#twangs like a guitar string

[fisheito]

I know I've made my stance on the issue qUITE apparent. But just to reiterate

[ilostyou]

okay but youngblood on acoustic guitar. the summer brothers really peaked

[buryustogether]

lilac - chapter 3

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn’t have the time anymore. good thing both miguel o’hara and spiderman do.

wc: 5.2k

tags/warnings: domestic dispute, unhappy relationship, pining, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violence, allusions to suicide, mentions of strip clubs

author’s note: got a lil carried away with my emotions for this one ngl

Your pink pen pressed harshly down on the science quiz you were grading, smearing a pit of the sparkly ink as the searing noise of an electric guitar being tuned submerged your little apartment from the floors to the ceilings. You glared up from beneath your brows, a predator chained just inches from her prey, as Ferris and his band of four barked and howled between themselves in your living room. From your perch at the tiny dining table, you watched them, your knuckles paling around your pen. They had moved the furniture around to make room for their equipment, shoved your couch, your armchair, your coffee table - fuck, even your television stand - against the walls so that they could spread out and practice for a gig the drummer had managed to score; probably by going down on the manager of the place, but you’d never say that out loud.

Unless they provoked you - which, with every ticking, prolonged minute that passed, you were getting closer and closer to your inclined tipping point.

Sniffing quietly, you shook your head and tried to go back to grading your quizzes. So far, your class had done a fairly good job. A few percentages below eighty, but not many. No matter what score they got, however, you were sure to place a sticker on the corner of the page. Of course, as you had expected, Gabriella O’Hara’s score was a perfect hundred. A small smile graced the corner of your lips. She was a bright kid, you’d give her that. While she needed a little extra help in mathematics from time to time, she practically excelled in every other subject. You scribbled out a little note praising her for a job well done before beginning to move on to your other papers.

From the living room, another glass-shattering, skin-crawling shriek was raised from Ferris’ guitar. You twitched in your seat, subtly raising your eyes to watch the band. Your boyfriend was downing his second beer of the day, despite it being barely eleven in the morning, and he had his feet propped up on some chick’s - the new keyboard player, because the last one stormed out of the group after realizing what a bunch of asswipes they were - and idly strummed a lazy medley on the taut strings of his guitar. It was hooked up to the speaker, so every note that he twanged out was amplified tenfold.

Downstairs, your neighbor knocked against their ceiling with a broom. Telling you all to shut the fuck up, no doubt.

Taking a deep breath, you put on your best smile - which looked more like a grimace, actually - and cleared your throat. “Babe,” you said tightly, drawing Ferris’ attention away from the keyboard player. He regarded you with a roll of his head and hand on the strings to stop the vibrations. “Maybe it’s time to pack it up. You’ve been…” You hesitated. “Practicing for almost two hours now. Why don’t you save some of the music for the paying customers tomorrow instead of the neighbors?”

To your chagrin, like he was dumping fuel across the little flame that had flickered to life in your chest, he shrugged a shoulder and went back to his guitar and the girl across from him. “We’ll leave when we’re done,” he replied nonchalantly, eyes never meeting yours again. “Still got some more songs to run through.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed and went back to your work. “You look real fucking busy.”

“If you’re so tired of listening to us,” your boyfriend snapped suddenly, “why don’t you find somewhere else to go? This is my place too, you know.” He exhaled a venomous sigh and downed another swig from his bottle. “Always on my ass.”

By now, the rest of the apartment had gone silent. The other band members glanced between the pair of you, movements suddenly stiff with tension they had no idea how to release. It felt like no matter what they did, it would light the fuse on either one of you.

Feeling your cheeks heat and your palms become sticky with embarrassment, you swallowed thick and nodded your head slowly. Then you stood, began to gather your papers, and stuffed them into your purse.

“Hey,” said the band’s drummer, a pudgy guy with thick lenses that had, actually, always been nice to you despite their leader’s obvious intentions, “if you need us to clear out, we can. We can find another place to set up where we’re not bothering you.”

You released a short huff, sounding more akin to a snarl than anything else. It seemed your judgment in men really was shit; you’d chosen the wrong fucking band member. “That’s okay,” you spat as you tugged on your shoes and checked that you had your keys. The drummer’s face flashed with guilt and you felt bad for a moment, but then your eyes flickered to where Ferris had wandered into the kitchen to fetch himself another drink. Like a raging wildfire, the flames in your ribcage roared and seared your insides, making them feel like you’d implode upon yourself if you stayed here - in your own damn home - any longer. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

With that you exited your apartment and slammed the door behind you, not stopping your frantic escape from Ferris’ snarls and rolling eyes until you hit the street down below. Before you on the road, traffic moved at a sluggish pace. Horns blared and street lights flickered. Shop fronts gleamed in the sunlight and bells over doors jingled. As you took a long, deep inhale that granted your lungs a wave of fresh air and your eyes with a certain wetness in the corners, you realized your crumbling relationship with your boyfriend was such a trivial little thing in this city. Nothing was going to stop, halt in its tracks, just because your world was falling apart.

Life went on. There was nothing you could do to stop that.

Plopping yourself down on the bus stop bench, you placed your head in your hands and tried to keep yourself from crying anymore. You couldn’t let anyone else see you cry, because what if they did, and they turned out to be like Ferris? Told you that you were being dramatic, that you needed to pull yourself together and be a girl? Fuck, you didn’t think you could handle someone else telling you that. You didn’t need anyone else against you; it already felt like the entire world was.

What you needed, desperately, terribly, pleadingly, was someone else in your corner.

In your pocket, your phone chimed with an incoming text. Wiping away the tears sitting heavy against your lids, you pulled it out. It was an unknown number; your cyber security app had blurred the message, waiting until you accepted to see it. You swiped on the blurred screen, then clicked open the message.

Hi, it’s Miguel O’Hara. I hate to cross any lines here, but Gabriella is having a hard time understanding the homework assigned for this weekend. I tried to help, but it’s beyond me. Some sorry excuse for a geneticist I am, right? Anyway, I was texting to ask if you’d be able to meet us somewhere today and help Bri. I was thinking the public library? We’re going to be headed to the park afterward for soccer practice… you’re welcome to come along. She’s eager to show you a new trick she learned yesterday. Again, excuse my forwardness. We understand if you’re not available. :)

You sniffled slightly, rereading the text over and over again, trying to stuff down the fluttering feeling arising past the flames inside you. Your head snapped up and you were on your feet in less than a moment, hailing the first taxi that passed you. When you climbed inside, the driver asked you where to.

“The public library,” you said, and managed a smile at him in the mirror.

Half an hour later, you sat at a desk in the middle of the study section of the New York Public Library, already having drawn out fresh sketches and examples of the mathematics homework you had assigned for this weekend. Your foot bounced with anticipation under the table, and you found yourself constantly glancing over your shoulder at the wide, arched doorway that let into the private section.

You’d tutored students outside of class before, so you shouldn’t have been so excited. You’d met with them in diners and cheap restaurants, outdoor pavilions when the weather allowed, hell - you’d even sat with them outside their cramped apartment buildings on overturned milk crates and used cardboard as a back for the worksheets while their parents were busy working three jobs and balancing five other kids on their hips at the same time. You weren’t one to judge; you knew how hard it was out here for some people. You were a teacher; it was your job to love and nurture and teach your kids, no matter who they were or where they came from.

So you shouldn’t have been this excited to tutor one of your students. Even if she did have a smoking hot dad.

Small, quick-paced footsteps - like thunderclaps along the ground in the nearly-silent room - pricked your ears and turned your attention to the doorway. A wide, easy grin broke across your lips as you spied Gabriella breaking away from her father’s side to rush toward you and your table. In her arms she carried a wrapped bouquet of flowers. When she reached where you had risen from your seat, she pressed her face into your belly in lieu of a hug.

“Hi, Miss Y/N,” she said, rather loudly, then presented the flowers like they were sterling silver encrusted with diamonds and jewels unimaginable. An ear-to-ear smile stretched from one of her ears to the other. “These are for you.”

Miguel arrived behind her, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a gentle grin of greeting gracing his beautiful face. He tilted his head at you for a moment, then ruffled his daughter’s hair and said, “What are they for?”

“A thank you,” Gabriella rushed to say as you accepted the bouquet. “For coming to help me.”

You tried to squash the butterflies that fluttered through your stomach when he smiled at you, instead pushing your focus to the flowers clutched to your chest. They were fresh blooms, a collection filled with pinks and purples and a few yellows here and there. “Well, thank you so much, sweetheart,” you said as she rounded the table to go and sit by her father. “They’re beautiful.” You took your seat again and carefully set the gift beside your purse. “And you don’t have to thank me. I was already out today anyhow, so it wasn’t any trouble.”

“Really?” said Miguel. He pulled the bag from over his shoulder and gave it to Gabriella for her to begin pulling her schoolwork out. He quirked one of his thick brows, his sad-looking eyes meeting yours. Jolts of excitement, and pleasure, and adoration went sprawling down your spine all at once, like back to back shocks of raw, untamed electricity. “I figured you would have been staying in during a tourist weekend like this.”

You wanted so badly to tell him just what you were doing out, why you weren’t at home enjoying your two days of free time between your two jobs - one that required every bit of your soul and heart during the day, and another that required every bit of your body during the night. You wanted horrendously to confide in him the troubles plaguing you like an illness only he could cure you from, wanted him to secure those thick, sinewy arms of his around your form and hold you tight, assure you in that husky tone that everything would be alright.

But instead, all you said was, “Can’t let tourists drive us locals from our stomping grounds, can we, Mister O’Hara?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, his eyes stuck upon your form even after you’d pulled your attention to the worksheet Gabriella had pulled out.

For a long while, the three of you sat at that table in the library. You taught Gabriella the maths lesson over again as many times as she needed it, helped her with the more challenging problems on the worksheet, then made up a few on the spot to give her for the extra practice. You even tilted around your textbook so that Miguel could see it and gave him a rundown of the next few lessons so that he could help her the following week, should she need it.

It was perhaps an hour or so later when you sat back in your chair, watching as your student set to work on the few practice problems you’d given her. You shut your eyes for a moment, exhaling a long breath, and allowing your brain to shut off for a moment. You’d succeeding in getting Ferris and his stupid, stubborn fucking attitude off your mind for a time, but now you were faced with the realization that sometime today, you’d have to go back home. You’d have to see him again, most likely get into another argument that would lead to one of you sleeping on the couch the next couple evenings.

Most likely you.

“How are you doing?” came Miguel’s voice from across the table.

You thought for a moment he was speaking to his daughter, looking over her work, but when no reply came, you opened your eyes and realized he was talking to you. You blinked a few times, watching as he smirked kindly and crossed his arms over the table. Fuck, he was so easy to look at. He was wearing a t-shirt against the sunny day today, giving you a generous view of the muscles in his arms. They sloped down to his elbows, and further still to wrists wrapped in Gabriella-made friendship bracelets, to large, wide hands that were callused at the fingers and bruised at the knuckles. You wondered briefly if he boxed during his workouts.

Sliding your hand up your face, you gave him a tired smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Despite only speaking to one another a few minutes every time at pick up and drop off, you felt you could talk to him better than even the girls at your nighttime job. “I’m alright,” you said, then added, “Just… tired, is all. Lots on my plate right now. Work, stuff at home, the whole ‘masked vigilante swinging around the city’ thing. Well… you know how it is.”

It was not the last detail that seemed to faze him. It was the second. “Is everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, like that of a curious puppy. The lines beneath his eyes deepened a bit, the untamed hair atop his head slipped to his temple. “Sorry if I’m overstepping a boundary, or anything like that. I just -”

“No, you’re alright.” You reached out to finger at a petal on one of the flowers in the bouquet, fondly brushing the delicate thing as if it would disintegrate if you handled it any rougher. His eyes followed your movements deftly. “And, everything’s… okay. Sort of… okay.” You sighed and pulled away from the flower, instead opting to rub at your temples. “Just drives me out sometimes, you know? Everything… happening in those walls. Sometimes it gets too much.”

“You’re never out on the streets, are you?” Suddenly his gaze had turned serious and stony, his mouth set into a hard line across his chiseled expression.

You swallowed thick, feeling the dropped baritone of his voice hit the bottom of your belly and head south to your core. You shifted slightly in your seat, crossing your legs over one another to mask the subtle movement. “No, never.” Forcing yourself to chuckle, you dropped a hand to the desk. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mister O’Hara. I’m just fine.”

Before you realized what was happening, Miguel had reached out to brush his long, thick fingers over your knuckles. Your skin was suddenly alight with a blaze you didn’t even know existed. He leaned forward slightly across the table, lowering his voice so that only you heard it in the cage between your ribs. “It’s alright to ask for help, you know,” he murmured quietly. You were caught in his gaze, unable to pull yourself away. “If you ever need something, some place to stay… our door is open.”

Your tongue had ceased its ability to work, your heart its ability to beat properly. You could only stare at him, wide-eyed, as he settled back in his chair. Miguel O’Hara had just offered you his home. Fuck - he knew. He had to have known. Maybe he could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice when you whispered; maybe it trembled too much. Or maybe he could just sense it, feel it from the bottomless pit in your soul screaming out for someone to pull it back into the daylight.

Just when you trusted yourself to speak again, both your and Miguel’s phones alerted at the same time. Across the study section, other devices went off, as well. Simultaneously, you pulled out your cells and read the messages scrawled across the screens.

“Jesus,” you muttered upon scanning the message. A kidnapping had just taken place not a block from the library. Car details and plate numbers were attached, along with an urging for anyone with information to call the authorities. “This city gets worse every day.”

Miguel glanced up at your words, hesitated, then looked down at Gabriella. She was still busy with her work, tongue stuck out gently between her pink lips. You sensed him tense from across the table.

“...Miguel?” you asked, tentative to use his first name. “Is everything okay?”

After a short, brief moment, he seemed to make up his mind about something. He stood from his chair so abruptly that it squealed softly against the tile floor, throwing the backpack over his shoulder and rounding the table. “Excuse me just a second,” he said, already heading toward the doorway. “I have to make a call. Ten minutes, tops.” Then he was gone, jogging too quickly and hurriedly to be making a phone call - or so you thought. You wanted direly to follow him, see what he was doing, but you couldn’t. You had your student to take care of.

Inhaling shortly, you turned to Gabriella only to find her staring at the doorway her father had disappeared through. You were quick to find something to change the subject. “These flowers are so pretty,” you told her and nudged the bouquet slightly. She met your eyes, your gentle smile, and it seemed Miguel’s sudden absence was wiped from her mind. So was the inner workings of a nine year old.

“I got to pick them out,” she said proudly, then went back to her worksheet. “But it was Daddy’s idea to get them for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You did your best to maintain your smile, trying not to grasp at your chest and stop the oncoming heart attack making its way through your systems. It had been Miguel to get the flowers? “Yeah?” you said in a small voice.

Oblivious to your strained tone and the excited bouncing of your leg under the table, the little girl nodded and hummed. “Uh-huh. He like-likes you. He told me so.”

Holy fucking goddamn son of a bitch.

You cleared your throat because you knew if you talked about this any longer, you would explode into a little cloud of confetti. Then you’d never even get to see him again, look at him in this new light because fuck, was it a new light. It was a new light you could dance under, twirl and sing and jump under, because no one was going to judge you anymore, and even better, now you could invite him to be under it with you. And you knew you just might have a chance of him saying yes.

And fuck, what a dance that would be.

“Are you excited for the field trip to Alchemax on Tuesday?” you asked her, recalling the months it had taken Washington Elementary’s principal to get permission to bring classes there. She had insisted it was an important place for them to visit, considering all the work they were doing as of late. You guessed your suggestion for a trip to the zoo had been vetoed. “Your dad works there. Maybe we’ll see him. You can brag to all your friends that he’s a fancy scientist.”

“Maybe,” she said, scratching out a wrong answer on her paper. “He works on the seventh floor. I’ve seen his work badge thing. We probably won’t be able to go up there.”

“Here’s hoping we can,” you said to yourself beneath your breath.

Ten minutes passed since Miguel’s sudden disappearance, and then another. Thirty minutes was just approaching, as was the beginnings of sundown, before you sensed him approaching you from behind. Turning in your chair, the first thing you noticed was that he was out of breath, sweating at his temples and down his neck slightly. God, he looked good like that. But then your rational side kicked in. Had he been running somewhere?

“I think that’s enough homework for today,” he said as he reached the table and ruffled Gabriella’s hair again. She batted his hand away, but nonetheless began to pack up her things. As she did so, he switched his gaze to yours, tilting his head in that way he did. “We’re going to head to the park, kick a ball around for a while. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

Numbly, because now that you knew he not only liked you, but like-liked you, you heard yourself accept and follow them out the doors of the library and onto the street. The deep purple sky felt a bit brighter than before, and the steps you took together, side by side, seemed a little closer than necessary. The sidewalks were cramped, sure, but not enough so that your hands needed to brush every few seconds. Not enough so that your shoulders bumped when you stepped off curbs to cross roads.

The park was quiet this time of day, occupied only by a few elderly couples leaning against walking canes and teenagers out past their curfews sprawled out on benches making out like they knew they were going to die tomorrow.

How long had it been since you had kissed Ferris? The saddest part of you knew that you couldn’t recall.

For hours, you sat on the sweet-smelling grass of the park’s lawn and watched Miguel and Gabriella scrimmage, kicking around a ball worn by years of scuff marks and green stains from fields. The breeze blew their matching hair this way and that, the dying sunlight illuminated their identical smiles as they round about one another in only a way a parent and a child could know one another. You cheered when either scored a goal. You laughed when they called one another names. And when they urged you to come join, even though the night was throwing itself over the sky and the stars were beginning to wink down at the park, you got to your feet and played.

You realized, through your aching laughter and the grass stains on your knees, that you hadn’t been this happy in a very, very long time.

That night, after you had wished Miguel and Gabriella a goodnight and walked home, after you had found Ferris crashed out in bed and the dishes still in the fucking sink, you found yourself sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building. It wasn’t quite silent up here, not with the helicopter chopping in the distance, or the occasional honk of a car down below, or the dog barking three stories down, but it was better than facing the quiet of your own home. You knew you would go mad in between those damned four walls, listening to your boyfriend snore and the clock in the kitchen tick and the floorboard creak when you walked to the bathroom.

You couldn’t face the quiet, not after the wonderful, deafening, blaring joy of this afternoon.

You let your legs dangle off the edge of the rooftop, sitting back on your hands and staring at the glaring screen of your phone. Your thumb ached slightly from scrolling through anything and everything you could find to keep yourself distracted. The newest clean energy replacement from Alchemax. The latest from politics. The child that had been kidnapped this afternoon, now home and safe, thanks to Spiderman snatching the kid from the backseat before plowing the speeding car with the kidnapper into a metal gate.

There came the soft, muted noise of a weight landing on the power box on the rooftop behind you, and you whipped around to find a familiar - but no less startling - red and blue figure sitting perched on the metal edge. Spiderman tilted his head at you, balanced on the balls of his feet despite the hulking frame of his muscles.

“Just came to check up on you after the other day,” he said through the mask. His eye lenses moved as his eyes roamed your figure. “Didn’t know you were this far gone.”

Clicking your phone off anxiously, feeling your heart thunder in your ears, you gave a little laugh and looked down at the drop beneath your feet. “I think if I was ready to end it,” you joked in return, “I’d go for something a little less traumatizing for pedestrians.”

Spiderman was still for a moment. Then he extended his wrist, and a string of web shot across the rooftop to stick to the space on the lip beside you. He used it to yank himself across the tarmac of the roof, landing again on the balls of his feet on the edge. He shifted himself, resting his forearms overink his thighs, and turned his masked gaze to the city before you both. Golden lights twinkled from skyscrapers and apartments and office buildings, creating a constellation of life between windows. The night air was crisper up here - as crisp as it could get, what with the smog from arsonist fires and churning factories and gas emissions - and the stars seemed to shine just a touch brighter.

“So… how are you doing?” the vigilante asked, keeping his gaze on New York. “After the robbery, I mean. Something like that, it can… stay with you.”

There came a fluttering in your heart. But rather than express such a sensation, because you had every right to be wary about giving yourself away anymore, you said, “It wouldn’t be the first thing like that to happen to me. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.” You lifted a hand to the star-lit city, crowded to the rim with life and hatred and love. “We’re in New York. What more can you expect from a city like this?”

For a long while, neither of you said anything more. It was strange being so close to the man everyone had been talking about for the couple weeks he’d been active - so close you could lean right over and pull that mask off. But you kept your distance.

Spiderman took a breath and said, “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “As if I typically sleep at this time anyway.” Then you turned to face him again, locking your ankles together over the edge of the rooftop. The breeze swayed your hair back and forth, like you were suspended underwater. The tension in your lungs certainly felt that way. “Did you enjoy the show the other night?”

He was still for a moment. For two. Then he met your gaze through his mask, his eye lenses narrowing. Even through the cover that hid his face, the heat of his eyes scorched holes through you. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Feeling slightly bolder than you had a moment ago, you lolled your head at him. “You know what I mean.” You sniffed, leaning back on your hands. “Did you follow me? Or was it just a coincidence that Spiderman showed up to my club the day he saved my ass?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“...Sure.” You felt a flutter of embarrassment within you, of doubt and guilt. What if that hadn’t been Spiderman that night at The Menagerie? What if it was some other guy, with some other scar on his collarbone, and you had gotten it all wrong? Despite your sudden worry, you refused to let your confidence waver. “So… do you make it a habit of checking up on every person you help?”

For the first time, you watched and listened as he cracked a smile and chuckled. The lenses over his eyes narrowed as his cheeks rose and his mouth spread into a smirk. You watched the bit of mask over his lips stretch. “You got me there,” he drawled in that low, husky tone of his that made you cross your legs a bit tighter, squeeze your thighs tighter. “Just… couldn’t really get you off my mind. You’ve got courage, saying no to that guy. That’s admirable.”

You felt your cheeks flush. Spiderman? Calling you brave? What an ironic sense of humor the universe had.

“I guess someone has to stand up and say no,” you murmured into the breeze.

“Yeah. Someone has to.”

Moments turned into seconds, and those turned into minutes. You almost wished you could stay like this forever; here, on the rooftop with Spiderman, with the breeze rustling your hair and the car horns beeping and the rest of the world forgotten.

But all too soon, it was over.

Spiderman rose to his full height in a seamless transition, turning his head to face the street away from you. “Should get back now,” he said, then switched his gaze down to you. You wondered, behind that mask, what color his eyes were. “Sure you’re not going to jump?”

You felt yourself smile. “Promise, Spiderman.” You watched as he nodded his head, then prepared to catapult himself off the building and swing onto the next one. Before he could, however, you called out. “And hey,” you said, drawing his attention, “if you ever drop by the club again, ask for the Monarch.”

He stared at you for the longest moment. Then he turned, stepped off the lip of the rooftop, and disappeared.

You didn’t bother leaning over, watching him spring a web from his wrist to flip through the air and parade down the street above the cars and streetlights. Instead you looked back to the city’s skyline far above yourself, silhouettes of buildings framed by a rich violet horizon.

Perhaps one day, you would see what it looked like without all this smog and the army of dark clouds hanging over it.

But for now, you were content with watching it darken until it was nothing but black and purple.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quantii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead

(strike through means blog could not be tagged)

[chr0llossexygf]

ON FILM

pairings; mean!ellie x fem reader

summary; spending countless nights wrapped in Ellie’s bed but not in her arms made you realise something. You want more, you’ve always wanted more. But Ellie doesn’t want more. Or maybe she does. But what if it’s too late?

cw; ellie is rlly mean :((, angst, guns, set in tlou universe!

“ Els could you pass me my shirt?” You ask sitting yourself up on your girl- well not girlfriend. Your friend with benefits? Not even, not like it was decided and talked between the two of you that you are friends with benefits. Does your relationship with Ellie even tick the boxes of a friends with benefits one? It has benefits, most definitely. Like now, when you're laying half naked on her fitted sheets, which are supposed to be tightly secured around the corners of the mattress, may have come loose as a result of you and Ellie making love or from how harshly she sprung from the bed the second you two came down from your highs.

A delicate and tender brush of the strings of her guitar is the answer you get, did she not hear you? It's not like you're far away. She's only a few feet away from you. Sitting on her worn out black rolling chair with her guitar placed delicately on her thighs. You watch as the auburn strands of her hair that were just in your hands a mere 5 minutes ago move softly with the gentle bopping of her head, as her skilled fingers sweep across the strings like they are the most fragile thing. Nothing compared to the roughness she displays on her fingers when they are touching your skin. “ Els-” The strum resonates with an unpleasant, off-key twang. 

She lets out a loud sigh. And suddenly, you're picking at the delicate skin of your palms. The same palms which were trying to feel the warmth of her palms only to be roughly grabbed and pinned above your head. With one hand gripping the neck of her guitar and the other resting over the strings she raises her head up. “ What?” She says with her eyes closed. You raise your hand and point at the dark green fabric laying down crumbled next to her feet. Ellie lets out a sigh as she bends over in her chair, grabbing your shirt and throwing it over to you. 

The shirt didn't even make the flight as it fell to the ground near the edge of the bed. You push your body towards the end of the bed, leaning over to pick up the shirt. The rough fabric of your shirt doesn't meet your fingertips, cold metal does. You raise an eyebrow in confusion as you pull your hand up. Your eyes widen and your lips part. “ Holy shit you have a polaroid camera Els?!” You energetically exclaim rotating the camera in your hand.

“ Yeah yeah.. Joel told me to start a photo album. Apparently-” She cuts herself off placing her guitar down on the floor gently against her table. “ Hey, you're still covering my shift for me this morning right?” She asks, leaning her body back against the backrest of her chair. Crossing her arms as her eyes are planted at your hands holding the camera.

“ pfft yeah- But oh my god this is so cool! I've been wanting one for so long! I've never had my picture taken-” You rotate the camera around towards you, your finger presses a button. “ No wait-” Ellie stands up from her chair, sending it flying back. Almost hitting a wall from the violent shove the chair has fallen victim to. There's a bright flash on your face, your lips puckered and your eyes widely opened. 

Ellie snatches the camera from your grasp. You furrow your eyebrows, your lips parted in surprise. “ E-Els what-” Your voice is high-pitched as your cheeks grow a slight shade of pink from shock. 

“ Damn it!” Ellie shouts, throwing the camera on the other side of the bed, away from you. Your head shoots around to look at the camera, afraid that it was gonna bounce off the bed and break into a hundred pieces. “ W-what are you doing-” She cuts you off.

“ No, what are you doing?! Jesus.” She shouts, putting a hand over her face. Harshly sliding her hand over her skin in frustration. You raise an eyebrow in confusion and tilt your head to the side, “ What did I do?” You ask your voice rising in pitch but growing weaker in volume. Like a child. 

Ellie throws her head back in annoyance, “ Do you have zero manners? Did your mom not teach you? You don't just grab someone's stuff and act like it's yours-” You shoot up from her bed quickly putting your shirt on, your lips are still parted in shock. Why is she so mad? 

“ Jesus Els i-it's just a picture.” You say crossing your arms, suddenly feeling insecure and small. Ellies pacing back and forth, letting out disgruntled cuss words under her breath. “ That was the last film I had- And now it's been wasted on you! It wasn't meant to be used on you damn it! Now where else am I gonna find more films!” She shouts, throwing herself on her chair. 

Ouch. You feel a sting in your heart. Actually no. A sting would be an understatement of the century compared to the hurt you feel in your heart. You feel sweat form on the back of your neck and your fingers immediately grabbing the ends of your worn out shirt. It feels like your heart was harshly grabbed and thrown into 50 layers of glass. Each little piece of glass  being every memory of you and Ellie in which she would treat you like a toy and the final big shard of glass piercing your heart through and through is this. Do you as a human being, as someone who searches for her in every crowd, as someone who looks at her whenever something funny happens during bar nights in Jackson, as someone who would be wrapped up in her sheets every other night have less value than polaroid film? 

You remain silent. The realization just now hitting you. The reality of the situation just now hitting you like a harsh tidal wave knocking you out on the sand. Your fingers which were nervously picking at the loose strings of your shirt suddenly stop. 

Your lack of response seems to anger Ellie more. “ You know what-” She shoots up from her chair and walks up to you. “ You're gonna find me more film today on your supply run. And your not coming back until you have it or whatever the fuck-” Her finger swats back and forth between the two of you. Just as she was about to open her mouth to throw more cruel words at you, there were 4 knocks on her door.

“ I don't wanna interrupt you two girls but Ellie, Jesse is looking for you.” A deep voice cut through like a worn, steadfast anchor falling down the depths of the ocean only to be pulled back as he mentioned Ellies name. 

Ellies body softens as she hears Joel speak. His voice snapping her out of her trance, her sudden fit of anger. She shakes her head and looks at you. Her eyes soften as she gazes into what usually are your warm and soft eyes now suddenly distant. As if a veil had descended over them. Her gaze, accustomed to finding solace in the familiar gentleness of  your eyes, in which she would hate to admit and despise herself for , now falters upon encountering their newfound coolness. Where once there had been an openness that mirrored the tender embrace of a summer breeze, now there lay a guardedness that spoke of unspoken burdens and distant thoughts. And it had all been her doing. 

“ Hey s-sweetheart- '' Her voice trembles at the nickname. And suddenly, you remember how her voice never trembles or shakes when she calls Dina or Cat sweet names. It 's just you. Do you disgust her so much you're not even worth the nickname. The sweet calling, the term of endearment which would usually make you melt. Not that she ever called you any sweet name. It's always Y/N or just ‘you’. And now that you've heard it. You never wanna hear it again.

“ It 's fine.” You whisper, scared that if you were to raise your voice just a note that you would break down. You gently push Ellie to the side, your shoulder hitting hers. Your voice, usually a beacon of exuberance, fell silent. It was as if the air around you had grown heavy with unspoken words and unshed tears, casting a solemn curtain over your once-cheerful demeanor. 

Your touch, once a balm against the trials of the day, met an unexpected resistance, a subtle tensing beneath the surface of your skin. Ellie felt it instantly. The fleeting hesitation in your shoulder, the barely perceptible shift in your posture. Where once there had been a seamless connection, a dance of harmony between your souls, now there lay a fragile distance. A silent rift that echoed with unspoken questions.

—-

“ You're unusually quiet.” Jesse says shoving the christmas mugs on the shelf of a store you two stumbled upon. His fingers wrapped delicately around the handles of the bright red,green, and white mugs. It's Christmas time in Jackson. Maria had sent you and Jesse on the hunt for christmas decoration. Not forgetting to repeat that if it's red it doesn't mean it's Christmas themed to Jesse at least 5 times. Or maybe it was more. You weren't exactly listening, your mind preoccupied with the Ellie situation. You feel your body tense up at the mention of her name.You feel something poke your knee, immediately looking down. You see Jesse's hand holding the mug nudging you.

“ Hey. You okay?” He speaks, his voice soft and gentle. You almost feel bad for zoning out on his rambles. Rambles that would usually be spewing out of your mouth. You nod your head smiling, “ Yeah no im alright- Hey uh.. do you think they've got like camera film in here?” 

Jesse laughs, shaking his head. “ Let me guess. Ellie has gotten you looking for film? Her fault for running out, she took like 30 of just Dina and Cat.” Jesse says standing up, turning around placing both of his hands on his hips looking around the store. He takes a deep breath in squinting his eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the store signs hanging above. “ Its too dark to see cus of these stupid lights but I think maybe-”

All you hear is static. Your entire body feels like it's being filled with static. You know that feeling, when your arm or leg is asleep and they feel too heavy to move and you just keep getting that stinging sensation. That's how your entire body feels. She took 30 of Dina and Cat. 30 pictures. 30 pictures of the flash hitting their face. 30 pictures of them doing a face. Maybe sticking their tongue out or even puckering their lips. So why was it a crime when you did it? Why was it a big deal when you did it? 

“ Yeah thanks.” You say patting Jesse's shoulder. You dig your cold hands into the pocket of your jeans and start walking. Following the way down the aisles of the store, peeking your head in each aisle hoping to find a bright coloured pack of film. You weren't gonna talk to Ellie after you find her the film, that is if you can even find the film. If you can't find the film she[ll be the one not speaking to you. 

You stop on one aisle. Removing your hands from your pockets, feeling the cold breeze hit them immediately. Cursing under your breath, you repeatedly rub your hands up and down the sides of your legs hoping that the friction would atleast give you some heat. You bring both hands up to your mouth, blowing into them. “ No way they had to worry about which color ribbon to buy.” You whisper to yourself, your eyes fixated on all of the colorful ribbons hanging on the shelves. Puckering up your lips, you breathe out through your nose. Walking down what seemed like an endless row of ribbons. You finally spot them.

You speed-walk towards the end of the aisle. You pull your backpack off and immediately start stuffing the packs of film. Grabbing as many as you can and shoving them in ruthlessly as you bite your lip. Your eyesight goes blurry. You're tearing up. Nope, scratch that you're crying. Tears roll down your cold cheeks as you keep shoving in the film at a remarkable speed. You're biting your lower lip trying to stop a sob from escaping. Before you were about to have a full blown breakdown you hear Jesse shout. 

“ Y/N! WATCH OUT!” Jesse shouts running to you, shooting a clicker behind you. You immediately shoot up, throwing your backpack over your shoulder and grabbing your gun from your holster. “ Jesus fuck!” You shout stumbling backwards at the hoard of clickers running towards you and Jesse.

Jesse grabs you, pulling you up. “ We can't take them all- We have to make a run for it!” He says running, your hand still in his. Your heart is racing, you can feel it in your fingertips, your ears, your toes. Turning your head around to catch a glimpse of exactly what you're dealing with, you almost stop on your feet. There's at least 20. “ Fuck fuck Jesse we wont make it!” You shout, pointing your gun backwards shooting aimlessly at the hoard of clickers only growing faster.  

Your brain is short-circuiting. Millions of scenarios are running through your head. 99% of them are of you dead, bleeding out on the floor with a hoard of clickers feasting on your body like it’s their first and final meal. Your chest is heaving up and down. Your breathing but it’s not enough. It probably is enough if it weren’t for your brain trying to convince you it’s not. 

You two won’t make it out of the store without them attacking your horses. You need to come up with a plan. You need to come up with a plan now immediately. 

“ Jesse, keep going! I’ll distract them!” You shout, ripping your hand out of his tight grasp, surely he’s left prints of his fingers on your hand. Jesse’s hand immediately tries to grab yours again, “ No Y/N! What are you doing you idiot!” Jesse shouts.

You push him forward out of the store doors, you turn around and shoot the clickers that were too close to you. You lean your back against the sliding glass doors, Jesse's on the other side pounding on the door trying to push it open. “ Fucking go!” You shout shooting more of them. God why are there so many.

“ Open the fucking door Y/N!” He shouts banging on the door. You shout in frustration, stomping your leg on the floor at his stubbornness. Your other hand reaches for the knife strapped to your thigh. Turning around you stab the window with the knife. The glass shattering all over the floor, some shards even landing on Jesse. You yank your backpack off and throw it throw the window  “ Give me your gun and fucking go!” 

Jesse’s hand shakily hands you the gun as he grabs your backpack, slinging it over his shoulders and runs to his horse. You turn around and watch him mount the horse, his eyes are shiny with tears. He leans down grabbing a rock and throwing it to a glass window on the other side of the store distracting some of the clickers. Mounting his horse he sets off.

You move away from the glass and keep shooting the clickers, alerting the ones Jesse had just distracted. The hoard rushes towards you. “ Fuck.” 

——

Ellie immediately runs to the gates of Jackson after hearing the shouts of the guards on the watchtowers announce Jesse’s arrivals. Her heart racing. Her hands sweaty at the thought of seeing you after everything that's happened, not like her hands aren’t usually sweaty when she thinks about you. Just the mere thought of you makes her heart race and her palms sweaty. And it scares her. Really fucking scares her. 

The gates opening cuts her out of her trance. She sees Jesse. She doesn’t see you. Where are you? She makes a run for the gates expecting you to be following behind Jesse but your not. “ W-where’s?” Her voice is cut off by Jesse’s. “ We need backup! Damn it Y/N!” He jumps off his horse, his hands in his head. 

No. 

She sees your backpack on his back. No. No. No. Please no. God no.

Your backpack falls off his shoulders. Ellie makes a run for your bag, almost breaking the zipper. 

“ T-the place got overrun and Y/N stupidly distracted them and-”

Your bag is full of films

[soulreapin]

both keith and lance are good at the guitar but in different directions you feel me

lance was taught by his tíos because when he babysat his music was the only thing that would put the babies to sleep

keith learned from watching his pa in front of the fireplace, picking up the guitar long after tex turned in for the night and replicating the way he crooked his fingers over the strings

he plays like tyler childers and sounds like him too; the twang only comes out when he sings

lance prefers to play like a camp counselor, singing drops of jupiter high into the night sky and hey jude to a sleeping marco

when one plays, if the other is present, they’ll sing

lance struggles through all your’n with a thick and false southern lilt and keith can’t always keep up when lance plays second child, restless child at the family get-together

there’s three guitars in their house; keith’s, scratched up by sand with the strings replaced thousands of times over. lance’s, covered in stickers and with a hand-woven strap in ocean blue. theirs, signed in sharpie on either side of the strings.

[glambots]

hello, could I request Monty and glamrock Freddy’s reaction to a crush who can spout off animal facts.

she normally does child friendly one because of where she’s at, but perhaps one night shift she accidentally talks about how ‘bears can rip off the head of a moose in one swipe’ or ‘alligators are opportunistic feeders, so they can and have performed cannibalism or has taken to eaten human meat.’

I’m sorry if this doesn’t follow guidelines or if it’s too long. Please feel free to ignore if so.

🎩Glamrock Freddy + "The More You Know:"🎩

Well, that is...an interesting fact, Superstar! Thank you for sharing! It is a good thing that natural bears are extinct. And you do not have to worry about him ripping off any heads! Of course! He's very quick to try and change the subject. He likes your animal facts, but that one really caught him off-guard, and he's not going to be able to stop thinking about it for a while. (-cut to Freddy in his room, staring at his hands- "I would never. But could I...?")

🐊Montgomery Gator + "The More You Know:"🐊

You know those moments in comedies when someone is playing a guitar, and then a character makes a weird comment, and the guitar string snaps as everyone freezes? That's pretty much what happens. Monty was tuning his bass when you said it, and TWANG! Cue a snapped string and a very concerned looking alligator. Oh... Huh. Good thing he prefers the food court! Haha! Ha...ha... (Maybe he should cut back on the "man-eater" jokes...)

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options; with your life on the line, Dean makes a call you're not happy with. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he brings a peace offering.

Haven't read Part One? - Catch up here.

Words: ~3.5k

A/N: This is part 2 of 3 of what started as a short one shot, but someone asked for another slice of pie so I'm here to deliver. There isn't any smut in this part (its all going to be in part 3 😂) but there are graphic depictions of gore, violence and death which is why I ask minors not to read or interact. Reader is female but generic, and obviously has feelings but is kind of stuck in this hate to love him type thing which carries on from part 1. I hope you enjoy the read and are ready for the goonfest and gratuitous smut coming in part 3.

Warnings: gore, death and gruesome depictions of canon-type violence, profanity as standard for my work, bit of angst, bit of fluff right at the end.

***Minor do not read or interact***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His saviour complex, his unwavering strength, the way he’s so damn selfish though not in the ways that count… But boy, can he wear a pair of jeans.  Phew-ee!

You hate that you can’t stop looking at him, leaning on the jukebox of the bar you’re in, feeding it quarters in exchange for some feel-good tunes.  Ugh!  Asshole!

Tonight had been a tough night.  Even Sam was feeling the burn.  Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options, the three of you had played a Hail Mary and it had paid off.  Those damn vamps had just kept on coming.  Sam was down and you were in a bad way with what felt like a hoard of those fuckers piling into the abandoned factory to make a meal out of you all.  Starting out, you had all been so sure that you had this little group in the bag but, as per usual with these goddamn things, the plan didn’t pan out.

Dean had dragged you and a semi-conscious Sam into a tight space between the machines.  One way in, one way out.  You were both toast if you were found and of course you would be found; the vamps had your scent.

Groggily, you watched dean uncoil something from his pocket and string it across the opening at about neck height.

“Guitar string.”  He winked at you as if this idea was the best idea he had ever had and should have been plan A from the start.

“We’re fucking bait?”  You hissed furiously.  No, surely not?  Dean would never use his brother as bait.  Would he?  “Goddamn asshole!”  You snarled with as much vitriol you could muster between your gasping breaths and painful ribs.

He just gave you that weary look he had been wearing for the past hour and shrugged his shoulders before pulling out his machete and hiding himself out of sight.  “Get ready.”

You brandished your blade and hauled yourself to your feet, ready to fight.  There was no point wasting any more breath insulting him.  If you got out of this alive, you would have plenty of opportunity to call him all the names under the sun.  IF you got out alive.

The first vamps that found you came rushing in, right down the tight alley framed by the large machinery and with a sharp twang, Dean’s trap garrotted them straight through, taking their heads clean off.  Of the next three, the wire took the first two but the third approached cautiously despite you calling him to come get you.

Dean ran out from his hiding place and attacked the vamp from behind, slashing at the guy’s thick neck twice in order to cut all the way through.  As the body fell you saw why the vamp had stopped – the trap had remnants of flesh and blood along it from its previous victims making it easier to see.  You wiped your sleeve along it to clean the bits of hanging flesh off making it almost invisible again. Dean gave you an impressed nod.

Another two vamps fell to the wire but the last one got snagged as she fell, snapping it and making it useless.  Well, it was a good idea while it lasted, you thought.

It took you two a little while longer to attract the remaining few vamps who obviously knew something was up.  Sam was in no fit state, still groaning on the ground.  You were weak and in a lot of pain but you kept swinging your blade, struggling to breathe let alone stand.

The fight had been brutal and both you and Dean were covered in blood by the time it was over.  You were on your knees, slumped over a vamp you had had to hack into to remove the head, your blade surely blunt by now.  You were ready to close your eyes and give up when Dean pulled you to your feet.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly, “up and at’em.”  Helping you out over the pile of decapitated bodies, he hauled a now mostly conscious Sam through the mess.

You had made it to the Impala and, for once, Dean hadn’t grumbled about getting blood on Baby’s seats but throwing a couple blankets down instead.  Sam slumped in the front while you crawled in the back, weary and sore.  Your eyes met Dean’s in the rearview mirror but yours flicked away immediately, unable to look at him without getting angry.  When you looked back so did he, like he knew you’d be looking, and held on, asking if you were okay without actually asking.  If he really cared he wouldn’t have used you as bait.

You let your head fall back onto the seat and closed your eyes frustrated by his dichotomy.

After a while on the road, Dean turned the radio on, breaking the silence which opened the door for you to say what was on your mind.  Sam hadn’t been bothered one bit by the fact that Dean had used you both as bait, but you were furious.

“It worked, didn’t it?”  Dean snapped, frustrated by your anger.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and a whole long list of other people.  Aint nothin’ new.”

Around five miles out of Crocker, Missouri, Dean pulled into a truck stop complex which had a convenience store, gas station, diner, a small motel and a dive bar.  The dawn was still hours away and the need for a couple of hours sleep in a comfortable bed was showing on all three of you.  Sam was the cleanest so he made the arrangements; two rooms because there was no way you were sharing a room with that asshole after what he did.  You were just as likely to fuck him out of anger as fight him at that point.

You used the showers in the truck stop to clean off all the blood and get into some clean clothes, relishing in the feel of the warm water and decent water pressure.  You felt a slight pang of guilt that someone would likely be picking vamp chunks out of the drain in the next couple of days but it passed quickly, it probably wasn’t the worst thing these truck stop attendants had seen over the years.

Refreshed by the shower and a take-out burger from the diner, you decided you needed a drink or five, which sounded good to Sam and Dean – you all deserved it.

So, here you are, several drinks in, pounding another tequila shot, trying not to stare at Dean Winchester’s ass while Sam bids you goodnight and takes himself off to one of the two rooms you had paid for at the run-down motel on site.

It seems as if you’re not the only one with an eye for a firm ass in tight Wranglers; a scantily clad barfly sidles up to Dean and strokes her hand down his back as he plugs his final song into the jukebox.  When her hand reaches that ass of his, he straightens and turns, grinning at her with that look you know means he’s going to ride her all the way to dawn.

You can’t watch this.  You don’t have the stomach for it, not tonight.  You pound your remaining two shots and eat the lime slice, peel and all.  Then you’re up off your stool and pushing past Dean and his lady friend, and out into the night where the air cools your heated skin but not your confusing emotions.

In the second of the two rooms, you look at your bruised face and neck in the mirror.  No wonder he didn’t look twice at you, you’re a mess.  It shouldn’t pain you like it does to think of him with another woman.  He asked once and you said no, so that is the end of that.  Plus, you hate him, can’t forget that.  Still, it gives you some small satisfaction that he now has no empty room to take his new friend to so he’ll have to bang her in Baby, on the bloody blankets.  With a spiteful smirk you flop on the bed and fall into a light disturbed sleep.

A loud knock on the door wakes you up with a start.  At first you don’t know where you are.  So used to your room in the bunker, you had almost forgotten what it feels like to sleep that first night in a new place, never truly resting for fear of attack.  It’s only an hour or so since you left the bar and you’re groggy from the tequila and from the waking.

You don’t turn on the lights when you go to the peephole, looking out with your pistol muzzle pushed up against the flimsy wood door.  Dean sways on the other side, his head turned as though he’s listening.

“Sam’s in the other room,” you call, clicking the safety back onto your pistol.

“I know,” he grumbles, “open up.  I got something.”

“It can wait until the morning.”

“Can’t wait,” it sounds muffled, “owwww!” he hisses.

“What the hell,” you sigh, sliding the chain and turning the handle.

Dean stumbles in with his mouth shaped like an “O” as he slides two bowls onto the unit next to the TV, shaking his hands afterwards as if burned.  You close the door and engage the chain out of habit.

“Got you something.”  He grins goofily, obviously much more drunk than you had left him in the bar, and you wonder what happened to the barfly.  Surely the womanizing Dean Winchester hadn’t banged and dropped her in that short a time?

“It’s two in the morning, Dean.”  You wipe a hand down your tired face, lifting your eyes again to see him handing you one of the bowls from the diner.

“Peace offering.”  He says with a smile as he pushes the hot ceramic into your hands, his eyes glistening with mirth and the effects of all the whiskey he shot back earlier.

You look at what he brought you and your heart almost stops.  It’s a steaming hot piece of cherry pie, drizzled in a large puddle of vanilla custard just the way you like it.  You look at his, with his tiny dollop of cream just the way he likes it, and you can’t help but smile.

“Why?”  You ask as you sit on the edge of the bed with him in the chair by the TV, the bowl in your hand, spoon loaded with goodness.

He finishes chewing a piece of the hot pie, sucking in air to cool it in his mouth before he replies.  “I know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you admit too quickly but the words are out now whether he believes them or not.

“And I know it’s my fault,” he looks at you with those eyes, “I shouldn’t have made things awkward from day one.  So, I’m sorry about that.”

“Thank you.”  You never thought you would ever hear Dean Winchester apologise, or what you would say in return.

“I didn’t know how to take the rejection,” he sighed heavily, “especially not from someone I have this amazing chemistry with, y’know?  But that’s on me.”

What great chemistry did Dean think he had with you?  All the years you had known him, you’d harboured a bit of a crush on him but he always acted like you were one of the guys.  When you two crossed paths it had felt effortless to slip into the old camaraderie but he treated you like a sister, a fellow hunter, until you had shown up on his radar this time covered in blood and all kinds of messed up and he’d gotten all pissed and… ohhhh.

“You were right all those years ago when you said hunters shouldn’t get close,” he continues, “I should’ve listened and never asked that question.”

You remember the conversation clearly.  It was something you had said because you thought it was what he wanted to hear from you.  Younger and more naïve, you had thought that what he wanted was for you to be like one of the guys so you had said the words and hoped that you could remain where you were with him, always close but never at risk of blowing everything.  Over time you had begun to regret that decision, and as soon as he started acting like an asshole it had been easy to trade the feelings you had for ones of resentment.

“I wish I never said it.  I didn’t realise what I would be losing when I asked.”   He looks at you again, beseechingly.  “Do you think we can start again?  Be friends like before?”

You think about it for a moment but the more you think the surer you are that you can’t go back.  You can’t know these things and have these experiences and go back to the beginning.

“No, Dean, I don’t think we can.”  Your words are soft but the devastation in his eyes is sharp and painful.

You stand, placing your untouched bowl on the bedside table, and walk towards him.  His bowl is empty now, but there’s a little piece of pie left on his spoon when you take it from him.  He’s confused but follows your every movement with a mixture of sadness and reverence.

The pie is sweet on your tongue and the way his eyebrows raise when your lips close around the spoon brings a cheeky glint to your eyes.  You sit on his knee, wrapping one arm around his shoulders while the other pulls the now clean spoon past your lips.  You swallow with a sigh.  His hands go to your hip and thigh to steady you as he looks up at you.

You dip your head slowly and he tilts up to meet you, his eyes flicking between yours and your mouth.  He tastes sweet just like you do when you lay your lips on his, a soft kiss that is both the testing of waters and the soothing of sharp emotions.  He squeezes your thigh tighter for a brief moment and you pull back to see the questioning look on his face.

“But you said…”

You shush him with a finger laid over his lips.  “I know what I said.”

“Then what did you mean?”  He swallows hard, licking his lips nervously afterwards as if you’re about to pull the rug out from under him.

“I wish I’d said yes.”

[cyberl6ve]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓! 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 — 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

CHECK 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 FOR MORE!! (SFW!!)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

── .✦ : The Sturniolo triplets had bought out a zoo for a day. Around the campfire, Chris strummed his guitar and serenaded Y/N with "Can't Help Falling in Love" while Matt and Nick were away. It was a moment of shy confession and budding romance, captured under the stars.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ : 𝐀𝐬 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. The night sky was clear and the sound of Chris's guitar filled the air.

“We'll be back soon,” Nick assured me with a smile before he and Matt disappeared into the darkness.

I turned my attention to Chris, his nimble fingers skillfully tuning the acoustic guitar that he'd apparently retrieved from somewhere. As he strummed a few experimental chords, I couldn't help but ask, “Where did you get that from?” I chuckled.

Chris looked up at me with a grin, his fingers still busy tweaking the guitar's tuning. He gestured vaguely over his shoulder, replying, “It was somewhere over there.”He chuckled at my wide-eyed expression, the sound of the strings twanging softly in the night air.

I couldn't help but laugh at the casual way he dismissed my question. “Over there” wasn't exactly a precise answer, but it was typical Chris— always doing his own thing, effortlessly cool.

As he continued to tune the guitar, I found myself watching his fingers, the way they moved over the instrument with practiced ease.

The flickering firelight cast shadows on his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the dark sweep of his eyelashes.

He struck a chord, the sound of it soft yet clear in the quiet of the night. He looked up and caught me staring, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“See something you like?” he teased, his eyes glittering with amusement. I quickly looked away, feeling my cheeks grow warm.

I hadn't meant to be caught staring, but there was something about him in this moment— the way he seemed so at ease with the guitar, his easy confidenc— that was disarmingly attractive.

I tried to salvage my dignity, replying with a dismissive shrug, “I was just trying to see if you can actually play.”

His response was a low, rumbling chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine. “Come here and find out,” he offered, patting the seat beside him.

Reluctantly, I made my way over to where he sat and lowered myself into the seat. He shifted the guitar in his lap, his knee brushing against mine. There was something strangely intimate about being this close to him, his body heat mingling with my own.

He looked at me, his expression a mix of challenge and amusement. “What do you want to hear?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

I found myself tongue-tied for a moment, his gaze making it difficult to concentrate. “U-um... anything,” I managed to say, my voice a little breathless.

Chris settled the guitar onto his lap, his fingers beginning to glide over the strings in a gentle melody. As the opening chords echoed around the campsite, he cleared his throat softly and began to sing.

“Wise men say... only fools rush in...”

The lyrics wove a spell around us, his voice, usually used for banter and laughter, suddenly soft and tender. The song continued, his eyes never leaving mine.

“But I can't help falling in love with you.”

I couldn't help but let a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. His voice, while usually used for jest and joking, had taken on a new tone— a soft, tender lilt that sent a flutter through my heart.

The fire crackled quietly in the background, the sounds of the night melting away as I was completely enthralled by his singing. The lyrics were about love, yes, but in this moment, they seemed to be about something else entirely— unvoiced feelings and unspoken hopes.

Chris continued to sing, his eyes now tracing the lines of my face, his voice lowering to a softer note as he strummed the guitar.

“Shall I stay?”

The words hung in the air, each syllable carrying a weight I'd never noticed before. The firelight cast a warm glow over everything, the shadows playing across his face as his lips shaped the lyrics.

“Would it be a sin”

The guitar strings thrummed under his fingers, and it was as if with each chord, he was pulling me in further, his voice wrapping around me like a caress.

“If I can't help falling in love with you...”

His gaze was unwavering, pinning me in place as the final notes of the song seemed to linger in the air.

Chris's voice was now barely above a whisper, the words more of a confession than a song.

“Take my hand... take my whole life, too.”

His voice seemed fraught with an odd vulnerability, a vulnerability I'd never seen before. He continued to look at me, his gaze almost a plea.

“For I can't help falling in love with you,”

The last word, “you”, was whispered so quietly, it was barely audible. It sounded like a secret, something only meant for me to hear.

He stared straight at me, his gaze so intense, it was like he was trying to tell me something without quite saying the words aloud.

The silence that followed was deafening. My heart was pounding in my chest, the air practically thrumming with tension. The song had been so intimate, so filled with a quiet intensity, that it felt like a silent conversation that went beyond words.

Chris was still looking at me, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. The firelight played across his features, giving the moment a dreamlike quality.

A sudden, intense urge compelled me to reach out, my fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. He didn't startle; in fact, he almost seemed to lean into my touch, his eyelids lowering slightly as if he were savoring the feeling.

His skin was warm under my fingertips, the faintest hint of stubble scratching against my palm. The moment felt fragile, like a bubble that could burst at any moment.

As I pulled my hand back, his hand shot up, capturing my wrist in a loose grip. Our gazes locked, and something in his eyes changed. The vulnerability was replaced with something darker, a look I'd never seen on him before.

He tugged me forward, closing the distance between us in an instant. His lips met mine in a bruising kiss, a wave of heat and sensation that left me reeling.

His lips were shockingly hot against mine, the kiss intense yet somehow soft and loving simultaneously. It was like a storm and a caress all at once, his mouth moving against mine with a raw, unbridled passion.

I was lost in the sensation of it, the kiss consuming my every thought, every sense. It was as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of us and the fire heating our skin.

He shifted forward, his free hand moving to cup my face, gentle fingers tilting my head back to give him better access to my mouth. His thumbs traced my jawline, the touch both tender and possessive.

The kiss continued, each kiss a claiming, a silent declaration of an unnamed emotion. My fingers clutched at the fabric of his brown hoodie, grounding me amidst the whirlwind of sensations.

The kiss continued, his mouth moving against mine with a familiar ease that I hadn't expected. It was clear he'd done this before, but there was a passion and a tenderness to this kiss that felt new.

His hand was still around my wrist, keeping me close, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my heated skin. I clung to his hoodie, my fingers gripping the fabric tightly as if he were the only solid thing in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control.

Finally, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine as we both struggled to catch our breath. His eyes were half-lidded, darkened with an emotion I couldn't quite identify.

His chest was heaving, the rise and fall of it pressed against me. The night air seemed cool against my wet lips, a stark contrast to the heat that still rolled off his body.

Chris's grip on my hand tightened, his fingers squeezing mine slightly. He took a deep breath, his gaze still trained on me.

“I'm in love with you,” he confessed, his voice soft and yet somehow firm.

My heart skipped a beat, the words sinking in and sending a fresh wave of emotions coursing through me. “I'm in love with you too,” I replied, the truth spoken aloud for the first time.

Chris's face broke into a smile, a real, genuine smile that lit up his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, his thumb rubbing against my knuckles.

But just as the moment of stillness settled around us, two familiar voices shattered the quiet.

“Finally!”

Matt and Nick burst into our view, their faces filled with glee. They'd clearly been watching the whole scene unfold, and judging by the obnoxious grins on their faces, they were ecstatic.

“Only took you guys long enough,” Matt said, slapping Chris on the back, hard enough to earn a grunt.

Nick nodded, looking far too pleased with himself. “We were taking bets on how long it'd take you to confess” he admitted, his smirk widening.

Matt turned to Nick with a sly smirk. “You owe me” he said, holding out his palm expectantly.

Nick rolled his eyes but fished a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it over begrudgingly. “You're lucky I'm a man of my word,” he grumbled.

We all laughed, the tension from the confession broken by the absurdity of the moment. I couldn't help but lean into Chris's shoulder, suddenly feeling a little shy. He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer, our bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

It was later in the night. The fire was low, the embers smoldering in the pit as Matt and Nick gathered materials for s'mores. Chris stood next to me, carefully laying marshmallows on skewers. I was watching him, amused, when I suddenly held up my phone.

“Smile for the camera,” I instructed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Chris looked up, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Did you take it?” he teased, looking amused. I nodded, my thumb poised over the screen.

“Yeah. It’s Proof that the great Chris Sturniolo can make a perfect s'more.” I chuckled using the picture as my new lock screen.

Chris chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looked at me. He leaned closer, closing the distance between us.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his words a whisper against my lips. Before I could even respond, he leaned in and kissed me, the touch soft yet tinged with a hint of possessiveness, as if he were claiming me as his own.

The night deepened, the sound of laughter and crackling fire mixing in a chorus that echoed through the zoo. Chris and I sat close, our bodies pressed against each other's, a silent understanding hanging in the air. The warm light from the fire cast a golden hue over us, the shadows dancing on Chris's face and the planes of his body.

As the night continued to weave its spell, it felt like something had irrevocably shifted. There was no need for words— the quiet, tender moment was enough.

Authors Note: Decided to take a break from the smut today. This story is literally so adorable i love it so much :,)

updating another ‘Heartbreak Race’ chapter today or might make a short story for Matt OR maybe both, i’m not sure yet but be on the look out ! :)

HAPPY FRIDAY!! REMEMBER YOURE LOVED AND APPRECIATED!!

© CYBERL6VE

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 (⭑.ᐟ) — @st6rify @lovekaiya @b2cute @stvrnioloxz @yourfavadri56

[bits-and-babs]

14 - Joel Miller. Joel begging is such a nice thought :)

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊-𝐘

pairings: Joel Miller x f!Reader

word count: 1k

warnings: very vague reference to suicide (character canon), use of a sex toy (m receiving), overstimulation, reference to spoilt orgasms, oral (m receiving).

summary: you punish Joel for going through your stuff.

joel masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist

Creaking on its hinges as you push it open, the door to the entrance of your home is the only sound throughout the house as you enter. It’s oddly silent, differing from the months-long tradition of returning to the twang of gently plucked guitar strings floating downstairs.

“Joel?” You call, arching your brow as you kick off your snow-caked walking boots and leave them on the decking outside. It’s still freezing cold in Jackson; Joel always complaining about your freezing cold feet pressing against him as you cradle each other in an attempt to swindle more body heat.

No sound returns your call, and you begin to ascend the stairs quietly, your gun in hand. Multiple horrid scenarios flash through your mind. Had someone entered the house and attacked him? Had the grief for Sarah consumed him again, leading him to the gun storage locker in your shared bedroom?

Despite your dreadful assumptions, much to your relief, you find Joel sitting on the bed. His back faces you, and he’s hunched over something that has captured his undivided attention.

“Joel! You scared me!” You huff, releasing the handle of your gun and letting the weapon settle in its holster. Joel, however, nearly jumps out of his skin, attempting to shove something back into your bedside table subtly. You notice.

“Jesus-“ he scoffs, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, “You’re home early!”

“What were you looking at?” You query, rounding the bed with a quizzical expression. Joel’s eyes seem to find everything but your own, the flush to his sun-bludgeoned cheeks telling you everything you need to know.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to go snooping?” You muse, enjoying the caught-red-handed flush to his face.

“Where did you find them?” He asks, avoiding your question and peering at the bedside cabinet once again.

“A shop in the city,” you hum, reaching into the drawer and picking out the vibrator he had no doubt been eyeing before you stumbled across his curious frisk of your bedside. “Couldn’t help but pick a few up.”

Pushing down on the button, you watch as Joel stares at the rumbling sex toy in your palm. His gaze flicks tentatively between the silicone and your expression.

“Now,” you pause, a smirk playing on your lips as you click the button again to amp the speed of the vibrations up, “What are we to do about your trespassing?”

✰

Joel Miller is a man who completely devotes himself to total control. He credited the twenty years of his survival to being in complete authority of every situation he found himself in, passing judgement as and when he saw fit.

Authority wasn’t something Joel was willing to surrender to just anyone— which is why you appreciate his absolute faith in you.

His fingers grasp onto the bed frame with a white-knuckle grip, glueing his palms to the wood as you had requested. He groans out loudly and tilts his head back, at the mercy of the vibrator that you trace up the frenulum of his twitching cock.

Cum drools from the ruddy head, dripping down onto his soft abdomen and shining beneath the golden light of the lampshade resting on the bedside cabinet.

“You’re making a mess,” you hum softly, pushing the juddering silicon toy against the head of his dick. Joel, despite the shattering overstimulation you’d subjected him to for the past hour, rocked his hips up against the vibrator with a haggard breath of despair. “I can clean it up with my tongue if you’d like?”

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, eyes rolling back when he tucks his face into the curve of his bicep in an attempt to conceal his embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, cupping his balls gently in your free palm. Joel’s body trembles at the simple touch, desperate to cum. “It’s okay, Joel.”

“Oh shi- Please!” He breaks down, choking on the words that spill from his lips, “Please, I need to- fuckin’, please let me cum!”

“That what you want?” You smile sweetly, watching his eyelids flutter as you press the button once again, the intensity of the vibrations at their peak as you rub the toy back and forth across the glossy tip of his cock.

“Yes!” He gasps loudly, jutting his hips up into the sensation as he chases the impending threat of his orgasm. It’s overwhelming him, rocking through his muscles yet failing to hit the summit. Joel slams his fist against the bed frame, spitting curses through his gritted teeth.

“Have you learnt your lesson not to go snooping through my things?” You smirk, watching as Joel’s abdomen flexes desperately against the building sensation of bliss.

“Darlin’!” He calls you desperately, begging you to give him what he needs.

“Or will you do this more often?” You ask despite his frustrated growl of your name. Studying his wet lashes and the flush of his face, you continue to tease him, “Digging through my things in the hope I punish you like this again?”

“Fuckin’- Please!” Joel surrenders himself to you wholly, begging in a cracked voice. “Baby, please, I can’t do this anymore- I need to- oh fuck, that’s it-!”

He practically stops breathing altogether when you slide the vibrator down the length of his twitching, swollen cock and take the head into your mouth. It doesn’t take much at all. One, two, three swirls of the tip of your tongue against the velvety skin, and Joel lets out the most anguished moan. He finishes in your mouth, cum pumping down your throat and coating your tongue as you swallow him down over and over, the spend leaking down your chin. The vibrator seems to keep it going and going, his body trembling with the sheer force of his ecstasy.

“Hoh- fuck-“ Joel gasps loudly, sucking oxygen into his lungs when he looks down at you. Even in his practically delirious state, he wipes the cum from your chin in an act of service, a feeble attempt to take control once again.

“You liked that more than you’re letting on,” you muse.

“No, I didn’t.”

Ellie’s right. He’s a shitty liar.

END

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[nevermorgue]

Nevermore the Musical Concepts PART 3

I'm picturing how some of the character's solos/more personalized songs would sound. Firstly, I imagine the majority of the musical to be in minor keys. Major keys sound a bit too happy/not as catchy. Everything being in a minor key gives it a more eerie vibe, reminding us that everyone is dead. Maybe at one point one song is in a major key to throw off the overall sound. Maybe Merry and Mourn prefer major chords, or Montresor switches between the two to emphasize how he is "not like the rest of them". Imagine Eulalie's using the sounds of traditional Japanese instruments such as the shamisen, the koto, and the shakuhachi to name a few. The notes blend together, nice and soft like lullabies with eerie vocal scoops and enka sounds. Her melody occasionally is a nod to the Itsuki lullaby, the one she sang to the children before dying. Some of the notes repeat themselves throughout her vocals depending on the song/lyric choice. Berenice has a jazzy, faster paced influence. Her voice is rough, scooping and using vibrato as much as she can. I'm sure her vocal growls are fantastic too. I think her and Eulalie singing as a pair during the Ring the Bell song could be a really nice blend between a fast paced, jazzy percussion and softer tones of Japanese instruments. And do not even get me started on Will. He matches vocal style with whoever he is singing with. Most of his parts have a country sort of twang to them as a nod to Montresor, but he doesn't get anything unique on his own. The other characters' instrumental styles blend together and he just sings on top of it, contributing nothing special to the song. If he did get a song on his own (A lament of some sort, questioning his friendship with Montresor) I would assume it would start more country rock sort of vibe in reference to Monty, but slowly goes into something a bit more unique; classic rock. Classic rock with light guitars and a beat that feels much more upbeat, rather than the creepy/catchy vibe that Nevermore songs give. Not only is he "breaking away" from his previous manipulation, but in a way he's also stepping up as he too is now performing in a major key, which the other proper antagonists do. Annabel Lee and Prospero match each other a lot. Classical strings and a LOT of harpsichord usage. For Annabel Lee I specifically think of "ANTI THE HOLIC" by cosMo@Bousou-p in terms of vibes. Just imagine something fast paced and classical, matching her energy. Prospero I picture in a similar light, slower but still with the same elements of classical instruments pushing his voice forward and making them come across as ethereal; in charge. "Gothic and Loneliness" by Narushima Takashi has a fantastic instrumental that I envision a lot of the songs to have a similar vibe to. Fast paced but still classical and orchestral. The hints of electric sounds being nods to more modern characters. It all depends on who is singing and what the song is. Ada has a similar thing to Will where her instrumentals try to copy Annabel's but always seem to be missing something whether it be another instrument or a note goes up instead of down. Almost there, but not quite right. Morella having a Celtic influence and plenty of harp and violin. Imagine the other voices drowning her out, leaving her trapped in between a mess of voices and unable to choose what melody to sing along to, so she shakily creates her own. And lastly to end off for now, Duke is the only baritone in the misfits and tends to be the support, the foundation when they are all together. Lenore balances out in Alto, keeping the higher voices grounded with mainly harmonies and the occasional melody line. Normally, the main character sings melody always, but I think when all of the misfits sing together her going to harmonize makes more sense. She is the backbone; the one keeping them all together. Pluto is a tenor, Berenice is a mezzo, and Eulalie is a soprano. Morella is also a soprano, and she and Eula tend to harmonize a bit in group songs.

[soapymansuds]

Unrelated to my last post but hear me out

Reader who is mute and uses their guitar to communicate, think “Yankee Rose” by David Lee Roth. If you haven’t heard that, listen to the intro then get back to me.

Anyway, so Reader and Pav are spider buddies and after a mission gone slightly awry, their guitar ends up broken and they have no form of communication. Pav, bless him, doesn’t entirely know what to do, BUT he does know another spider which a guitar, and that feels like a good place to start, right?

So one dimension hop later, they find themselves at the door of an apartment and Pav is just giddy. Knowing he wouldn’t understand them if they tried asking in Sign, they start waving vaguely around in attempt at “Bro, what’s going on? What is this place.” Pav, however, doesn’t get a chance to explain before the door is opened and on the other side stands the unit of a man that is Hobart Brown.

Pav explains the situation and asks if Reader can borrow his guitar long enough to help them get a new one.

Reader and Hobie just stare at each other and then at Pav, shaking their heads. Guitars are children. It will take a while for reader to find a new one that feels right and no sane guitarist would just let his buddy’s buddy borrow his guitar without knowing them for at least four months.

That being said, Pav is insistent, practically begging Hobie to let them borrow it. He just can’t go back to the days of having zero fucking clue what reader was trying to say to him.

Reader shakes his head and motions towards Hobie in a vague “Can I see it for just a quick sec?”

Hobie considers for a moment before shrugging and waving the both of them inside and sitting them on his couch. He picks up his guitar from its stand and as he hands it to reader, he winces at their grip, half tempted to take it back.

Reader, once situated, starts playing cords and plucking strings in patterns and combinations that make Hobart shiver. He’d never heard anything like it. Well, he had, but last time, it had been a street fight between a drunk woman and a raccoon. He reaches for the guitar but Pav puts his hand out.

“Just listen! They’re not trying to play, they’re trying to speak.” Pav stares at reader and starts nodding and humming in understanding. But the both of them notice their host’s confusion so they attempt to fill him in.

“Look, it takes a second to get used too but once you do, it’s like a second language! Say something simple.”

And reader does.

The guitar twangs a few notes and Pav bust out laughing. The reader stares expectantly at Hobart, who looks no more sure of what was going on than he had when they got there. They nudge Pav, obviously asking him to translate, before playing the same thing they just played.

“They’re saying‘you’re pretty.’, can you hear it?”

Hobie seems to disregard the statement in his attempt at hearing his guitar “speak”. Reader plays again and the cogs visibly click into place behind his eyes.

“Oh… Oh! The tone! You’re just playing with the tone and it sounds like someone talking! A real David Lee Roth type, yea?”

The reader throws their head back, and the guitar sounds out the iconic “WaHaHaHa!!”

Thank you for listening to my TED Talk❤️

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Morning Things (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: It’s another morning in Eddie’s room, just a slice of peace before you have to face the world.

AN: Found an old Eddie fic in my OneDrive back when I still fancied him/liked Stranger Things lmaoo, might as well post it.

Reader is gender neutral, no use of Y/N.

Masterlist

You didn’t realise that you were being greedy when you first woke up. As you rolled over to your back, you found your body was bundled up in the double duvet, which you sent sprawling out as your legs and arms stretched out across the span of the boxspring bed. A distinct dip cradled your head, between the two pillows that assigned sides to you and your boyfriend. Cracking open your eyes revealed the ceiling - the only dull wall in this room. 

It was like rolling to see the posters popping off their paper roused your other senses. You felt the entire duvet around you with no tug of war from Eddie to retrieve his fair share. No contact was made no matter where your hands reached. 

The twang of a beloved electric guitar caught your ears. No amp powering its usual timbre, its strings pinged against Eddie’s calloused fingertips before pausing. The man was down to his boxers, his instrument balanced across a bare thigh, and a sleeveless shirt hung off his shoulders to expose most of his tattoos to the break of dawn. Eddie placed his pick between his lips, swapping it with the pen already in there so he could scribble in his song book in front of him. He hummed the tune as he scribbled. He began mumbling then some semblance of lyrics emerged through half-closed lips before he flipped back to his pick to strum again. Once he’d repeated the tune, he experimented with a new sequence but winced, shaking his head with his mop of hair following behind.

Groggily, you managed to say, “Morning.”

The second Eddie laid his eyes on you, he dropped the pen from between his teeth, threw off his guitar, and dropped his pick onto his open song book. 

“Oh, I was enjoying that,” you complained pathetically.

Completely disregarding what you said as he crawled over you, Eddie’s nose nudged up against yours. 

“Good morning, sweet thing,” he grinned whilst he balanced over you. 

After stretching up, you rested your arms around his neck and anchored Eddie into the bed, half laying atop you. 

“What were you playing?” You sighed against his neck. 

“Just mucking around, throwing some bits I’ve been thinking of together. Seeing if they mesh.”

“And do they?”

“They’re starting to align.” Eddie rolled over onto his back, bringing you with him as he gestured above you, “I gotta encourage them to get their shit together a little more before I can show you.”

“Can’t fucking wait,” you said into the ticklish tips of his curls. 

Eddie kissed the crown of your head, “You gonna get up?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“You inspire me no matter where you are. From lying here in my bed,” He waved grandly to wear his feet almost hung off the end, “To perched at the end of it.” You let out a close-mouthed giggle, invoking Eddie to do the same and allow those dimples to peep out of his cheeks, his hand crossing behind your back and squeezing you as he said, “So, you got places to be?”

“Nowhere but next to you.” 

“Does that include the bathroom?”

“You wanna shower together again, after what happened last time?”

“I was thinking more like pooping together.”

Hiding in his neck again, you groaned, “Eddie.”

“I feel like we’re at that stage in our relationship.”

“Nothing like communal shitting to inspire your next big hit, I guess,” and you pushed up a little, “Wanna stay here a bit longer first.” To sweeten the deal, you squashed his left cheek with your lips, smacking them loudly when you slumped back down into him. 

Accepting the bribe, Eddie tightened his grip around you and said serenely, “I can make time for that.”

[unearthly004]

HawksxReader Fanfics

Just wanted to promote some of my Hawks works on here.

Both are xF!readers! Tags are in the picture description.

I also have several other Hawks fan works on my Ao3 account! Smut, angst, you name it!

Whispers of the South Wind

Three years post-war and quirkless, Hawks retreats to the tranquil landscapes of Tennessee, seeking refuge from his dark past. Amidst the country air and gentle twangs of guitar strings, he crosses paths with a resilient widow who's learning to dance again after life's cruel twists. Together, they embark on a journey of healing, redemption, and the discovery that sometimes, love takes flight when you least expect it.

Feather Bound

In the bustling world of heroes and ordinary people, Y/N, a humble barista and inspiring artist, struggling to make ends meet, receives a life-altering letter in the mail.

On the flip side is Hawks, a disillusioned hero determined to let his bloodline fade away, saving his children from the hell he endured in his youth.

But when the Hero Commission introduces a groundbreaking program to secure the future, pairing heroes with compatible partners, everything changes. Hawks has thwarted every previous attempt, but what will happen when Y/N enters his life?

Will she be the one to finally convince him to settle down and fulfill the Commission's dreams? Or will he be able to drive her away like the others before her?

[raineandsky]

#80

(part 1) (part 2)

tw: alcohol mention

A long day on the job usually finds the hero in the nearest bar.

Can you blame him? He spends his day punching people. He usually gets punched in return. The least he deserves is an evening to relax and think about something other than how much of a nuisance his nemesis is.

So here he is once again, ordering a pint of beer from the bartender and draping himself over a bar stool in a comfortably familiar routine. He watches idly as a band sets up on the humble stage at the front—someone fiddles with the mic stand, another with a drum kit at the back.

Other patrons are watching too, for lack of anything better to do. Some sip at their drinks like it’s part of the show. Another band member hops onto the stage to plug a guitar into the amp.

The hero’s eyes drag lazily as the person leans back upright, shaking his hair out of his face as he does and glancing out over the crowd. The hero’s heart leaps nauseatingly into his throat as he’s met with the face of the villain.

Seemingly satisfied with the congregation, the villain gets to twinging the strings on the guitar, the sound humming through the floorboards under the hero’s feet. The vibration is snaking up his legs and straight into his already anxiously clenched muscles. His knuckles are turning white on the beer glass. He’s going to shatter it if he’s not careful.

But what can he do? He’s out of uniform, off the job. The villain’s on a goddamn stage in front of a giant group of onlookers. His options are limited. His best bet is to wait it out to the end and jump on the villain when he inevitably makes his escape backstage somewhere.

The band nods to each other—guitar, drums, vocals. The singer steps up to the mic, and it shrieks in protest as she taps it testily.

“Good evening, y’all,” she opens with a drawl akin to that of an uninterested teenager. “We’re Knights of the Black Realm. This is our original song: Revenge Means Chaos.”

The guitar kicks in first. The sound is soft at first, subdued, sweet. The drum adds a rough tang to it, and by the time the singer is sweeping through the first verse the song is in full swing.

The villain’s fingers move smoothly over the strings, mischievous delight woven into his grin. The sound from his guitar is incredible, for lack of a better word—the gruff twang hovers over the fragility of the vocals, the sharp edge provided by the drums. It’s beautiful, and the hero hates it.

The song flickers into a second song like there isn’t a moment to waste. Then a third, and a fourth, and a sixth and a tenth and a fifteenth. The other patrons clearly love it, cheering and bobbing up and down to the tune. All the hero can do is sit in perfect stillness and glare hatefully.

The villain’s gaze flits over the crowd again. He scans the darkened corners near the bar this time, and his eyes lock with the hero’s from across the room.

It would’ve been romantic if the hero hadn’t been watching with barely contained disdain.

The villain looks surprised for a moment, caught off guard, before his face splits into another grin. Knowing, cocky. I’d like to see you try, it mocks. The hero scowls back—you know damn well I will.

The twentieth-something song ends with a single sinking note. The villain steps forward to whisper something to the singer, and she laughs heartily at whatever he said.

“Special request!” she announces with a giggle. The villain steps back into place with a smile. “This one’s for all the hardworkin’ heroes out there tonight, defendin’ our beautiful city. This is My Eyes Are Only On You.”

Oh, the irony. That piece of shit.

The villain’s stare is unmoving from the hero now. Another grin is slowly working its way onto his face; proud. Arrogant. Annoying.

The song is smooth, like a tune made of silk. It’s slow, unneedy, unbothered. The guitar is as effortless as ever, the villain’s rhythm no more than a gentle rock within the river of the song.

The song thankfully reaches its end, and all three members of the band are smiling—though, the hero guesses, for very different reasons.

“Thanks, y’all!” The singer seems in higher spirits than she started. “We’ll be playin’ again next week at the Lousy Farmer, and then we’ll be back here for…”

The hero tunes her out. He’s on his feet, watching the villain hastily pull cables from amps. The hero’s almost in front of the band when his nemesis cuts his losses and hops down the back of the stage, trailing wires from his guitar like confetti.

The hero positively startles. He has to go the long way, naturally—he skirts the stage, barrelling for the door leading to the bar’s back alley he knows the villain will be aiming for. The door clatters loudly off the brick wall outside, but the alley is empty. The city’s big; the moment the villain left the bar he could’ve gone anywhere.

The hero wears another scowl now as he turns back inside. Looks like he’s just found a new favourite band. Next week and the Lousy Farmer it is.

[patheticgirlsteve]

Steve is an excellent gift giver, ask anyone in the Party, and they’ll tell you all about what they got from Steve for their last birthday. They’re not incredible gifts because of how much he spends on them or how fancy they are (they’re usually not very expensive and aren’t very fancy). No, they the best gifts because they’re useful.

Steve is a HUGE believer in giving practical gifts. He only gifts things that he knows his friends are going to use, things that they could probably buy for themselves, but Steve likes to give them to them instead.

For Dustin’s 15th birthday, Steve gets permission Claudia to teach Dustin how to drive. (Claudia says yes of course, because as much as she loves her son, she was not looking forward to being an a car with him at the wheel just yet Possibly ever.)

For Robin’s graduation, he buys her a new set of luggage so that when they go on their Hot Girl Summer Roadtrip that they’ve been planning (and eventually when she needs to move into her dorm) she’ll have a place to pack her stuff.

For Christmas, he buys El a bunch of different colors of glitter glue and film packs for the Polaroid camera Jonathan had bought her for her sracpbooking.

He spends an entire year saving up all of his quarters to give to Mike on his birthday, because he knows that Mike can never find any when they all go the arcade. (Mike can’t even pretend that it’s a bad gift, he wants to, but he can’t.)

It’s not just holidays and special occasions either, if Steve is out and about and he sees something that he knows one of his friends would love he buys it and gives it to them. Just because.

He’s at the sporting goods store getting himself some new running shoes and sees a set of sweat bands in Hawkins High colors and gets them for Lucas.

He notices that there’s a whole in one of Max’s gloves in the middle of December and buys her new pair to slip into her coat pocket when she’s not paying attention.

When he’s helping Joyce cook dinner for the Party one time and he sees her frowning at a old dented frying pan he goes out and gets a her new stainless steel one to see place the old one.

After everything Vecna and Upside Down related has been settled for good and he and Eddie have become tentative friends Eddie learns about this particular habit and skill of Steve’s. But he doesn’t realize at first that it’s Steve who’s giving him gifts.

It starts simple, a new pack of Eddie’s favorite kind of ballpoint pens that he used for everything (song writing, campaigning writing, and occasionally even doing his homework) slipped into his backpack, timed perfectly, as he had just used up his last one.

He doesn’t know how they got there, and tries to recall if he had bought them himself and just forgotten about it, but he doesn’t think he did. He decides not to question it too much though, why look a gift horse in the mouth?

The next thing he finds is a new notebook left in the passenger seat of his van after a hangout with the whole crew, again timed perfectly, he wanted to write a new campaign for Hellfire soon and needed someplace to write out all his plans.

He knows that it’s a gift this time because he sees a sticky note on the cover that’s says, “For Eddie :)”. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but he smiles at the wobbly little smiley face his anonymous gift giver has drawn.

The next gift comes in the form of a black velvet scrunchie, stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket. It must have been put in there at some point when it was hanging up at Steve’s house during their group movie night that weekend. He uses it to keep his hair out of his face and because he thinks it’s cute.

Eddie starts to figure it out not long after that.

He and Steve are hanging out together, just the two of them, not for the first time. Eddie is playing his guitar on his bed while Steve is telling a story on the other side of the bed. They both startle one of Eddie’s guitar strings snaps with a loud twang. Eddie sighs, knowing that he’s gonna have to go get new strings soon now. Steve leaves not long after that with a goofy smile and a wave “good night”.

Two days later when Eddie gets home from Hellfire, he finds a pack of new strings taped his the front door without a note and Wayne has no idea how they got there. But Eddie knows. Who else could it have been but Steve?

And Eddie realizes that maybe all of the little gifts that he’s been given over the past couple of months were all Steve’s doing. Steve Harrington, reformed jock, ex-douchebag, genuinely good guy. Steve Harrington who’s Eddie has been trying gish best not to crush on ever since he had seen Steve wearing Eddie’s vest in the Upside Down.

Operative word there being “trying”, Eddie had been failing miserably and had gone and fallen for the guy against his better judgement. He couldn’t help it! Steve was just so nice and funny and thoughtful and HOT and Eddie was only a man, okay? He had been powerless to resist the Harrington Charm.

He goes to Steve’s parent’s house after he restrings his guitar with Steve’s gift to confront him. He’s not upset about the gifts, he’s just confused. Because why would Steve be paying such close attention to Eddie that he can buy such useful things for him? Why would he spend his money on Eddie at all?

When he opens the door Steve doesn’t look surprised to see Eddie there, but he does look nervous, which gives Eddie pause. Why is Steve nervous??

“You got the strings then, i’m guessing?” Steve asks, stepping aside to let Eddie in.

“Yeah, I got the strings, Steve. They kinda hard to miss, you taped them to the front door,” He teases as Steve closes the door behind them, neither of them moving to step into the living room.

“Well, I didn’t want you to miss them. We’re they the right kind? I wasn’t sure which kind to get so I asked the guy at the music store and he helped me figure it out, but if I got it wrong just eat me know and I’ll go get the right ones,” Steve isn’t looking at Eddie as he rambles.

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, feeling brave.

“Yeah?” Steve looks at Eddie now, and he can see the mix of fear, anxiety, and hope shining in Steve’s eyes.

“They were the right kind,” Eddie smiles.

“Oh, good,” Steve exhales. “I’m glad.”

“Steve,” Eddie says again, quietly, trying not to spook Steve who is clearly already nervous. “Have you been giving me gifts this whole time?”

Eddie is delighted to see Steve blush. “Uh, yeah, I have been. I do that a lot, I like giving gifts to the people I care about, I guess.”

“Steve,” Eddie can’t help his smile as he repeats Steve’s name again.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, like Eddie had asked his opinion on something. His eyes are wide, the hope that Eddie noticed in them earlier has grown.

“Stop me if I’m wrong,” and Eddie really must be braver than he thought, because he leans in and kisses Steve.

Steve kisses him back almost immediately, and it’s not rushed or forceful. It’s soft and careful, no urgency to it, and it makes Eddie dizzy with how perfect it is.

And Eddie can’t help but think that this is by far the best gift that Steve’s given him.

[trulybetty]

Strings | I

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader Word Count: 1,309 Warnings: Mature content, friends with benefits or more maybe acquaintances with benefits? References to sex, but nothing graphic, brief mention of a child's death, angst. Summary: As your feelings deepen and the lines of your initial agreement begin to fade, you grapple with the realization that you might be falling for Joel, uncertain of what this shift means for your unconventional relationship. AO3: Link

x. strings masterlist

Strings I

The wind was brisk and biting as you made your way down the path toward Joel's house. The rugged settlement of Jackson held a semblance of normalcy that almost made you believe that the world hadn’t collapsed into despair twenty-odd years ago. That the threat of death didn't linger on the wind behind the tall wooden fences that surrounded the community, licking at the cracks, its fingers searching for a means to break through. 

You pulled your coat closer, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty stirring inside you as the soft glow of Joel's porch light came into view, the twang of his guitar filling the air the closer you got. He's there, as usual, perched on his porch, fingers deftly strumming the strings of his worn-out guitar.

Your relationship with Joel was, by all standards, unconventional. He was a man of few words, and those he did share were usually layered with meaning. When you first met, there had been a spark, a connection that neither of you had tried to define. It had quickly morphed into a physical one, passionate but restrained by boundaries you'd both agreed upon.

No spending the night. No emotional attachment.

There's a strange comfort in your arrangement. It's the fragile connection, a spark that flickers in the bleak post-apocalyptic landscape, that keeps pulling you back. Neither of you speak of it. It's just there, unspoken and profound. You both live in the same community and survive under the same brutal conditions, but when you’re together, it’s different.

The scent of woodsmoke filled the air as you padded up the steps of his porch. Joel looks up from his guitar, his fingers still strumming a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Was starting to think you changed your mind," he teased, his Texas accent smooth and inviting.

You shake your head, as you replied with a smirk. "I had some things to take care of." He sets the guitar aside and stands up to meet you, his warm hand enveloping yours in a tight grasp as your fingers intertwine.

The settlement is quiet now, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. The wind that blows over from the west sounds like howls in the echoes of the mountains. The sound should make you feel uneasy, a reminder of what's out there waiting. However Joel's presence steals your attention, there's a tug in your chest, his touch sending shivers down your spine, and you can feel your resolve at the agreement to keep things strictly physical weakening.

"Come on," he says, leading you through the front door.

The evening unfolded as they often did, the two of you sharing a meal, a few drinks, and easy conversation. There was a comfort in the rhythm, a connection that had slowly grown to more than just mere physical attraction.

You wished you could've met Joel before the outbreak, before the shitshow that followed. To feel warmth when he smiled while it still hadn't been tainted by the darkness that had settled in his eyes. Too much had taken place since then for him to ever be the same again.

His roughened hands on your skin, the warmth of his hushed voice in your ear, the rhythm of your breaths melding into one. The nights he goes slow, he takes his time and explores every inch of your body. He traces his finger over the curve of your neck, up your inner thigh. The first night you had sex, it was raw and frantic; nothing about it was slow or steady. You cried out as he entered you for the first time. It had set the tone thereafter, before slowly turning into what it is now, including the nights where it's not about sex and it's just the two of you sat on his porch with a bottle of whiskey between you.

Joel sets the tone the majority of the time, you're happy for him to take the lead, though you're not afraid of letting him know what you want. Tonight is a night for passionate and gentle lovemaking, slow and measured caresses that sweep across your skin in an overwhelming wave of warmth.

He teases your body with his own as he dips lower and kisses around your neck until every nerve ending is alight with desire. His tongue traces patterns on your stomach that make your heart race faster than ever before as he slowly trails down and then back up again. You gasp when he breaches the barrier of your inner thigh, the feeling of his tongue exploring the sensitive folds of your body had you arching off the bed in pleasure.

He moves back up your body, finding the heat of your lips in an urgent kiss. You wrap your arms around him, relishing in the familiar warmth as the intensity between you both builds. It's a beautiful, intense sensation as he slides into you, your hips lifting up to meet his, a silent invitation to continue.

For a few hours, you both forget the scars that mar your pasts, the burdens that weigh heavy on your hearts. But then, it happens. A crack in the facade, a ghost from the past sneaking in.

In the stillness of the night, you both had fallen asleep, breaking the unspoken rule.

You awaken from a fitful slumber, roused by the sound of Joel's muffled shouts. For a brief moment, you're not sure where you are. It takes a moment to recognize you're still in Joel's bed. He’s thrashing beside you, and you realise he’s still asleep. His fingers claw at the sheets, sweat beading on his brow. His cries pierce the silence of the room, raw and heart-wrenching. 

"Sarah!" he cries out desperately, his voice echoing around the empty room.

Your heart clenches at the sight, the torment etched into his face too profound to ignore. You've heard stories of his lost daughter, of the life he couldn't save, but witnessing his pain firsthand is an entirely different experience.

Instinctively, you reach out, fingers brushing through his damp hair, whispering soothing words into his ear. Your touch seems to pacify him, his body relaxing under your comforting presence. The shouts fade into soft whimpers, his hand reaching out in his sleep, fingers grazing your arm as if trying to anchor himself to reality. 

You watch him, a mix of emotions washing over you. This is Joel Miller, the hardened survivor, the man who built walls around his pain and locked away his sorrow. And yet, here he is, vulnerable and haunted in his dreams.

The pull to stay is stronger than ever. You want to remain by his side, to comfort him in his torment, to assure him that he's not alone. But you also remember the agreement, the boundaries you both set. No strings, no feelings. It's just sex, nothing more. 

Right? 

But as you watch Joel, lost in his nightmare, you realize that you might have already crossed that line a long time ago.

Slowly, reluctantly, you pull away, dressing quietly so as to not wake him. His face looks peaceful now, his furrowed brows relaxed, the painful grimace replaced by the soft rhythm of sleep. You stand at the threshold of the room, looking back at him one last time before you head down the stairs, stepping out into the frosty late night.

In the safety of your own home, as the night stretches into the break of dawn, you find yourself awake, unable to sleep. Longing to go back, break the rules you both set. You close your eyes, the image of the torment twisting his face imprinted on your mind, and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there could be more to your arrangement with Joel Miller.

But for tonight, you'll honour your pact.