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puck-luck · 3 months

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new beginnings | june 3 - june 9

note: this chapter features me trying to find the right balance between "slow burn😈" and "OH MY GOD I'M SO BORED CAN THEY FUCK ALREADY", so enjoy that.

here is a link to chapter one! if you've forgotten what took place, i recommend skimming, or just read day 7 over again!

8:90 – HONEY

Mondays are Honey’s lazy days. It’s the last day of her weekend, since The Reading Nook isn’t open. She usually spends her day doing laundry and cooking for the week, but today, all she wants to do is lay in bed.

She hasn’t been unproductive, per se. She started her laundry and took a shower, even shaved her legs. She replaced her sheets, and then the allure of her bed called her back in. She cocooned herself under the covers and cracked open the book from her bedside table, but Honey’s eyes have just been sliding over the page. Her mind is elsewhere.

She can’t stop thinking about Saturday night.

It was fun. She had fun.

From the first moment, she was comfortable. The boys treated her and Bea like their friends, people that they’d known for longer than a week. She had been apprehensive at first, then thankful that Bea was willing to leave with her if she wanted to, but she never really wanted to leave. The time just came and she knew that she couldn’t be there any longer.

The second Jack opened the door and she saw Luke and Cole holding Trevor back, she just felt light.

Since leaving home, she really only had Bea. The old ladies are friendly enough, but it’s not the same. Before coming to Litchton, Honey and Bea went to a big high school. They knew a lot of people between the two of them and Bea was captain of the school’s state-championship-winning volleyball team their senior year. Honey’s parents were well known in the community and they were really involved in their church.

She went from having plans every night with her friends, sneaking out of the house to get up to no good because she wasn’t legal yet, and being miserable because she was overcompensating for a feeling she couldn’t describe to… asking her best friend to go off grid with her in a tiny town that no one from their hometown knew. And Bea came.

Honey was happier this way, and Bea could adapt to any situation with a little time so long as the illusion of adventure was intact, but it was still lonely. She loves the home she made for herself in Litchton and how it taught her to be an adult, her own person rather than a version of her that was molded from her surroundings. At the same time, she misses knowing people her age.

Litchton, as great as it was to Honey, was the kind of little town that you flee when you leave for college after living there your whole life. The only time you come back is when you’re starting your family, or maybe even after your kids move away and you crave that small town life your parents enjoyed so much.

Or, if you’re Honey’s dad, you vacationed in the town as a kid and wanted your child to have the same experience.

Long story short? There is an abundance of people under 18 and over the age of 50 in Litchton, but not so many 19-30 year olds.

It’s more of a problem for Bea. She’s the one who’s looking for a relationship. Honey is not looking for that. She’s not.

It’s nice to have a few new friends, though. Not Trevor, really, even though he seems desperate for Honey’s attention. Honey didn’t talk much with Luke, since the boy was quiet for most of the night. The most animated she saw him was when Trevor started his Zulu Run and Luke cheered him on. Quinn was at the pool table the whole night… until he was upstairs… but he seems like a cool guy. Jack is easy enough to talk to, when he’s not flirting.

Honey’s not ashamed to admit that her favorite is Cole. He’s a sweetheart with a charming smile and thoughtful intentions. He’s a good person. Honey kind of wishes that she had met him when she and Bea first became friends– she can only imagine how precious he was as a child. Their trio would have been something the other kids envied and Honey and Cole would’ve been each others’ date to prom.

He would’ve fit in really well with them, she thinks. He’s kind of like the male version of Bea. Maybe that’s why she likes him so much.

Her phone rings and it’s Bea’s name that flashes across the screen, speak of the Devil.

Honey answers and starts to say hello, but Bea cuts her off.

“I’m at your front door,” she says, then the line goes dead.

Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at the screen. She scoffs and shakes her head, tossing the covers off and swinging her legs around the side of the bed. She’s just in the old boxers that she stole from her last boyfriend and a bralette, her laziest outfit. She doesn’t even consider changing as she walks to the door and opens it. Bea’s seen all this, and more, before.

“Good, you’re not wearing clothes,” Bea breathes out in relief as a greeting. She pushes past Honey and makes her way towards the bedroom. “I was going to make you take them off for this anyway.”

Honey rolls her head back and fakes a snore. She closes the front door and trails after Bea, finding the girl sitting on her bed when she reenters the room.

“Okay, before we get started, I want to give you a chance to tell me about your night after I left the room,” Bea says. “Oh, and I should probably tell you that Trevor was upset that you weren’t at church yesterday.”

“Okay,” Honey replies, her laugh strained. “That’s… weird.”

He likes you. He’s good. He’s trying. You should like him too.

Honey shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “Not much happened. Trevor did his Zulu Run, each of the boys chose a song for him to run to, and I left during Cole’s song. Jack walked me to the door.”

“Oh,” Bea drawls. She tilts her chin up and taps her nose. It’s a habit they both picked up when they were teenagers– a secret signal of sorts when they were talking shit at parties in their younger years. They do it when something is too ‘on the nose.’ It’s supposed to be clever– Honey thought of it. “So that’s why Trevor pushed Jack up against the wall, while he was naked, might I add, and asked him what the hell he was doing?”

Honey freezes, lips parted in surprise. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she hopes that she looks judgmental enough to hide the shock.

Bea tilts her head to the side slowly and smiles up at Honey, pulling one of her braids over her shoulder and twisting the end between her fingers. “Isn’t that so… interesting…?”

Honey licks along her top row of teeth and seethes at Bea. “No,” she snaps. “I don’t find that interesting.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you can’t fight this forever, Honey. I’m going to get you laid this summer, while we have this many willing participants, whether you like it or not.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you did with Quinn? I know that’s why you’re here.”

Bea’s face lights up and she grins from ear to ear. “Honey, I know they’re all athletes, but, like… holy shit.”

She jumps into a long winded story that begins with the second Quinn bent over her to hit the 8 ball and she felt him against her behind. (“He wasn’t even hard yet, and I was practically swooning!”) Bea is gesticulating wildly, miming her movements and even climbing onto Honey’s lap at one point to recreate the position Quinn had her in.

Bea’s downright dirty about it, and Honey squirms a bit. This happens every time Bea hooks up with someone, but it never becomes more comfortable for Honey.

After Bea finishes describing the way that Quinn groaned when he came, all the while Honey is cringing because she’ll never look at Quinn the same again, she says: “You know, if you just started having sex again, I wouldn’t have to describe my hijinks to you.”

Honey laughs out loud, her jaw dropping at the statement. “You’re a liar!” She accuses, pointing a finger at Bea and pushing her over on the bed.

Bea giggles into the covers, hiding her face from Honey. She shrugs and nods along as Honey continues her accusation.

“We’re going to keep doing this shit until the day we die!” Honey exclaims, her cheeks tight with how wide her smile is. Laughs keep bubbling up from her chest and interrupting her sentences. “Buzzy, when you get pregnant, I genuinely think you’re going to find some sperm and shove it up my cooch so we’re ‘experiencing everything at the same time.’ You freak!”

Bea howls with laughter, clutching at her stomach. “Fuck off!”

“I swear! When you get married, I’m going to have to get an IUD just so I’m not fearing for my fucking life the whole time,” Honey retorts, grabbing her pillow from near the headboard. She whacks Bea with it as the girl squeals and tries to avoid the weapon.

After a satisfying hit to the side of Bea’s head and a groan of contempt, Honey throws her pillow back up to the headboard and collapses into her sheets, her head turned to face Bea’s. They giggle and blink at each other for a minute, breathing in the smell of Honey’s fresh laundry.

Honey’s eyes are half-covered by the top sheet and for a moment, when she catches a glimpse of Bea’s flushed cheeks, she thinks of all the times that they had sleepovers in Honey’s childhood bedroom and stayed up all night trying to stifle their laughter.

Honey pushes herself up from her position and shuffles under the covers, pulling the sheets up to her chest. Bea joins her with a little groan. They sit together, facing forward, mirror images of each other.

“Was he really that good?” Honey asks softly.

“Better than Overalls Joe,” Bea replies.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Honey turns over, leaning against her pillow. Bea follows her lead and faces her, her hand tucked below her cheek in a little fist. Her face scrunches, catching on the skin of her palm.

“Does that change anything?” Honey asks. “Are you still going to hook up with all of them?”

Bea nods tentatively. She breathes out a sigh. “For a second, after we finished, I thought about not telling him. He was so sweet and great that I thought maybe I wouldn’t want to go through with everything, and you know how much I love the strong, silent type, but like. I don’t know.”

Honey searches her face for a clue. Bea still looks just as uncertain as she’s describing. She purses her lips and avoids eye contact with Honey, turning so she’s facing the ceiling.

“You thought that you’d change your mind and you’d want a monogamous hookup situation, but when you finished with Quinn, you hadn’t,” Honey supplies. She’s still laying on her side, looking at Bea’s profile.

Bea bites the insides of her cheeks. “Yeah.”

“And you felt bad.”

“Yeah.”

“And you still feel bad.”

“Yeah.”

Honey finally shifts to lay on her back, reaching over to take Bea’s hand. They stare up at the fan on Honey’s ceiling. It’s dusty. Honey makes a mental note to clean it later.

“He reacted well when I told him,” Bea says. “He was surprised, which I get, but then he kind of just shrugged. He said if I wanted to have a Slut Summer, then he wasn’t going to stop me. I referred to it as a Slut Summer first, by the way. He wasn’t being an asshole about it.”

“Do you regret it?” Honey asks.

“I needed to tell him. It would be so unfair to Quinn if I hooked up with him, got his hopes up, and then hooked up with one of his brothers.” Bea shrugs and shakes her head. “I feel gross about it because I know he was disappointed for a second, but I’d feel grosser if I didn’t tell him.”

“How did he act after you told him? After the shrug?”

“Well, he also told me that he just got out of a relationship, and then he acted normal for the rest of the day. He drove the boys to church and drove me home after. He was touching me in some way almost the whole time.” Bea drops Honey’s hand and picks at a hangnail. “And we made out when we were at my place.”

Honey’s lower lip juts out in an unimpressed look before she smiles. Good for Bea.

But she's not finished.

“I just— I saw how he looked at me when I first propositioned him.” Bea covers her face with both of her hands. “And he told me that if this had gone down when he was younger, it would've ruined him. I know he meant it to lighten the tension because he laughed… but, like… I can’t get that image out of my head. Baby Quinn getting his heart broken by a girl who didn't want more from him. It makes me feel like shit.”

“Maybe you should go over there,” Homey suggests. “You should talk to him some more and clear the air.”

“I can’t,” Bea complains. “I can't let him know that I care. Then he’ll have all the power.”

Honey rolls her eyes. “I don't think that’s how this works.”

“It's how I think it works!”

“Okay.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Honey picks up her book from her nightstand and begins to read. Bea stares at the ceiling.

Ten minutes of thought later, she sits up abruptly.

“I'm going home,” Bea announces and leaves the bed, pulling her shoes on. “I'm drinking some of my calming tea and going to bed. I’ll see you at the store tomorrow?”

Honey looks over to her clock and snorts out a laugh. It’s only 5:15 in the evening. Bea’s going to be overtired by the time she wakes up in the morning. She’s planning to sleep for almost sixteen hours. “Be at work at ten,” Honey tells her. “You're scheduled then and the ladies are coming in.”

“Yadda yadda,” Bea replies, then waves goodbye and blows Honey a kiss. “I’ll get there when I get there, like every day other than Friday.”

Honey sniffs out a laugh, then returns to her book. It's just now getting good. The story follows a girl who is trying to create an anthology based on her hometown’s history and she’s spent the past few weeks interviewing the townies and local historians, just to stumble upon a town secret that no one really wants to talk about.

Honey thinks it’s the best book she’s read so far this year.

Her alarm beeps at a quarter to six, and Honey puts her book away. She stretches under the covers, groaning at the satisfying pop of her joints as she does so. Honey throws the covers off of herself and leaves them messy as she changes out of her pajamas and into some spandex shorts and a long t-shirt.

She grabs her mesh shoulder bag and her car keys, ready to head to the fruit stand outside of the grocery store. She had finished her peaches halfway through the week last time, so she needs to buy more today. She’s feeling like blueberries would be a good investment– maybe some blackberries.

Honey keeps her head down, parking near The Reading Nook and walking along the sidewalk. She shuffles by a few townies with a nod, and turns the corner. She stops dead in her tracks.

Trevor.

He’s standing at the stand, two paper bags in his arms. He’s chatting with the vendor, a sweet woman named Joan who’s been working the booth for twenty years. She’s laughing and smiling at him and holding another little bag. Trevor bends at the knee and makes a joke as she tries to balance it precariously on top of his other groceries.

Honey just hopes he’s leaving soon. She walks up to the booth and starts to peruse the apples, keeping to herself and hoping Trevor doesn’t see her before she leaves.

It’s a futile effort and she knows it.

“Honey!” Joan exclaims. “How are you doing, my dear?”

Honey smiles, soft and sweet at the woman. “Hi, Joan. I’m okay. I did some chores today, so I’m just happy to be out and about.”

“Well, you just let me know what you’re looking for today and I’ll give you my best,” Joan promises and leaves Honey to browse.

“Hi,” Trevor says.

“Hello, Trevor,” Honey replies, not even looking up at him as she scans the selection for the best looking fruit.

“Do you like tarts?” Trevor asks.

“They’re fine,” Honey replies. She picks up a carton of raspberries, ripe and red. “I prefer turnovers.”

“I was thinking about trying to bake something later,” Trevor tells her.

“That’s nice,” Honey says. She’s not an idiot. She knows what he’s hinting at. Trevor wants to hang out with her again, this time in a much more intimate setting. She’d be at their house, because she would not allow him to invite himself over, but the presence of the other boys wouldn’t mean much. “I’m sure Cole would love to watch you try to bake some tarts.”

“Cole would be a disaster,” Trevor laughs, like Honey just made the best joke he’s heard all day.

“Maybe he would surprise you.” Honey turns to Joan, holding up her raspberries. “Are these ready? Or should I wait a little while for the next batch?”

“You know what I always say, Honey,” Joan answers. “The second batch is always the best.”

“Good point. Do you have a quart of blueberries around here somewhere?” Honey scans the stand, but she doesn’t see them.

Joan points to the other end of the stand, past Trevor.

For the first time since making it to the stand, Honey looks up at Trevor. She makes eye contact. His eyes are green and he’s happy and there’s this tiny smile on his face as he looks down at her.

“Excuse me,” Honey says. She tries to keep her voice hard, disinterested.

Trevor continues to smile down at her, arms full of groceries. She focuses on the point slightly past him and squeezes by, her back towards the stand. She tries to avoid shoulder-checking him, but they brush arms anyway. Trevor’s skin is warm against hers, even if it’s just a fleeting pass.

“Would you like to come over and bake with me?” Trevor asks. “I’ll let you take home half the goods. I need someone with some experience to help me out, I’m not much of a baker and you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s an enticing offer, only because Honey had so much fun the other night. She could probably convince all the other boys to help, and Trevor would hate that her attention isn’t completely on him.

“What kind of tarts?” Honey asks. “If I like the flavor, then I’ll come over.”

Trevor’s smile splits his face like he knows something Honey doesn’t. “Joan just sold me some of her best strawberries.” He tosses the older woman a wink.

“What a shame,” Honey muses, and bites back a smile at the way Trevor’s face falls. “I’m allergic.”

“What?” He asks, genuinely taken aback. “Bea said–” He cuts himself off and his eyes go wide, flushing to the tips of his ears at the inadvertent admission.

“‘Bea said?’” Honey repeats, tilting her head to the side. “What did Bea say?”

Trevor scowls at the ground and scuffs his shoes against the sidewalk. “She said you would like strawberries if I bought them for you,” he grumbles.

“Oh, poor baby,” Honey teases. “She tricked you, and you fell for it.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, but Honey can tell that he’s a little bit pleased with the endearing term, even as mean as she said it.

“Go home, Trevor,” Honey says, her voice turning despondent instead of laced with laughter. “Don’t ask Bea for help with me again. If you want to win me over, you have to do it yourself.”

“Me-ow,” Joan chirps, reminding Honey that they have an audience.

Honey picks up a quart of blueberries and hands Joan a few dollars for the berries, placing the basket in her bag. She grabs a few peaches on the way back to her car, the payment covering the cost of those as well. She walks back to her car, catching a glimpse of Trevor loading his groceries into the trunk of his car. She quirks her eyebrows as she sees him scrub his hands over his face and pat his cheek, not unlike the wake up call she gave Jack on Saturday, saying something to himself.

Whatever. Honey came out on top of that conversation, yet again. One good night at the boys’ house doesn’t mean that Honey wants to hang out with Trevor again, even if she’s bringing donuts over on Friday.

9:90 – TREVOR

Trevor gave up on trying to fall asleep around 4 a.m. after tossing and turning all night. For a while, he scrolled on his phone and caught up with his friends’ Instagram posts. The rental house has WiFi, but it’s notoriously terrible being in the mountains and all, so Trevor’s stuff never loads. In the early morning hours, while none of the other boys are awake and scrolling, he’s able to load up three TikToks in a row once he tires of Instagram. It’s a luxury he hasn’t experienced in over a week.

He chalks it up to excitement for the day– they’re getting to go on the ice for the first time since coming to North Carolina. Quinn is planning on packing up Trevor’s car around 9 and they’ll be on the road to Bojangles Coliseum, home of the Charlotte Checkers, soon after that. Trevor can’t wait to be back on the ice and have a real hockey practice, even if it’s self-led.

But, at the same time, Trevor can’t chalk all of his inability to sleep up to excitement for the day.

No, some, if not most, of his inability to sleep was due to the fool he made of himself yesterday.

He was so close to getting Honey to come over, so close to getting her alone in something that he could call a date, even if she didn’t consider it to be one. He had blindly trusted Bea, something he now knows not to do, and gone with the strawberries rather than ask Honey what kind of pastry she’d like most.

Of course she’s allergic to strawberries– it only makes sense that Honey’s conniving best friend wants to enjoy Trevor’s plundering just as much as Honey does.

And Trevor knows that she enjoys it.

Poor baby.

Even with the ounces of condescension pooling around the words, Trevor cannot stop them from ringing through his head on a loop. Baby, baby, baby. He’s never been one for pet names, preferring his name or to be called Z, but he sort of wanted to fall at Honey’s knees and beg her to keep calling him that.

Which is peculiar.

Because Trevor doesn’t fall to his knees for anything, much less a girl, and much less one he barely knows.

He can’t seem to shake Honey from his mind, though. Part of it might be the fact that he’s not in a relationship at the moment and he’s used to being in the city over the summer, where he can go to bars and the country club and chat up plenty of nice girls his age. Trevor’s not sure that’s the case, though. It’s a good excuse, but he knows deep down that the reason he can’t shake Honey from his mind is that he likes her. He wants her to like him, too.

Disgusting.

He’s in his early twenties. He has no desire to settle down with someone yet, especially not at this point in his career. The hockey life is hard for him. He can only imagine how hard it would be for someone who had never been a part of that world, who had never had to deal with the constant travel and practices and commitments of the job.

And yet, he keeps catching himself thinking of moments where Honey is part of his life. She’s not, and he knows she’s not, but like when she came over on Saturday: she went toe-to-toe with Jack, decimated him enough that Cole gave her a trophy and a hug, and dominated the pool table. She never went easy on Trevor, nor on the other guys, and she fit. She was happy to be there, even when she caught herself and took a step back.

Trevor can’t wait to see how beautiful she looks when she finally lets loose.

He’s a little embarrassed by his actions after she left, but only because he knows that the story has probably gotten back to her. Bea probably told her all about how Trevor pushed Jack up against the wall for getting Honey alone, probably overexaggerating the story to make Trevor look more like a fool. Obviously they didn’t do anything– Honey turned Jack down earlier in the night– but Trevor felt a very unfamiliar clench of rage in his gut that caused him to lash out at his best friend.

Not his most shining moment.

He would absolutely do it again.

However, Trevor will never get the chance to do it again if Honey never comes back to hang out with him.

But he keeps coming back to those strawberries. Strawberries, Bea said. Trevor was a fool for thinking Bea would really teach him all the ways to get in with Honey. When Honey turned him down, and told him the reason, it took Trevor by surprise and he slipped up. He revealed that he had asked Bea for help and Honey grew delightedly wicked at the mention. Trevor watched her eyes light up, the joy fill them as she gained an opportunity to tear him down.

She loves to be in control, loves it to the point of reinforcing her walls that she’s built up for years and years, Trevor assumes, at any opportunity. He saw it in the way she switched from teasing to curt and serious within a moment.

When he texted Bea afterward, upset and biting like a rabid dog, all Bea replied was: “you were never going to get her with my help. stop using me as a crutch. freak.”

And then an hour later, “do u think quinn is mad at me”, which Trevor never replied to, because he had no interest in asking Quinn if he was “mad at Bea.”

All he cares about is if Honey is mad at him.

She didn’t seem like she was. Trevor just has a feeling that something is off and he needs to find a way to make up for it before he loses his chance to win her over. It’s dramatic, yes, but he needs to be on her good side. He needs it.

He cannot possibly think about this any longer.

Trevor swings his legs over the side of the bed and patters down to the kitchen, phone in hand. He printed out the recipe the day prior, preparing for Honey to come over and bake with him, but he had been too pouty to follow the directions last night.

He already can’t sleep, so he might as well cook. The sooner he makes those tarts, the sooner his housemates eat them all, which is ideal since he wants to forget this exchange as soon as possible.

Trevor had bought these mini tart shells the day before, pre-baked and thrown into the fridge haphazardly in his frustration. He takes them out to prepare, then assembles the rest of his ingredients.

It’s slightly therapeutic, the baking. He blends ingredients together with a wooden spoon until the lumps are gone, he lets the ingredients simmer over apple juice. He watches as it solidifies and goes from two separate solids and liquids into a sugary glaze. He pours the glaze over the tarts and arranges the strawberries on top of the little shells. It takes him a while to get them all perfectly balanced. They kept falling over, much to his chagrin, and before he knows it, the sun is nearly rising. He’s got a tray of twenty-four tarts on his hands and not enough room in the freezer to chill them before they leave for Charlotte.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Then, again, he spits out, “Fuck.”

Trevor stares at the piles of frozen pizzas and chicken breast and steak that have accumulated in their freezer, bags of ice to be blended into drinks on hot days.

“Motherfucker,” Trevor growls, then covers his mouth. He glances towards the stairs, expecting one of the boys to make their way down at any moment.

When no one appears, he turns his attention back to the freezer.

Trevor hauls out the bags of ice, the stacks of food. He clears the freezer and grumbles, shoving the tarts onto a shelf. The strawberries fall over again and he has to fix them. He all but slams the food back into the fridge, unorganized and harsh. He forces the freezer door shut, the sound echoing throughout the house.

“Oh,” Trevor hears a sleepy voice say from behind him. He turns around, eyes wide, and finds Quinn in his boxers and a navy t-shirt at the bottom of the stairs. “I should’ve known you were the one making all this noise.”

“Sorry,” Trevor says.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asks, rubbing his eyes before glaring at Trevor. “It’s not even six.”

“Are you mad at Bea?” Trevor replies, hearing frustration tinge his voice. He points an accusing finger at the older boy. “Because it’s her fault that I’m in this mess.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows, unimpressed with Trevor’s accusation. He opens his mouth to yawn, joining Trevor in the kitchen and sitting behind the counter.

“I’m not mad at Bea,” Quinn says simply. “I admire what she’s doing.”

Trevor makes a face. “What’s she doing? You?”

Quinn growls a warning at Trevor. “I don’t have to explain her business to you. Yeah, she and I hooked up, and it was great. We’re going to keep hooking up. But she’s allowed to do whatever she wants. I told her if she wanted to have a Slut Summer, I wasn’t going to stop her.” He holds up a hand to cut Trevor off. “She called it a Slut Summer first, by the way. I’m not being an asshole about it.”

“Who’s she slutting it out with?” Trevor asks, laughing. “The only non-Hughes boys in this house are me and Cole and, quite frankly, I don’t want Bea like that. Cole’s also too short for her. There are no other guys in the town.”

“She is going to get whomever she wants,” Quinn says, voice cool. His face is calm. “Whether they are in this house or not.” He schools a tight, borderline-annoyed smile across his face. “What are you doing?”

“Baking,” Trevor snaps.

Quinn snorts. “Sounds like you’re mad at Bea.”

“I am! She fucking– how do you know about that?”

“She told me, you idiot,” Quinn replies. “And I thought it was very funny.”

“When did she have time to fucking tell you–”

“Right when I got in the car, Trevor.” Quinn nods, a smug and satisfied expression on his stupid face. Trevor’s not biased. “She couldn’t stop laughing, even after she told me that you were about to buy strawberries for Honey… who is allergic to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Trevor demands. “You knew I was going to the market just for that! We didn’t need anything. You made me pay for beer!”

“Because it was funny.” Quinn slaps his hands down on his thighs and shrugs. “Because I wanted to see this play out. My only regret is not going to the store with you and watching it play out in person.”

Trevor sneers at Quinn. “I hope she never sleeps with you again,” he grits out, sincere and nodding.

Quinn narrows his eyes and leans in, voice quiet. “If she never sleeps with me again, then she will never bring your little friend around again. We both know that you can’t get her to come over on your own.”

He and Trevor maintain eye contact for a minute. Trevor is the first to break it, looking down and away with a clear of his throat. He steps back to the fridge and takes out the carton of eggs to make himself an omelet.

The boys traipse down the stairs in annoyingly long intervals. Jack is the last of the five to mosey down the stairs and make his breakfast, which is when Quinn leaves to pack Trevor’s car for their practice today.

Trevor is glad to be driving to Charlotte alone. Quinn’s words lodged themselves deep between his ribs and left him unsettled. He’s always been able to get the girl he wants and he’s been secure in that. But this is different– this is Honey, the first girl he’s ever wanted so much, and Quinn’s absolutely right. Trevor has no idea what he’s doing and has no chance at all.

And as Trevor runs sprints by himself during practice, just circling in laps over and over, he decides that Quinn is right. It will never happen. Honey would never be interested in him like that and she has made it very clear. Trevor will have to settle for being her friend, and only her friend. It’ll be hard enough to get her to like him, but he’ll have to do it if he wants even a slice of her at all.

And on the drive home, the decision settles like a rock in his stomach. Trevor has never felt quite so unhappy in something that he has to accept. It’s her friendship or nothing at all, and Trevor will be damned if he receives nothing at all from Honey.

10:90 – HONEY

It’s officially summer.

Ada was at the bookstore when Honey came to open it up this morning. Evidently, she had been up since the wee hours of the morning, plucking deep purple blackberries off of the vines behind her home until she had plenty for a pie. She could have baked it at home, but instead, Ada chose to bake the pie in the tiny, barely functional oven in the back.

The Reading Nook has been filled with the scent of sweet, summery blackberries, and Honey cannot think of a better way to start the day.

Bea is late for work, obviously, but she strolls in with a coffee for Honey and a kiss on the cheek for Ada to make up for it.

“Good morning girls,” Bea sings as she walks into The Reading Nook. She’s wearing a navy t-shirt that’s tied in a small knot around her midriff and a long, flowy orange skirt.

“Is that my skirt?” Honey asks, accepting the coffee from her friend and zeroing in on her outfit.

“I’m being Donna from Mamma Mia 2 today and I needed it,” Bea replies.

“Oh, you’re just like Donna, alright,” Honey confirms, the thinly veiled insult darkening Bea’s face.

Bea opens her mouth to retort, but thinks better of it when her eyes flicker over to Ada. The sweet old lady might have a heart attack and die if she learns what Bea is planning for her summer. Instead, Bea paints a smile over her face.

“It smells good in here,” Bea says. “Did you bring us some sweets, Ada?”

“I am baking you a pie right now, Miss Bea,” Ada says, turning the page of her magazine with a polished finger. She doesn’t even look up at the girl as she speaks. She’s immersed in her activity, eyes scanning the page so she doesn’t miss a word.

“Good, I ran out of desserts and no one bought me any strawberries this week.” Bea cuts her eyes at Honey.

“We already talked about this. If you want strawberries, go ask Trevor.” Honey’s expression is impassive. She and Bea had had a long discussion yesterday about her meddling and how it’s overstepping Honey’s boundaries.

Bea had agreed to let up, but she’s still pouting about it.

“I just don’t understand why you’re not interested in him,” Bea hissed through gritted teeth, leaning into Honey’s space between the stacks. The knitting ladies are barely out of range, but Honey wouldn’t be surprised if they were craning their necks and listening in. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sacha turned up her hearing aid, just to try and catch their whispers. “He’s cute and he likes you. He bought fruit for you.”

“I don’t want him,” Honey reinforces. She’s repeated the same thing, in so many words, to Bea all morning. She even read the messages that Trevor sent Bea after the strawberry incident, with Bea’s permission, and all it did was stress her out. “And I don’t want you to help him anymore!”

“I’m not going to,” Bea promises. “But you should give him a chance.”

“No, Bea!” Honey looks around and lowers her voice again. “I’m not looking for a man, and if I were, I wouldn’t choose Trevor. I’m not like you, spreading my legs for every cute boy in the room.”

It was a bit too far, to be honest, and Honey apologized shortly after. They’re back to bickering like sisters, annoyed by the other but not enough for it to be a real argument. They easily could’ve ran into “real argument” territory with Honey’s comment and Bea’s pushing, but neither girl felt like that was necessary.

They’re better when they’re not fighting, anyway.

They’re kind of fighting anyway.

Honey gets to work doing her own thing– restocking shelves, checking customers out at the counter when Ada waves her over, while Bea talks to the customers as they shop. When she’s not talking to customers, she’s sitting in the back, typing out little messages on her phone.

It’s suspicious, the way Bea went from rarely texting anybody to suddenly texting all the time. She’s more of a voice note kind of girl, so Honey has gotten used to hearing her record messages for her sisters and cousins, often vulgar and rarely edited. She goes off on tangents often, she yells into her phone whilst sitting in traffic, and yet lately, she’s been putting her thumbs to use. It’s weird.

Hours pass and Honey notices Bea on her phone often throughout the day, usually accompanied by a quick glance up to see who’s around her. If Honey didn’t know any better, she’d say that Bea is watching her movements to make sure she doesn’t creep up behind her.

It doesn’t matter, she decides. Bea can be cryptic all she wants. Honey doesn’t care about what she’s saying or who she’s talking to.

That’s a lie. She’s been fantasizing since lunchtime that Bea found a new boy to talk to over the summer, and she’ll relinquish her grip on her Slut Summer plans, and Honey will be free to ignore Trevor and his goons as long as possible. He will never be a thought in her head again.

Until the next time he shows up out of nowhere, she grumbles to herself. He’s making it so hard to forget that he even exists. She narrows her eyes at the mere thought of him. Trevor.

And the boys have a real knack for showing up out of nowhere, because as they’re closing down the shop for the night, literally right as Honey approaches the door to flip the door sign from “Open” to “Closed,” Quinn appears.

He waves awkwardly at Honey when she approaches the door, both of them reaching for the door handle at the same time. He laughs sheepishly and pulls his hand back, tucking it into his pockets with a soft smile.

Honey opens the door. “Hi, Quinn,” she greets. Her heart feels like mush. He’s sweet and lame, but in a more mature and embarrassed way than Cole’s blatant lameness. Bea made a good choice for her first conquest. “We’re closing for the day.”

“That’s okay,” Quinn replies easily. His eyes are lit up by the lamplight to Honey’s right. “I was just hoping to talk to Bea.”

Honey’s eyes are drawn down by the soft curves of Quinn’s lips. She curses herself for a moment. She’d trade Trevor for Quinn any day, but she’s sure he invoked some sort of bro-code hands-off thing. Not that she cares.

“Yeah,” Honey says with a nod. “She’s in the back. Come on in.” She steps away from the door and holds it open for Quinn.

He walks in, shaking his arms out as he enters the cool bookstore. He’s wearing a hoodie, but he had pushed the sleeves up due to the humid heat outside. The sleeves fall past his wrist and neatly curve under his fingers.

Honey gestures for him to stand near the register. “I’ll go get her.” She retreats into the back, where Bea is slicing a blackberry pie into two, planning to transfer hers and Honey’s halves to a tupperware. She’s startled when she looks up to see Honey standing there with a smile on her face.

“What?” Bea whispers, skeptical. “I wasn’t going to take the bigger half this time, I swear.”

“There’s a suitor at the door,” Honey simpers with a knowing smile. “He’s come to court.” Her voice slips into a British mockery, knowing that Bea had just started Bridgerton’s newest season.

“Which one?” Bea asks, eager and bright. She puts the knife down and licks her fingers clean.

“Anthony,” Honey reveals, giggling.

Bea gasps, her hand flying to her mouth and covering her lips. “You’re kidding,” she giggles back, grinning like a schoolgirl behind her fingers. She brushes her hair out of her face and bites her lip, repeating “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Honey tells her. “He’s at the register, waiting for you.”

Bea bounces on her toes, smoothing out her outfit. The orange skirt makes her sort of glow. Honey’s eyes soften as she watches her best friend. There is no one in this world like Bea. You can never hate her or be angry at her for long because she’s like sunshine.

“Will you go? I’ll put your half of the pie in my fridge and reheat it for you tomorrow. I have a feeling you’ll be needing me to bring you breakfast in the morning.” Honey smirks at Bea, still laughing a little to herself. “Do you want me to open the store, too?”

Bea blushes, her tongue poking through her teeth. “Would you?” She teases, considering it. “I’ll text you, yeah? I should know what kind of encounter this is, and how we should proceed, in about thirty minutes. Thank you, Honeybear.”

“Of course,” Honey agrees with a smile, walking forward to take Bea’s place. As Bea walks away, Honey calls, “Hey.”

Bea turns, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What?”

“I guess he’s not mad at you,” Honey replies with a final laugh at the finger guns Bea shoots at her before she walks away.

She hears the door jingle open and closed five minutes later, after she’s split the pies and packed them into her bag. She fiddles around the kitchen a little longer, making sure to give them a head start before finishing up in the main room.

She straightens a few books on a few carts, sorting a few books onto a different cart.

Finally, she walks to the door. She pulls it shut and locks it behind her, walking the short distance to her car. She drives home in silence, listening to the wind whistle through her windows.

She enters her home with a one-handed turn of her key, slamming the door behind her with a kick of her foot. She puts their food away, then decides to take hers to bed and eat it while reading. She grabs a fork on the way out of her kitchen, turning out the lights with her elbow as she walks.

She enters her bedroom and navigates in the dark until she finds her lamp and flicks it on. The room fills with soft light and she settles into her bed, balancing her plate on her thigh as she reads against her bent knee. Honey raises the fork to her mouth as carefully as she can until she’s finished a slice of her dessert.

She puts the plate away and tosses her book down to the end of her bed, leaning over to turn off her lamp. She barely touches it for the thousandth night in a row, swinging wildly to reach it. She settles against her pillow, snuggling in.

She waits. And waits. And waits, but her eyelids never grow heavy. Fuck. Her phone lights up with a text from Bea, so she gets up to read it: “So….. can you open the store for me tomorrow?” with a picture of Quinn’s legs extended next to her on the couch, stretched toward the ottoman. His thumb is rubbing over Bea’s knee in the live version of the picture.

Honey’s stomach flips. Fuck. That can’t be what she was missing.

But immediately, as Honey watches Quinn’s thumb move over Bea’s skin, she gasps at the idea of a heavy, warm body behind her, ready to touch her in the same way.

She cringes, exits away from the message, choosing not to respond. Of course she will. Of course she’ll open the store for Bea, she doesn’t need to confirm. She just needs to get away from that picture and the things she shouldn’t be thinking about. This is dangerous. Honey’s not looking for this. She’s fine on her own.

Yeah, she’s fine on her own. Honey nods to herself, eyes wide as she readjusts under the covers. Her bed is just big enough for her to stretch out her limbs. She’d have to squeeze if there was another body here. It was fine when it was her and Bea for that year, but a man? He’d never fit. He’d have to hold Honey in place to keep from pushing her off the bed. She’d have to– God, feel another person against her all night. Ugh.

But it’s a little appealing, if the man behind her pulls her tight against his front and nudges her neck before he kisses it with his perfect, tan, delicately curved nose–

Nope. Honey shakes the image away, opening her eyes to observe the still aloneness next to her on the mattress. She clears her throat and physically shakes her head. She closes her eyes again and focuses on the blackness behind her eyelids until she finally, mercilessly falls asleep.

She’s not looking for that.

11:90 – TREVOR

Today brings a huge challenge to Trevor and plops it at his feet like a dog spitting out a bird. The challenge is helpless and sad. He stares at it for minutes, hearing the seconds from the clock on his mantle nearby tick away.

He has to return his library book today. He finished it last night in the game room while Cole chased Luke around with his own pool cue. Luke was surprisingly agile and able to escape upstairs without getting hit once.

Trevor came out of his trance with a knock to his bedroom door.

“Get up!” Jack pesters. “Going to store! More beer! More fire! More tarts for you to bake!” He continues to pound on Trevor’s door with each word. His shouts are like a caveman’s, annoying and short. He must’ve watched that episode of the Office where Kevin shortens his sentence over breakfast this morning. Why say long word when short word do trick? or whatever.

Trevor grabs his book, feeling like it’s burning his hand. It’s like an anvil in his palm. He wrenches the door open mid pound and Jack stumbles into him. He whacks him over the head with the book.

“I told you I was up,” he reminds Jack. “I just had to grab something before we left.” He holds the book away from Jack when he tries to snatch it.

Jack reaches for it anyway, playing the game, clawing at Trevor’s arm. He struggles out, “Now that you’ve given up on wooing Honey, maybe I want to be the one to give her a visit.” He manages to snatch at Trevor’s book one last time before it turns into a weapon and beats him away. Eventually, Jack surrenders and Trevor stalks away, starting the car and locking the doors so Jack can’t get in for the next minute.

Luke giggles in the front seat, videoing Jack on his Snapchat through the passenger side window. Trevor watches Jack glare at Trevor through the phone screen while he pulls on the doorhandle, shaking it over and over and yelling at Trevor to unlock the door.

Bea giggles in the backseat, perched mostly on Quinn’s lap, Cole’s arm pushed dangerously far away by Quinn’s elbow. Bea shakes her hair back into Cole’s face and he crinkles his nose, sad that he’s in the middle seat.

“I hate it when we all ride in one car,” Cole grumbles under his breath, trying to breathe through Bea’s ponytail. He reaches over and kicks the door open for Jack, more aggressive than necessary.

“Chill out, Sweetie,” Bea teases, leaning over to press a lipgloss-kiss onto Cole’s cheek. “You’re more eco-friendly this way. Big rich boy doesn’t care about the environment?” She faux-pouts at him and Cole makes a face at her.

“Airlines hate him,” Quinn jokes quietly in Bea’s ear, causing her to howl and clutch at his chest. Quinn smiles, proud of himself.

Trevor speeds all the way to the town center, glaring at Bea and making Quinn hold onto her so she doesn’t spill into Cole’s lap. He hopes she’s getting carsick. She’s the reason he had to stop pursuing Honey. She ruined everything.

And, because Trevor is full of good fortune lately, Bea takes his hand and flounces toward The Reading Nook with him in tow. She waves at Quinn as they walk away, and laughs when he whistles.

“Didn’t you wear those clothes yesterday?” Trevor spits out, walking faster than her.

“Jealous you can’t get laid?” Bea retorts, succeeding in snatching the book from Trevor’s grasp in a way Jack didn’t. They come to a stop a hundred feet from The Reading Nook. Bea plants her hands on her hips and heaves out a breath at Trevor.

“You fucked me over,” Trevor accuses. He stifles his temper, pushing it down. “Like… really, Bea?”

“I thought she would find your effort cute,” Bea explains. “And I thought she would go, because she loves to bake. And watch you struggle.”

“Well, it didn’t, and now I have no chance.”

Bea scoffs and shoves his book back to him. “You know what? Good luck in there. Let’s see if you’re right.” She stomps to the store and holds the door open for Trevor “Come on in.”

The Reading Nook has barely opened, so the only person there is a doe-eyed Honey, startled, behind the counter. She’s holding a book in front of her, on its final pages. She stares at the open doorway, monitors Trevor’s movements as he approaches. Her lips are slightly parted and it looks like she might even be chewing some gum.

The book tilts down as Trevor comes to a stop in front of her. Her pupils grow behind her eyelashes. Trevor blames it on the shadow he cast on her face when he stood in front of the light.

Trevor clears his throat and inches his book between her elbows, patting both hands on the bottom edges of the cover. He watches himself do it, centering the book perfectly. Then, he looks up into Honey’s eyes.

He lathers on his best charm and says with a smile, “I’m here to return my book.”

Honey stares at him, quirking an eyebrow.

Trevor continues, voice soft and prodding, “See? I can be good, you didn’t have to chase me down.”

Honey blinks up at him, then breathes out a high laugh. She covers her mouth as it grows louder, muffling it as much as she can. “Oh my God,” she marvels, hand shaking as she places her index finger on the tip of her nose. “Is that how you treat your girls in California? Do they fall for that?”

Trevor’s smile drops and he glares at her. “Thanks. Can you point me in the direction of another book? I want to check out Alexander and the No Good, Terrible, Very Bad Day, please. I need to plagiarize it but change Alexander’s name to Trevor.”

He pushes the book towards her and she flinches back, offense splashing across her face at the movement. Trevor clenches his jaw and steps away. He watches her face sour, growing deadly.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to take it out on me,” Honey snaps back.

Trevor just scoffs and shakes his head and leaves the store. Bea never stopped holding the door, but she makes sure to slam it behind him in celebration.

Is it that fucking laughable? His affection is something to make fun of, something to tease. It’s obvious. He really never stood a chance.

When they go to the golf course later, Trevor drills the ball farther than he’s ever driven it before.

12:90 – HONEY

It’s National Chocolate Ice Cream and National Donut Days. Honey promised Jack she’d bring donuts to the house tonight.

She doesn’t want to. She really doesn’t want to see Trevor. She pales at the fact that she was ready to be nice to him until he turned against her. It was disgusting, the way his eyes rolled in annoyance.

But she made a promise to Jack, and she likes to be with Cole, and Quinn is a sweet guy, so it can’t be that bad. It can’t be. She’ll hang out with them, maybe even get to know Luke. Bea can come, and probably fuck Quinn again, ask him if she can put his dick through the donut hole.

That makes Honey laugh enough to push away the panic that comes with seeing that version of Trevor again. He was like– an entitled rich boy, very… West Coast surfer bro. It makes her shudder. She doesn’t want to see that again.

It makes her think of the look her father gave her after she handed him the last check for the mountain house. He was protecting himself. He couldn’t show her he was sad. Bea insists that he was, that he couldn’t be that apathetic. Honey wishes desperately for that to be true.

She opens her eyes, staring at herself in the vanity mirror in Bea’s bedroom. She lifts her chin and takes a deep breath, evaluating the gold eyeliner Bea coated on her waterline, into a neat little cat-ear. She shakes her hair out, watching it catch the light, and clears her throat.

“You okay over there?” Bea asks, adjusting the pastel yellow strapless maxi dress on her chest. “You look rattled.”

“It’s nothing,” Honey deflects.

“Baby-Honey, you haven’t been yourself since Quinn and I left the Nook the other night,” Bea muses, walking to stand behind Honey and run her fingers through her hair. “What’s up?”

Honey shakes her head again, causing Bea to pull back. Honey stands. She plasters a smile on her face and makes eye contact with Bea. “Absolutely nothing,” she chirps. “Let’s go.”

She’s struck by how different her outfit is than Bea’s. Her best friend is in a dress with cute clogs, earrings in her pierced holes and everything. Honey’s got on a homemade muscle tee, sleeves ripped off after cutting a small hole and a faded Nascar graphic on the front. You can’t even read the number anymore. The car could be 15, 16, 18, 19… she doesn’t know. She’s wearing those little biking shorts under the tee- barely peeking out due to its length. She looks like a slob. Bea looks regal.

Good. Why would Honey really need to impress anyone? She’s even only wearing this makeup because Bea wanted to try out her new palette. Honey has no one to impress.

Not fucking dipshit, angry Trevor, that’s for sure.

She grabs the box of donuts from Bea’s counter and stomps out to the car, biting her tongue so she doesn’t jostle the donuts too much as she holds the dozen with one hand and opens the door with the other.

It’s Honey’s car, but Bea drives there, cradling the new bottle of red wine that she picked up at the liquor store before it closed for the evening like a baby. “It pairs well with chocolate,” Bea explained to Honey when she first revealed it.

They drive to the house with the windows up, one of Bea’s cutesy new girl-pop songs on the radio. She sings quietly and Honey smiles as her friend enjoys herself. Eventually, she picks up on the chorus and begins to sing along. Bea puts it on repeat and they sing together, up until they pull into the driveway and Bea turns the car off, drawing the key out of the ignition. She hands the key to Honey, who drops it in her purse.

She adjusts the bralette beneath her muscle tee, then grabs the donut box and follows Bea into the house.

The wood isn’t any less jarring the second time. The boys have also never heard of mood lighting before, since each switch is set to its brightest setting. Honey squints into the brightness. Someone peeks out of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening and shutting and Honey is relieved to see that it’s Quinn. He waves them over.

Bea flutters over like a butterfly, kissing Quinn on the cheek as Honey turns the corner. She places the donuts on the counter near the island, across from Cole and Jack. Trevor is on the other end of the counter, the third seat down. She makes sure to place it out of his reach.

“I brought wine,” Bea tells Quinn, handing him the bottle. She starts to open drawers and rifle around for a bottle opener.

Honey finds it on the counter and waves it at Bea, catching her attention with a whistle. She tosses it to the girl, Bea catching it with both hands and grinning like she’d won an egg toss.

“Who wants some?” Bea asks. “We have to kill this bottle in record time.”

“Record time? Who needs that,” Jack laughs. “We should make a game out of it. Spin the bottle? Truth or dare?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Okay, Rom-Com,” Bea laughs. “You think that’s such a good idea?”

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Jack says. “I think we all need to bond more, and playing a game is one of the best ways to bond.”

“Hmm,” Bea hums, tapping her finger against her chin. She turns toward Quinn and scrunches her nose at him. “It couldn’t hurt?”

“No.” He leans down and pecks her lips. “Could be fun for you.”

“What should we play?” Bea asks, turning back to Jack. She takes a few steps back, until she’s wrapped up in Quinn’s arms with her back plastered against his chest.

“Just Truth or Dare, probably. And if you don’t want to do your thing, then you can drink from the bottle. When we finish the bottle, we can have a little Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Jack shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but it’s clear that he thought this out.

Bea and Honey look to each other. “So frat,” Bea says knowingly as Honey grumbles, “Spin the rapist.”

Bea reacts to Honey’s comment and snorts out a laugh, shaking her head at the reference. 13 Going on 30 has been Honey’s favorite rom-com for years, since they first watched it when they were teens. The impact Billy Joel’s Vienna had on Honey since first watching the film is unquantifiable.

“Okay, Jack,” Bea decides. “In that case, you get to go first. Truth or Dare?”

“Obviously dare,” Jack laughs out.

Honey stifles a giggle as Cole rolls his eyes and finally opens the box of donuts, looking at each of them before choosing one. She joins him on that side of the counter, able to watch Bea and Quinn cuddle up to each other and fortunately removing Trevor from her line of sight.

“Strawberry with sprinkles, huh?” Honey asks. “I didn’t peg you as a pink boy.”

“I love pink,” Cole replies through a mouthful of donut. “Hi, Barbie, and all that. Trev made some good tarts the other day that were strawberry, too.”

Honey chuckles, then chooses her own donut– a caramel one with brownie crumbles on the top. She had asked Mark, the man who runs the small bakery near The Reading Nook, for an assorted dozen and he had given her some of his best work for the price of a plain glazed dozen. If she had revealed that the extras would probably go to the boys’ house, Mark likely wouldn’t have given her that discount.

He likes his beers, and the boys keep buying up pack after pack from the grocery store, and Mark is left with the scraps. He told Honey that he’s looking forward to the end of the summer, when he’s the only man showing up at the store twice a week to get his beer. They restock it just for him.

That’s not to say he’s the only man in the town that drinks, but he’s the man who has the most opinions about different kinds of beer and how it’s made– a funny trait for someone who works with wheat and flour just as often as a beermaster.

“I dare you…” Bea trails off, tapping her index finger to her lips and looking around the room. She spots a broom hanging near the laundry room, a little offset from the kitchen. She points to it. “Oooh, you have to give us a little sexy pole dance around that thing.”

Quinn laughs into Bea’s hair at her dare, watching carefully as Jack looks between the broom and the wine bottle. Eventually, he shrugs.

“Yeah, why not?” Jack agrees, pushing away from the counter and grabbing the broom off the wall. He holds it out in front of him and evaluates it, the bristles pushing against the floor. “Huh. This would be easier if I had music.”

Luke laughs quietly. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at Jack, waiting to see how this plays out.

“I don’t really want to see this,” Honey whispers to Cole, a joking tone in her voice.

“Oh, but how can you look away?” Cole asks, taking another bite of his donut. “It’s like a car wreck.”

“It really is,” Honey agrees, laughing as Jack starts to circle the broom, then howling along with the rest of the room when he drops low and spreads his knees, bucking his hips forward.

“That’s enough,” Cole exclaims, holding his stomach and laughing so hard that he’s almost bent at the waist. His forehead almost rests on the counter.

Honey pats him on the back, rubbing his shoulder as it shakes.

She catches Trevor’s eyes over Cole’s back, over Jack’s abandoned seat. They’re dark and she notices that his own laughter has stopped. She pulls her hand away from Cole and takes a step back, putting distance between them like she’s been burned.

Trevor blinks, then looks away.

Honey suddenly realizes that he hasn’t said anything since she and Bea got here. Her lips part to say something– what, she’s not sure– but she changes her mind and looks away.

She’s not the only one who’s noticed, though.

“Z,” Jack says, hanging the broom back up on the wall. “Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll take a dare too, I guess,” Trevor says.

Jack smiles, devilishly. His eyes turn to Honey and for a moment, her heart stops as she thinks of all the things Jack could make Trevor do– all the things that she’s sure involve her. She shakes her head and looks away, missing the way Jack’s smile deflates and Trevor’s jaw clenches.

“You gotta give Cole a foot massage, my friend,” Jack decides, clasping his hands together.

Cole fist pumps, kicking off his house shoes. “This is the best day ever,” Cole says. “I get donuts and a foot massage?” He raises his leg, pointing his toes and reaching out towards Trevor with them.

“Get that away from me,” Trevor snaps, leaning back in his chair as Cole’s foot begins to encroach on his personal space. “Let me see that wine.”

Luke passes him the bottle and Bea tosses him the bottle opener, which she was still holding onto. Honey thinks she had the full intention of opening it herself, but she’s too comfortable in Quinn’s arms to move at the moment.

Ew.

Trevor pulls the cork from the bottle deftly and drinks straight from the spout, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Honey watches it move. When he wrenches the bottle away, his bottom lip is stained purple. Honey feels her eyes go wide, but she manages to school her face before anyone notices.

Hopefully.

“Bea,” Trevor says.

“Hmm,” Bea hums in acknowledgement, looking at the hair on Quinn’s arms wrapped around her chest.

“Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll dare,” Bea decides.

“Let Quinn go through your phone for a minute,” Trevor says.

“A minute?” Bea laughs. “He won’t be able to do anything on there.” She dips her hand into the waistband of her top, just under her armpit, and digs out her phone. She hands it over to Quinn after unlocking it.

He scrolls along, holding the screen out in front of Bea so that she can see what he’s doing. They laugh about something, she cringes at something else, and Quinn kisses her cheek when she blushes. He shuts the phone off after a minute, true to the dare, and slides it into his back pocket. One of his hands makes its way to her hip, crossing over her stomach to rest there. The other remains across her shoulder, sweeping along her collarbones and holding her flush against him.

“Q,” Bea sighs. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” he says into her ear, voice low.

“What’s the worst thing you would do if you became invisible for a day?” Bea asks. “Like the most corrupt thing. I find it hard to believe you have a bad bone in your body.” She pushes her hips back, quirking her eyebrows as she does.

Honey notices that Jack’s drinking her in, like her wiggling hips are a show for him.

“That’s a good question,” Quinn says, both hands flush on Bea’s hips now, dragging her movement to a stop. “I don’t know. It’s not bad, really, but I’d probably just blow off all my responsibilities and go out on the boat for the day. Drive myself around a bit, have lunch under the sun.” He shrugs. “Not think about hockey for a few hours.”

Bea pats his chest and tilts her head up to kiss the corner of his jaw. “You’re very dangerous, Quinn.”

“Very,” Quinn agrees. “So now it’s my turn to pick?”

“Yeah,” Bea says. “Don’t act like you don’t know how to play the game. You’re not that sheltered from the world. You had a life outside of hockey.”

Honey wonders when they had all this time to talk about hockey. She guesses it was some kind of pillow talk, knowing how Bea operates, trying to keep her man talking into the early hours of the morning. She always has so many questions and wants to know everything about everyone.

“Lukey, Truth or Dare?” Quinn asks.

Cole shakes his head and nudges Honey’s shoulder. “Always picked last, you and me, huh?”

Honey smiles at him and rolls her eyes.

Luke decides on truth as well, just like his oldest brother. Of course he does. Honey hasn’t seen much from Luke, but it’s obvious he’s not a “dare” kind of guy. At least, not while she and Bea are there. Maybe he’s more outgoing when it’s just him and the boys.

“Okay, be honest,” Quinn reminds Luke with a smile and a shared look at Jack. “What did you and that girl do last summer when you went upstairs and locked yourselves in Mom and Dad’s room?”

Honey’s jaw drops, mirroring the expression on Bea’s face. The rest of the boys break out in laughter, especially Jack.

“Yeah, Lukey,” Jack teases. “First, second, or third?”

Luke blushes to the roots of his hair and opens his mouth multiple times, with nothing coming out.

“Don’t tell me you went all the way to home base,” Quinn adds, his smile wide and wolfish. “In Mom and Dad’s bed?”

Luke looks absolutely tormented, miserable at the question. Honey can tell that they’ve been ragging on him about this since it happened and he’s desperately trying to maintain his dignity.

“Have a sip of the wine, Luke,” Honey comforts him. “You don’t need to be the guy who kisses and tells.”

Luke nods, sheepish and red to the tips of his ears, reaching forward to take the wine bottle from in front of Trevor.

The boys boo and try to cajole him into revealing rather than drinking, and Honey for that matter for her role in the turn of events, but Bea shushes them with a finger to her lips.

“You’re all acting like cavemen,” Bea admonishes. She turns to Luke. “I think it’s sweet that you’re keeping your private matters to yourself. That’s very respectful of yourself and the girl. Good job, Lukey.”

Honey smiles and giggles when Luke blushes red again and takes another sip of the wine after quietly stammering out a “Thank you.” He clears his throat and rubs a hand through his curls, making them messier than before. “Cole?”

Honey’s not even surprised that he doesn’t pick her or Bea. She wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t even look at them without blushing again.

It was unfair for the boys to bring up the past, especially since he doesn’t want to share.

“Dare, buddy,” Cole replies, cool and confident. His cheeks are dimpling as he waits for Luke to think of a dare.

“You should eat the rest of your donut out of someone’s mouth,” Luke suggests.

“Whose?” Cole asks, waving the last few bites out to everyone. “Bea?”

“Honey,” Jack corrects with a glance at Trevor.

Honey puts her hands up in front of her and she and Bea open their mouths at the same time, but Trevor beats them to it.

“She’s allergic to strawberry,” Trevor states. His voice is hard. “She can’t do the dare with Cole.”

“Why don’t you do it, Jack?” Bea asks. “Since you’re so willing to volunteer others for the job. Why not volunteer yourself?”

“Cuz I don’t want to Lady and the Tramp with Cole,” Jack replies, making a face.

Honey doesn’t really like how Trevor jumped in and corrected Jack like she wasn’t even in the room with them. “I can do it,” she decides. “But we just have to finish my donut instead.”

“Yes!” Cole celebrates, raising his hand to high five Honey. “You and me, dude!”

Honey lets out a little laugh at that, raising her hand to slap it against Cole’s. She bites down on the end of her donut, holding most of it out far enough for Cole to take it between his teeth. He’s not going to kiss her or anything. Honey just has a feeling in her gut that Cole isn’t the kind to take advantage of a situation like that, and plus, she and Cole have a friendlier relationship. He has to understand that.

Honey looks over his shoulder at Trevor, who is watching her with steely eyes. He’s rigid in his seat. He doesn’t understand, not in the way Honey and Cole do.

He takes in a deep breath, pinching his lips shut as Cole leans closer to Honey, taking a good ¾ of the last of her donut before pulling away. The dough rips in a weird way, leaving a bite dangling from the right side of his mouth. He smiles wide and gives Honey another high five. Trevor lets out a breath when Cole leans back in his chair and finishes chewing Honey’s donut.

“Mm, that’s good,” Cole tells her. “What flavor was that?”

“Caramel with brownie,” Honey says, chewing her own bite.

Cole nods in approval. “Can’t leave my buddy hanging,” he says. “Truth or Dare, Honey?”

“I’ll do a dare too,” Honey says. It’s an easy choice. She loves a good truth, but almost everyone has done dare, and she’s never one to back down from a challenge.

It seemed like a safe choice too, with Cole choosing what Honey is supposed to do. Until he opens his stupid mouth.

“I’m gonna pull out our whipped cream bottle and I think you’re gonna have to lick it off someone,” Cole announces, jumping down from his perch behind the counter and rounding the island to the fridge. He pulls out the red can and shakes it, uncapping it.

Honey watches, knowing exactly her luck, as Cole points from man to man saying “Eeny, Meeny, Miney… Mo.” His finger, and the nozzle of the whipped cream can, land on Trevor. “Shirt off, Z.” Cole lifts the whipped cream bottle to his mouth and sprays a little bit onto his tongue.

Honey feels frozen. Her feet are stuck in cement at the corner of the island and she eventually has to put her hand on the counter to ground herself. Her eyes flicker to Bea’s, wide like cornered prey. Bea meets her there.

In that split second, it’s like they have a conversation. Honey can’t describe the thoughts that fly between them, given how quick they pass.

With a slight shrug of one shoulder, Bea leaves it up to Honey. She could end it, take a sip of the wine if that’s what she wants. Honey isn’t even sure what she wants to do. She doesn’t– she doesn’t.– want to lick whipped cream off of Trevor. She doesn’t want her tongue to be that close to his body.

And yet, she finds herself nodding when she meets Trevor’s eyes. He waits until she does to pull off his shirt, revealing skin that makes Honey feel even more sluggish. She takes a moment to drink in his tan skin, adorned with his tattoos on his arms. Her eyes zero in on the delicate words on his ribs and she feels her lips part in surprise. Her fingers twitch at her sides, begging to reach out and trace over the script.

NO.

Not Trevor.

Yes, Trevor.

“I have a vision,” Cole announces, pulling Honey from her thoughts. He takes Honey’s hand and pulls her over towards the inside of the island. “Hop up.”

She follows his directions, skin crawling with anticipation for what’s coming next. She can’t believe she agreed to do this– with Trevor. With Trevor. The skin is cool against the tops of her thighs and she’s very aware of the way her muscle tee falls around her waist and reveals the edge of her bralette, and the skin around her middle. She clenches her fists as much as she can, fingers rounded around the edge of the counter. She doesn’t want to seem freaked out. She’s not going to be the girl who messes up the game and doesn’t go through with their dare.

Cole nudges the whipped cream can against one of her hands until she turns it over and takes it, feeling the cool aluminum in her hand. “Z, come stand in front of her.”

Honey hears him, refusing to turn around and look at him as he gets down from his chair and make his way over to Honey. She hears the movements loud as day, like there’s nothing else in the room except Trevor and her racing heart.

Trevor stations himself between Honey’s knees, resting his hands on either side of her legs. Her eyes are level with his here, on the counter, and she tries to ignore the thrill that his proximity sends down her spine.

“Alright.” Cole claps his hands and smiles. “You ready, Honey?”

Honey turns her head and takes a sharp inhale. “Yeah.”

She keeps her words short so her voice doesn’t shake.

“Why don’t you put some whipped cream on his collarbones for me, yeah?”

Bea’s mouth drops at Cole’s words, still in Quinn’s grasp. Honey has to stifle a giggle at her reaction.

Honey presses her lips together and refocuses, hand shaking as she brings the can up to Trevor’s clavicles, startling herself at the sound when she pushes the trigger down to release the whip. She makes a tiny squeak, an embarrassing noise that has her closing her eyes.

Trevor’s thumb moves closer and nudges her thigh.

Honey looks up, her eyes meeting his. Her breath is caught in her throat. His eyes are no longer steely and guarded. They’re soft and they’re searching her eyes for something.

His thumb starts to move against her skin and she jumps, wrenching her eyes away from Trevor’s and quickly spreading another line of whipped cream on his other collarbone. She’d do anything to be able to ignore the pit in her stomach and the heat that is very rapidly filling it.

She turns to Cole, holding the can out to him.

Cole raises his eyebrows. He raises his hands. “You’re not done yet.”

Bea twists in Quinn’s arms, staring up at him with an affronted, offended, betrayed look on her face. Honey can tell exactly what she wants to scream: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Honey’s jaw drops a little, then she clenches her jaw and takes the can back, cradling it on her thigh. It leaves a round circle when she picks it up again.

“From his belly button to his sternum.” Cole’s voice is hard and definite, but not mean. Honey wonders how long he’s been thinking about this, probably doing it at Trevor’s bidding. The only problem is, Trevor looked just as unaware as her and Bea. Just as unaware as the other boys– at least, the two in front of her.

Honey takes it back. Cole is her least favorite.

She sprays the whipped cream, grinding her teeth as she sees Trevor’s stomach muscles jump at the sensation. His hand comes to the top of her thigh, index finger tracing the ring of the can. Honey’s not even sure that he’s breathing. She’s not sure she is, either.

“His nipples,” Cole commands with a cheeky smile, looking past Honey and Trevor to Jack.

Honey whips her head around and looks at the other boy, smirking at Cole. He makes eye contact with Honey and raises his eyebrows, wiggling them like a devil. She almost wants to throw the can of whip at him, then pounce on Cole and take out his knees.

She scowls and dispenses a small amount of whip on each of Trevor’s nipples. He hisses at the cold and she looks up to check on him without a thought, only realizing what she’s done when his eyes meet hers.

“It’s fine,” Trevor breathes out. “Just cold.”

“Okay,” Honey replies, hoping he could even hear her. The statement might’ve died in the air between them and never reached his ears.

The can of whip starts to sputter like it’s running out, so Honey gives it a shake. She goes to set it down on the counter next to her, but Cole stops her again.

She’s going to break every single one of his fingers.

“One more,” Cole says with a nod and a lick of his lips. “Open up, Trev.”

“No,” Honey forces out. She’s just as taken aback by the word as Cole is– her refusal cut through the air like it was broadcast through the bluetooth speakers that run through the home. She takes a shaky deep breath, pushing away the image of her licking into Trevor’s mouth to get her final mouthful of whip. “Sorry. No.”

She refuses to look Trevor in the eye after that.

“That’s okay,” Cole says. He shrugs, not deterred. “His nose. Just the tip. Like Rudolph.”

That, Honey can do.

She uses the last little bit to cover the tip of Trevor’s nose, focusing on the line of his nose and the recently shaved skin above his top lip instead of the eyes that she can feel are boring into her face.

Finally, she sets the empty can down with a rattle and flicks her hair over her shoulder, facing Cole.

“Can I go?” She asks, hoping she sounds sassy and bored rather than freaked out, like how she is on the inside. She feels like her brain is on fire, completely fried and burning from the inside out. Her heart is pounding loud in her ears and her cheeks are stained red.

“Start in the middle, then go down. Lick it off his nose last.”

Honey closes her eyes to calm herself, but she hears a slap of a hand against skin. She can only imagine that Bea reached out and slapped Cole’s arm– the yelp from the blonde and soft laugh from Quinn being tell-tale signs while Honey breathes.

Trevor’s hand drops from her thigh and he takes a step back, putting a little space between them.

Honey’s eyes snap open and they flash at Trevor’s. Where hers were once panicked and his were seeking, they seem to have completely switched roles now. Trevor’s fingertips still touch the counter next to Honey and their absence, but their closeness, feels like frostbite on Honey’s skin. It turns to steam against her fiery cheeks, releasing air into the space between them in time with Honey’s exhale.

His breath catches in his throat and Honey sees the whipped cream start to drip from his stomach.

In an instant, right as the dollop of cream starts to separate from the rest of its line, Honey finds herself sliding off the counter to her knees to catch it in her mouth.

Her lips slide against Trevor’s skin, the muscles contracting and his happy trail brushing her bottom lip as she mouths over the sticky trail marking Trevor’s stomach.

She looks up, up to Trevor’s face. He’s already looking at her with nothing but shock on his face, his mouth open and his eyes wild. His chest is heaving, trembling between breaths.

Oh my God.

Honey’s gaze drops back to his skin, then finds that unbearable to look at as she rises up to his sternum. She can make out edges of the script on his ribs in her peripheral vision and squeezes her eyelids shut. She quickly realizes that she can’t navigate up Trevor’s body on feel alone. She has to look.

Fuck.

She opens her eyes and finishes her path up to his sternum. She carefully licks the whipped cream off Trevor’s nipples, trying not to come into contact with them too much. She can’t just lick Trevor’s nipples. It’s not the same as if…

Trevor was licking whipped cream off of her nipples.

She forces the image away, like she’s spraying an asteroid with a fire extinguisher.

Honey rises to his collarbones, mouthing over the sharp edges and dipping her tongue inside the pooled skin to get every drop.

She pulls away, barely, aiming to zero in on the dollop on Trevor’s nose, but fails. She finds herself face to face with Trevor, who still has the same expression on his face. His eyebrows are quirked, he can’t stop licking his lips between breaths, and he’s practically vibrating in front of Honey with the ache to stay still.

She suddenly feels fabric under her fingers and looks down, jaw dropping at the sight of her index fingers sneaking under his waistband, nestled snugly like they’ve made a home there. She wrenches them away, clutching the bottom of her muscle tee instead.

She doesn’t move far, Trevor’s fingers like stone against the skin of her waist. Trevor’s fingers like stone against the skin of her waist. Honey heaves a breath in, stepping away from him and his fingers’ trembling brush against the lace band of her bralette. She gulps.

Trevor’s fingers catch on the bottom edge of her sleeves, or lack thereof, and her shirt ripples against her twisting stomach as the digits fall lamely to his sides.

Honey knows that her eyes mirror Trevor’s now, matching instead of swapping roles like previously. They’re both wild and racing away from each other in their minds, but unable to look away. They’re tripping over their feet and running like there’s something chasing them, but their eyes are fixed on each others’ like they’re running towards each other in a starry reunion.

Honey wants. She’s overcome with this desire, so much so that she can’t even describe it. She just wants. She aches to go back in time and place the dollop of whipped cream on Trevor’s tongue instead and loses herself for a moment before the panic reminds her:

She’s not looking for that.

“You got a little something there,” Honey says, quiet and ashamed and a bit like the kid who does get picked last every time, reaching up to wipe the whipped cream off Trevor’s nose with her thumb. She licks the white dessert off her own skin, stepping away from Trevor. He’s following her, turning with her as she moves away. His own fingers twitch at his sides, one of his thumbs actually making its way up and hovering over the place where Honey’s index fingers rested on his waistband.

She looks at Bea, tearing her eyes away from Trevor like a physical rip of a picture. She opens her mouth and locks her eyes with Bea’s, tilting her face so it’s slightly pointed towards the front hall. She chokes back a haggard gasp, feeling her throat start to grow sore with a teary ache.

I need to go. Please. Come with me. Be there for me. Please.

Bea untangles herself from Quinn’s arms, letting them drop to his sides without another thought. She eyes Cole and Jack, gaze piercing and hard, but it softens as it slides back to Honey.

“Goodnight, boys,” she bids, taking Honey’s arm and escorting them both to the door.

A duet of goodbyes follow them from Quinn and Luke, but the jarring silence that echoes from the kitchen afterward scars Honey while Bea wrenches open the front door. It’s the same silence that surrounds them in Honey’s car.

She shivers in the passenger seat. Bea plucked the keys from Honey’s purse without asking and loaded them in the car, getting behind the wheel. She holds Honey’s hand over the middle console, fingers intertwined and heavy. She drives one-handed, her hair whipping her face. She hates to mess it up. Honey is grateful for the fresh air that chips at her face. It dries up the tear that escapes from the corner of her eye.

Bea stays over. She cuddles Honey under the covers, clinging to Honey’s arm like a koala. Honey lies on her back and stares at the ceiling for hours. Bea is asleep, or close to it, next to her. The even breaths help her to regulate her own, enough that she can speak.

“It was like–” Honey gasps, pressing a hand to her chest as a breath escapes her like it was punched out. She centers herself. “We were back in Charlotte.”

“I know,” Bea breathes out, eyes still closed. She wraps one of her legs under Honey’s, her knee bent under Honey’s own, and her ankle crossing over Honey’s.

“I felt– seventeen.”

“I know,” Bea repeats, her eyes fluttering open. Her hand comes up to rest on Honey’s own, monitoring the rise and fall of her own chest. Her heart is slowing and her gulps of air are less frequent. She’s fine.

“I’m not looking for that,” Honey mumbles, shaking the words out of her mouth.

Bea just takes a deep breath at that, pressing her forehead into Honey’s temple.

“It’s okay if you are.”

Honey’s bottom lip quivers and she starts to leak tears, Bea’s reassurance turning the faucet and making the water flow. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Bea replies. Simple. Easy. No hesitation. Like there’s no other option.

“I came here to leave that behind me.” Honey squeezes her eyes shut, ashamed at the hot trails making their way down to her chin. “Not to, just, repeat it with some guy who’s leaving anyway.”

“Do you really see yourself as someone who’s going to be alone forever?” Bea wipes the tears from Honey’s cheeks with the hand that used to rest on her chest. “You love so hard, Honey. You need someone to give that to. It weighs on you.”

Honey shakes, turning so her body faces Bea’s. She reaches out and buries her face in Bea’s shoulder.

Bea pets her hair. “He likes you.”

Honey nods.

“You feel– something.”

Honey sniffs, but nods again.

“I think it’s time you turn to face all of that,” Bea teases, her voice soft enough and just a little mocking of Honey’s words, the way only a best friend does when you’re crying into their shoulder.

Honey pulls her face away and breathes out a little laugh and quirks a shy smile at Bea. She reaches up and pushes her hair away from her face. She wipes under her eyes with both thumbs, shaking the wetness away and laughing for real.

“Elephants are kind of big, huh?” Honey replies, sniffing between giggles. “Hard to ignore?”

Bea nods, tears prickling at the edges of her own eyes.

The girls stare at each other and giggle, a fresh round of tears staining their cheeks. Honey’s hand slaps at her own chest, knocking at her heart like a concerned parent at a teen’s door.

Honey can breathe again. She uses her lungs to make her laughs louder, harder. She curls into Bea’s hug, squirming on the bed together. They calm down eventually, and their eyes meet for a final time in the dark.

“I just– Trevor?” Honey giggles. “Really?”

“Love at first sight,” Bea snickers back sarcastically.

Honey waves a finger in Bea’s face. “That’s a little dramatic,” Honey corrects. She scoffs to herself. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Okay,” Bea agrees, shrugging. “Let me know.”

They’re quiet for a minute, smiling at each other. Honey rolls her eyes and turns over, facing the ceiling again. Bea cuddles back into her, latching onto Honey’s arm in her koala-way.

“I invited them to our lake day tomorrow,” Bea announces just as Honey starts to fall asleep. She nudges her nose against Honey’s bicep. “You can see if you still feel the same way then.”

Honey inhales and holds the breath, eyes opening and focusing on the ceiling again.

Bea’s breaths even out and she falls asleep, but Honey barely manages to close her eyes before the clock flips to the dreaded “tomorrow.”

13:90 – TREVOR

Trevor hasn’t been fully soft since the first moment he stood between Honey’s legs last night. It’s proving to be a problem.

First, she had bolted from the house looking no better than a wild deer in the midst of a hunt, leaving Trevor standing with the ghost of her fingers in his waistband and a cock so hard that he could feel the blood rushing through it.

Second, Cole and Jack had laughed at him for his very prominent hard-on when the girls left. It was their idea to have this stupid drinking game in the first place, and Cole’s bossiness that had set Trevor up. They had to have planned this out in advance.

Third, the cold shower he took right after Honey left hadn’t even done anything for him. Sure, it had caused his erection to flag briefly, just long enough that he could let out a breath and delude himself into thinking the moment was over.

His biggest problem is that each time he closes his eyes, he’s confronted with the vision of Honey on her knees below him. He can feel her tongue licking up his stomach and chest. He can feel the pressure of her fingertips against his skin.

It’s pure torture.

Trevor has never felt more torn. He spent all of the last few days believing what Quinn said to him– that he doesn’t have a chance with Honey. He convinced himself to accept that he would only ever be her friend. Other than her dare last night, Honey made no moves to talk to Trevor or acknowledge him at all.

He’s confused. How on Earth can you go from ignoring Trevor to looking up at him, cheeks slightly hollowed as she laps up the whipped cream covering him, as if she were blowing his dick?

Fuck.

Trevor presses his palms to his eyes and leans his head back, causing the rocking chair he’s sitting in to wobble beneath him.

He was barely able to sleep last night and found that fresh air helped, so he sat out on the balcony. He watched the sunrise, barely conscious of the passage of time. He was trapped in an endless loop of Honey, on her knees. Honey, removing the cream from his nipples with a careful touch of her tongue. Honey, mouthing over his collarbones and sliding her fingers into his waistband like she wanted to touch him.

He’s helpless.

Trevor blinks and stares out into the woods, the dew from the morning making the wood of his balcony wet and shimmery. He feels… despondent, really. Like he’s tied to reality by a thin string of dread that accompanies his confusion.

The fact is, she doesn’t want him. Anyone would’ve gotten lost in the moment.

He knows that if any of the boys were in his position, they wouldn’t have been better off– Jack would’ve damn near come in his pants, Cole would have giggled because he’s ticklish and still would have found a way to get the girl to kiss him at the end, Luke would’ve frozen and would’ve spent the night in the same spot near the counter, replaying it over and over again.

Quinn might be the only one left who would have a shred of dignity after a whipped cream encounter, and only because he’s been keeping up with Bea so well.

Ugh, and Bea’s name brings another problem to mind.

Trevor can’t bail on the lake trip that Bea invited them on when she stayed over the other night. The boys have been so excited, so ready to rent out a boat and a wakeboard so they can surf. They’ve been planning the trip meticulously, down to the minute. Trevor knows that he can’t bail because he’s the only one with Bea’s phone number– something she refuses to give out to the other boys, for some fucking reason. She won’t even rattle it off for Quinn to put into his phone– it would make the light night booty calls a little easier, Trevor thinks.

Not that they’ve had that many. Just the two. Trevor was expecting a third last night, but with the way Honey ran out of the house…

Fuck, it was no surprise Bea went with her.

Honey looked rattled to her core, staring down at her hands and back up at Trevor like she had never seen them, or him, before in her life. She had guarded herself almost immediately, stepping away and flicking the whip off Trevor’s nose rather than licking it off and completing her bet.

It’s Cole’s fault, and yet Trevor can’t help but feel responsible for the panic in Honey’s eyes and the abrupt end of the night.

He can’t talk to her today. He can’t sit on the boat and see her in her little swimsuit. He wants her so badly– and not just to see if she really looks that ethereal when her lips are wrapped around his dick.

He wants to talk about Leaving Orbit with her, the book she recommended that he so clearly enjoyed, even despite his bad mood the other day. He wants to poke fun at the other boys with her, team up to get revenge for that dare that made the air so tense between them. He wants to cuddle up next to her on the couch, pull her into his lap, and watch Shark Week documentaries and the Olympics later in the summer. He wants to hold her hand.

He has never wanted anything like this from any woman before. It’s never been this bad.

But he can’t have it– Trevor can tell that there’s something nagging at Honey. Maybe he’s too similar to an ex-boyfriend, or someone else that she doesn’t have the fondest of feelings for. Maybe she truly believes her little quips about his California lifestyle, and she can’t see herself with someone like that.

God, maybe she looked him up. He’s never had the best attitude on the ice, especially when he gets frustrated. He knows he’s a good player. He wants to show that off. He knows that sometimes, it comes at the expense of his team. He’s heard it all too well from the staff, from his coaches, from his teammates.

He’s dreading today.

Trevor can’t even hide from it up on the balcony. Yeah, anyone who entered his bedroom wouldn’t be able to see him. His bed is perfectly made up, untouched from the night before. He was so frazzled last night that he cleaned his room, just to regain some order in his life. For all they would know, he disappeared– and yet, Cole manages to spot him below, from the chairs near the fire pit in the yard.

“There you are!” Cole exclaims, brandishing his spoon at Trevor. He looks down at his shorts for a split second. Trevor can only assume a drop of milk from his cereal splashed on his lap. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah, you tried really hard,” Trevor replies, an edge to his voice. He still hasn’t forgiven Cole, or Jack for that matter, for their ploy last night.

Cole’s face falls, then he shakes his head. “Are you ready for the lake or what?” His voice starts to mirror Trevor’s.

“All I need to do is put my fucking swimsuit on,” Trevor snaps. He stands from the rocking chair.

Somehow, the meanest retort Cole can think of is “Don’t forget to bring your sunscreen!” like a nagging mother who’s just one complaint away from sending her child to his room. His words clash with the slam of Trevor’s sliding door.

Trevor grumbles to himself as he changes into one of the swimsuits he packed for himself, only ever really planning to use it in the hot tub. He’s excited, deep down, that they get to go to the lake and do some of the stuff that they usually do at the Michigan house. God, he can’t shake the Honey problem.

He does pack his sunscreen, the face lotion and body spray that he picked up last week at the grocery store when he and Jack wanted to lay out by the rink and tan. He even grabs the browning lotion he bought for pale ol’ Luke. It smells like bananas and coconuts.

Trudging downstairs, Trevor finds himself back at the scene of the crime. Instead of Honey on the counter, it’s the cooler, and instead of Trevor in front of her, it’s Quinn transferring beers from the fridge.

He chuckles when Trevor stops and stares at the cooler on the counter.

“Thinking about something?” He asks. Trevor scowls when Quinn’s eyes pointedly drop to Trevor’s crotch and the semi that he’s, once again, sporting.

“Shut up,” Trevor growls, adjusting himself in his swim shorts. He clasps his hands in front of him, shielding himself from Quinn’s knowing smile.

Quinn shrugs and goes back to transferring beers to the cooler.

Trevor steals a piece of ice and chews it, hoping to cool himself off. He makes himself a little bowl of cereal and scarfs it down. He checks the clock. It’s almost time to leave.

Fuck.

Bea’s picking them up in the truck she’s borrowing from Earl (only because Vera offered it up to them) in ten minutes. She and Honey are going to ride in the cab, while the boys are supposed to ride in the bed of the truck. It’s legal in North Carolina, apparently. Plus, it’s just a fifteen minute drive. The lake isn’t too far from their house. Trevor barely remembers reading about it on the AirBnB website when he booked the rental for the summer, but the host had referred to the place as a “reservoir” rather than a lake. Semantics. They don’t matter.

He takes a deep breath, still not sure how to feel about seeing Honey again. He answers a couple questions from Quinn about how many beers he wants (a lot), if he has a towel for the lake (no, but Quinn can grab him one from the hall closet), and why he’s sulking so much (he doesn’t want to talk about it).

The minutes drag on and Trevor is scalding his hands with hot water washing his bowl when Bea honks from the driveway. He’s the last to make it to the front door and he’s shocked when he’s whacked in the face by a stray pool noodle. Where did Jack even find that?

Quinn is standing with his arms against the window pane of the passenger door, his head dipped and Bea’s phone in his hand. She takes it from him and says something quietly, then brings her hand to his jaw to draw his lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

Trevor can see Honey’s silhouette behind the wheel, her hair knotted up on top of her head. There are flyaways everywhere, probably because of the open windows, but somehow it doesn’t look messy. Trevor can’t even see her face, but he has to close his eyes because she’s so pretty.

He climbs into the truck bed, Quinn following shortly behind him, and tucks himself neatly into the corner of the tailgate. He takes in the other boys– the gray trunks on Cole, the towel around Luke’s neck, Quinn’s terrible navy crocs that he’s had since he was in high school. They kind of don’t fit him anymore, but they’re molded to his feet and he swears that they’re still perfect. Jack is using his pool noodle– origin still undetermined– as a method of recreating a certain Drake video. It would have been more funny if the video weren’t old news by now.

Trevor still kind of feels the string of dread and uncertainty tugging at him, but all of that crumbles away when Honey takes the first curve up the mountain. She speeds up in the old truck, dragging the wheel. Jack falls off the hump of the wheel where he was sitting as she turns, yelping wildly and losing his pool noodle in the fray. Cole snatches it up and takes the chance to hit him with it.

With each curve, it only gets worse. She’s got the boys in a fit of shouts and giggles as they scramble to find purchase in the back of the truck. Bea is laughing from the front seat, turned around to look out the back window, to take in the chaos firsthand. Her left hand is reaching out the window and holds Quinn’s right, keeping him in place.

Trevor’s laughing too, especially when Luke starts to slide into a supine position, his knuckles white with how hard he’s trying to stay upright. He continues to laugh as he looks up, past Bea, and meets Honey’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Her gaze turns from soft to wide and alert in an instant, returning to the road the second she locks eyes with him. He can only imagine his own eyes look the same when he turns to face the peeling paint at the bottom of the truck bed.

They arrive at the reservoir in due time, parking in the lot near the boat rentals. Bea and Quinn take care of that, having called ahead a few days prior to get one of the bigger boats that could fit their entire party. Quinn shells over a few dollars in thanks, the cash seamlessly transitioning to the worker’s hand.

The employee leads them to a ramp, where a boat not unlike the one they have at the Michigan house is parked. The boys climb on. Jack has reclaimed his pool noodle and has it tucked under his armpits, safely away from Cole’s grubby fingers.

Trevor finds a spot near the front of the boat, knowing that Quinn will want to drive and Bea will want to sit next to him. Or on his lap. Ew. He doesn’t want to see the blatant PDA from the two, but that’s not the only reason he’s strategically choosing his seat.

Honey’s going to do the same thing– she’s going to stick to Bea’s side, if Trevor’s gut feeling is right, and that’s going to be that.

He’ll avoid her, she’ll avoid him, and the day will be over before they know it.

Trevor pulls his shirt over his head and lays out on the cushions at the bow of the boat, covering his face with the item of clothing. He blocks out the sun and closes his eyes, feeling the sun prickle at his skin.

“Did you put your sunscreen on?” Cole asks, his annoying voice far too close to Trevor’s ear for his liking.

Trevor swings out with a hand, hoping to connect and clock Cole on the side of the head, but as he rips the t-shirt from his face, all he sees is the boy jumping back and laughing with the rocking of the boat.

“Why, do you want to help me?” Trevor retorts, frowning.

Cole smiles. The edges of his mouth quirk up in a mischievous way and Trevor gears up to snap his shirt at the boy. Whatever’s about to leave his mouth is just going to piss Trevor off more.

He doesn’t say anything, at least not until he’s skipping away towards the back of the boat. Trevor squints at his retreating figure, but relaxes his shoulders a bit.

“Honey!” Cole calls, dancing around the girl who has only just managed to get both feet on the boat. She watches him move around her, expression impassive. He extends a hand to help Bea onto the boat, to the chagrin of Quinn behind her.

Trevor’s shoulders snap back up towards his ears, the line of his spine long and tight. He looks around for something to throw at Cole, something harder than just his t-shirt, but there’s nothing.

Cole talks on. “Trevor needs help with his sunscreen and he was asking for you.”

Honey’s gaze turns to Trevor’s expectantly. Her lips are slightly curved and her eyebrows are raised.

“I wasn’t.” Trevor’s voice comes out strangled. “He’s just– causing trouble. Like yesterday.”

Immediately, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. He shouldn’t have brought up what happened last night. It causes her lips to press into a thin line and makes her expression grow calculated. She’s scanning him like a robot would and it’s making his skin crawl.

She opens her mouth with a tsk and says, “I’ll do your back if you do mine.”

Cole and Jack hum and haw at that, dapping each other up. Bea finally flounces her way onto the vessel, creating waves and casting a spare look at Trevor.

“And Cole, you have to do mine,” Bea adds, blinking at the boy innocently. She smiles at him, not quite reaching her eyes. “Since you’re so concerned about sun safety.”

“I’m pale.” Cole shrugs. “Someone has to think about it.”

Bea’s attention has already shifted past Cole’s shoulder. Quinn and Luke have both shrugged off their shirts and twisted their Yankees caps so they’re backwards on their heads. Luke has laid the towel along the swiveling passenger chair behind the raised console in the middle of the boat, blissfully unaware of the five pairs of eyes gawking at him and his brother.

“You’re pale?” Bea asks, incredulous. She points at the Hughes boys. “Look at that.” She fishmouths for a moment before rediscovering her voice. “Quinn, you didn’t look so fair-skinned when I last saw you without a shirt. Luke, you’re like a beacon at a lighthouse!” She turns back to Cole, her finger finding its way to his face. “You, at least, have some pink undertones. You’re made to burn. These guys are made to tan and it’s clear they’ve been neglecting their time in the sun.”

“That’s what I said,” Trevor agrees. He remembers the tanning lotion, sitting in one of his pockets, and digs it out. He waves it in front of Bea’s face, then tosses it to her. “I even brought some tanning lotion for them.”

Bea catches it and her face lights up. She shows Honey the logo on the front of the bottle and grins. “This kind always smells so good,” she praises. “Good choice, Trev.”

She stomps toward the boys, intention written all over her face. Luke’s back is turned to her once again, reverting back to the way it was before she called his name, but Bea views it as a canvas. She clicks open the bottle and gives it a shake, squirting the cool liquid all over Luke’s back in curves and twirls.

Luke squeaks when she does it, lurching forward, but Bea chastises him and makes him hold still so she can rub it into his skin.

Trevor’s eyes move from that scene to the girl in front of him. She’s wearing a sweatshirt over her bathing suit, the cuffs rolled up above her wrist. It’s long enough to hide any shorts that she could be wearing. She’s looking at Bea with a tiny smile on her lips, head tilted to the side. Her legs are long and tan and she’s got a freckle behind her ear.

Trevor aches to press his lips to her skin. Her flyaways would tickle the side of his face, the shell of her ear would smooth itself against the tip of his nose, and he’d be able to wrap his arms around her to pull her against his chest…

That’s enough of that.

He wants to touch her, he does. He wants to put sunscreen on her back and let her return the favor. He wants to be the one to slide his fingers under the straps of her top and dip into the waistband of her bottoms, just to make sure all of her skin is covered. Obviously. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

Oh my God, he wants to touch her so bad.

Trevor has to tear his eyes from Honey and clench his jaw, biting his tongue between his teeth to bring him back to reality. He’s back to sporting a semi– if it isn’t the consequences of his own thoughts– and he knows that if he touches her, if she touches him, he won’t be able to control himself.

“Looks like Bea’s out,” Trevor says, thinking quick on his feet. “I think Cole’s sunscreen is more important than mine, since he’s ‘made to burn.’” He takes out his sunscreen and claps it into Cole’s palm. “You and Honey can do each other up. I’m going to take a nap at the front. Wake me up when we start surfing.”

His eyes slide over Honey just before he walks away, and she looks puzzled. Trevor swallows a smile and returns to the bow of the boat, laying out and dropping his shirt over his face.

He zones out, eyes closed and breath even. Someone joins him on the cushion at some point, just before the boat starts to lurch away from the dock. He feels the spray of the lake dampen his shirt and cool his skin. The sun is already starting to pick at his chest, his tolerance not as high as it is when they’re always on the boat in Michigan.

“You’re burning, Trevor.”

Trevor startles, sitting up and ripping the shirt away from his face. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the sun.

Honey holds out his sunscreen. The can is in one hand, the face lotion in the other. She’s biting the inside of her cheek and staring at him.

Trevor reaches out and plucks the items from her grasp, purposefully avoiding her fingers.

“Thanks,” Trevor says, looking anywhere but her face. He can’t look her in the eyes. He can’t touch her. He tucks them away, tying them into his shirt and tossing it to the side. He misses the way her eyes flash and fix on the movements of his fingers, her lips parting. He’s too busy making his way to his feet and turning away. “I think I’m going to borrow the tanning oil from Luke, though. I’ll probably get him to do my back. Cole already did yours, right?”

Honey just hums and nods. Trevor looks up just long enough to take in the tight smile on her face. He can see that her eyes are rimmed with sunglasses, so he’s safe from the look in her eyes.

Trevor raises his fingers in a half-hearted wave before he walks away, joining Luke and Jack at the back of the boat. They’ve each got a hand in Cole’s pockets, making sure he doesn’t fly away as he stands on a bench and ties the lead-ropes they brought to the canopy.

Bea sits on Quinn’s thigh as he drives the boat, arms around his shoulders and laughing at the boys. Her eyes flicker with alarm as Trevor approaches, and she turns to face the front of the boat, rising off Quinn’s lap slightly to peek around the console.

Trevor hears her scoff and hop off Quinn’s lap, pattering away with light steps. He pays her no mind– just gives Cole a lovetap on the stomach so he doubles over. Jack and Luke laugh and Cole glares at Trevor, but the bickering transforms their area of the boat into a bubble where only they live. Quinn visits sometimes, to switch out once they’ve got the surfboard ready, but the day belongs to Jack, Luke, Cole, and Trevor.

Honey and Bea tan in the front and Trevor misses every pointed glare from Bea and sneaking, evaluating glance from Honey that comes his way.

14:90 – HONEY

Honey and Bea are sitting at the picnic table in Honey’s backyard. They’re sipping tea and the sun is setting. Honey blows on the surface of her mug, keeping it raised to her lips to take a sip.

She and Bea have been hanging out all day.

Honey was in this position at sunrise, sipping coffee out of the same mug and looking at the same mountains.

They’ve mostly sat in silence all day, reading their books or scrolling on their phones. Honey finishes the book she had been reading, so they break into The Reading Nook as soon as Bea wakes up, and Honey borrows a new one. She’s over a quarter of the way through the new book now, but the sun has set too much for her to continue reading.

So, they drink tea. They drove to Bea’s house to get some calming tea, then back to Honey’s. Bea made the tea while Honey sat and breathed, listening to the birds sing their eggs to sleep. They sip their tea, but Honey knows that time is running out. Bea’s been patient enough.

“I think it’s time we talk about what happened these past two days,” Bea says, setting her mug on the flat of the table. “Really, really talk.”

Honey sighs, putting her own mug down. “Yeah, I know.”

“I only have two questions for you, Honey,” Bea says. She laces her fingers together and leans in, like a principal or a school counselor.

Honey wants to laugh. It’s like an intervention. “What are your questions, Bea-girl?” She asks with a breath of a laugh and a roll of her eyes.

“Question one,” Bea pauses for effect, tilting her head to the side and widening her eyes. “How did you feel about Trevor after you licked, uh, everything off of his body?” She gestures with her hand, waving it in a circle. She tilts her chin up and smiles, sarcastically in pain, at Honey.

“I was thinking–”

Bea interrupts. “Nuh-uh. I don’t care about what you were thinking. What were you feeling about Trevor? And not once you started thinking about home, or any of that. The second you looked at him: what were you feeling?”

Honey’s face twists, her nose crinkling. She hates when Bea plays therapist.

“I felt like…” Honey trails off, thinking back. She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking at the dark masses of leaves rustle on the trees surrounding her home. “It was warm. I felt… light. If Trevor hadn’t had his hands on my waist, I might’ve… been like that puddle guy… in Sky High.” Her voice gets quieter with every pause and Honey is very conscious of the fact that she’s referencing the cult-classic ‘DCOM’ Sky High in her therapy session with her best friend.

Bea’s conscious of the reference, too, staring at Honey. Her jaw is dropped and she’s filled with mild aghast, just like Honey. She shuts her mouth, closes her eyes, and nods to herself before opening them again.

“Question two. How did you feel after Trevor went to the back of the boat yesterday?”

Honey knew it was coming, but the memory still tugs at her.

She doesn’t get it. Trevor had been so… talkative, at first. He had sought Honey out and, as much as she hates to admit it, being chased was nice. Trevor had stood out from the first day, so much so that she wouldn’t even consider the other boys if they asked– and Jack did ask, that one time.

It was like a complete 180º after the dare. He steps away from her, he can’t meet her eyes, he found not one, but two excuses to get away from Honey after she offered to put sunscreen on his back. Yeah, she figured Cole was joking and setting them up for disaster, but she was ready to role with it after having that conversation with Bea on Friday.

Trevor froze when she was around and avoided Honey like a fucking. plague.

Honey’s silence speaks for itself, because Bea opens her mouth to continue.

“Maybe–”

Honey talks over her, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t– think he likes me.”

She takes a breath before opening her eyes again.

Bea stares at Honey, her first two fingers covering her mouth.

Honey blinks and looks down at her hands, wrapping them around her mug to save them from the sudden frostbite spreading over her fingers. “If he felt like I did after that dare… he wouldn’t have ignored me yesterday.” Honey presses her tongue into her top teeth, clamping her lips shut. The edges of her eyes are prickling with wetness again.

Bea reaches across the table and takes one of her hands.

“If that’s how he feels, then he’s stupid,” Bea says, voice definite. “He would be an idiot to stop chasing you.”

“I wish it was as easy as you and Quinn,” Honey admits. She stares at the warped and chipped wood under their hands. She’s sick to her stomach for a second, having déjà vu of the same image five years earlier, when she and Bea left Charlotte and spent their first night here. They didn’t even have mugs yet. They just talked and held hands and took in their new home. It’s the same feeling.

Bea shakes her head. “It’s not the same. Quinn and I aren’t–” She pauses to scoff, a grimace across her face. “We’re hooking up. We both know that and we don’t want anything more. That’s why it’s so easy.”

“But you felt so bad when you had to tell him,” Honey argues.

“I felt guilty.” Bea shrugs. “It passed.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer. Bea drops Honey’s hands and returns to her tea.

Honey looks down at her tea and brings it to her lips, sipping. She takes a second sip, clearing her throat.

“I want to be wanted,” Honey says. She feels silly saying it, the phrase obvious. Everyone wants to be wanted. She’s not special. To make herself feel better, she adds, partially as a joke: “And I want to have sex.”

“It’s been a long time since you said that,” Bea replies and Honey’s heart soars. She always understands exactly what Honey means. She always knows exactly what to say. Honey covers her face with her hands, overwhelmed. Bea continues. “It doesn’t have to be silly old Trevor, since he’s a loser.”

“Yeah… I don’t want any of the others,” Honey laughs.

Bea scoffs, defensive. “Yeah, and I wasn’t gonna give you any of ‘em.”

They laugh together, heads thrown back. Bea’s foot stomps against the dirt.

When they quiet down, Bea adds with a grin, “I was just thinking that we could have a night out or something. Wilkesboro has to have something you can settle for. Just for a fuck, you know?”

Honey nods, smiling. She raises her tea to her lips and swallows the last of it. The mug clatters when she sets it down.

“Would it,” she starts, her smile breaking into a toothy, tilted beam. “Would it be so bad if I wanted it to be Trevor?”

Bea squeals and wiggles. She grabs Honey’s hands and squeezes, bouncing in her seat. She’s so excited that it causes Honey to break out into a fresh round of embarrassed giggles, shielding her face from the aftermath of her admission.

“We’re going on double dates,” Bea makes Honey promise, linking their pinkies. “We are. Just talk to him… tomorrow…” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And tell him that you want him to flirt with you again.”

“Well, it’s not that easy,” Honey denies, rolling her eyes.

“Isn’t it, though?” Bea squints one of her eyes shut and tilts her head, making a face at Honey. She smooths her expression and makes her eyes wide, blinking innocently as she mocks: “‘You know, you should really keep flirting with me, Trev. You never know when it’ll pay off.’ See?”

Honey laughs in disbelief. “Yeah, okay. I’ll say exactly that.”

“Fine, if that’s so hard, go find me a pen. Then I have to go home. It’s late.” Bea bosses, pointing towards Honey’s living room. When Honey stands, she smiles again, sickly-sweet. “Thank you, Baby-Honey.”

“Whatever,” Honey replies, standing and finding a Sharpie in her junk drawer. She overemphasizes the nickname sarcastically when she returns to the table: “Buzzy.”

Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey and holds her hand out expectantly. Honey clicks her tongue in annoyance, but puts her hand in Bea’s, her palm facing up. Bea leans over her, stretching Honey’s skin so it’s taut. She scribbles something onto Honey’s hand, at one point pulling out her phone to read a message. She nods when she’s done and reaches up to draw a little heart on the inside of Honey’s wrist. She blows a kiss at Honey and slaps the marker in her hand, closing her fingers around the marker. Bea stands, takes her mug, and drops it off in the sink before she walks out of Honey’s front door.

Honey raises her other hand in a belated wave, barely looking. She returns to her other hand, unfurling her fingers. Scrawled on her palm are ten digits and Trevor’s name.

It’s a phone number.

Honey pales. She can’t text Trevor. She has to tell him to keep things going in person, not behind a screen. That’s not who she is. She hasn’t acted like this in five years, and she’s not planning on reverting to old habits. No, she has to go see Trevor tomorrow.

Monday!

Tomorrow, the fruit stand is open. Trevor knows that Honey goes to the fruit stand on Mondays, and if he’s interested at all, he’ll show up. It’s, like, a ‘thing’ now, right?

Yeah. She’ll see him at the fruit stand tomorrow. If she doesn’t, then she’ll know how he feels for sure. She won’t have to text, she won’t have to go track Trevor down– it’ll be easy, like how Honey wants it to be. Quinn and Bea aren’t the only people who can have it easy.

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#small town girl x tz #trevor zegras #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras fanfiction #quinn hughes #jack hughes smut #luke hughes #cole caufield #hockey smut #hockey romance #nhl smut

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do-it-jakey-baby · 2 months

Text

Umbra Perpetua

Vampire!Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Synopsis: plagued by the pain of your Dad’s passing, you uproot your life to a new town. Peace, however, is extremely far from what you find there as your world is turned on its axis.

Warnings: mentions of loss, grief, painful memories, aggression, profanity, blackout (sorry if I’ve missed any)

18+, MINORS DNI

Chapter One

That’s it. Everything was packed.

Truth be told, you were just leaving one miserable town to move to another, equally miserable town. But you needed to get out, to get away from the painful memories that lined the streets you grew up in. You couldn’t bear the creak of the swing your Dad had spent days tirelessly making, winding it around the maple tree and ensuring it was structurally sound before letting you take it for a spin. You couldn’t stomach the sight of his favourite flannel, still draped over the back of the worn, leather armchair that sat proudly in your reading nook.

Every single element of the house you called a home reminded you that he was gone, and was never coming back. It wasn’t just the house, either. It was the entire town. The sense of nostalgia that grew within your soul used to light you up from within, but now it engulfs you in darkness. Walking past the spot where you first learnt how to ride your bike, or to the ice cream parlour that you frequented every Friday. The unbearable agony that came with reliving these milestones was chewing you up and spitting you out into the abyss.

No more, it had to end. So off you went, on your journey to Washington. You weren’t even sure why you picked Washington, possibly because it held no place in your heart. It was somewhere you could start fresh, void of any characteristics that would remind you of your Dad. That’s what you needed, if you were to ever begin to heal.

As you unpack in your tiny apartment, you feel a sense of hope. Your new home was in need of a hell of a lot of TLC, but it was something you could channel your focus into. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. The money that had been left behind for you wasn’t a lot in terms of inheritance, but enough to get you away from the town you grew up in. But the money would run out, so the first thing on your agenda was to find a job.

The town was small, with a population of around 5,000. As you walked the streets, trying to gain your bearings and familiarise yourself with the area, you stumble upon a quaint little store. It looked like it belonged in a horror movie, with its carbon painted, extremely vintage-esque exterior. The name of the store is carefully etched onto the front of the building in a white, old English font.

𝕬𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 𝕬𝖓𝖎𝖒𝖆

A spark of intrigue floods your senses, your feet carrying you to the door on impulse. As you gently push it open, you hear a soft chime. The gothic interior of the store perfectly compliments the exterior, with the scent of incense carrying throughout the space. You could make out notes of frankincense and vetiver, mixed in with dusty, well-loved pages of leather-bound books. There’s a section in the corner filled with vinyls, the rest of the store littered with literature, candles, and delicate crystal trinkets. You venture in further, fully entranced within the environment.

“Hello, can I help you with anything?”

A raven-haired woman walks from behind the counter. She can’t be much older than you, if at all. Her beauty almost knocks the wind from your lungs, with her perfect porcelain skin and deep, ruby lips.

“Hi. Wow, this place is… wow.” You feel embarrassment flood to your cheeks at your lack of articulation.

“Thank you, it’s my pride and joy.” She smiles softly, tucking her silky strands behind her ears.

You couldn’t help but wonder how someone, likely in their early twenties, owned a store like this. Flitting your eyes around the space, you smile back. “It’s beautiful.”

“Passed down through the family to me.” She answers, as if you spoke your question aloud. “So, do you need anything, or would you just like to have a wander around?”

You nod, cursing yourself for your inability to form a coherent sentence. She giggles under her breath, turning to resume her place at the counter. You walk around, taking everything in as you do. Fingering through the records on the far side of the store, you come to the realisation that you’ve listened to each one of the albums. After you’ve explored every nook and cranny, you head over to the counter with a book in hand.

“Edgar Allan Poe, hm? Great choice.”

“My favourite poet.”

She rings up your purchase, then carefully wraps the book in brown parchment. She ties it together securely with a piece of twine, then hands it to you.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“Ah, yeah. I just moved here, today. I was actually just out looking for a job, but I couldn’t resist coming in here.”

“That’s opportune. I’m hiring.” She smirks.

“You are? Oh my god, I’d love to apply.”

“Consider yourself hired.”

You furrow your brow. “Hired? You’ve only just met me.”

“I trust my intuition.” She reaches behind the counter, pulling a stack of papers from underneath and places them on top, sliding them towards you. “If you want the job, it’s yours. Hours are 9 to 5, Monday to Friday, with some weekend shifts. $20 an hour.”

You stand with your mouth agape, staring between the woman and the paperwork.

“You do want the job, don’t you?” She cocks her head to the side.

“Sorry. Yes. Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much!”

“It’s Adeline.”

“Adeline, right. I’m Y/N.” You extend your hand out to her. When your palm comes into contact with hers, the difference in temperature startles you. It was like you’d just placed your hand onto a marble statue, her skin cool and smooth against yours.

“Get the paperwork signed and come in for 8:30 tomorrow morning, ready to start at 9. It was lovely to meet you.”

You continue to stare at your hand, the chill still lingering from her touch.

“Yeah… you too.” You pick up your book and the paperwork, turning towards the door. As you make contact with the handle, you look back to say goodbye, but Adeline has vanished.

You toss and turn all night in your bed, unable to shake your encounter with Adeline. You felt completely enamoured by her. She was undeniably beautiful, but there was something else there. Her movements were so fluid, and the way she laughed was almost musical, as if she was singing you a song with her joy. By the time the morning sun graced the sky, sleep had barely found you. You fought through your exhaustion and peeled yourself from your sheets. You felt the innate need to prove yourself to Adeline, seeing as she had offered you a job on the spot without knowing anything about you. In fact, she didn’t even know your name until the end of your conversation. And the way she seemed to know what you were thinking without you voicing it aloud…

Shaking the thoughts from your mind, you get ready for the day. You remember passing a coffee shop on the way home yesterday, so decide to stop by and attempt to quell your lack of sleep with caffeine. You place your order at the counter, then sit down with your new book and begin to flip through the pages while you wait.

“Vanilla latte for Y/N?”

You look up to find a young man staring back at you, holding your coffee.

“Yeah, that’s me. Thank you.”

The first thing you notice is his skin. It seems oddly sun-kissed, considering the town is spent in an almost constant state of overcast weather. Perhaps he’s just been on vacation recently?

You arrive at Alligatus Anima five minutes before instructed, but the door is unlocked. You let yourself in, walking through the quiet space until you reach the counter.

No sign of Adeline.

All of the hairs on your body prick up as an unfamiliar feeling takes over, causing your fight or flight to kick in. Your eyes dart around the room, but find nothing out of the ordinary. Still, that uneasy feeling remains, until you hear rustling in the back. You breathe a sigh of relief, realising it’s most likely just Adeline setting up for the day. You push past the beaded curtains that separate the shop floor from the back of house in search for her.

“Adeline?”

As you walk further, it feels like you’re being watched. You stop in your tracks, fear rooting you to the spot.

Why are you so afraid?

Then, you hear it. It’s so faint, you could convince yourself that you imagined it, but the quiet gruffs of muffled laughter find your ears. “Adeline?” You repeat, this time a lot lower in volume as your voice shakes.

“No, not Adeline.”

You don’t stop to have a conversation with whoever, or whatever just spoke to you. Letting your feet propel you back to the front of the store, you almost collide with Adeline.

“Y/N, is everything ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” She drops her bag down behind the counter, placing a hand on your arm.

“Or heard one…” You mumble under your breath.

“Do you have your paperwork?”

“Oh, yeah, let me grab it.” You fish around in your satchel for the documents and hand them over.

Adeline sets you up with a list of books that need re-stocking, then heads out back with your paperwork. You sit down at the counter, going over the list and familiarising yourself with the titles. Although you try your hardest to focus, you can’t stop your mind from wondering back to the encounter in the back of the store. That was a male voice. You think on if you should mention it to Adeline for a moment, but you’re quickly broken from your thoughts when she re-enters the room.

“Ok, all done. You’re officially employed. Let’s get you trained up.”

The majority of the day is spent learning the systems, which in reality consists of an old cash register and an iPad. Adeline shows you where the stock is kept, which makes you shudder due to it being in the exact vicinity of where the mysterious voice came from earlier. When she’s satisfied that you’ve learnt everything you needed, she leaves you to mind the floor whilst she gets to work pouring candles out back.

The afternoon had been quiet. You served only a handful of customers, all of them finding what they needed without any intervention. You’re busy mopping the floor in your preparations to close up shop when the door chimes once more. You look up to find a man standing before you unlike any you’d seen before. His skin bore the same shade as Adeline’s, a crisp alabaster. His features looked as if they’d been carved from stone, sharp and captivating. His hair, spilling in soft waves onto his shoulders, was a deep chestnut brown. He had slight stubble on his upper lip, and a pair of black sunglasses perched atop his nose. As your eyes wandered further, you noted he was wearing a black button down, secured by only the last 3 buttons, exposing his gleaming chest. He wore a silver chain with a multitude of pendants dangling from it, but you weren’t close enough to see the detail. His pants were black too, and the outfit completed with a pair of Chelsea boots. You were positive you’d never seen a more beautiful man in your life.

“Is my sister here?” He speaks in a velvety rasp.

“Uh- Adeline?”

“That would be her.”

“Yeah, she’s out back. I’ll uh, I’ll go get her.”

You turn to find Adeline, but the man speaks again.

“I don’t know you.”

You swivel your body back towards him, unsure of what to say.

“We don’t get a lot of new people around here.” He speaks again, moving closer towards you. As the proximity between you lessens, he seems to become uncomfortable. He halts, standing still a few meters from you.

“I just moved here.” You gulp, that same feeling from this morning seeping back into your bones.

You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his breathing becoming harsher. His hands beside him ball into fists. Your heart thumps in your chest as the overwhelming urge to run takes over your mind, alarm bells ringing loud and clear. Something wasn’t right here.

“Ah, Jacob. I see you’ve met my new recruit, Y/N.”

Adeline. Oh, thank god.

“Indeed, I have.” He snarls.

You turn your body towards the direction of Adeline’s voice, only to find that she’s now standing next to you. You could have sworn she was behind you only a second ago.

“She’s a very hard worker, a great addition to the team.” She continues, stepping in front of you slightly.

“Oh, is she?” He smirks, and you think you like it even less than his earlier expression.

“Y/N, this is Jacob. My younger brother.”

Before you can register what you’re doing, you step towards him with your hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”

You watch as he takes in a deep breath, but before anything else can happen, Adeline is between you both. Her hand is placed firmly on Jake’s chest.

“No, not this time. Not her.” She whispers, but you hear it anyway.

Jacob exhales sharply, rubbing his hand over his face. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N. Pity.”

Adeline looks back towards you, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’.

In an instant, the world around you fades to black.

Air floods your lungs as you take in a gasp, thrashing around manically as you come to. You bolt upright, to find that you’re at home, in your own bed. With your head in your hands, the visions of the moments before you blacked out flash before your eyes.

What happened?

As you look around your room, you spot a figure in your peripheral. Your blood runs cold as you back yourself against your headboard, bringing your sheets up to your chin. The figure rises from it’s seat in the corner, stepping into the light that streams through the crack in your curtains.

Adeline.

“Please, don’t be scared. I just had to make sure you were ok.”

“Adeline? Wha- what.” You stammer.

She sits beside you on the side of the bed.

“He won’t hurt you. I promise.”

“Hurt me? Why would he hurt me?” You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, more from fear than any other emotion.

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, I wish I could. But what I can tell you is that my brother and I, we are… different.”

“Different?”

“Yes different. But I like you. There’s something about you that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“How did I pass out?”

“Uh, that was me. Call it a protection measure…”

“Protecting me from who? Jacob?”

“Y/N, I can’t answer your questions. It’s more dangerous for you if I do. But I promise you, you are safe. You have my word. Take today off, get some rest. You have my number, I’m only down at the store if you need me.”

She swiftly makes her exit, leaving you even more confused than you were to begin with. You pick your phone up from your nightstand, finding it open on your contacts.

Adeline Kiszka

You cross your legs under your body, bringing up every social media app you had on your phone and typing the two names in. You find nothing. Deciding what you need is fresh air, you pull on a pair of leggings and a hoodie, then head outside. You aimlessly wander down street after street, trying to find a distraction, until your feet carry you to the little coffee shop you’d visited the day prior. As you walk in, you’re met with the same face as yesterday, eagerly waiting to take your order.

“Another vanilla latte?” He smiles.

“You remember my order? I’ve only been in here once.”

“No one orders the syrup around here, so it’s pretty memorable.” He chuckles. “So, new in town I’m assuming?”

“Why does everyone ask me that, is it that obvious?”

He grins, and you can’t help but notice the small dimple in his cheek. “Kinda yeah, but we don’t get a lot of newbies.”

“So I’ve been told…” You murmur.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

“Yeah that’s right.”

“I’m Alex.” He hands you your coffee, then looks like he’s about to say something else.

“Speak your mind, Alex.”

“I, um, I get off in like ten minutes. Do you wanna, maybe hang out? If you’re free.”

You could use a friend in this town…

“Yeah sure, I’d love to.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later Alex is walking towards you, sans apron. He doesn’t tell you where you’re going, but you end up at a park on the edge of town. You sit down on a bench together and he pulls out a sandwich from his backpack.

“You want half? It’s PB&J?”

You feel your stomach growl, realising now how long it’s been since you last ate. “Yeah, sure. Thank you.”

You both sit in silence, taking bites from the sandwich and enjoying the warmth of the sun that is peaking through the clouds.

“Do you know anything about the Kiszkas?”

Alex almost chokes on his sandwich as he turns to you, his eyes wide. “Stay. Away.”

You furrow your brow. “Well, that’s kinda hard for me to do seeing as Adeline is my boss…”

“Shit. No, no. Y/N, you have to quit. I can see if we have anything available at my place.”

“What is so bad about them?”

“Look, I know you only just met me yesterday, but you need to trust me. They aren’t good people. If you can even call them that…” He mumbles the last part so quietly you almost don’t catch it.

“Why can’t anyone be straight with me around here?” You mutter, taking another bite of the PB&J.

“I’m sorry, I wish-”

“You wish you could tell me, but you can’t, right?” You roll your eyes.

“No. I like, really, really can’t. Can you at least promise me you’ll be careful? And don’t walk anywhere alone at night.”

“I can’t really avoid that, I don’t know anyone here yet. I only moved here yesterday!”

“Well, then take my number. I don’t mind walking with you.”

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Because, you seem like a good person. Someone who probably moved here to get away from it all. I understand that.”

You and Alex chatted for hours, finally moving on from the Kiszka conversation. You learnt a lot about him, what made him tick, and about his home life. You came to the conclusion that you liked him very swiftly, especially when he told you he also loved The Rolling Stones. Talking to him was pretty effortless, it didn’t feel like a chore and it was actually quite enjoyable. He had a certain “golden retriever” type energy about him, that somewhat matched your “black cat” energy well. You were like yin and yang, and it worked. He dropped you back at your house when it got dark, becoming shifty as soon as the moon lit up the night sky. You said your goodbyes and he made you promise again that you’d call him if you needed him.

As soon as you crossed the threshold into your house, you could tell something wasn’t right. The air smelled… different. Not in a bad way, in fact it was an incredibly intoxicating fragrance. Nevertheless, it put you on high alert. Remembering you placed one of your old baseball bats from high school by the door, you grasp onto the handle. Moving at a snail like pace, you begin towards your kitchen.

Clear.

Your bedroom is next, just down the hall. The floorboards squeak as you try your best to remain silent. The door to your room is ajar, which is strange because you always close it before you leave. You peer in through the gap, seeing the room is empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, you enter the room and walk towards your bed, but before you get to it the door slams shut. You brace yourself as you spin around, the bat raised in your hands as you prepare to use it.

Jacob.

“Hello again, Y/N. Are you planning on using that on me?”

#jake kiszka #jake gvf #jake greta van fleet #jake lane #jacob thomas kiszka #jaket kiszka #jacob kiszka #greta van fic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka gvf #vampire jake kiszka #vampire fic #jake kiszka greta van fleet

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streamafterlaughter · 7 months

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Fundamental Differing

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Chapter XXI: Baby, What Did You Expect?

summary: it’s the mid tour finale, and of course nothing is as it seems. i’m horrible at blurbs pls forgive me

cw/tags: alcoholism, addiction mentions, probably some improper AA etiquette, angst per usual, lots of tears. gn!reader, rockstar!eddie, estranged lovers, mutual pining, angst

a/n: hehe haha hehe. this is probably my best work thus far. i really hope yall enjoy it, this took a LOT out of me

—

January 1991

Steve’s POV

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” He taps his foot on the linoleum, the buzzing overhead lights causing him to squint through his already painful migraine. Your phone goes to voicemail again, and Steve all but slams the payphone down onto the receiver. “Fuck!” He huffs, turning back down the hall, defeated.

In his room, Eddie sleeps on the hospital bed under a thin blanket. There’s a tube in his nose, but the doctor said the word stable, leaving Steve some time to call you. Not that it mattered. Even if you had answered, what would he have said? Would you even want to know?

–

July 1991

Eddie’s POV

It’s been a whole year since he’d seen you, but there you were. Right in front of him, dancing with a small redhead covered in tattoos, a plastic cup in one hand, the other in the air. He already knows he won’t go over, won’t approach you, or even try to violate your field of vision. But he can’t bring himself to look away from you, the way your shirt clings to your body perfectly, the way your skirt lands right below the curve of your ass, your exposed legs going on for miles. He drinks you in from afar, without caring how creepy it feels, seeing you without your knowledge, It’s day eighty nine, but Eddie turns to the bartender and orders a drink.

–

Present Day

Your POV

It just doesn’t make sense. If Steve had known about Eddie’s problem like he claims, then why on earth had he let him drink himself stupid? Your brain tries to rationalize your best friend’s choice, but you come up with nothing. There is no good reason for what Steve did. Didn’t he pride himself on taking care of his friends?

You sit up as the bus starts moving, preparing to confront Steve before quickly remembering he’s on the other bus. Instead, you find Robin reading a beaten copy of On The Road in the breakfast nook, and drop down beside her, sighing.

She glances up but doesn’t speak, eyebrow cocked as you pout for her full attention. She dog ears her page, making a show of sitting up straight, like a proper catholic girl in class.

“I’m having a dilemma.” You state, refusing to let your voice crack. “I need an outside perspective.” Really, you need someone to tell you what you want to hear, but you can’t say that.

“I’m all ears, babe.”

“This whole thing with Eddie,” You ignore her not so subtle eye roll. “Something’s just not right. Steve knew, y’know, about Eddie’s drinking. He told me himself he’d been aware, even before I was.”

“Okay…”

“But Eddie had been drinking, when tour started. A lot. And Steve definitely knew, because he’d been the one to carry him to bed most of the time.”

“What exactly is your dilemma in this scenario?”

“Why was he watching his friend backslide? Why didn’t he do a fucking thing to help him?” You can’t keep your voice from weavering, and you choke on your breath. “I don’t get how he could claim to care for Eddie, to love him, and let him do that to himself. Not after-” You stop, not knowing what Robin should and shouldn’t know.

“After what?”

“After everything, I guess.”

“Listen to me, honey. Eddie is a grown man, so’s Steve. Sure, we’re all buddy buddy, but when it comes down to it, we can’t always play heroes.”

“What, so we’re supposed to be okay watching Eddie slowly kill himself?”

Robin pinches between her eyes, deep in thought. “No, of course not. But at some point, talking to a wall is gonna get old. But, hey! Eddie hasn’t had a drink in weeks, right? So why the worry now?”

You shake your head. “I guess I’m just nervous. We have a month off, and I don’t know where i’m gonna go. I could go to my place in Boston, or go back to Seattle. I just-”

“You’re worried about Eddie.” For once you’re grateful for how easily she can read you.

“I am.”

“You want my advice? Play it by ear. No one said that you have to stay away from him now that business hours are over. You can afford to reconnect with him, in the real world.” She makes a point, but what exactly is the real world? The world you know is barely real, and the one you’d known before it felt even less so. Sometimes you wish you’d died in the Upside Down, at least then you wouldn’t have known such a profound kind of pain.

–

Eddie’s POV

“Tomorrow night, we play our last show of the first leg of the Freak Show Tour,” Eddie announces to his bandmates crowded around the small breakfast table of the tour bus. “We will rock this house like we have rocked no other, a grand finale they will wish they televised!” The response is various whoops and cheers from his friends, and a small smile from Steve as he stands aside with his arms crossed. “Let’s make sure the state of… uh…” Eddie places a hand to his mouth, stage whispering to Steve, “Where are we?”

“Delaware.”

“Let’s make sure the state of Delaware can’t prepare for what we’re about to give ‘em!” Eddie hollers, and his friends join in as the bus pulls around the back of the hotel parking lot.

–

He swipes his key card as he catches you unlocking the door next to him. “Hey neighbor.” He winks, feeling awfully bold after a long trip without seeing you.

“Hey, Eds.” You send him a smile that makes his heart skip, and he curses himself for being so easily bent out of shape. You and him are friends. Friends with a long, frustrating history, but friends nonetheless. “You ready for the mid tour finale?” He asks, awkwardly shifting to lean against the doorframe.

He catches as your face falls the slightest bit. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s gonna be weird, I think.”

“How so?”

You shrug. “I dunno. We’ve been on the road for like a month now. It almost feels normal. I won’t know what to do with myself when I’m back at home.”

He must be mistaken, but your words sound almost like an invitation, a cracked door. “Where’s home for you?” He asks, ignoring how tacky it must sound.

–

Your POV

It takes a lot to bite your tongue before you blurt, “You,” but you manage.”I uh, I think I’m going back to Boston. Might as well, it’s where we start back up again.” It will be August then, and you’ll have heard for sure whether you’re playing one of the biggest music festivals of the year. You still haven’t told Eddie, and at this point you aren’t sure what you’d say. “What about you? Where are you headed?”

Eddie sucks his top lip between his teeth in thought. “Maybe LA, or I’ll hold myself to my promise to visit Wayne. Depends.”

“On what?” It sounds like a challenge.

“On if I want to face my guilt or keep running from it. Or something equally dramatic.”

You snort, pretty eyes rolling back into your head. “Please.”

“What?”

“Don’t be shitty. Let yourself feel guilty, god knows you deserve to. Visit Wayne, at least for a while.”

“Why does it matter to you what I do?” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out as harshly as they do.

“Believe it or not, Ed, you still matter to me. Very much. And if you let yourself be miserable, we’ll all have to put up with your bullshit when we come back. Do us all the favor. Go home.” You swipe your card again, entering your room before Eddie can respond.

–

It shouldn’t matter. You and Eddie aren’t what you used to be, no matter how hard you delude yourself into thinking you can get back there. That possibility feels long gone, completely unreachable at your current status. You have to settle.

You walk over to the big window in your room, drawing back the heavy shades to reveal the setting sun and city of Dover below. You lay back on the bed, the fluffy pillows soothing you quickly to sleep.

–

A knock on your door rattles you awake. The digital clock on your nightstand reads 11:30 PM, and you groan as you roll onto your feet. Another round of heavy knocking makes you scurry faster to the door.

“What?!” You demand, flinging the door back to reveal a disheveled Steve clad in a wrinkled tank top and linen pajama pants. “Oh good, you’re awake.” Steve shoves past you and into the room without an invite, causing you to spin on your heel to face him.

“Well, I am now! What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t find him.”

“Who?”

“Eddie!”

Good fucking god. “He’s not in his room?”

Steve looks at you like you’ve asked the dumbest question in the world. You suppose you have. “No. He went out. Didn’t seem like he was okay.” Steve holds his face in his hands. “I’ve called all the bars in the area, no one’s said they’ve seen him. He could be on the street somewhere, he could-”

“Okay, enough!” Of course he’s worried, but you’re fed up with Steve’s inability to be consistent. “Where was this attitude a month ago? When he was drinking himself silly before every show, when he would beg for whiskey the mornings after? You let him relapse, and now you’re worried?” You don’t realize you’re yelling until someone next door bangs on the wall, demanding you shut up.

“What are you talking about?” Steve sniffs, lifting his head to look at you.

“Steve, you’d known this whole time that Eddie has a problem. You’ve been letting him indulge in it, doing almost nothing. Now you’re surprised he’s gone out without telling you? Seriously?”

“There is only so much I can do to stop him, Y/n, you have to know that. I had to watch him vomit all over himself while I waited for the paramedics, I had to watch him detox in that hospital bed. Then I had to watch him relapse. Not just last month, but last year. He fell off the wagon after eighty nine days, Y/n, eighty nine. You wanna know why?” He waits for you to answer, but you’re not sure you want to. “Because he saw you at a gig. In New York, last July. He called me that night, told me everything. Told me he was sorry, that he was a waste of my time, all that shit. Made me promise to never try to save him again.” Steve’s in tears when he finishes, and you feel your own start to fall. “I have kept my mouth shut because I promised, but I worry about him every day. Well, until lately. He’s been so much happier, and there’s no use even arguing why that must be. But he’s not your responsibility either, I know that. It’s not fair of me to be putting any expectations on you. I just thought you might know where he is.”

You drop onto the mattress beside Steve, resting your head on his shaking shoulder. “I think I might know where he is. We can’t go there, though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s supposed to be anonymous.” You hope to every god that you’re right.

–

Eddie’s POV

“I haven’t been to a meeting in about a year,” Eddie starts, addressing the small group in front of him, sitting in a circle of folding chairs in the basement of a church. “But today is the two year anniversary of the worst day of my life. I guess it’s getting to me lately.”

“What happened two years ago?” The woman running the meeting encourages Eddie. She’s an older woman, with sandy blonde hair and a wrinkled, kind face.

“I ruined the best thing I could have ever asked for. I lost the love of my life, walked out on them for the last time after months of doing whatever I felt like with their feelings…

–

July 1990

“We can’t do this anymore.” You’re talking to the ceiling, arms resting on top of your chest, you don’t look at him. He’s next to you, stuck to the bed with sweat, breathing in your scent that begins to suffocate him. He knew this day was coming. You’d been seeing each other for about a month now, after half a year of not speaking.You’d fallen victim to his drunken pleas, as well as what Eddie suspects is your own self hatred.

“What are you talking about?” He plays dumb, hoping you’ll chicken out of leaving him for a second time.

“This,” You motion to the room around you. “I can’t see you anymore. It’s too much.”

“Too much?” Eddie sits up, and wills the room to stop spinning.

“Every time you come over, you’re wasted. You’re miserable most of the time, and the times you aren’t you’re hopped up on blow. It’s like you’ve added me to your list of fucking bad habits. I don’t want to be that for you anymore.” Your tone is ice cold, not a hint of sadness or anger in your voice at all. It chills Eddie to his core.

“Fine.” Eddie huffs, shoving himself out of bed. “Makes perfect sense, you telling me all this after I fuck your brains out. Made sure to get what you wanted first, right?”

“Eddie, come on,” You go to move, but Eddie tucks the blanket back over you.

“No, really, it’s fine. Ten minutes ago you were telling me how much you missed me, how good it felt. Now you’re cutting me off? Just like that?” Eddie shoves his legs clumsily into his jeans, cursing under his breath when his toe gets caught in a hole. “We talked about this. This was supposed to be purely physical, remember? You agreed to that.”

“I did, I know. But I agreed before I could understand that you’re… well, different.”

“Different how?” He snaps. You hesitate, picking anxiously at your fingernails. “Y/n?”

“You’re mean, Eddie. You’re cold. You don’t care how you make me feel, or rather, how you don’t make me feel when you sleep over. I’ve had to fake it. Beyond that, I can’t even make conversation with you. I feel used. It’s lonely.”

He sees red. Eddie gathers up his jacket, and his still half full beer bottle from the nightstand. “Fuck you,” He spits, tossing things aside as he searches for his keys. “Y’know what, yeah. We’re done.” He gulps the rest of the drink down before slamming the bottle into the bin.

“We can’t be done if we weren’t anything to begin with.” Your words bite, despite them originally being his own from when he’d come up with such a stupid agreement. “And we won’t have to break up, because this isn’t a thing.” He’d seduced you after a show one night, high out of his mind. He’d never expected you to agree to it.

“Perfect,” He snaps, daring himself to look at you. Your eyes are wet, but you’re stoic. You don’t tremble, you don’t heave or scream or shudder. “I don’t ever want to see your face again.” He doesn’t mean that, and he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. But he can’t take them back now. “We don’t know each other.”

“I don’t think we ever did.” Your final words ring loudly in his ears as he slams the door behind him.

–

The group waits patiently for Eddie to finish, and he wipes a tear he hadn’t noticed from his cheek.

“You say you see this person frequently now?” The woman asks, and Eddie nods.

“We’re on tour together. Tomorrow’s our last show ‘til next month. Needed a meeting a little extra tonight, I guess.” It’s past midnight, this group being one that meets in the late hours to cater to night shift workers.

“Well, we thank you for sharing with us tonight, Eddie.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” The group responds as if on cue. The meeting is dismissed shortly after, and Eddie makes his way to the table for complementary stale coffee and doughnuts.

“You’re really brave for coming here.” The voice is small, taking Eddie a second to register. He turns around to face a girl who can’t be older than seventeen. “I’m Macy. Addict.”

“Hi, Macy.” Eddie greets her like he’s reciting a script. “I dunno about brave. That’s probably the last thing I feel right now.”

“Well, think of it like this. You could have gone to a bar, or a club to try and score. You came here instead. That’s brave.”

He shrugs. “I guess you’re right.”

“And they still love you, y’know. That doesn’t just go away.”

“How would someone your age know so much about something like that?”

Macy shrugs. “I follow the tabloids. I know who you are. I won’t say anything, obviously. But I’ve been watching you, with them. I’ve seen the photos, and the music doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“You can’t believe everything you read.” He’s not sure whether to take her word, she seems so genuine.

“Maybe not, but I believe this.”

Eddie gives her a sad smile before saying goodbye. She waves him off with a warm smile.

Once outside, he lights a cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs as he closes his tired eyes. The exhaustion has washed over him, and he’s ready to be dragged under when he hears footsteps approaching.

—

Your POV

He opens his eyes and meets them with yours, heavy from lack of sleep. “Hi.” You wave shyly, like you’ve never met him.

“How’d you find me here?” He flicks ash onto the concrete.

“Saw the flier in the lobby when we came in. Checked it again and saw one less tab on the bottom. Minor detective work.” You smile, despite the exhaustion written on your face. His cheeks warm.

“You alone?”

You nod. “Took a world of convincing Steve not to come with me. I think I’ve sedated him, though.”

“Shit, he that worried?”

You shrug. “You know how he gets. He’ll be glad to know you’re okay, though.”

“What, did you think I’d gone on a run too?”

“No, actually. It was my idea to check here. Relieved as shit that I’m right.”

“Yeah, me too.”

You stretch your hand out to hold as the doors swing open, a herd of people filing out. A small girl with a sweet face sends Eddie a smile, and winks at you before getting into a cab, and you turn to find him blushing.

“Friend of yours?”

He chuckles. “Guess you could say that.” He entwines his fingers with yours without waiting for an invitation. All too familiar touches, worlds away from where you’d stood only a month ago. “So,” He starts, swinging his arm and yours as you start back toward the hotel, “were you worried about me?” His tone is teasing, tinged with what can only be described as hope.

You can feel your cheeks warm and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. “Guess you could say that.” You squeeze his hand. “But that’s nothing new. I’m always worried about you.”

—

July 1990

Your POV

“It’s over,” You’re sobbing into the receiver, barely able to hear Steve’s sigh on the other end. Relief? Disappointment? You can’t tell, your senses are blunted only by the thought of him.

“Are you okay? Wait, stupid question,” Steve stumbles on the other line, unsure of how to comfort you. “Can I do anything?”

You shake your head before you remember he can’t see you. “No, no. I’ll be alright. I ended it. I had to. He’s not the same person I fell in love with. I know that now.”

“Maybe, but there’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Do I want to know?”

Steve waits a beat before answering, the static of the line filling your head. “No, I don’t think you do.”

You talk for an hour before you feel your eyelids grow heavy, and say your goodbyes before hanging up. You are once again in silence. Alone. In a fit of rage— or of heartbreak, you’re not sure, you fall to your knees and let go. You haven’t cried like this in months, the kind of cry that leaves you hoarse and tired, but tonight, in the dark of your bedroom, you cry for the person you used to know.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Thank you, Denver! Goodnight!” The crowd erupts into cheers, pleas for a second encore, and Eddie’s sure he can see women in the front row tearing their bras off to throw onstage. The house speakers blast Talking Heads Burning Down The House as kids make their way to the exit. Eddie slides through the crowd of techs and stagehands backstage, making his way to the green room to collapse on the weathered couch.

“That was fucking incredible!” Jeff exclaims, clapping his calloused hands together. “Best show so far, I think.”

“Psh, that was nothin’, wait ‘til you see what Boston can do.” You’re sitting in the rickety recliner, a cigarette between your fingers, still dressed in your stage clothes. Your skin shines with sweat and glitter, cheeks rosy from exertion. You’re most stunning like this, Eddie thinks.

“Yeah? You willing to bet on that?” He jokes.

“Oh, more than willing!” You chuckle, stubbing out your smoke in the ashtray next to you. “But tonight, I turn in early.” You make a point to stand up, stretching your arms above your head. Eddie’s eyes fall to your midsection, exposed to him while you sort out your limbs. You’d think he’d never seen skin, the way he feels his skin burn at the sight of your stomach.

“Aw, it’s our last night together!” Sylvie whines, shoving you playfully. “One drink?”

Eddie waits with bated breath, and swears your eyes dart to his before you answer.

“Fine. One drink.”

—

Eddie doesn’t follow you to the bar, he knows better. Tonight has already been difficult, knowing he has nowhere to go after tonight, nowhere he wants to go, anyway. He digs through his duffel bag until he finds his long ignored copy of Tighten Up. He wants more of you, somehow. He’s still desperate to know how you’d felt, those horrible years apart.

He skips to the title track, tucking his hair behind his ears before equipping the headphones. The song greets him with the static of an amp, followed by the clicking of drumsticks. When it kicks in, the song is full, clearly a whole band effort. Robin’s bass cuts through with a funky riff, layered underneath dirty guitars and heavy drums. He’s sure the song can’t get better until your voice slices through the music

Dared myself to stand back up, / After all these wasted tears, / Felt my heart sew itself together, / After all that wear ‘n’ tear. / I let you turn your back on me, / I watched you walk away, / And ‘til now I let myself believe / I was supposed to die that way. / But now I’ve tightened up my heart, / I’ve locked away the pain, / and I don’t have much left to give, / without asking for the same.

You tell a story of a broken soul, fighting its way through the dark on its own. The music swells as you belt the chorus, and Eddie can almost feel his fingers hurt during your guitar solo. Robin’s backing vocals fill out your lead, and the buzz of the snare drum carries out the bridge.

When the song fades, Eddie takes his headphones off, needing to digest what he’s just heard. This one might just be his favorite on the album, at least so far. It feels like the pinnacle, the turning point of the story told by the tracks. He’s heard it live, sure, but something about hearing the way it’s produced gives him more of an idea of what you’d been feeling in the moment.

He has an overwhelming urge to see you. He launches himself out of bed, gathering himself as best he can for being so frazzled. He’s in sweatpants, a tattered t-shirt draped loosely over his form, hair pulled into a low ponytail to keep from tangling. He goes to turn the knob, but stops when he hears voices in the hall.

“I can’t believe it.” You’re wasted, words slurring together between hiccups and giggles. Eddie can picture you, rosy cheeked and stumbling, clawing for his arm to support your swaying weight, and his heart lurches as if to grab you through the door. “We’re playing fucking Lollapalooooooza!” You howl the word, and he hears Steve shush you as Robin cackles.

“Hey, hey!” Steve stage whispers, trying to silence you. “Don’t go gloating about it.”

“Why not?” He can almost hear your pout, and he chuckles to himself.

“I don’t wanna deal with you pissing Eddie off.”

“Y’know, Stevie, he’s gonna find out one way or another. Might as well come from me. Besides, he’s different. He’s happier, I think. I dunno. I hope he’s happy, he deserves to be happy.” Eddie’s heart swells as he listens to your tangent, but you’re not done yet. “I wish I could make him happy again. I feel like, whatever I do, I make it worse.” Your voice is cracking, whether from overuse or from trying not to cry, Eddie can’t tell. Now he has to see you. He goes to turn the knob again, but there’s a knock on his door at the very same moment.

Eddie opens the door almost as soon as you’re finished knocking, wafting your scent of lavender and vanilla into his nostrils.

“Hi,” You exhale the word, and Eddie can’t help when his lips twitch upward before he lets his grin free. “Needed to see you.”

“What a coincidence.” He tries not to let his excitement show, standing aside to let you in. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I have to tell you something. Well, I don’t have to. But I want to. You were the only person I wanted to tell, actually. I hope you’re not mad, though. I don’t know what I’d do if you were.”

“Hey, whoa, slow down,” Eddie rushes to where you sit on the edge of his bed, spiraling as the liquor tightens its hold on you. “Why would I get upset?”

You shrug lamely. “I dunno. Just, need you to be happy for me right now. Please be happy for me.” It’s a hoarse whisper, a plea meant for his ears only.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he settles for resting one clammy palm on your leg. “You can tell me anything you want.” He knows what’s coming. You’re playing the biggest festival in the States. Something he’s dreamed about since the festival came to be. Of course it hurts, but Eddie can push that aside to be happy for you. He knows better.

You don’t continue, though. Instead, you scoot further into his side, nuzzling into his shoulder like a needy cat. Despite his aching heart, Eddie wraps his arm around you, letting you further into his hold. Your breathing slows back to normal, and Eddie has no desire to move from this spot. Tomorrow, you go back to Boston, and Eddie fucks off somewhere to wait out the month until he gets to see you again. He can indulge for one more night.

“I do have stuff to tell you,” You say finally, “but not right now. Right now, I sleep.” You hum, and he scoffs. Surely you won’t remember this tomorrow, so he decides not to push you. Eddie slides out from where you rest, laying you back into the mattress. He slips off your shoes and jeans, careful not to tug at anything else. He then tucks the blanket up to your chin, and starts to make a place for himself on the floor when your hand shoots out, snatching his wrist.

“Please, sleep here.” You pat the bed next to you, and he melts at the gesture. Your eyes are almost completely closed, hair wild from dancing, sweating, whatever you’d been doing tonight.

“You’re drunk, sweets. You’ll be upset in the morning.” He doesn’t want to deny you, especially in your softened, sleepy state.

“No!” You shake your head vigorously, wincing at the movement. “No, I won’t. Please, Eddie,” and he’s a goner. Of course he surrenders, and tucks himself into the warm bed next to you. You snuggle into him like it’s instinct, making a home on his chest as he lay stiffly with an arm around you, waiting for you to get comfortable.

You let out a sigh, your breathing slowing, arms wrapped around him with surprising strength. Eddie’s mind starts to wander back to the song, how someone is capable of two such wonderful emotional extremes.

Your mumbling tickles his neck, pulling him from his head. He doesn’t quite catch the words.

“What was that?” He coos, enjoying your touches, your breath on his skin. He could live here.

“I said, ‘I love you, Eddie.’” The words come out strung together, but to Eddie they puncture with each syllable. “G’night.” And before he can respond, you’re snoring.

Eddie, once ready to retire for the evening, is now completely wired, feeling you drift into dreamland next to him, as if you haven’t just upended everything.

—

chapter xxii

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @potatobeanpie @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc @veemoon | send a message to be added

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #90s au #strangerthingscentral #st #fundamental differing #fd #new kid fic #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!reader #eddie munson fluff #angst

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brinkworth · 3 months

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I heard it was your birthday @heartofspells, so I wrote you a little crack fic as a gift. (curse?) Featuring Remus, who is just trying to print his smutty fanfiction and runs into printer trouble. Happy Birthday!

Tech Support

Remus can pinpoint the exact moment his bad luck started. He’d been working on a project, printing some of his favourite fanfiction. He liked the story so much that he wanted to put a physical copy on his shelf.

It was all going smoothly at first, his printer churning out pages, all with perfectly crisp black letters printed neatly in rows. He clapped his hands in celebration. At this rate, this project would be done in record time.

That’s exactly when the bad luck starts. The printer makes an alarming noise; the paper caught half in the printer and half out. After several angry beeps, the screen reads ‘Error - printer jammed. Please clear printer and try again.’

When he opens the machine, it’s full of paper jammed into every nook and cranny. Places he didn’t know paper could even go in a printer. The printer seems to fight him as he removes it. He has to press a foot against the desk for leverage to pull out a particularly stubborn piece and the printer makes an awful grinding noise. It’s later that he sees the warning message that says, ‘Do not remove paper by pulling in this direction.’

“Oops.”

Several hours later, he’s sitting next to a printer that no longer feeds paper at all as tech support tells him they’ll mail him a new one. It should be there in 7-10 business days.

This just won’t do. Remus doesn’t want to wait that long, so he makes a trek to the store and buys a new printer. Now he’ll have two, but they’re different. And he prints a lot, so it’s worth it. Only upon getting it home, the printer won’t print anything legibly. It all comes out looking like a copy of a copy of a copy. Remus spends hours adjusting settings and test printing.

In the end, he’s sitting next to a stack of badly printed pages of his favourite smutty fanfiction when he’s back on the phone with tech support.

“Hello, thank you for calling The Printer Company. My name is Sirius. How can I help you?”

“Er- yes, hello, I just purchased a new printer and I’m having trouble with the quality.”

Sirius is very nice and seems committed to fixing the problem. He has Remus test different settings and try again several times. After 45 minutes on the phone, though, they’ve accomplished nothing. It all looks the same, and Sirius is now just as frustrated as Remus.

“Will you send me a few photos of your printed pages? One good one from your old printer and one from your new printer,” Sirius asks. “It will help me see what the problem is, and I can share them with my supervisor, who might have an idea.”

“Oh - er - sure, yeah.” Remus replies, kicking himself immediately. He should have just hung up.

He suddenly feels too hot. He begins to root frantically through his stack of papers, to find ones that might be appropriate to send.

“Oh God, definitely not that one.” He thinks, more than once.

A few awkward minutes later, he’s found two pages that look fairly clean, though by the character names, it will be clear what this is, if Sirius has ever read one of the most popular book series ever written. WHY couldn’t these characters be named something normal? Like George and Henry…

He sends the photos and chews on his thumbnail as he waits for Sirius’ response.

“Oh, I see them right here,” Sirius says eventually. There’s a shuffling noise and Remus thinks he hears Sirius snort.

Sirius hums as if he’s studying them carefully. “I’m afraid I’m having a hard time telling these two apart...”

How is that possible? Remus wonders. They are so starkly different.

“I’m just going to read these out loud to verify which is which,” Sirius says. And Remus swears he can hear the man smirk through the phone.

Remus’ eyes widen. “Oh, of course, sure,” he blurts out and then kicks himself again.

As Sirius reads, Remus wants to crawl into a hole and die. The man takes his time, drawing it out, and reading more than must be necessary for what he needs.

“Yes, yeah, you’ve got that right,” Remus says in the end, just ready to be done with this.

Another 30 minutes later, Sirius has walked him through how to fix the printer and Remus is anxious to hang up before he can embarrass himself further.

“Thanks so much,” Remus says, his finger hovering over the end call button.

“Happy to help,” Sirius says. “And you have good taste, Remus.”

Remus’ head jerks back in surprise. “Sorry?”

“I’m partial to Heartofspells’ work myself, but this is good too.”

Remus is stunned into silence for a few moments before replying weakly. “Oh.”

“Have a good day, and feel free to ask for me personally if you need help again in the future.”

Remus bit back a smile. Maybe his luck wasn’t so bad after all.

#Happy Birthday Holli!#Wolfstar #crack fic

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kingdomvel · 10 months

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WIP Wednesday

Extra from Welcome to our castle

Anakin and Obi-Wan go for some tea in Stewjon's Capital

(Read the snippet under the cut)

Anakin sighs as he sits down on the chair. They have spent the whole day walking around, visiting places. The capital is as lovely as Anakin thought it would be, but there is also a lot of people. That is why he, even if he is not tired, welcomes the peace of the place they are in now. Obi-Wan had insisted they had some afternoon tea, and Anakin had let himself be led to a building just in the heart of the old town, to a big library with tall columns, a wide central hall surrounded by smaller nooks between the bookshelves.

They are sitting in one of those alcoves, the rest of the library hidden in a way that makes them almost feel like they are alone. The window at the other side lets them see the groups of tourists, but it is soundproof enough that they are not bothered by the noise.

Anakin pulls out his phone as soon as the woman that led them to their table leaves.

“What are you looking for?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice genuinely curious.

“I’m looking up this place to see a menu, she didn’t leave one with us.” Anakin answers. He opens the first search result, the library’s website.

“There is no menu,” Obi-Wan answers, “the menu is pre-set, they will bring the savouries in a minute.”

“Yeah but they must have some menu here.” Anakin says, scrolling through the page. “Like to at least know what they are going to serve and how much is it.” Obi-Wan reaches out for his phone then, but Anakin stops his hand before he can take it from him. He pauses. He has found the menu. “Sixty pounds?!” he exclaims, and immediately realizes he probably spoke too loudly. “Obi-Wan, your afternoon tea is sixty pounds per person.”

“I know Anakin.” Obi-Wan answers, infuriatingly calm as always.

“That is almost how much I wanted to spend on food in out two days here.” Anakin says. Obi-Wan must know that sixty pounds for some tea and sandwiches is not normal.

“For the two days?” Obi-Wan asks, with a frown. Anakin nods. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I insisted we came here, you are obviously not going to pay.”

Anakin doesn’t answer, not immediately. Of course Obi-Wan would insist on paying, But they are already staying at his house and not at an hotel, he had already insisted on paying for the breakfast too. Anakin was always aware of the differences between them, Obi-Wan was the owner of a castle, for fucks sake. Anakin would be lying if he said he didn’t find it hot, the difference between them, but…

“I am not your sugar baby.” Anakin says. Obi-Wan looks at him with wide eyes, surprised, at the same time as there is a thud on the table. Anakin looks to the side. The waitress has just left a silver tiered tray on the side of the table. She looks slightly blushed, embarrassed about what she has just heard.

“I-“ she starts, and clears her throat, “can I bring you some kind of tea?” she asks.

“Just normal black tea for now, thank you.” Obi-Wan answers. The woman nods before she turns around and leaves. Once she is no longer within earshot, Obi-Wan turns back to Anakin and leans forward on the table to be closer to him. “Anakin I know you are not my sugar baby.” He says, his voice low, soft. “I never once thought like that about you. I like to think that our-“ he frowns, struggling to find a word, “arrangement is deeper than that. If I decide to spend some money on you, to make use of my… patrimony, it’s not because I think you want it as some kind of compensation. Trust me a bit here, will you?”

Anakin doesn’t answer, thinking it over.

“You can pay tomorrow for some normal what, five pounds tea?” Obi-wan says, and it makes Anakin smile.

“Okay,” Anakin agrees. The waitress brings them their tea then. As soon as she leaves, Anakin reaches out for the teapot, but he is stopped by Obi-Wan’s hand.

“Anakin we’ve talked about this, let it sit for at least three minutes before you pour it.”

“What? Sixty pounds and they can’t bring the tea ready to drink?” Anakin asks. Obi-Wan shakes his head, but there is a small smile playing on his lips.

“At least pour the milk first.”

“I strongly believe that the order does not influence the final product.” Anakin says, just to tease Obi-Wan, because he has very strong opinions on tea and Anakin loves to reel him up about them.

“You should be banished from this country.”

#castle au #if you havent seen ewan talking about how to make correct tea go look for the video now #stewjons unnamed capital 100% not edimburgh idk waht you are talking about #obikin #writing stuff

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kukuandkookie · 11 months

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wip titles meme

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by @crimsonrainseekingflower! 💕💕💕

Thank you for the welcome surprise—another one I finally discovered once I looked at my notifications and stuff! Fortunately this time I’m remembering to make my own post haha. 😆

I hope you don’t mind if I also divide by fandom, and these only vaguely include a couple art wips!:

SVSSS:

Grave Matters

Cinderella III: A Twist in Time AU!?

Just a Dream (is this unfortunately a lame-ass title 😔)

Haunting You

Singles’ Day

TLJ/ZZL/LBH/SXY ADDAMS FAMILY AU??????????

Bingqiu White Snake (animated movie) AU

Waiting for the Tree Branches to Bloom Again

Safe from the Storm

I See in Both Your Eyes (Something Indigo)

AU: The Lion King II??

Family Meal Goes “Wrong”

TLJ’s Lament

LBH²

狗哥狗哥，你真了不得 (Gou-ge, Gou-ge…)

Slavic Vampires…

CNY Dumplings Competition

Enchanted (because we’re doing this now, I guess)

Limb Regeneration What If?? 🤔

Of Costumes and Candies (Something Orange)

Something Old, Something New, and… (Something Blue)

SV OTGW AU

I Ship My Rival x Me AU

I Have to be a Great Villain AU

Happiness Just Out of Reach

Lost and Found

Words to Heart

Breathing Smoke Into the Lungs

HORRIBLE NEW IDEA: Maybe title: Just Enough. Just Enough for Me

Love Letters (that’s all I got so far *insert deepfried emote here*)

Daycare AU???

Hmmm. Prince x Princess AU?

Xi Yang Yang AU

Gongzhu

Followers Milestone Celebration

Teacup scene

I Think My Uncle Ships Us Help

Unattainable

I’d Like to Try Staying Awake (for You)

Breaking the System (aka Fuck the System? Literally or—jk jk lmfao)

Bonuses include the latest chapters for I’d Rather Spend My Whole Life Asleep (With You) and To Tame a Beast, except the former doesn’t have a wip title. The latter does in the sense that the chapter title is Pixiu!

Erha:

Putting the Musing in Amusement Park

This Venerable One Will Not Be Outdone

What You Left Behind/Do You Also Miss Me?

[The] Romance of Wolf/Husky and Haitang

Ghost Bride (Corpse Bride but Chinese?? And Reincarnation)

Reconciliation

Fifteen Growing Up Flirty

Out of the Closet (and Into Your Arms)?

The Prince and the Pauper (but based on The Princess and the Pauper because I’m a criminal who hasn’t read the original 😂)

Wo Jia Dashixiong Naozi You Keng but with an Erha Twist

TW WARNING FOR THIS ONE but Passive suicide ideation fic

IDK WHAT TO WRITE FOR CWN’S BDAY… GOD SOMEONE SEND HELP GFGKDFHGKSDFHG (this one has a more polished but still wip version titled CWN Birthday Fic: Past, Present, or Future, I Want to Celebrate With You 😆)

Jiaoren CWN

Priest CWN & demon MR…hehehe (now a Dianran AU?)

More Than Just Puppy Love

Flower Shop…Redemption…Thingy?

From Wanton Wants to Wonton Wonders

A Taste of What Could Have Been

Screwdriver

First Bow to Heaven and Earth

Hidden Love AU

Mo Ran pulls a Bing-ge

Mind(-Reading) Games

Stone Lion

Swallowed Flowers

Confessions (Role-Swap AU)

TXJ Week (help we’re way past that now 😔): De-Aged Fic

A Tear in My Heart aka Read You Like an Open Book aka To Leave a Piece/Page of Me in the Nooks and Crannies of You?

Shi Mei Jiaoren Fic: [I’m] Afraid to Live Without Breathing

I also have a lot of Erha and SVSSS fic ideas that are unfortunately just blurbs in my ideas document right now and not full-on wips so they don’t have any titles I can share. 😔

Misc:

First Times, Second Chances, and Third Time’s the Charm…s (?) (Link Click)

Missing a You of Another Time (Link Click)

Danmei, xianxia-esque story (Link Click)

Suriel/Sariel

Call of the Wolves (specifically chapter 78)

Chuju the Chou

Papillon and Akuma’s Story

Papillon and Akuma Role Reversal AU Story

Circinus and Pyxis

Smoke & Mirrors

Dimension Hoppers

Take Me Back to Hell (All Saints Street)

I’ll Love You Until All the Stars Fall from the Sky (The Legend of Luo Xiaohei?)

Fengxi like Shade in Firewing (The Legend of Luo Xiaohei)

Mafia AU Xuanli x Laojun (The Legend of Luo Xiaohei)

Continuation of Falling for You (White Cat Legend)

How Could I Ever Ask You to Love Me? (White Cat Legend)

My Shadow It Follows Me

The Us of the Present Could Perhaps Be Just as Tender as the Us of the Past (Scissor Seven)

A Conversation With a Dead Man (MDZS)

Magical Girl AU (MDZS)

Xue Yang’s Regrets (MDZS)

Ao Bing and Nezha in a shoujo high school AU… That’s it. That’s the whole idea (Nezha 2019)

Surprising the Un-Surprise-Able (I Have to be a Great Villain)

Xianxia AU (Kiss the Abyss)

Breathing New Life (Kiss the Abyss)

I Will Chase You to the Ends of Time and Space (Kiss the Abyss)

A Family Outing (Beryl and Sapphire)

Just Some Gay Little Dudes (Beryl and Sapphire)

Steven Universe AU (Beryl and Sapphire)

Something as Sweet as You (I Ship My Adversary x Me)

A Present to be Cherished (I Ship My Adversary x Me)

I Ship My Adversary x Me and 严禁造谣 Crossover? AU Swap?

Additional misc wips I haven’t touched in forever are the latest chapters for The World Doesn’t Deserve You (MDZS) and Frostbite (All Saints Street). 😅

And as a bonus, these aren’t at all “official” yet but the more I read for some manhua the more I’m tempted to write fics for them… For example, a fic for Blemishing the Contaminated or My Lovely Troublemaker season 2 would be so cute, even if I don’t exactly have any clear or obvious ideas for them. 🥺

Phew, wow. I had way more wips than I expected AKFJSKFHSJS. Some are honestly just super half-baked documents tucked away in a folder with only a title and outline, but I hope something here was of interest to you guys. 😆💖

As for tagging…

I also don’t think I’m capable of tagging as many people as I have wips otl. So I hope you guys don’t mind if I tag just a few of you!

@ezrathesplit @levia-kun @yumichanhamano @softdekus @rongzhi @azunshi

(Of course, if you would rather not, feel free not to do this!)

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queenburd · 1 year

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Next installment of “narrator fusses about making a body for way too long”! This one has protagonist enrichment!!

Free Roam / character creation page

Stanley opens the door into the break room and whoops excitedly.

“Mm? Oh, I see you found this old room. Yes, it was initially going to be in place of the lounge, but then I decided it was a bit too cluttered,” the narrator offers in a distracted tone. Stanley’s already bolted to the long countertop along the length of one of the walls, and is excitedly opening all the cabinets.

They are doing something a little different today. The narrator had discussed it with him when he had blinked his eyes open in his office.

“Stanley, do you remember how I was considering an idea?” The voice continued while he nodded. “Well, I’ve decided to proceed with it, but it is definitely going to take a while. I want to get all the details right, you see. I’m not sure how well I’m going to be able to focus on the story at the same time.”

He’d sounded quite sheepish about it. Stanley had waved it off.

[ That’s understandable. Do you want to take a break and work on it instead? ]

“Well, yes,” he had responded, “but I know it’s not ideal for you. I don’t want you getting bored, you know. Yes, I’m well aware you’re fully capable of entertaining yourself,” he added a bit tersely as Stanley rolled his eyes and began to load up Solitaire on the computer. “But I am talking several hours at a time, here! You need enrichment!”

[ I’m not a dog. ]

“No, you’re a person, and one very important to me. So… look, I’m going to give you a lot of trust for a while, okay?”

What did that mean?

“I’m…. I’m going to unlock just about all the doors in the office building. Don’t go zipping about just yet!” He had added as Stanley had leapt to his feet, astonished. “I know you’re excited, but really, there isn’t much exactly new. Lots of the same textures, map layouts, you understand.”

Yes, but it was different! It was open world!

He had sighed. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Had come the little grumble, but the fellow had continued, quite assured with his decision. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to work on this idea for a few hours. You’re free to look about, explore the nooks and crannies. You might find some rooms that you’d be interested in revisiting, so keep them in mind if so and we can discuss it later. Now, this is important,” he said sternly.

Stanley was listening! He was! He was bouncing on his feet a bit, but he was listening and prepared to work with any stipulations the narrator expressed.

“While I’m going to keep an eye on you, I’m obviously going to be distracted. Please do not do anything one would normally consider life threatening or dangerous. If you find something of concern, just make some kind of noise, clap your hands or something, to alert me. If you get bored or lost, again, just get my attention.”

Stanley nodded.

“Good. If at some point you’ve decided you’ve had enough, just alert me, and we can do the story. I highly doubt I’m going to finish this in one sitting.”

Stanley had shot a thumbs up at the ceiling with a grin. There had been a little chuckle, which made his chest warm.

“I’m glad you’re so excited. Alright, off you pop, there you are. Have fun!”

And all the doors had swung open, and Stanley was off like a shot.

He had gone up and down stairwells, had walked through offices with blue carpeting and green carpeting, had found some monitors with strange editing programs open on them that he felt best not to touch. He had looped through hallways and file rooms and storage rooms. He had even found the Adventure Line, at one point, sprawling along the floor and up the wall to inaccessible spaces.

He’s found restrooms. Conference rooms. Even found a security office at one point, displaying some of the halls on the floor. It’s exciting! There’s material here that’s somewhat familiar but not at all a part of the main game. Here’s the slideshow room from when the Narrator decided to work on new endings. Here’s a room full of Jim buttons!

Stanley is really excited about this room, though. Because there are snacks.

Now, Stanley doesn’t need to eat, or sleep, or hydrate. He doesn’t need a bathroom, or to shower (though god, the thought of one is amazing) or anything a real person needs. That said, they are enjoyable experiences. They spice up life. He’s convinced the narrator to get the vending machine functioning from time to time, and the fellow has gone so far as to hide bits of change around the office in desk drawers and the like to make it a game. So when Stanley sees the upper cabinets stocked with chips and crisps and instant ramen, he gives another whoop of delight.

There’s water bottles too! And another vending machine in here. And tables to sit at, and the cabinets under the counter even have plastic utensils. Oh he is gonna be in here a while, he can already tell.

“Well someone’s certainly cheerful!” The voice chuckles at him as he hauls his snacks onto a table. “Do be careful not to give yourself a stomachache.”

He settles down happily in a chair and digs in.

Now that he’s not exploring, he listens to the fellow quietly muttering in the background. Neither of them like the silence, you see, so while the narrator isn’t paying close attention to his protagonist, he’s still easily accessible. Stanley prefers this, and there’s something honestly pleasant (adorable?) about how the fellow talks to himself while he works.

“Mm, yes, I do think I like that shape—oh, no, this color’s all wrong. Blast, should that be smaller? What about, hm bah bah, yes, this!”

Reminds him of the Minecraft house a little. Hearing him mumble distractedly, Stanley can’t help feeling fond. For all the the narrator is a powerful individual who had once thought himself a god, he’s really quite silly.

“I am not!”

Ah, hello. Taking a break?

“Er. Yes, for a moment. Just checking in with you, making sure you haven’t thrown yourself to a ghastly demise or anything.”

Nope, Stanley is enjoying his snacks. How’s the project coming along?

The narrator groans a bit.

That bad, huh.

“I keep doubting every little design choice I make! I—I’m not even sure what I want, do you understand? I keep thinking that I’ll know it when I see it, I’ll be able to tell when it’s just right.”

Yeah but he’d tried that with The Stanley Parable 2, and it hadn’t worked well there either.

The fellow moans dramatically. “It’s hopeless. Why did I think this was a good idea?”

Stanley chews on the chip in his mouth slowly. Can he help? Or is it too much of a surprise?

“I…. Um…”

Oh. Okay, that’s fine. He knows how much the narrator likes to surprise him.

“You… you’re really… you’re really a special kind of person, Stanley.”

He’s going to take that as a compliment.

“It is.” The narrator sighs again, sounding more worn out than anxious. “I suppose… how do you decide what route you want to take when we do the story? Do you start the run with a plan? Do you just wing it? You know the place inside and out. How do you choose what you want?”

Stanley thinks this over.

He’s got a couple ways he goes about it. He’s not always up or in the mindset to deal with longer, more complicated endings like the Confusion Ending, but sometimes it is fun to go on a wild little jaunt. He doesn’t like doing the endings where he dies and he really doesn’t like when the narrator gets upset.

It’s funny to hear him get miffed, that much is true. The Broom Closet offers a few things to Stanley, including privacy, but the narrator’s increasing chatter is what really makes Stanley smile. It may be scripted, but the fellow always puts his all into his performance.

He likes endings where they both get to be happy. He doesn’t base every decision he makes on if the narrator will come out of it pleased, but when he does get to hear the happiness in the fellow’s voice, it makes his whole chest feel light.

Stanley feels his cheeks heat. That… uh. He doesn’t know how helpful that was.

The narrator is quiet, and then he laughs a little, just a small thing full of contentment. “Not very, if I’m honest. But there may be a grain of usefulness to your insight.” He’s clearly chosen to take pity on Stanley and not needle him for being a sap. Small blessings.

Stanley shoves a handful of chips into his mouth and gives a thumbs up. There’s a little noise of disgust.

“Eyuck. Stanley, do wash your hands when you’ve finished in there, I would rather you didn’t get grease on all the office supplies. I’m going to get back to work on this—are you fine on your own for a bit longer?”

Stanley crams another handful of chips into his already full mouth and chews loudly.

“Absolutely ridiculous,” the voice berates. “Fine, fine, enjoy your needless snacks.”

—

The narrator starts with the basics:

Head, torso, two arms and legs. That’s a pretty basic character model structure there. No need to get more complex with wings or extra arms or the like.

Then shapes. Proportions, to make it unique. Stanley is gangly, and he would prefer not to be. He would like a shape with a lower center of balance, so he squashes the whole 3D puppet down. Damn, no, that’s thrown off some of the other parts.

He deletes the head entirely at first. He’ll come back to it, it’s going to be the most difficult and the last thing the narrator needs is to work on something so complex only to utterly wreck it trying to make it proportional. Everyone knows you start with the basics before getting into the details.

So. Something a little shorter and a little broader than his protagonist. That’s manageable. Five fingers on each hand, five toes on each foot—though they’re going in shoes, should that matter? Oh, whatever. He squares the fingers off, on a broad palm. Yes, that looks alright. Good for gripping things.

(Stanley has longer, thinner fingers. His palms look quite soft but his cuticles are a mess.)

He goes out of his way to make sure the fingernails are neat, nearly buffed to a shine. Perfectly serviceable.

Right, don’t get too lost in the details just yet. Devil’s in them, but if he gets into the nitty gritty so early he’ll never get anywhere.

Arms, proportional to torso, check. Torso, proportional to legs—he tweaks at them a bit, teases the shapes into something more solid than Stanley’s lanky form. Check.

Oh, Stanley had wanted to be able to hug him. The narrator hums in thought, and turns up the percentage of fatty tissue on the puppet’s skeleton. There. Quite huggable, he thinks. Better than a bucket, at the very least.

What else, what else?

Oh! A heart!

(Laugh all you like, reader. These are creatures of code, not human beings. But Stanley still has a heartbeat, which races along like a horse on a track, and the noise seems so, so loud to the both of them sometimes. So a heartbeat the narrator must have.)

Okay. Good progress so far. He’s got the shape of a body, its extremities. It looks comfortable. Yes, comfortable, that’s the vibe he’s going for, he thinks. It’s all well and good to present as an elegant, well maintained individual with high standards, but the problem with that is the work he’d have to put into keeping those standards. Too much effort!

So. Comfortable. Huggable. Something that could make Stanley happy.

He… he really wants to make Stanley happy.

He’s getting distracted. He looks at his creation so far, a tangle of limbs and pieces, and nearly scraps it all in a fit of frustration. No, no, that would be counterproductive. It’s just so difficult to know if he’s really on the right track, or if he’s making blunder after blunder.

Why does it matter so much that Stanley like what he sees? Why can’t the Narrator just be content with making something he’s happy with?

He can feel his frustration growing. He takes a break. He talks to his friend.

Stanley likes him. Stanley likes that he’s dramatic, and a bit silly (oh, alright, yes, the both of them are, he’ll admit it). Stanley chooses endings not necessarily to make the narrator happy, but he feels good when he knows he caused it.

Okay. That…

Maybe that’s something the narrator should try to emulate. Maybe he shouldn’t try to intend to make Stanley happy. Maybe he should just hope for it.

Damn, but that’s scary. He’s not the bravest fellow.

Why does Stanley like him? After all this time, all these years, why are they friends? Their personalities definitely don’t mesh well. They push each other around a lot. Force the other to deal with ugly things outside of their comfort zones.

The narrator sighs. For whatever reason, Stanley likes him as he is. Stanley likes him as him.

What does the narrator like about himself? What traits would he like to get across?

He likes his voice. It is his defining trait, after all. It’s British, it’s posh. He’s reminded, quite suddenly, of a line he’s read or heard somewhere—

“Not A southern pansy. THE southern pansy.”

A character, proudly acknowledging the kind of person he was to someone who had tried to judge him. Someone quite comfortable and proud in their skin.

(A character who was not a human, but was considered three very specific things. English, intelligent, and wildly, unapologetically gay. The narrator can relate, he thinks. He’s not human, but he is intelligent, sounds English, and he—well, he isn’t gay, it’s more about the fact he doesn’t have a “gender” per se—look. The example is getting away from him. The point is there’s a lot of parallels.

Including being a bit of a bastard.)

Okay. There’s a source of inspiration.

He wants to be comfortable, and soft. Yes. He can’t pinpoint the exact reasons for wanting this, other than it feels right. He doesn’t want to be sharp angles and rigid lines. He hasn’t been that in ages. That’s the kind of person who doesn’t care about his protagonist, doesn’t compromise. No, no crisp lines.

Which means, he thinks, no suits. Attire will have to be something much more approachable.

God forbid he put his model in jeans, though. Never in a million years.

Something is coming into shape while he works. It’s broad-chested, durable, and still blocky, colors left to the wayside and still without a head, but it feels like he’s on the right track. He does think he sees the shape of himself somewhere in these polygons, like a sculpture sitting inside marble, waiting to be found. Somewhere in there is a well-read, clever, proud man-shaped person that he wants to know.

So, what next?

#the stanley parable #the sparrow parable #next part after this is about half done? ish?#I keep remembering this needs posting at like. 11pm.#anyway gestures.#it’s getting more and more gay.#may writes

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yzeltia · 1 year

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Year of the Drake: WOLFMAN FOREVER

May: Dark Knights of Steel Characters: U'rahn Nuhn, @driftward 's Nyx Blackmoon and Zoissette Vauban, @mintibunny 's Minti Chocolate, Y'shtola Rhul, @erickgage 's Erick Gage, @autumnslance 's Dark Autumn, @ladyofvoss 's Ibara Voss, Y'zel Tia, @saesama 's Klynt Gothawyn, and @xiuhteena 's Mayo'tta Rating: T for Tia Notes: So, since YOTP is from Batman stuff my mind went Dark Knight = Batman and Steel = Garlemald

Moving day had come for Gage Acquisitions. It had been a rather difficult move for U'rahn, finding himself a bit farther from his family than he would have liked; however, it provided the opportunity for him to suggest cohabitation to Nyx.

In his usual U'rahn way he'd fumbled with the question rather than being direct, resulting in Dark assigning him to inventory duty along with Y'zel. Lesson learned, his next attempt was far more direct, and therefore, successful.

This of course meant enrichment for their resident interior designer to accommodate the new living situation leaving U'rahn to bum it around headquarters. Having been given a box of Garlean comics by Jullus, he sequestered himself upstairs in the reading nook and curled up and was enraptured in the pages of a particularly worn set. By the time Nyx had located him, he had gone through them all.

"Rahn, Gage has requested you not use this space to rest while our new quarters are being prepared. He finds your natural odor unpleasant and worries about the new furniture smelling like you."

U'rahn's ears perked a bit before he turned his head to sniff at himself, tail standing on end for a moment before looking up to Nyx as she looked at the scattered comics.

"What is a 'Wolfman'," she asked, looking back up to him.

"Only the greatest Garlean hero ever," U'rahn said with a beam, getting on his knees to clean up.

"Do you mean the Black Wolf?"

"Huh? No, not the old man. Wolfman is uh…well…," he started, crossing his arms before thinking a moment then beaming wide, "Like I said, the greatest herrro of Garlemald! By day he's gillionare B'rhance nan Wane, and by night the Defender of Justice, Wolfman!"

"Understood. I do not recall such a person. I am to understand this is a storytale then?"

"Yeah yeah!"

"Then you may tell me about Wolfman while you clean up."

"Can't I just tell you now?"

"I have been instructed to use our new power washer on you if you decline to clean up in a timely manner."

"Right! To the showers then!"

With that, he carefully set the box of comics aside then led Nyx to the baths, tail flicking about. "Right…so, a Wolfman story…To start, you gotta know his backstory. See, when Wolfman was a boy his parents were well respected in the Garlean court, even favored by the Emporer himself! They focused a lot on philanthropy with their money, helping territories that had been taken over by Garlemald get medical supplies and necessities. There's a lot of different versions, but the most popular one is that he watched his parents get mugged in an alley after an opera. Some said it was a hit put out by the Garlean aristocracy that used mobsters that didn't like the Wane family. Traumatized by the incident, he grew up wanting to protect the people from mobsters and those who would use their power to make life hard for all citizens of Garlemald, especially those who had found themselves relocated due to Garlemald's colonialism of their homes. Criminals grew to fear the symbol of the Wolfman. He was the symbol of night. He was the symbol of justice. He was the Dark Knight! But y'know, not like the combaty kind."

"Acknowledged."

U'rahn nodded as he discarded his clothing. "In his time getting hero cred, Wolfman eventually finds a sidekick! A Miqo'te that lost all her family in a tragic acrobatic stunt, sabotaged by a member of a mob to send a message, Dyx Greymoon. AKA Starling. And together they patrolled the streets of the capital, fighting crime and saving lives.”

“Violence befitting most Garlemald picture books,” Nyx answered, watching U’rahn carefully as he paraded around the baths before his tail shot up.

"They're not picture books! They're graphic novels," he corrected before sitting down on a stool to fill a bucket with water, "Anyroad, my favourite story so far went a little like this."

[Alert. Alert. Robbery in progress. Alert. Alert. Robbery in progress.]

These words echoed through The Wolf Den as the two caped crusaders rapidly suited up into their crime fighting costumes. Looking to one another, they gave a nod of approval before Wolfman stepped forward. "Wolf Computer. Brief us on the situation."

[Right away Wolfman. Pulling up live footage from the museum where the robbery is taking progress. It seems a masked villain known as Ser Freeze is stealing ancient ice crystals from the Garlemald World Heritage Museum.]

"Great Solus's Ghost, Starling! The villain must be trying to summon on Eikon right here in our fair Garlemald! We cannot let that happen," Wolfman exclaimed, hurrying to the Wolfhanger

"Affirmative, Wolfman," his sidekick answered, following.

"To the Wolfwagon!"

The two hurried over to the large black car, both jumping into the front seat before Wolfman flipped the switch and jetted them off toward the city.

“Rahn. I understand you do not like to be interrupted; however, for my understanding of the story, I wish to know what you mean by ‘flipped the switch’.”

U’rahn blinked as he climbed over to get into a tub. “Y’know….the on switch to the car? To make them go.”

“Garlemald models would use a key that would be used to close the ignition circuit. This delivers power to the starter motor so that the engine can create sparks and mobilize the entire vehicle through small combustions.”

"Oh. Huh…Well. He did that then. Ah. Um. Would you wash my ears?" U'rahn asked, leaning his head back on the tub.

"Yes."

U'rahn let out a little purr as he felt the tips of his ears be firmly seized by his girlfriend. "Rrright…so they got to the scene of the crime…"

"Halt there villain! Those crystals belong to the good citizens of Garlemald," Wolfman called out as he and Starling descended down from the ceiling.

The Elezen scientist turned, her frosty stare narrowing through her goggles as she held up her frost blaster. "They were taken from Eorzea! Garlemald has no use for them other than a glorious trophy from our Emperor's invasion. I shall use them for a greater purpose…and I think you mean Freeze!"

The woman aimed her gun at the two. Taking evasive action, the two began to box step as the ray hit them, working out to keep their body warm so as to not succumb to the blast .

"Nice footwork Starling!"

"Acknowledged Wolfman."

"Curse you both," Ser Freeze huffed, charging another blast.

"Not so fast! Wolferang," the masked vigilante called out, tossing a wolf shaped shuriken at the villain's hand while Starling ran up and retrieved the gun.

Wolfman soon rushed Ser Freeze, grappling and punching at one another until the wolf swept his tail under her feet and knocked her back.

"You fool!? How will I save my beloved research partner now? I was on the verge of a cure for Voidsickness!"

"Golly. Gee. Wolfman, that is the deadliest illness in the world. Do you think she is being accurate and peer reviewed?"

"There's one way to find out! Ser Freeze! By the mercy of our Emperor, I will take you to their research facility where you can research under the careful watch of His Majesty's top chirurgeons."

"You'd make an exception for mercy," the scientist asked in disbelief.

"Yes. Sometimes justice is best…soft served."

U'rahn let out a little purr as he let his feet float up onto the water's surface, enjoying the ear rubs.

"Wolfman contains a lot of propaganda," Nyx commented.

"Just a little. Therrre's a good message there. Wolfman listened and didn't just send the bad guy to jail! He found her a place that would help her!"

"Ser Freeze would be under strict watch and once her project was completed, and be forced to do more research or banished to a more remote location to be imprisoned for life."

"Rrreally? Aw…Well…what about this one?"

The streets filled with people screaming as Wolfman and Starling arrived at the Garlemald Menagerie. Animals scattered about with them, most small herbivores, fleeing as vines and overgrowth started to climb up and over the walls.

"Solus's All Seeing Eye, Starling! What on Etheirys is happening here!?"

"The Wolfcomputer stated that a Viera known as Poison Minti has taken over the Menagerie using her power over plants. Please refrain from getting too close. Her kisses are poison."

"Not to worry Starling. My heart belongs only to Lady Garlemald and her people…and a certain sidekick."

"Your patriotism is noted. As is your clumsy flirtation. You should engage the enemy. I will subdue any dangerous animals non-lethally."

Wolfman nodded then hurried inside with Starling at his side. Animals scattered everywhere, running free and confused. The acrobat soon flipped away, using bolas to ensnare the larger beasts while Wolfman hurried into the gardens, avoiding snapping vines. Inside, he found the deadly beauty crossing over a bridge, turning to him as he approached.

"Seems I'm a little late. You wouldn't be-leaf the traffic getting here," Wolfman chuckled.

The woman raised her brow then flicked her wrists. Two great trees soon slammed down toward Wolfman as the hero nimbly jumping up and over then to join her on the bridge.

"Apologies puppy, but I don't have time for you…though, perhaps a kiss," Poison Minti hummed before smooching her hand and blowing it toward him.

Wolfman blinked then flushed, finding a sweetness wash over him. He chuckled then fumbled forward, face hot as he stared at the woman's lips, letting her cup his cheek as he drew in close.

"Golly. Gee. Wolfman. I warned you about her kiss," Starling's voice called out, "A cold bath is recommended."

Swooping down on a vine, the sidekick booted Wolfman out of the way and into the water before taking a fighting pose. Poison Minti shook her head then moved in defense.

"Couldn't stand to see his love blossom for someone else," the Viera asked.

"I do not experience jealousy; however, I know he would not enjoy your embrace. No mint is permitted to grow in this garden. I shall enjoy experiencing this."

With that, the two began to strike one another while Wolfman surfaced and shook out the water in his ears. By the time he got back on the bridge, Starling had subdued Poison Minti and had her over her shoulder.

"Good work Starling! Now, what should we do with our unlucky rabbit here?"

"Put me down! I must liberate the animals," Poison screamed.

"If we did that, then they'd die in the cold landscape of Garlemald. Here they can have a nice life in an enclosed space and be loved by all the citizens of Garlemald!"

"That is not enough! This is not their natural home!"

Wolfman thought for a moment then snapped his fingers. "Yet you could make it so, correct? Your powers of planting could make this place a real paradise!"

"...They could."

"Then it is settled! Instead of going to jail, you can stay here and create perfect biomes! Not only would the animals be happier, but you will enrich the education of our great citizens! What do you say?"

"I suppose that will be amenable. But my work is not done. There are still-"

"We did it again Starling! We've saved Garlemald and have made it a better place for all!"

"Rahn. This continues to be propaganda," Nyx said plainly.

U'rahn sighed, cheeks red as Nyx continued to lather his ears, resisting the urge to give them a twitch.

"He saved the day though. He's a grrreat herrro!"

"Starling saved the day. Wolfman was shown to be incompetent by not listening to Starling's warnings. I believe she should be in charge."

"Ah. Maybe I'm just not telling a good story arc…I guess there's…"

Terror had struck the heart of Garlemald once more. The Wolfman symbol high in the sky. The daring duo soon found themselves at the source of the commotion, The First Credit Union of Garlemald. Running up the steps, Wolfman and Starling soon found themselves jumping away from one another as a safe came flying out at them.

Laughter that sounded much like quacking echoed through the street as Apkallu and Paine emerged from the doors of the bank. The golden haired villain smirked as he held his beanbag gun umbrella against his shoulder.

"You're too late Wolfman and Starling! Me and my new partner have already seized control of all the banks in the area! Now everyone will be forced to leave their money under my care so I can invest as I please!"

"Solus's Bountiful Beard, Starling! The Apkallu is going to make unwise investments and drain the good citizens of Garlemald's hard earned money from their accounts! We cannot let this happen!"

"A robbery is in progress, Wolfman. The protection of the citizens and members of the union are a priority."

"Well said Starling! Wolferang! Go!"

With that, the hero pulled out his carved shuriken and chucked it at The Apkallu, knocking the umbrella from his hand while Starling did a bunch of flips up the stairs ending in a flying kick into Paine. A great battle ensued, the heroic duo clashing with the greedy Gil stealer and the masked beauty.

"Wolfman," Starling said plainly, but loudly as she was lifted up over Paine's head before quickly being brought down toward Paine's lifted knee.

"Starling! No! Wolfmallow! Go!"

In a heroic dive, the masked crusader tossed a white wolf shaped treat at Paine's knee. On impact, it expanded into a large fluffy marshmallow, cushioning Starling's blow. The weight of the gelatin caused Paine to topple over onto Apkallu, trapping them both as the foamy treat enveloped them.

"Thank you Wolfman," Starling stated, brushing off the mess on her back.

"All in a day's work my dear! Now then! What to do with these two?"

"Apkallu's greed seems to have gotten the better of him. Our reports state that Arick Cobblestone, self-proclaimed Deadliest Gentleman of Crime. Faced with losing his family's wealth after bad foreign investments, he sought out crime to fill his coffers. Paine, a dear friend of the family, followed him on his spree out of loyalty."

"I see! Then perhaps instead of jail, a financial literacy class at one of Garlemald's prestigious night schools might help him handle his finances better in the future and prevent future defaults. Remember this well when investing, Apkallu: Garlemald Grown and Grinded is Great!"

"...Is this guy for real," the villain asked to Paine, getting a shrug.

"As for Paine. Loyalty to one's comrades is truly respectable. I'm nothing without my partner. Right, Starling," Wolfman asked.

"Affirmative."

"There will be no punishment aside from helping rebuild the Credit Union you've damaged, restoring it to the great feat of Garlemald beauty it was before."

"Rahn. These storytales are very blatantly propaganda with product placement. The villains are also increasingly becoming more aware of Wolfman's incompetence as a hero. His placating methods will result in their inevitable return to crime."

"Well, if they didn't come back now and then there wouldn't be any reason for him to help fight crime."

"There would be reduced crime if he eliminated his targets."

"His hero code prevents him from killing! No exceptions!"

"His code is inadequate for his intentions."

U'rahn puffed his cheeks out a bit as Nyx let go of his ears. "Are we having our first argument?"

"I am stating objective facts, Rahn."

The warrior dipped under water then moved to sit across from the other. "There's other sides of Wolfman too aside from the goofy crusader! He's got some suaveness. Like the time he…"

Wane Manor glowed and with opulence as people inside danced and made merry for the annual Emperor's Day celebration. B'rhance had given his speech and managed to find a spot on the Ballroom floor where he could be seen if needed but left alone by passerbyers. Dyx was otherwise occupied, chatting with Ibarba ban Gordon, the third member of their Terrific Trrio. AKA: Wolfgirl.

Something was afoot though. While everyone danced and glided about around him, one masked pink-haired Miqo'te seemed to not as gay as he should be. The suspect seemed to flit about from partner to partner, and Wolfman's careful gaze noticed the once glittering arms with watches and bracelets become bare after each exchange. The little thief sauntering off the floor, B'rhance made his move following the Miqo'te up and into his library, find the other flipping through books.

"If you're looking for free knowledge, the Garlean Public library will be more than happy to issue you a library card. My tomes; however, will not find themselves leaving the grounds," B'rhance hummed, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

The masked Miqo'te let out a little click of his tongue before shutting the book and returning it to the shelf. "Don't you have hosting duties to tend to Mr. Wane?"

"What kind of host would I be if one of my guests sought to read rather than join the crowd? Not to mention without their belongings that I'm sure they intended to leave with."

The pink haired Miqo'te hummed, moving in close to stroke the other's tie in his palm. "Oh I'm sure many of them won't notice, blinded by their wealth and all. I doubt even you would have noticed that little ol' manuscript misplaced should I have had the chance to abscond with it."

"I don't recall having added a thief to my guest list."

"Though you hired wait staff. You really should check rrreferences," the other Miqo'te purred.

"Going forward I'll put in the effort…Er…"

The Miqo'te smirked, lifting his mask to show off his round Keeper eyes.

"Zelen'a Kyhle," he hummed.

"Bold to give me your name. How do you know I won't just track you down? There's also Wolfman."

Zelen'a tilted his head back and forth a moment, humming, "I'll worry about the Masked Mutt when he crosses my path. As for you, Rhance, you'll just have to come find me."

With that Zelen'a lifted up, kissing B'rhance softly before kicking back his foot to send an antique lamp into the air. The thief did a backflip as Wolfman's gaze followed the lamp, hand outstretched to catch it.

"Nice moves, playboy. Thanks for the parting gift," the Keeper laughed, taking back the book before falling backward out a window.

B'rhance rushed after, looking out as the thief drove away on a motorcycle. "Great Solus's Gemstones," the hero whispered before shaking out his head. "Such a villain! I am devoted to my Dyx! I-"

"Rahn. I do not require embellishment to prove your fidelity. You are a Miqo'te and it is a storytale about a gentry class hero."

"Well, yeah…but he loves Dyx the most…just sayin'," U'rahn mumbled, folding his ears with a sheepish smile.

"Acknowledged. However, that story did nothing to add to your argument of Wolfman being an efficient hero. He let the thief go free."

"Okay, okay. The best for last then. His nemesis…the ultimate bad guy and his own best gal. The Chuckler and Hardy Flint!"

Cackling…malicious cackling…or rather…sinister chucking chuckling. It echoed through the Capital as bomb after bomb began to erupt. Atop the capitol building's steps, the Mummer Heir of Crime, the Chuckler descended down, arms wide while Hardly Flint followed behind.

"C'mon mutt! I've got your darling Emperor and the city in my grasp! The hour of your reckoning is at hahaha-hand!"

"Yeah! C'mon mutt," Hardly echoed, pulling on a chain and pulling out Lord Varis in cuffs, having allowed himself to be taken in a noble gesture to protect his citizens.

The Wolfjet flew low to the ground, letting Wolfman, Starling, and Wolfgirl drop down before the steps.

"Great Solus's Grandson! Literally! Unhand our glorious Emperor right now you fiend," Wolfman cried out, "Wolfgirl, to the citizens! Starling, with me!"

"I'm on it," Wolfgirl called out, springing into action, dashing off to put out fires with her Wolfray.

Howls echoed through the streets as the sound waves blew out the flames, letting citizens pour out of their buildings and run off toward safety.

"Acknowledged," Starling answered in turn, springing into action to engage Hardly in combat, freeing the Emperor from her grasp for now.

The two exchanged blows around the building, Hardly swinging her hammer wildly while Starling nimbly dodged and ducked.

"You can't dodge me forever! I'm gonna clip your wings little bird and give them to my darlin' Chuckleflan as a gift!'

"I do not have wings; however, I do have on steel boots," Starling responded cooly.

"Huh?"

As Hardly paused, Starling kicked high, catching the Roe's jaw and sending her onto her back in a daze.

Meanwhile, Wolfman and The Chuckler exchanged blows before the chained Emperor. The fiendish Miqo'te laughed with every blow, even as blood dripped off his chin.

"How dare you chain our Emperor and harm out glorious city! I've just about had enough of your insanity!"

"The party is only beginning, you hahahalfwit! Your eyes are on the wrong prize," the villain cried out before lifting a rifle to his right and firing it into Starling.

The sidekick dropped down and then fell down steps just in time for Wolfgirl to swoop in and pick her up. B'rahnce let out a wail then lost control, punching and kicking the Chuckler backward until the laughing mad man fell back, letting the gun fall from his grasp. Wolfman quickly picked it up while the villain rose back up to his feet, hands in the air.

"Hey now! You don't use guns! You gotta stick to your code," the Chuckler breathed out.

"I never said I don't use guns. I just don't use them on people," Wolfman growled before firing a round.

The sound of metal breaking echoed through the empty streets. The Chuckler opened an eye then looked around before bellowing with laughter. "Hahahaha. You missed-"

The Miqo'te was cut off he was suddenly scuffed from behind. Towering over him Varis stood, freed from his shackles. The Great Emperor tossed the Chuckler like a rag-doll down the steps and into the street, metal heroically clanging as he followed.

"I'll take it from here Wolfman. You tend to Starling," the gracious leader said before turning forward to pummel the evil Miqo'te.

Wolfman jumped down to Wolfgirl and Starling, pulling her into his arms. "Starling! Say something!"

"You are inflicting further injury to my shoulder by holding me so tight."

"Sorry. I thought…I thought I lost you. I don't know what I would have done."

"My wound will heal," Starling answered before looking to Wolfgirl then back to Wolfman to lean up and give him a kiss on the nose, "My hero."

Wolfman blushed under his mask then nodded before lifting her up carefully, letting Wolfgirl summon the Wolfcopter. Lord Varus of course brought the Chuckler to justice, locking him in the deepest of dungeons.

"Your story continues to be propaganda and given the many vehicles, a means to sell toys."

U'rahn flattened his ears, story seeming to fall flat. Nyx moved into the water with the vexed Miqo'te, sitting on his thighs.

"I may not always enjoy the content of your storytales; however, I do enjoy you telling them."

U'rahn flushed a bit then chucked a bit, reclining a little to scoot Nyx forward on his lap, hand trailing up her back. "I would preferrr to tell stories you enjoy. I'll keep trying."

"Acknowledged. I look forward to your next attempt."

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bellmo15-blog · 8 months

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I've Lost My Passion For Writing

The title of this journal isn’t a joke. I have seriously started to lose my passion that I once had for writing.

I’m sure by now a lot of you have noticed I haven’t been writing any stories of any kind. Or at least anything substantial. You could say that those two stories I have shared about those really awkward plays I saw as a child or the only time I’ve ever actually gotten to play on a real Gamecube while in hospital count as stories but those are more just me retelling events form my past that have stuck with me. And there’s a good reason I haven’t been writing a lot. I’ve HAVE tried to write proper stories. About my OC’s, about fictional characters I like, but I always never get very far into it and sometimes just stop entirely or get distracted by other things I have more fun doing. And there’s a good reason for THAT two. I just haven’t been enjoying writing as much. It’s one of those things I have slowly been coming to terms with a lot recently. In fact the only long form things I’ve even managed to get written up the past few months have both been satirical and if you couldn’t tell from how I wrote those, my way of venting about how modern critics are obsessed with hyperbole and being overly angry and also poking fun at that “Nintendo has FORGOTTEN about Super Mario” video because nothing say’s Nintendo has “””forgotten””” a property like releasing so many games in that franchise in the Switches now almost 7 year life cycle.

To give you an idea of just how bad this has been, the last story about one of my OC’s I wrote was back in April of last year. It was a parody of the Peaches song from the Super Mario Bros movie but sung from the perspective of my girl Mikaela and she was singing about Nessa from Pokemon Sword and Shield as I do have the two in a relationship and loved that part from the film. And before that the last proper full story I wrote was in September of 2022 of Tom Nook from Animal Crossing finally being fed up with some people not paying off their loans at all and taking action tasking my sona Michael with collecting the debt from one of those residents who originally started as a joke OC I made for an April Fools day joke. That’s a pretty big gap to have as someone who is a writer which is actually why I originally tried experimenting with Micro Stories at first since they were only about like two or three paragraphs long and didn’t take much effort out of me. But even those I started to fall out of wanting to do.

So why have I stopped having a passion for something I use to love doing ever since I first started on DA? Well, it’s not for one single reason but actually a couple.

1; I’ve started to find it boring! No matter what I want to write, no matter how much I love the idea and no matter how much free time I end up getting so that I can do a lot of writing, usually about like 5 or 10 mins in I get board of writing and more often than not I end up thinking to myself “I would honestly rather be playing video games or watching a show I’ve been meaning to watch.” Plus, I can only write “this character said this” or describe what someone looks like or is wearing so much before I get bored.

2; Written work is something I’ve always struggled with anyway. I grew up on TV and video games and very little written stuff which might sound ironic coming from me but it’s true. I once tried reading one of the Harry Potter books as a child and I got one chapter in before thinking to myself “I’d honestly rather be watching the movie that’s based off this book.” Hell, I even tried reading the in game books in Skyrim but when I did I would always go “I’m spending my time in this game doing THIS instead of going on an epic and exciting quest?” The only time as a child I’ve ever read a book all the way though that wasn’t one of those ones that only had like two short paragraphs on each page and was like 15 pages long was in 2009 when a friend let me read an old Choose Your Own Adventure styled Super Mario book but that only because it was on a school trip, we were on a long train ride that took several hours and we weren’t allowed to bring our handheld games systems with us so there was practically nothing else to do. It’s a problem I have been trying to fix for many years and sometimes I do read stories on DA when I get the chance, but written works just always been something I’ve struggled with even as a child.

I mentioned before that this is an issue that my passion for this has been dwindling for a while and I’ve tried to find ways to get around this. At first it was writing little short stories to attach to my pics. I was mainly inspired to do this by the likes of other’s like IncredibleIntruder who like me is into hypnosis and especially belly dancing but also puts little short stories in the descriptions of the stuff he commissions and uploads to his page and still continues to do so to this day. I HAD experimented with this kind of stuff before coming across there content but it wasn't until I started seeing some of there commissions I really started to take my stories for my pics seriously. And I’d continue to do this for a lot of my commissions as well. Even if it was a pic the artist didn’t give me permission to upload like with that Symbiote Shantae and Rottytops pic I’d still write a story for it! And eventually, I just only wrote up a short synopsis of what happened in leading up to what we see in a pic in its description because I wasn’t having any fun with these stories anymore. Which again, sucks that I feel that way because I do think about this stuff a lot. Especially the pics based around my self insert sona, something I’m extremely proud to have created, because the whole reason that exists was born of decades of me having a hyper active imagination and always imagining myself actually in the worlds of the games I play, especially ones that let you play as customized characters such as Wii Sports Resort or Mario Kart Wii, and making up my own little Kingdom Hearts styled crossover universe but wasn’t just relegated to stuff belonging to a single property… And also the lore not being a headache to get used to.

For example, the pic of my sona becoming an Ankha Drone I had this whole story planned out while it was getting worked on of them walking into Ankha suddenly in their home on their island with two other Ankha Drones and would be the ones converting my sona into one of them. Then there’s the one of them in the coils of Naga Shantae which would have been right after an encounter with Risky Boots and both my sona and Shantae being very exhausted and Shantae offering some nice and snug coil hugs until we were both ready to head home. And the Techno Drone pic where the story would of involved them knowing about SuperTechno (the artist of that pic who’s sona turns characters into fembots) hypnotizing ladies into being his Fembots while still extending it to males, not being aware of the fact that many of the Fembots in Techno’s army were kidnapped, asking if he could allow himself to be a drone with one of the main reasons he wants this and allows himself to be hypnotized a fair bit is because of not having the best mental state, something I obviously am implying I sometimes have and this was my way of projecting onto them. Similarly, the Ashour Drone pic I got of my sona was going to have a story of them finding Shantae as an Ashour Drone and confused on why she’s the way she is which leads him back to Ammer (again, artist of that pic and who’s sona is a freelance hypnotist hypnotising willing people into being his Ashour Drones) and after looking into him and his drones a bit more offering to be one of his Ashour Drones for a similar reason to the Techno Drone one. Even my most recent pic of my Genie AU sona with Urbosa I tried to write a whole story of her originally finding the lamp and the two of them exchanging some dialogue before using hypnosis on her to influence her wish for a massage.

And yes, this applies to Mikaela pics as well. The collab I got with Violet Scales featuring both our OC’s I wanted to write a story of Mikaela stumbling upon a snake basket housing Jermisha during one of Mikaela’s erotic photoshoots as an explanation as to why she was already dressed in bedlah to begin with. The pic of Naga Mikaela mummified I wanted to write a story of her trying to surprise attack Eliza from Skullgirls to potentially add to her harem but backfiring and resulting in Naga Mikaela mummified by Eliza and coupled with some taunting from the 1000 year old Egyptian Vampire followed by her telling the Naga that she’s going to make a great display peace for her place. Even the pic of Naga Mikaela with Sharah I considered writing a story about her finding Sharah’s ring and putting it on not knowing that there was a cute genie girl inside and that’s how they met.

Hell, even writing this I struggled with doing and the only reason I pushed though was because it felt wrong to not have any new full-length stories without giving an explanation on why. Now at this point I’m sure a lot of you would be saying “Oh there’s an easy solution for this. Just use something like ChatBotGT or some other AI program to do the stories for you! Does all the work and gives you more time to do other things.” But I hope you NEVER fucking said that because telling me to use a style of generative content, which is notorious for being built of stealing other people’s work and passing it off as something ‘original’ just to get over my own lost desire to write is fucking stupid! Honestly, I think the better and more healthy option for me is to just stick with what I’ve been doing for the last few pics. Short descriptions and a brief summery that still add’s lore to my characters if needed. That might disappoint a lot of you who followed me solely for the writing but let me ask you this. What do you think is more important? Me forcing myself to slog though writing a story I’m not having fun writing and even if I do finish it my reaction will be more of a “thank God that’s over” reaction than any sort of positive one or doing shorter stuff that doesn’t take as much time to do and I know most people probably don’t even read anyway (sadly) so I can focus on what I enjoy more?

In fairness I knew this would happen eventually, because how many stories have you heard of creators who have lost their drive and motivation for what they enjoy doing? Need an example? How about Hideo Kojima who didn’t even want to work on Metal Gear Solid 4 originally because he just didn’t have the same passion for this franchise as he did once and the only reason he even agreed to work on 4 in the end was because of all the death threats he got from fans? Or how we almost got a new Jak and Daxter game in between the release of Uncharted 2 and The Last of Us but it ended up being cancelled because no one at Naughty Dog felt any motivation to make a new Jak game and they literally went “Are we really doing this because we want to or because of marketing reasons?” Or how about Geroge Lucas having to put up with so much hate and harassment from Star Wars fans though out the 2000’s just because of how he was telling the story that he created to the point where it just wasn’t fun for him anymore and gladly sold the franchise to Disney when offered without a second thought. (And before any revisionist historians try to comment “umm, no actually! That’s not it! Your just being a Disney apologist!” Clearly you don’t remember what George Lucas said in an interview one time before months before the Disney buy out. “Why would I make any more, when everybody yells at you all the time and says what a horrible person you are” anyone?)

So yeah, I’m sorry if this is sad news to anyone. But because I lack the passion I once had you really shouldn’t expect any new long stories for a good long while.

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npdclaraoswald · 1 year

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Where do you find all of these books?

Sorry I'm only just getting to this, you sent it while I was at work and then I forgot about it until now. But I'm assuming this is in reference to my answers to this book ask game yesterday, and the answer is mainly booktube. I do also follow people on bookstagram (though their stupid algorithm makes it so I barely see the people I follow), as well as regularly looking through @lgbtqreads over here, the lesbrary's website, and through books people have added to storygraph challenges. Storygraph, if you're unaware, is basically goodreads just not owned by Amazon. And they have a feature called challenges where you can have any larger prompt with a bunch of smaller subcategories, and people joined in the challenge can add whatever books they think fit the prompt. If you do just use goodreads though, if you have any particular book you enjoy, if you scroll to the bottom of its page there's a "readers also enjoyed" section and a section called lists, where people compile books that have things in common. So for example, This is How You Lose the Time War will have lists like queer sci fi, lesbian enemies to lovers, etc, so if you're looking for more books with those elements, it gives you a lot of options.

I'm gonna recommend some of my favorite booktubers under the cut. All of them read across genres, but I'm also gonna put what genres they tend to read the most of.

Jesse on YouTube reads a lot of mystery/horror/thriller

A Sunny Book Nook reads mostly literary fiction

Perpetual Pages reads a pretty even spread across genres, but reads like 90% queer books

Books are my Social Life reads mostly contemporary

Bookish Realm reads absolutely everything, she reads like thirty books a month, it's insane. She also has a second channel called Realm of Comics for comics, graphic novels, and manga

With Cindy reads a lot of literary fiction and nonfiction, but lately has also been developing a love of trashy romance

To Be Black and Loved reads a lot of literary fiction

This Story Ain't Over reads a lot of fantasy and fantasy romance

Mina Reads reads a lot of romance

Myonna Reads also reads a lot of romance

My Name Is Marines reads across genres because she reads through a lot of best book lists online and a lot of booktok darlings to see if they're worth the hype

And also here's a quick bonus listing of channels that don't really upload anymore but that I really loved and that still have their old videos up: Et Tu Brody?, Problems of a Book Nerd, Starlah Enjoys, and Pages of Hayley

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secretsofblackthornhall · 3 years

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Emma To Bruce

Dear Bruce,

We went back to Devil Tavern today with Jem’s advice (bring family rings, show to bartender, gain access to secret room). I don’t know, the Devil Tavern seems to really like elaborate ways of getting in places? So we went in and there was some confusion because when we were there before I heard one of the customers call the bartender “Ernie,” so we asked one of the waitresses for Ernie, and she said there was no Ernie. But then, because we were Shadowhunters she thought we were there to question Ernie about something, so I figured she was just covering up for Ernie and I said, “No, it’s okay, you can tell Ernie he’s not in any trouble,” and the waitress looked even more baffled and said there was no Ernie…we went around like that a few times.

Anyway eventually the bartender comes back up from the basement or wherever he was, and he explains that he is Fred, not Ernie, but that for many many years the bartender was named Ernie, his grandfather and his great-grandfather at least were both named Ernie. So most of the vampires and faeries who have been coming since the Time of Ernies have just stubbornly refused to learn any of the newer bartenders’ names. He tried, when he was a younger man, but they just laughed and said, “That’s a good one, Ernie.” He sounded kind of sad when he said it. I guess everyone has their weird stuff they have to deal with.

We explained to Not Ernie about what Jem had told us, and we showed him our rings. He said yeah, there’s an old room that used to be used by Shadowhunters for clandestine meetings, upstairs. There are instructions left that go back a hundred years that say the room has to be maintained for the use of Shadowhunters, even though none have come around for a long time. They take it really seriously though.

He brought us the key from somewhere—one of those old skeleton key type keys you never see anymore—and we went upstairs and let ourselves in. Let me tell you, Bruce, they do not think being obligated to “maintain” the room means they are obligated to “dust” the room. Absolute nightmare for an asthmatic.

The room is still intact, though—actually, it’s more like a tiny apartment (a “bedsit,” Julian adorably called it), with a tiny bedroom off of a sitting area with a table in the middle and a rather shabby couch. It’s not like the rest of the tavern at all, it feels like you’d imagine a study room in the oldest library at the oldest college in Oxford would feel. Books everywhere, lots of big chunky carved wood, people’s initials carved into the table (note for people scratching their initials into tables: include your last initials! It makes it much easier for your descendants to figure out who you were! There could be a million people named “J!”).

There was nothing obviously ghostly, so Julian used the Sensor we got from Ty. It didn’t find much, but eventually it reacted near a particular book on one of the shelves built into the wall. We pulled it out and it seems to be a handwritten book, with a really elaborate stitched cover. It was called The Beautiful Cordelia and it’s by “L.H.” I would bet any amount of money “H” stands for Herondale. But there was nothing magical about the book. I mean, I didn’t read it yet; maybe it weaves a truly magical tale. But the Sensor didn’t react much to the book itself, there was nothing in between any of the pages, the ink wasn’t sparkly, etc.

Eventually we thought to kneel down and look into the space on the shelf where the book had come from, and sure enough, there was a little nook carved deeper into the wall. Julian and I agreed that in that nook was definitely…a ton of spiders. So we rock-paper-scissorsed for it, I lost, and stuck my hand back there. Luckily, no spiders. Instead, a surprise: an antique metal flask! Like the kind a gentleman would keep in his coat pocket. It is silver—well, at least the color is silver. It might be pewter. It is also definitely not a “band.”

BUT. The Sensor went bananas. We put the flask on the table and the Sensor next to it and it wailed like crazy. It looks like a normal flask to me, kind of blackened with time, and it’s not like when we opened it, a ghost slithered out. I don’t know. It was empty, and the Sensor didn’t react to anything else in the room. We hung out there for about half an hour even after we were done, though. The place did feel comfortable, it must have been really great in its day. I thought I might go back sometime and offer to pay Fred if he would have it dusted and cleaned. There’s probably stuff in there the London Institute would want, too. But that’s for when we’re done with Blackthorn House (and its ghost).

We couldn’t think of anything to do with the flask there at the Tavern, so we left and locked it up and returned the key. We brought the flask into the house, and Julian went to get the silver polish. When we cleaned the flask up, we saw that it had a pretty, elaborate tracery pattern of leaves and flowers on it, and was monogrammed. Not a Herondale this time. Not a Blackthorn, either. The initials were M.F.

Julian is squinting angrily at the witchlight I’m holding to write this. I guess it is pretty late. Good night, Bruce. Good night, groovy bedroom. Good night, ghost. Good night, mysterious flask.

Good night, Julian my love.

— Emma

#secrets of blackthorn hall #sobh #emma carstairs #bruce #julian blackthorn #ghosts #devil tavern

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biographydivider · 2 years

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Who wants some Grumpy Bruno fanfic? Me, I do. So I wrote some.

I've seen a lot of Stop Infantalising Bruno discourse recently, and I wanted to write a situation where he could be a grumpy, sleep deprived old man and still (hopefully!) be loveable. Because I personally love those little flashes of temper we get from him...plus, it gave me a chance to find some fun Spanish swears!

Also I've resigned myself to every single one of these having a book reference in them; my real life is either selling books or writing them so I guess I have them on the brain haha. You can check out more of my fanfic (and the translations for the Spanish that I got from Babbel.com) here.

“Spiders are some of the most eff…um, effic…some of the most…” Bruno glanced over Antonio’s shoulder at the encyclopaedia. “‘Efficient’,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid; that’s a big word, even for me.” Antonio smiled gratefully, turning back to the page. “Okay. Efffishant. Spiders are some of the most efffishant hunters in the animal ki..kingdom. They spin webs to…” Another weeknight; another Family Weirdo Club Bedtime. Mirabel was nestled in a comfortable spot under the gigantic tree in the middle of Antonio’s room, Chispi by her side, while Bruno and Antonio were curled up together in the pile of leaves, cushions, extra bedding and general comfy detritus that made up the best reading nook in the Encanto. Bruno was half asleep, lying back against a pillow Mirabel had sewed for Antonio out of his oldest, softest, most faded ruana. Was this the seventeenth time he’d heard about how spiders catch their prey, or the sixteenth? Mmyeh, didn’t matter. Kid was getting better with his reading. Pepa was happy, Mirabel got time and space to knit so she was happy. Hence, Bruno was happy. A shadow fell over the pair. Bruno looked up into the amber eyes of the most dangerous, unpredictable creature in the entire Encanto – including his sisters. And it was looking directly down at him. “Um,” Bruno said warily, as Parce the jaguar edged a little closer. “H-hi, Kitty?” “Parce wants to snuggle!” Antonio chirped, delighted. “W-well, that’s great, kiddo,” Bruno said, edging up the cushion pile, eyes never leaving the big cat in front of him, “but Tio Bruno super doesn’t want to snuggle.” It wasn’t that Bruno disliked cats. He just didn’t trust them. They had weird, intense stares – Parce was always watching him – and Bruno didn’t like human eye contact, let alone eye contact with a creature that could pick its teeth with his ribs. Plus, y’know, he was a rat guy. Rats and cats didn’t exactly get along. Parce put one giant paw on Bruno’s stomach. “Ah-heh…um…Antonio…?” “Parce,” Antontio said – that big, innocent grin never leaving his face – “come look at the pictures with me! Look at the spider webs!” Parce gave Bruno one last, long stare, before removing his paw and leaping over the pair in a single bound. “Eep,” Bruno would have said, if he weren’t an incredibly brave and constantly stoic man. Which, you know. He was. Parce laid his massive head across Antonio’s belly and yawned, showing off a set of huge, white canines, before closing his eyes and dozing for the rest of Storytime. Bruno had to admit, it wasn’t his best work. His performance of the titular Frog in Oi, Frog! left much to be desired. As much as he loved spending time with Antonio, he kinda just wanted to get in his own bedroom – with his pets that wouldn’t turn on him in the blink of an eye and eat him alive – and have a good, restful night’s sleep. And, of course, because he was Bruno Madrigal and his life was one big cosmic joke, he had sleep visions all night. Not about the jaguar, that was a blessing, at least. No; these were weird, twisted half-prophecies, showing him a mix of things from the past, blurred over with green, sandy film of time. Pepa in particular showed up a lot, that night – twenty-seven years old, in her soaked wedding dress with her hair stuck to her forehead, dancing at Dolores’ wedding far off in the future. Why was he thinking about Pepa? Everything was fine with Pepa. Wasn’t it? Did Pepa still hate him for the wedding thing? What if he did it again at Dolores’ wedding? What if he opened his big mouth and ruined everything? Was that what the vision was trying to warn him about? Shut up, Bruno. You need to sleep. Go to sleep…now. Now. Now? Please go to sleep… In the end, Bruno estimated he got about two hours’ sleep. At five to nine, he finally gave up, dragged himself downstairs, poured himself the largest cup of coffee possible, and sat through Morning Briefing, not registering a word, barely noticing his family. As soon as the last syllable of ‘La Familia Madrigal’ left his mouth, he downed the last of his coffee, slammed the cup down, and hauled himself back upstairs to bed. Low moods didn’t hit very often, these days. Bruno had been working on his coping mechanisms – meditating, getting fresh air, affirmations, blah blah blah. But when he was tired, they hit him all the harder. Add to that the fun of reliving the past and the future at the same time all night? Day was shot before it began. He buried his face in the pillow, curled himself up in his sheets, and prepared himself for a day of sifting through sickly green thoughts and not much else. Dios, he was tired. His head felt like it was about to fall off his neck and shatter. Couldn’t even sleep right. Tu es loco, ‘Brunito,’ he thought spitefully to himself. Loco, tarado, maldito… About an hour later, the door creaked open. “Hey, Bruno…” “Not in the mood, Félix,” Bruno said, not lifting his head from the pillow, his voice muffled. “Bro, I just gotta ask you if –” “Vete a freír espárragos, Félix, seriously,” Bruno growled, propping himself up on one arm. “Que te folle un pez, I just want five minutes on my…uh…oh.” There, standing in Bruno’s bedroom doorway, was Félix. Holding a scandalised Antonio in his arms. “Félix,” Bruno said, scrambling into a sitting position. “I-I-I’m sorry, I didn’t –” “It’s alright, Tio Bruno,” Antonio said primly. “I’m not allowed to copy bad words. Camilo taught me to say tresero, and Mamá said…” “Okay, okay, hombre,” Félix interrupted, jostling the kid in his arms. “Hey, let’s just see if your sister can look after you today, ‘kay? Tio Bruno is…tired.” “Félix…” The side-eye Félix gave him reminded Bruno of his sister, which sent another spike of shame through his guts. “S’alright. Get some rest, bro.” And they were gone. Bruno fell back against the mattress, pressed the pillow over his face, and swore some more. The really, really bad ones, this time. Well, it had taken a few months, but he finally messed up things with Antonio. The quirky, harmless image of Fun Tio Bruno had been shattered in the amount of time it took him to tell his Pá to piss off. There goes Family Weirdo Club. He’d never be asked to babysit again. He’d been doing such a good job with not using bad words around the kids, too. Stupid sleep visions. Stupid gift. Stupid him. Somewhere around an hour later, just as his temper was starting to cool and congeal into a thick layer of self-pity (and sleep was still a thousand miles away), the door opened again. Bruno pressed his hands against the pillow still strewn over his face and let out a long, strangled noise somewhere between a scream and a sob. “Please,” he moaned, “I am exhausted, and I’m in such a bad mood, please just leave me alone to…” Two gigantic paws hit the mattress with a thump. Bruno lifted the pillow away to find Parce staring down at him. “Erm…h-hey, Kitty,” he gulped. “Félix send you to eat me for cursing in front of his kid?” Parce titled his head this way and that, before hauling himself up onto the bed. The mattress groaned a little beneath the extra weight, and Bruno suddenly had images of shattered wood and feathers flying through the air. Bruno scooched up the bed, away from the gigantic cat, but Parce butted his huge head none too gently against his cheek with a deep, low ‘mmrow’. Something was tied around his neck; a green ribbon, with a scroll of paper tied to it. Bruno tentatively reached for it, snatching his hand away as soon as possible. Parce started kneading the mattress, staring into the middle distance, as Bruno unfurled the scroll with shaking fingers. It was a drawing. A drawing of Bruno and Antonio, holding hands. Or, at least, Bruno suspected they were holding hands. Their palms kinda intermeshed. Bruno’s hair came down to his waist in long, grey scribbles, while Antonio’s manic smile went outside of his face. Bruno loved it instantly. Written in the corner in huge wobbly script, was a message. ‘TIO BRUNO. GET WELL SOON. PARCE WANTS TO SNUGL WITH YO TIL YU ARE HAPPEE AGAIN. LOVE, ANTONIO MADRIGAL.’ In a neater, smaller hand underneath was written; ‘Don’t worry, Parce won’t eat your rats. Unless you say more bad words. Come find us after your nap. Dolores xoxo’ Bruno felt his heart melt into a lump of warm, gooey affection. “So I haven’t totally messed up then, huh?” he asked Parce. Parce purred, blinking slowly. “Okay,” Bruno sighed, letting the drawing flutter to the floor and stuffing the pillow back under his head, “I guess you can stay and snugg—oof!” Parce pressed his head against Bruno’s cheek again, so hard it moved Bruno’s head to the side, all the while purring even louder. “Pfffttt, ppfffbtttt, pff,” Bruno sputtered, getting a fine mist of jaguar hair across his nose and mouth. Parce didn’t smell like Bruno thought he would; like blood and viscera and abject terror. He smelled like…like a warm, clean animal. “Come on, now, settle down.” He reached up, haltingly, and held out his hand for Parce to love on instead. The big cat pressed his cheek against Bruno’s knuckles, eyes closed in contentment. “Hey, y-you’re actually kinda cute, aren’tcha?” Bruno murmured with a small smile, his fingers getting lost in the thick, white fluff of Parce’s chest. Parce blinked down at him, eyes soft and full of affection. How had he ever thought this cat was creepy? He was just…well, intense. Plus, c’mon; it’s not like Bruno could complain about someone having a staring problem, now was it? “Good Kitty, such a nice kittycat, yes you are…” Parce turned around a handful of times in Bruno’s lap (“watch the paws,” Bruno winced, “watch the paws –!”) before settling down across his stomach, purring so loudly Bruno swore he could feel it in his bones. The weight of Parce across his torso was enough to help him relax, just a little bit – feeling the warmth and sturdy weight of this creature that had chosen, apparently, to spend time with him. Even if he was a screwup who swore in front of five-year-olds. “Thanks, buddy,” Bruno said with a yawn, reaching up to scratch behind one gigantic, spotted ear. Parce made a friendly noise in the back of his throat, tail twitching against the bare skin of Bruno’s arm, then laid his head along Bruno’s chest and closed his eyes. And, after a long moment, Bruno did the same.

#encanto #encanto fanfic #encanto fandom #encanto fanart #tio bruno #bruno #bruno madrigal #Let Bruno Be Grumpy #Let Bruno Swear #Parce the Jaguar #Parce Needs More Love

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wordynerdygurl · 2 years

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The Queen & The Jester

An Eddie Munson x Female Reader “Choose Your Own Adventure” Story

--------------------------------------------------------------------- Author’s Note: Like so, so, so many of us, the Eddie Munson thirst became too much to bear. After thinking it over, I decided to make this an old school “Choose Your Own Adventure” story. So, be aware: There is SMUT, there is some Angst, depending on the path YOU Choose! Language like cursing, swearing and name calling shows up regularly and... if ye be under 18, stay away! If you interacted with my question about reading an Eddie Fanfic, I’ve tagged you, shamelessly. I sincerely hope you enjoy!! Last thing- This is all terribly self indulgent! Sorry, not sorry! ------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were lots of places where you could make yourself small, insignificant, out of the way. The basement chorus room, with its pile of broken music stands and worn out carpet was one that you used on occasion, but by far the best you had found was the high school library.

Of course, there were high traffic areas in this hall of knowledge; the front, where the reference cards lived in narrow drawers, was always surrounded by someone in a crunch to finish a paper on time. Study desks, organized in long center rows, were constantly in use by the student body. Which is why, when you found what you loving referred to as your nook, you were ecstatic. Out of the way, a little alcove, just big enough for you and your back pack was created when two walls had been unable to meet in a 90 degree angle. This meant there was a little nook that was never used as it was too small for a shelf and there would be no need for a table or chairs back here where students could get up to unwitnessed shenanigans. There were no punny posters or student notices, no decorations of any kind. The rug was, miraculously, free from stains. And because there were no periodicals or encyclopedias in the vicinity, no one really roamed this far back between the towering shelves. The stacks here were filled with novels of the science fiction and fantasy variety, typically shunned by more of the kids crowding the halls. They wanted easy to digest drivel, romantic books with pictures of beefy dudes on the covers or gruesome crime thrillers, things you enjoyed but didn’t find very fulfilling. Or, worse still, was the lack of interest in reading all together, something you just couldn’t imagine. And perhaps that’s why you found the dusty vanilla-like aroma of pressed pages so relaxing. It transported you away from the frustrating reality of your actual life and into places in space and time that you would never be able to reach otherwise. Fingers tracing the laminated spines of stories from authors like LeGuin, Ruel and Lackey, Pratchett and Dick, it was hard to pick just one. Colorful covers of ancient monsters, sword wielding heroes or the collapsing cosmos called to you. Who were you to ignore the summons of such great material? So, most days around lunchtime, if someone was looking, which, let’s be honest, they weren’t, you could be found sitting on this particular piece of library floor with your back against the wall, your knees propping up one of a thousand different books that took you away to worlds where you could just be. Free of judgements and name calling and calorie counting. Free of feeling like a freak. Free to live as many fantastical lives as you possibly could all while sipping on the Slim-fast shake your mother insisted on making you drink or gnawing at an apple. It became such a habit, you taking refuge among the works of Tolkein and Bradbury, that the librarians stopped questioning your presence when the midday bell sounded. You’d just scoot past with a wave, weaving between the aisles until it was just you in your semi-sanctuary, seeking solace in the written words around you. No one paid attention one way or another which was just fine with you. On a day when you were fighting an army of Orcs at Helm’s Deep, worried about whether Gandalf would be good to his word, you found yourself pulled from Middle Earth by the brotherly bickering of two young voices, “It shouldn’t be that hard to find, Mike.” “I know it’s back here, ok Dustin? The index said 082-04, which should be-” startled, you scrambled to grab your stuff, which included the school’s copy of The Lord of the Rings and pushed to your feet quickly. It wasn’t about being caught, you weren't doing anything wrong by reading during your lunch hour; it was more about being exposed. If some underclassmen found you, then really, anyone could. Your private little book nook wasn’t as secret as you had hoped. You weren’t really paying attention as you jammed the remnants of your meager meal into the bottom of your bag, hurrying towards the front of the library. All you could see were the doors getting closer with each panicked step. Maybe that’s why you didn’t see the laughing, lean, leather wrapped body of Eddie Munson until it was entirely too late. — The library was not his scene. No fucking way. Nerds go to the school library. Dweebs, they write papers. Eddie? He smoked during class, sold drugs after lunch, rock ‘n rolled all night and partied everyday. But, if he wanted to graduate and wanted to actually put this hell hole in his rearview mirror, then Eddie “The Freak” Munson had to pass English. Miss Donahue had given him an out. Something, she said, which was typically reserved for her best students: extra credit. If he could read a book, any book he wanted and turn in a report that sounded even remotely like it explained the concept of the story, she’d pass him. Eddie was suspicious but appreciative. He also understood that the teachers here at Hawkins High were just as sick of seeing him kicking around these hallowed halls as he was of them. With this mutually beneficial arrangement in place, Eddie had thought long and hard about what book to pick. It was a daunting decision and not one to be taken lightly. He had opinions, strong, loudly vocalized opinions about the quality of the book he was willing to give his time and attention to. There were some smaller volumes, quick and easy reads, which would be a breeze for sure. Miss Donahue had suggested The Outsiders. That was a good one, Eddie reluctantly agreed, and a book he actually enjoyed. But he rejected it for this project since it sorta felt like a cheap choice as the movie had come out a couple years back. Nearly gagging, someone had suggested The Catcher in the Rye. Uh, no thanks. Not for Eddie. If he was going to pick up a book, it needed to speak to him, ya know? Really mean something. And it had to be interesting enough that he would be able to finish it so he could actually get his damn diploma. Days passed and he was starting to get desperate. He’d risked asking the Hellfire boys what they thought. Was there a novel worth tucking into that could help him pass but also be worth his time? Dustin, always the quickest, snarked, “Eddie the Banished, there’s only one tome that you need read.” “Yea? What’s that Henderson?” Rattling a D20 in his hand, digging the way it sounded when the hard plastic clicked against his rings, Eddie hadn’t bothered lifting his head.

“The Lord of the Rings.” Dustin reveled in the glory of this announcement, proud and smiling. Eddie blinked at him, his face unreadable, “So, you are suggesting that I re-read The Lord of the Rings for Miss Donahue?” With an ounce of appropriate trepidation, Dustin countered, “Is it such a bad idea? You’ve done it before. You know you like the story-” Cutting him off, Eddie slapped the die on the table with a thump, “Henderson, it’s the length of a bible.” “Ok, fair. But maybe just pick one of the volumes? I’m partial to Return of the King, myself.” Damn it. That was a good idea. And it meant that if Eddie didn’t get through the entire thing, he still had enough knowledge of the source material to write a paper decent enough for Miss Donahue. It’s just, he couldn’t let Henderson win that easily. “Hmm…” Circling the table where he held court over his loyal band of merry men, Eddie stroked his chin, contemplating the suggestion, “Ya know, it’s not a bad idea. It’s not a great one either, but-” stopping directly behind Dustin, his hands falling onto Hawaiian shirt covered shoulders, “-It’s The Fellowship of the Ring that is the right answer, Henderson.” Mike snorted, “When they meet the elves and shit?” Spinning on his high-top Reeboks, Eddie skipped to Mike’s side before squatting, “You got a problem with elves, Wheeler?” “Uh, no, no… It’s just… aren’t they a little, ya know, girlie?” “Would you call Legolas girlie? Would you call Thranduil girlie? Huh?” Nose to nose with the skinny freshman, Eddie didn’t relent, waiting him out until the kid conceded with a nod, “No. And besides Mikey-” ruffling the boy’s dark hair as he rose to standing, Eddie laughed over his shoulder, “Arwen is hot.” Gareth and the guys laughed at that, taking it in turns to high five their leader as Eddie resumed his seat at the head of their cafeteria table. Snapping his fingers, an idea came to him right then, one good enough that he announced in his sing-song voice, “Let’s go to the library.” A look passed between Mike Wheeler and Dustin that clearly questioned the sanity of their Dungeon Master. He was prone to overreaction, sarcastic comments and teasing in the loving way favored by older brothers the world over. And when Eddie wanted something, truly, madly, deeply, he was relentless in pursuing it. The boys had learned that loyalty and honoring commitments was paramount for the oldest senior in Hawkins High history. As his soldiers, the next generation of Hellfire Club was theirs to run and Eddie considered it his mission to ensure that kids stepping into his shoes were up to the task. And soldiers didn’t question their leader, not if they were hoping to avoid becoming the focus of one of Eddie’s wordy, wise-crack filled tangents. Dustin had already tossed the remains of his bologna and cheese sandwich onto the table, anticipating the direction Eddie was headed. Reluctant to cave so quickly, it was Mike who summoned the courage to ask, “Now? It’s lunch time.” “Yes, now, fellas. I need to check out my destiny!” Glumly discarding the remains of their lunch trays, the boys followed in Eddie’s wake, watching as he skirted past other members of the student body, his commentary colorful as always. Before too long they arrived at their destination, a mismatched trio with a mission. Dustin and Mike were no stranger to the knowledge center that was the Hawkins High library but this was new territory for Eddie, exotic and a bit enticing. In awe of the multitude that surrounded him, Eddie couldn’t help whispering worshipfully, “So many words.” “What was that?” Dustin had attacked the card catalog, riffling through the musty striped cards with expert precision.

“Nothing Henderson. Keep looking. If I gotta read this thing, I want to start today.” He was antsy and eager, excited for the new quest he was embarking on and keen to begin this literary campaign. Triumphantly pulling out the appropriate card, Dustin smiled widely, “Here it is!” Crestfall, Eddie’s face dropped, “That’s an index card.” “Yes, but it has the location of the book on it here, see?” Trying to show his older friend how to read the designation assigned to the piece of classical literature they were looking for was pretty pointless. He wasn’t going to search the racks for the book and he could care less about the Dewey Decimal System. “Cool, cool. Yea, so uh, what are you waiting for?” Eddie questioned, his eyebrows disappearing under the roughly cut fringe that framed his face. The question sent Dustin and Mike scurrying into the library’s inner recesses, eager to fulfill Eddie’s crusade. It made him chuckle, the way the young lads tore off, bickering brotherly while doing this errand for him. Looking around, Eddie would admit to a bit of curiosity about this particular library. He’d long enjoyed the town’s book repository; it was where he met so many of his favorite characters. Bilbo and Frodo, Arthur Dent, King Arthur and Merlin, plus a slew of others who showed Eddie a world beyond his own rusted trailer door. Drumming on the card catalog case, on the lookout for his minions, Eddie couldn’t help being distracted by the gaggle of cheerleaders gathered around a copy of People magazine, giggling about Tom Cruise. Their skirts were so short that he couldn’t be blamed for sneaking a peek, even if it didn’t really satisfy. Snorting derisively, he put his back to the scene. It seemed silly to be surrounded by so many stories and waste your time on a brag mag, but hey, to each their own. When he turned back to the row Dustin and Mike had cruised down it was too late. You slammed into him with your shoulder knocking your bag and all its contents all over the floor. “Whoa! Hey! Are you ok?” You heard his knees pop as he dropped down to help you clean up all your things. Embarrassment flooding through you took your ability to answer, so you settled instead on the hasty retrieval of your stuff, raising your eyes to Eddie’s with what you hoped was an imploring look on your face. Jamming everything back into your backpack, you pushed to your feet and left the room as fast as you possibly could, not looking back. “Hey! You forgot your-” but the rest of his statement faded as Eddie watched the library doors shut behind you. Left holding a well worn, well loved notebook, he turned it over, hoping to identify who you were so he could get it back to you. Clearly it was something you used regularly, the corners faded white and fraying, the spiral sticking out of the bottom too far. A mystery- that’s what this run-by library encounter truly was, one Eddie felt compelled to solve. What was your name? Eddie was certain he’d heard it before, maybe even been introduced to you properly, but his mind was drawing a blank. He had definitely seen you around, though. At The Hideout? No, that wasn’t right. But he knew your face, absolutely, and Eddie probably would have stayed there, crouched on the floor holding your missing college ruled notebook, until he solved the puzzle but around that time Mike and Henderson found him looking towards the library’s doors deep in thought. “What are you doing down there?” Leave it to Dustin to question everything. “Just getting a new perspective, Henderson. Did you get the book?” Reaching out a hand, Eddie was helped to standing by Mike who staggered from the effort. “Uh, no.” At least Henderson had the decency to look upset about giving him this news. Still Eddie couldn’t help pressing, “No?” “No. See our library has the entire book in one volume versus the three individual volumes, so-” Nodding now, understanding the root of the problem, Eddie rubbed the back of his neck as he talked to himself, “So, someone else is reading it?” It was Mike’s turn to interrupt. “That’s just it. It’s not checked out but it’s not on the shelf.” His eyes widened at the mystery he’d been present with. He sure as shit hadn’t taken the book, although that was exactly the kind of thing people expected of a guy like him. The boys shifted uneasily on their feet, unsure of what Eddie’s reaction would be, but, not for the first time, he surprised them both. Looking down at the notebook he was holding on to, your notebook which had flown the farthest during your collision, Eddie laughed deep in his chest, “That’s ok.” Dustin and Mike exchanged a worried look as Eddie snapped the notebook you had dropped against his open palm, his eyes on the door you’d bolted through. “But, what about your report?” Grinning now, Eddie flashed his faithful friends a wide, knowing smile, “Don’t worry about that, Henderson. I’ve got a side-quest to take on before we get to the main mission.” “Do you, uh, is there something you want us to do?” Mike was hoping the answer would be no. He had a phone date with his girl out in California planned for tonight and he hated to cancel. “No, Wheeler. This is a solo adventure. I got this one.” On cue the bell which signaled the end of lunch sounded. With appreciative handshakes to both Dustin and Mike, Eddie sent them on their way to class. He lingered in the library, opening your notebook, hopeful of finding your name out your name, at least. You hadn’t done him the favor of neatly printing your contact information on the inside cover, but you had left a clue or two. A receipt, folded at an angle gave the name of Making Tracks Record Shop. Lip pulling up at the corners, Eddie snapped his fingers. That’s it! That’s where he recognized you from! Sure, you weren’t the most outgoing sales clerk working for Keith, but you knew your stuff. In fact, glancing down at the purchase ticket, he was impressed. Iron Maiden, Metallica and Megadeth were all listed among your recent purchases. Hard core. Thumbing through the pages, it dawned on Eddie that what he had mistaken for a random set of Chemistry notes was actually more than that. Pages about characters, scenes, narrative work that went into descriptive details about things as small as the insignia emblazoned on someone’s saddle. It wasn’t just class work that you had left behind.

The second bell rang and Eddie realized he had a decision to make. He could go to class, fuck around, and goof off - or, he could cut and keep reading your story. If he did the latter he’d have the time to make a delivery or two before winding up at the record shop and hopefully running into you again.

When it was clear that no teacher was going to come looking for him, Eddie ducked back into your fictional world excitedly. From the first faintly written sentence, he was hooked. The story of a sad Queen, lonely and abandoned, who had to defend her kingdom while falling in love with foreign King. It had all the elements that got Eddie’s blood pumping: medieval knights, lovely but strong ladies and creatures of all shapes. Eddie got comfortable in one of the impossibly hard wooden seats, shielding himself with leather wrapped elbows on the table. You were a talented wordsmith and Eddie was hungry to learn about the fantastical world you were creating with sentences and commas. In his mind’s eye he could see you, the stoic, silent leader, looking for the perfect paramour and finding only monsters at your door. The King, well, you had outed yourself a bit by drawing Steve “The Hair” Harrington’s name on the once red cardboard cover and tracing a heart around it. He got it, really. The guy was a legend at Hawkins, but Eddie didn’t see what all the hype was about. Anybody could be rich and handsome. Broke and good looking, well that something that Eddie had figured out on his own!

It's just, that didn't seem right- the idea that your queen would settle for someone as boring as King Harrington. In fact, the more he read, the more Eddie saw a huge problem in your pages. There was no comedy, no funny business, no glee.

Where was the sidekick? The character with the great one liners, snarky but satirical, ready to quip the villains to death and banter playfully with the heroes? Who was responsible for breaking all your building dynamic tension? Far too fast, he heard the end of day bell sounding throughout the school, and he was genuinely sad about it. For the first time in years, Eddie Munson had stayed in school the entire day and that was solely because of you and your magical manuscript. Gently shutting the pages, he folded the notebook in half and lovingly tucked in the waistband of his jeans, under his jacket, to protect it. Smiling, he held the door open for some student stragglers, already imagining how happy you would be to see him that night. — It wasn’t until you threw your bag down on the rug of your bedroom floor that you realized what you had done. The filmy plastic wrap that covered the school’s copy of The Lord of the Rings crackled as you pulled it free, digging for your writing notebook. You knew you had it, you always did, it went with you everywhere, just in case inspiration struck.

Having left in such a rush, so embarrassed about smashing into Eddie “The Freak”, you’d cared more about getting out of the way then making sure you had all your things. Pair that with social panic at having to explain yourself to anyone, let alone the tall smart alec with tattoos, checking out the novel hadn’t crossed your mind. And now, well now, you were responsible for keeping it safe until you could return it to the library like a responsible citizen. Hopefully no one would notice it was missing. Gulping guiltily, you quickly tossed on your work uniform: black jeans and an uncomfortably tight electric green polo shirt with the words Making Tracks in thick black letters across your chest. Quite possibly the ugliest thing you had ever been forced to put on your body, you did it for the perks. Cheap music to add to your ever growing collection, first dibs on new releases and easy access to concert tickets when bands came anywhere near Hawkins. Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair in an attempt to tame some of the frizz that flared out around your face. It was no use. The mirror couldn’t lie. You were just you and that would have to do. Honestly, you didn’t care about how you looked at work- metalheads and Cure fans didn’t give one shit what you were wearing as long as you could help them get their hands on the tapes of their favorite groups. The pop princesses, though, they were the worst. Always looking for Madonna or the Top Gun soundtrack happened to be the very same people who cast skeptical glances and made rude comments. But you didn’t need to impress any of them. You just needed a paycheck. “You ready, kiddo?” Mom, trying to sound upbeat called out to you, knowing that you were due at Making Tracks Record shop downtown for your evening shift in twenty minutes. “Yea, just a sec!” During your break you planned to get a jump on your homework, so you hastily piled the needed textbooks into your bag, again noting the lack of your personal notebook. You didn’t really have the time to examine its absence, as the clock was ticking, so you let it go and headed down the stairs to your waiting mother. The hug she gave you was deep and long. Since losing your dad in the StarCourt fire last year, mom had become overly focused on you, “Gosh! Maybe we need to cut back on the sweets, huh? I can barely get my arms around you!” Your skin burned with hurt at the comment but you refused to give it voice. Instead you just agreed flatly, “Whatever you think is best.” It was easier than making her feel bad about making you feel bad and it wasn’t as if she registered your comment anyway. The ride to work was more of the same, mom prattling on and on about some new diet she’d seen on television. Exercise tapes to help tone and shape. Self improvement never hurt anyone, she said. “You’ll never find a man if you don’t have a figure! That’s how I caught your father!” “Mom! Gross! And I don’t want to catch anyone. I want-” Turning the taupe colored wheel sharply, she pulled into the parking spaces at the side of the building where you would spend the next six and a half hours, “You want something out of this world. I know. But honey, even space stations have weight limits.” With that lovely thought to keep you company, you popped open the door, not waiting for her to brake. Dipping into the backseat for your book bag, you thanked her mechanically, “Appreciate the ride mom! Thank you!” If she answered you didn’t hear it. Already tucking your chin to your chest, you made the short walk to the record store doors as fast as you could, not looking anyone in the eye. Skating past the manager, you tossed your stuff into your employee locker and punched in quickly. Throwing your name badge around your neck, you inhaled a deep breath, “Just let the music take you away.” It was your work mantra and it really did help. When you stepped back onto the floor, it was like a different person embodied your physical form. Confident, you knew where each album belonged, where each artist and genre ranked and what bands belonged together on a shelf. If someone asked you a question, the timidity of your daily existence was gone, you had the answers. You were large and in charge here, in this miniature music filled world, and no one could blow your house down. Keith, who you were pretty sure was trying to collect as many local retail name tags as possible, called you to the register as soon as he saw you pop out from the backroom. He was talking with a customer, someone he obviously knew pretty well, about Iron Maiden and when they were expected to come to Indianapolis that year. Kicking your beat up Keds against the bottom of the counter, you interrupted confidently, “They won’t be. They’re on a European tour right now, but I hear ‘87 might bring them back stateside.” With a smirk, Keith popped his chin your way, “Told you Munson. She knows everything.” Turning to face you full on, Eddie tilted his head, taking you in with an appreciative smile, “So she does!” Leaning across the shiny black counter, Eddie motioned for Keith’s ear, whispering, “Listen, Keith, is it cool if I borrow her for a minute?”

“Yea, sure, Munson.” And then Keith allowed himself to get distracted by a telephone call. “Hey, does uh… she get a say in this?” You asked defiantly, your hands finding your ample hips. Unsure of what Eddie might be after, you weren’t about to let Keith agree to anything without your input. Stepping into your space, Eddie’s taller figure leaning over yours, not imposing necessarily, but curious, “Of course she does! It’s just-” hovering now, his lips close enough to your cheek that the smell of weed and cigarettes and Big Red brushed over you, “-I found something that I think belongs to you and I… I want to return it.” His voice had dropped to a rumbling timber that the rational part of your brain knew meant bad news. Your libido though, that unsatisfied bitch, heard it and roared to life. Like a prickling sunburn every word that Eddie murmured ghosted over your skin bringing fresh heat to the surface. Somehow he’d managed to put your back to the register and was closing the narrow distance between you two. If Keith noticed anything funny happening he didn’t say anything, content to slap price tags on the new vinyl shipment that you would undoubtedly be responsible for putting out on the floor later on tonight. Swallowing thickly, you shifted your eyes, indicating the direction you planned to move and Eddie stepped back far enough that you could easily pass by. Trailing behind you, Eddie didn’t want to look at your ass, he really didn’t. But it was so round and full- juicy! That was a word he could use to describe your curvy figure. Every step you took was hypnotizing and Eddie couldn’t stop following the swing of your hips swaying from side to side as you lured him away from the front of the shop. Your thighs, encased in black denim, rubbed together just enough for him to know that he was getting to you. Eddie may not have been book smart according to the education council of Indiana, but he knew things. Oh yea, he knew when to push his advantage and when to hold out. When a girl needed a firm hand or wanted to take the lead. When a lady was into him, that was the easiest of all to identify… And you, little miss, were into him. He had no doubt. Coming to a short stop in front of the recently vacated listening booths, you faced Eddie, biting at the inside of your cheek. It was a nervous habit, and truthfully, this situation made you very very nervous. “You uh, you said you found something of mine?” The question was innocent enough, Eddie reckoned, but the way you looked up at him through your thick lashes was not innocent at all. Wide open doe eyes peered into his own, curious and questioning. Stuttering a bit, Eddie started, “Uh… yea. Yea. I think this-” pulling a folded over notebook from the back of his jeans, proud at bringing it back, “-I think this belongs to you.” Closing your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath as your fingers gripped the worn down cardboard cover littered with doodles and scribbled nonsense. You knew then that you had dumped it in the library that morning and Eddie Munson had collected it for you. Something like shame coursed through you and forced you to ask, “Did you- um, did you-” “Read it? Yea. A bit. It’s-” nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “-it’s really good.” He hadn’t relinquished the notebook yet. Maybe he wasn’t ready to let it go entirely, feeling a bit protective of the story he’d found written out on the college ruled pages. Or maybe he just really enjoyed the way you were looking at him with serious eyes and lips pouting just a tiny bit. You had never let anyone read anything that came out of your warped little mind. The judgment of others, the critiques that would come with allowing someone else access to your little story world filled you with anxiety. Yet, here was Eddie “The Freak” telling you that he liked your work. It was overwhelming. “Good?” Sputtering, you weren’t entirely sure how to respond. He didn’t seem to be kidding either. Covering your hand with his own, Eddie dropped down to your eye level, “Really good. I think your main character, well, she’s a badass, isn’t she?” “Um, well, she wants to be-” “And the King? He uh-” stepping around you now, Eddie tapped on the torn cover where a certain Hawkins High alumni’s name was scrawled in black marker, “-He’s not good enough for her.” Another bloom of humiliation broke open in your belly. The name Steve Harrington emblazoned on your writing notebook wasn’t a clue as to your inspiration so much as a direct reference. Now Eddie knew about that, too. Whipping your head around, needing to defend yourself, you emphatically whispered, “It’s not- um, see, he is just a stand in. A model for-” “You don’t have to justify it to me, sweetheart. King Harrington may be the ideal, but your queen, in my humble opinion, needs something more.” Dry as a desert, your mouth could barely form a reply, “And what’s that?” “A jester.” Side-eyeing Eddie you snorted, “A jester?” “Sure! A person who makes your queen laugh, only wants what’s best for her, and is willing to go out on a limb to make sure she gets it.” Chuckling, you shook your head. It wasn’t an idea that had ever entered into your thinking, but that didn’t mean it was bad feedback. “Eddie, my story is-” “Stuck.” He arrogantly answered for you, leaning away from you in case you decided to swing at him. “Excuse me?” The flash of anger shot through you again. The audacity. The straight frustrating nerve of Eddie Munson to tell you what your story lacked. How dare he? Tapping the notebook where your story unfolded, he added, “You haven’t written anything new in days, maybe weeks. So you’re-” shrugging his denim and leather clad shoulders knowingly, “-stuck.” And he was right, which was the worst part. It had taken Eddie Munson all of five hours to out your writer’s block and then boldly offer a solution to your story’s key problem. Jerking your notebook back, finally reclaiming ownership, you licked over your bottom lip, “Ok, Munson. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say I have a… plotting problem. What makes you think your answer is the right one?” Stopping long enough to let the chains on his belt still, Eddie surveyed you seriously, “I don’t know if I’d say it’s the right one, doll, but I know my way around uh, let’s call it story management. Every campaign of mine starts out with an ending, a conclusion. The fun part-” he was almost nose to nose with you now, those big brown eyes peering playfully into your own, as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, “-is how you get there.” “What, uh, what is my conclusion, Mr. Storyteller?” You didn’t want to sound so weak but your voice was barely a whimper when it should have been a shout. Something about this guy, his energy, just made you soft. “Love. Sex. Romantic nonsense that chicks your age dig. Happy endings with pretty boys like King Harrington.” Ticking them off on his ring clad fingers as if it was a mundane shopping list, you watched with the wicked way his lips curled into a grin, unable to keep yourself from staring. Caging you under his outstretched arm, the heat of his body wrapping around you, you were forced to tilt your chin up in an effort to maintain eye contact. The rough collar of your uniform top parted enough that he could look down your shirt and Eddie hated that he liked looking so much. Your large breasts crammed together under the professionally embroidered polyester, rising and falling with each shallow breath, deserved better in his opinion. Your pillowy lips, parted perfectly, were made to be kissed, and he raised his hand high enough to brush the calloused pad of his thumb across the bottom one, just to see what you’d do. Croaking out a curse, you squeezed your eyes together, “Eddie…” It was an exhaled echo of the word that was swirling around your brain and the only sound you could commit to in the moment. “Yea, sweetheart? You got something you wanna say?” Fluttering open, you stared up at him, undone and overwrought. You opened your mouth, hoping to regain some traction both mentally and physically but were cut short. “Hey! Munson? You’re still here?” Keith, still safe behind the register, called out to the nearly empty space. But Eddie didn’t budge. Still using his arm to support his weight, his dark gaze set on you, he answered, “I sure am! Just be another second with our record store Queen.” And the way he emphasized your title sent a fizzing firework through your belly. “Well, hurry up man. I need some-” lowering his shout to a loud whisper, “-size eight green jeans, ya know?” “Give me a minute, man. I’ll take care of you.” At those last words, Eddie risked touching you again, pushing a thick shock of hair behind your ear so he could see your face. When you nuzzled your cheek into his hand he knew you were a goner. Hell, maybe he was too. “Come out with me tonight. There’s a battle of the bands at The Hideout. You like music as much as it looks like you do, then, you should be there.” If You Go with Eddie to The Hideout, Click Here! If You Don’t Go with Eddie, Continue Here!

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#eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie smut #eddie fanfic #eddie x reader smut #choose your own adventure #eddie munson smut

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thisisarcanereverie · 2 years

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A Distraction (DARK! Moon Knight x Reader) the Knight and the Pawn Series

A/N: SooooooOooooOOOOooo....This is a long one.

like 11 pages, and a grand total of 4.8k words......I have no self restraint when it comes to smut anymore it's insane.

If you guys caught my posts earlier today you will know that this chapter contains some serious ass smut. Chapter warnings are below, but I just want to take a moment and thank you guys for all the love and support you've shown this series. We're almost through with it about two or three more chapters left before the series is done. I do encourage you guys to interact a lot with this, it gives me more motivation than you think! Each reply or reblog with feedback literally fuels me to write more, so thank you!

MINORS DNI!!

WARNINGS: Dark themes, Smut, P in V sex, choking (m recieving), oral (f recieving), praise kink (m and f) hella hate sex (but also it's kinda tender???) dark smutty marc (he's one hell of a warning) slightly subby Marc (a warning)

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“God! that was awful!” You said as you grabbed the towel from your friend's hand, stuffing down the butterflies in your stomach as his eyes lit up and the corners of his mouth turned upward as the deep sound of his laughter filled the room. You and Marc had gotten pretty bored and had run out of movies to binge ages ago, so like any other people your age did when there wasn’t any tv to watch and you were with your best friend, you decided to play a stupid game. The game you guys chose happened to be an old favorite of Marc’s.

Truth or Dare.

“Well it wasn’t supposed to be pleasant,” Marc said as though he didn’t just dare you to jump into the freezing creek in front of the cabin, “where would the fun be in that.”

“Haha” You sarcastically laughed, drying your hair with the towel he provided, “So much fun. Now if you excuse me I have to change clothes before I die of hypothermia,” You say as you make your way to your room before you turn back suddenly, “and don’t you dare fall asleep before I’m done it’s my turn pretty boy!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, starlight!” You heard Marc say. You quickly changed out of the freezing wet clothes, dried yourself off a little more before putting on the warmest clothes you had packed. A light hoodie and sweatpants. You gathered the wet clothes to hang outside to air dry. By the time you have completed this task, you notice Marc sitting in the nook by the window. Moonlight in his dark hair and a somber, far off look in his eyes. He looked like something from a painting in an art gallery somewhere, something that people went up to and got feeling from because it reminded them of someone or something or a certain point in their life. You always knew Marc was attractive, but right now to you he was more. He almost looked impossible to touch, otherwise he would evaporate into thin air, a mirage.

You shake your head of those weird thoughts before joining him by the nook, he didn’t seem to notice you until you let out a sigh as you followed his gaze into the still waters.

“One day I want to visit the ocean,” Marc said, you nodded in acknowledgement.

“That sounds nice,” you replied, “feeling the sand on your feet, watching the moon pull the tide in and out, or even watching the sun set and shine on the waters.”

“I’d like it if you were there with me,” Marc said, “to see the ocean and feel the sand and other crap like that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “I’d like that too.” For a while silence settled between you, your gaze shifting occasionally from the waters in front of you to your curly haired best friend. You studied the way his jaw clenched and the tapping of his index finger. You studied each facial feature of his and just admired him. Though you would never admit it, whether that was from denial or fear you were unsure.

“Truth or Dare,” You say finally, keeping your eyes on him. Marc let out a small sigh after being broken out of his thoughts and he looked at you.

“Truth.” He answered, not really thinking it through.

“What were you just thinking about?” You could see the light flush on his cheeks and his eyes darted slightly.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me what you were thinking about just now.” You insisted.

“You really want to know?” Marc asked.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

“Probably.”

There was a few seconds of hesitation before he dropped his shoulders and looked away, attempting to hide the glow of blush rising on his cheeks.

“I was thinking about how I’m probably going to be the only virgin in the marines.” You could tell from his tone he was trying to play it off as a small joke, something to laugh off. You don’t know what possessed you, you didn’t know if it was because of the moon light in his hair, the reflection of the water in his eyes, the intoxicating smell of cedar, smoke, and rain that always seemed to linger on him., or maybe it was because he was Marc, your Marc and your Marc always made you feel safe with him. But you didn’t laugh and as you slid closer to him, you could feel your pulse raise a little bit.

“Y’know… it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“What doesn’t have to be that way?”

“You being the only virgin in the marines.”

“Oh what you’re going to join too?”

“No,” You said simply, suddenly the air became thick as that word lingered in the air, the tension became palpable as Marc’s eyes drifted from the water to your face. You could feel him studying you, looking for any trace of mischief or any indication that you didn’t really mean what you said, that maybe he was reading the situation wrong. But he wasn’t, he could see the serious nature of the question in your eyes. You could see his gaze change from studious to cautious, his eyes darken as he drank you in.

“Care to elaborate,” Marc said as he placed a hand on your knee tentatively, as though he were testing the waters. Making sure he wasn’t reading the situation wrong and that he wasn’t putting your friendship on the line for something he misread.

“I’m saying you don’t have to be a virgin,” You said, “That can change.” You feel his hand, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric, travel upward before resting on your mid thigh, “I can change that.”

“Are you sure?” You could sense the slight tremor in his voice, “wouldn’t this change everything?”

“Not unless we let it,” You said, your hand delicately trailing up his arm, “if I’m honest, I would rather lose it to you rather than some dude who I’ll have nothing to do with in five years. But we don’t have to, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I definitely don’t feel uncomfortable,” Marc said, his hand trailing your hip as he leaned in closer to you, “I feel the same way.”

“Then shut up and kiss me, pretty boy.”

And with that his lips crashed clumily into yours, however in its own way it was soft and gentle. Later on you would look back on this kiss and pinpoint this was the moment when you knew, deep in your bones you knew as his hands explored you and you explored him, that you loved him. That no matter what he did, no matter how much he had hurt you.

Some part of you will always love him.

Even if you don’t always want to.

—

Today was the day, the day you would attempt to escape.

Over the course of a few days you tried different, covert methods of knocking Marc unconscious. You tried a blend of various teas that could knock an elephant out.

You tried working him out to exhaustion under the guise of exercise.

You tried a combination of both.

You were running out of time, today was the day and you still had no idea how to knock him flat out. And honestly the fact that the tea nor the rigorous exercise made little to no impact on him worried you, you figured some part of that was just one of the benefits of khnoshu’s avatar. You have to be in pique physical condition in that line of work.

But Khonshu also depends on his avatar to be a bit of a mess on the inside in order to manipulate them to his whim. Which always unsettled you, but now you might be able to use it to your advantage.

Only you wanted to save that for a last resort.

The only time you remembered Marc sleeping deeply was at that cabin that night. When in the afterglow his head was on your chest and he just listened to your heart beat and your hands combed through his hair. That night he was practically comatose for a solid eight hours, you couldn’t wake him if you tried, and you did. You assume it had something to do with the comfort of it all.

You didn’t want to use that precious memory, however twisted it all was now, and change it into a tool. But what other choice did you have, what choice did he leave you?

At least this is what you told yourself.

You knew he would probably be suspicious if you just walked up and had your way with him. And you can’t find it in yourself to set up a romantic scene either.

It was midday and you were thinking of how to go about it, looking out at the city during the rain. It always rained in London. You were so engrossed in your thoughts that you didn’t notice him come in.

“Truth or Dare?”

Your mind was thrown back to that night as you whip your head in his direction. He was sitting beside you, his gaze focused outside. When he turns his head that way you can almost see him again, you can almost see your Marc in there, with the light in his hair

You stuff down those memories and butterflies deep inside you as you huff.

“That is a game for children.”

“It was our game.” Marc replied coolly.

“No,” You said, “it used to be our game.” you paused, “we’re no longer the same people we were when we last played it.”

“Yes we are,” Marc said, holding onto your hand, “I’m still pining after you like a schoolboy and you’re still trying to convince yourself that you don’t love me.”

“Will you stop,” you grit through your teeth as you move your head to look at him, your eyes boring holes into him, “Will you stop telling me what I feel and what I don’t.”

“Only when you stop lying to yourself.”

You got up to leave, you were almost to the door, your mind fogged with emotion when you felt your hand being tugged back firmly, you turned your head to fight back but you were shocked by how close his face was to you. Your breathing stopped for a moment as you took him in, his smell, the way his curls fell over his face framing his eyes, how stubble had begun to grow on him giving his face some newfound dimension. For a moment you stand there, both of you breathing heavily, your heart beating rapidly against your chest and your mind stopped functioning, you were so close to each other your noses brushed against the other. One move would be all it took to close the gap, to connect your lips. A mere half an inch away.

“Tell me,” Marc said, his voice low and barely above a whisper, “tell me you don’t want me.” Your muddled brain barely registered the sentence, when you didn’t respond quickly he leaned toward your neck, you could feel him inhaling the scent of your perfume and body wash, you moved your neck to give him better access, begging for his lips on your neck but did no such thing as his hand moved to cradle your face in his. “Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll walk away.”

You said nothing, you tried to justify it by telling yourself you needed him, you needed to let this happen so you could escape.

You knew it was all lies.

His fingers gently massaged into your scalp, you practically melted into his touch, every nerve was on fire and he had yet to kiss you.

The rotten bastard.

“I hate you,” You say as your hands fists themselves in his shirt and crush his lips on yours. It was all tongue and teeth, you molded your lips against his in this fiery battle of mind and body.

“I hate you.” You repeat as you pull him against you, his hands moving from your face to grip your hips firmly, You could feel him start to maneuver you, slowly walking you back towards the nearest wall. Without warning, you let out a little yelp as Marc effortlessly lifted you in the air, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as Marc pinned you against the wall. The coolness of it shocked your ignited skin. His large hands then move, they give your hips a firm squeeze before trailing down your leg and caressing upward. You bite his lip mid kiss as you feel his fingers brush against the bare skin underneath your shirt, igniting a fire within you.

“I hate you,” You lied, your words meaningless and barely above a growl. You could see it in his dark, half lidded eyes, that he didn’t believe it one bit.

“No you don’t.”

And with that he kissed you with much more force than before, his pillow soft lips crash onto yours with enough passion to make you woozy. Your fingers leave the collar of his shirt and move to remove yours, you separated for just a moment to remove the all too thick layer of clothing. You were about to kiss him again when he stopped you. You were about to question him when you saw it, the look of some dark desire in his eyes. A look that seemed to want to devour you piece by piece. His hands made their way up your torso, his skin raising goosebumps in their wake as your head rolled back as you felt him palm your breasts through the material of your bra, a soft moan escaped your lips as his descended on your clavicle, slowly moving down to leave open mouthed kisses on the tops of you breasts. You gripped his shoulders as he removed one hand to unhook the offending material from behind your back. It was so quick and sly you didn’t even know what he was doing until your bra was dropped to the floor below you. You were slightly impressed that he unhooked it with one hand and didn’t require any assistance.

Honestly speaking you found it hot.

Before you could make some snide comment, you mouth erupted with a very loud moan as his mouth practically devoured your nipple, sucking, leaving hickies, kissing, you could feel wetness pool itself in between your thighs, completely ruining your underwear as he took the pebbled nipple in between in his teeth and gave a quick tug. Your hands went from his shoulders to clench tightly in his soft curls as he repeated the same actions on your other, neglected breast. As he worked wonders on your breast you felt his hand knead the flesh of your ass and your thighs that by now you had no doubt were crushing him.

You moved your hips experimentally against, feeling the clothed bulge grind against you had your grip in his hair tighten as a shaky, breathy moan came from you, the slight friction feeling like heaven. Meanwhile you could feel him tense as his grip on you became bruising, not that you minded.

Experimentally again you grind yourself against him again, this time with more force. The low growl that reverberated off of him could only be described as feral as his lips left your breast as he looked at you in your eyes. His midnight eyes became impossibly darker, as the intense gaze he gave you quaked you right to your core as you became impossibly wetter. You could feel his calloused hands grip the sides of your waist firmly as he thrusted his hips up and dragged your cloth covered cunt over his clothed bulge harshly extracting a feral sound from you as electricity shot up your spine and made your head impossibly light and buzzed. Without realizing one hand went from his hair to curl itself around the base of his throat. You felt him lean into your hand as his lips descended on your neck as he repeated the harsh grinding of his hips against yours. When you felt him bite down on your shoulder, your hand instinctively squeezed around his throat, you could feel his pulse in your palm, it was fast and it quickened as you squeezed. You felt the bobbing of his adams apple and the vibrations of his groan escaped him, his eyes looking up at you as his large hand grabbed your wrist. Instead of removing your hand, he held it in place.

“Choke me harder,” His deep voice groaned, “make me see stars, starlight.”

You complied.

Your hands grip harshly at his throat, squeezing enough for breathing to become more difficult as he hooks his hands under your ass as he carries you to your shared room. His eyes never leave yours and yours don’t leave him. Even as you're leaving kisses and bites along his lips and his jaw he somehow manages to stumble into your room. It’s only then does he let your feet touch the floor.

He parts from you only a second, you whine at the loss of contact but quickly shut up as you watch as he practically tore his shirt off of him. You take a moment to admire him, the muscles that ripple and move, the way his skin glowed as his dark curls frame his face as his stubble gave his face more structure. It wasn’t until he fell on his knees in front of you, that you thought he looked all too much like a fallen angel. With a sinful glow to his skin and a simple look of repentance in his eyes.

You felt powerful as Marc fell to his knees in front of you, his touch light and slow, savoring each inch you were willing to give him as his fingers travel up from your calf to the waistband of your pants. His lips leaving a trail of open mouthed kissing from your navel slowly, agonizingly so, downward. His hands made it to the button of your pants when you placed a hand underneath his chin, forcing him to look at you. Your knees nearly gave out at the look of passion, and silent submission to your whims his eyes gave you. The rush you felt as he inflated your ego was addictive. Your thumb brushed against the bottom of his lip, your toes curled as he gave it a small, wet kiss.

With never breaking eye contact with you he unbuttons your pants, gently lowering them before completely ridding you of them. You suck in a small intake of breath as his eyes left yours as he kissed your pussy over your already ruined panties.

“All wet like this for me, starlight.” Marc groaned, rubbing your clothed clit with his fingers.

“Go to hell.” You groaned as he played with you, his fingers dancing over to the sides of your underwear.

“Why would I do that when I have heaven right here?” You felt the elastic give out as he tore your underwear from your body, before you could act too shocked about it, he tore a pleasured scream from you as he dived right in. his mouth working you expertly, your hands wound themselves in his hair. He licked and sucked on that bundle of nerves, and through your haze you can see his eyes close and it looks like he was eating his favorite meal. Like if he had it his way he would be eating your pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Marc guided your legs over his shoulders and before you know it, his hands was supporting your weight as he lifted you in the air once again, you didn’t know if it was because of how easily he seemed to manhandle you or the fact that his tongue was going at your slit with more vigor but you felt a new sense of arousal hit you and the coil started to wind itself up in your core. By now you were a pathetic moaning mess.

“Fuck,” you groaned, “fuckfuckfuck oh my god right there, fuck me.” You were barely capable of making a coherent thought let alone a sentence. You almost didn’t notice the soft sheets of your bed hitting you back, but you couldn’t even say anything because if you thought that he was enjoying himself before, he was practically drowning in you now.

Your trembling hands gripped the sheets beside you as Marc lifted your hips upward and he inserted two thick digits into your cunt. No prep, just straight in, filling you and hitting a soft spongy patch in you that made you see white. The combination of him flicking his tongue, his sucking, and the soft graze of teeth on your swollen sensitive bud and his thick, slick covered digits hitting that one spot repeatedly without mercy, and the slight beard burn that his stubble was giving you, it wasn’t long before you were practically convulsing underneath him as the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had is ripped right from you. Tears pricked your eyes as you let out the most guttural scream. Your hands practically rip the sheets underneath you as every nerve is sent into overdrive.

You were still a trembling mess when Marc ripped his fingers from you and licked them clean as though the entire lower half of his face wasn’t glistening with your slick already.

Right in front of you.

You could practically hear your heartbeat out your chest as his lips collided with yours, You could taste yourself on his lips and you shuddered. He pressed his forehead against you and merely basked in your afterglow with you. Your hands unclench the sheets as they ghosted downward to where he was still in his pants, you felt the front, a wet patch had developed and yet he was still so painfully hard. Again, this did wonders for your ego as merely eating you had caused him to lose control over himself. You brushed against him when he caught your wrist. Pinning it beside you.

“You have no idea,” Marc breathed into your neck, “no idea what you do to me.”

“Then show me,” You said using your free hand to cup his face, “I dare you.”

The look in his eyes darken as he unpins your other hand before ridding himself of his ruined pants and underwear. Your eyes widened at his size, you don’t remember it ever being that big. But right now it was huge and throbbing, leaking precum, you weren’t sure if he would fit.

He rubbed himself against you, gathering whatever slick he hadn’t already lapped up, coating his thick shaft in it. He tapped the swollen head against your over sensitive clit a few times, extracting a choked moan from you before pushing in. Your hands claw at his back, nails leaving bright red streaks against his toned back as he practically bent you in half and split you open. You had never felt so full and your legs were shaking furiously. When he bottomed out he kissed the tears away from your eyes.

“You’re so good for me starlight,” he praised, “so goddamn good and tight. I fit just right in here, don't I?” You could only dumbly nod as he started slowly thrusting, making each drag and push of his cock in you count. Making you feel the pleasurable burn as you were stretched around him. Then all at once he dragged out, only to slam himself in, you let out the loudest scream you ever have. As he did that repeatedly, his skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, his curls sticking to his forehead and his hot breath mixing with your own. Soon enough the coil began to wind again in your core, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and breathy loud moans filled the room. Marc was practically drilling into you with his brutal pace. You could feel him getting closer with you, you knew he wouldn’t last much longer as his pace became more erratic.

“Cum in me,” you whisper in his ear as the coil threatens to burst at any minute, “cum in me please pretty boy.”

The sound of the nickname you gave him, combined with your hot breath in his ear and your tight wet heat wrapped around brought about his orgasm as he fiercely thrusted and released deep inside you, which only brought on your own electrifying, toe curling orgasm. If you thought the first one was intense, then this made you see the light.

He collapsed on top of you, his frame shaking and quivering just as much as you. You instinctively brought your hands to gently comb through his hair as he went limp inside you. Your legs were let down from his shoulders as you both basked in the afterglow of what you had just done. You shushed him, and praised him for how good he did, calling him, pretty boy. Like you did the first time, only this time you both were a little more out of breath. You stifled a laugh as you recalled that semi awkward morning after, but then your heart hurt with how much grief you felt. You missed those people you were then. Even though you were going through immense internal turmoil over your newly realized feelings for him then, you would much rather go through that then what storm your mind was brewing.

As you comb through his hair you can’t help but wish you could forget, forget what he did and who he’s become. Forget the past three years, like they never existed. And you knew, deep down, you couldn’t pretend like they didn’t happen forever. But right now, with how close he was to, listening to your heartbeat like a sacred prayer, you pretended like none of it never happened as you raked through his damp curls and pretended that instead of your gilded prison, you both were back at that cabin.

After all, you were good at pretending.

—

After a few more rounds Marc was finally out. You hoped that your legs would be able to carry you where you needed to be. You slipped gently away from his grip, the soft snores that came from his figure let you know he was deep into sleep. You had to use the wall for support but you thanked god you were still able to walk well enough. You gathered the clothes you had snuck away in the bathroom, you didn’t want to wake him up, but you also didn't want to smell him when you left. So you gave yourself a small sponge bath, the rag was cool against your skin, and you hissed slightly as you cleaned your combined juices from you, the area still tender.

You quickly changed clothes and put on your tennis shoes, they were worn but they didn’t squeak against the floor board. With a slight limp you made your way to the open door of the bedroom, you looked back one last time at his sleeping figure. The moon light in his hair gave him a halo and illuminated how peaceful his features were. Some part of you that was broken and loved him wanted to stay. It broke the piece of you that broke the first time you left. You looked at him once more before making your way to the front door.

Your hand felt the coolness of the handle when you froze, panic started to fill you as your mind raced. What if this was a test? What if Jake was lying to you, could you really trust him?

All these thoughts filled you as you held your breath as you turned the handle. Instead of a blaring alarm, a soft click was heard. You let out a shaky exhale as you opened the door just enough to slip through. After gently closing the door as quietly as possible you ran. Or at least attempted to with your limp and all. You raced down the stairwell, not trusting to take the elevator, You were exhausted but you pushed through. You remember Jake’s instructions, go out the back of the building and sure enough once you reached the ground floor the stairwell exit was right next to the back door. You pushed through the door, and for a split moment you relished the feel of the outside air on your skin. How it’s crisp bite felt and you swore you would never wear a jacket or complain about it ever again.

You only had a few moments of peace before a familiar motorcycle stopped in front of you and handed you a helmet.

“An old friend will be waiting downstairs to take you to a safehouse.”

“Layla?”

TAGLIST:

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@themapoftinyperfectthings

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