that night.

He might be forcing himself lately, but it's the adjustment that counts.

Erwin perks up in surprise when you sit beside him and hold his hand. You guide his fingers into the correct way of tying the knot. You didn't say anything, and maybe you even tried to act like it's an everyday routine. Erwin pretends to listen and pick up the techniques you're blabbering, but in reality, he's just looking at your face. His lips are flat but twitching as he's trying to hold the urge to steal a kiss. He tries to inhale longer to indulge in the scent of your hair but not too much to call your attention. And as the moment passes, thirty minutes, perhaps because the video's finally done playing in the background, Erwin realizes something.

Just… just what held him back from being like this towards you? This is, in fact, a short step. The bare minimum, even. And even so, it felt genuinely liberating. Indeed, he's been forcing himself to be vulnerable recently, but this is the first time it exuded a positive feeling.

Your hands gently stop, the instruction's done, and Erwin only realizes when you turn to look him in the eye, "You get it?"

"The what?"

"Huh?"

"Oh," Erwin tries to recall what his blank, sappy head might have digested so far, only to no avail. The only thing coming up in his mind right now is the smell of your shampoo. Perhaps his nerdy brain is trying to guess the unfamiliar flavor mix and earn your praise once his guess is correct. "I—uh—"

"You didn't listen at all."

He smiles, guilty.

You sigh, "I'm quite persistent, you see. We're not eating dinner until we both master this knot."

"Wouldn't this wait? I'm not in the mood anymore."

You shake your head and untie the yarn. But just as you're about to quip at his newfound impatience (and how cute he is trying to get the hang of it like a little kid learning origami), Erwin grasps the tool away from your hands and cups your cheeks.

He first lands a chaste peck on your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then the tip of it, then the two cheeks, and finally, it deepens when he reaches for your mouth.

And because you are indeed a persistent being, you have no idea how shamelessly grateful Erwin was when you did more than just pull him in. He tried to stop himself, after all, for seconds in case it'd do anything better. Maybe you're not in the mood; perhaps you want to see the side of him not knowing better and learning things together. But when his palm glided on your cheek and your eyes widened in response, the tremor in his nerves overpowered the need to ask.

Perhaps the tremor was gratitude because here he is, not getting any younger, and yet, this is only his first genuine step to face his vulnerability.

You kiss him back and wrap your arm around his neck to pull him in, albeit quite sure why he's suddenly kissing you like this.

Unlike the previous one, his kisses are full of gentleness, and not a tinge of frustration can be seen. His hands, although huge and hard, slide inside your shirt so softly to feel your bare skin. You withdraw a bit to ask what might be the matter, but quickly forget the question when you see his face. He's blushing as though it's the first time he has kissed like this. His eyes are pretty lidded, lips a bit open, and you realize that although you had seen this expression before, it was for a very brief moment—not immediately after a chaste kissing session.

He looks at you, quite disappointed for cutting the kiss short again. He grabs you by the ankle until you're sitting on his lap.

"Did something happen?"

He shakes his head, "Saying it out loud would be sappy."

"If you think I'd forgive you for spacing out while I'm—kyah!"

He starts sucking on your neck, "Shut up and don't ruin the moment."

"The what? Hey, don't mark on it. I'm warning you."

Erwin really wants to explain his thoughts. He's sure you'd be glad if you were to know all of this. Even though he could never perceive this as a significant step beyond, he bet you'd be giggling and jumping once you know.

He looks up and tries to explain but realizes how tired he is holding everything in—it took him decades. Erwin addressed it only after loving someone so ardently that he was willing to give up years-long prideful habits—all to love you more. He is exhausted, and your lips are so soft and so near, offering the sheer comfort he needs. It's parted slightly; if his tongue were to slip inside, it would send him into great bliss. Erwin is exhausted right now; perhaps he’d share his thoughts after this overwhelming, trembling warmth subsides.

For now, he at least tries to give a small context, "This is the best birthday I've ever had."

"Y-you think so?!" What have you done? You've been thinking about it for months! How could it happen without you knowing? "We spent the day indoors. We haven't even done anything special yet."

"You'd get quite full of yourself if you knew."

"You're trying to escape for not listening to my crochet blabbers."

"I don't want to get sappy today. Can't we just continue?"

"Well, uh… I really want to know what I did," you avert your gaze away. "I've been at the edge lately, thinking of ways to make you say you got the best birthday today—with me. Now that you finally say it, however…"

Again, it's as if you hit a nail, albeit unsure where and how you did.

"And there you have it. Your answer."

"Huh?" It took you a while to process that. "Because you're with me?"

He nods, albeit in a teasing manner.

"Eek. The sap shudders me."

"That's why I asked if we could just continue where we left off."

"The crocheting, indeed." you tease, but as you're about to reach the tool again, Erwin carries you up in his arms. He doesn't even need to tell you where he'd bring you. The impatient man would straight up lead you to bed to show what he wants.

Instead of scolding him for cutting the lecture off, you sigh and muffle your head in his neck, "You have to thank god it's your birthday today."

"Oh, yes of course," he kisses the crown of your head. "Thank you, dear."

TAGLIST: sorry for causing inconvenience with your notifs, my dears in taglist TT i wasn't planning to publish this tonight but the birthday request activated my brain neurons and said "what if u unload your WIPS and just publish this thing" so yea. sorry. @frenchdyer @watyousayin @collinnmckinley @aeanya @xiaotopia @cadenza-damour @grimistheangerinmystares @rinamars | STORY SUBSCRIPTION FORM

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