#then I find MOLD in my car this morning??

[tadpole-apocalypse]

Crashed at 8, got nothing done last night other than get a tummy ache 😔

So eepy.

[devilmademewriteit]

Dark Paradise

part 3 of Salvatore

read part 1, Salvatore, here

read part 2, Playing Dangerous, here

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: left alone in javi’s bed, you go looking for distractions. finding them only leads you further into his world: a world of danger and violence, where no one can protect anyone.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, super SUPER light choking) so 18+ only content; pet names (cariño, hermosa, querida, sweetheart, baby) afab fem reader; reader is American; mentions of hair pulling; allusions to SA; attempted SA against reader (not by javi); violence against reader (hitting, slapping, manhandling); smoking; dubcon (power imbalance, trauma sex??).

word count: 7k+

no use of y/n in this fic

u guys. it is here. and the most exciting part is I can already promise u a part 4!! pls be mindful that this part is darker than the rest. it has many triggering themes, so many sure u read the warnings & stay on the safe side of things.

as always, love u all so effing much. feedback, reblogs, comments & asks are always appreciated, & don’t forget to join the taglist in my pinned post !

-em<3

—

No one compares to you. I’m scared that you won’t be waiting on the other side.

- Dark Paradise

“Girl, where did you go?”

You’re on the landline with Carrie, one of the few half-friends you'd made living in Medellín, thighs sore and bruised from the backseat-loving you’d received the night before. While Javi’s at work, you’re on (his words) 'house arrest,' and lounging alone in his apartment feels eerily quiet. The occasional car drives by—you try not to listen for the sound of scraping tires.

So, around 9:30, you’d decided to fill the silent space with a bit of vapid conversation, realizing that last night's antics (and your unexplained disappearance) may have caused a bit of confusion.

You start by filling Carrie in on the generalities: the guns, the car, and the rescue, at first planning to leave out the more… personal details.

Like the one you'd filed away under 'Riding a Cop to High Heaven in the Backseat of his Jeep.'

You also leave out the part where, afterwards, you’d kicked off your heels by his front door, let down your hair in a sloppy, half-drunk movement, made a beeline to the familiar crinkles and folds of his unmade bed, and swiftly passed out in his embrace.

Oh, to fall asleep between those arms for the rest of eternity.

Given your more cynical—okay, borderline self-denying—approach to life, you felt downright ashamed of how much you’d enjoyed it. How much you’d enjoyed him and all of his lasting touches.

And in the morning… Javi’s hardness biting into your hip was a more efficient wake-up-call than the trial nuke sirens back home; the soft kisses laid down the length of your neck and the long, lazy fingers creeping down your abdomen had you surging to consciousness with embarrassing speed. You’d shivered into wakefulness, flattened against his chest.

“Good morning, cariño.” His words were molasses, melted caramel, thick and damp with sleep.  

“Hmmmh,” was your only reply, sloping into your highest octaves as his hand sank to push aside your already-ruined underwear, dipping lower to toy with the switch only he knew how to turn on best. Arching into his spine, last night’s dress crumpled up above your waist, leaving him to feel more, more, more of you.  

“Thought it would take more convincing,” he breathed against your shoulder, a breeze of late august air.

“Wh’time z’it?”  

“We have time, cariño, we have time.”

When his digits pulled a moan from your lips, no other answers really mattered. He’d loosed that deep, guttural rumble of approval that made your chest swell with pride, your legs part in service and need.  

“Can you hold this leg up for me, baby? S’all you need to do.” He’d helped fold up your knee, and you’d turned to meet him with pleading, drooping eyes, dutifully contorting to mold into the shape of his body. “Perfect, baby, good job,” a rough kiss to your temple, “n’I can do the rest, hermosa—I’ll do the rest.”  

He slid in effortlessly, harmonizing to your sigh of relief with a “shit, s’wet,” and sheathing his cock between the folds of your morning slick. Brows furrowing, mouth falling open, you had every detail of your bliss etched on your expression, all for the beautiful man looming over you. “Always fuckin’ askin’ for it, huh, sweetheart?” He'd mused. “Woke me up moanin’ in your sleep, cariño—dreamin’ about last night?”  

An “mhmm,” was all you could muster. Javi’s hips rolled against your ass, and the resulting feeling of overwhelming fullness had you swearing you were still in reverie. When he paused, snaked his arms under your neck and around your waist, and pulled you flush against his chest, you remember it feeling like a dirty, desperate hug.  

“M’sore, Javi,” you’d whined at the stretch of your opening, the continued drag of Javi’s fingers against your aching, weary clit.  

“S’no excuse, baby,” he’d grumbled into the shell of your ear, pressing hard into that tender bundle of nerves. “Gotta get you used to it.”

A harrumph as he’d turned up the intensity, punishing you for your protests. “Y-you’re a mean-mean man, Javier Peña.”

Soft, gravelly laughter danced, twirled, traveled along the dip of your neck. “‘N you’re gonna come so hard for this mean, mean man.”  

He was right, bringing you to the brink of orgasm with the thick, rough pads of his fingertips, the tip of his cock sliding up and down, over and over, in and out of your guts.  

“Yeah—yes—m’gonna come for you, Javi,” you’d admitted.  

But he’d stolen his magical digits away, used them to turn your jaw, to square your face off with his own concentrated, lust-filled expression. “Show me cariño, yes—gonna be picturin’ that pretty lil’ face aaaaall fuckin’ day,” and you’d tumbled over the edge the moment he’d slid back down to the apex of your thighs, drowning in the darkness of his cinnamon-brown irises and the tantalizing circles—drawn from memory—against your clit.  

“J-javi—it feels—feels s-so good—”  

“I know, hermosa, s’just what you needed, fuck—”

He was already close enough, but your climaxing trembles and your whining, choked gasps had him wrapping his hand around your throat, pushing you further and further down the length of his tensing shaft.  

“Shit—you feel like heaven, baby, so good for me—”  

His release came fast and hard, leaking his hot spend into you, painting your insides like brushstrokes on canvas with his final thrust.  

He seemed to lay there for forever, softening between your walls as sweet slumber carried you off once more. “Go back to sleep, baby,” he’d advised against your shoulder (as if you’d needed any kind of encouragement), “Did such a good job; go back to sleep.”  

It was easy to accede to his command.  

You’d come to for a half-second as he’d placed, fully dressed, the clink of his belt and the crisp waft of his cologne rousing you to near-consciousness, a deliberate, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Don’t answer the door for anyone else, okay, hermosa?”

“Huh? Oh—mhm.”

And you’d vaguely registered a low laugh. “Good to know you’re so well behaved when you’re half-asleep.” His finger traced your cheekbone, dragged down to pull teasingly at your bottom lip. “Means I’ll have to keep fuckin’ you to the point of exhaustion.”

“Mhm—please." Squished and mumbled, guttural and breathless.  

Another soft laugh, and then echoes of receding footsteps.  

Waking up a few hours later, you’d peeled your sticky thighs apart, confused at first by the mysterious pool of wetness between your legs.

You didn’t bother cleaning it up, already feeling the loss of your DEA officer. You somehow chose to dial Carrie's number to kill some time on your day off (or else, you feared, you’d have quickly found another use for your bored fingers).

Being alone in his room leaves you feeling very young. Lying in his bed, thinking about the past night’s events… you feel giddy, like a highschool girl after her first time, and anxious, on edge without Javier’s protection.

You just want to gush about it.

“Do you remember that DEA agent? The Texan?”

You barely have time to finish your thought before Carrie’s cutting your question short.

“Sexy Javi?”

She giggles. You snort indelicately into the receiver.

“I never called him that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she returns. “I deduced it from the amount of times you ranted to me about his… callers.”

You fiddle with the telephone chord, smiling artfully to yourself. “I’m in his bed right now.”

There’s a slap. No doubt the sound of a hand clapping over a set of slack lips. And then—

“I thought he lived outside the city?!”

It’s a strange reaction. You’d expected something a bit more on-topic, confused at your friend’s preoccupation with Peña’s living quarters when you’d just divulged such an out-of-character, personal detail.

Well, at least the enthusiasm is there.

“No, he lives right by the embassy.” You respond, rolling lazily onto your side. Opening the top drawer of his bedside table, you grimace to yourself, taking in (on top of the empty bottle of men’s cologne and an old, broken watch) a box of tissue paper, a pair of handcuffs (not regulation), a smatter of sex toys, and a few scattered, unopened condoms. “That new… fancy building on the corner,” you continue, swiping a few tissues between your legs, trying not to giggle at the teasing Javi was in for tonight, “Carrie—are you seriously not gonna ask how it was?”

There’s a pause. You hear a rustle in the background; the sound reminds you of students in class, whipping out pens and notebooks.

Is she taking notes?

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

That reaction felt more appropriate.

It all comes bursting out of you—the night out, Javi’s rescue, your backseat escapade. Carrie’s an ideal audience, gasping and ‘oooh’-ing and ‘girl!’-ing at all the right moments.

When you get to the end of your tale, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Carrie pries for more and more specifics, keeping you on the phone for close to an hour. You don't give her everything (did she really need an approximation of his size?) but you do make sure to remind her, often, that Javier Peña was an excellent fuck.

Finally, the conversation dies down. Sitting up, you realize just how desperately you’re in need of a shower. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the smell of sex, tequila, and Javi’s day-old cologne clinging to your skin, but his place gets hot, and you hadn't anticipated the need to pack deodorant in your purse during last night's going-out prep.

Either way, Carrie's become distracted, the length between your words and her responses growing with every passing minute. You notice a Spanish conversation taking place in the background, no doubt the reason for her decreasing attentiveness.

You’re about to hang up, launching into a polite, “alright girl, I’ll let you go” when she goes back in for more.

“Is he home now?”

She blurts it out, and you're a bit taken aback. Frankly, the urgency of her tone feels a little jarring.

“Um, no,” you answer, uncertain, stretching out your vowels, “I think he went in early today.”

“Good.”

Her clipped tone continues to confuse you. It’s… not playful anymore. It’s administrative.

Commercial.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” a flutter of shrill laughter, “Just wanted to make sure he’s not listening in on our—”

There’s a knock at the door before she can finish. You call out just a sec! automatically, pulling on your rumpled clothes from the night before as the receiver tumbles onto the unmade bed.

It’s only once you’ve lumbered over, wiped the grogginess from your eyes, once you’ve unlocked the door and twisted the handle—it’s only once your head is covered with a thick, scratchy fabric, once the world’s gone dark and a cry of surprise is wrenched from your throat—that you recall Javi’s warning:

Don’t open the door for anyone else.  

Something else takes over. Something primal. Fight, fight, fight. Find the flesh and punish it, scramble for purchase into any detectable, softer areas. Squirm until your legs give out, 'till your knees hit the floor and the beginnings of bruises scatter across your burning skin in a plethora of vulnerable places.

But when you thrash around like that, make sure your head doesn’t hit the doorframe.

Because then? It’s lights out.

—

The first thing you notice is the smell.  

Weed and tobacco. Wet weed and tobacco. It’s not a smell you’re accustomed to (you worked for the DEA, for crying out loud). It makes your already-pounding head spin, so it takes a second before you remember that you’re not safe—you’re not at home, you’re not at Javi’s, and you’re not with Javi.

Instincts kick in. Your stomach aches with fear, lighting you up from the inside, energizing every inch of your body. You wrench, pull, struggle against the restraints suffocating your wrists, binding your hands around the back of a rickety, wooden chair. You can’t kick at anything, either. Your ankles are crossed, squished on top of each other and secured by a firm length of (what you assume to be) rope.

And then the canvas is unceremoniously yanked off of your head, taking a few hairs from your scalp along with it.

You squint, blinking into the dim light, slowly adjusting to your surroundings: some sort of musty basement with concrete walls and floors, decorated by nothing except a couple of small, rectangular windows near the too-high ceilings. It’s completely empty—save for your company.

One, two, three strangers. All men. All Cartel, by the looks of them.

And all positively leering.  

The one nearest you, holding the bag in his hands, speaks down to you. It’s quick and harsh, mocking and cruel. Spanish and unintelligible.

Your hatred towards the captor blinds you; it coaxes the animal out of its cage. You spit: “I don’t speak Spanish, motherfucker.”

(Even if you did, the adrenaline coursing through your veins wouldn’t allow you much room for comprehension).

From the shadows, another man appears. He lumbers over to you, and you notice the peculiarity of his European-looking hat as he squats down to level with you.

He clicks his tongue, dousing you with a look of disapproval. “That’s not very nice, hermosa.”

You shiver. Javi had called you that before, many times. And even though it sounded totally different coming from this foul man’s mouth, shrouded under the veil of a thick, Spanish accent, it sticks.

You hold your tongue, biting it to keep from sobbing. The glint in his eye, visible behind his glasses, moves from playfulness to exasperated ire.

He sighs, stands, and grabs your hair, tilting your head back harshly to look down at you. “You’re very hard to catch, you know that?” He muses, darkness trickling across his features. “But you’re alone now, Americana. No DEA—no Javier Peña to protect you.”

He makes a mockery of his name, oozing cockiness as it comes spitting out of his smirk. You glare up at him, simmering anger and bubbling fear claiming you. Would they go after Javi?

No. They wouldn’t dare.

Only an American like yourself—low-value, replaceable, unnoticeable—was expendable.

“What do you want from me?”

He smiles, releasing your head and taking a step back.

“You’re the assistant, aren’t you?” And that deceptively sweet tone is back, frightening you more than his rage. “We need directions, hermosa. You’ve been in all the government buildings—we know, we watched you. Why don’t you give us some assistance,” he pauses, leaning down towards you, “And tell us where your evidence against Pablo Escobar is filed.”

You snort, unimpressed, shocked, and a little humoured by his little monologue. This was what they were after?

This was why you'd been fearing for your life?

A fucking… map?

“Find someone else. I don’t know shit.”

It’s honestly true. The bastards could not be barking up a more wrong tree. For all their criminal genius, they hadn’t managed to catch the fact that you really, truly didn’t give a flying fuck about the particulars of your job.

But if this was about Escobar—the Pablo Escobar—then these were men from the Medellín cartel. The same Medellín cartel that left scores of expendable bodies in its wake, that bombed, assassinated, and tortured government workers like they were no more than rats in a science lab.

You weren’t the end-all, be-all of this operation.

No, you were just another lead.

A lead that (only you knew) led to jack-all. Unless they were scrambling to learn about the best places to go out dancing or the worst brands of moisturizer, you had very little to offer the thugs.

The one with the strange hat—the ringleader, you decide—shares a smile with his co-conspirators, and you begin to regret the arrogance of your statement.

“There are many ways we can do this,” he warns, voice sloping down to a dangerous hum. “It can be easy…” and he lowers a hand to his belt buckle, setting every cell in your body on fire, “Or hard.”

It‘s a plea to God more than a question for your captor, your desperate, self-pitying: “Why me?” It can't be above a whisper, but the asshole responds anyway.

“It’s more enjoyable when we get to work with something pretty.” A dark laugh. “Who’s going to come looking for you, hermosa? Your family? Your friends? Your… government?” He clicks his tongue again, looking down at you in mock concern. “Like I said, we’ve been watching. You have a habit of disappearing. Running away.”

Figures.

Figures that the reason you’d wound up with your life on the line, your body in danger, was because of you. Once again, it boiled down to the lack of attachments you’d curated over the years, passing from one thing to another, quick on your feet the second they hit solid ground. For God’s sake, the only reason you’d made it this long in Medellín was because it hadn’t managed to bore you yet.

Figures that the closest thing to stability you’d been able to find was in the crime capital of the world. It was poetically honest, laughably ironic.

Of course, the American government would assume you’d fucked off—just another ditzy contractor swept up in the thrill of a south-American life.

The other part held water, too—no one would come looking for you. Your boss might huff about ‘these flighty secretaries, can’t hold ‘em down for anything,’ but beyond that, your disappearance would cause less than a stir.  

Somehow, that thought comforted you. The lack of collateral, the lack of another’s suffering… very little harm would befall the world in the wake of your absence. Peace was beginning to crest upon your settling soul. And, either way, you’d worked in this line of work for long enough to know that your death warrant had been signed the very second they’d seen you as a target.

You give the bastards what they want? You die.

You hold off? You die.

All things considered, you resign yourself, making up your mind.

Still, your defiant voice quivers as you say it.

“Fuck you.”

The ringleader smiles, like a predator cornering its prey, taking that first bite into hard-earned flesh. Your brain responds, screaming warnings in big letters, in flashing red ink. He barks an order to his underlings in Spanish, and the other two men come forward, roughly undoing the holds along your ankles, your wrists.

“Get the fuck off of me!”  

But they don’t listen, yanking you upright and shoving you onto the ground. Your vision becomes hazy. Something takes over, a protective instinct, perhaps, barring you from your own body. Distantly, you observe yourself fighting, but really all you feel is beyond. The words ‘I am not here, this is not happening’ wash over you over and over again, like a cleansing, salt-water wave.

Hands on cement. Clothes torn, destroyed—the cold barrel of a gun to your head, a man barking orders, hitting, slapping—and right as the worst is about to happen, everything just…

Stops.

It’s like they’re spellbound, bugs frozen in amber.

You hear the cause of it well after your torturers do. Footsteps upstairs, and gunshots, screams followed by the definite sounds of a creeping squadron.

The men get messy. Scrambling around, they gather their options. In your dazed periphery, you watch their eyes latch onto one of those open windows, 8 or 9 feet up from the ground.

A hushed conversation ensues. You're familiar enough with the more violent side of the Spanish vocabulary to string together their meaning.

“Shoot her? — no, the noise, they’ll find us faster — kill her? — too long — take her? — too messy — we have to go, we have to go, we have to go.”

Your ruined shirt is shoved down your throat, and then you’re gagging on it, ankles bound once more, shaking and naked on the freezing concrete. The trio uses the little wooden chair to frantically sneak out of the window.

It would be downright comical if you weren’t so terrified.

Soon, you’re alone, choking on cotton and wriggling to flatten your back against the wall. Centuries pass before the movement upstairs graduates to the basement below.

Relief doesn’t grace you. Any man—DEA, cartel, or Colombian police—would likely perform the same violence as your previous captors had planned to. A naked girl, roughed up and completely unprotected, in a dark, hidden basement, totally at their mercy… Shit. You were basically an invitation. A free meal, offered up to a different, hungry crowd.

You just pray that this one might be gentler.

The stairs creak under the certain weight of bodies in motion.

Tears run down the side of your face, dripping down from your temple onto the ground below. You compress into a ball, making yourself as small as possible.

The echoes grow louder, closer and closer. At this point, you just hope they’ll assume you’re an enemy or get trigger-happy and give you a quick taste of lead. Put you out of your misery.

Giving up was well within your comfort zone.

Someone gasps when they see you, and a single name hurtles through the space.

An out-of-commission part of your mind recognizes it—the name—knows it as a comfort. Still, you only tremble, trying to disconnect yourself from what must be a wishful, crafted, deceitful version of reality.

Then someone else comes forward. Your eyes, weary of keeping you in the dark, fling open just in time to watch a tall, dark-haired man push through the crowd of soldiers. You watch his expression—shock to rage, rage to relief, and then rage all over again.

He rushes you, falling to his knees before your wrecked form.

His first move is to wrench the fabric from your mouth. You croak out the most desperate sob of relief, all those stifled, unvoiced expressions of terror tumbling out in great-big-heaves.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

“No.” You respond.

“Did they…?”

“No.”

Javi tears his big doe-eyes, filled with worry, away from yours, twisting to impatiently address the frozen crowd of four or five behind him. “Can somebody take these fuckin’ ties off?”

Switchblades slice through twine. Someone brings you a blanket, and Javi bundles you up in it, gathering you and lifting you in his arms. You don’t resist, clinging around his neck and hiding in the comfort of his shoulder.

“Hermosa—”

You regret the way you flinch. “Please—please don’t call me that anymore.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t ask questions, sounding a little softer, a little more unsure when he presses on, muffling the desperate edge to his tone. “Did you see where they went?”

“The window. Out the window.”

Most of the rest take to that almost immediately, scattering to start on their chase. Javi delivers a set of orders in his native tongue.

Then, he grows silent, carrying you through the house with two soldiers in the lead. “Close your eyes, okay? You don’t wanna see this.” But now that they’re open, you can’t seem to shut them. You only glimpse flashes of the upstairs area. Tables covered in paper, glass contraptions and coke, so much coke, which is almost more impressive than the quantity of blood splattered against the peeling walls.

And Carrie.

Carrie with half her brains hanging out, long, dark, red-soaked hair fanning around her crown like a rotten halo, lounging on the couch, fingers splayed and palms to the sky as if she were ready to wrap them around a glass of white wine—as if she were ready to catch up on girl-talk.

What’s Carrie doing here?

Should I ask her?

She’s dead.  

No, she’s not. She’s right there. She was waiting for me to be done so we could catch up. That’s just how she always sits—it’s just the scoliosis.

That’s why she always showed up so late to the club. She… she couldn’t dance too long because of the scoliosis.

You’re still debating whether or not Carrie would be up for a bit of gossip, another debrief, when big, strong arms lower you into the passenger seat of a Jeep Cherokee.

Javier buckles you in.

“We can’t go to your place—that’s…” and you trail off weakly, throat burning with effort. “That’s where they took me.”

He nods, his face a complete mask of concentration.

But you know him.

He’s holding everything back. You appreciate him for that, never wanting to hear a man shout for the rest of your cursed time on Earth.

“Steve’s, then.”

It’s your turn to nod.

—

Javier drives in complete and total silence, only speaking the occasional clipped sentence into his radio. Despite your vulnerability, despite your overwhelming gratitude, you feel guilty for taking him away from his work, from his team. For forcing him to rescue you once again.

For sure, he’s angry. Would he have to move? Find a new place? Leave all his stuff at the old one? Would a better captive have paid better attention, taken note of the exact direction her kidnappers had taken off in after clearing the window?

Soon, you’re settled against a couch, the light from the opposing window breaking in and dancing across Javi’s face. A blonde woman—fiery, familiar, concerned—hands you a glass of water.

Javi watches you, eyebrows notched together, lips drawn into a thin line as you take a slow sip in silence. The liquid slides down your throat, cooling and soothing the rips and tears there.

And they both won’t stop staring. Truly, their joint study makes you self-conscious, watching on with unapologetic intent as you shiver under the scratchy blanket.

Finally (thankfully), Steve's wife—Connie, you recall—speaks.

“You can go, Javi. I'll take it from here.”

“No.”

She looks borderline offended at his line in the sand.

“I don’t think she’s in any shape to talk, Peña.” It’s authoritative, protective, clearly marked with harboured resentment.

She'd make a good mom.

He scoffs. “I’m not gonna make her talk, Connie. Just don’t wanna leave her like... this.”

Connie looks confused. They share a glance, and an eventual understanding passes over her expression. In fact, even in your distressed state, you’re almost certain you catch a hint of a smile.

“Well if you’re both staying, we’ll need food.”

Javi nods absentmindedly, lighting up a smoke. You look away, still feeling the weight of his eyes boring into your ducked head.

She clears her throat. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Remember to lock the door, Javi.”

Then, swinging her coat on, she traces an awkward line out of the apartment.

Silence flits across the room. The agent continues to study you from his seat at the counter across the room.

“Are you okay?”

You pick at your nails, internally asking yourself the same question.

“I’m just glad you were there,” you muster up, looking up at his softened, warm gaze. Concern etches a couple of fresh lines on his face.

Javi nods, taking a long drag. “Always, sweetheart. I’m glad I was there, too.”

You shiver at the thought of what could have happened if he and his team had showed up just a few minutes later. What shape he would have found you in, or if you’d ever permit yourself to feel the touch of a man again. Of anyone again.

“Why were you there?”

The question comes out of nowhere, bursting out the moment you realize that you hadn’t yet bothered to ask him how he’d pulled off yet another well-timed rescue.

It couldn’t have been in answer to your prayers—those had never worked for you before.

“Carillo’s been following Escobar’s cousin for a while. Zeroed in on the neighbourhood, but we spent all morning doing searches. Honestly,” he breaks off for a moment, rubbing at his temples, “It was just damn luck that we found you when we did. Wish I could say it wasn't, but it was. We were gettin’ ready to call it off. I had… no idea you weren’t at home.”

He blames himself for it. You can tell. In turn, you blame yourself for that—for his misguided, self-inflicted anger.

There’s more left unsaid.

“My friend—I called her this morning. From your place. She was there. She was… dead. I think.”

Javi doesn’t react, evidence of the years of gore, wreckage, and betrayal he'd witnessed.

You swallow, soldiering on.

“I told her. I told her where I was. Could she… could she have told them?”

Is she the reason this happened to me?

Slowly, lips pressed around his cigarette, Javi nods. “I’m sorry,” he barely mumbles.

Strangely enough, you’re not. That’s what you say: “I’m not.” And it’s true. “She was upstairs when it was all happening. I’m glad she’s dead.”

Now, he looks at you with a consideration that swells into a kind of respect. Not a respect, no not respect. A knowing. A new kind of understanding, of equal footing.

You meet him head-on with it, basking in your retribution, revelling in the immediate justice she'd been served. You’d mourn the person you thought she was when your wounds weren’t so open, so fresh.

"They wanted directions, Javi," you suddenly blurt out, voice hoarse, "Isn't that insane? They were gonna... they were gonna do that for directions. Not even the evidence, just fucking directions-"

Javi lifts his hands in the air, signalling for you to slow down. Normally, it would make you want to tear his arrogant head off. Now, however, you just do, although the silence isn't very comforting. After a moment, you can tell there's something Javi’s been avoiding, something he’s holding in. The agent clears his throat, finally calling it quits on his tiptoe-ing around the subject.

“Cariño," he begins, "I know you told me earlier, but I... I gotta be sure. Did they hurt you in… any way?”

God, he sounds so deeply wary, unable even to speak his fear into existence. You shake your head no, prompting his shoulders to relax.

“Okay. Good,” he breathes, crossing his arms and looking down at the rug. “Don’t think I could…”

Panic ripples through your frame.

'Doesn’t think he could' what? Bear to look at me, knowing the enemy had been where he’d been, done what he’d done? Touch me in the same grooves they'd left on my skin? Javi’s not that kind of man—is he?

“Don’t think I could forgive myself if anything were to happen to you under my watch.”

The rush of anxiety quickly dissipates, replaced by a stifling bloom of admiration and adoration across your chest. Like soft tendrils, warming your shivering body from within.

You smile self-consciously, scoff, and meet his eyes. “I wasn’t ‘under your watch,’ Javi. I opened the door. It was my fault.”

He raises his eyebrows, huffing a breath before ashing his dart, rising, carving a path towards the couch-cushion next to you and taking your glass of water from between your hands. It clinks as he sets it on the table. Taking your unsteady hands between his hardened palms, he coaxes you into meeting his golden eyes.

“It’s not your fault, herm—” a pause as he corrects himself, noticing your flinch, “—cariño. It’s not your fault.”

He waits for your nod of acknowledgement before pulling you into his arms. You let yourself go limp, dragged into the plushness of the couch and the firmness of his chest.

He lays a kiss to your forehead. He fidgets with your hair. He traces long, lazy lines up and down your spine.

How had you gone from that youthful giddiness this morning to this dark, anxious wreck in a matter of hours? It wasn’t even two o’clock yet.

The comfort your agent provides is good—will always be good—but you want more. Every inch of attention he gives you is just another step away from that cold basement, a foot towards freedom.

Time heals all wounds, and you want a distraction while you face those excruciating seconds. Something to move it along. Something to keep you busy, to keep the harrowing images at bay.

So you tilt your head up. Finding his lips, you press into him, shuddering when the rough hairs of his mustache tickle your top lip. When your body asks for more, when your tongue meets his and your hand drops to his thigh, Javi tenses, pulling back and breaking off the kiss.

“Sweetheart—you’re not in a good place,” he whispers, lovingly running his fingers through your hair.

You look up at him with eyes full of need, wordlessly begging him to give in. “I am now,” you assure him, tossing a leg over his hips and straddling his body. His expression darkens as you slowly chip away at his resolve, one touch at a time. “I’m with you.”

He smiles, plucking your hands from his chest. Every kiss he lays to your knuckles sends a ripple of electricity up and down your spine. “That right?” He muses between embraces. “That all you need?”

You nod, the pace of your shallow breaths picking up in anticipation. “When you touch me, Javi, it’s like you’re cleaning them off me,” you croon, leaning forward to brush your lips against his jaw.

“You’re in shock, baby,” but his hands defy his words, slipping down to circle your waist, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Slowly, deliberately, you lean back to stare directly into his heavy-lidded eyes. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

You feel him tense at that, his body hardening alongside the weight building underneath your thigh. He lets you go on, deft hands pooling onto your hips.

“Get rid of them for me,” you plead, grinding down onto his bulge.

“Make me all yours again.”  

That does it.

His hands shoot up to your face, firmly cupping your cheeks between their heat. Then, Javi’s kissing you harder than before, warming your desire up to a feverish level. You moan into him, turning to putty in his grasp.

He peppers kisses down your jaw and up your neck, allowing you to clumsily untuck his shirt and undo his belt. It’s frantic and needy—it’s pure business. You free his length from the confines of his clothes, heavy breaths mingling when you look down in tandem, hungrily watching your small, delicate hand pumping up and down his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, his dark crown of cropped curls falling back against the couch, “You make it fuckin’ hard to be a good guy.”

You smile, spreading the slick dribbling at his tip around the head of his cock.

God, the sight of him never gets old.

“Good guys listen, Javi,” you tease, managing to pull off an air of sultriness, “Not just to no—also to yes.”

A lazy, roguish grin spreads across his face. “You are feeling better, aren’t you?” and he knocks a squeal out of you when he cages you in his arms, flipping you over ‘till your back’s digging shapes into the worn-in cushions below. “Gettin’ mouthy already.”

You giggle up at him, but all of your noises dwindle when a few rough fingers push your torn, ruined underwear to the side. You grow especially wordless when one separates your folds and makes its way inside you.

Javi gives you his signature look of condescension, of mock pity.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He taunts, thumbing that aching bundle of nerves. “All the ways I’ve had my dick in you, just this—” he makes a point to curl his fingers towards himself, pressing against the most desire-stricken spot, “—‘n you can’t find your words?”

Your throat won’t open, choking around your own pleasure. Instead, you nod with enthusiasm, desperately clinging onto his forearm. “More.”

He quickly accedes, pushing another long and thick finger inside you. You shudder at the perfect sting—the stretch—as your opening hugs his knuckles. Javi mutters curses to himself, angry and lustful, supervising your writhing form.

“No one else gets to see you like this.” He speaks low, sitting up to work you with both hands. Your body responds without your permission; Javi clicks his tongue and shoves you back down when your hips buck up. “Don’t deserve it,” he continues voicing his thought as if no interruption had occurred, “I’d have to track ‘em down and kill ‘em.”

His tone goes beyond protectiveness, easily veering into the realm of the possessive. “I-I wouldn’t be good f-for them, Javi,” you manage, wanting to comfort him, to calm him, “Wouldn’t—wouldn’t listen.”

“Oh,” he smirks down at you, finally pulling his fingers from your soaked, ready cunt. “Like you listen to me?”

You spread your legs for him, shimmying down until he’s hovering right above you. He strokes himself, taking you in with hunger, playfulness and… something else.

Something like devotion.

A smile. You stroke his jaw. “You come harder when I misbehave.”

He shrugs and nods, a silent, ‘you got me there,' before lining himself up at your entrance.

You whimper, a pathetic, pleading sound, when the head of his cock finds your opening. “Then make sure to misbehave.”  

He rocks inside you, taking note of the way your jaw goes slack, hanging open, and the way your brow furrows, grateful eyes glazing over, showing high praise for that feeling of fullness.  

And he laughs to himself.

“Needy fuckin’ thing,” he coos, settling into a comfortable rhythm. “Beggin’ for cock after bein’ kidnapped. I shouldn’t be feedin' into your crazy, cariño.”

It is crazy. But you don’t care, giggling along to his taunt.

“Just makes me feel so-so good, Javi,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” He coaxes, sitting back to tower over you, pressing your thighs to your calves; the new angle has bliss rippling through your centre, your back arching involuntarily. “What feels good?”

He shoves your hips down, lowering a finger back to your clit.

“Oh—God—y-yourcock—” he nods approvingly at you, beckoning you to go on, “your—your fingers, too.”

He slows his pace, pulling out fully before slamming back inside you.

“Look at it, cariño,” Javi instructs, steadying your hips once more. “Watch me fuck your pretty lil’ pussy.”

You struggle onto your elbows and obey, mouth slack and perpetually open. Pressure builds at your core as you watch every inch of his hard, dark length disappear, over and over, inside the shelter of your body. It’s so dirty, and somehow the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“M-made for you, Javi.”

And he moans, an animalistic sound you’d never heard from him before.

“S’right, baby, made just for me.” He flattens his fingers against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Can you come for me now?”

You nod, grateful for his permission as soon as you start to feel your thighs shake. The tension snaps within you, and you tumble over the edge of your climax with a high pitched whine.

“Good girl,” he praises, low, deep, and bristling with pleasure, “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You ride it out. Javi shows no mercy, squeezing your waist and bouncing your lower half against him. His biceps and shoulders strain against his shirt, the sight making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

After having him a few times, you were well aware of his impressive stamina—Javi wasn’t going to finish without giving you another one. Nonetheless, the overwhelming pleasure has you squirming away from his unrelenting grasp.

He pulls you back against him, steadying you between two forceful hands.

And he fucks you harder.  

“Still remember them, querida? ” He breathes.

You find your voice, using great effort to stammer out a “y-yes."

It's not the correct answer.

Javi growls, “Then I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

His shirt grazes the insides of your thighs, and you're certain that every part of his form is working to set your skin on fire. A skilled hand wraps around your jaw, and Javi leans over you, lowering his lips to latch around a hard, peaked nipple.

Your whimpers do nothing to stop him. He just keeps rhythmically rocking into you, the head of his cock reaching impossible, beckoning depths.

An almost-sob wracks your lungs. “S’a lot, huh? Takin’ all this cock inside you…” Javi shushes you with feigned sympathy, nipping and suckling at the softest spots at his disposal. “S’okay, baby, s’okay.”

Then he makes his way to your lips, forces you to kiss him—deeply—as your lungs scream for oxygen. He locks your hands above your head in just one of his own, the pressure of his weight the only thing keeping your squirming limbs in place.

And then his mouth is sliding down your jaw, his breaths hot and heavy next to your ear.

“Fuck—can feel you gettin’ close, sweetheart, gonna come again?”

All you can do is nod.

He rolls into you—hard and deep—forcing tears to pull from the outer corners of your eyes.

“S-so good to me,” you manage, seeing pure white as your third orgasm of the day blooms from between your seizing legs.

He groans, freeing your hands (which immediately find stability in the firmness of his shoulders) to clumsily wipe the tears from under one dazed eye. Above you, he resembles a hungry, lustful angel, eyes darkened with unbridled need, affection, approval.  

“‘M’good to what’s mine, baby,” he whispers, pulling you into the crook of his neck as he chases both your highs. “Come, cariño—s’right, come for me.”

And you do, aching, ruined cunt squeezing and releasing, fluttering around Javi. He moans a downright sinful ‘fuck’ at the sensation, reaching his own peak almost in tandem with yours.

Only once his every last drop is spent, once his groan and your whines have stopped echoing around the unfamiliar, open space, does he pull back from your neck.

And when he looks at you… God. There’s something you’re both not saying.

“Only wanna see you cry like this, baby,” he tells you, laying a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Never gonna let them—let anyone—lay a finger on you again.”

Your breath hitches, the words thick and sticky in your throat. The both of you are dazed, breathless, and completely wrecked. “I’m… I’m glad we met. That you—that we’re doing this.”

He raises his eyebrows, crooning a soft ‘yeah?’ as he pushes your hair from your face.

You nod. “You make all of it worth it.”

He’s appreciative when leaning in for a kiss, slipping out of you and groaning against your lips. You tangle your fingers in his damp hair, leaning up into him with every aching muscle in your body, wanting nothing more than to become a part of his whole. When he pulls away, it's only to tuck his softening length back into his briefs. He focusses on you again, leaning over to affectionately stroke your knee.

“Is it just sex for you?”

His question comes as a bit of a surprise—you’d never heard him speak so openly, so innocent and vulnerable.

You cup his face. Despite the fact that he looks like the men from earlier, carries the same guns and ammo, knows what they know, even speaks their language, he’s never seemed so separate from them, an entirely different species.

“No—at first, maybe, but now… No. Not for me.”

He eases into a soft smile, wrapping you back into your blanket before laying back, manhandling you to rest against his still-unsteady chest.

Those masterful hands comfort you in a million different ways. He plays with your hair and traces the highest points of your cheekbone. He massages your knuckles, pulls you in for little kisses, dips into the curve of your waist.

“How about you?” The question is small, even though you anticipate the answer.

He takes a second before answering. When he does, his voice is low, quiet.

“Not at all, sweetheart.” He tilts your head up, his soft, caring gaze probing into every corner of your own. “Honestly, I think it’s been more than that since the first time you said ‘go fuck yourself, Peña.’” He whistles under his breath, exaggerating his approval. “Shit was hot.”

It makes you laugh, but it's also enough to make your heart soar. Settling in to the nook of his neck, you breathe in his familiar, earthly scent, until the exhaustion of the day eventually weighs on you.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face, entertained by the fact that while you really should be a wreck, you feel perfectly at ease, wrapped in the arms of your favourite DEA agent. In fact, you can hardly remember what your kidnappers looked like—or sounded like, for that matter—succumbing to slumber, you only think of him.

—

Less than three hectic, hazy days later, you’re pulling a suitcase through the Medellín international airport. There was no sense risking it anymore—you'd have to be transferred to the States until the assholes were caught. Ambassador's orders.

Javi flanks your side, eyes peeled for any abnormalities in your surroundings.

Your heart breaks with every step you take. He comes all the way to the gate without saying a word, merely holding onto one of your bags (that he'd insisted he carry) in a white-knuckled fist.

You’re running behind. There’s not much time.

He doesn’t say he’ll call—knows he’s not that kind of man. You don’t say you’ll visit. You don’t say you’ll write.

No, all you do is lean up on your tippy toes to plant a tender, lingering kiss to his cheek. He returns the favour by cupping your face, leaning down and kissing you intently.

Too intently—as if he were memorizing the grooves in your lips.

Well, that’s what you’re doing, anyways.

Over the loudspeaker, your name is called.

“They’re paging you,” Javi translates, his breath hitting your top lip.

You pull away, doing your best not to cry.

“Thank you.”

It’s all you say—it’s all that needs to be said, really.

Thank you for showing me I matter. Thank you for teaching me patience. Thank you for saving my life three times. Thank you for wanting me. Thank you for making me wait for it. Thank you for giving me a reason to miss this place.  

Thank you for loving me. I think that's what this is.

He hears it all, stuffed and contained, overflowing from the two uttered words.

Then he smiles, that well-trained, protective cockiness spreading across his face.

“You’re welcome, cariño.”

You scoff a laugh, slowly dropping his hand and turning towards your gate.

“If I ever visit home…” he calls after you.

You pause, smiling down at the glistening floor, shaking your head. “You’ll never catch me in Texas, Peña,” you call across the traffic of rushing families and over-packed suitcases. He smiles knowingly, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. “Just lock the fuckers up so I can visit. The weather sucks back home.”

You slowly walk backwards towards the exit, ignoring a few flight-attendant-glares, not daring to break off the playful eye contact linking you to your agent.

“I’ll do it just for you, baby,” he calls, grinning like a fool.

Strange. You’d never noticed how the teasing, that snarky back and forth you’d developed together seemed to put him at ease—to relax him. All that time he'd spent, driving you to the brink of insanity... it comforted him.

And that realization was enough to make you beam.

You commit that final glimpse to memory. Javi—smiling, calm, alive, yours. It was rare enough that you felt sure it would stick.

When you finally turn to face the gate, to face your future, you don’t feel like crying anymore.

It was enough just to have met him.

Maybe—just maybe—he felt the same.

—

All my friends tell me I should move on

I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song

Ahh

That's how you sang it

Loving you forever can't be wrong

Even though you're not here, won't move on

Ahh

That's how we played it

And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

All my friends ask me why I stay strong

Tell 'em when you find true love, it lives on

Ahh

That's why I stay here

And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

I don't want to wake up from this tonight

There's no relief, I see you in my sleep

And everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me

There's no release, I feel you in my dreams

Telling me I'm fine

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

I don't want to wake up from this tonight

—

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[abibliophobiaa]

right where you left me

chapter three: you can hear it in the silence

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut - r is inexperienced; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; time skip, where r and steve are parents, purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series.

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist

——

Steve kisses you like he’s done it a thousand times before. He kisses you and it feels like kismet — like pieces of a puzzle shifting together. He kisses you, and you feel like you could take to the sky, run a marathon, or leap into the unknown with only his arms as safety.

And you soak up every moment. Every precious second as his lips move over yours, fingers twining around your hips, tugging you flush against him. It shifts, the atmosphere changing, the intensity of his kisses deepening. Heat rises in the room and it has nothing to do with the fire burning in the fireplace. You soak up every soft breath from his lips as you swipe your tongue over his — soak up the breathy moans that pour from him when your fingers glide over the planes of his abdomen, over the softness of his stomach, the hardness of his cock in his jeans.

And it’s there that your experience falters. That nervousness creeps in, because when you jolt back at the unexpectedness of it kicking up in his pants, he presses your palm harder, seeking friction, whispering that it’s okay. That you’re doing everything right.

The nerves ebb. “I - I want it to be good for you,” you say, breathless, “I just - I don’t —”

“It’s already good for me,” he whispers against your collarbone, tugging you down onto the couch, his body hovering above yours. “Pretty sure I’ve never been so hard in my life. But I really just want to make this good for you. Do you trust me?”

With your life. “Yes.”

“Can I take these off?” He slides a palm along your leggings, index finger toying with the band that rests high on your waist.

“Please.”

Deft fingers curl and tug. Slide them down your thighs, baring naked skin. Those same fingers glide over your ankle, up the curve of your leg, the glide of a hip. They toy with the edge of your panties; simple black lace, which you blow out a grateful breath for choosing that morning.

“Still with me?” he rasps, fingers stroking over your lower abdomen, your muscles dancing under the touch.

Hazel eyes, nearly molten honey now in the firelight, meet yours. Flickering with a look you’ve never seen within them before. Lust — for you. At your slow nod, eyes fluttering at the feel of his fingers sliding over the edge of your panties, he pushes the flimsy fabric to the side. Exhales shakily at the first brush of him, robbing your air straight from your lungs.

He drops onto one elbow, palm cradling your head with the softest of touches, lips molding to yours as he slips the first finger inside, your back arching up against the delicious intrusion.

Reality spins around you. Turns on its axis as Steve’s lips move to coast along your abdomen, against hip bone, the inside of your thigh. As your best friend slowly, carefully, reverently slides your underwear down your thighs and whispers a question that has you sighing a soft ‘yes,’ just as your panted breaths turn into cries of his name into the living room. As your heart races when his tongue glides over your clit just so — as he licks at you like it’s his job, a dream come to fruition at last, something he’s wanted to do all his life.

“I - I’m —”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, squeezing at your thigh with his free hand, “it’s just me. You can let go.”

No one has ever touched or kissed you like this. And you’ve never…never spiraled like this either. Never felt so close to the edge of pure, endless pleasure. Never seen the peak, never skirted over the edge, crying out another’s name.

Until now.

Steve knows this. Soothes you through it, crawling back up your body to brush at your cheek as you clutch his shirt tight, gasping breaths warming his flushed skin. As you float back to reality, a hazy mass of trembling limbs, he cups your chin and kisses you soundly, tongue gliding over yours, tasting yourself on him.

“We can stop,” he manages to get out before your fingers slip to grip at the hem of his top, tugging at the fabric, wanting it off.

In one swift movement, he grips the collar from behind his head and rips it free from his form, the ripple of his arms, chest and stomach dancing in your vision. He swoops back down and kisses you anew, body against body. Pulling back, you sit up against the armrest of the couch, Steve leaning back onto his knees. He watches with rounded, heated eyes as you grab at your own sweater and slide it up and off your frame, revealing a matching black bra to the panties that now lay discarded on the floor.

Your fingers reach behind you to grip at the clasp of your bra, appreciating the way Steve’s throat bobs.

“Wait!” His shout has you pausing, your eyes narrowing in fear of rejection, until he eases that nervousness away with the fumbling of his jeans, pushing them down around his ankles before kicking them into the corner of the room. “I want you to be as comfortable as possible. It seemed fair. We’re equal now.”

In one movement, you unclip the bra. Straps flutter around your shoulders, the cups freeing from your breasts, the warmth from the fire skittering along your flesh. Heart racing, you watch as Steve grips at the band of his boxers, pushing them down and off his thighs, the part of him you’ve never seen before slapping against the soft of his stomach. Against the dark hair that trails there. He’s hard and huge and there, the evidence of his desire on display.

Curiosity and reverence has you inching closer on the couch, settling your palms against his abdomen, gliding up and over his chest and shoulders, down his biceps, along the backs of his hands. Nervously, you raise one to your breast, gasping as his fingers cup the fullness of it in his palm, cradling it, brushing over a nipple with a thumb as his forehead drops against yours.

No one has ever touched you like this before. Before, it had been a rush and a hurry in the back seat of someone’s car. A flurry of movement. But Steve’s gentle touches roam your body, his other hand coming to cup the other breast, sliding down your sternum, along your stomach, between your thighs, making you whimper against his lips. Hesitant fingers reach out, trail along the rippling muscle of his abdomen, over the line of hair beyond his naval, the long and thick cock lingering in the space between you.

A trembling palm curls around him and experimentally moves, a gesture brought on by human instinct alone, an upward and downward stroke that has Steve’s forehead falling to your shoulder, rasping out a curse into your skin.

“Like this?” you ask through a pleasant sigh as he curls that digit within you in the way that had you crying for him moments ago, marveling at the way he grapples at your side with his free hand, fingers pressing tight to the fullest point of your hips.

“J-just like that, honey,” he stutters, lifting his head again to claim your mouth in a fervent kiss, swallowing your pretty noises. “Are we really — is this really happening?”

“You’re not dreaming,” you giggle, shrieking as he shifts you both over so you’re rolling onto the floor, onto the endless mountain of blankets and pillows below. “Steve!”

Broad palms press against your cheeks, lips falling against yours, a hum spilling from you. Without a moment to even try and stop your head from spinning, Steve drops kiss after kiss to your skin. The curve of your neck, the line of your collarbone. The dip of your sternum. A tongue glides over a pebbled nipple, bringing it into his mouth, hazel eyes locking on your own with a blazing heat behind him as another callused palm kneads the other. You could unravel just like that, with his eyes on you, drinking you in like he is now. But you know you want more. You want it all with him. Want to feel every inch of him that’s presently resting against your inner thigh, want to feel him inside, closer than he’s ever been before.

“Steve,” you rasp, curling your fingers in his long tresses, “I want — no, I need you inside me.”

He shifts up onto his elbows, peering down into your eyes. A shudder licks along your spine, the realization of what you’re both about to do dawning. The importance of this moment; a moment that’ll change everything you know about your relationship fully and completely. Where there might be nervousness, you only feel solidity in your choice — excitement, to finally be taking this step, this leap, with Steve.

“Please,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks and chest warm under his gaze.

A palm comes up to seek his face, brushing back the hairs that fall over his forehead, so messy and perfectly him. With a slow exhale, Steve curls his palm around the back of one of your knees, parting you for him, lifting it a bit into a bend. Instinct has your ankle hooking around the back of his knee, tugging him closer, shuddering at the feel of him against your slick center.

“I’m on the pill,” you blurt out quickly, “And you know my experience is…”

“I want you to know right now that this is the best night of my life,” he promises, knuckles brushing along your temple, quelling your nerves, “you could never disappoint me, okay?”

A nod.

“I’m clean, and I’ve never —” he gestures to where you both lay bare, “without a condom. I just want you to be sure. We can stop at any point.”

“I want this,” you tell him, curling your ankle tighter around his thigh, the heel digging into his muscle to draw him closer.

He grabs himself in hand, those dark eyes locking on yours. “Look at me,” he whispers, and you feel him nudge at your entrance, “it’s just us,” and he’s sinking in.

Slowly, so, so slowly.

“P-perfect,” you stutter out, clutching at a forearm as he inches in a bit more, that unfamiliar burn making you wince. Worry clouds his eyes, but you shake your head, “just…go slow, okay?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He pushes a little further, gauging your reactions, clutching at the bend of your thigh, thumb stroking along the inside of your knee lovingly. Another inch, and you lean up to kiss him tenderly. “Ah, shit —”

“W-what?”

Anxiety fills your tone, and he shakes his head rapidly to assuage your fears. “No. No. You just feel too good. I’m trying to make this last.”

Heat blooms in your chest at his words, hips rolling experimentally from beneath him, that burning dulling into a pleasurable fullness. The delicious stretch of him giving way to something…new. Something different. Twine spills out before you, a coil, a line you feel growing tighter with every passing moment. He gasps out a breath. A hot puff against your collarbone as his head falls, wispy hairs teasing along your warm skin.

“More,” you pant, clutching at his shoulder as he fully seats himself inside, pussy clenching around him at the newness of being so full of Steve.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You nod, head falling back as he pulls back, nearly pulling out, and drives back in. In and out, in and out, beginning something you know will forever change your relationship. “Oh god.” A gasp, as he repeats the motion again and again, brushing against a part of you that you didn’t even know existed.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he grounds out. He pulls back, pulls out, and you nearly cry with the loss of him, until he smirks and pushes back in, punching your breath straight from your lungs. “It’s like you were made for me.” You could cry, you could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you lose yourself to this, to this moment — to him. “Tell me you’re mine. You’re finally mine.”

“I’m yours,” you promise, keening as he lifts your thigh higher onto his hip, driving into you in a way that makes white flash behind your eyes, “and you’re mine.”

The words you want to say bubble on your lips. The three words with the power to change everything. The three you’ve denied yourself all these years in fear of the rejection that might come should you ever utter them. But you feel them with every beat of your heart, with every roll of his hips, with every kiss he presses to your lips as you inch closer and closer to release.

And it’s there. Right there. That elusive thing you’ve only heard about with friends in mixed conversation. That blooming low in your belly, the unfurling as he continues to grind into you over and over again, the flame licking in the space where you’re irrevocably connected to him now in a way you’ve never been before.

“Steve — I’m —”

“I’m close too,” he grunts, chest pressing against yours, lips at your cheek. “Let go with me, yeah?”

It ripples through you with a broken sob, and the feeling of Steve’s hips faltering in their rhythm as he finishes, warmth spilling into you. Hearts race. Mouths come together in the middle, foreheads pushing against one another. Your hands tangle together like whispered secrets on knitted blankets, against pillows littering the floors.

Neither of you pulls away, bodies only rolling enough to face one another, his softening cock still inside of you. Fingers trail along his bicep as his other arm slides beneath your head, cradling you there. It’s all sweet and soft kisses against skin. His mouth at your brow, your cheek, your jaw…lips. Different and yet it feels like something that’s always been meant to be. A part of the two of you never tapped into.

Until now.

“So…”

“So…” You nuzzle your nose against his, blinking up at his tired, blissfully hazy eyes.

“That was…”

“Perfect?” you finish, gliding your fingers through the hair curling around his ear.

“Perfect,” he agrees, index finger gliding up and down the line of your spine, “everything. Tired, hmm?”

He watches the flutter of your eyes. The telltale yawn that pours from you. The liquid form of your limbs draped over his own. Your head rests over his chest and fingers dig into his hip.

“Let me take care of you and then we can pass out, okay?”

He parts from you with a whine, limbs aching a little as you stretch and he disappears into the bathroom, only to come back with a warm washcloth to clean you with. It’s tossed across the room a moment later, the man of your heart rearranging the pillows around the floor into a better makeshift mattress, blankets already tucked low around your hips as you find him again, your bare chest pressing against his.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I just want to remind you that you’ve always been enough,” you tell him softly. Quietly. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

“You have me,” he promises, squeezing you tighter. “I’m yours.”

And you’re his.

A beautiful thing that curls around you both as you slip into sleep.

You’re grateful for a holiday weekend, because for the next three days, neither of you leave the comfort of the bedroom. It’s there that you learn every inch of Steve. That you remember the way his fingers trace your skin, how he feels when he’s inside of you, over you and under you, what it looks like when you drive him to finish, the way he looks at you when you writhe beneath him, hands fisted in his hair.

For days, all you know is that. The complete and utter bliss of a new relationship — despite the fact neither of you have given things a title yet. And even so, you hardly feel like you need to. You’d both said those words: you’re mine, and I’m yours. Wholly and completely. In your heart you know it, in your mind, and in your body. This is what you’ve been dreaming of for years, this is what you know you want.

He’s holding you now, your back to his chest, his fingers stroking you between your thighs, the fullness of him sliding in from behind. Another arm loops over your chest, resting over your heart, keeping you close. And you pinch your eyes shut at the feeling of it, at the sound of your sweat slick skin against his, the place where you’re joined, the press of his lips against your spine, your shoulder.

“You always.” A kiss. “Feel so.” Another kiss. “Good.” He tips your chin up and kisses your lips, swallowing your moan as you drive your hips back against his, wanting him deeper, wanting to crawl inside him if you could. “Taking me so well, beautiful.” A whine. “Gonna come for me, baby? Want it.”

You’ve been at it for hours. Or it feels like hours. He’d woken up that morning insistent on feeding you, before falling back into bed with you for the third day in a row. Had kissed every inch of you before rolling over and watching you with hooded eyes as you sunk down on him, robbing him of his very breath. That had been a frantic thing, hips rolling over him, his hands digging crescent moons into your sides, little medals for the honor of watching Steve completely crumble beneath you when his orgasm snuck up on him, knowing you’d done that.

Another whine punches from your lungs. Stolen from you as fire licks up your spine and you’re engulfed with it, clutching at his forearm and crying his name with your release, forehead slumping into your pillow as he follows soon after, hips slowing to a stop as he tugs you flush against his chest, whispering your praises against the skin of your cheek, his fingers dancing along your sweaty temple.

“I think that was our best yet,” you laugh, stroking along the hairs against the back of his arm, relishing in the shiver that ripples from him in the aftershocks of his own orgasm. “How about we shower and grab some breakfast at the diner or something?”

“Are you up to grab a tree with me for the holidays too?” At your nod, he grins against your shoulder, “maybe some ice skating and hot chocolate at the rink?”

“Is this our first date?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

He hums against you, breathing a sigh, and you know the contentment pouring from him because it mirrors your own. “If you want it to be. As much as I want to stay here forever, I'm pretty sure our friends are worried we’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”

“We kind of did,” you muse, recalling the parting words on Thanksgiving just days ago now. “I haven’t slept a wink in days.”

“Says the woman reaping all the benefits in the form of endless orgasms,” he teases, laying a love bite against your shoulder, pulling away from you to rise up onto his feet, nodding his head toward the shower. “Come on.”

“No funny business,” you tease, curling a blanket around your shoulders as you follow him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

You only make it five minutes in before you break that promise by sinking down onto your knees.

…And naturally, he repays the favor after.

——

People notice Steve wherever he goes. As the town handyman, he earns a bit of attention. Smiles from those that pass by, waves as he walks down the street, calls of his name from across parking lots. So you suppose it should come as no surprise when you meander through the endless rows of trees, your hand in Steve’s, earning a bunch of stares of your own.

For a while, you’ve been simply the girl who follows in his wake. A familiar face around town while you’ve been here, and a figment of a past time to those who had been around much longer. Now, you were swiftly approaching what you knew to be a permanent fixture in the town all over again.

It feels natural — the weight of his palm in your own, fingers tangled, arms swinging in the space between the two of you, dressed in similar outfits. It’s nothing unusual in comparison to your years long friendship, though now you know what his lips feel like against every inch of you, you know that his heart against your spine thrums like a perfect tattoo while his arms circle you, you know what the weight of him above you feels like.

And even so, you earn the curious gazes of wandering eyes. The glances from those trying to garner what is happening here. You don’t mind it, though. Don’t mind the way people wonder, because you already know the truth within your heart. The depth of the feelings he has for you mirror your own, as sure as the sun rises and sets every day. The realization that this is the start to what you hope might be forever.

“How about this one?” Steve asks.

An hour later you’re both dragging a tree into his living room and decorating it in dozens of shiny lights and bulbs. He kisses you long and slow, fingers in your sweater, foreheads pressed in close, hearts even closer.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, staring up at the tree, beautifully lit and adorned with love.

“It is,” Steve says back, but he’s not staring at the tree, he’s staring right at you instead.

——

The Hideout is bustling with customers. Endless rows of children constructing and decorating gingerbread houses at one table, while parents and family members alike mill about at the other tables, conversations about the upcoming holidays filtering through your ears as you pass by, handing off drinks and food.

Steve’s not here yet. A fact you notice as you watch the table of your friends grow, the group bent low together, beaming at what the other is saying, caught up in their company as day turns into night.

You’re finishing up handing off water to a table of teenagers when you notice Abi waving you over, a weary look in her eyes. It’s when your gaze travels southward you notice the shaggy blonde curls that you couldn’t forget even if you tried. Nor the pristine suit and tailored pants, the too expensive watch, that tie cinched around his neck. Green eyes drift your way from the bar, arms crossing over a toned chest. Chiseled cheekbones give way to blonde stubble, a messier look than you’re used to on Clark’s conventionally attractive features.

His eyes narrow at your appearance. To him, you’re wearing no more than a pair of jeans you bought off of a clearance rack, and a black sweater with a hole in one sleeve after you’d gotten it caught on Steve’s truck handle. He’s seen you in designer gowns, shoes, decked to the nines with jewelry, looking like the ever dutiful daughter. And now — now his eyes roam your form with distaste, the curl of his lip making your stomach drop.

“I can ask him to leave,” Abi murmurs low against your ear as you slip behind the bar to join her, “just say the word, and he’s gone. Eddie wouldn’t mind if I toss him out. He’s kind of an asshole anyway. Asked me if I had a specific bottle of wine, and scoffed when I said we didn’t. I almost told him he could shove the credit card he slapped against the bar up his ass.”

“Sounds about right,” you grumble, giving her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll be okay. And if not, and you catch me ready to throw a glass and lose my job —”

“I’ll turn the other way and pretend I didn’t see it.”

Offering her a smile, you slip back out and round the bar, grabbing Clark’s sleeve and tugging him to a smaller table positioned away from everyone else. From here, you can see Steve when he arrives and escape if need be. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head up, staring into that blank stare.

“So this is where you ran off to,” he tuts, snickering, “it’s…charming.”

“It’s where I grew up,” you tell him flatly, “it’s home.”

“Home is in the city,” he says, leaning up onto his elbows, hand coming to curl over your own. Your eyes narrow at the contact, at the feeling of his finger cradling the back of your palm. “Come home. Stop this, please? Your family misses you, your friends miss you — believe it or not, I miss you.”

You bark out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Darling…” The hand around yours tightens, and you know he’s trying to narrow your window of escape, to ensure you stay rooted in place. “We had fun together, didn’t we?”

“At events, sure.”

He was kind enough. Was willing to laugh with you, to joke and tease, to talk. But there was nothing of any sort of romantic nature beneath the surface. Your marriage was intended for monetary purposes and those alone.

“You hardly even gave us a chance.”

“Clark, we were in an arrangement,” you remind him. “A mutually beneficial agreement for both of us.”

“Which has since fallen through.”

“And I am sorry about that —”

“Then come home,” he says again, eyes intent on your face. “Come. Home.”

“This is my home,” you whisper, catching the sight of Steve walking by in the window. His eyes immediately narrow at the sight of Clark across from you.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Clark lets out a bitter laugh as Steve appears in the doorway, approaching your table cautiously. “This is the guy you ran out on me with. Him? You’re choosing him. What can he offer you that I cannot?”

“Love, Clark,” you say, voice breaking at the end, “I love him…and I — I think he loves me. So yes, I’m choosing him. I’m choosing to stay here…with him.”

He fixes Steve with a hard stare, mouth parting slightly, settling back into a firm line. “You love him?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, and it’s watery. A broken off sob at the realization of your admission. “I do. We wouldn’t be happy together. You know that. I mean…you were kissing Christina on our wedding day.”

“She’s, ah, that’s…complicated.”

“But she means something to you,” you tell him, giving his hand a squeeze. “We wouldn’t be happy. You know we wouldn’t. Tell me you can see that.”

His palm slides down his face, head shaking slowly. “Your father’s company —”

“You’re an amazing surgeon,” you remind Clark, “and my father will come around. Eventually. I’m certain. And…maybe when he doesn’t hate me for making the choices I’ve made, I can send over a glowing recommendation. We don’t have to do things just because it’s our family’s way. We can choose our own happiness.”

Clark leans back a bit, his hand falling away from yours, fingers curling around the chair beside him to make room for a perplexed looking Steve Harrington at the table. “Can I at least say hello the man my fiancée ran out on me — on our wedding day, no less — for?”

“Clark,” Steve mutters with a nod, sinking down onto the chair beside you, arm curling around your shoulders. “I’m Steve. Steve Harrington. And, uh, sorry about your wedding day.”

Clark reaches over to grip his hand. “You’re really not sorry, though,” he chuckles heartily, shaking Steve’s hand.

Steve grins, because no. No, he’s not at all sorry, and you couldn’t be happier.

The three of you sit there in that restaurant for an hour, talking about plans for the future. About Christina and Steve. Christina, who is from a not so affluent family. A family his family doesn’t quite approve of, but he loves her. A fact you could even tell after seeing them together in their embrace.

In the end, Clark decides to head back to the city with the intention of making things right with the woman he loves. You also send him on the mission to talk to your parents, to convince them neither of you wants the marriage, and to let them know you’re okay since they don’t wish to contact you as it is.

Once he’s gone, you’re left to finish up cleaning your station, later announcing to your friends that you and Steve are heading for a little walk. Neither of you wants to stick around at the moment. Not when there’s so much to talk about.

Without him even saying anything, you know he’s overheard what you said to Clark. That you loved him. That you love him. Nervousness wells within you as you tug your jacket closer to your form, reaching out to lace your fingers with Steve’s, your hands swinging in the space between the two of you. Part of you wonders if you’ll ever get used to this. Part of you doesn’t, wanting merely to rest in the excitement of finally having the one thing you’ve both always wanted come to fruition.

“So…that was nice,” you say, peering up into his eyes.

The moon shines above, but Steve’s eyes are on your face. A lingering look you feel all the way down to your toes. “He’s still an asshole.” He swallows. Here it is. “Did you mean everything back there?”

“Which part?”

He pauses on the sidewalk, hands curling into your belt loops, tugging you against him. “Well, for starters, the part where you said this is your home now.”

“If you don’t mind having a roommate for a little while longer. At least, until I get back on my feet. Pretty sure my inheritance is not happening ever.”

His fingers cup your jaw, mouth brushing lazily over yours. “I’m not kicking my girlfriend out.”

It’s the first time he’s called you that, no fanfare, no need for explanation. And it feels right down to your marrow.

“Are you…asking me to officially move in?” you question, head tilting back a bit to gauge his reaction to your words.

“Are you saying yes?” He bounces on the heels of his feet a little, your palms resting against his stomach.

“I mean, an endless sleepover with my best friend sounds pretty great.”

He beams. “And then there’s that other part of the conversation I walked in on.”

“What part might that have been?” you prompt, leaning up onto your toes, biting at your bottom lip.

His fingers slide around your hips, slipping into the back pockets of your denim jeans. “The part where you said you love me.”

“I’ve loved you for years, Steve,” you tell him honestly, “I’ve…been in love with you for years. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

His nose runs down the side of yours gently. “I’m in love with you too.”

He says it so quickly, all in a rush, like he simply wants to breathe the words into existence. To make them known. To speak the secrets that have been lingering in the silent moments between the two of you for years. To give them the voice they deserve. To set them into motion, to flight, to give them the breadth to roam freely.

“All this time?” you ask, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill.

“Yeah.” He nods. “All this time, honey. Always, if you’ll let me.”

You trust that his words are true. You know within your heart he means every single one of them. You welcome the free fall, and what a beautiful, safe space to land you’ve found in Steve.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” A kiss brushes the tip of your nose.

A giggle. “Deal.”

——

Two years later…

Sunlight streams in through the bedroom window. Warms your skin as a yawn spills from your lips, arms stretching against pillows, head nuzzling deeper into the mattress's downy embrace.

A warm arm slides in around your waist, a palm gliding over your stomach. “How are my girls doing?” It’s the voice of your husband that stirs you, chest rumbling against your spine, thumb stroking along your skin.

“We were just taking a nap,” you sigh, rolling over to face the man, “you finished for the day?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to look at the scrunched up newborn resting near your hip. “Uncle Eddie and Aunt Abi’s new house has a nice deck now. They also decided to keep the swing in the backyard just for when you grow up a little bit more, Summer.”

Summer sleepily stares up at her father as he carefully lifts her into the crook of his elbow, bouncing her a little to help her settle when her face wrinkles with the beginnings of a soft cry.

“She’s bigger than she was this morning,” he huffs, the hairs that are getting a little too long on his head now puffing upward with the hard breath.

Giggling, you roll over to lean against his shoulder, running the pads of your finger along her chubby cheek. “She’s the same as she was this morning.”

“Do you think she missed me?” He glances up, hopeful.

“Always,” you reassure him, knowing he hates going back to work after the initial few weeks he took off to spend time with his newborn daughter. “We got an invitation to Clark and Christina’s wedding.”

“At least that wedding won’t end with a runaway bride situation.”

“Hey, that runaway bride became your wife.”

Your own wedding was a year ago now. And because Steve had helped nearly everyone around town, it became a huge event. Nearly everyone in town had gathered around as you walked down a grassy aisle to the man who always had your heart. It was there he pledged forever, a promise to keep you close and your heart closer for all of time to come.

Your parents had even come, deciding that love truly mattered above all else — though a lot of that was thanks to Clark and Christina’s influence. Those two had even become closer friends to you than you ever thought imaginable. Just four people who had come together in the strangest of circumstances, finding that sometimes the person who people deemed ‘best’ for you wasn't actually the right one — and that choosing love would overcome any other obstacle that might try to get in your way.

“That she did,” he says, leaning down to brush a kiss to your forehead.

And now you had an extension of that, in the form of a bleary eyed baby staring up at the two of you. Equal parts him and you, and everything you could have ever dreamed of and more. “Come on, I have something to show you! Summer can come too.”

“You just don’t want to let her go.”

“I never do,” he coos, leaning down to brush a kiss over her forehead, “she’s like her Mom. Has me wrapped around her finger, and she’s not even two months old.”

“I’ll say a prayer for her future suitors now —”

“Hey — she is not dating until she’s thirty and that’s final.”

You shove at him lightly as he leads you down the hall and into the newly extended part of the home. There’s a little sunroom, full to the brim with plants, and just outside on the back porch, he’s added a beautiful wooden swing that overlooks the water.

“Steve…”

“I know you like to read out here, but I figured now that we have Summer…” He settles down on one of the cushions, making room against his hip for you to curl up next to him, watching as the sun begins to set over Hawkins. “We could come out here…as a family. I have more plans too. A seating area over there for when we have company. Maybe some stuff for when Nancy and Jonathan bring their son over for a play date. A treehouse over there.”

“I love it, Steve.”

“I love you,” he says, brushing his lips against yours ever so softly, just as Summer starts to whine in the crook of his elbow. “Oh no, sweetheart, shhh shh. Don’t cry…this mountain I must climb…feels like a world upon my shoulders…”

“Oh, come on,” you laugh as he starts to sing, sides shaking with the memory of your return to Hawkins so long ago now.

“Through the clouds I see love shine —” He continues, and Summer stares up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky for her. “It keeps me warm as life grows colder.”

“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain,” you sing along, snuggling closer into his side, looping your arm around his and lacing your fingers with his own. “I don't know if I can face it again.”

You both break into a fit of giggles as the both of you sing-whisper out in equally as horrendous voices so as to not wake the baby that’s starting to doze off, “I wanna know what love iiiiis. I want you to show meee.”

You turn to face him, staring intently in his eyes, the song falling off, along with the laughter, as Summer’s eyes flutter shut. “Thank you for this. For all of it. This life we have together. For choosing me every day. Us. Our family.”

“Thank you,” he breathes back against your lips, kissing you as the sun sinks further along the sky, soft and pink and golden — just like the life before you and the one to come.

——

[slasherscream]

A/N: shout-out to @abominableghostface, who was my beta reader and co-conspirator as usual.

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + WHAT TYPE OF "LEAVING IN THE MORNING" PERSON ARE THEY

❥ we ride at dawn. try and survive ❥

Billy Loomis - The man with the plan. When he says morning he means we are going to be in the car and on the road by the time the sun rays begin to hit the earth. Granted, it's not a hectic morning by any means. He'll have made sure the two of you started packing days in advance. There’s no last minute rushing around. No wondering if you packed a toothbrush, or your favorite jacket. You double checked everything the night before, and then checked behind one another to make sure. But no matter how peaceful the waking, being dragged to your car at 4:30am will make you want to kill him. He passes you your favorite blanket that he threw in the dryer last minute, a cozy protection against the dewy chill of the night turning to morning. When he tells you to sleep until he finds somewhere decent to eat you hate him a little less.

Jordan Li - By nature Jordan is more of a night owl. Through pure necessity they’ve molded themself into something resembling a morning person. Sure, the way they don’t start smiling before 10am shows you it’s not at all a natural state of being, but they do it anyways. 

So used to starting the monotonous, average days bright and early they’re definitely not going to want to start a vacation late. They wake up to the sound of their alarm. They wake you up to soft kisses pressed into your skin. When you open your eyes, scowling at them anyways, they can’t help but laugh, “Yeah I know, I know, fuck off. But we gotta head out before traffic hits.” 

Knowing how you are in the mornings Jordan packed the car last night. When you roll over, intent on ignoring them they roll their eyes and shift, so that he can drag you from bed no matter how hard you try and make yourself dead weight. 

You’re still half asleep, leaned up against him beneath the spray of the shower, but wake up when he flicks water at your face.

“Fuck off.” You grumble. 

“Once we’re on the road I’ll fuck off for at least an hour. Then we’ll grab breakfast, yeah?” He pushes a loofah in your hand and grins once you take it. They shift again, nudging you out the way with her hip so you’re sharing the water instead of hogging it, “Wash my back so we can head out.” 

When they wake you up outside a diner two hours later instead of one you’re feeling much more agreeable, pulling them in for a kiss when they open your car door.

Sebastian Valmont - A chronic riser with the sun. It doesn’t matter what time he goes to sleep, he is going to wake up right as the sun rises. He has black out curtains and takes morning yoga classes. The bastard. His body simply enjoys being awake at six am. Thus, he sees absolutely no reason why leaving for your trip should come hours after that. He’s going to be the one driving anyways. The maids packed all your things, and the butler brought everything out to the car. All that’s left is to get you out of the house. Sebastian helps you put on your clothes, laughs at the way he has to push your arms into your shirt, and drag you to brush your teeth. When he tucks you into the passenger seat he knows you’ll be asleep again by the time he slides into the driver’s seat. He sneaks glances at you for the first few hours of the drive, quietly listening to music and the soft sound of your snoring, enjoying every second.

Stu Macher - Ball of energy that he is, Stu is awake bright and early, and does not need time to “wake up.” He unfortunately acts like this is a universal experience. The fact that he’s excited about the trip makes his typical lack of empathy towards night owls even more brutal than usual. You’re unceremoniously dragged from bed. He tickles you as you brush your teeth. If you seem a little extra groggy that morning he hops in the shower with you and turns it on cold to get your motor running. He acts completely baffled about why you’re still scowling by the time he’s back from his banishment of loading up the car while you try to dress yourself in peace. To make matters worse he wants to talk about anything and everything with you despite the fact that the sky is still that sleepy shade of blue that’s half night, half dawn. You stare at him hatefully from the corner of your eye, grunting answers at him until you pass a diner that’s open and you can get caffeine into your system. His excitement for the trip is cute once you’re awake.

Kevin Khatchadourian - Rises with the sun and is deeply irritated that you don’t. On a regular day he rarely let’s you sleep in. You’ll be lucky if he chooses to start his daily routine without you. On the mornings when he decides to practice archery, which is most, you’ll get an extra hour and a half. By the time he’s coming back inside he wants you both moving around one another, starting the rest of the routine. Brushing teeth, making food, the idle chatter of your voice. Considering he’s not fond of changing your routine, which is exactly what a vacation is, he doesn’t want to hear a single complaint about the hour he wakes you up to start the drive. He also doesn’t let you fall asleep when you get into the car, even though he’s the only one driving. You’re keeping him company no matter how tired you are.

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - While he maintains a strict schedule of waking up early unless hungover he is by no means a morning person. He’ll wake you up as gently as he’s capable of if the shrillness of the alarm didn’t do the trick, rocking you by the shoulder until your eyes blink open. The two of you packed the car last night so there wouldn’t be anything to do or communicate with one another upon first waking up. Two non-morning people trying to talk to each other upon first waking up was a recipe for disaster. Especially if it was the pair of you. Quietly you go about your morning. Brushing your teeth side by side, bumping against each other every now and then instead of speaking. Ben grabs the green smoothies that he made for the two of you the night before, something to tide you over until you found a place he was willing to eat at (which was always an unnecessarily complicated task.) It’s thirty minutes of driving and radio playing softly before you’re caught in a bit of traffic and you’re awake enough to be sweet. You lean across the cupholder to kiss his cheek and he gives you a small smile,  “Morning, L/N.” The two of you are experts at sharing your mornings by now.

❥ we leave sometime before noon ❥

Jason Dean/JD - Will never wake you up before he thinks you’ve gotten all the rest you need. His favorite hobby is turning off your morning alarms if he thinks you set them unreasonably early in comparison to when you fell asleep. He’s certainly not going to break that pattern for the start of a vacation, when you should be resting. You’ll wake whenever you naturally wake up, JD still wrapped around you. You’ll shower, drink some coffee, do one last check of the luggage and then he’ll haul everything out to the car for you, no matter how much you both packed. He likes you to not lift a finger during your trips and it starts before you ever leave the house. It certainly puts you into a vacation mindset.

David Mccall - David himself is an early riser but likes to let you sleep in whenever he can. The start of a vacation is certainly one of those times. He spends the hours before you wake taking care of last minute things. He checks all the bags again, makes sure everything you could possibly need is packed, then loads up the car. He makes sure the house is clean so there’s no mess to come back to that you’ll stress yourself out over. Closer to the time he knows you’ll get up he starts making breakfast for you. He’s so focused on the task he jumps when your arms loop around his waist and you start to press grateful sleepy kisses to his back. You’ll be on the road in an hour or two, he’s in no rush. He wants you relaxed and enjoying yourself every step of the way.

Josh Washington - Due to his insomnia he is not falling asleep any earlier than one am most nights. To ask him to get up at dawn would be like killing a puppy. You both sleep in, wake up sometime just before noon. You like to be realistic about your expectations for yourselves, so there’s no rush. A late start was factored into the plans from the beginning. You packed everything into the car the night before, so all there’s left to do is hop in. You wake yourselves up with some music to start. Barely twenty minutes on the road you see a cute diner and stop for late breakfast. You smile at each other as the afternoon sun shines on both your faces, sleepily discussing what you’re most excited about doing when you arrive at your destination.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Nathan Prescott - Nathan likes your journeys to begin in the dead of night. Whether it’s heading to the airport or hopping in the car to start a long drive, a 9pm start time is the sweet spot for him. He doesn’t like waking up early to start trips in the morning. Nor does he like being stuck in the claustrophobic traffic of other human bodies or cars during the afternoon. You’ll be dead tired by the time you get wherever you’re going but having a good beginning to vacations is important. Especially for Nathan. When you start at night his anxiety tends to be lower for the whole trip. The things we do for love.

[somnambulic-thing]

Watershed Moments || part I

Masterlist Part II || ao3

Eddie Munson x Reader || E 18+ [demi!Eddie x 'tomboy'/gender-nonconforming!bi!reader]

childhood best friends to lovers, no Upside Down, canon divergent

Words: 3.8k

Series Summary: Watershed Moment is a term most people use for big events. Such events that mark historical turning points of great significance and shape the course of humanity; events that cause the printing presses of the world to run hot and make it from the front pages of newspapers into history books for the following generations to study. Opening the passenger door of Eddie’s van on a rainy Friday evening is exactly that. You're in love with your best friend. How many of those pivotal moments have there been in the past decade that have led you to this point? And what happens now?

Themes/Warnings for this chapter | pls check Masterlist for general tags: ||fluff, pining, angst, hurt/comfort, implied/non-graphic domestic abuse, child abuse: physical and mental, child neglect, dysfunctional family dynamics||

large parts of the fic will take place in the characters teenage years

A/N: I wrote this almost a year ago then got very precious about it and stopped in fear of fucking it up. I've decided to release it into the world before the layer of dust gets so thick that I can't find my way back to it anymore. Around half of it is already written in various states. This is a queer story at heart, even though you might not find it in explicit terms we'd use today to label and describe things.

Friday the 8th of May 1987

The music announces his arrival.

It always does.

It’s the reason you leave your window ajar whenever you’re expecting him; no matter the time of day, no matter the weather.

The faint notes of shrieking guitars slowly turn into recognizable music as you slip on your shoes and look for your keys. Going by his choice of song, he must be in a good mood and so you descend down the stairs in a hurry to meet him.

He’s picking you up to go see a movie like he had done countless times before.

You hook your fingers under the door handle, the metal smooth from years of doing so, and pull, rousing the familiar creeeeek of the hinges, expecting to get into the car with the boy who had been your best friend for over a decade, and suddenly find yourself staring into the face of the man you love.

Just like that.

There is a dip in the cushion of the passenger seat, perfectly molded to your ass and right there, he had placed a gift for you.

“Surprise,” he says with a smile that melts the sidewalk under your feet, gesturing at the book that’s waiting for you but there is nothing on this planet, or any other, that could bring you to pull your eyes away from his at this very moment.

You see him almost every day, had seen him not quite twenty-four hours ago, had talked to him on the phone this morning and it had been the same as always; he was Eddie.

 Your Eddie.

And as you hold on to the door, waiting for the world to stop spinning so violently that you fear it could launch you into outa space, you realize that nothing about that had changed and still nothing was the same.

Just like that.

Eddie tilts his head, one hand still gripping the steering wheel, the other waving.

“Squash calling pumpkin, do you copy?” Eddie says in a deep, silly voice and the sweet sound of your childhood nicknames brings your realization full circle.

You are in love with your best friend.

“A-affirmative…”

“Ah, there you are. Will you get in here now? You’re getting wet.”

Oh, if you only knew.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you climb into your seat, carefully taking the book into your hands like it held the secrets to the universe between its covers. You yank the passenger door close absentmindedly, the slam echoing as loud in your ears as your own heartbeat and you wait for Eddie to complain about it but he doesn’t. Instead, you can sense him looking at you while you stare at the book in your lap.

And that really had been it, right?

What had made the truth about your feelings for Eddie hit you like a load of bricks; it was in the way he looked at you. In his giddy excitement to make you happy, his confidence that he absolutely would because he knew you so well and in the fact that you would look at him the same way if your roles were reversed.

That you do it all the time.

And just like that, it scares the shit out of you.

“H-how…” you start, but fail to find the right question. Your voice sounds brittle to your ears.

But Eddie chuckles, moves in closer and puts his chin on your shoulder, just like he always does. As if his silly little gesture hadn’t just changed both of your lives fundamentally and irrevocably.

“You mean,” he clears his throat and puts on an impersonation of your voice that’s infuriatingly remarkable. “Oh, Eddie, my precious Eddie, how did you get your brilliant and highly skilled hands on the new Stephen King novel that came out just two days ago?” His breath against your neck is warm and you just know that he’s pursing his lips in a silly grin.

“Yeah, that,” you swallow and then you give him what he’s after. A smile. Because no matter how flustered you are, you just can’t help it. “And I don’t sound like that.”

“Oohhh yes, you do,” he croons and the bass in his words vibrates through your bones where it’s already part of your marrow. You want to turn your head and kiss him. “It’s adorable,” he says and sits up, leaning back into his seat.

You huff out a laugh. “Do you compliment yourself in my voice a lot when I’m not around?”

“Something has to get me through the dreadful hours of the day where I have no access to your praise.”

It’s casual when he says things like that, and while Eddie starts the car and pulls into the street, you try to remember if it ever made you feel like combusting before.

Of course it had. All the time.

“Rick had some business in Indianapolis and I asked him to get me a copy,” Eddie explains into the silence, glancing over at you. “Seatbelt, pumpkin.”

“You… you didn’t have to do this…” you say instead of Thank you, Squashboy! instead of You’re the fucking best, Munson! instead of any of those soft things you would have thrown at him without hesitation just ten minutes ago and put on your seatbelt as he ordered, hoping he wouldn’t smell your confusion like the emotional bloodhound he was around you.

But Eddie laughs. “And listen to you whine about it until Hawkins’ dusty ol’ bookstore catches up with the modern world? Yeah, fat chance.”

“It would just have been a few weeks… tops…”

“A few weeks too many of seeing you mope. I’m not strong enough for that shit.”

You open the book on the first page to occupy your hands, which are begging to be buried in Eddie's hair, with something safe but, oh, the endeavor fails horribly because, of course, he left you a note inside and you should have expected it. Your fingertips trace over the familiar flow of Eddie’s handwriting with an infinite tenderness that’s meant for his cheeks.

for my little monster, can't wait for you to read this to me.      - your doctor               E.

“If you want to,” he adds softly.

I want to whisper every word of it into your mouth.

“This is the second book of the series, remember?… You wouldn’t understand a thing.”

“Incorrect,” he says solemnly, stops the car at a red light and almost jumps into your face with an open, all-teeth smile. “Surprise!”

“You… you read the first book?”

“Correct!” he bites his lip, excitement tugging at his cheeks. He’s so close. You could just lean in to taste him and for a moment you think that maybe he’s waiting for you to do so as he hovers there, big brown eyes roaming your face until a cacophony of horns pulls him away from you. “Fuckers,” he mumbles as he starts the car again and picks up the conversation where he’d left it: “And lo and behold: I liked it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I know, I know… I’ve given you speeches about why King doesn’t do it for me and all but you kept gushing about this Gunslinger book and how different it is and…” Eddie shrugged, “I thought I should give it a chance aaand it turned out you were right about it.”

You’re everything.

How did I miss this?

And what does it mean that I did?

“Hey, uh, are you alright?” he throws several quick glances at you, brows drawn together; all the joy, all the mirth gone.

Just like that.

Don’t you fucking hurt him!

“Why?”

“Why?” Now it’s a full-on frown. “Well, you’re… quiet. Which, you know, is totally fine with me generally, but I just told you, uh, that I read your favorite book and liked it after being a grump about it for months and—”

“Eddie?” A sigh.

“Y-yeah?”

“Wanna skip the movie, go to your place and start this?” you say softly, holding up the book. “Maybe get some snacks on our way?”

No hesitation.

“Hold on!” he cheered and you know that voice and that frantic look over his shoulder and—

“Oh no!” you huff as you scramble to clutch at something. “No nono no…”

 —then the U-Turn thumps you against the door while Eddie laughs like he’s fueled on pure adrenaline.

“Fucking hell, Munson, slow down,” you shout over the wild cackling and he does. “If you kill us before I finished that series I’ll whip your ass!”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he says with a grin and your pulse speeds up; eight little words and your rabbit heart races faster than from the prospect of possible death caused by Eddie’s poor impulse control. You watch him in awe as he forces himself to calm down, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, head bopping to their rhythm. “That was fun.”

“Yeah,” you try to sound distraught. “Such fun that you’re taking years off my life every time you do shit like that, you maniac!”

“But I’m giving them back to you by making you laugh. So it doesn’t count.”

***

1976

It was the October of your eleventh Halloween when the Munsons moved into the ground-floor apartment.

You just bought the first pumpkin of the season and couldn’t wait to spend the rest of the day drafting out a spooky design to carve into the tough orange flesh.

Impatient to start, you burst through the door and were halfway up the first landing when you saw the skinny lanky boy fumble with a box that looked way too heavy for his frame if the strain of the muscles in his arms was anything to go by.

Spinning around, his eyes were wide and alert, maybe even afraid, before he saw you on the stairs, relaxed a little and turned away to get on with opening the door.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you said, placed your pumpkin on the floor and rushed to his side.

“N-no, t’s alright, I'm… I got it—“ His words were swallowed by a loud thump as the boy swayed, barely saving the box from tumbling to the ground by wedging it between the door and his skinny chest.

“Don’t looks like it,” you quipped, ready to snatch his key to assist when—

“What the fuck are you banging against that door?“

— the door disappeared in a blur and a big angry man appeared in its place. The boy barely caught his balance before the box could slip again.

“Sorry Dad, sorry I didn’t—“

“Inside, Eddie!”

Eddie’s head whipped around to you, face scrunched in worry, his skin had turned a pale grey and you were sure to see the faint yellow remnants of a bruise high up on his cheek.

“Eddie!” he snarled and without another word Eddie pushed past his father, his backlit silhouette vanishing through a door on the left in a small hallway.

“Who are you?” the man almost barked at you.

Refusing to sound afraid, you introduced yourself. “My family lives on the second floor - welcome to the neighborhood, Mister…?”

“Munson,” he said briskly, but less angry and held out a large sweaty hand for you to shake. You did with reluctance. “Polite of you to swing by and say hello but we’re busy here, so if you don’t mind.” And with that, he closed the door.

You didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit.

Well…

“Oh,” your mother said when you told her everything, still heaving from running up the stairs like you were on fire. “But the boy probably just fell off his bike. You know how boys are, honey, don’t you?”

Suddenly, there was an itch in your own scraped knees; somewhat of a guilty sensation that added confusion to the upset.

„I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,“ she added with a thin smile.

And you wanted to believe her, wanted to believe her so badly but your mother hadn’t seen the look in the boy’s - Eddie’s - eyes when you startled him.

--

Those same eyes were faintly red and a little puffy when you answered the knock at the door half an hour later.

“Hi,” Eddie said in a jolly tone that only increased your confusion. “You forgot your pumpkin.”

“Oh shit!” You hugged the pumpkin to your chest like you were reunited with a friend and glimpsed a first faint preview of that blinding smile you would eventually come to love so much on Eddie’s face. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Your, uhm, father called you that.”

“Right,” he swallowed, smile snuffing out like a candle. “Right.”

There was a silence filled with a thousand questions your mother would deem inappropriate to ask a stranger so you settled for an apology.

“Sorry, if I got you in trouble.”

“What?” Eddie drew his head back, frowning. “No, no. You didn’t, no trouble at all. Dad ’s just— you know, stressed with the moving.”

“Oka—“

“Have to get going now,” he laughed hollowly and backed away, “so much left to do.”

“See you around, Eddie,” you could only call after him as he hurried down the stairs, his reply echoing back up to you.

“See you around, pumpkin.”

But you didn’t see Eddie around much. Not at home and not at school either. He was a year above your grade - you figured that out soon enough - but it almost seemed like he was skipping about half the week on a regular basis. The few times you met him sneaking through the house like a shy cat, he was covered in grease or paint, carrying himself like a man who came home at the end of a fifty-hour workweek. He never talked much, never asked for your name, always called you Pumpkin.

You, however, saw a lot of Mr Munson; going in and out the building several times a day, often in the company of equally grim-looking men, sometimes with a woman with big brown eyes which gave her away as Eddie’s mother even before she introduced herself to you. She had wonderful long brown hair and you asked yourself if Eddie’s buzzed scalp would sprout in this deep wavy brown or his father’s dirty blond if he was to let it grow out.

You also heard Mr Munson. A lot. Especially at night, and a few weeks in, your parents started to doubt that Eddie and his mother were simply on the clumsy side.

--

Halloween finally arrived and you proudly placed your final piece of fine pumpkin craftsmanship out the front door, waiting for your father to come down to light the candles like you did every year.

“Hey, Wednesday.”

You turned towards the open door and Eddie slowly peeled out of the shadows of the hallway, hands behind his back and a careful smile on his face. His voice was soft and timid. The next time you would hear him talk, it had already started to break.

“Eddie,” you smiled and tilted your head. “You watch the Addams Family?”

“Duh,” he said and fully stepped into the beam of light falling into the hallway. “Looks, uh, nice… the costume, I mean… self-made?”

“Yeah, my mother helped me make it. What are you going as?”

One hand left his back as he bowed his head and scratched his scalp. “M’ not… allowed to. Dad thinks it’s… a waste of time… and silly.”

“Shit,” you mumbled, an awkward silence fell between you. “Uhm, what would you choose? If you were allowed?”

“Huh?” his face lit up slightly as he entertained the thought. “Frodo, I think.”

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s… who’s Frodo?” The disbelieve in his eyes was comical, almost theatric. “That part of your Wednesday act? Making cruel jokes and shit?”

“What are you talking about?” you chuckled and raised your hands to the sky in an equal amount of theatrics.

“The Lord of The Rings? Never heard of that?”

“Oh, yeah, but never read it or anything... my mom thinks it’s not appropriate… for a girl.”

“Shit,” he huffed. “And I thought my life was sad…” And what was meant as a joke, darkened his face like an eclipse, pulled his gaze away from you and into the distance before he shook his head to chase it away. “I, uhm, was wondering… I made a thing? For, uh… you know?” he pointed his chin at the decorations lined up beside the doorstep.

“Oh!” you called out in excitement. “That’s what you‘re keeping behind your back?”

“Uh, yeah…” he pinched his eyes shut. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“No,” you said and Eddie cracked open one terrified eye. “If it’s funny, I’ll laugh! You’ll just have to join me…”

“Uhm, uuh…”

“Let’s seeeee!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus…” Eddie took a deep breath and revealed his work with slightly trembling hands you chose to ignore for his sake. It was a butternut squash and Eddie had carved a swarm of bats into the surface.

“Oh!” you said again but this time in awe.

“I know it’s not… good or anything, not like yours and I think I got the wrong kind of, uh, pumpkin because, like… you can’t get a candle in there— stupid thing ‘s like solid fucking concrete and I get it when you don’t want it out here—“

“Are you insane? This is so good!” you stopped him and snatched the squash from his hands.

“Wait, really?”

“Uh-hn,” you turned it around to take in every little last bat. “Must have taken you forever… butternut squash really is tough!”

“That’s what it’s called?” he said, rubbing the back of his head, a deep blush tinting his whole face bright red. “Had no idea…”

You stepped to the side, already busy figuring out how to rearrange the display to integrate the squash. “We just pick one out together next year… if you want. I can show you the right ones.”

“Nah, don’t want to bother you… it’s fine.”

Hunkering on the ground, your white thighs forgotten, you paused and looked up at Eddie in genuine confusion. “Why would you bother me?”

“I… don’t… dunno…”

The squash was in the perfect place and you stood up, dusted off your hands on the back of your black skirt and put a careful hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s cool, Squashboy, really.”

“I…” Eddie’s face went through a plethora of emotions in seconds but he settled on a silly grin. “Did you just call me, Squashboy?”

“Would you prefer your Squashness? Or… uhmm… Lord of the Squash?— t’s a bit of a mouth full but if you insist…”

“Shut up,” Eddie threw his head back and laughed; it was loud and wild and echoed through the staircase. “That’s sooo stupid.”

There were footsteps coming from inside as someone was descending the stairs and next to you, Eddie turned into cold hard stone.

“T’s probably just my dad,” you tried to comfort him, sure you knew what this meant by now. “He’s coming to light the candles.”

The steps grew louder and Eddie’s skin was this awful shade of grey again.

“Eddie? Are you o—“

“I have to go,” he gritted out through his teeth, turned and hurried down the street in jerky steps.

“Hey honey,” your father said, appearing in the doorframe but you were still looking after the skinny boy in the too-big clothes rushing down the street, a thick knot in your chest. “Is that the Munson boy?” your father’s voice was casual, but not casual enough.

You looked up into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Hm?… Oh, nothing. Just got lost in thought for a second.” He finally looked down at you again, clapping his hands together. “I’m here to light some candles.”

What usually was one of your favorite rituals on Halloween was clouded by that awful shadow that kept creeping over Eddie’s face again and again. You decided to share your loot of candy with him when you came back; it wasn’t much but it was something. You’d just have to wait until Mr M was out of the house or whatever, but you could think about that later.

But when you came back home, Eddie was gone.

Nobody was telling you anything but after one week of lurking around adults when they didn’t pay attention gave you enough to piece it together.

There had been a fight. A bad fight and your father finally called the police. It took two deputies to get Mr Munson out of the house and into the back of a police car. Deputy Hopper gave him a good kick in the back of his knee to help him the rest of the way. Nobody on the block had seen that occur though, should anybody come around to ask. When the dust had settled down a little, Mrs Munson was nowhere to be found, so Deputy Hopper came back to collect Eddie.

The Munson’s rent had been paid for all through the next week and in the middle of that week, you saw a tall man whose features reminded you of Mr Munson carrying a big box out of the front door of your building. He crammed it into the back of a car already filled with other stuff and drove away before you could take a look at the front to see if Eddie was on board.

A few days later, men in blue overalls came to clear the rest of the ground-floor apartment. You lingered on the first-floor landing, observing a family’s life getting ripped out of this house like a rotten tooth from a jaw. When the blue men went outside for a smoke, you slipped inside. There wasn’t much left of what made a home a home; a potted plant, some kitchenware and— a breeze moved the curtains in the main room ever so slightly but enough for you to spot a little figurine hidden in the far corner of the windowsill. A small man with a knobbly nose and dirty feet.

You took it home with you.

And when one day you saw the tall man who looked a little like Mr. Munson from your window, you almost jumped in front of his car to make sure Frodo finally made it back to Eddie. That was what the other Mr. Munson called the little guy.

“I can’t believe it,” Eddie’s uncle rasped, “been lookin’ for this guy all over town… thought the clean-up crew dropped it off at some thrift store or church with the other stuff or somethin’. Thought he was gone for good.”

“Tell Eddie I said hi,” you beamed. “And that I saved him some candy.”

general taglist:

@bettyfrommars @dr-aculaaa @deathbecomesthem @songforeddiemunson @raccoonboywrites @jo-harrington @lunatictardis @skrzydlak @moonbeamsandmayhem @slutforstabbings @eddieslooneymoonie @chaoticgood-munson @storiesbyrhi @mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @thecapricunt1616 @allthingsjoeq

[ominoose]

𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Jake Lockley x GN!Reader Summary: Boyfriend Jake drives you to work in the cab, insists you find a way to pay. Warnings: Smut WC: 1.3K

S/o to @reallyrallyauthor for the old lil chat we had about this and @silver-night-m for reminding me of it and reading over this <3

The day was already dragging on, and it was only 9am. 

Sleeping through the alarm before work was one thing you could potentially manage to bounce back from. Spilling coffee down your shirt after burning your meager breakfast of toast, not so much. 

Enter Jake, cab keys spinning around his index finger and barely suppressing a grin. He was the most attentive boyfriend one could dream of, seeming to possess some inner alarm that rang the moment you were even slightly miffed.

“Need a ride querido?”

Drops of rain obscured your view of the world beyond the taxi window, but you didn't need to see to know how dreary it was. Jake truly was a godsend, keeping you dry and snug within the warm taxi that seemed to permanently retain the new car smell alongside the faint fragrance of his cologne. 

The taxi crunched over stones and shuddered to a stop outside your workplace, the engine humming faintly.

“Thanks so much babe, I owe you one.” Some of the earlier tension had left you, the man seeming to have some innate ability to soothe you.

Although the morning had been a disaster, Jake had managed to salvage some of it for you. Instead of wanting to call the entire day quits, you now had the will to make it through until at least lunch without committing workplace assault.

“No hay problema, that’ll be £10.50.” His voice always took a more warmer, gravelly tone when he spoke his native tongue.

“Sure thing,” you giggled, hand on the door handle, seat-belt already unbuckled, “See you when I’m home babe.”

A sudden sharp click came from every side of the car. The doors had locked.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you cannot leave if you don’t pay.” 

Normally his dry banter would force a smile onto your lips, no matter how much you wanted to grump, a power he used and abused. Today didn’t feel like a day you’d be in the mood to joke.

“Jake, I left my wallet at home! I’m already late, let me out.” “Well…” The rumbling drawl lacing his voice cut through your attempts to miraculously shake the door open and shot straight between your legs, “Maybe you can pay another way.”

 Hair slapped against your face as you whipped around to face him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. A relaxed smirk adorned his olive skin, naturally, and dark brown eyes raked over the entirety of you.

Before another breath could be drawn his lips were crashing onto yours, molding softly yet passionately. Goosebumps erupted across cold skin as leather gloves smoothed up the curve of your thigh, fingers digging into the soft inner flesh and stopping just short of where you very suddenly needed him.

And then he was gone.

“Jake-”

“Chica. You are the one paying me, eh? Tut, tut, trying to wiggle out of paying a poor working man.” The words were punctuated with a few pointed pats on his inner thigh, those same dark eyes now crinkling with mischief. 

You knew what he wanted. It was hard to pick apart the desire and annoyance. Maybe they were one and the same, but in the end there was only one way this was going to play out.

A final dubious glance was cast at the fogged up windows, the pedestrians barely visible beyond, before your hands were unbuckling his belt.

You were already late as is, and blowing Jake was better than blowing up at the annoying guy at the desk next to you.

Jake's hands were already threaded through your hair, gently rubbing your scalp with his thumb in endearing familiarity. A low, gravelly hum was drawn from deep within his chest the moment his hard cock was bobbing free from his trousers, the heady musk enticing you as a silver thread of precum leaked from the brown tip.

The taste of salt bloomed across your tongue and your thighs automatically clenched. Slowly your head took the entirety of him, sliding him against the flat pad of your tongue, almost pressing an open kiss against his pubic base.

Satisfaction was evident by the way he sighed. You could practically picture his head leaning against the headrest, eyes closed, not a trace of his usual tense demeanor. There was power in knowing you were the only person in the world that could bring him to total bliss and freedom.

When you pulled back and began bobbing your head at a leisurely pace, his breaths became huffs and his fingers tightened against the crown of your head. Jake wouldn’t dare gag you down without approval, ever the gentleman, and it was a small, intentional inaction that endeared him to your heart.

Wet squelching noises filled the cab as you sped up, passion and absolute adoration for the man before you pumping through your veins and filling you with the need to take care of the man that was always the caregiver. The need to show him the intensity in which your heart beat for him had your throat clenching around his length as you took him to the hilt again and again.

He must’ve felt it if the sudden sound of leather being strained and him keening into your mouth was anything to go by. Jake was nearing his limit already, a man who was usually so composed even during a blow job was now a panting mess. It was clear he was in a losing battle with himself, his hips bucked slightly off the seat before he forced himself down, fingers clenching then unclenching in your hair. 

Usually he’d mutter encouragement, telling you how good your mouth was, you were doing so good, his bebé. Now he could barely get a full word out, his mind too far gone to even translate to English.

“Si- Si mi amor… Eso es todo- Bien, muy bien... Por favor, nena, por favor..... Sí.”

Jake always came with a strained groan, choking out a breath then straining to take it back in. The salty yet pert cum hit against the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex and for the first time Jake tugs at your hair to pull you back. 

Tears blur your vision entirely but the feeling of tissue dabbing at your mouth assures you that you don’t need sight or any other sense. Jake will take care of you, even after the most mind blowing blowjob of his life. A fresh tissue dabs gently at your eyes, revealing the rare, charming sight of Jake with tired, drooping eyes saturated with love. 

“Maldito mi vida, it was only a £10 fare.” The words were playful, but his voice was soft, quiet. Raw.

“Thought I’d tip the best cabbie in London.” That got a smile from him, his thumb stroking over your jaw. If you squinted you could’ve swore his eyes glossed over, but before the thought lodged itself he had already sat back, sliding his gloves on.

“Gracias, cariño, but you’re now an hour late. Better hurry if you want to afford any more rides.”

Panic flooded over the moment as you scrambled to gather your things, smooth yourself down and stumble out of the car, shouting love yous and thanks to him over your shoulder as you book it to puppy-eye your boss.

In your haste you don’t notice the way the taxi lingers, the driver smiling to himself and shaking his head before he pulls off of the pavement and loses himself in the traffic.

[beforeimdeceased]

A GIRL IS MISSING: SMALL TOWN, BIG PROBLEMS 🪰🔎🚬

synopsis: what happens when a young girl goes missing and you volunteer yourself to help find her?

a/n: this is like…i’m trying something new okay! let me know if you want a part 2 i hope you like my experimental mystery/thriller. please give feedback it’s highly appreciated! 🙏🏽

masterlist

everyone had gathered at the church on joneston, down the road from the chicken shack. you can’t miss it. everyone had been gathering there for days in the sharp cold of the winter. runny noses and swollen eyes. some crying, some from lack of sleep.

a young girl was missing. that was the headline of the town newspaper for the past 48 hours. missing poster plastered on the front. sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

dina woodward was witty, quick on her feet and excelled in all her classes. graduated from high school and went on to work at the local bakery for her gap year. just saving up for a car. she was in plays, never missed a festival, and lit up every room she walked into. that’s what everybody said. that’s what you wished you could say.

the truth is, you didn’t know her very well. you’d gone to elementary school together but she was bit off and hung out with a different crowd. all the way up till senior year. her friends were the ones with the tear swollen eyes.

ellie williams, her neighbor and girlfriend, had chosen the picture for the missing poster. you talked to her once and the conversation went like, “hey, do you know what time it is?” “2:30.” “thanks.” lined lips, freckled face, smelled like car oil and the cigarettes she pretended not to smoke in the stairwell.

abby anderson, her enemy turned friend, couldn’t even look up. her face was in her hands as she hid her wails. they had gotten into a fight about some miscommunication during lunch one day. threw the whole middle school into a ruckus. team dina and team abby. the brunch moms talked about it on weekends, you’d heard them while you sat off to the side as your mom waited tables. drunk ladies blabbering on about who should apologize first. they ended up settling it after a game of volleyball. real dramatic handshake. some people clapped.

jesse, last name unknown due to you never being awarded the chance of knowing it, was her ex boyfriend and right hand. as an outsider you predicted that it would’ve been messy. the way they’d broken up and she was seen slipping off into dark corners with ellie a few weeks after, but there was no war. no bloodshed. only whispers of drama from bored admirers and jealous bitches.

your eyes were sunken on account of your lack of sleep. days at the post office, mixed with nights at the police station, molded with mornings in the church for the search party meeting was a recipe for disaster on your sleep schedule. not that you could sleep anyway, too busy dreaming about finding her dead in a ditch somewhere. waking up sweating like a whore in church-

“alrighty! thank you all for coming again today. looks like the crowd is a bit smaller than it was yesterday, but let’s not fret. we’re all going to work together to find her.” maria, leader of the search party, wavers her gaze to the three close friends of dina. face falling into a sympathetic gaze. “we’re going to find her.”

that second sentence sounded far less convincing than the first one. you knew, and they knew, that with this shit weather there was no way she could have disappeared for a week and survived out there on her own. she could’ve been kidnapped, oh god that’s worse. let’s stop thinking.

since the crowd had gotten smaller, the groups maria had configured were forced to shrink. too many lone soldiers and people without partners. she had to start being strategic. playing on the strengths of each individual, hoping they’d all make well rounded teams. then she pointed her finger at you, then at the blonde, then at lips in a line, then at sweet jesse and she smiled in your face.

“and you guys will be team 4.”

[prk-gunwook]

BOYS PLANET — how they love you

INCLUDES || sung hanbin | zhang hao | kim jiwoong | park gunwook | seok matthew | kim taerae | kum junhyeon | ricky

GENRE || tooth-rotting fluff

WORD COUNT || 2.1k

NOTES || this is my first post on tumblr ! had to create an account just for these boys i adore. requests are open, and please leave me feedback ! <3

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, SUNG HANBIN 𖥻 ❛ touch ❜

SUNG HANBIN touches you like you are his lifeline; like golden ichor flows through your veins and bubbly springs overflow in your mouth, as if your skin is made of fibers woven by Athena herself. His touches are feather-soft, lingering sweetly on your flesh and body, leaving fingerprints of moon dust. He wraps his hands around your torso under the cover of the sun, pressing sugary kisses to your temples early in the morning through silk curtains, whispered promises of love and devotion leaving his lips to caress your ears.

Hanbin laces your fingers together more often than not; soft hands tracing the lines of your palm as if he could read the future you two will build together there. Whether it’s a hand on your thigh, a finger wrapping around your pinky, or a head on your shoulder, he craves your touch like a starved man.

As you lay in bed, head resting softly on his chest, you peer up at him.

“Can you breathe fine like this?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing inward slightly in concern. Hanbin laughs— a short, sweet thing that rings like wedding bells in your mind— and nods.

He gazes down at you, eyes staring at you as if you hold the world in the palms of your hands, and you feel the cold touch of his fingers brushing circles against your hip.

“There is no other way I could wish to breathe,” He replies, words soft and laced with the admiration he feels for you.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, ZHANG HAO 𖥻 ❛ fruits ❜

ZHANG HAO loves you dearly— his love runs deeper than the ocean, glittering water that shimmers and shines with every action and word you perform. You know it, he knows it, and there is nothing else either of you need. He loves you like the sun loves the moon, like the waves love the shore, like Prometheus loves his creations. He loves you like there is no other option; and for him, there isn’t.

Often, you find yourself staying up late to finish the schoolwork you neglect until the last minute, pencil in your mouth and eyes narrowed in thought. Problems and their solutions swim in your mind, crossing over into the other and leaving you more and more confused.

“You need to sleep,” Hao’s stern voice comes from the doorway, arms crossed in discontent as he watches you study.

“I need to finish this,” You argue, even as your eyes beg for sleep and your knees ache from sitting down for hours. You can hear Hao move across the room, floorboards creaking softly underfoot as he makes his way toward you.

“At least eat something,” He says, placing a bowl of crisp apple slices in front of you. You pick one up, noticing how the skin has been cut in a specific way to resemble a bunny. Before you can thank him he’s gone, out the doorway— probably to sleep.

The next day, as you sit down to study, you notice a bowl of freshly-cut bunny apples waiting for you, and a small sticky-note with the words “try and sleep early tonight”.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, KIM JIWOONG 𖥻 ❛ long drives ❜

KIM JIWOONG was always extremely stubborn when it came to road safety— not that it was a bad thing, you could appreciate it, really. Eyes on the road, two hands on the steering wheel, music never too loud, and seatbelts are buckled before the car moves even a millimeter. But ever since meeting you, he’s taken to driving one-handed, always leaving one hand open for you to hold.

Inside his car, there is only you and him. There is only Jiwoong’s devotion to you. There is only starlight and sublime tears, moonlit kisses and beating hearts that mold into one, only his hand in yours.

No words need to be exchanged as wheels turn steadily on pavement roads, soft chirps of grasshoppers and croaks of frogs filling the empty spaces. There are no words that need to be exchanged when they’ve all already been said; “I love you” loses its meaning after a while, and now your love is found in the feeling of his hands on yours, of your eyes interlocking gazes in the rearview mirror, of hidden smiles and inside jokes. Now, your love is found in the lack of words needed when Jiwoong grabs his keys from the wall and only has to look at you to ask if you want to go on a drive with him.

No words are needed when you love as strongly as you do.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, PARK GUNWOOK 𖥻 ❛ this reminded me of you ❜

PARK GUNWOOK thinks that, if there are a million universes, he loves you in every single one. He has bared his heart for you to take like a oyster with its pearl— he would rip apart his heart and sew it back together in the shape of you, for you are in the only thing in it. He sees his entire world in you, and in the world he sees you.

He sees you in the lipstick mark of an abandoned coffee cup, he sees you in the sketchy lines of a street mural, he sees you in blossoming bouquets of spring and bicycles parked on the beach. When Gunwook enters a shop, every item relates back to you; how would you like this shirt on him? Would this look cute on you? Is this your style of decor?

He doesn’t mean to buy you so many things, really, it just happens. As you dance in your living room with him, choked laughter ringing in the air, a collection of miscellaneous items decorate your walls and shelves.

A penguin sculpture for the way you purse your lips in thought. A magazine cut-out of an ad for the same picnic blanket you had your first date on. A collection of pink stickers scattered along the walls for the color of your shirt the day he asked you out.

This room is a log of your m emories; of the love you share, of the tears and the smiles, of all the good and the bad and the in-between. It’s a dictionary of every moment the two of you have shared, fluent in the language of love. And yet there are so many empty spaces, empty pages, for the next moments to come, and you doubt this book will ever close.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, SEOK MATTHEW 𖥻 ❛ admiration in his eyes ❜

SEOK MATTHEW is like the sun. Bright, happy, a shining, glimmering light that can cast even the most gloomy of days away. His smile is like the medicine to a sickness you never knew you had, his eyes crescent rainbows that reflect every good feeling you can have, his laugh like the ripples of a fresh river swirling around your legs in summer. Seok Matthew is the sun in every meaning of the word.

And you are his moon. He would chase you to the ends of the Earth for eternity just for a glimpse of your smile, just a word from your lips, just a small glance at your eyes, and he would do it for longer than the term “forever” can communicate. He will follow wherever you go, no matter if it’s down to a fiery pit of justice or up to a symphony of angels chorusing for you.

When you speak, Matthew’s eyes are fully on you. Never will it stray (and he has suffered being the butt of many, many jokes because of this), but he can’t help it. Why would he ever want to look away from you, if you are all he ever wants to look at? Stars in his eyes, but you are his one moon.

He hardly ever dreams when he sleeps, for every moment with you is enough to last him through his years without a wink of slumber. He would never have to rest his head if only he can hear you laugh everyday— when you smile, he smiles, and it lights up the world.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, KIM TAERAE 𖥻 ❛ love songs ❜

KIM TAERAE wonders how anybody enjoyed listening to him sing before he met you, for he never knew true love before. Never has he been able to sing fully with the implication of knowing, never has he embarked on the journey of admiration the songs describe, and never has he known this warm, bubbly feeling called love. Now, every word is charged with the meaning of you; the love he holds for you, the smiles he hides for you, the guitar strings he strums for you, the songs he sings just for you.

His Spotify playlists have become perhaps seven times longer than before, filled to the brim with soft songs that he dedicates entirely to your being.

“Your lips, my lips,” Taerae sang, voice sweet but gravelly, the melody tuned to the sound of beating hearts and hushed kisses. You sit next to him, watching his lips move in a fixed fascination as his deft fingers strum the strings of his guitar like an expert. He plays the strings of your heart the same way; with a practiced ease, like it was what he was born to do.

“Go and sneak us through rivers,” He continues, eyes focused not on his guitar but on you. Taerae thanks every soul that has ever lived on Earth before this, and every soul after, that you were born in such a time and place that he could meet you and fall in love. “Flood is rising up on your knees.”

“Oh please, come out and haunt me.”

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, KUM JUNHYEON 𖥻 ❛ bad movies ❜

KUM JUNHYEON has always been a warm person; he is made of fiery spirits and nipping branches, of autumn leaves tumbling to the ground in piles, ready to be jumped in. He’s made of loud words and screaming laughs, of bad aeygo and joking whispers, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He is entirely odd, and he’s entirely yours.

So it makes sense he shows his love for you through bad movies. You have never laughed as much as you have when you sit with him on a worn-down couch, bowls of popcorn in your hands, tall cups of soda ready to be drunk on your table. Never have you laughed so hard you snorted except for when Junhyeon made you watch The Emoji Movie with him and interrupted every other sentence to make a joke— and even after that, Junhyeon couldn’t get a joke out because he was laughing too hard at the fact you snorted.

Laughter is uncontrollable when you’re around Junhyeon— when you cuddle up next to him, and even when your eyes are begging for sleep, you can’t stop laughing. When you’re sure you’ve got abs from the hours of jokes, when you’re certain you’ll have laugh lines deeper than the grand canyon after how many years you’ve spent with Junhyeon.

It’s odd, yes, but it’s so entirely Junhyeon.

ꉂ — 𖥦 ♡ ,, RICKY 𖥻 ❛ gifts ❜

RICKY is young, rich, tall, and handsome, there is no denying that. One thing they never revealed is the fact he’s perceptive— frighteningly so. If you even mention liking something in passing, rest assured there will be a basket of it in your kitchen the next day. If you spend even a fraction of a second too long looking at a piece of jewelry, best believe it’s draped around your neck the next day.

It’s not that he enjoys flaunting his wealth. It’s just… what else should he use it for, if not the one he loves the most? He would buy a thousand gems of the rarest ore just for a single second of your happiness. He would sell his fortune for the feel of his hand in yours— he’d even give up hairspray just to kiss your lips once.

Ricky thinks and feels so much all the time, his heart is bruised and bleeding, but you have become a doctor just to repair him. He loves you in the way nobody can understand; and he does not need understanding when he has admiration. He thinks there is a chapel within his heart entirely dedicated to you; that if he is reincarnated, it will be as a passing breeze that thinks only of you.

“I love you,” He says more often than he thought he ever would.

“I love you, too.” He hears back more often than he thought possible.

—

[abilouwrites]

THE MOVE IN

Jamie Drysdale

Mah lil pookie wookie

“And you’re sure they’d be all right with me staying with you for the month?” I ask nervously as Jamie smoothly shifts gears and toggles the clutch. My apartment had grown a water leak and a mold infestation because of that leak so I’d been forced to move out. While my parents live in California; they aren’t stationed in Anaheim but in San Francisco. Almost a 12 hour drive away.

I’d offered to rent out a hotel room but Jamie hearing of my dilemma and being my boyfriend was nearly upset at the fact I was going to a hotel before asking to stay with him, “I’m sure; the guys love you. And they all understand that situation. Least from what they’ve told me” he looks at me and smiles before turning his attention back to the road.

“I just don’t want to encroach on guy time” I admit, I hear him sigh gently and move his hand to pat my thigh before going back to keeping his hand on the stick.

We pull up to his shared home with a few of the guys on the team, those who weren’t living with their girlfriends or wives. Jamie takes my bags from the trunk of the car, “Jesus how do you have so much stuff” he grunts; he sees my concerned expression and immediately cuts in with, "no oh sweet thing I'm joking" He looks at me sympathetically and drops my bags gently so he can wrap me into a soft kiss.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I help him carry my things into his room, “ah Drysdales wife is here” Trevor teases as he steps out of the kitchen.

I smile softly at him and wrap him into a soft hug, “I brought my recipe book if y’all want me to make waffles” I tell him and he excitedly grins at me.

“Jams whatcha eatinn” Trevor asks as he leans on Jamie’s shoulder; he bats his eyes at him. Obviously asking for a bite of whatever his friend was eating for a late home packed brunch.

“Oh uh. Y/n made me some blueberry waffles.. you want?” Jamie guiltily offers half of his waffle to his friend who easily scarfs the half down. Trevor’s eyes widen and he nods in approval.

“You need to marry her. And have a lot of babies. Mostly. Wife her up because if you don’t. I will” Trevor says; almost instantaneously. Jamie simply stares at him, almost astonished at Trevor’s confession.

“Trev— I’ve only been dating her for maybe a uh year?”

“Marriage”

“If Jamie doesnt marry you. I will” Trevor admits winking at Jamie.

The weeks pass as they always do, it’s weird waking up to someone else. Jamie’s arms wrap around my waist his thumb toying with the band of my panties. Somehow it’s so comforting being able to wake up next to him. I roll onto his stomach throughout the night. His hands go from resting on my butt to sliding underneath my tank top and resting on my shoulder blades.

“G’mornin” I’m the first to rise and Jamie always rolls over tucking his head against my chest, my hands slide up and tangle themselves into his thick brown hair.

“I don’t wanna wake up” He groans wrapping himself around me and anchoring me down into the plush bedding.

“I know baby, but I promised the team I would make breakfast for everyone. You can sleep a bit more” I tell him wiggling out from underneath him but still tucking him back into bed and placing a kiss onto his forehead.

It’s about ten in the morning when the boys and their significant others start arriving. The house fills with chatter and the clinking of utensils as I serve the eggs and bacon and pancakes.

Jamie comes down, rubbing his eyes and quickly finding me flipping the pancakes in the pan. He groans softly resting his head on my shoulder and sliding up behind me and rubbing my stomach underneath my shirt, “I can’t sleep without you” he whispers in my ear.

“You want some coffee?” I offer him my little mug.

“Yeah” He sighs against my skin taking my mug and drinking it, “I’m gonna go see the guys”

About a month later my apartment is ready but Jamie’s being weird about me moving back in, “somethings going on” I fish around as I start packing my things back up

“I guess” he shrugs reaching for my hand, “Instead of going back to your apartment.. what if. We buy a house, or an apartment. And officially move in together” he asks

“Really?”

“Yeah. I wanna marry you. Not right now but eventually”

“Seriously?”

“Yes”

🎉🎉

[hoppingonjim]

I just love how much you love Jackson Healy too! I had a fun little idea if you wanted to explore it for him. On an unexpectedly rainy day in LA, Jackson pulls over to give the reader a ride so she decides to thank him by riding him too 🤭

RIDING DIRTY- healy !

note: he's my fav, ever. i'm so uggggh in love w him. #jacksonarmy . i'm more in love w this idea though omg but so sorry for the wait on this! if it sucks, lmk and i'll rewrite ofc

cw warnings: riding, afab!reader, sex as payment, car sex, dad bods, pet names, unprotected sex (dont be silly, cover your willie), fat cocks, jackson healy and his stupid little rants, p in v, nipple suckling, brief spanking cause jackson loves ass, mentions of aftercare, horny fucks.

the forecast forgot to mention the abundance of moody clouds that doomed the sky. their tears hammering down on your head. you didn't prepare for this, you were overjoyed in the morning with the proposal of a jog. you didn't need your car to get to work, you didn't need your car to get back from work. the day was supposed to bloom with hues of blue and green, bubbling from every surface.

except the meteorologists must've not predicted anything right. read all of the signs wrong. here you were, sidewalk, thumb up, begging in the persistent rain for a stranger's commitment to kindness.

a 66 healy pulls up. the cream color molding in with the rain. you vigorously raise your thumb, bobbing it upwards repeatedly. just to catch his attention. it's a miracle when he pulls over, opening the door for you.

"thank you, thank you-" you're stammering over your own grattiude as you hop into shotgun. then you get a full view of the man. he's tall, you can tell that by his posture- he's bigger, scruffy, looks almost like the danger that follows you home on an empty street, but those eyes are soft. the smile is gentle and almost like grandma's homemade treats. though despite the bigger figure of the man, there's strength in his grip. his knuckles clutching tightly onto the wheel, his triceps peeping through only slightly through the tropical shirt he wore.

a deep laugh bellows from the man once he resumes driving, "no problem, where you headed?" like his laugh, his voice is even low. deep. like his facial hair, his voice is scruffy.

you smile, "home. two rights, then a left.. i didn't expect it to be raining today."

"don't think anyone did honestly, damn meteorologists. y'know- i always wanted that job. can be wrong every damn day and still make a good living. i'm just not good with.. science and that- crap."

his own vernacular slips from his curved lips in a homely fashion and it's clear to you that it embarrasses him. there's a flush on his cheeks, he wants to seem more proper to you. as if you should feel completely fine about being in the car, on a rainy night, with a stranger. a man, for that matter.

though his eyes widened slightly when you laugh, the flushed color on his cheeks wisping away, "my dad used to always say that!"

"dad's a smart fella then." he nods, his wipers squeaking just slightly. clearly the beaut of a ride isn't so creamy wheeling as the colors leads you to believe, "names jackson, jackson healy- and yours?"

you smile as you tell him your name before perking an eyebrow upwards, "healy? is.. that a reason why you bought this car then? an austin-healy?"

a small shrug complements another chuckle, "i guess so, yeah. jimmy-rigged it a bit though, had to for days like today. but i mainly bought it because of the look. it's classic- don't find many classics today, and this new generation wants to keep up with the minimalist colors. i wish people could still appreciate the beauty in color." with passion he drives more cautiously, eyes flickering over towards you. taking in the sight he didn't observe before.

though his rants translates into something more poetic for you. you've known the man, jackson, for nearly five minutes- or was it ten? in such a short time he was sharing concerns with you, leveling a conversation. it was magnetic. sure his outward appearance pulled you in, you liked the dad bod type, but now his words kept you there. this stranger had a force you just couldn't seem to halt.

"i like the classics too, a lot prettier. mustangs, my dad had one.. always my favorite. a green one too, i like that color."

"green is a nice color."

the car ride goes slightly silent. he's concentrated on the slippery road, not wanting to danger either one of you. the directions you provided him repeat in his mind. his turns are graceful, he slows down, he checks every which way, you see it through the stare in his eyes that safety is the most important thing to him. it only fuels your attraction.

it wasn't like the sun was out moments before, the rain dulled it away. though now it only seemed to be a memory, the dark sky implanted with foreign light screeching from posts down the street. flickering in their neglect.

"tell me which one it is, then i'll be on my way." the gentle air of his voice never deserts him, it sweeps you closer.

nodding, you wait till he reaches the small, narrow box you call home. his tires slip just a tad when he pulls into your driveway, he expects you'll be rushing out the door- eager to get away from the stranger.

"well, here's your place i guess."

a chuckle rumbles his body, you undo your seatbelt, but your door hasn't even been opened yet, "you really helped me out jackson.." you begin, voice almost sultry as you shift your body in order to face him better.

the words you hum force the flushed red color to return to his cheeks. there's an incantation in your tone, he's sure of it, "well it's not problem-"

you're biting your lip now, in that sex icon type way. a bombshell needing to show thanks, "still, you didn't have to do it.. i can pay you back-"

"no." he cuts you off instantly, his breath stuck in his own windpipe. his throat choked out by the thick atmosphere suddenly gassing his car, "you're sweet honey, but i don't need money, i like helping people out.."

it's your turn to cut him off, not with words, but just with a laugh, "who said i would pay you back in money?"

a gulp flushes out his entire flustered demeanor. it's a different man now, one in the driver seat for this conversation. a smirk plays out on his lips, the click of his seatbelt whisking away, "what thought have you got going on in that pretty mind of yours then, huh? you really gonna pay a stranger back, in sex? you don't know me, you barely know me." a predatorial gaze falls onto you, he sees you squirming in your seat. his words driving you mad. your breathing fills up the void, until he pats his thigh.

crawling over the armrest, you situate yourself into his lap. those big hands flock to your waist, already beginning to guide you into the rhythm of grinding, ensuring you feel the affects of your words.

"you're so hard," and you're already letting the man slide down your pants, fingers teasing the dampness slowly ruining your panties.

"my words get you all wet?"

only a stiff nod is given before his thumb drags over your bottom lips. when lips part, his thumb drags down the bottom one, all delicate. though his eyes find more amusement in watching the way yours so intently focus on each move of his. the way he then orders you to kiss him, through a migration of his thumb- down to your chin.

his lips are refreshing. they don't taste of casual smoke or a bottle of whisky. there's no pungent taste, only the refreshment of wannabe crooners and style. he's hungry, he's pulling you closer and a hand is already tugging down your panties. the taste of your tongue is leaving gold in his senses and he feels he needs more. gripping and groping every last inch of you. raising and lowering you. slipping a hand downwards just to feel what he's really done to you- index finger swiping your slick.

"you're so beautiful."

into your lips he mutters more compliments about your scent, your sweetness, he way you turn him on. your beauty, never calls you sexy however. never calls you hot.

with extreme reluctance you pull away, needing every breath you can get, "i need you, let me pay you back-" "fuck yeah, okay, okay.. okay princess." he's finding something to do in the means of lifting off your shirt, unhooking your bra. it's impressive, how swift he is with it. meanwhile you're undoing his jeans, unbuttoning that beach kissed shirt. you attempt to slip the shirt completely off of him, though he shakes his head. if there is a later- you'll ask him about that.

his cock is hard, needy. his tip engorged and dripping with precum. ready for you to rock him properly for payment, "c'mon princess." his encouraging words leave you sliding on top of him. letting his thick cock fill you out.

a groan flees from him in shock at how you didn't even ease into it. his hands migrate to your hips, nails digging into the supple skin, "good girl, such a good girl." after he bucks his own hips upwards, you begin to rock on him.

you start off slow, this time you're easing into it. moans already falling from your throat- begging. begging for yourself to go just a little faster, grow more accustomed to this heavenly sensation. groans fill the car, bouncing off of your pretty sounds. the ones he can't get enough of.

"you're already so good, you know that? so good, so good already?"

the encouragement prompts you to pick up the pace. careful rocks quickly turning reckless. you're attempting to feel every inch of him, squeezing his cock with pleasure. a hand lands a blow onto your ass, but it doesn't sting. it only accelerates the thrill. those moans raise in a pitch, stumbling over one another. a new sound emerges in the car, tangoing with the sinful audio from your mouth and his- the sound of skin slapping, hard. it's as if this will never happen again. every rock, the eventual bounces, they're all desperate. your nails dig into his broad shoulders, feeling his strength. adoring his strength. you want to speak to him, the words won't barge through.

similarly he tries speaking to you, but the low grunts and groans barricade any praises. the most he can do is continue to squeeze your ass cheek, sprinkling in a spank when he deems it necessary.

the sound of rain is drowned out by the payment of sex. with your back arched, jackson realizes he has a better view of your nipples. just to throw you increasingly off the edge, he leans in, suckling on one. swirling his tongue around the hardened bud, groaning against the sensitive skin. begging to feel you release your serendipity onto him.

"holy shit- holy shit what're you- what're you-" it's becoming too much. your hands leave his shoulders and find solace in gripping on tightly to his slicked hair. the premediated waves crashing from your unwavering grasp. victims to the way you pull whenever your bouncing forces his cock to hit a special, sweet spot of yours.

he's twitching now, you can feel it. it sends you into a flight, working overtime to feel every inch of him. losing yourself on his lap. it's hectic and he finds it amazing, heavy breathing and gasps bombarding his conscious.

"gonna cum- gonna cum, oh fuck.."

you do. it's heaven. the gates are in front of you when you are embraced by the enchanting kiss of an orgasm. cum coating his cock, remnants of the way you worked so hard.

"me too, princess, gonna- gonna give it to you-"

the severity of his own forces him to pull away from your suckled, swollen nipples. a string of saliva breaking down onto your breast. with force he takes brief, very brief control, and slams you down upon him. the biggest motivator for him to shoot his load inside of you was feeling you cum. that was enough for him. and an extreme turn on.

it feels otherworldly when you feel him unload inside of you. a stranger. filling you up with his hot cum. decorating your insides with arousing moments.

while trying to catch your breath, you two stare at each other. eyes looking for disapproval in each other. you don't find any. just satisfaction, and hints of longing.

amidst the gasps and beckons for air. helpless pants. the rain peeps through the windows, shattering every sense of urgency. tapping along the hood.

fingers trace circles on your back, gingerly grazing, "stay here for a moment."

[floralcyanide]

hii welcome back 💗 can you do headcannons for obsessive stalker Jackson Rippner (go wild with this one) , thank youu 🌷

Jackson Rippner Headcanons

Jackson Rippner x Reader

masterlist

✺ it was innocent at first. he spotted you at the airport and quietly followed you all the way to your parked car. he asked for a ride to the front of the airport, to which you answered that you weren't a taxi cab, but did it anyway. he was handsome and seemed safe.

✺ what you didn't know was, your parking receipt had your full name on it from the credit card purchase. with that, he could easily find where resided. and he did once he got home.

✺ from then on, Jackson became utterly obsessed with you. he thought you were very attractive and had a wonderful personality- from the short period he was in the car with you. but he's learned so much about you just from watching you go in and out of your apartment. your MySpace also had a lot of valuable information on it.

✺ it was a common practice for Jackson to sit outside your apartment building in his basic, unassuming vehicle. sometimes you'd forget to close the blinds or have them up with the curtains open when you'd get undressed. so Jackson had a brilliant view of your body.

✺ Jackson wasn't normally the type to get off on seeing someone naked- he did get off on the fact you were naked and didn't know he could see you, though. so one day, he sneaks his hand into his pants. and after that, every time he'd come to "visit" you, he'd beat one off. it became a habit of sorts.

✺ the day you finally noticed him, six months had passed without issue for Jackson. but today, he fucked up. he could see you on your bed clearly through the window, and you were exploring yourself with your hands. it gave Jackson a very intense orgasm seeing you touch yourself; so intense that he fell asleep in the driver's seat.

✺ when he awoke, it was beginning to become daylight. he had slept all night. he realizes why he woke up very suddenly: there was someone knocking on the window. Jackson looks up, and it's you. he has to do a double-take before realizing his fly was still very much down.

✺ you start laughing at him, arms crossed as you shake your head. you had finally caught him red-handed. Jackson, very rudely but in an embarrassed fashion, asks why you're laughing. to which you answer, "now it's my turn to see you vulnerable." a haunted look crosses Jackson's face, how long had you known he was watching? he didn't even have to ask out loud before you say, "oh. I knew a month in. I know all my neighbors' cars and knew yours was no one of theirs. one night, I recognized you when some headlights flashed across your face."

✺ Jackson is shocked about you knowing and not caring that he'd been stalking you for months. a part of you knows it's wrong, but another part of you is flattered that someone would spend so much time watching everything you did. even more flattered at the fact Jackson was secretly too shy to ever say a word to your face and would rather be hunched in his car. it's even more attractive knowing what he was doing while hunched in the car.

✺ you invite him upstairs to shower and make him promise not to snoop while you are getting dressed for work. he honors your wishes and quickly showers as you're getting ready. before he dips, he leaves his number on your kitchen counter. he manages to sneak out before you're on your way to work. when you notice the number on the counter, you smile to yourself. hey, at least he didn't kill you, right?

✺ that night, Jackson isn't there for the first time in half a year, which makes you a little sad. but to your surprise, you come inside your apartment to flower pedals and candles everywhere. while Jackson was in your apartment that morning, he made a mold of your house key that hung from the hook by the front door. how romantic.

[michaelangdonsslut]

𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 // 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

hey pookies! here's the first chapter of tales of the shadows ౨ৎ

please read the introduction post before reading this chapter!

hope u enjoy <3

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 1.5k

no warnings! (yet hehe)

---

- 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐸 .

Riley Bennett felt the wind brushing her face faintly as she opened the window to her dad's car. It was a cloudy Wednesday morning when they finally decided to move all the way across the country.

Riley was a 17 year old troubled teenage girl who often struggled with fitting into her new surroundings.

They were a typical wealthy family from LA and had everything, so why did they decide to move to a small town in Massachusetts? This is what Riley has been wondering all the time ever since her dad talked about moving to Chesterfield. "I don't even know why we have to move here It's so cloudy and looks boring. I already miss LA and my friends.", Riley said nonchalantly looking at the window trying to look for anything interesting about this town. "Come on Riley don't be so grumpy, it can't be that bad!" her dad tried to reassure her but it didn't really work. She was going to miss LA and there was nothing they could say about it. 

About 20 minutes later, they finally arrived in front of the house. It was a beautiful Victorian house, a mix of light pink and dark blue, and Riley couldn't help but admire the huge house in front of her. It looked so old and vintage, that house actually reminded her of Coraline, she loved this movie as a child. “ So what do we think ?” Mr Bennett looking smiled at Riley knowing how much she loved old fashioned houses. " This house is beautiful Peter, and look Riley there's a swing!",  said Mrs. Bennett eagerly.  "I'm not a little girl anymore mom I don't really care about that" , Riley said rolling her eyes as the family parked in the driveway.  “And besides, this house looks kinda haunted.”  Mrs. Bennett scoffed taking her sunglasses off. After some time, they finally get out of the car and start grabbing their stuff from the car boot when a lady approaches them.  "Hello, I'm Dina the real estate agent! I'm here to show you around the house"  A huge smile was plastered on her face as if she was happy someone was finally interested in this house. 

" Oh hello! I'm Peter Bennett and this is my wife Marie " they both shake Dina's hand, her smile never leaving her face. " It's really nice to meet you. Oh and I suppose this is your beautiful little sweetheart ", she says as she walks over to Riley; " Uh yeah. I'm Riley. " Dina shakes Riley's hand and Riley can't help but find her a bit...  eccentric .

“ All right, I’ll show you the inside of the house right now !” Mrs. Bennett smiled eagerly looking at her husband with stars in her eyes. 

The family stepped into the foyer, greeted by the grandeur of a bygone era. High ceilings adorned with intricate molding loomed overhead, while a majestic staircase beckoned from the center of the room. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting a warm, ethereal glow. Dina, with a practiced smile, gestured towards the sprawling rooms adorned with ornate details - antique chandeliers, mahogany wainscoting, and a fireplace steeped in history. A sense of both elegance and mystery enveloped them as they took in the timeless beauty of their potential new home.

"This house is goddamn beautiful. We're taking it!" , said Ms. Bennett eagerly with a huge smile of anticipation.

"Yes, this house sure is beautiful although I must mention, it comes with a bit of a past."  Dina seemed unsure and anxious, but she kept going; " full  disclosure requires that I tell you about what happened to the previews owners.

“Jesus, don’t tell me they died in this house did they?”  Mrs. Bennett turned around to look over at Dina with a concerned look plastered on her face. "Yes actually, both of them died here. Murder-suicide. I sold them the house too. They were the sweetest couple. You never really know what happens behind those walls I guess.

"That explains why this house is half the price of every other house in neighborhood I guess."  Mr Bennett sighted, crossing his arms.

“Where did it happen?”  Riley asked curiously.

 “In the attic.”

Riley pauses for a second, a smirk forming on her face as she decides to speak up; “ We’re taking it.”

ii

After the initial excitement of choosing their new home, the Bennett family embarked on the task of settling into their Victorian mansion. As they unloaded boxes and furniture from the moving truck, Riley couldn't contain her curiosity about the attic. She'd always been drawn to mysteries and the thought of living in a house with a dark past only fueled her intrigue.

Once they finished moving the essentials into the house, Riley dashed up the grand staircase, eager to explore every nook and cranny. She pushed open the attic door, the creaking hinges echoing in the vast space. The attic was dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the sunlight that filtered through the small windows. Old trunks and forgotten relics littered the space, each one holding a piece of history.

Riley's eyes widened with excitement as she imagined all the stories hidden within these walls. She spent hours rummaging through the forgotten treasures, uncovering vintage clothing, dusty books, and antique toys. Despite the tragic events that occurred here, Riley felt a strange sense of belonging, as if the house welcomed her with open arms.

As the days passed, the Bennett family settled into their new life in Chesterfield. Riley's room became her sanctuary, a reflection of her eclectic personality. She adorned the walls with vintage posters and fairy lights, transforming the space into a cozy retreat. She spent hours scouring antique shops and thrift stores, searching for unique pieces to add to her collection.

One afternoon, while exploring the local flea market, Riley stumbled upon a mysterious key hidden amongst a pile of trinkets. Intrigued, she purchased it for a few dollars, wondering what secrets it might unlock. When she returned home, Riley headed straight for the attic, her heart pounding with excitement.

She searched every nook and cranny until she found a small locked chest hidden beneath a pile of old newspapers. With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the rusty lock, the mechanism clicking open with a satisfying sound. Inside, she discovered a collection of letters tied with a faded ribbon.

As Riley read through the letters, she uncovered the tragic love story of the previous owners. Their words painted a picture of a forbidden romance torn apart by societal expectations and family obligations. Riley felt a pang of sadness for the couple, their lives cut short by tragedy.

And as she looked out the attic window, watching the sun set over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley saw a shadow lurking behind the trees, It was like someone was staring at her. She rubbed her eyes thinking she probably hallucinated, and just like that, the shadow was gone.

iii

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley found herself drawn to the attic once again. She climbed the stairs with a sense of anticipation, eager to lose herself in the stories of the past. But as she reached the top, she was met with an unexpected sight—a boy standing in the dimly lit space, his silhouette illuminated by the fading light.

"Who are you?" Riley asked, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

The boy turned to face her, his features obscured by the shadows. "I'm Andy," he said, his voice soft and haunting. "I live next door."

Riley took a step closer, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Andy's appearance was striking, with tousled hair and dark brown eyes that seemed to hold a hint of sadness. He reminded her of a character from one of her favorite movies, mysterious and enigmatic.

"What are you doing up here?" Riley asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Andy shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just exploring," he said. "I like to come up here and think."

Riley nodded, her curiosity piqued. She had always been drawn to people who were different, who didn't fit into the mold of society. And there was something about Andy that intrigued her, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Are you new here?" Andy asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Riley nodded. "Yeah, my family just moved in a few weeks ago. What about you?"

Andy smiled wistfully. "I've lived here my whole life," he said. "But I've never really felt like I belong."

Riley understood the feeling all too well. She had spent her entire life searching for a place where she truly felt at home, a place where she could be herself without judgment.

"Well, you're not alone," Riley said, her voice soft but determined. "We can be outsiders together."

Andy's eyes sparkled with gratitude, and for the first time in a long time, Riley felt a sense of connection—a bond forged in the darkness of the attic.

"You should probably leave now tho, before my parents see you here and call the cops thinking you're here to rob us or something", she giggled slightly, looking at the boy right in front of her who's been smiling at her. It was like he was admiring her, feeling safe by her presence.

He got up and left the attic without saying a word to her, leaving the house so quietly It was like he was never there.

-------

a/n : idrk what to think of this but i truly hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, lmk if you wanna be in the taglist !!

[copperbadge]

Radio Free Monday

Good morning everyone, and welcome to Radio Free Monday! Ways to Give: mosaiccreme's brother and his family are raising money to replace their heating and air-conditioning unit which broke down at the start of summer; they live in Kansas in the US, where summer temperatures can exceed 110F, and winter temps drop into the negatives, so it's particularly vital that they have heat for the coming winter. You can read more and support the fundraiser here. Anon linked to a fundraiser for niquabisinparis, who is raising funds to help her parents get medication and housing after their home in Sudan was looted by the RSF Militia. (I wasn't familiar with the RSF so had to google; they are bad, bad people.) You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here. beatlesandbards and her partner are being forced out of their apartment with less than 30 days notice (illegally) after the landlord refused to treat severe mold damage and they reported him; they've filed a complaint for retaliation but that takes time, and they have to come up with cash for a security deposit and moving costs, and while still recovering from their car (a source of income through Uber driving) being stolen. You can give via venmo here. Recurring Needs: mikhyel and its partner have made the move they were fundraising for, but two days before the move their car alternator died, and shortly after moving their cat had significant medical bills; they currently can't afford euthanasia and cremation for Loki, who has not yet passed but is looking at a short-term terminal illness. You can read more and support the fundraiser here. And this has been Radio Free Monday! Thank you for your time. You can post items for my attention at the Radio Free Monday submissions form. If you're new to fundraising, you may want to check out my guide to fundraising here.

[imaginationlover101]

One Way Or Another

Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: After Sam's findings for the newest case, which leaves both you and Dean in disappoint visiting the town of Broken Bow, Oklahoma turns to work out for the better.

"I still dont get the whole "plan" that's going on" Dean smirks and wraps his arms around my shoulders. "Dont worry you'll find out in a second."

Sam, Dean, and I had just landed another case in Broken Bow Oklahoma. Sam had found the newest case after seeing newspaper clippings of new lakeside properties gone rogue. What once were new modern lake house soon turned bug and mold infested.

Sam insisted that he saw a real case out of the clippings and the next morning we were out of Texas driving towards our newest destination. I still found the whole situation disturbing seeing how bugs was a big fear on my list, but I could never tell the boys. So when Dean stopped the car leading us to the newest bug infested property, I wanted nothing more than to run.

Inspecting the picture perfect town we were in I could already smell trouble. The town looked way to peaceful and something definitely was going to go wrong. Turning the car off Dean began to go over why we were here and what he thinks it might be. Sam and I were clearly not listening. Sam was too busy ignoring Dean since hes mad hes taken over the case, and I was too consumed in fear.

Dean was starting to get agitated that no one was listening to him. He could clearly tell that Sam and I were not paying attention. "Uh hello"

"You know I'm really starting to doubt this case is anything, I mean bugs that doesnt seem like our kind of thing." I could see both the boys turn towards me tilting there heads to look towards me from the front seat.

"What's the matter sweetheart, your scared of bugs." Dean turns to look my way from the front seat, scratching his fingers across the front seat to mimic the sounds of bugs. I swear sometimes that man made me so sick.

Slapping his hand away from the seat, I move up between the two boys and began to whisper, "What's the matter Dean, are you scared of planes?" Dean shushed me and slammed the car door.

"Wait Planes, Dean's scared of Planes!" Sam waits for my awnser and before I could even nod my head he starts laughing. But not any laugh, the classic loud obnxious Sam Winchester laugh. Sam looks my way and smiles, "I am so not letting go of that."

Before leaving the car Sam looks around seeing Dean was looking through the trunk. Leaning closer Sam whispers to me. "Are you ever going to tell him?" Blushing I start to move away from Sam, "Whatcha talking bout Sammy" leaning in I punch his arm. "Oh Y/N you and Dean are so much more alike then you give on."

Sam emerges from the car leaving me to be the last behind. Sitting in the worn out backseat of the impala I couldn't help but think maybe Sam was right about something, but I knew the case wasnt apart of it.

Walking up to the picture perfect houses that all look the same, I couldn't help but think that this was my life ago years before I met Sam and Dean. Life before the boys was different. Back then I lived similar to the people living on these properties today. All living the apple pie life with there happy families enjoying innocence. If it wasnt for John Winchester that one night ten years ago I wouldn't have been as lucky.

Dean directs Sam and I to the front door pointing at the open house sign. Sam and I had no clue what Dean was getting us into, but the minute the front door of the house opened it was game on. Dean stood beside me with his arm wrapped around my waist, while Sammy stood there with a smile.

The salesman's stands at the door with a wide smile opening the door wide inviting us in. "Well I guess you guys are here for the open house today." Dean laughs directing me inside the house and begins the introductions. "Yes sir, that would be us. I'm Dean and this is my fiance Y/N, and that handsome looking fella is my brother Sam." "Well we are open to any family's, orientations, realtionships." Immediately I turn to Dean waiting for him to say something.

"Oh no this isnt a 3s company situation side sir." The man begins to smile wider opening the door letting Sam, Dean, and I in. Dean let's go of my waist for s moment leaving a kiss on the side of my temple, and then suddenly hes off leaving Sam and I all alone.

Sam laughs and the two of us walks closer up the stairs near the front door to start our investigation. From our eyes (and the ghost detector) everything seemed to be fine. There were no signs of distress, or blinking red lights, no hidden mistakes behind furniture.

Opening the door to the bathroom I was investigating I started to look for Sam finally finding him in the hallway. Huffing my way towards him I knew this was a pointless hunt, "Well that was useless."

Turning around from his stance Sam begans to smile, no actully beam. Picking up the hallway centerpiece bowl he points to a hole hidden below the table. Furrowing my eyes since I was seeing nothing, Sam takes out his flashlight and shines the light through the tunnel. Below the the tunnel was filled with gunk and when taking the machine out it started beeping insanely.

Sam starts to take pictures of the hallway and the hole we found below the bowl while I simply held the flashlight over him. The simple act reminded me of a memory back at Bobby house between Dean and I. It must of been at least 9 o'clock at night and Dean was no where to be seen. Sam and I had already has dinner and for the first time in along time Bobby had a date. After dinner Sam read his favorite book and within 1 minutes he was fast asleep on the couch.

I was beginning to wonder where Dean was since I hadn't seen him all day so I began to search for him outside. Even though it had been a hot summer day, the temperature seemed to drastically drop and the air was much cooler. I regretted not bringing a jacket outside unknowing to me seeing as I would be outside for a long time, but neverless I still went outside cold and all in my sundress. Within 3 minutes of walking outside with a flashlight I already knew the spot where Dean was.

Almost as if he was directly under the moonlight Dean Winchester was hovered over his presious car baby huffing over something that went wrong. The minute I came besided him pointing the flashlight in his way he turned around and smiled "Sunshine you already read my mind." That night was spent in Dean and Is company for 3 hours in the cold trying to fix his car. I could of sworn my arm was frozen until Bobby came back from his date grinning and all. He parked his car and yelled at Dean for letting my outside without a jacket before going inside.

Dean turned around almost oblivious that I had no jacket on and began to touch my shoulder. "Jesus Y/N why didnt you tell me you were cold, you could of went inside." Dean pulls me closer pulling me into his side, rubbing up and down my arm trying to supply me with heat.

"I'm not complaining I got to spend to time with you." Dean stops his movements on my arm and tilts me near him so we both made eye contact. For a minute it looked like he wanted to say something more, his mouth was barely open and he was about to speak but nothing came out.

Snapping me out of my thought Sam begins to take the flashlight from my hands giving me a questionable look. "Well that was something else" "Tell me about Sammy."

Sam throws the flashlight up in to the air then pointing it my way bumping shoulder with me along the way. "I told you so." Looking at him with question I started to tilt my head. That was all Sam said before walking down the stairs back into the main hallway.

For a moment I wanted to laugh, Sam was so tall that when he walked down the stairs it almost looked like he was running, he almost hit his head a couple of times on the ceiling in the stairway because of his height.

Sam and I conversed through the rooms imagining what our lives would be if we weren't hunters, but like all good things the mood, well at least my mood simply faded when Sam and i walked through the sliding doors.

Placed in the center of a circle Dean Winchester was in his element. Surrounded by "milfs" Dean was seen to be in his heaven when they all came colliding near him like cattle. All the mothers hanged on Dean tugging at his shoulder, talking horribly about there husband, and gleaming into Dean's eyes as if he was their savior.

Dean's eyes widened as Sam and I walked outside and Dean began pointing our way. "See ladies this was the women I was talking about my fiance." All the women seemed to roll there eyes over me and wander straight to Sam. Like a bull to its predator, most of the women left Dean and walked straight towards Sam. I began to wonder if there was less of a bug problem in the town and more of a cheating issue.

Dean grins and point toward Sammy not believing that all the women went to him. Wrapping an arm around my waist Dean whispers in my ear. " I gotta mark my territory." Slapping his arm I began to lean on Dean's arm. " Please I dont have any moms chasing after me." " Think again sweetheart."

Turning around Dean directs my eyesight to the group of Dads sitting at the bar table. "Seems to me sweetheart you have some secret admirers." Slapping Dean's arm suddenly they all start to wave our way.

"Should we wave back?" I question looking at the over-aged men. Putting my hand up for a wave Dean begins to stop me "Well it depends on what you want for dinner tonight?" Putting my hand down I start to turn around. "Ewwww Dean."

Laughing with his ever so obnoxious ways, Dean guides me to make our way out of the backyard since Sammy was no where to be seen. Walking out of the yard Sam was I found talking with a boy who seemed to be no older then 18. Sam was talking back and forth with the teenager pointing to the box of bugs he held in his hands.

Walking to his car Dean looks towards the two boys and sighs, "Of course my brothers talking to the bug kid." Shaking my head at Dean's side comments I began to make my way towards the boys.

Unlike Dean, by making conversation I soonly l learned that "bug boy" was the son of realtors house. The block that the houses on were all new and built in the time span of a year. The realtors were all trying to sell the houses out as fast as the could to get the new property's off the market. But according to "bug boy", the grounds were built on ancient lands and if disturbed (which they now are) bugs would forever haunt the land.

Sam and I watched as our teen suspect walked back to his house as his dad was yelling at him. Sam looked my way with a sigh and I already knew he was thinking of his dad. Sam always got two short end the stick, while Dean just took the bad news and agreed with it.

Walking back to the car Sam already offered the front seat, and I accepted. Looking back at the boy and his dad I couldn't help but feel bad, Sam looks at me with the same though and we both start to look in the car. Sitting inside his famous impala Dean Winchester stares out the window singing "All out of Love."

"Is he singing?" Sam points at Dean through his tinted window. On usual days you wouldn't be able to see inside the car, but because off the sunny weather that appeard all of a sudden, you could see clearly. To top it off Dean left the passenger side window open a crack leaving Sam and I to hear him perfectly. Disturbing our eavesdropping Dean practically screeches the last lyric of the song.

Slamming the car door open Sam goes in the backseat while I go to the assenger side. Acting causal again, Dean switches to the rock station quickly before turning to face the two of us. Pretending like nothing happened Dean looks towards Sam and I "So whatd bug boy says?"

Sam hums for a moment leaning back on the leather seat debating on what to say. "Well for one thing he defintly didnt hear you screaming "All out of love". Dude I didnt know you were an Air Supply fan." Dean hides in side of the door, "Please dont act all innocent when Y/N I went out that one day in Clayton and you were all alone in the hotel. Dont act like i didnt catch you toying with-" "DEAN that's enough." " please Sammy its fine we all-" " Wait Dean, that why we went back out to get the "fries". You LIED!"

"Yes Y/N that's why we went back out. You see when a man has certain desires and I know its suprising even Sam has them, but sometimes it causes us-" Sam sits up in his seat pointing to Dean. "Okay thats enough, cant we just focus on the case." Huffing Dean looks my way, "Sure Sammy but remember next time take the video out when your done." "You know thats not fair! Last week you were in the bathroom and I didn't say anything- and. "

I couldnt bear to hear the boys fight back and fourth anymore about there problems. "Can you two stop! You've been talking about your-" pointing the lower region I look back up at them "problems for WAYYY TO LONG!"

Dean sighs starting the car up "Sure Y/N but being my wife and all i thought you liked-". Before the words even came out of his mouth my face was a deep shade of pink. Sam smacks Dean's head from the backseat glaring my way. Sliding down my seat I watched as Dean put gas to the car and off we were, leaving the prestigious house for a moment driving off to the hotel.

The heat in the impala was on perfectly adding the prefecture temperature to the cool autumn day and to no ones surprise Sam and Dean were still bickering back and forth. For a while there was no talk of the case, at least not until we went back to the hotel. Dean was the first one to suggest take out take out and both Sam and I agreed. We all knew that greasy burgers and fries were our weakness. Although the case of bugs didnt get solved that minute, the boys and I made up for it. Meanwhile the case did turn us on our feet, but that stories for another time. Although the boys bickered and make fun I loved them dearly, and deep down I knew Sam Winchester was right. If I was in love with Dean I would to show it sooner or later.

[angel-eyes05]

bite the hand (chapter 8)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!oc x miguel o’hara 

summary: lorena's whole world was taken away from her in the blink of an eye, after she accidentally broke a canon event. lucky for her though, she was able to find a portal watch in her dimension and used it to get out before she glitched out of existence. unfortunately though, running from dimension to dimension, she's been named as an anomaly by the spider society. now, she's constantly on the run from them, their leader in particular. when she eventually gets caught though, she's recruited onto a mission to catch another anomaly who might be from her past. to her dismay though, her partner on this mission is her very captor. will she be able to stop arguing with him for long enough to get the job done?

info: enemies to lovers, maybe a slow burn depending on chapter count, oc is 24 and miguel is 27, both oc and miguel are super sad lmao, they're also both super violent so, they also hate each other what a slay, in regards to my oc you can read her character sheet right here

warnings: there might be spoilers for atsv in this so watch the movie before reading this, i made up some weird rules for miguel's suit and idk if theyre entirely accurate to canon so just go with it, tension lol, cursing, drinking

word count: 3.4k

notes: i gotta start repeating the banners at the top cause i ran out LMAO. also, expect less frequent uploads cause 1) i kinda have low motivation rn and 2) im pretty busy rn (going out, vacations, and doing job applications). writing also gets a little draining for me after a while and i gotta put me first😔✊ ill keep uploading though dw i just gotta do it at my own speed to make sure i dont drop the series cause if i try to push stuff out too fast, im gonna end up dropping it so just bear with me lol. also i didn't proofread this before posting cause its 3:30 when im dropping this, and im so tired lmao

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It was the sun that slithered into the room through the cracks in the blinds that woke her up. Lorena preferred that to the normal wakeup call from a nightmare, or the sounds of honking cars next to her on the street. The way the bed had molded itself to her shape made it impossible for her to move. Almost like it was trapping her in its comfort. Even if the mattress was old, the fact that this had been her first time sleeping in an actual bed, and not a bench, sidewalk, or cot, in months was enough to provide her ease. 

She turned to face the other side of the bed, surprised when no one was in sight. Miguel was probably in the bathroom or something. She was more focused on a different fact: this had been the first sleep in weeks without a nightmare.

Huh. Weird.

She sat up in bed, noticing she was still in her robe from the bathroom. She rubbed the drowsiness off her face as the click of the door lock called her attention. Letting in a stream of early sunlight with him, Miguel walked through the door, pitch black sunglasses covering his eyes, a box in one hand, and a cup tray in the other. “Figured you’d be hungry when you woke up,” he said once he noticed she was awake. He softly kicked the door closed behind him, setting the tray on the desk near the door and the box on the bed. 

Pulled by curiosity, she moved her hands towards the box and opened it to see what was inside. Her mouth immediately started watering when she opened it to see assorted treats such as conchas, bigotes, and mantecadas. “I was in the mood,” Miguel said, pulling the drinks out of the tray. “I didn’t know how much cream or sugar you liked so I just got you black cause that's what I get,” he said, handing the hot cup of coffee to her. 

The smell of the pastries mixed with the coffee was enough to make her want to cry. It reminded of the smells of her aunt’s kitchen in the morning. The bitterness of the coffee stung at her throat, but it was overshadowed by the comfort it brought her. She picked up one of the bigotes, and had to hold back her tears of joy when she took a bite. “Gracias por todo,” she said, mouth full of food and covered in sugar. Miguel smiled at the sight of her. “De nada, cariño,” he said sweetly, taking one of the conchas for himself. 

As he walked away with his food, towards the bathroom, Lorena noticed something about him. “Where’d you get the clothes?” she asked, mouth still filled with food. He was now wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. “It’s part of my suit,” he responded, fixing his hair in the bathroom mirror. “¿Cómo?” He sighed. “Remember what I said about the whole nanotech thing last night?” “Yeah, what about it?” Suddenly, the shirt and sweatpants shifted into his blue and red suit just before her eyes. “Woah…” she exclaimed in awe. “I can change its appearance as long as the outfit is downloaded to my suit’s database.” “Oh,” Lorena expressed, even if she still didn’t fully understand what he was talking about. 

“Why’d you get to be born in the crazy, futuristic dimension with all the fancy tech,” she complained to herself, just loud enough for Miguel to hear. “Why, do you want one?” he asked, in between a small chuckle. “I mean it would be nice to wear something other than a tight spandex suit for once,” Lorena joked, getting an actual laugh out of Miguel for once. Lorena blushed and smiled at his reaction. “Well lucky for you, you’re gonna need one for tonight,” he responded. “What do you mean?” she asked, after taking a sip from her coffee. 

He tossed her a small, golden chain. “The outfit should form around that chain. I had Lyla upload different outfits for the day, since she probably knows better than I do. When you’re ready, put it on.” Lorena admired the golden material. She was lucky she wasn’t a silver jewelry girl. “So what’s on the to-do list for today,” she said, still looking at the chain. “Stay undercover for the majority of the day, then head over to the Moonlit River club at night. Lyla should have that outfit uploaded by now,” he responded, brushing his teeth with the provided amenities in the motel. 

“Why, are you finally deciding to take me out dancing to pay me for my troubles,” she joked, taking a sip of coffee after. Miguel spit out his toothpaste and sighed. “Brock meets up there on Thursday nights to trade weapons.”

Silence filled the space between them.

She knew this day had to come. She just wasn’t expecting it to be so soon. 

“I see,” was all she could manage to say, before taking another sip of her coffee.

Miguel could feel the turmoil radiating off of her from the bathroom. He washed out his mouth, and splashed a bit of water on his face before walking over to her. He pushed the box of pastries to the side, and took a seat in front of her on the sheets.

“Mirarme,” he softly spoke, using his pointer finger to guide her eyes to his. She looked up at him, trying her best not to get lost in the crimson shade of his eyes. “I-” He cut himself off before he could continue. He melded her hand into his before speaking again. “I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. I want you to know that if this becomes too much for you…you can back out.” His inflection was weird. As if he didn’t want her to, but still wanted to keep her comfortable. A wrestling match between what he wanted and what was best for her. 

“And I’ve said it before too. I’m not running away from this,” Lorena said back, voice strong. “Ok. Just know if things get bad for you in there, I’ve got your back,” he said, concern in his voice. He had also found his eyes roaming her face, not realizing they had both subconsciously moved closer to each other. “And I’ve got yours too,” she said back. Once he had realized Lorena’s robe was loose enough to see inside to her chest, Miguel cleared his throat and got up from the bed quickly. 

“I’m gonna go into town, see if I can pick up any information on the street. You can do whatever you want until its time, but make sure to-” “Yeah, yeah, lay low. Relax big guy, I’ve got this,” she cut him off, reassuringly. He exited the room quickly, like he was in a rush to get away from her. He was gone for almost the rest of the day. 

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

About 8pm that night. 

Miguel was outside in the main room of the motel while Lorena was getting herself ready in the bathroom. Miguel had gone out earlier and bought her some cheap makeup and perfume from a local drugstore, a sweet gesture. 

Once she finished with her makeup and straightening up her hair, she tapped on the middle part of her gold chain, causing a menu to pop up. She scrolled through the options until she came across the last one, labeled by Lyla as “night time😉”. She clicked on the option, as she watched in awe as her casual t-shirt and sweatpants shifted into her outfit for the night. A tight black dress, cut asymmetrically to show one of her thighs, and a turtle neck part detached from the rest of the dress, with glove-like sleeves. This feature allowed for the perfect peephole towards her chest. Lorena had a feeling Lyla would try to do some matchmaking with her outfit.

With a quick spritz of perfume, a double check of her face in the mirror, and quickly putting on a black headband for her hair, Lorena quickly exited the bathroom. Miguel was standing there, waiting by the door and checking his portal watch. He was sporting a black, silk, button up shirt, tucked into black dress pants. The fact that the shirt was way too tight for him was accentuated by his muscles sculpted by the fabric and the fact that the first two buttons were open. His eye was caught by Lorena when she stepped out of the bathroom, his mouth slightly agape in awe and his eyes almost stuck to her.

“It’s flashy, I know. But it’s better that I fit in,” she said, trying to divide the tension in the room as she walked closer to him. “I-...um,” he stammered. “At a loss for words for once O’Hara?” she teased. Noticing a stray hair on the top of his head, she reached up to him to push it back. “Quédate quieto,” she commanded softly, while she stuck the piece back into the gel, trying to ignore how he was admiring her. 

“There you go. Ahora te ves guapo,” she teased, patting his chest with her hand. Miguel still had that stupid smile on his face. “Y te ves hermosa,” he said softly, and with utter sincerity. 

She couldn’t tell if she was caught more off guard with his words of affirmation, or the fact that the blush quickly forming on her cheeks was confirming her secret love of it. 

Clearing her throat, she unlocked the door, opened it, and gestured her hand to outside. “Lead the way big guy.” He smirked at her as he walked outside. He even got the courage to offer her his hand. This confidence was quickly deflated when she smacked away his hand, giggling to herself as she took the lead down the stairs. 

The night life of the city was bustling on the streets. Couples together, arm in arm, surely walking to a fancy restaurant for a night out. Lines forming outside of nightclubs, patrons with an urgency to get in. Everyone walking down the street with their own story to tell, just like Lorena. 

After walking for a couple of miles, the bright, neon blue sign shone in front of the entrance. The door was a mahogany red, with three stairs leading down to the entrance. But opposite to Miguel’s eagerness to get inside by opening the door, Lorena slightly froze, eyes blank. 

This was it. It was going to happen. Whether she was ready or not.

“Hey.” Miguel’s calm voice pulled her back to reality. “Stay with me. Okay?” He held out his large hand for her. This time, she decided to take it. “And remember to try and fit in,” he added. Her smile quickly turned sour and annoyed.

The atmosphere was loud, a mixture of people talking and the bass of the music filling the room. The fact that the lights were out didn’t seem to matter much with the amount of strobe and neon lights flashing within the bar. Lorena noticed Miguel quickly putting on a pair of sunglasses hidden in his jacket pocket. “I thought you said we needed to fit in,” Lorena stated as the two walked towards a high top near the bar. “I did. And?” “You really think you’re blending in with a pair of sunglasses on indoors? At night? In a club?” Lorena joked. “The lights hurt my eyes,” Miguel said, puppy dog hurt. Lorena had to fight to contain the laughter rising in her chest.

Once they sat down, and the reality of events settled down on Lorena, she began to look around the club. People sprayed out on couches, drunkenly conversing or making out. People out on the dance floor. Men walking into booths in the back, shielded by curtains. Eddie was probably in one of those. “I’m heading to the bar. You want anything?” Miguel asked, snapping her out of her daze. “Uhhhh, just get me something strong,” she brushed off, still not entirely paying attention. He shrugged and walked off to the bar. 

Lorena continued to inspect the area, her thoughts bouncing all over the place. What did this Eddie look like? Did he have black hair instead? Was his voice higher? Her Eddie always had a particularly deep tone. Smooth like silk as well. She would spend days on end focusing on the way he would say a single sentence back when she was first crushing on him. Would he act like her Eddie? She realized quickly she probably wouldn’t get the opportunity to find out. She didn’t necessarily want to find out anyways.

…

Would she have to kill him again? Would Miguel make her?

The smack of the glass on the table brought her back to reality. “You weren’t really specific, so I just got you a negroni,” Miguel said, open bottle of beer in his hand. Without a second thought, Lorena downed half the glass just then, proven to be a mistake with how strong the drink actually was. Her mouth curled inwards as her eyes shut closed, letting out a few coughs quickly after. 

Miguel laughed slightly, and slammed his hand against her back to help her cough. “What the fuck was that?” “Hey, you told me to get you something strong!” Miguel defended. “I thought you were gonna get me a margarita or something,” Lorena said, rubbing her chest with her hand. “Haven’t had alcohol in more than a year and you hit me with that straight away,” she said to herself. Subconsciously, he handed her his bottle. “Take a sip of that then.” She smiled to herself as she put her lips to the bottle and took a good sip of the beer. “Better?” he asked, like she was a child. “Yes, thank you for your charity sir, you’re so kind,” she responded sarcastically. 

“Find anything interesting yet?” Miguel asked, taking back the bottle. Lorena’s eyes went back to the curtains. “Those booths back there look promising. Are we sure he’s here yet though?” Lorena asked. “I have a hunch.” Lorena looked up at Miguel, annoyance on her face. “We’re going…off of a hunch?” “Just trust me on this okay.” Lorena sighed and took another sip of her own drink, wincing again when she put it back down. 

Her eyes were drawn away from the drapes and over to the lit up dance floor. She had always been the first one to bring her friends to dance with her when she was younger. Seeing it again brought feelings flooding back to her heart. Spontaneously, she jumped up from her chair and held out her hand to Miguel. “...What are you doing?” he asked, incredibly confused. 

“You said we had to blend in, right? We’ll do that better if we’re out there dancing,” she said. “Oh, no way. I don’t dance, chiquita,” he said, almost embarrassed. “Oh come on, for someone with your build? You’ve definitely danced before. Don’t be a debby downer Miggy,” she encouraged, both of them caught slightly off guard by the nickname slip. He rolled his head back, wiped his hands over his face, and let out a deep, annoyed groan. Once he stood up though and took her hand, it was impossible for Lorena to lose the smile growing on her face. “You’re taking the lead though, Loré,” he said, having come up with a nickname for her as well. She hoped the sunglasses he had on would keep him from seeing the blush on her face.

…

They didn’t.

Hand in hand, Lorena led Miguel over to the brightly lit floor, music blasting in the speakers next to them. Miguel stook out like a sore thumb, his huge build making him extremely identifiable among the other strangers on the floor. Lorena fit right in though, immediately beginning to dance to the blasting music. Miguel tried his best to copy her moves, but ended up looking like a fool. “You were right, you really aren’t that good at this,” Lorena teased. “Ha ha, very funny,” Miguel said monotonically. As the music changed slowly to a slower pace, they noticed the people around them grouping to dance into a pairs. She looked up to Miguel. He raised his eyebrow at her, asking her without words. Her smile was confirmation, as they inched towards each other. 

Almost as if they were pre-programmed to do so, Lorena wrapped her arms around Miguel’s neck, and his wrapped around her hips. They swayed together slowly to the music, melting into each others touch. He rested his head on her shoulder, his hot breath leaving goosebumps on her skin.

“This isn’t my wheelhouse,” he quietly whispered into her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Why, better when other music is playing?” she whispered back sarcastically. “Everyone here’s lucky they aren’t playing salsa right now, or I’d be stealing the show.” Lorena let out a laugh. “Is that so?” He nodded, a huge smirk on his face. “I’m more of mambo person myself,” she responded. He smiled at her remark. “You’ll have to teach me some day.”

She struggled to keep the smile on her face as those words entered her head. You’ll have to teach me some day. She hadn’t even begun to think about it. What she would do after this mission was over. The whole point of doing this was so she could be granted her freedom. She wanted it so badly a couple of days ago. But now. She hadn’t even thought of staying as a possibility. Because to her, it wasn’t. She couldn’t invade Miguel’s life like that. She wasn’t even 100% sure how she felt about him, much less on how he felt about her. Besides, no matter how much she just wanted to settle down with someone. To live an actual life. She didn’t deserve it. 

Pulling away from him was like separating herself from her source of life, but she did it anyways. “You okay?” Miguel asked concerned. “Yeah, I just gotta freshen up for a second,” she said, wiping her nose. She turned around quickly to get away. Too quickly though, bumping into someone’s back on her way to the bathroom. 

Knocked off her balance, and her headband knocked out of her hair, she fell to the floor on her ass. “Sorry about that,” she said, slightly dissociated, reaching out for her headband. The stranger also reached down to help with her headband. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it gorgeous.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

That voice.

“Don’t lose your heart.”

She desperately wanted to keep her eyes glued to the floor. She didn’t want to look at him. But she had to keep her cover up. So she did, as slowly as she could though. And it was the worst possibly outcome.

He looked just like him. Strawberry blonde hair. Deep blue eyes. Small scar just above right eyebrow. His bottom two teeth fighting for room on the bottom row of his mouth. There was only one difference though. One of her favorite parts about him. This Eddie was missing his freckles. His beautiful light brown freckles.

She gave the stranger with her dead boyfriend’s face a strained smile while she grabbed her headband and rushed behind to the door. Her own brain pounding in her head was too loud for her to hear Miguel as she nearly ran passed him. She slammed the door to the outside open as she took in the air like it was her first breath ever. Even if she was outside now, she kept running. She sprinted down the streets, not taking any of her surroundings into account. She saw him in everyone’s face. His ghost had always been haunting her, but she wasn’t ready for him to move from behind her back to in front of her face. She ran so far and so fast until her legs ached, and even after that. She didn’t even know where she was going. She didn’t care. She just needed to get away from him as quickly as possible. Even if that meant leaving Miguel behind too. 

Her sprint was interrupted when her foot was caught in a change in the elevation on the sidewalk. Her face slammed into the concrete sidewalk, scraping her cheek and her knees. She used the rest of her strength, all drained out from her bolting, to crawl into a nearby alley. She made her way to the back and slunk down into the corner, hoping to meld into the brick behind her. Especially if it meant she never had to see him again.

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

a/n: THIS TOOK ME SO LONG OH MY GOD. sorry if i messed some stuff up with the drinks, i dont drink so i really have no idea (im just a stoner instead lmao). UGH BUT I THINK THIS WAS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER TO WRITE I LOVED IT AND I HOPE YOU GUYS DID TOO

taglist: @the-ikran-man @jenniferdixon05207 @yuuuumii @elwyn7 @waniesss @lust-for-pan @natthernandez @pix-stuff @ang3lf4c3 @artfulthoughtswp @notwildlyfamous

[brick-a-doodle-do]

aaa i forgot this was finished! i guess i could've worked on the actual prompts in my askbox, but who wants that? :'D

every day's a test of our camaraderie

wc: 908

cw: swearing, slight panic, brief description of depression

—–—

Wilbur was exhausted. There wasn’t an exact reason for him to be more tired than he was, for example, yesterday; his day-to-day schedule consisted of the same get-up-and-go mornings, sit-and-scowl afternoons and crash-immediately evenings. The pattern never broke. Occasionally he would take a break to smoke, or treat himself to a fitting meal rather than things he’d swiped from the station, take a bath or a shower, but it never went further than that. 

And, besides, Wilbur hasn’t done any of that today. He got up, went to work, drove home, and now stands in his doorway with a heavy mood keeping his shoulders slumped as he kicks the door closed and walks off into the newly-adopted home.

His re-arrival in Utah had struck up a lot of buried and suppressed memories, but it still felt uncomfortably like home…similarly to the late Essempi. Wilbur’s car had still been nestled in by the one body of water he could find, there was still an extra work uniform buried at the bottom of his hamper, his bedding remained crumpled mess atop his cigarette-burned mattress, and, the most domesticated feeling of them all, there were still half-finished dishes and grimy silverware obliterated by the growing mold on them. Even the walls of the sink looked fuzzy.

It had been a revolting discovery, especially when the waft of the smell drifted his way, though something about it…he couldn’t quite place how he’d felt in that moment, but it was something, for sure.

And something it had been, though decidedly the wrong thing after he’d decided to clean it.

But, now, that was in the past, and the house looked better than it had been when he moved back in. Decades of decay and unkempt plants, utilities, everything, that was in the past! Things were definitely, positively, not-anything-other-than, looking up. 

He smiles to himself and nods in confirmation, the back of his mind unsure as to if he was genuinely convinced he was leading a new life or if he just wanted to put events of his even better, and equally worse, life behind.

The sudden hope dies down like a candle when he reaches his bedroom, he doesn’t even know why he’d bothered to try and convince his mind he was fine. Because even if things had fallen back into a nonchalant routine, it still didn’t feel the same without it. Without Them. 

Wilbur had gotten his closure, yet it still felt half-finished, like a bundle of crushed papers tossed to an overflowing bin. 

He shrugs the thoughts away with a grim huff. 

Pushing the door open, there’s a blur of blue light before he’s instinctively flicking the lightswitch on. The light flickers on and he shuts the door behind him, just in time for his attention to catch on the blue light again. Although this time dulled by the overhead light, it’s still as prominent as ever, because Wilbur hadn’t remembered lighting a candle, much less before he had left for the day. It was a crooked thing he left on the corner of his desk, he was surprised it had such a pristine flame.

That fact didn’t concern him for much longer, because as he took a step closer, what he thought had been a wrapper, was something far different. Far more alive, with a gentle rise and fall of something Wilbur could only convince himself was a chest, one with a fine line of familiarity to it, with a ragged white cloth— 

Tommy.

Wilbur, personally, doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry or…whatever he should do. He’s still, perfectly stiff as he stares at his brother, leant against a soft blue candle, sound asleep.

 And…so small. 

Wilbur’s fingers curl into loose fists. He should’ve expected Tommy to run after him. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

“Tommy,” Wilbur hiss-yells, still frozen in place. “Tommy!” Wilbur says, again, much louder than the last time. Quickly, the kid stirs, blinking and taking the time to wake up like he’s supposed to be on Wilbur’s desk, tiny and in Utah. Wilbur quickly swipes him off the desk, pulling him into a fist and drawing him to eye level. “Hey, look at me. What the fuck?” he demands. Tommy’s eyes are blown wide, trying to force a smile on his face even though he’s clearly intimidated. The kid squirms in his grasp, giving him enough awareness to loosen his grip. “What the fuck?! There’s no reason for you to be here, why are you here?” He shakes his fist, jarring Tommy enough into responding. 

“Hey! Hey, stop that,” the kid whines. “I was bored! There's nothing to do with you gone, Dream’s having some weird fucking ‘good guy’ phase and I don't wanna be around it!” 

“So you came here?” 

Tommy doesn't respond. 

“Tommy, look, this is my second chance at a new life, and I can't have a new life if my old fucking life is trailing behind me!” 

“Well—I can be your new life! It’s just..I mean–uh, look! I'll be… NewInnit. Tom. Shortened, classy, and oh-oh-so-mature!” Tommy tries, clearly desperate. 

Wilbur sighs, heavy, mild irritation lingering in the huff. He's going to kill this kid. Tommy stares at him, long and hard, quiet and investigatory. The boy yells out in surprise as Wilbur quickly shoves Tommy in the pocket of his jeans, gently pushing his small form further down to smother him in darkness. 

He’s so done with this. 

—–—

taglist: @local-squishmallow, @da3dm, @skullsnbruises, @i-am-beckyu, @nobodywritingao3, @krazycat49 // taglist request