#I dodged four cars the first week I was back-

[starlit-supposedly]

Fun fact!

When it’s around 2-4 am there’s no cars on the roads where I am and let me tell ya, it is both cold and vaguely terrifying bc it’s so quiet. You would think it’s nice and relaxing but no it’s giving uncanny road.

The lights are perpetually green though so that’s nice.

[maretinelli]

FATAL ACCIDENT

Oscar Piastri X driver!fem!reader

Summary: When Oscar goes to watch Y/n's last race, the last thing he would imagine was that his girlfriend's car would start to roll over in the last laps.

Words: 7K+

Warnings: Established relationship, Oscar and Y/n pilots, accident, blood, bruises, injury, hospital, anguish, coma, but happy ending.

Author: English is not my first language, there may be mistakes, I'm sorry. And that's it, cry a little while reading.

MASTERLIST

Y/n was inside her motorhome, trying to close the back zipper of her racing suit while staring at the mirror, but with a concentration on the memories of yesterday.

The zipper resisted, as did the knot that insisted on tightening her chest. Every time she tried to take a deep breath, it felt like the air was getting stuck in her throat. Her hands were shaking, something she couldn't let show on the dance floor.

Yesterday was a tense day for the women at the Formula 1 Academy. One of the drivers ended up flipping her car during her qualifying session, forcing her to end up in the hospital due to her injuries. Not to mention that after that, Yin's teammate had crashed into the wall, but luckily, she came out unharmed.

In her mind, the image repeated itself in a cruel loop: Hillary's car rolling, the tires burning against the asphalt, the dry sound of the impact on the wall. Then, silence. The kind of silence that chilled the blood.

"Hey, my dear? What's going on in your head?" Oscar comes up behind his girlfriend, helping her close her jumpsuit and placing his chin on her shoulder, so he can see in the mirror.

"I was going to say nothing, but...the scene of Hillary spinning on the track yesterday haunts me." She says with a sigh, turning to face her boyfriend.

Oscar gives a small smile and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't know how to explain it...but I don't feel well today, maybe because of everything that happened yesterday...I don't know..." she says softly, with her arms on Oscar's shoulders.

Piastri hadn't seen the accident on the track yesterday, his flight had been delayed and he only arrived at dinner time. But as a Formula 1 driver, he knew very well how his girlfriend felt. The fear of it happening to her too.

"I understand you, and you don't need to pretend that everything is fine. I know how much an accident can affect us," Oscar tries to reassure.

"I just wanted to try to forget that scene for a little while... The sound of the crash, her car crushed and her not responding gives me chills." Y/n sighs and closes her eyes, laying on her boyfriend's left shoulder. "...I'm just scared...I'm scared it'll happen to me too..." she says in a muffled voice.

Oscar shudders.

"Hey, honey! That won't happen to you. I know how great of a driver you are and I know you can dodge any problem that comes your way." He kisses her shoulder. "And what's more! I'm here, I may not be on the track with you, but I'll be protecting you just the same." Oscar pulls Yin to look into her eyes, she smiles in relief.

Having Oscar there was like Y/n was on cloud nine and was on a sedative. She felt safe with Oscar around. And well, Oscar is Oscar. Calm, serious, centered. He's the perfect man for anyone.

"I love you!"

"I love you more!" Oscar pulls Y/n into a kiss before they can leave the motorhome to go to the garage.

The kiss was soft, but full of meaning, as if Oscar wanted to convey a calm that he himself did not have.

When the youngest arrived at the garage, about three engineers started talking at the same time about her car, she just let go of Oscar's hand with a shy smile, he just whispered 'you can go, I'll be here!' before smiling sweetly and watching Y/n from afar, the impeccable overalls hugging her body as she gestured and listened attentively to the mechanics.

Oscar was tense too, but of course, he wouldn't tell Y/n and make her more nervous than she already was. But in the last week, four nights in a row he dreamed about his girlfriend flipping the car too, but the only thing different in the dreams was the setting, each day she was in a different place. Track, road, highway and on the street that gave access to their apartment. All horrible dreams that made Oscar wake up scared and check if Y/n was okay, while she slept soundly next to him in the shared bed of their apartment in Monaco.

He was still lost in thought when Yin came up beside him smiling, "Hey, did you ride the train of thought?" She poked his chest and he laughed.

"Just thinking about where to take you on a date after you win the race," he teases, holding her waist. She blushes shyly, making Oscar laugh. "After all these years you still blush at my flirting?" He teases again.

Y/n rolls her eyes laughing. "Of course, Oscar Piastri, McLaren Formula 1 driver is flirting with me!" She jokes, making them both laugh.

The time had come, the chief engineer of Y/n's car alerted her, asking her to get ready to get in the car and go position herself on the grid. She felt her heart race and Oscar noticed when her smile fell, he moved his hands to her cheeks, making his girlfriend look.

"It's okay! You're going to rock it like always. And I'll be here to celebrate with you in a few hours." He smiles, kissing her forehead.

Y/n took a deep breath, but her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her gloves. The balaclava felt tighter than usual. Her ear muffs were too small that day, as if every little detail wanted to remind her of the pressure of the moment.

Piastri takes her helmet and holds it, waiting for his girlfriend to finish putting on her equipment. As soon as he sees her with everything ready, he approaches and takes the helmet to her, Y/n smiles with her eyes. "Thank you, love."

Y/n puts on her helmet and gets into the car, before any engineer could put the steering wheel in place, Oscar leans over and kisses the top of her helmet.

The kiss on the helmet was a ritual of theirs, a kind of silent amulet that seemed to guarantee that everything would be okay. The muffled sound of the touch echoed in her ear, bringing an inexplicable comfort. To Oscar, it was his way of promising that he would always be by her side, even when she was alone on the track.

He bends down: "Don't worry!! Nothing bad will happen and if it does, I'm here!! I'll always be here for you!" Y/n holds his hand, a little tighter than usual.

Oscar smiles and gives the mechanics permission, already putting his headphones on.

Within seconds, Y/n was pulling out of the garage. Oscar stood in the driveway, arms crossed and staring at the car as it drove away. He felt a pang of emptiness as her figure disappeared around the bend. The roar of the engine sounded like distant thunder, mixing with the pounding in his chest. He knew that now all he could do was wait and hope that his nightmares wouldn't come true.

Y/n was lined up in P3 on the grid, watching intently as the red lights went out, until an alarming sound signaled them to start. The youngest had a flawless start, taking P2 on the first corner.

"Hey Y/n, good job!" His chief engineer says over the radio and Oscar who was standing in front of the monitor, smiles proudly at his girlfriend.

But he still had a twinge of nervousness in his chest, he also knew how unpredictable that sport was.

Over the next few laps, Y/n began closing the gap on the leader, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. On lap ten, as they entered the main straight again, she used the slipstream to gain speed and made the pass on the edge of the corner. The move was clean and decisive, and the team radio exploded with celebration.

"Leadership!! Leadership!!" One of them exclaimed energetically over the radio, making Y/n smile inside the car and Oscar in the garage.

As the race progressed, Y/n began to open up an impressive lead. At 20 seconds behind the second-place finisher, she seemed uncatchable.

The people in the garage were bursting with happiness, while Oscar, with his arms crossed tensely, watched his girlfriend's every move on the television screen. He was happy with her position, but flashes of his dreams began to appear more frequently in the pilot's mind.

Now with only fifteen laps to go and the lead in her hands, Y/n began to feel something strange in the car. At first, it was a slight vibration in the steering wheel, almost imperceptible. She pressed her lips together under her helmet, ignoring the discomfort. But the vibration got worse, especially as she made the turn, feeling the car skidding on the track.

Apparently the engineers hadn't noticed anything wrong, but Oscar, more than experienced in this matter, frowned and tried to alert the garage staff.

"Hey, did you guys see that? Looks like she's having some trouble with the car."

The engineer shook his head, checking the numbers. "Everything looks normal here, Oscar. Maybe it's just steering adjustment."

"No. It's not normal." He pointed at the screen, his tone growing more tense. "Look how unstable the front of the car looks. She never takes turns like that. Something's wrong, you need to tell her."

Oscar was right and before any engineers could make any decisions, Y/n began trying to communicate via radio.

"There's...something...with the car..." Her voice cracks over the radio.

Oscar immediately tried to press the headphones tighter into his ears, thinking that maybe he hadn't heard correctly.

"Y/n, repeat, we're having audio difficulties," the engineer said over the radio, trying to remain calm.

"Something...car..." the voice came out broken again.

Y/n began to feel the car shake uncontrollably, evident on the monitors, and the steering wheel that had previously seemed firm in her hands was now vibrating violently.

"Damn it!" She screamed, trying to steady the car.

Now with only 10 seconds of difference to the second placed rider, Oscar started to get more tense, nervous and sweating cold. It was as if his worst nightmare had come true.

He quickly turns to the chief engineer: "Tell her to slow down..." he tries to warn. "NOW!!"

Most turn to Piastri, seeing the boy turn pale.

"We're trying, Oscar, but she needs to confirm the problem first." The engineer says, pressing the button to try to communicate with Y/n inside the car. "Y/n, can you hear us?...Y/n??" She doesn't respond.

Oscar saw it before anyone else. He straightened, his heart racing. "She's going to lose control!"

Sweat began to trickle down Y/n’s forehead, mixing with the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Something was wrong. She knew it. But she couldn’t explain it, couldn’t articulate the words over the radio. It was as if the car itself was collapsing under her control.

"Guys...FUCK!!" The only things they hear on the woman's radio.

That's when it happened. The car swayed violently on the straight, from left to right, before reaching the curve and hitting a wall. The impact was brutal. The metallic sound of the beat echoed through the headphones and across the dance floor. The car bounced off the barrier and, in an instant that seemed to last an eternity, began to roll over. Once, twice, three times, before stopping upside down, with parts of the fairing scattered across the asphalt.

It all happened too fast. Y/n’s world turned upside down—literally. Her seatbelt held her in place as the car rolled over. The sound of metal twisting and glass shattering was deafening. Each roll seemed to knock the air from her lungs as she fought to stay conscious.

Oscar froze. The world around him seemed to move in slow motion as he watched Yin’s car spin through the air. The scream caught in his throat, his eyes fixed on the screen as if he could stop the inevitable. All he wanted was to hear her voice. To know that she was okay.

The garage fell silent. The sound of the crash still echoed through everyone's headphones, and the air felt suffocating.

"Y/N?? CAN YOU HEAR ME? The team leader tries again, but nothing but a hiss comes from the woman's radio. Oscar can feel each second dragging by as they wait for news.

Some engineers dropped their headphones, putting their hands on their heads when they couldn't hear the pilot's voice.

The red flag was waving and paramedics were rushing to the scene of the accident, carrying fire extinguishers and rescue equipment. And that's when Oscar came to his senses, when Y/n didn't move or give any sign that she was okay. The radio was silent, and the broadcast camera showed his girlfriend's helmet tilted. Oscar felt his heart stop.

Quickly ripping the headphones out of his ears — almost breaking them. Piastri starts walking quickly to get out of the garage, until someone grabs him by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey!" One of the engineers holds him back. "You can't go there, let the doctors help!"

"I can't just stand here when my girlfriend is between life and death!" He says angrily because they won't let him leave.

"You don't..."

"YES I CAN!!!" Oscar shouted, running away from there.

The curve that Y/n crashed into was not close to the pits, so Piastri ran for several meters until he managed to get close to some suspicious movement on the track.

Oscar arrived at the scene with his lungs burning and his heart racing. The scene in front of him was a nightmare, the dreaded nightmare he had had in those times: Y/n's car, destroyed, with paramedics and the rescue team struggling to remove her from the wreckage.

For a moment, everything passed in slow motion in Piastri's vision, the seconds seemed like hours and it seemed like people didn't move to help his girlfriend in the middle of those irons.

He comes back to reality when someone runs past with the stretcher and bumps into him.

"Sorry!"

Oscar runs a little further to the accident site: "Y/N!! Y/N!!" he screams, feeling his lungs burn more.

The air burned in his lungs, but he didn't even notice the pain. His legs felt like they were about to give out at any moment, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop, not while she needed him.

The moment he approached, Y/n was being pulled out from under the car and placed on the stretcher. When they took off her helmet, Oscar saw his girlfriend's entire face, bloody, pale and with drops of sweat.

Piastri felt tears fall and his knees give out as he tried to get closer.

One of the paramedics saw Oscar and tried to get him to stay back. Meanwhile, the people in the stands were completely silent, some were crying, others were sitting with their hands on their heads and others left so as not to see the state of the driver.

"Hey, see! I need you to stay back, we're removing her and this could complicate her case!" The doctor says sympathetically.

Oscar shakes his head and tries to walk forward. "She's my girlfriend!"

The paramedic's eyes widened slightly and exchanged glances with the rescue team.

"Well...let's tell the truth then! She is in a very critical condition, but fortunately she is alive. She may have multiple fractures and a concussion." The doctor is sincere and Piastri can feel the ground open up a little more under his feet.

With that, her helmet fell from a stretcher and rolled across the floor until it came to rest at Oscar's feet. The personalized design—her number next to a drawing of her favorite constellation—made him feel a stab in the chest.

He bends down and presses the object against his chest.

A little further ahead, they put the oxygen mask on the woman and walked to the ambulance, Oscar started running again, leaving the paramedic talking to himself.

“Y/N!”

The rescue team holds him by the shoulders. "Hey, hey!" Oscar stops, still watching them carry Y/n unconscious.

"I have to go, it's my girlfriend. IT'S MY LIFE!"

"I understand. But you can't go with her in the ambulance, we need space because of her critical injuries. We're taking her to the nearest hospital." One of them says and Oscar nods in agreement. "Just be careful driving..." The team warns, as it was obvious that Oscar would find a way to get there.

The ambulance doors slam shut with a loud bang that rings in Oscar’s ears like a gunshot. He stands still, his eyes fixed on the siren as it rapidly retreats, until silence envelops him like a suffocating current. He finally moves, stumbling toward the car Y/n had rented for them for the weekend.

The key was in her trailer, along with her purse. Oscar takes everything on impulse and runs out to drive to the hospital.

During the journey, tears ran violently down the driver's cheeks. At each red light he stopped at, memories of Y/n and him flashed through his mind: The sweet smile she gave when Oscar said he fell in love with her every day, how her eyes shone when she was inside a racetrack, their conversations in bed late at night. Everything flashed through his head.

The hospital was lit coldly and impersonally, a cruel contrast to the chaos and heat of his mind. He nearly knocked over the objects on the reception desk as he approached, his words coming out in a rush and jumble: "My girlfriend... accident... Y/n... Is she here yet? Please, I need to know."

He clutched Y/n's bag to his chest as if it were an anchor to reality, leaning on the counter to communicate with the nurse.

"Accident at the racetrack?!" A nurse asks and he nods in agreement. "Yeah, it was about five minutes ago. They took him straight to the operating room." She looks at the system and then back at Oscar. "Is he her husband?"

Oscar hesitated for a split second. He wasn't her husband, but her boyfriend... her boyfriend for years, the man who knew Y/n meant everything to him. Still, this wasn't the time for technical corrections. He nodded quickly, his words choked out in a rush.

"Yes, I am."

"Okay! You can wait in the room next door," she said calmly, while Oscar was shaking and sweating coldly. Before he walked away, she looked at the bag underneath him. "Hey... do you have her documents with you? Just to register them in the system faster!"

Oscar nodded and, with trembling fingers, opened Y/n's bag. He rummaged through it until he found her wallet and the necessary documents. He handed them along with his to the nurse, who quickly entered them into the system. She handed the papers back to him with a comforting smile that he didn't even notice. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, her hands still shaking.

"That's right. Thank you."

Oscar mumbled a thank you, tried to smile, but failed miserably. He walked away, heading for the waiting room she had indicated.

The room was white and cold, making Oscar shiver as he sat in one of the hospital chairs. The space was reasonably large, with a space for children to play while they waited for appointments, doctors, and tests. Oscar lowered his head, looking at his girlfriend's bag on his lap.

Trying to distract his mind from the agonizing wait, he opened his bag, thinking about organizing it or looking for something that could help. That's when he saw it.

First, a small folded envelope with her name written in her handwriting. He pulled out the paper and opened it with trembling hands. It was one of the little letters he wrote himself and left for her when he left the apartment early.

"Good morning, my love. I know today is going to be a busy day, but I just wanted to remind you how lucky I am to have you in my life. You make me want to be better every day. I can't wait to see you tonight. I love you - Osc."

Oscar pressed his lips together, holding back the sob that threatened to escape. His hands shook as he flipped through the items in his bag, and he could feel cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The air felt heavy, each breath labored, as if fear were squeezing his chest.

Deeper in his bag, he found a Polaroid of the two of them. The photo had been taken at a random moment, on the couch at her mother's house. He was holding her by the shoulder, smiling shyly, while she made an adorable face with her tongue out. On the back, a note written by Y/n: "Our favorite moment: together."

He ran his thumb over the photo, tears falling uncontrollably now. He didn't even try to hide them.

Finally, he found her phone. The screen locked with the wallpaper of a photo taken on a trip to the snow, in which Y/n kissed him on the cheek while he smiled, red from shyness and cold. It was a sweet reminder of how she always made him feel loved, even in the simplest moments.

He leans on his knees and lets the sobs escape his body, while tightly holding the things Y/n kept from them.

"Please...stay with me...stay with me" He said between sobs.

From the counter, one of the nurses gave him a worried look. They were used to seeing suffering there, but something about the young man’s vulnerability struck them. An older nurse approached with a bottle of water, but stopped halfway, hesitating, respecting his space.

The seconds seemed like minutes, minutes turned into hours and the hours didn't pass. Oscar had been in the waiting room for about 5 hours, he had already given news to his family, friends and team, and now he prayed that a doctor would come to bring him good news.

Finally, a man in pajamas and a surgical cap appeared in the large room, looking around and seeing only a young man sitting there. When Oscar noticed, his body sat up straight in the uncomfortable chair.

"Y/n Y/s's companion?" The doctor approaches Oscar.

"Yes, me!" He says, standing up and leaving her bag on the chair, greeting the doctor with a firm handshake.

The doctor took a deep breath before answering, and Oscar felt the ground shake beneath his feet, as if the fate of his life depended on his next words.

"First of all. Mr Pias... Piastri right?" The doctor looks at the file and Oscar nods. "I mean your girlfriend is alive!"

Oscar felt the air leave his lungs at the speed of light. But that crushing sensation was still there, there was something else for the doctor to say and Oscar knew it.

"She is in critical condition. She suffered multiple fractures - arms, ribs and one of her legs and had a severe blow to the head, which resulted in a traumatic brain injury." The doctor said seriously and Oscar felt tears coming back to his eyes.

"Trauma? Is... is it serious? She... she'll wake up, right?" He asks in distress.

"Right now, she's in an induced coma. This is to stabilize her body and allow us to treat her injuries more safely. The good news is that her vital signs are stable, and she's responding well to the first procedures." The surgeon places a hand on Oscar's shoulder, causing the younger man to sigh and release a sob stuck in his throat.

"But she'll wake up, right? She'll be okay?"

The doctor sighs, not wanting to give him false hope, but also not wanting to make him worry.

"It's too early to predict. An induced coma is a controlled procedure, but we need to wait to assess brain damage. Each case is unique, and recovery time may vary. The important thing now is to give her body time to recover."

Oscar nods in agreement, letting the tears fall.

"I know this is very difficult to hear, but the important thing to remember is that she is alive and responding well to the procedures already performed. We will monitor her closely!" The doctor smiles and Oscar wipes away tears. "And a crucial medicine for her is emotional support! She will need you by her side!"

"Of course, of course! I wouldn't dare leave her alone here," Oscar says quickly.

"She is in good hands. The hospital itself is a reference. We will take good care of your little girl."

Oscar held his breath at those words. His little girl. He felt a rush of emotion so strong it almost made him falter. A small, shaky smile escaped his lips after hours of pure tension. Even in the midst of chaos, hearing that felt like a promise that there was still hope.

"She's in a room in the ICU, but we can let you stay with her." The doctor says softly, placing a hand on the pilot's shoulder again, as a gesture of comfort.

Oscar nodded quickly, clutching her bag tightly to his chest as if it were a lucky charm. He stood up, ready to follow the doctor.

The white walls seemed to close in around him, the sound of his footsteps echoing along with the distant murmurs of nurses and monitors. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, gripping it tightly as he stepped out of the elevator and walked behind the doctor. The scenes of her car overturning still made a point of playing in his mind on a loop.

"Here we are. I'll leave you alone. If there's anything, just call a nurse using the button next to her bed, or go to the nurse's station here at the end of the hallway," the doctor says, pointing to the place and leaves, leaving Oscar paralyzed for a moment in front of the door of the room where Y/n was.

He took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of fear and relief. Finally, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The sound of the heart monitor filled the room immediately, the steady rhythm almost reassuring, though he felt each beat like a punch to his chest.

There she was, lying on a bed that seemed enormous around her frail body. Oscar stopped suddenly, the air escaping from his lungs in a silent sob. She was surrounded by wires, tubes, and bandages. Her face was pale, with small cuts and scratches visible, but clean of the blood from before, and her arm and leg were in a cast, supported by a suspended frame.

But it was her. It was still her.

He dropped his bag on the armchair and walked a few steps until he stopped next to her bed, letting the tears fall.

Piastri lightly touches his girlfriend's hand with his finger, afraid of hurting her. "Hey, love..." He whispered, his voice shaking, trying to sound strong, even though he felt like he was falling apart.

He finally let his hand rest on hers, cold to the touch, but still alive: "You're here! You're alive!" Oscar sobs. "I was so afraid of losing you..." He kneels beside the bed and cries. A cry that seemed to have been kept for years.

He let his feelings take over.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Oscar and Y/n were in the office of their apartment, with the computers in the French class and books and notebooks on their desk.

"I want a... umm... croissant and coffee?" Y/n reads with a serious expression.

"You're ordering coffee and croissants like it's a life or death mission." Oscar laughs, holding a book in his hands as well.

The video lesson was already ending, while Oscar and Y/n were still trying to pronounce the first sentence the teacher said.

"Alright, my turn now!" Oscar says and chooses a sentence in the book, he reads it mentally and looks at his girlfriend to try to pronounce it. "Je suis... une baguette?"

Y/n burst out laughing.

"You just said it's a baguette!"

"Well, I'm Australian, I can be whatever I want. Including a baguette." He says amusedly, with a smile on his face as he watches his girlfriend laugh at the next table.

"If it depends on our French, we will die of hunger in Paris.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The Piastri house was radiant with Christmas decorations. The yard was lit up, the garlands on the windows, and even Thilly's house, the family's golden retriever, was decorated with lights and a giant red bow on the roof.

In the kitchen, Y/N was helping Nicole, Oscar's mother, prepare dessert for dinner. She was stirring a pot on the stove while Nicole organized the ingredients on the counter.

"So, Y/N, how are you dealing with both of your busy calendars? It must be crazy." Oscar's mom asks.

Y/n smiles "It's busy, but it's worth it. Especially since we make a point of visiting each other whenever we can. We understand that our schedules are tight" she smiles more, looking at her mother-in-law as she walked past her daughter-in-law and placed a hand on her shoulder .

"Hey, I heard something about me!" Oscar walks into the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge.

Nicole laughs and Y/n rolls her eyes smiling, as she turns off the stove.

"I was just saying how terrible you are in the kitchen," Y/n jokes, placing the pan on the table and looking for a serving dish.

Oscar laughs, leaning against the counter,

"But you know, Nicole...he makes up for it with flowers and dinners" Y/n says shyly, looking at her mother-in-law. Who watched the scene in wonder.

Oscar walks up to his girlfriend and hugs her from behind.

"You know what else I'm good at? Choosing an amazing girlfriend." He kisses his girlfriend's neck. "And also..." he whispers something in her ear, making Y/n turn red as pepper.

"OSCAR!!!" She says loudly, afraid his mother might have heard. "Your mother is here!" She hits her boyfriend on the chest and he smiles.

"I didn't see or hear anything!" Nicole raises her hands as she walks around the kitchen, making the couple laugh.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a quiet night in Y/n and Oscar's apartment. They were on the couch, curled up under a blanket, watching a random movie. The low light in the living room created a cozy atmosphere, and the sound of the rain hitting the window completed the perfect setting.

Y/n had her head resting on Oscar's chest, while he absentmindedly played with the strands of her hair. The movie seemed to be far from holding both of their attention, but neither of them wanted to leave.

"Did you know you snore when you sleep on the couch?" Oscar breaks the silence with a mischievous smile.

Y/n lifts her head, pretending to be offended. "I DON'T snore!"

"He snored last week when he slept here after that long flight. I even recorded it..." He takes out his phone, ready to prove it.

"Oscar Piastri, if you recorded it, I swear I'll make you sleep on the carpet!" Y/n laughs, trying to grab the phone from his hands.

He turns away and pulls her closer, hugging her sideways. "Okay, okay. Maybe I overreacted... But you're adorable even when you're snoring."

Y/n rolls her eyes but smiles. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"And you're stubborn, but I think I love you anyway." The sentence comes out unpretentiously, but the weight of it hangs in the air for a few seconds.

Y/n freezes, looking at Oscar. He looked relaxed, but there was a slight tension in his smile, as if he was waiting for her reaction.

"Do you... love me?" She asks, with a shy smile and her heart racing.

"I do. Quite a bit, actually." He laughs nervously, running a hand over the back of his neck. "I thought it was kind of obvious, but... now it's there, I said."

Y/n feels her cheeks burn, but she can't hide the happiness written all over her face. She leans in to kiss him lightly, before whispering, "I love you too."

Oscar smiles like a kid who just won the biggest prize in the world. "You know, now you can't complain when I prove you snore."

Y/n laughs, hugging him again. "You ruin all the cute moments, you know that?"

"Ah, but you love me anyway."

They kiss again, while the movie continues to fade into the background, as does anything else that wasn't the two of them at that moment.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

They were at a racetrack while Oscar was training with the McLaren team. It was the end of the day, and only the team was in the garage. That weekend Y/n managed to travel to see her boyfriend.

"Hey, do you want to train with me?" Oscar asks, holding out a helmet in front of her.

She widens her eyes and smiles.

"But with what car?" She picks up her helmet, excited about the idea.

"You can go with mine, Lando lent me his!" Oscar says smiling.

"So, ready to get your ass kicked?!!" Y/n smiles, putting on her helmet.

"Keep dreaming, princess!" Oscar sighs and kisses her helmet. "I'm a Formula 1 driver."

"Honey, you may be an F1 driver, but I'll be your boss here on the track when I win." She smiles mischievously.

After deciding to do three laps and complete them, Y/n arrives first at the garage, getting out of the car and laughing, while taking off her helmet and waiting for Oscar.

30 seconds later, he arrives in the garage behind her.

"Who really got beat up?? OSCAR PIASTRI!!! She screams, standing next to the car as Oscar gets out of his teammate's car.

"Calm down, honey! I was going slow so as not to hurt your ego." Piastri smiles, approaching his girlfriend.

The engineers began to put away the equipment and cars.

"Of course, of course! And I'm the Queen of England!" Y/n jokes, tossing her hair back.

Oscar rolls his eyes with a smile, placing his hands on his girlfriend's waist and pulling her in for an unexpected kiss.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was an F1 Academy event, where the Y/N team invited McLaren to promote the partnership. Oscar and Y/n crossed paths for the first time, in the hallway near the stage, as they were preparing to go into an interview with the teams.

"Hi, you must be Y/n Y/s, right? I've heard a lot about you!" Oscar comes up behind the woman, making her turn around and smile, while adjusting the microphone in her ear.

"Hey, I do!!" She sighs and shakes the hand Oscar had extended. "I hope I heard good things!" She laughs.

"Yes, only good things," he smiles. "By the way, Oscar Piastri!"

"I heard about you too. Great race last time, and congratulations on winning the GP. It was amazing" she smiles, seeing some people asking for them to come on stage.

"Thanks. But from what I've seen, you're not far behind either. The F1 Academy has a rising star."

Y/n smiles shyly, while picking at her fingernails.

"If that means you'll be nervous competing with me one day, I'll take the compliment."

Oscar looks at her with a twinkle in his eye: "We'll see who gets nervous. But I think I'll enjoy following your journey."

"Only if it doesn't get in your way." Y/n lets out a small laugh.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The weeks had passed, and Oscar was still by Yin's side in the hospital. Nicole had taken a flight a few days ago to help with her daughter-in-law, telling Oscar to rent a hotel room to rest while she took care of the young woman.

Oscar was a little doubtful at first, but he trusted his mother a lot and knew that whatever happened to Y/n in the hospital, she would call him immediately.

At the moment, he was walking down the hallway to her room, after having spent a few hours in the hotel room trying to rest and taking a hot bath.

He had some of Yin's clothes in the suitcase he had brought, along with some take-out snacks he had bought at the market next door. When he opened the bedroom door, he saw that there was empty, without Yin's bed with her and without his mother. He began to panic, until Nicole came out of the bathroom.

"Mom?? Where's Y/n?" He says, placing the suitcase on the armchair and feeling his heart race.

"Calm down, son," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to convey calm.

"The doctors came to get her to run some tests. They said she's responding well to the medications and procedures and..." She hesitated, but a slight smile lit her face. "They said she could wake up from her coma at any moment."

She was going to wake up. Certainty took hold of Oscar, making him sigh in relief and let a few tears fall.

They stayed in the room talking, while they waited for the doctors to bring Y/n back. And when they arrived, they brought good news for the family. Y/n no longer needed so many tubes attached to her, and the fractures were progressing well. Oscar smiled, when he saw that his girlfriend now only needed an oxygen tube to help her breathing.

All those wires attached to her made Oscar's stomach turn.

"I'm going to rest a little and call her family to tell them the good news. If there's anything I'll be downstairs at the reception." Nicole said smiling at her son, while Oscar pulled the armchair as close as possible to Y/n's bed.

"It's okay, Mom! Thanks for staying with her...for everything, really..." Nicole reaches over and kisses the top of her little boy's head.

"Anything for you guys, I love you," she says, walking out the door and closing it.

He turned to look at her face. For the first time in weeks, Y/n looked at peace. Her face, once marked by bruises and swelling, now had only small, almost invisible scars. He smiled, taking her hand and caressing it.

"I heard you brought good news, you know?" he began in a soft, almost whispered tone. "I can't wait to see you awake and tell you how much I love you... But you already know that, right?" He chuckled, remembering how she always made fun of his nervous manner.

Oscar sighs deeply, before starting to talk to her. Even though she didn't answer, he knew that Y/n was listening to everything around her.

"You know, I was remembering the bedtime conversations we had... There was one time when you started talking about kids. At that moment, I almost panicked, thinking you wanted them now. You laughed so hard at my expression that I almost cried with relief." He smiled as he remembered. "You said it was something for the distant future, but you liked to plan things. And then you asked me if I liked the idea of having little knots running around. I said yes. That was the day I fell in love even more for you. That smile you have... sweet and bright... makes me want everything with you." He looked at her face. "Remember that day?"

For a second, he felt pressure on his hand. As if someone had squeezed it. His eyes widened and he looked at his girlfriend's hand, which he was holding.

"Y/n?? Honey!!" Oscar says, now feeling and seeing her hand move. "Honey, I'm here!! I'm waiting for you!" She squeezes his hand again, making tears fall down Oscar's face.

That was when she coughed, breaking the silence. The cough was weak, but the sound made Oscar jump up. The oxygen tube was in the way, and she looked uncomfortable.

Oscar acted quickly, running to the door and calling for the nurses and doctors, his heart racing with excitement and nervousness. The room began to fill with professionals, while Oscar stood in a corner so as not to disturb them, feeling that from that moment on, everything would be fine.

Y/n was awake while the neurosurgeon did some tests and questions to her, and she answered with the right answers. Before leaving, the doctor looks at Oscar, smiling friendly and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, she's awake!"

Oscar lowers his head, smiling and hiding his tears. "Yeah, she's awake!" He smiles. "Thank you," Oscar thanks before the doctor leaves the room with the nurses. He approaches slowly, as if he still can't believe she's there, awake. A living, breathing Y/n, looking at him.

The youngest sees the pilot approaching her bed with a smile, taking her hand, the one who had moved in the coma moments before.

"Hey honey!" He smiled, letting the tears fall.

Y/n, always the jokester in the relationship, frowned and pulled her hand away slightly, stifling a laugh. "Who are you?"

Oscar froze. For a second, the world around him seemed to disappear, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. His mind went into a panic, searching desperately for something on her face—some clue, some sign that this was a joke.

Until he heard it. A faint, drawn-out laugh, but so familiar that it made his heart stop for another reason.

"Hey, honey, I do know you. I was just messing with you." Y/n smiled, now squeezing his hand tighter, her eyes shining with a humor that only she had.

"Do you want to scare me to death?" Oscar let out a deep sigh as he smiled and squeezed her hand.

She smiled tiredly: "Oh stop, I knew you could handle it, Piastri."

Oscar can't stop smiling, approaching and placing a hand on her face.

"You have no idea how scared I was all these days. Your voice cracking on the radio, your car flipping over countless times, the doctor's news that you were in a coma. I thought I was going to lose you... I was so scared..." He whispers, his voice thick with tension, but relieved that she was okay now. "I stayed by your side every day for the past few weeks... I was afraid that I would go to rest and you would be gone..." Oscar cries, lowering his head.

A few tears fell from Y/n's face as well.

"That's why you have that zombie face, you haven't slept in days!" she says to lighten the tense atmosphere between them.

Oscar lifts his head and laughs, "Yeah, I couldn't sleep peacefully while you were here!"

Y/n smiles without showing her teeth. A tired smile, but that same sweet smile that Oscar loved.

"It all happened so fast..." she begins telling her story. "The radio started to fail, the steering wheel wasn't as stable on the straights and suddenly I found myself face to face with the curve, I tried to brake but when I realized it, the car was already in the air and flipping over. I only had a few more seconds before I passed out, and in that time I could only think about you... I could only think about how to get back to you. And then everything went black" She says, crying softly and Oscar caressing her cheek, and wiping away the silent tears.

"But hey, you're here now. You found a way to come back to us."

Y/n smiles, nodding in agreement.

"But, you know... even when I was unconscious, I heard you. Every day. I heard you calling me, telling me that I was strong, that I was going to be okay."

Oscar's eyes widen, smiling excitedly: "Did you hear me?"

"Yes. I heard you telling me about all the moments we spent together, and how you wanted me to come back so I could continue living by my side." She smiles, now holding her boyfriend's face. "And you know... I also remember that night when I brought up the subject of children!" She smiles, making Oscar laugh.

"Always scaring me half to death" Piastri smiles.

A little light in Oscar's mind turns on, signaling that now was a good time to reveal what he had been thinking for so long.

"Y/n... I don't think I've ever said it in so many words, but... I love you. Not just in a simple way, but in a deep way, that takes my breath away and makes my heart ache just thinking about losing you." Without realizing it, he puts his hand in his coat pocket, holding a small velvet box. "And after everything we've been through these weekends and in all our relationship history, I don't want to wait anymore, I don't want to wait for the right moment, I don't want to spend even one more second away from you..." he places the ring box in front of his girlfriend, Y/n feels her breath catch in her lungs, almost asking for the oxygen tube again. "I've been carrying this in my pocket for about 5 months, every time we travel and go out together, thinking that there would be the right moment to ask, but here and now, I feel like it's the best moment we have, because I don't want to be away from you anymore. Y/n Y/s, will you marry me? Be my partner in all the curves of life, in all the ups and downs?" He kneels down, opening the box and showing the engagement ring.

Y/n felt the tears fall from her face, if it was the coma, she didn't want to wake up. Because it was the most beautiful dream she could ever imagine having in her life, until Oscar entered her and messed everything up for the better.

"Oscar... do you have any idea how much of an impact you have on my heart? Literally, because right now I think it's going to need a defibrillator." Oscar laughs at his soon-to-be-engaged girlfriend's comment. "Now, seriously... proposing to someone while she's got her arm in a bandage, her hair in a bird's nest and she's on a life support machine? Is that how you want me to remember this moment?"

Piastri smiles with tears in her eyes: "I want you to remember how much I love you. Because even so, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And because I can't go another second without knowing that you will be mine forever."

Y/n takes a deep breath, letting the tears fall: "Oscar Piastri, you are completely crazy... and I accept it. Of course I accept to marry you!"

The pilot feels the air return to his lungs, smiling broadly and carefully approaching to place a soft kiss on the bride's lips. Then, he lovingly slides the shiny ring onto her finger.

She looks at the ring, and then at her fiancé, with a genuine smile on her face before saying.

"You know you're going to have to ask me again when I look halfway decent, right?"

Oscar laughs, "Okay. I promise to ask you every day, just in case."

[demonic0angel]

(Prompt: Clockwork gave Danny, Jazz and Jason a mission: Capture the Four Perils and bring them back to Ghost Zone)

"Hundun, Qiongqi, Taowu, and Taotie," Jazz said as she, Danny and Jason were looking at the cave. "the Four Perils. These creatures were said to be the ghosts of the four ancient criminals namely Huandou, Gun, Gonggong, and Sanmiao. You may knows Sanmiao is identified with Chiyou, a bull warrior that rebels against the Jade Emperor."

"There was a guy named Gun?" Danny asked.

"Yes, but his name is just means big fish in Chinese..." Jazz explained.

"So what're these creatures actually looked like?" Jason asked.

"Hundun is a yellow winged creature of chaos with six legs and no face, Qiongqi is monstrous tiger with wings that eats people, Taowu a reckless and stubborn tiger-like creature with boar teeth and human-like face, and Taotie is gluttonous... sheep and boar hybrid?" Jazz replied. "That's all the informations Clockwork gave to me."

"Ok, so now we've to those catch these guys, right?"

(An odd choice of capture targets but aight lmao)

“Yep,” Danny said. “Easy peezy.”

“You’re going to jinx us,” Jazz scolded, and Danny obliged her worries by knocking on the cave wall in place of wood.

But it was too late.

They hadn’t even needed to look for the Qiongqi. The moment the three of them had stepped out of the cave with intentions to go into the city to continue their search, the tiger-like monster immediately swooped in and tried to eat their faces off.

“Oh! I forgot that it bites off the noses of noble and righteous people!” Jazz recalled, and Jason immediately grabbed her and pulled her down as the beast lunged at them.

“Thanks for the info, Princess, but we’re in the middle of something?! Stop getting distracted and catch the damn thing!”

So while Jazz and Jason were fighting off the Qiongqi, Danny ran off to capture the Taowu, which was trying in vain to fight the cars in the middle of a street, blocking an intersection with its body as people screamed and ran away from it. Seeming to think that the screams were cheers, the Taowu preened and was even more enthusiastic in trying to kill the cars as Danny dodged its chaotic moves to try and catch it.

The Taotie was slightly more difficult to find after the three of them struggled to capture the first two. It had been found inside of a restaurant, hiding within the freezer and eating everything in sight, even the metal walls. It took a few days before anyone found it and reported it.

Finally, the three of them only needed to find the Hundun. It took a long, long time, almost a week before they found the faceless creature helping the Joker in a new plan to torment everyone in Gotham. It was quickly solved with some ghostly technology, but by the end, Jason’s eye was twitching and Danny looked like he was about to wring the necks of anyone who was about to approach him.

Clockwork watched them with a small smile on his face as they all trudged up the steps to his lair.

“You found them?” He asked, his form shifting.

“If you weren’t Jazz and Danny’s grandpa, I’d tell you to fuck yourself,” Jason hissed as he tossed the special container that held all Four Perils to Clockwork. Clockwork caught it and chuckled.

“But you got to spend time with Jazz, right? It’s not all bad.”

Danny growled, crossing his arms, “It was bad for me. You’re on thin ice, old man.”

“Maybe next time, I’ll send you on a mission with—”

“SHUT!!”

[wilsonthemoose]

Warning Signs

John doesn't mind that they play so much basketball. It lends itself quite naturally to their training.

Whumptober Day 10: Blow to the Head

Teen and Up | John, Sam, and Dean | Pre-series | Sports | Head Injury

.

Sam is four days old the first time John thinks he might lose him— the jaundice sets in fast in the middle of the night and they don't notice till next morning. They're told they did the right thing bringing him into the hospital and in the same sure tone of voice assured that it's quite common and Sam should pull through by day seven.

They bring him back in a gift shop romper with 'World's Greatest Basketball Player' printed on the front. John has mixed feeling about the romper but Dean insists on saving it when they're sorting through clothes Sam has grown out of.

Sam is two months old when he's gifted his first basketball— it's a plush toy with a long tag that Sam tries to use to fling the ball around. He's five months old the first time he manages to clear the top of the crib and Dean yells with delight.

Sam is six months old the second time John fears for his life and after that, no matter how much he may try to temper that fear, it never quite goes away. John doesn't try very hard, and then not at all.

Sam is a few weeks short of three years old when he manages to copy Dean and bounce the ball up and down twice; Dean proudly declares that Sam will make a fine dribbler the way he's going and John agrees as he lifts him up into the air, shrieking.

John doesn't mind that they play so much. It lends itself quite naturally to their training— Sam at eight is fast, a sprinter off the blocks, a rabbit leading a chase, changing direction quicker that John can think to suggest it, and Dean is strong, puts his weight quite naturally into his punches without John ever having to say a word about proper technique.

Sam is 14 when John is forced to admit— not in so many words— that he's afraid for Sam's life. Sam sneaks away behind John's back and gets tested to see if he's a match for donating part of his liver to the wife of one of John's friends, Laura, who took care of the boys when they were younger. John yells and shouts when he finds out, threatens and punishes, forbids. "You're fourteen which means I have to okay this thing and I'm not okaying shit!" he yells, flinging a ceramic mug into the wall next to where Sam is standing. Later, when Sam is sitting on the steps outside, arms around his knees, shivering, John goes out and puts an arm around him. "How am I supposed to protect you from dying on an operating table, Sammy?" he asks and hopes it answers a lifetime of doubts.

John will stop the car outside basketball courts or on empty backroads in the middle of the night when cabin fever is likely, otherwise, to provoke a fight, and let the two of them out for a game or two. He doesn't encourage rough play but he does turn a blind eye to it. They get rowdy as they get older.

Sam, at fifteen didn't quite know what to do with his long limbs, awkward as a doe on ice, but at sixteen he seems to have grown into them. He'll dodge out in front of Dean, snatch the ball right out of the air and dribble away. He's good, in his way. He doesn't make as many baskets as Dean but he's good at making Dean not make as many baskets as Dean. He provokes Dean into taking risks and forces him to make stupid mistakes. Dean ends up angry, Sam ends up smug. John recognizes the tune of their lives but decides to use this too as training: he yells at Dean from the sidelines to keep calm, to not be so stupid. He yells at Sam about proper technique, ("Get low if you want to jump high, Sam") and just to wipe the smug look off Sam's face, steps in himself. He walks away impressed.

If circumstances were different, Sam might've made a hell of a college player, maybe even a decent pro.

They stop playing so much. Dean provokes Sam instead into sparring with him. It's almost a shame.

They get good at taking care of their own scrapes and bruises. Sam will fish out bits of gravel from his elbows under a flickering light. Dean will wait till John turns his back to take a furtive swig of the whiskey he's supposed to be using to clean his wounds. John wonders if it's possible to pinpoint exactly when they stopped playing. Was it on the broken court in Colorado with a camping lamp for light or was it in the parking lot of the motel in Indiana when Sam stumbled back and Dean didn't stop to let him get up again?

John tires them out by putting them through a mini boot camp every time he comes back from a hunt, or by making them do drills in the early hours of the morning when they're with him.

Sam is seventeen when John thinks this time he really is dead. The gunshot echoes in his head, his heart stops in his chest, tumbles to his knees, his lungs feel suddenly empty, and he hurtles through the door, trips down the stairs, and throws himself out of the house to where he stationed Sam to keep watch. This wasn't supposed to happen— he was supposed to be safe out there. He was supposed to be—

Sam takes a ragged breath, his face shines pale in the darkness. The bullet's torn into his side. John holds his hands over the wound, presses down, whispers "Sorry, Sam," when Sam bites down on a yelp, and presses harder. Dean lead-foots them to the hospital with John on his knees in the backseat holding firm pressure on the wound.

In the waiting room, John paces like a caged animal and Dean sits hunched over in a chair.

They're allowed in to visit when Sam comes out of surgery but they're told he might not wake up for a few hours yet.

The gift shop is near empty when John goes in to re-check, see if there's anything Dean missed. Surely, surely, there has to be something in Sam's size sitting around there somewhere. He's shown the same white shirt with the large orange basketball emblazoned on the front that Dean's already bought for Sam. John wonders if he can convince Sam to wear one of the unwashed shirts lying in the trunk instead but then thinks better of it.

Confined to bed for days, Sam reaches an arm out from under the covers and dribbles the ball on the carpeted floor. When the man in the room opposite bangs on the door and tells John to put a stop to the racket, John tells him to go to hell.

Sam bounces back pretty fast. He always does.

Sam was seven the first time he came to John with his head all bloody, swaying where he stood until John looked up from his journal, then he stumbled into John's lap. He was nine the first time John felt he was getting past Dean without Dean letting him. He was ten the first time John had to break up a fight between his sons. He was fourteen when an errant fist crashed into John's arm instead of Dean and Sam froze in horror, genuinely apologetic, earning himself a hard left hook to the jaw from Dean before Dean had a chance to check his blow. He was sixteen the first time he ended up with a concussion bad enough to have John worried. He complained every single time John tried to check up on him that weekend. He's nearly eighteen and John doesn't take it seriously for a long moment as Sam's arms flail, one almost reaching up to his face. John almost dismisses the gesture as reflex. The ball seems to float in limbo, one bright speck of fresh red imprinted just under a black rib of the ball. John sees Sam's pupils, pinpricks, blow out. Or maybe he imagines the detail. The ball thumps to the ground and rebounds thrice, rolling away. "You okay?" Dean calls over his shoulder as he moves to get the ball, then turns around again, confused. It starts to rain, softly. A drop falls to Sam's face, joins the tiny rivulet of blood dripping out of his nose. There's very little of it. Hardly any at all.

John feels himself move forwards, registers pain as the concrete crashes up into his knees, he leans over Sam, takes his shoulder, gently for some reason when he should be shaking Sam, telling him to get up, get in the car. Telling him he doesn't want the two of them taking damp clothes into the car so skedaddle. A drop of blood splatters on the faded grey-blue concrete of the court. John moves his hand under Sam's head— he doesn't remember lifting to cradle it but he must have— and finds a small wound. Small enough that it doesn't even need stitching. Not even a bandage.

"Okay kiddo?" he asks like he honestly expects an answer. Dean's still standing where he stopped, fingers bunched in his hair, palms pressed against his temples. He looks somewhat crazed.

John gathers Sam up, snaps at Dean to help him and they get Sam into the car, make it, somehow, to the hospital. John doesn't want to let go when they tell him they need to take Sam in for a CT, some insane part of him protesting that it's futile, but he signs the form they give him and signs again later— hemorrhage? half listening when the doctor explains about the surgery.

Dean's at Sam's bedside, trying to apologize and trying not to cry, garbling his words so he achieves neither objective.

"Sir? Do you understand?"

"Yes."

They wheel him away.

He can tell by the long walk along the corridor from the elevators, by the way the doctor looks at him for a fleeting moment and then lowers his eyes for the rest of the way until he reaches the chairs, knows it before the man opens his mouth to break the news. "We did everything we could—" and so on.

Actually, he's still alive, in a technical, not-really-there sort of way. They didn't let him go, when his body gave out. "I'd like to talk to you about organ donation." A new voice this time. Sympathetic tilt of the head, hushed tone, muted, sober clothes like this is the exact conversation they keep her around for. He should never have let them cut him open. His head is bandaged as if it makes a difference. John thinks maybe he should shout and tell them to leave him alone but he can't bring himself to do it.

"Sir?" She asks, gently.

He looks up. "No," he growls. "And fuck off," he adds.

Behind him, for the first time since the court, Dean speaks up. "Yes," he says and clears his throat. "He's a match for Laura," he says "She needs a liver—" this to the woman. "He promised her."

"Shit happens." John hears himself reply. "She can find her own liver." The kind of flippancy that Sam always hated.

"He's eighteen in a few hours," Dean's voice cracks. It's probably that, John thinks, that makes him walk out of the room and let Dean sign away Sam's organs.

"He might not have liked hunting but he liked saving people, Dad," Dean tells him later. The woman tells him about a man with cystic fibrosis who will live another several years because of Sam, a little girl who won't need dialysis anymore, a woman who can plan for more than the next few weeks and for more than hospital visits and bills, a firefighter just four beds down who just might make it now. John can't be bothered with saying he wishes them all a speedy death and he supposes, someday, he won't think it either.

They bury him— what's left of him— in the same graveyard as Mary. They never visit.

Laura tries to get into contact, leaves him tearful messages, "He was like a son to me too, John." John blocks her number. When Dean strikes off on his own for the odd hunt here and there, John doesn't object. He tosses the basketball into a storage unit and doesn't bother to go in and look when it bounds into something and breaks it.

Days and weeks muddle past. One day suddenly Sam is nineteen years old except that he never even got to eighteen. They've stopped talking about him.

Given what he knows— what he's learnt about Sam— it might be all for the best, except that he doesn't believe in that kind of thing and since when has fate dealt him a kind hand anyway? At least he died innocent, John thinks sometimes, usually at the bottom of a bottle.

Weeks and months turn into another year, then two, and three. John will stop the car sometimes outside basketball courts and stand there for hours, remembering the squeak and scuffle of shoes on asphalt, the huffing of breaths, cut-off curses, the snatch of a laugh.

Given what he knows— what he'd learnt about Sam— he really should have seen it for what it was. When he hears about the man in Oregon, the little girl with the half-familiar name, the woman, the firefighter, Laura— he doesn't do anything. When he gets a call from a payphone in Illinois and hears Sam's voice, panicked, "Dad?" John realizes it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise.

[starry-hughes]

what's not to like?

luke hughes x reader

summary: luke's family isn't exactly fond of you.

warnings: slight angst? ellen and jim are NOT a fan of this relationship one bit and make it very known. mention of a car accident and hospital.

It shouldn’t have shocked you that dating the youngest child of a family would be hard. Luke Hughes was the youngest of the most protective older brothers you had ever met. Plus, his parents adored him for being the baby of the family. You met Luke when you were at university. It was the first exam week for most of the university, and you were tired of your roommate talking too loud on the phone with her long-distance boyfriend. 

Luke had already been at one of the tables when you approached. “I will offer you a granola bar if you let me take the extra seat,” you blurted out. Luke looked up from his textbook, a playful smile on his face. “As long as it’s a flavor I like.” 

He ended up walking you home that night. Before you left his side, you took one of your pens and scribbled your number on his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Luke.” 

The library meet-ups for Luke and you didn’t stop there. You had three more library dates before Luke got the courage to actually ask you out. It was a simple date out to one of the local restaurants and a movie back at his house. You were able to dodge his roommates when you were over. You learned that Luke played hockey, and he asked you to attend one of his games. When you began talking about hockey, you learned his other brothers also played hockey in the NHL. 

You found yourself over at the hockey house often and, more specifically, in Luke’s bed. Meeting his roommates, attending his games, kissing him in the library, everything was perfect. The two of you had been dating for over four months now. It shouldn’t have blindsided you when Luke asked you to travel home with him for a short trip. You had been hesitant about making the trip home with him, citing schoolwork as a worry. His defense was that his brothers were on the break for the league, and you had just passed your recent exam. 

Your heart was beating rapidly on the drive there. Luke had reached over, a laugh falling from his lips, “You’ll be fine.” 

You were very much not fine at all. It was awkward, and you wanted to disappear. Apparently, Luke had not informed anyone about bringing his girlfriend home. And his mom did not appreciate the comment that you two could share Luke’s bedroom, nor did she enjoy the insinuation from Luke that the two of you were sleeping together. “(Y/N) will sleep in the guest room,” his mother, Ellen, stated. 

You thought the conversations couldn’t get worse, but then they did. Jack asked you something about your studies during dinner, and you were caught up in talking to notice your hand flying into your drink, spilling it over Jim. You apologized profusely, and suddenly you had no appetite for dessert. 

Luke knew you were struggling and suggested a walk out on the dock. “You’re nervous. It’s fine. This will all be a laugh later,” he cupped your face in his hands. “First impressions are important, and I’m not making a good one. God, I talked shit about Quinn’s team without realizing it, couldn’t eat your mom’s food because I’m allergic to the ingredients, spilled my drink on your dad, and Jack looks like he’s going to kill me,” you cried. “They are going to love you no matter what.” 

The whole weekend was a disaster. You just couldn’t get anything correct. Luke was feeling it too. He knew his family didn’t exactly find themselves fond of you. When the trip came to a close, you thanked his family and went to sit in his car. “Luke, honey, can we talk?” Ellen called.  

Luke’s heart broke as he heard his parents talk about how they weren’t sure you were suitable for Luke. “Do Jack and Quinn feel the same?” Luke cleared his throat. “Your brothers don’t want you to get hurt,” Jim trailed off. Luke nodded angrily. “I’ll see you guys later,” Luke left without another word. 

It was a quiet trip back to campus. As Luke’s car rolled to a stop outside your dorm, you went to leave, but he stopped you. “I hope you know that I still want you to be my girlfriend, even if my family doesn’t like you.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek, “Luke Hughes, I think I love you.” 

“Good, because I think I love you too.” 

Luke had ignored his parent’s wishes for him to break things off with you. You had shut yourself off from him for a couple of days after the trip, but he let you know that he was here to stay. You guys didn’t try to mend things with his parents until weeks later in a much less stressful situation. His parents had come to campus for dinner, and Luke invited you. 

“(Y/N), has Luke talked to you about him leaving for New Jersey?” Jim asked. “We’ve talked a little about the situation,” Luke’s hand squeezed your thigh as you talked, “we both agreed that we wanted to continue to make things work.” Luke smiled, “I’ll fly her out to all my home games when she doesn’t have class. I'll have the money.” 

His parents didn’t like that comment. It resulted in a stern phone call about money and priorities. You only cringed as you listened to Luke defend you over the phone that night. Luke held you when you cried that night. 

You didn’t understand it. You had so much love for the Hughes boy, and no one could see it. It was seeping into your relationship with Luke. Luke understood that you didn’t want to be around people who didn’t like you, but he still wanted you to interact with the people who meant so much to him. 

You ended up having another bad conversation with Jack, this time on the phone. Only Luke’s brother would call when he was showering. You decided to answer the phone for him, “Hi Jack, it’s (Y/N). Luke is showering.” 

“And you just answer his phone for him?” Jack asked. “I, uh, just wanted to make sure you didn’t need me to get him for you,” you fiddled with a string on the blanket. Jack sighed, “Just tell him to call me. When he’s alone.” 

You ended up telling Luke that Jack called, but you didn’t tell him about Jack’s tone toward you. You were not trying to cause problems between the brothers. It hurt even more when you found out his parents had asked Jack to call and "knock some sense" into Luke about his relationship with you.

When a free weekend rolled around, Luke finally got you to agree to go out to a nearby city with him to watch Quinn play since the Canucks were playing. You kept offering to pay for your own plane ticket, but Luke wouldn’t have it. You tried to enjoy the trip, but you felt like you would do something wrong each minute. While out at dinner, Luke kissed your cheek and rushed off to the bathroom. “He really loves you,” Quinn stated. “I really love him too.”

Before Luke returned to the table, Quinn spoke up again, “I’ll put in a good word with my parents about you two.” 

It was a good trip, and you were hoping you had finally got one of Luke’s brothers to like you. Luke was ecstatic the whole plane ride home, saying you could win Jack over when you visit them in New Jersey. You were excited at the idea of his family starting to like you. 

A week or two after that, you had been sitting in your dorm when your phone rang. When you answered the phone call from Ethan, you were met with a scramble of words, something about a car accident and Luke being hurt. You didn’t think for a second before rushing out of your room. 

When you arrived at the hospital, Dylan, Ethan, and Mark were sitting in the waiting room. “Did they call Ellen and Jim yet?” You asked. “They were in New Jersey with Jack. They said they were catching a flight now. The nurse said he could have one person stay with him, and we agreed it should be you,” Dylan explained. 

You ended up spending the night in the hospital with Luke, curled up in an uncomfortable chair as he rested. The guys dropped off food for you and gifts for their friend. You were woken up when his parents got there. They had caught you sleeping next to their son, and that’s when they realized that you were good for Luke. 

“Hi mom,” Luke groaned out. “Hi sweetheart, how are you?” His mom asked. You awkwardly sat there. “I’m fine, (Y/N) was here for me all night.” 

“Well, thank god for (Y/N),” Ellen gave you a soft smile.

[holyratrimony]

Summer Love at Bighorn Ranch

Pairing: John Marston x Fem!Reader

Summary: After his divorce from Abigail, John Marston is a mess. A series of rash decisions lead to John purchasing a rundown piece of land called Bighorn Ranch. As the ranch grows, so does the need for extra hands. When you show up, ready for your new job, John is immediately taken with you. When you get caught in a thunderstorm and show up on his doorstep, soaking wet, will he be able to keep his feelings to himself, or will he confess everything? 

Word count: 9.7k (how does this keep happening?)

Warnings: minors dni, 18+ only, I’ll kick you in the knees I s2g, do not read this,  dry humping, premature ejaculation, coming in pants, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, creampie, older man/younger woman

A/N: This takes place during the 90s, John’s in his forties, R is like mid-20s, Jack is like 10 in this, hedgehogs are not rodents but John doesn’t need to know that, also R wears John’s clothes at one point (as someone who's plus size I think John would own pretty baggy clothes), John is mega horny in this (in like a very pathetic way), how’d angst get in here? (it's just a lil bit), John thinks he is in charge but R has him wrapped around her finger, no physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, not beta read

To say John wasn’t doing well would be an understatement. After the divorce with Abigail, he’d hit a bit of a midlife crisis. The first step was moving out and subsequently crashing in Dutch and Hosea’s guest room. The two older men were patient with him, lending him some much-needed emotional support as he processed his feelings. After about a month, one drastic haircut, and a new earring, John finally was ready to move out to a place of his own.

He’d decided to return to his roots, taking out a rather large loan and purchasing a run-down ranch on a large piece of land in the middle of nowhere called Bighorn Ranch. The land was green and vast with a mix of plains and forests. It only took three days of him trying to lay the foundations for the house alone before giving in and calling Charles and Javier for help. The two men had come to his aid quickly, and with three hands they were able to get the ranch house built within just a few months. Then the barn, stables, and coup went up, followed by a half dozen small cabins about a mile from the main house. Both Javier and Charles opted to live in the cabins despite John’s protests, stating that they wanted to give him his space in the house. Ranching made sense to John. It was something he was good at. Whether it was keeping up with all the chores or breaking in the wild mare Charles found wandering the plains. As the ranch grew, so did the need for more hands. Javier had been tasked with taking the truck into the nearby towns, the closest being 30 minutes away, and hanging up help-wanted posters. The new ranchers would live on the property in the remaining cabins and would be responsible for a mix of construction, maintenance, and handling of the animals. Within a few weeks, four new hands had joined the ranch. The hands were set to arrive on a sunny spring afternoon. John was waiting on the porch with Charles and Javier, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. His hair was still growing back since the regrettable impulse cut, the ends reaching his ears. His beard was short, little more than stubble. The scars he’d gotten from a neighborhood dog when he was growing up cut through the dark hairs. He’d kept the small gold hoop in his ear despite the light teasing from Charles and Javier. The three men were discussing the horse show that was coming up next month when the sound of a car cut them off. The red and white Dodge Ram 2500 rumbled up the dirt drive, kicking up a small cloud behind it. The truck pulled up in front of the house, stopping next to John’s teal and silver Ford F-150. Three men in their twenties piled out of the truck, each sending a friendly smile and wave toward the older ranchers. John, Charles, and Javier made their way down the porch steps, John stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. The new hands introduced themselves, apparently all childhood friends which explained why they arrived together, shaking hands and giving names. After introductions, John showed the men around the main part of the ranch. Showing them the stables, the coup, and the different paddocks for the sheep, goats, and cows took up the better part of an hour. As they headed back towards the house John let them know that that was probably enough for right now. Once they were on the porch he explained the basic amenities in each cabin. They’d have electricity, a small kitchen, a bathroom, a bed, and a landline. John handed them each a slip of paper with the number for his line, letting them know that if they needed Charles or Javier they’d be living right next door. Charles offered to take the boys down to the cabins and Javier offered to join, citing that he needed to change out of his dusty work clothes. The boys hopped in their truck and followed after Javier and Charles, the cloud of dust slowly getting further and further away. John took a seat on one of the chairs on the porch, looking down over the property. There was still one new hand that was supposed to be arriving, likely within the next hour. John pulled another cigarette from his pocket, cupping his hand around his lighter as he flicked it, protecting the flame from the wind. Heady smoke filled his lungs as he leaned back. The three boys seemed nice. All were well-mannered and friendly. One of them, Riley, John thought his name was, said he’d worked at the MacFarlane’s ranch for a few years, dealing mainly with the horses. The other two mentioned they’d worked doing construction for the last few years. Apparently, they wanted more exciting work and while the MacFarlane’s didn’t have any more jobs available, they knew Bighorn was hiring and sent the boys in John’s direction. Javier had handled the applications, of which there were few. He was typically in charge of the business end of things despite the ranch belonging to John. Javier had a charm and refinement that was perfect for dealing with people and local businesses that John seemed to lack. John’s mind began to drift, as it often did when he was alone, to Abigail and Jack. He had Jack for a few days each month. The last time Jack came to visit, John had shown him how to ride. The two of them didn’t talk a whole lot but the time they spent together always felt special. Jack had a room in the ranch house, filled with his medieval fantasy books, a couple of his toys, and a small gaming setup with a sega genesis and little box tv. Jack had tried to teach John how to play Sonic but John was hopeless. His fingers were too big for the little buttons and he just couldn’t get the hang of moving that damn rodent around. He missed Jack, every damn day. Abigail too, but that was getting easier. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tires on the dirt road. A grey and blue Chevy Silverado pulled up the drive. John stood up, a slight groan leaving his lips. He was only in his forties but his years of hard living seemed to be catching up to him. He moved down the steps, his eyes trained on his boots until the sound of a car door slamming shut had him looking up. John’s heart stopped. Or he couldn’t breathe. Or he died. He wasn’t sure. All he could tell was that the woman in front of him was like a dream. The late afternoon sun shone on your form, bathing you in a golden glow. Your eyes were covered by sunglasses, a black shirt adored your torso while your legs were covered by a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of brown work boots on your feet. Your smile was easygoing as you raised a hand in greeting. Your voice was kind and warm as you greeted him. “Hi! I’m one of the new ranch hands. Are you Javier?” John let out a laugh at that, trying to compose himself.   “No, no, I’m John. John Marston. I uhh… I own Bighorn.” He was trying not to let his eyes drag over your body but he couldn’t help himself. “Jav-Javier’s in charge of the business side of things, you’ll meet him later.” “Nice to meet you, Sir,” A spike of heat seemed to pierce through John at the title. The smile etched on your face was radiant as you gave him your name. God, you were pretty. John cleared his throat as he attempted to avoid looking directly at you. “The other hands got here bout an hour ago. They’re down at the cabins right now. Ya wanna join them or do ya wanna tour of the ranch?” His hand rubbed the back of his neck almost sheepishly. He couldn’t help but wishing you’d take the tour. Selfishly hoping to get some one on one time with you before introducing you to the other men. He finally mustered the courage to look up at your face. Your smile seemed almost shy as you replied, stepping towards him slightly, “I think I’d like to see the ranch, Sir.” He was fucked. ~~~~~~ Having extra hands on the farm proved to be endlessly helpful as spring turned to summer. The animals that had been born only a few weeks after you and the boys arrived were growing bigger and bigger. The four of you also helped John and Charles bring some of the horses to a show in one of the neighboring towns, bringing in a pretty sum of cash. John was beginning to feel a little more at peace. The loans for the ranch were beginning to get smaller and smaller as he paid them off. The stress on his shoulders seemed to be lessening as the weeks went by. His self-deprecating thoughts being replaced with thoughts of you. To say John was enamored would be putting it lightly. To start with you were a good worker. Often working longer hours than necessary, going until you felt the job was complete. At the end of the day, you’d slump onto the steps of the porch, your shirt sticking to your chest, your skin glowing, a blissed-out smile on your face. John would come out and offer you a beer. There would normally be only five minutes where you were alone before the rest of the men joined the two of you. John tried not to resent it, knowing he had no claim over you, but god he wished he did. John found himself staring at you as you moved around the ranch. Whether you were carrying bales of hay to the stables, pounding in nails on the fence you were fixing, or helping break one of the new horses. John would let his gaze drag up and down your body before catching himself. He would reprimand himself. Reminding himself that you were a. Almost twenty years his junior, b. Likey dating one of the younger hands (a thought that had made him prone to snapping at the young men without much prompting), and c. wouldn’t want a broken man like him. He’d scold himself, telling himself he was a pervert for looking at you like that, for wanting to take you, claim you. But he couldn’t seem to stop the thoughts from creeping in late at night. When his rough hands fisted his cock and he’d think about you on your knees for him, your lips and tongue running up and down his length as you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. Or how you’d feel wrapped around him. What you’d sound like as he took you from every position imaginable. How you’d react if he pinched your nipples, if he spanked you. Despite being alone in that big house he’d bite his fist as he came, moaning out your name as the drag of his hand became too much. When the lust had passed and his cock softened, cum drying on his stomach, and reality set in, he’d mutter to himself, “You’re a fool, Marston.” The sentiment never seemed to stick because he’d see you bend over in that pair of jeans the next morning and would be stuck fighting the arousal that seemed to surge through him for the rest of the day. He was jacking off like a teenager, seemingly unable to control himself. When he spoke to you he’d stumble over his words, never being able to fully articulate his thoughts before getting lost in your eyes or your smile. Charles and Javier had picked up on his infatuation. Relentlessly teasing him when it was just the three of them. There was one day you were going to run errands in town. You’d stopped by the house to ask if the men needed anything else picked up while you were there. The day was already blazing hot despite it only being midmorning and you’d opted for a sundress. The fabric was light and airy around your thighs, the neckline cutting down to show more of your chest than was strictly necessary. John, Charles, and Javier had been in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew, when you knocked, letting yourself in through the front door. “Hello?” Your sweet voice echoed through the house. “In the kitchen,” Charles called back. When you entered the kitchen it took everything in John not to drop the mug he’d just grabbed from the cabinet. The flush on his cheeks was immediate. He could feel his jeans getting tighter as he took in your form. He could feel his mouth hanging open slightly. He was only drawn out of his trance by Charles’ gentle elbow in his side. Luckily it seemed like you missed the small interaction. “Mornin’ y’all.” you nodded to Charles and Javier before turning to John. “I’m heading into town and was wondering if there’s anything you need me to pick up, Sir.” John could barely manage to shake his head. “T-that’s very nice of you but I think we’re all set sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. You nodded as you slipped your sunglasses onto your face. “Alright, I’ll see y’all, later.” You shot a dazzling smile towards the men as you turned, exiting the kitchen. John was able to stew in his slight mortification until the sound of the front door shutting echoed through the house. As the latch clicked John felt his friend's knowing gazes on him. Charles was the first to speak. “I’m not gonna lie to you, that was hard to watch. ‘Sweetheart’? Really?” The teasing lilt to his voice almost had John hiding his face in embarrassment. Javier clasped a hand on John’s shoulder, giving him what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, brother.” John let out a long groan, debating adding a bit of whiskey to his morning coffee. He was gonna need it if he had to put up with these two for the rest of the day. That night he came in the shower, fantasizing about fucking you dumb as you bent over in that pretty little dress for him. Then again later in his bed at the idea of your legs wrapped around his head, calling him sir as he ate you out until you cried. ~~~~~~ The storm that overtook the skies a few weeks later came out of nowhere. The dark and heavy purple clouds seemingly materialized out of the clear blue sky. Lightning and thunder breaking up the peaceful feeling of the ranch. John was in the house when the rain began to fall. The drops pounding against the roof creating an unrelenting din. He walked away from the window he was looking out to the phone in the hallway. He should probably call Charles and Javier. They’d taken the truck into town and were probably still at the mechanic seeing as the owner was an old friend. He dialed the number for the garage but was only met with static. One of the phone lines must have been knocked down in the storm. He’d have to check around the property whenever Charles and Javier returned with the truck, likely tomorrow at the earliest. John’s mind flashed to you, as it often did. He hoped you were back at your cabin, safe from the torrential rains. You’d been up at the ranch this morning but probably headed back with the boys earlier in the afternoon. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a frantic pounding, different from that of the raindrops. Someone was knocking on the door. He crossed the room, hand twisting the door open to reveal your drenched form. You were dripping wet. Your jeans were several shades darker than they had been earlier, your white t-shirt was essentially translucent. John tried to not stare at the black outline of your bra showing through the shirt or at the way the fabric clung to your skin, showing off your form perfectly. His gaze was brought back to your lips as you spoke. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, Sir. I-I was with the horses when the storm started and the thunder spooked some of them. I had to round them up.” He shook his head at your words. “Come on inside darlin’, you must be freezing.” You nodded, stepping in off the porch and onto the mat inside the doorway as he stepped back, making room for you, letting the door shut behind you. “Let me go grab you a towel.” He grabbed his favorite towel from the bathroom, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that was unhelpfully pointing out that the soft fabric would soon be running over your body. As John came back out into the hallway he took in your form once again. You looked miserable and cold, trembling slightly. He handed you the towel, ignoring the spike of heat he felt as your hands brushed his. “Do you have your truck?” His raspy voice was gentler than usual. You shook your head. “Wanted to enjoy the walk this morning,” you chuckled slightly. “Well, I think that means you’re gonna be stuck here for a bit. The phones are down, the boys are at the cabins, and Charles and Javier are in town with the truck. ‘N I’m not risking you walkin’ back in this weather.” You nodded again, a small smile gracing your features at his concern. John was still trying his best not to stare at your chest, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hide the growing outline of his cock for much longer. “You’re welcome to the shower if ya’d like. And I’ll bring you a change of clothes too.” As you toed off your boots you let out a sweet “thank you”. John showed you to the bathroom, before running to his room to grab a shirt and sweatpants. He placed them on the shelf in the bathroom before turning back to you. “The extra room is yours for tonight. If you need anythin’ just holler.” Your voice stopped him on the way out of the room. “Thank you, Sir. You’re very kind.” He chuckled lightly, “I’m just tryna help. ‘N you can jus call me John, sweetheart.” Your smile broadened a bit, “Well, thank you, John.” He nodded, barely finding the strength to close the door behind him. God, that was worse. His name falling from your lush lips. His mind grabbed onto the sound, playing with it, twisting it until he was imagining you calling it out from underneath him. As the latch clicked shut he leaned back onto the hallway walls, pressing the heel of his palm into his growing erection. “Get it together, Marston,” he muttered. He moved to the kitchen, trying to forget the shape of your body, the way the tops of your tits were visible through the wet fabric. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboards, pouring himself a generous amount. He quickly drank the amber liquid, hardly registering the burn in the back of his throat. He poured another glass, just taking a sip from it this time. He could hear the water from the showerhead, even in the kitchen, and was trying to not get distracted by the thought of your body in the shower. He wished he could walk in there, wrapping his arms around you as you rinsed the day off. He’d trail soft kisses over your neck as he lathered soap over your form. He could imagine the noises you’d make as he kneaded your shoulders, the little groans that would leave your perfect lips. He shook his head, he needed to distract himself. His eyes caught on the clock across the room, it was getting late, and the both of you would probably be hungry soon. He opened the fridge and glanced over the contents. The mostly empty shelves seemed to glare back at him. He dropped his head into his hands, frustrated at himself. You were in his home and he couldn’t even make you a proper meal. He was so distracted by his perceived downfall that he didn’t hear the shower turning off, nor the click of the bathroom door and the footsteps that followed. “Sir?” Your gentle voice pulled his eyes up. You were standing in the entrance to the kitchen, his shirt hanging off your shoulders, his sweatpants hugging your hips. His gaze dragged up and down your body. You weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples were hardened from the cold, the outline of them visible through the worn material. His voice was gruffer than usual as he forced it out around the lump in his throat, making his eyes meet yours. “I thought I told you to call me John, darlin’.” You nodded sweetly. “Alright, John.” His name sounded so sweet on your lips. He needed some sort of distraction. He grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter, raising it for you to look at. “D’ya want a glass?” “I’d very much like that, thank you.” “How was your shower,” His full focus was on pouring a glass for you and topping off his own. Looking at you was almost too much. “It was really nice. Your water pressure is amazing!” your exclamation had John stiffening in his jeans once again. The idea of you in the shower, groaning as the water hit your shoulders, running in rivulets down your chest. He put the bottle back on the counter a little harder than he meant to, turning around to hand you your glass. The amber liquid on his tongue was a necessity for this situation. “I’d uh, I’d offer ya dinner but ‘m not much of a cook.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck at the admission, his cheeks tinted red. He was a grown man and the majority of his meals came frozen or from a can. “I could make something for us,” your voice was kind, soothing almost. John shook his head almost immediately. “I’m not gonna make you do that darlin’. Don’t want you to have to take care of my ass.” “I really don’t mind it, John. Plus I’d like to eat at some point.” Your tone was lighthearted as you grinned at him. After a little more back and forth he conceded, allowing you to take over the kitchen. You shooed him out of the room, telling him it’d be ready soon. John settled in the living room, flipping on the tv to try and drown out the thoughts of you. He couldn’t seem to stop. The whiskey wasn’t doing much to help. He’d occasionally flip between channels, but nothing was quite able to grab his attention. The idea of you in his house, in his kitchen, in his clothes was so domestic. The idea of walking up behind you while you cooked, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your neck, it was intoxicating to him. But he couldn’t lie and say his thoughts were completely innocent. Images of you in various compromising positions kept flashing through his mind, now accompanied by the sound of you whining his name. About half an hour later you emerged from the kitchen with two steaming plates of spaghetti, setting them down on the dining room table. When John walked over to join you the smell hit him. It was heavenly. How you’d pulled together something like this out of the pathetic ingredients he had available was incredible. As the two of you ate dinner you made idle conversation. John had talked to you a few times since you came to the ranch but he could never seem to hold a conversation. Too overwhelmed by your presence when you were close to him. Now he didn’t have much of a choice. He learned a little bit more about your life before you came to work at Bighorn. When you’d both finished eating, John offered to clean the dishes. You didn’t argue, letting him gather the dirty plates. “It's still pretty early so if you want to put on a movie while I clean up, you're more than welcome to.” You agreed and he told you where to find the tape collection. As he washed the plates in the kitchen he scolded himself. You’re too old for her, Marston. Pretty young things like her aren't interested in broken men. You’re an old fool. Once the dishes were cleaned he took a moment to lean against the counter, holding his head in his hands. He had to get it together. As far as he should be concerned you're just his employee and he should treat you as such. Seeing as he’d finished his whiskey before you had brought out dinner, he grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He called your name towards the living room, asking if you wanted one too. You shouted back a yes. He uncapped the two beers and walked back to the living room. You were curled up on the right side of the couch, your legs tucked up off the floor, a blanket from the chest near the window wrapped around you. You looked warm and comfortable. John pointedly ignored the pang of affection that shot through his chest as he handed you your beer. The couch was small but he still tried to give you space. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But even with his hip pressed against the arm of the couch, your legs still brushed against his thigh. He had to keep his breath steady as he could feel the warmth from your body. He recognized the movie you picked as Jurassic Park, one of Jack’s favorites. You were only at the part where the scientists were on their way to the island. “‘S a good choice,” he gestured at the tv. “The movie I mean.” “It’s one of my favorites!” God your smile was cute. He wanted to make you smile all the time. As the movie continued, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. However, John was very aware of your presence next to him. Of the press of your legs against his. In trying to ignore the heat in his stomach and the feeling of you right next to him, he was staring very hard at the tv. When Ellie jumped off the ride to go look at the stegosaurus, you shifted towards him, moving your legs to the other side of you, your torso almost pressing into his side. “I still can’t believe how real it looks! It's crazy!” The excitement in your voice made a smile form on John’s face. Subconsciously, he moved his arm to the back of the couch, giving you room to move in, to lean against him if you so desired. He didn’t even register he had done it until he felt your body press against his, tucking yourself under his arm. He couldn’t stop the small hitch in his breath at the realization that you were willingly cuddling up to him. He was sure you could probably hear his heartbeat from your new position. He tried to keep his eyes on the movie but it was hopeless, his gaze focused intently on you. When you raised your head to look at him he wasn’t quick enough. You’d caught him. He was caught off guard by your hand pressing into his chest as you pushed yourself up. You were still close to him, but you were now upright, your chest turned towards him. Your gaze was calculating as your tongue traced along your bottom lip. He couldn’t help but stare at the movement. The indecision seemed to leave your eyes as you noticed what he was staring at. You leaned towards him slightly. “John,” your voice was soft as he finally was able to drag his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes were dark, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Kiss me.” His brain stopped. Or his heart stopped. He wasn’t sure. Maybe both. All he could manage was a small nod. His hand moved to grasp the nape of your neck, bringing your lips to his. The kiss was passionate, a mess of tongues and lips, of gasping breaths. John ignored every part of his brain that was telling him to stop. That you were too young for him, that you were his employee, all of the reasons that he shouldn’t let this happen. The feeling of you drowned out everything else. When he nibbled on your bottom lip, you let out a small moan. The sound sent blood rushing to his cock. All he wanted to do was draw those noises out of you. To hear every little sound you’d make in the throes of pleasure. Your kisses were as greedy as his, seemingly trying to savor every second of your embrace. He was able to pull himself away for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as his hands came to cradle your head in his large hands. “Darlin’,” his voice was rougher than usual. “Are you sure you want this? Are you sure you want an ol’ man like me?” The glare you gave him was more chiding than actually frustrated. “First of all, you're not old. Second, I’ve wanted this since I started working here. Wanted you since that first day.” Your confession sent a shiver through John. “Really,” he couldn’t stop the slightly desperate tone that laced his voice. You nodded, smiling at him. “How could I not?” Your answer was simple but it sent a swirl of affection and mild pride through him. He moved a hand to your waist, you seemed to take it as an invitation to move onto his lap. Swinging your body so your legs rested on either side of his thighs. In this position, John allowed his hands to roam over your body. Tracing up your back, trailing down your sides, he let them come to rest on your ass, grabbing the flesh and pulling you against him slightly. The movement caused your hips to press against his hardness. You gasped loudly. His first reaction was worry that he’d done something wrong, but that thought left his mind when you rolled your hips against his again. He was painfully hard, his cock pressing against the confines of his jeans. He could feel the small wet spot forming in his underwear, his tip leaking precum. Each move of your hips felt like heaven. The feeling of you, in his lap, wearing his clothes, making those desperate little sounds as you ground yourself against him, was better than any of the fantasies he’d had. He was meeting your movements, thrusting up. The feeling was overwhelming, and when you attached your lips to his neck he keened. He let his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, just trailing them along the soft skin of your hips at first. When you didn’t make any move to stop him, he began to trace higher and higher. Fingertips brushing over your sides, your ribs, and then your tits. God, they were so soft. He let his hands pinch your nipples experimentally. You had to move your mouth from his neck when you let out a high-pitched moan. “Do that again,” your voice was tantalizingly desperate. “Please, John.” He complied, unable to deny you anything you asked for. His fingers twisted and pulled at your sensitive buds, rewarding him with your gasps and breathy moans. He pushed you back slightly in his lap, moving you so you were sat upright. He looked up at you as he brought his face to your chest, wrapping his lips around one nipple while continuing his ministrations on the other. The look on your face was the prettiest thing John had ever seen. Your lips were parted, your eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you held on. You’d paused your hips when he moved you, allowing his pleasure to subside. When your eyes opened, your pupils were blown wide and lust practically dripping from your gaze, he couldn’t help himself from thrusting his hips to yours. His hands moved back to your waist, his eyes never leaving yours as he rolled his hips again, the pressure from your body providing him the slightest bit of relief. He’d been able to calm himself for a little bit, but with his hips humping against you and the look in your eyes, he was driving himself toward the edge again. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about the needy moans leaving his mouth. It was almost without warning that he felt the pleasure in him swell as his balls drew up. The stimulation of your warm body rubbing against him sending him over the edge. His cock pulsed in his jeans, releasing spurt after spurt of hot cum. He came with a harsh gasp followed by an embarrassing whine of your name, his hands clutching you tightly as he kept humping you, drawing out the sensations. When his high began to subside he was overtaken with embarrassment. He’d finally gotten a chance with you and he’d cum in his pants like a goddamn teenager.   Your voice was small. “Um…John. Did you…did you just cum.” All he could do was nod as he buried his head in your shoulder, unable to fully look at you. Your hands buried into his hair, holding him sweetly. “It’s okay, John. It happens.” He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye. He’d ruined his chance. “I-I’m so sorry.” he managed to get out. You let out a soft coo as your hands moved to cradle his face. “You’ve got nothing’ to be sorry for. I promise.” He tilted his head up, his gaze meeting yours. There was nothing in your eyes to indicate disgust or displeasure, just kindness. He nodded dumbly as he took you in. “Wanted this to be good for you, sweetheart. Been thinking of this for ages and I fucked it up.” You shook your head. “What makes you think you won’t be able to make it up to me?” your smile was teasing as you tilted his chin upwards. Hope sparked in his chest at your words. “Like right now?” desperation leaked into his voice. You nodded sweetly. “If that’s okay with you.” John couldn’t stop his overenthusiastic nod. “Well in that case I think I owe you somethin’” He shifted you off his lap, allowing you to stand. “My bedrooms, the door on your right, down that hallway there. I'll be there in just a moment.” As he stood you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing your lips to his once again. You then leaned in, allowing your lips to brush the shell of his ear. “You better, or I’ll be left with no choice but to take care of myself,” you pushed away from him, a sly grin on your face as you shot him a wink and started in the direction of his room. John watched you leave, letting his eyes drag over your form, his thoughts notably absent of the guilt that would plague him whenever he’d looked at you before. When you were out of sight, he went into the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up. As he walked towards his room he felt what could only be described as butterflies in his stomach. You were far too good for him, in every single way, but you were here, you wanted to be with him, to have him touch you. He couldn’t help the dopey smile that broke out across his face. He pushed open the bedroom door to find you standing in the middle of the room, seemingly taking in your surroundings. At the sound of his footsteps, you turned to face him. “You ready to make it up to me, Mr. Marston?” Your teasing voice was cut off as he closed the space between the two of you and pulled your body into his. His lips crashed into yours, his hand coming to rest on your jaw. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, almost asking permission, which you granted. You tasted like the whiskey from earlier. He began to walk you backward, your steps hesitant until the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed and you fell onto your back. You looked so beautiful below him. You scooted yourself toward the headboard as he dropped his knees onto the mattress. He moved up until he was settled between your legs, his body pressed to the bed as his hands came to rest on your thighs. “I wanna taste you darlin’,” his fingers brushed against the exposed bit of skin that was visible between your shirt and the band of your sweatpants. “Would that be alright with you?” When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, your pupils had swallowed your irises. Your gaze was heavy with lust, your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you nodded. “Please, John. Need you.” His hands hooked over the band of your sweatpants, pulling them down over the tops of your thighs. He couldn’t look away as more and more of you was revealed. As soon as the sweatpants had slipped off your feet, his mouth met your inner thigh. His hands moved to the insides of your knees, gently pushing you apart for him. He traded between kisses and gentle nips as his mouth trailed over the sensitive skin. “Take off your shirt for me sweetheart.” his voice was low, filled with desire. You quickly obeyed, tossing the fabric to the floor and settling back against the bed. John couldn’t believe that he was here, between your thighs. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought about this, in this same bed as he fucked his hand. And now it was happening, it was real. He felt his cock jump slightly, blood beginning to return to it. You were whimpering under him, clearly frustrated at the lack of attention being paid to your dripping cunt. He could see the small wet patch forming on the cotton that covered you and his mouth watered. He couldn’t resist dragging a finger over your clothed slit as his mouth continued along your thigh. You let out a high-pitched moan when his finger ghosted over your clit. God, he wanted to draw more of those noises from your sweet lips. “Don’t be impatient now, sweetheart. I’m gonna take my time with you.” His voice was even raspier than usual, dripping with lust. You thrust your hips slightly at his words, trying to get more from him. He pressed your hips back to the bed with one hand, holding you still, tutting his tongue at you. He dragged his mouth higher, his lips pressing against the cotton of your panties. He smirked slightly before grabbing the hem of them between his teeth and dragging them down your hips. When you were rid of them, he couldn’t help but take you in. “John,” your voice was sweet with want. With need. His hands moved back to your inner knees, pushing your legs apart for him. Your cunt glistened with slick, the insides of your thighs shining with it as well. He couldn’t wait to taste you. He was laying between your legs again, his face only inches from your heat. This was better than anything he’d imagined. You were a dream and he wanted to show you how much he wanted this, wanted you. You let out the most intoxicating noise when he licked a broad stripe over your entrance, his nose bumping your clit. Your hands, which had been gripping the sheets at your sides, moved to his hair, tangling your fingers in the dark locks. You were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He wanted to drink you in, the taste of you like heaven on his tongue. He wanted to drag it out. To tease you with soft licks, turn you into a begging mess. But that would take patience and John Marston was not a patient man. He buried his face in your pussy. His tongue laving over you as his nose rubbed against your clit. If he were to die right now, he’d die a happy man. His hands dug into your hips as he dragged you closer to his mouth. He was trying to memorize everything that made you moan, made you tug on his hair, or try to grind your hips against his mouth. The moan you let out when he wrapped his lips around your clit was absolutely sinful. “Johnnn,” your breath was labored, making it hard to form full sentences. “P-please,” you begged. “Please what, darlin’? What d’ya need?” His voice was teasing as his gaze met your lust-darkened eyes. “Please finger me, please. I need it, please, please, John.” He would’ve liked to tease you more but he was quickly realizing that he couldn’t resist doing anything you asked of him. “How could I say no when you sound so sweet beggin’ for me.” He brought his mouth back to your clit as one of his fingers traced lightly over your slit. You were so goddamn wet, the mix of your slick and his spit shining in the low light of the room. You shivered when he pushed a finger in, just to the first knuckle. He felt you clench at the invasion, making him let out a soft groan. He pushed his finger fully inside you, crooking it up to press against your walls. You let out a loud whiny moan at the sensation. He continued slowly dragging his digit in and out, brushing against your g-spot each time. He wanted to draw this out, show you how good he could make you feel. His mouth continued the assault on your clit, as he finally gave in and added another finger, much to your delight. Your hips rocked against his hand with each thrust, your back arching when he would slowly brush over that sensitive spot. He could feel you getting wetter, your breaths becoming shorter, the words leaving your lips barely discernible. “J-John, I-I’m gonna cum,” he could barely hear you as you wrapped your thighs around his head, your hand yanking on his hair, pulling him closer to you, trying to reach your peak. He sped up slightly, not enough to disrupt your pleasure, but just enough to have you gasping loudly. John felt you clench around his fingers, once, twice, and then you came. Looking back on it, he wished he could’ve seen your face, but he was so lost in lapping up the rush of slick from you. He could do this for hours, knelt between your legs, eating you out until you were exhausted or until he had his fill, whichever came first. He only pulled off of you when you tugged his hair trying to push him off as your thighs fell back to the mattress. He looked up at you, taking in your disheveled face. Your lips were slightly swollen from your teeth biting into them, your eyes were dark, your chest rising and falling rapidly with your breath. “Sorry darlin’, ya just taste so good. Couldn’t help myself.” He was grinning like an idiot. You returned his smile as you muttered, “you’re damn good at that.” “That mean I make it up to ya?” You nodded, “Doesn’t mean we’re done here though.” John’s cock jumped at that. Eating you out had turned him on more than he’d care to admit, his cock had become hard and heavy, pressed against the mattress. “Thank god for that,” his raspy voice was only slightly teasing. A small smile broke out across your face as you shook your head at him, your hands pulling him up to you. He knew you could taste yourself on his tongue, the thought driving him slightly crazy. He’d propped himself up, his arms on either side of you, keeping mind to not let his whole weight rest on you. You pulled back, the look in your eye intrigued him. You looked like you had a plan. Before he could register what was happening, you’d flipped him over, sitting on top of him, your body on display. You leaned forward slightly, your finger trailing along the buttons of his shirt. “I think you’re wearing far too much clothing.” John could only bring himself to nod, as he took in your form. He was in awe. Your fingers began to work on his buttons, undoing them one by one. As more of his chest was revealed you brought your mouth to gently kiss across his skin. He could feel his mouth hanging open slightly, his heart pounding as you showed him a gentleness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Your touches were light and adoring. As more of him was revealed to you, compliments and sweet words spilled from your lips. Your lips trailed across the scars that littered his chest, murmuring, “you’re so beautiful, John.” He felt like he was being worshiped. Like you were treating him like something to be treasured. When your fingers undid the last button of his shirt, you helped him slip it off of his shoulders, tossing the fabric to the floor to join the other discarded garments. Your hands traced along his chest, running through the smattering of hair across his pecs. Your hands drifted down further, your fingers dragging lightly through the dark hair of his happy trail. They came to rest on the waistband of his jeans, tucking underneath the fabric slightly, your nails teasing the sensitive skin. Your eyes were dark as you looked up at him, asking for permission. He nodded, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. You made quick work of the button and zipper, your fingers once again hooking over the sides as you pulled his jeans and boxers down in one go. His cock sprang up from the fabric, leaking and red, the head practically dripping precum. John knew his dick wasn’t something to scoff at but he still felt self-conscious. That was until he raised his eyes to your face. “Oh, John,” your words were soft, you seemed transfixed, your hand coming up to wrap around him, your fingers only barely able to touch around his girth. He couldn’t help the hiss that escaped him at the pressure. Your hands were light, tracing along the vein that ran up his length, ghosting over the head, your thumb swept at the slit, catching a drop of precum. He was captivated as you brought your thumb to your lips, your tongue darting out to taste it. He couldn’t take this slow teasing, he couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to be inside of you. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you before flipping the two of you once again. God, you were so beautiful. His naked body pressing against yours. His hand reached up to trace your jaw, fingers coming to a rest on your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “Are you sure you want this?” As much as he dreamt of you, as much as he wanted this, he needed to know you felt the same. That this wasn’t something one-sided. Your hands reached around him, settling on the back of his neck, the smile you gave him was sweet, the lust in your eyes seeming to give way to something softer, something he’d dare call adoring. “John, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been the one pursuing you all night. I know what I want. I know I want you.” He couldn’t formulate a response aside from bringing his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet at first but quickly sank back into something laced with sinful intents. He only pulled back to reach into the drawer of his nightstand, his hands tracing over the contents, searching for a condom. “John,” your voice was smaller than it had been a minute ago. “I-I’m clean. Got tested a bit ago. I, uh, I’m also on the pill.” His gaze was unable to leave your face as he tried to make sense of the words. His brain short-circuiting. When he didn’t respond, you continued, “S-so, I mean if you’re clean, we- I’m okay if we don’t use one.” He nodded, slowly at first, then with barely contained enthusiasm. “God, woman. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered as his lips met yours once again. The kiss was chaste, cut short by both of your eagerness. John moved back, kneeling between your legs, one hand languidly stroking his cock as he looked down at you. He used his other hand to help scoot you forward, tipping your hips up slightly as your legs wrapped around his waist. He ran his tip over your entrance, tapping it against your clit. A shudder ran through your body as you let out a frustrated groan. He did it again, relishing in the way you squirmed as he refused to give you what you so desperately needed. “John,” your voice was clipped, stern. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to leave and go finished myself off…alone.” He got the message, letting his tip stop at your dripping entrance before pushing in slowly. The heat and the tightness that met him was almost overwhelming. He had to stop himself from pushing in all the way in one go. He tried to go slowly, an inch at a time, but the way you were wrapped around his length was too much. Before he could stop himself, his hips thrust forward, entering you to the hilt, his balls pressed against your ass. He managed to let out a strangled, “sorry,” as he rested inside you, unmoving. You had gasped at the sudden movement, but now with him still, pressing incessantly into your g-spot, you were beginning to gyrate your hips, encouraging him to begin to move. His hands had come to rest beside your head, holding his body over yours as he slowly brought his hips back before thrusting into you. You moaned loudly as his body met yours. The pace he started was slow, purposeful. One of his hands moved to cup your jaw, bringing your lips to meet his in an almost loving kiss. He was holding back, not wanting to speed up for fear of hurting you. You seemed to not care as you pulled your lips back from him. Your gaze met his, it was hard and determined. “I’m not a doll, John. I'm not gonna break.” You brought your lips to his ear, the brush of them sending shivers down his spine as you whispered, “been waiting for this for months. Fuck me like you mean it.” You barely had time to draw back before he began to pound into you, his pace unrelenting. The moans leaving your mouth were heavenly, intoxicating. He wanted more. He moved his lips to your throat, biting and sucking the delicate skin. The whine you let out when he nipped you particularly hard had him grinning against your neck. He brought a hand up to your tits, tweaking your nipples like he did earlier on the couch, teasing you. He felt you grip down on him whenever he pulled or pinched especially hard. He was panting, both from the physical excretion as well as the overwhelming pleasure. He could hear how wet you were with each thrust, the noises your body made driving him to thrust a little harder. “You were fuckin’ made for me, sweetheart,” he growled out between breaths. As heat coiled in his stomach, he kept remembering what you had said. How you wanted him to cum inside of you, how you’d wanted him for months. He needed to see it when it happened. Needed to see what you’d look like stuffed full of his cum. His thrusts slowed as he shifted off your neck, his hand leaving your chest as he sat up. He removed your legs from his waist and instead lifted them until they rested on his shoulders. When he leaned back down again, his hands came to rest on either side of your head, essentially folding you in half. He gave a hard thrust into you. The new angle made him sink deeper, his cock brushing against your g-spot with each stroke. Even though you felt tight before, now every move he made had you squeezing him. He knew he couldn’t possibly last much longer but he had to make you cum before he did. Had to give you a reason to do this again. You were letting out a steady stream of curses each time he pounded into you. Your hands gripping the sheets, bunching them tightly in your fists. Your eyes were black with lust and your mouth hung open, sweat shone on your forehead and chest. You looked like a fucking angel. John couldn’t help the praise that dripped from his lips. “You’re such a good girl for me, ain’tcha. Taking me so fuckin’ well.” He moved one of his hands to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. “Wanted you since I first saw ya. Wanted to take ya right on the porch.” “John,” you let out a breathy whine. He kept going, “that day you came over in that stupid sundress. Looked so sweet in it. All dolled up. Wanted to bend you over. Wanted to fuck you until you were screaming my name.” He gave a particularly hard thrust, emphasizing his words. “W-wore it for you,” you managed to get out around harsh moans. He could barely think through the fog of pleasure that permeated his brain. “That’s my girl,” he grunted. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his chest flushed red, sweat beading on his skin. He was so fucking close, for the second time that night. You’d made a mess of him. “Fuck,” your body seemed to be almost shaking with pleasure. “J-John, I’m gonna cum. P-please don’t stop, feels so good.” He kept his pace and seconds later you were clamping down on him like a vice. Your body shook with the waves of pleasure that washed over you. The sensation of you squeezing around him sent him right to the brink of his orgasm. His thrusts became sloppy as he chased his high, his balls drawing up, his pants becoming harsher. “C-cum inside me, John. please,” your worn voice all but begged as your eyes met his. Those words were the final push that threw him over the edge. He thrust once, twice, three more times before spilling inside you. His vision was overtaken by white. He rocked into you as the waves overtook him. He could feel the tingling sensation in his fingertips, in his toes. When he seemingly came back into himself, the sight that greeted him was heavenly. You were spread below him, chest still heaving, bottom lip swollen from kisses and bites. Your hands which had been gripping the sheets now ran up and down his sides, helping bring him back down from the mind-blowing orgasm. He lowered your legs from his shoulders, pulling out of you with a soft grunt. He couldn’t help but watch as his seed leaked from your hole. His fingers moved without thought to stuff his spend back inside you. He only stopped when you let out a slightly pained moan, igniting a feeling of worry in his chest. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to hurt ya.” You smiled and chuckled weakly, “s’okay, just sensitive right now.” He wanted to press a gentle kiss to your temple but couldn’t muster up the courage. He stood up from the bed with a small groan. “I’ll be right back sweetheart, gonna clean up.” He stumbled off towards the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping himself down before tossing it into the hamper. He grabbed another cloth, making sure the water wasn’t too hot or too cold before he wrung it out and returned to the bedroom. You were in the same position as you’d been when he left, but now your legs were closed. He knelt before you on the bed. “You okay with me cleanin’ you up?” you nodded sweetly, your eyes closing as he gently swiped the rag over you. When he was done, he tossed the rag to the side, letting it join the pile of clothes already on the floor. He didn’t want your time together to end, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable either and the doubts were beginning to creep in on the edge of his mind. “You, uh, you don’t have to sleep here, with me, if you don’t want,” he started, staring at his hands. “The other room’s still free if you'd like.” When he brought his gaze to yours he was met with something he could only describe as affection. “I’m not going anywhere if that’s alright with you,” your voice was kind as you smiled at him. “Now come to bed, I’m getting cold here all alone.” He couldn’t contain the grin that broke out on his face. He laid down on his back, his arm outstretched, inviting you in. You curled right into his side, your head coming to rest on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you in return, holding you close. Despite just being inside you, the gentle cuddling had him blushing harder than he had all night. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, under a sky of dark clouds, and the steady pounding of rain on the roof, you were his and he was yours. And that was good enough.

I know this was super long for a one-shot smut fic but if you made it all the way through, I hope you enjoyed it! This was my first time writing smut from a man's perspective so I'm sorry if anything was weird. I just love John Marston very much <3 Comments/criticisms are always welcome! Crossposted on AO3 @holyratrimony​ <3333

Taglist: @cowboydisaster​

This fic was inspired by this post by @butchdutch

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 2/34 - decaf coffee

[Read on AO3]

In the next week, the topic of adoption doesn’t come up again, and she tries to put it out of her mind as much as possible. They wrap up their case, spending several dull hours working on their reports, and wait impatiently for something else to come across their desk, ideally something a little more intellectually stimulating than the last few duds they’ve worked.

The good thing about not having any cases, though, is that no one blinks twice when they take a long lunch here, or leave work a few minutes early at the end of the day there. A spontaneous mid-morning coffee break at their favorite cafe down the street gets them out of the building, enjoying a rare warm day in December.

On the way to the coffee shop, they walk side by side—as always—until Scully stops suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Oh, Mulder. Look,” she says sadly.

He follows her gaze to the other side of the street, where a little boy no older than four stands with frightened eyes, looking back and forth helplessly while busy businessmen and women in suits pass by without sparing him a glance.

Mulder checks for cars quickly before jogging across the street, giving Scully little warning before taking off. She follows behind, carefully dodging traffic as it approaches.

“Hey, buddy, you lost?” Mulder asks, approaching the boy and kneeling down to his height.

The boy nods, red-faced and eyes brimming with tears.

“That’s okay, we’ll help you get this figured out,” he says consolingly. “Are you here with your mom?”

“Uh huh,” the little boy answers shakily.

Mulder gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile. “Alright, well let’s find her, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“I’m Fox and this is Dana,” he says, nodding up at her. “We work for the FBI, do you know what that is?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, we’re kind of like cops.”

He sniffles.

“What’s your name, bud?”

“William.”

The world slows to a halt, and Scully’s eyes widen.

It’s a common name. So common, in fact, that she can name at least six Williams, Wills, or Bills off the top of her head without hesitating. But that’s exactly the problem.

It’s a family name. Both her family, and Mulder’s.

Fox William Mulder.

“William? Hey, that’s my middle name!”

She won’t think about it. She won’t think about the way that she wanted to use that name, if they were lucky enough to succeed at in vitro fertilization. She won’t think of that little boy she pictured, or the man she hoped would stay and be his father.

“Really?” William asks, eyes lighting up for the first time.

Mulder smiles. “Yeah, better than Fox, right?”

She hears a giggle, and remembers Emily. Mulder got her to laugh, too, even under the most harrowing circumstances. She shakes her head, focusing on the situation at hand. She won’t be of any help if she can’t get her head out of the clouds.

Mulder asks, “You know what your mommy’s name is?”

“Um—Susan,” William answers.

“That’s great. Good job, buddy, that helps. Where did you last see her?”

“We goed to get me shoes for playing soccer,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Soccer, huh? I’m partial to baseball myself—”

“Mulder—” Scully stops him, tapping him on the shoulder. When he looks at her, she points to the other side of the road, and he nods his thanks.

“Hey, look, there’s a shoe store across the street,” he says triumphantly, refocusing in on William. “I bet you she’s right over there looking for you!”

He stands, reaching out his hand for William to hold, and they cross the street together with Scully following closely behind. She watches them, and thinks that if she were a passerby, she might think they were father and son, out for a midday stroll.

It’s a side of Mulder she doesn’t often get to see. A side she suspected lay dormant for a long time after Samantha disappeared, but it’s still there, popping up here and there when it is needed.

“Hey, Scully, can you go in and check if there’s a Susan in there?” Mulder asks, looking to her for assistance. “I want to stay out here in case she comes by looking for him.”

She nods, clearing her head once again of the swirling thoughts that had occupied her. “Yeah, of course.”

She goes in and comes back out just as quickly, shaking her head despondently.

“The clerk said she and her son left about 10 minutes ago,” she reports.

“Did he say which way they went?”

“To the right.”

Mulder glances in that direction and nods. “10 minutes, well she couldn’t have gotten far. We found him just over there,” he says optimistically. “William, keep an eye out for if you see her.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

They head to the right, Mulder now carrying William on his shoulders up above the crowds. They pass a few stores, finding no luck so far, but then are startled when some pedestrians up in front of them nearly get bowled over by the sudden opening of a shop door. A frantic woman exits, then darts off, apologizing as she goes. 

Mulder starts jogging, knowing that it must be the mother. He dodges other people walking, skirting between them expertly, which leaves Scully behind by a fair few paces. Luckily, she’s used to it. The woman is poised to enter the next shop when he calls out, “Susan?”

She turns.

“I think this little one belongs to you.”

An instant wave of relief washes over the woman’s face, and she runs to reach them. “William!” she gasps.

The boy all but leaps into her arms, curling in close while she strokes the back of his head, comforting them both.

“Where did you find him?” she asks through tears, holding tight to her wayward son.

“Just across the street,” Mulder says with a smile, pointing to where they came from.

Susan sighs in muted frustration. “There’s an ice cream shop over there, I should have known.”

“My sister did the same thing when I was about 9. Gave us all a heart attack,” Mulder chuckles.

The casual mention of his sister causes Scully to look at him in shock, but he’s too preoccupied to notice.

“I can’t thank you enough. I turned my back for one second.”

“No problem, just glad he’s back where he belongs,” Mulder responds.

After waving goodbye to William, he turns around, a content smile on his face. He starts in the direction of the coffee shop, as if the events of the last few minutes had never happened. Expecting Scully to follow, he walks right past her, but she stands frozen in place.

It’s insane. It’s impulsive. She’s going to do it anyway.

“Okay.”

He pauses and glances back at the statue that is Dana Scully. Amusement plays at his lips, though there’s more than a little confusion there too.

“Huh?”

“Okay.”

He laughs, backtracking a few steps so he is closer to her.

“You’re gonna have to say more words, Scully, I don’t know what you’re—”

“I want to adopt a baby.”

His eyes widen, and he looks to his right and left as if someone might overhear their personal conversation and go tell on them to their supervisors.

“You’re bringing this up now?” he asks, a little incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“And– and you’ve thought this through? You’re sure?”

No, not really. To be honest, she’d barely thought through this at all. There are so many reasons why they shouldn’t, why this is a terrible idea. They’re not ordinary people. They have enemies who could use this against them, careers that have proven to be life threatening on multiple occasions.

And yet…

“Mulder, seeing you with that boy…” she says, her eyes trailing off in the direction the mother and son had disappeared. “Yes, I’m sure. Only if the offer still stands, I won’t hold it against you if you’ve changed your—”

He stops her. “No! No, I’m in. Let’s do it. Let’s– We should talk about this.” He grabs her elbow and starts toward the coffee shop with her in tow, and the pace of his step forces her to walk faster to keep up. “Buy you a cup of coffee? Breakfast sandwich?” he asks, scrambling for something to say.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Just the coffee then.”

The bell jingles as they enter. They sit down at a booth and Mulder leans in, his voice low and placating.

“Okay, no need to panic. We’re just talking about it, yeah? Breathe.”

She huffs out a laugh. “How are you so calm about this?”

He smirks. “I’ve been reading about this stuff for months. You only found my stash of brochures last week.”

“Months?” she breathes, voice laced with disbelief. Her head feels like it’s spinning. “It’s just a little… overwhelming, I suppose,” she says.

“I have that effect on people,” he jokes. “It’s not a rush. If we do this, it will take time, we just have to decide if it’s something we want to pursue. There’s an application process, and getting approved, not to mention finding the right placement...”

Scully feels out of her depth. He knows a lot more about this than she does. She almost wants to ask if he has a slide show prepared.

“I want to do it. I do,” she assures him, carefully choosing her words, “I just don’t know where to begin. It sounds like a crazy idea. Is it crazy?”

“Probably,” he says with a shrug and a grin. “Kind of just makes me want to do it more.”

She’d never admit it, but she feels the same way. Maybe Bill’s right. He has rubbed off on her.

“So… where do we start? What do we need to do?” she asks, needing more information before she starts spiraling.

“Why don’t we take it slow? Start with you and me and an actual adult conversation about our priorities, and then maybe this weekend I can stop by with some Chinese and we can look into next steps.”

She takes a deep breath, heart rate slowing back down to normal.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

How do we do this? How do we have this conversation we should have had months ago?

Before they get a chance, a waitress stops by to take their orders, and Scully opts for decaf. As electrified and anxious as she feels right now, she really doesn’t need caffeine to make it even worse. She can feel her knee bouncing relentlessly under the table.

Once the waitress is gone, Mulder gets the ball rolling with the first order of business. 

“I guess to start us off, I need to know how involved you want me to be. I can help you find an agency and be your personal reference on your application, or I could—” he pauses. Breathes. “Like I said, I’ll be as involved as you want. I just need to know what you’re thinking.”

She shakes her head. “Mulder, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I should tell you that the agencies favor couples over single parents,” he adds before she can finish, “It might be more difficult to get approved on your own, but if that’s what you want, I’ll help you.”

She studies him, the nuance of every microexpression on his face. She knows what her heart is wishing for, but what about him? Would she be asking too much of him?

“What do you want?”

He ducks his head, staring at the chipped surface of the table before glancing up at her with an apologetic smile.

“I’m a selfish man.”

She looks at him, needing more of an answer before she dares to respond. If he doesn’t mean what she thinks he means, one wrong word could spell disaster. Upset the delicate balance that is their friendship. She has to hear it straight from his mouth, this is no time for assumptions.

He sits back in his booth, and she braces herself for what he’s about to say.

“I want to coach little league,” he confesses. “I want to drive an ugly minivan, the ugliest one you’ve ever seen. I want to help with math homework, to tell crazy stories at bedtime and go on camping trips together.” 

He looks deep in her eyes, and she shudders, feeling like his words have penetrated her very soul.

“I want it all, Scully. I want a family.”

I want you.

She feels tears pool in her eyes, her throat closing with emotion.

“I want that too,” she chokes out, unable to form any more words.

He reaches out a hand across the table and takes hers. She holds on tight.

“Well, that’s one thing settled,” he says, blinking back the pinpricks of tears in his own eyes.

~~~

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[imsososolesbian]

I dunno if you take requests but if you do could you write Shauna Shipman x Reader where they're going grocery shopping and reader is being childish and trying to convince Shauna to get things they don't need like candy or soda lol,, no pressure i know it's kinda strange but thanks if you do :3

Hope this is what you were looking for Anon.

Put that Back

Shauna Shipman x GN!reader

No warnings

Word Count: 1204

You and Shauna were on your weekly grocery run. It was the beginning of a new month so it meant that you would have to go to Costco. Shauna loved you, but she hated taking you to Costco. You loved Costco. It was your happy place. 

Shauna looked through her purse, pulling her costco card out. “We are in and out. We are just getting fruit and vegetables,” she looked you in the eye, and you nod. Shauna smiled softly and opened her door, “Come on then honey, lets go. I don’t want to be here long.” 

You follow Shauna from the car to the doors, inside you get a buggy. Shauna makes a beeline for the vegetable and fruit freezer. She knew you would mess around and try to put things that weren’t needed in the buggy. 

You watch as Shauna looks through different types of produce. Putting the best looking ones into the buggy, a look of concentration on her face. She would occasionally look up from putting things in the buggy and give you a smile. 

Once Shauna was happy with all the food she picked up, the two of you walked towards the registers. You stood next to her as she talked to the cashier, an arm around her waist. You were watching the person put all the fruit and vegetables into the shopping cart again. 

The walk to the car was more hectic than the time in Costco. You had to dodge people. Extreme focus on what people were doing. It was a relief when you made it to the car. You let Shauna get in the car, as you packed the produce into shopping bags and put them in the trunk. You close the trunk, and start to walk your buggy back to one of the buggy stands. You push the buggy into an open spot and turn around making your way back to the car. 

You get into the passenger side, putting some hand sanitizer on. You rub it into your hands, watching Shauna as she did something on her phone, “We are going to stop at Walmart on the way home, okay honey?” she says, looking up from her phone to you. 

“Sounds good,” you reply, pulling your seatbelt on. You lean your head on the window as she drives. 

Shauna pulls into the parking lot. She shuts the car off, “In and out. Bagels and bread are on sale.” 

You nod and get out, and walk around the car, opening Shauna’s door. “Thanks, hun,” she steps out of the car, putting her purse over her shoulder. You offer your hand to her, a smile on your face. 

Shauna always parked further from the entrance of a store. Stating she didn’t like being parked close to cars. So the two of you talked as you walked. You gently swing your arms, and Shauna kept looking over at you, a fond look on her face. 

You once more got a shopping cart, and pushed it around following Shauna. She first guided you to the bread aisle. She graded a few loafs of bread, and put them in the cart. She then looked at the bagels. It was four for five. She hummed and hawed, looking at all the different types of bagels. Finally she picked up a pack of cinnamon raisin, everything, blueberry and plain. 

“Callie texted. She wants to try this new sparkling water thing. We have to go to the drinks,” Shauna said, and you nodded, ready to pull away from the bread and walk over to the drinks. 

You were so going to try and get root beer. You had been wanting a root beer float for a long time now. You only really went grocery shopping with Shauna during the first week of the month because it was the biggest haul. You also didn’t always have the time to go shopping with her other days because of your workload. You going meant you could somewhat sway things and get what you wanted for the week.

You watch as Shauna walks away from you in the drink aisle, and you reach up, picking up a two liter bottle of root beer. You were able to sneak it into the cart before Shauna came back. Yet of course when she did come back she looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “Why is there root beer in the cart?”

You shrug, “For floats?” You ask, eyes bright as you look at Shauna and she sighs.

“Put it back. We have pop at home,” she says, and puts over to the shelf where you got it.

“Please Shauna. We could watch a movie and have root beer floats,” you plead with her, doing your best at puppy dog eyes you can. Still Shauna shakes her head, and you turn disappointed and you put it back.

You thought it was just an in and out trip, but it turned out not to be. You found yourself in the dairy aisle with Shauna. She was looking at different types of milk. Yet you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the ice cream. You turn to look at Shauna and she's still looking at milk so you walk over to the ice cream.

You get out your favourite type. You bring it over to the cart and gently place it in. You step back beside Shauna, and look at her, “Still thinking?” 

“Yes. I know Callie likes almond milk. You like chocolate. I’ll use whatever we have, so I don’t know what to even get,” Shauna looked at you, “And no I’m not taking suggestions because last time you got cashew milk and you hated it.” 

You laugh, “I thought it would taste good.”

Shauna gives you a look before she finally pulls out a jug of plain cow's milk. “Come on then,” she turned to put the milk in the cart, and spotted the ice cream, “Hey honey, why is there a thing of ice cream in here?”

“Because” 

“That’s not an answer hun,” Shauna picks up the ice cream and passes it to you, “Put it back.”

You take the ice cream from her, “Fine but I want a pack of sour candy, then” 

Turning around you walked over to the freezer and put the ice cream back.You look at all the flavours one more time. You let out a sigh and walk over to Shauna taking control of the cart again.

You had picked up different things in different ailes before you and Shauna had made it to the candy aisle and you got to pick out a thing of sour candy. You pick up your favourtie type of sour candy and turn to Shauna. “This is what I want,” you toss it into the buggy, and Shauna nods. 

The two of you check out and you bring the cart to the car, loading everything up with the stuff from Costco. You close the trunk, you put the sour candy in your pocket and you push the buggy back to its proper place. 

You sat back in the passenger seat, and by the time you were back at the house, all your candy was gone. 

[koffeesfancy]

The Tutor Ch. 1 | Letitia x Reader

Summary: You are a broke graduate student hustling through college when you unexpectedly land a job tutoring an actress in your native language—a language you've nearly forgotten. Instead of teaching, you find yourself becoming the student in this unexpected journey. As you fall in love for the first time, you begin to uncover profound truths about yourself and the world around you that you never knew existed.

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Romance, fluff, slow-burn, comedy

Word Count: 2731

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! If anyone wants to be added to my taglist, the link is in the pinned post on my page Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright

To be fair, you would—and almost had—done just about anything for money. Seriously, your resume of odd jobs looked like a carnival sideshow gone wrong. Washing cars? Check. Bagging groceries? Double check. Babysitting? Let's just say those kids still have flashbacks. Braiding hair? Sure, if they wanted a lopsided mess. Writing reports for books you never read? CliffNotes are your best friend. Music lessons for instruments you didn’t play? “Fake it 'til you make it” was your anthem.

Most of these ventures ended in irate customers hurling strong words at you, and you narrowly dodging potential assault. But hey, $40 is $40. And right now, you needed a whole bunch of those $40s, like, yesterday.

You’d printed and shared so many fliers for so many different gigs that you were like a human Rubik's Cube, colorful but often hopelessly scrambled. By now, you had no idea what the person on the other side of the phone was even talking about.

"So, is there an office address for this service?" the woman on the other end of the line asked, her voice dripping with the enthusiasm of someone waiting at the DMV.

After a thoughtful pause that was less "thoughtful" and more "panicked rummaging through mental chaos," you carefully responded, "Yes, you can trust that I have preserved a location most appropriate for our..." you leaned forward as if to coax the words out of her.

"This is the foreign language tutor, correct?" she quipped. You bit your lip to contain your celebratory noises, fighting back the urge to scream, "Jackpot!"

"Oh yes, ma'am, that is me. Totally, so yep... I do lessons at the University library or I can travel—with reimbursement included, of course," you added, trying to sound as professional as a used car salesman handing off a lemon.

She hummed thoughtfully as you spoke. "That will be $40 an hour for the first four hours and $35 afterward when you buy multiple sessions at once."

"Oh really? That's great, the flier said $60. Are you free this Saturday?" You swallowed a profanity at the realization you’d lost out on some money and pushed through with the booking. Inside, you were both cursing your past self and doing a victory dance. A gig's a gig, after all.

So there you were, the jack-of-all-trades, master of none, and not above doing something strange for some change. Because in your world, $40 could buy a lot of things—like loud shoes to wear indoors for your neighbor that liked to poke at the ceiling with a broom when you coughed or enough of the fancy Belgian chocolate you liked to eat yourself into a small coma. A lot of things...

On Saturday, you ventured out to the more upscale part of town. It was the kind of place that looked like it had springed straight out of a magazine. Each building practically whispered, "My mortgage could feed a small country."

You'd been wired enough money for two classes a week for two months, plus bus fare, which was a small victory in your book. As you stepped off the bus and onto the manicured sidewalk, you couldn't help but feel a mix of bewilderment and bitterness at the sheer luxury around you.

Looking around, you saw freshly washed windows, pristine sidewalks, and not a single piece of trash in sight. A roofless sports car purred by, driven by a guy who looked like he'd never known a day of financial stress in his life.

"Must be tough being a professional trust fund manager," you muttered under your breath, eyeing the back of the vehicle.

An impeccably dressed woman with a tiny, overly groomed dog strolled past you. "Dog Instagram influencer, probably," you thought, rolling your eyes at the absurdity.

Further down the street, a couple emerged from a boutique, laughing as they juggled bags from what must’ve been high-end stores. "Ah yes, professional yoga mat testers," you mused sarcastically. "Or maybe artisanal kombucha consultants."

As you walked a few blocks deeper into the neighborhood, you approached the address sent to you for work. It was a huge historical brownstone that filled you with intimidation. You couldn't help but marvel at the ornate door and the brass knocker shaped like a lion's head. "Sure, why not? Lion-head knockers. Probably enough to pay off student loans for my entire graduating class," you snarked internally.

Ringing the doorbell, you waited, feeling like an imposter in your own shoes. The door opened to reveal a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a lifestyle blog, all polished and perfect. She was of a medium height, but her long, toned legs made her seem modelesque. The woman was a dark brown color and had a chicly shaved head partially obscured by a multi print silk scarf. She wore an expensive looking linen short set and minimalistic gold jewelry.

“Welcome! You must be the tutor,” she greeted you warmly. “Come on in.” She waved her thin hands to gesture inside of her home, her dark pink lips widening to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. You feigned politeness while bitterly thinking to yourself about the iniquity of someone being both so rich and so attractive while people like you were left with flabby arms, hairy toe knuckles, and crippling debt. 

Stepping into the foyer, you tried not to gawk at the marble floors and grand staircase. "Just your average entryway," you thought wryly. "Nothing says ‘welcome’ like a ceramic bust."

You followed her to a spacious study, filled with leather-bound books and more mahogany than you thought existed in the world. Sitting down, you mentally prepared for your first lesson, hoping your makeshift knowledge of the language would hold up.

In the days leading up to this tutoring gig, you thought you were being proactive. After all, you couldn't just waltz into a foreign language lesson without a clue, could you? So, you did what any desperate person would do: WhatsApp video call your cringey cousin from back home.

Your cousin was the kind of guy who thinks he's fluent in English because he once binge-watched a season of "Friends" with subtitles on. His grasp of English and your grasp of your family’s native language was about as solid as a Jenga tower in a hurricane. But hey, beggars can't be choosers.

The conversation was a comedy of errors from the get-go. You tried to explain what you needed help with, but every sentence he uttered was a linguistic train wreck. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, but with words.

"I need help. For teach… uh… English… speak person. You speak... uh... En-guh-lish, yes?" you attempted, your own language suffering under the weight of your desperation.

"Ah, English! Yes, yes! I know Eng-guh-lish!" he exclaimed triumphantly, his confidence only slightly overshadowed by the fact that he couldn't pronounce the word correctly.

What followed was a painful exchange of broken sentences, awkward pauses, and a lot of hand gestures that made you question whether you were communicating in semaphore or a spoken language.

By the time you hung up, you felt like you knew even less than before. If anything, you'd regressed linguistically. Welp, time to wing it, you thought grimly, resigning yourself to the fact that this tutoring job was going to be a wild ride. Who needs language proficiency when you have sheer determination and a healthy dose of delusion, right?

The woman fluttered around the study murmuring to herself until she retrieved a loose stack of papers from a bag. 

“A-ha!” she chimed, turning to wave the papers at you with that same smile. She sauntered over and to your surprise, sat right next to you on the leather sofa instead of across the coffee table at one of the matching armchairs.

Up close, you noticed she had the slightest dimple in the lower left corner of her mouth and eyes that naturally set low in an effortlessly sultry gaze. There was something very classic and timeless about her looks. Like perhaps you had seen lots of women like her in commercials or in those huge luxury clothing brand displays at Macy’s.  

She placed the papers on the table before turning and facing directly towards you, extending a thin, manicured hand. “Hi, I’m Letitia,” she spoke. Her voice was soft, a bit smokey, and had a bit of an encapsulating feel.

You shook her hand and formally introduced yourself as well. “I suppose you spoke with my manager Lashana on the phone about my goals. I have a casting audition in about 2 months and think having some exposure to the language beforehand could get me a leg up, y’know? Uh… these are just some things she sent for you to sign…” she said, running off into a murmur as she handed the stack of papers to you with a fountain pen. As she moved around you caught a whiff of her dark, woody perfume. It smelled more like an expensive men’s cologne. 

For a moment you scoured your brain for any information you knew about this Letitia. You thought you might have heard Lashana mention the actress thing on the phone, but that was while you were on your other $40 gig moonlighting as an expert dog groomer. She interrupted when you were braiding the neighbor’s poodle- Fifi’s cornrows required utmost concentration so Lashana's words went in one ear and out of the other.  

You signed the papers with a flourish, then handed them back to Letitia, raising an eyebrow as you joked, “So, what exactly did I just sign away? My soul? Firstborn child?”

To your surprise, Letitia burst into laughter, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the room. It caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but notice how her whole face lit up when she laughed. Her dimple deepened, and her eyes crinkled at the corners, giving her an adorable, almost childlike quality. At that moment, she seemed less like a polished actress and more like a regular person who didn't care about looking perfect.

“You're hilarious!” she said, still chuckling as she tucked the papers back into her bag. “I think this is going to be a lot more fun than I expected.”

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks at the compliment. “Thanks,” you said, trying to play it cool. “I aim to please.”

Letitia leaned back on the sofa, her gaze curious and open. “So, tell me about yourself. How did you end up doing... well, this?”

You shrugged, deciding to be honest. “Oh, you know, just trying to make a living. I’ve done a bit of everything. Today, I’m a language tutor. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe I’ll be wrangling llamas at a petting zoo.”

She laughed again, a light, musical sound that made you smile. “I admire that,” she said. “It takes a lot of guts to do what you do.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly glamorous,” you replied, though you couldn’t help but feel a little humble amidst the fancy room. “But it keeps things interesting.”

Letitia nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. I’ve had my share of odd jobs too. Before acting, I was a waitress, a dog walker- I even dressed up as Minnie Mouse at kids’ parties once.”

You tried to imagine her in a pink polka dot dress with gloves and big, round ears, and the mental image made you laugh. “Now that I’d like to see.”

She grinned, a twinkle in her eye. “Maybe if you teach me this language, I’ll show you some of my old mouse tricks.”

“Deal,” you said, feeling more relaxed than you had all day. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

As you began the lesson, you realized that maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all. Letitia’s enthusiasm was infectious, and her genuine interest in getting to know you made you feel like, for once, you weren’t just a means to an end. Maybe this gig would be a turning point—something more than just another $40 in your pocket. 

The lesson flew by in a blur of laughter, stumbles over pronunciation, and unexpected moments of connection. Before you knew it, the clock was signaling the end of your session. Letitia gathered her things, still giggling over a joke you'd made about mispronouncing a word in a way that turned it into something hilariously inappropriate.

As she walked you to the door, both of you were still caught up in the infectious energy of the lesson. “I can’t believe we spent half the time laughing,” Letitia said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Next time I’ll have to invoice you my rate for standup as well,” you replied, grinning. 

Both of you stopped, laughter trailing off as you locked eyes, the air thick with an unspoken connection. You extended your hand for a handshake just as Letitia leaned in for a hug, and your misplaced hand awkwardly jabbed her ribs. As she toppled forward, her pillowy lips connected with your forehead in a soft, accidental kiss that sent shivers down your spine.

Time seemed to stand still. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in that moment. Her eyes widened in surprise, the rich depths of her gaze reflecting your own astonishment. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and something more profound, something that made your heart race wildly in your chest.

Her breath, soft and warm, lingered against your skin, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded away. The delicate scent of her woody perfume enveloped you, creating an intoxicating haze that made you dizzy with longing. Her nearness, the accidental intimacy, sent a thrill through you, a sensation both terrifying and exhilarating.

The spell was broken by the sudden roar of a fast car zooming by outside, yanking both of you back to the present. The world rushed back in, loud and intrusive, yet you remained rooted in that brief, unforgettable moment.

Letitia pulled back slightly, her own cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. She laughed nervously, a melodic sound that made your heart skip a beat. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she stammered, her voice a soft murmur of embarrassment and amusement.

“No, no, it’s fine!” you stuttered as she also spoke some unintelligible babble, the awkwardness dissipating into a shared chuckle. “That was... unexpected,” Letitia added, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Yeah, totally,” you agreed, trying to steady your racing heart. “Guess we need to work on our goodbye coordination as well.”

“Absolutely,” she smiled, a dazzling expression that made your knees weak. As she opened the door, the moment lingered in the air between you, a fragile, beautiful thing.

“Thanks again for today. I’m really looking forward to our next lesson,” she said softly, her voice like a caress.

“Me too,” you replied, your cracking voice barely above a whisper, your heart pounding. “See you next time!”

As you walked away, the memory of her accidental kiss lingered, a tender echo that made your pulse quicken and your thoughts spin. It was a moment you knew you would replay over and over, a small, perfect touch that left you breathless with anticipation for something- anything.

You mindlessly followed the sidewalk, feeling a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. As you boarded the bus, you couldn’t stop thinking about that moment. Your heart was racing, and every time you closed your eyes, you could see Letitia’s face, the surprise and humor in her eyes.

You tried to distract yourself with phone games, but your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. Before you knew it, you were googling Letitia’s name, falling down a rabbit hole of biographies, interviews, and reviews of her films. Each article and video only added to the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your head.

Engrossed in reading about her, you completely missed your stop. When you finally looked up and realized how far you’d gone, you cursed under your breath, quickly pressing the button to signal the next stop.

As you walked the extra blocks home, you couldn’t shake the mixture of embarrassment and excitement from your mind. The day had taken a completely unexpected turn, and you knew it was going to be all you could think about until your next lesson with Letitia.

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Four - Roadkill

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - A moody car ride and muddled emotions.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

9.9K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, mentions of blood, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I put my soul into this chapter like I just wanted everything to be right and for things to add up. Anyway, I'm so glad to finally share it as we reveal more about their story.

Masterlist

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Hawkins High - English Class, Sophomore Year

The clock ticked by tauntingly slowly, five minutes feeling like an eternity in the stale classroom flooded with white and beige, each desk meticulously placed in their respective rows, all uniform and not one out of line as each student occupied their own.  A pop quiz rested in front of every anxious student, Mrs. O’Donnell being overly unfair in springing the assignment on everyone after only going over the unit one time in the span of fifteen minutes.

Only the sound of pencils gliding across paper and the ticking of the clock were evident among the prison-like room.  Just outside of the window to your right was a perfect view of the large oak tree you’d claimed as your lunch spot.  Though Steve had asked you to sit with him and his friends at lunch, you declined.  The mere idea of having to face all of those preppy and popular kids was terrifying and you’d rather enjoy your lunch in solitude.  Steve seemed like a promising friend the deeper you got into highschool but you’d settle for sitting with him in class if it meant you could avoid the jocks he hung out with.

Stomach grumbling, you only prayed that the next two class periods would go by faster than the first period had been dragging along.  It was only a week into sophomore year and you were already counting the days until summer.  You thought you’d be able to avoid Mrs. O’Donnell’s dreaded English class throughout all four years but sadly in only your second year you were cursed with her name on your schedule.  Everyone knew her class was the one to dodge if at all possible.  

Marking your answer to the last question on the quiz, you bashfully stood to set it on Mrs. O’Donnell’s desk, noting the way she glared at you before heading back to your desk as quietly as you could.  There was no pleasing the woman, she was alway miserable.  Being one of the shyest students in the class, she still made it known that not even you were safe from her wrath.  Just as you reached into your bag to retrieve your copy of Of Mice & Men which was assigned at the very beginning of the week, the classroom door swung open, the hinges squeaking in protest.

“Oh, Mrs. O’Donnell!”  A boy’s voice sang as he sauntered through the door, skateboard in hand and backpack in rough condition barely hanging onto his lanky shoulder.  It was the same boy from the ice cream social, he was wearing pretty much the same thing, black jeans with noticeable rips and a matching t-shirt with ‘Iron Maiden’ on the front.  The chain hanging from his jeans clinked as he walked and his tousled brunette curls swayed with the movement.  Eddie, as you recall.  His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he came to a stop in front of the teacher’s desk, her face displaying a different kind of disdain for the boy in front of her, his dimples still framing his smile regardless.

“Munson, it is not polite to interrupt my class.  Where are your manners?”  The older woman seemed to gain more wrinkles just by engaging with him.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here.  You get to experience another glorious year with yours truly.”  He had no fear, he was dripping confidence and from the looks of it he didn’t care if Mrs. O’Donnell wasn’t having it.  You were suddenly envious of his charisma, only wishing you could absorb some of the self-assurance he was possessing in the few seconds he had walked in the door. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, you’re not on my roster.”  O’Donnell suddenly stands, her gaze would intimidate you but Eddie only sighed and ran a hand through his hair as if this wasn’t his first rodeo with her.  

“I swear, the office sent me here directly.  Call them.”  Before she could scold him, he had made his way toward the back of the room, tossing his backpack on the ground next to the empty desk just behind you and slumping into the chair while crossing his arms.  So it seemed he was in your grade.  Every other guy your age was still struggling with voice cracks and puberty mustaches but he seemed to have a grasp on things and was more mature looking than them.  Or maybe he was in another grade and just in a sophomore English class.  Whatever the case, he sat right behind you and it made you nervous, the kind of nervousness that makes you question if you tried hard enough on your appearance, wishing you would’ve taken more care in the mirror that morning.  

Who were you kidding?  Boys didn’t even look your way so what made this one any different?  He wasn’t.  You were just riling yourself up again only to let yourself down by setting unrealistic expectations.  And all within a few seconds, that dream was discarded and you came back to reality.

Only for some reason you dared to sneak a glance over your shoulder at him.  Where that sudden bravery came from, you’d never know.  But you’d never forget the way his eyelashes casted perfect shadows along his cheeks even in the annoyingly fluorescent lighting of the classroom and the way a dimple peeked out at you as he offered a boyish close mouthed smile, by far the most charming smile you’d ever seen.  It happened so quickly you started to question if you were daydreaming.

—

Present Day

There are a lot of things to focus on in Eddie’s van.  The big gulp cup in his cup holder filled a third of the way with change, food wrappers littering the floor which he must have shoved away to make room, a few cassettes among the trash—who used cassettes anymore?  There was a car parts catalog on the dashboard, a pair of headphones on top, and next to it a small box of unopened guitar strings.  Among the many things happening visually in the van, it was all very Eddie from what you currently knew about him against your will.  Even the lingering smells screamed his name, the hint of cigarettes, a little bit of the pine air freshener dangling from the mirror, a tinge of skunk-like bitterness, and the spice from his cologne.  

It was silent, not even the radio he famously blared at high volumes playing, only the sound of the engine rumbling.  You didn’t dare look to your left at him, embarrassment seeping through your pores from earlier.  There was no way you would talk about being that vulnerable in front of Eddie Munson out of all people.  Hell, you weren’t even sure why you were riding in the passenger seat of his van and had you been coherent enough when he guided you to sit, you would’ve refused and walked home, paying no mind that it would’ve taken around thirty minutes.  Now you were stuck in one of the most uncomfortable positions of your life, riding shotgun in your nemesis’ car and on shaky ground with your best friends.  The more you thought about it, Steve couldn’t even look at you when you’d asked if Robin knew about his sneaky endeavors.  It was as though you were subject to isolation with no reparations in the foreseeable future.

“Pull over.”  You were surprised by how strong your voice had sounded despite how much you’d been crying before.  

A glance your way was all you received as you watched him in your peripheral.  Why was it that the most common occurrence tonight was to be unresponsive?  

“Pull over.”  You repeated a bit louder.  

Still, he ignored you.

“Pull over or I’m going to jump out.”  

The threat was lost on him, earning you no reaction however you took him by surprise when you reached for the handle, pulling and cracking the door open as the pavement beneath zoomed past and the wind sucked the breath out of your lungs, the crisp fall air felt like a punch to the face in contrast to the warm cabin of the van.  

“What the fuck!?  Do you have a death wish or something!?”  Eddie kept a hand on the wheel while simultaneously stretching his arm across you as he reached for the handle to pull it closed but failing in his first attempt.  “Shut the damn door!”  Unsure of what you were trying to gain from this, you tugged the door toward you with a scoff, Eddie shifting his eyes between you and the road.  What would be your next move?  You hurl yourself out of a moving van and end up roadkill?  It wasn’t a very well thought out plan.

“Just pull over.”  You couldn’t stand being trapped within the confines of his van much longer.

Everyone and everything you knew was turning out to be a lie, straight to your face and the pressure was only building up inside.  And it all boiled down to one person who happened to be sitting just to your left.  “Dammit!  Just pull over!  I wanna walk!”  You shifted, now turned toward him, his brows furrowed and his lips downturned, complete displeasure written on his face.  

“Would you quit being such a fucking brat!?”  There he was.  This is the Eddie you knew of, a complete contrast to the one that had emerged earlier.  He was unrecognizable as he played the part of the neutral party between you and Steve.  And he had no right either, you would be sure he knew that.  

“Then fucking pull over!”  

“We’re almost there, then you can do whatever the hell you want.  See if I give a shit.”  His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, a pinky tapping against it as he seemed to try and keep himself calm.

“You don’t even know where I live.  Let me out.  Right here, pull over.”  It was a constant battle, neither of you having the slightest urge to just give it up although it looked like you were going to win when the brakes screeched, the van halting to a stop in the middle of the road.  You were at a bend with nothing but forest on either side so you could either step out with your pride, also bearing the possibility of becoming a news headline in the morning: ‘Girl found dead on side of the road’, or you could let him win this one and make it home in one piece.  

“Go on then.  You wanted to walk?  Have at it.”  Eddie gestures to the open road, very clearly unwalkable from this point.  You remained silent, contemplating your options.  “What?  I give you what you want and it's still not enough?”  He huffs in annoyance, head shaking.

“You did that on purpose.”  You mumble, barely audible but he catches it anyway.

“Did what?  Drive you home so you wouldn’t strangle Harrington?”  He was very clearly trying to push your buttons and he was going to end up being the one strangled if he kept it up.  

“You know what?”  The sound of your seatbelt clicking alerted him that you were about to hop out, your hand reaching for the door.  “You want me to be roadkill so bad?  Fine.”  And with that you stepped out into the crisp fall air, a light sprinkling of rain painting your skin as you stomped down the road.  

The van’s engine didn’t rumble which told you he hadn’t sped off yet, most likely watching in victory as you began your trek home.  The frigid air started to bite at your skin, your cheeks and nose beginning to hurt and lose feeling.  You didn’t get very far when you began to regret leaving the warmth of the van, you just had to pick this battle and now it seemed you lost in the end anyway.

It still hadn’t zoomed past you like you envisioned, only the sound of someone running behind you was heard which in all honesty only freaked you out even more.  This was the worst case scenario for how the night was supposed to end.  Maybe some serial killer had gotten Eddie and now you were their next victim.  A new headline flashed in your brain, something along the lines of ‘Young couple found murdered near the woods in Hawkins, Indiana’ and you nearly puked as you began sprinting, the downpour of rain becoming heavier as you did.  Lungs on fire, you forced yourself to keep going no matter how ridiculous the thoughts racing through your mind were.  Maybe it was the quickest way to get home after all, to imagine you were being hunted for sport the whole time.  The nightmare you conjured up quickly came to an end when you slammed into something firm, almost being knocked to the ground only to be stabilized by two hands gripping your arms.  Your eyes were shut tight, avoiding whatever fate was awaiting you.  Were you being dramatic?  Yes, however it couldn’t be helped especially being just next to the woods in nearly pitch black.  The basis for a classic horror film.

“Are you crazy!?  Get back in the van!  You’re gonna get killed out here, you can’t see shit.”  Much to your relief just this once, you were happy to open your eyes and find Eddie, out of breath with his curls dripping, a few sticking to his face.  

His eyes were more doe like than ever, staring down at you, the headlights from the van barely reaching the two of you allowing you to make out his features.  His stare flickered between you and the road urgently.  “If a car comes around the corner we’re fucked, LETS GO!”  If he had any remaining patience, it was gone because suddenly his arms wrapped around your legs and waist, throwing you over his shoulder without struggle, jogging back to the van as you were left breathless.  Ending up tossed over Eddie Munson’s shoulder was the last possible outcome you’d imagined tonight and yet here you were.

“Put me down!”  You still protested, delivering a firm smack to his shoulder blade.  If he obeyed, you had no plan so you weren’t sure what your motive was here however he continued on without so much as a flinch.

“Oh yeah, look what happened the last time I listened to you.  Had to fuckin’ chase you down.”  The passenger door was left open from when you took off as you glanced over Eddie’s shoulder.  

“You didn’t have to!  I could’ve made it home perfectly fine!”  You weren’t one hundred percent sure about that but you could sell the lie.  In your defense, he took a completely different route than what you had originally walked earlier in the day since you had to stop by the Byers’.

Suddenly you were placed in the passenger seat again, and not very gently either.  Eddie’s intense gaze only egged you on, returning the favor as you looked up at him, narrowing your eyes.  

“Yeah?  You sure about that Roadkill?”  

You’d had it and there was very little if any fight left in you.  Teeth chattering and hair wet, you came to the realization that your clothes were almost completely soaked and before you could huddle in on yourself for warmth, a leather jacket was tossed at you before the passenger door was slammed shut, Eddie quickly returning to the driver’s side, a displeased expression remaining on his features as he shifted into drive.

–

Rain dotted the windshield and other than that and the squeaking of the wipers against the glass, it had been silent.  Five minutes had passed but it was easy to mistake it for five hours with how tense the air in the van was.  Eddie released a heavy and dramatic breath every so often and if he was searching for a reaction in you, you weren’t interested in partaking.  Home wasn’t far, you only needed to endure a couple more minutes in the stuffy but thankfully, warm confines of the vehicle.  

Maybe you were delirious, your brain muddled in the events of tonight because Eddie had finally been silent that full five minutes and you stupidly took it upon yourself to engage in further conversation.

“Roadkill?  Really?”  

The green traffic lights overhead created a glow around him, painting him almost like a picture, a renaissance painting you might even say.  If a renaissance painting could include a grumpy metalhead adorned in rings, tattoos, and a demonic t-shirt.  So no, not a renaissance painting and yet, you couldn’t find another way to phrase it in your mind.  Why?

“Roadkill.  That’s all you have to say?”  Offense lingered in his tone, his eyes glancing to you briefly.

Your body turned toward the door, even more than it already had been as you watched the scenery race by, deciding to go mute again.  There was no civil conversation with him, only snarky comments and full blown arguments.  

“Better than Socks.”  A smirk graces his lips when you turn to look back over at him and there was no way to tell if it was playful or cynical.  

Should you bite and comment back or should you remain ignorant?  You’d started it after all.  This time he wasn’t the one breaking silence to torture you, it was the other way around and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why you yearned to instigate.

“I will not be called ‘Roadkill’ if that’s what you’re getting at.”  It was said cruelly however just beneath the surface, if he was intelligent enough to pull at the corners of your gaze with his, he may find a seed planted deep within your depths.  

Could it have been that the way he stepped in earlier was in some regard an olive branch?  Extended with the means to mend what was previously shattered beyond repair, an intention.  No.  It couldn’t be, not even in the slightest.  Because he was Eddie and you were you, this is how your stories were written and engraved into the margins of the universe.  That didn’t mean you didn’t wonder why he had been so tangled up in the ball of yarn that was your life for so long if not to infinitely cause an ache from wounds slashed into your soul years ago.

“I think you’ve definitely been upgraded from Socks to Roadkill.”  Though he was snarky there was a glimmer in his eyes.

“Hell no.  If I’m Roadkill then what are you?”  Arms crossed, you shifted to turn your body further toward him, brow raised in expectancy.

“I don’t do nicknames.”  It was a short and simple answer and it simply wouldn’t do.

“You can’t just go by Munson, you need some kind of…some kind of earned name for some dumb shit you would do—or have done!”  You snap your fingers at him, a smile playing at your lips and he swears he hasn’t seen that kind of smile directed his way in years.  It’s enough to bring a flush of pink to his cheeks that he hopes is hidden by the darkness and won’t become evident under the street lights passing by.

“What, like running into the open road in the pitch black during the rain—at a bend in the road, might I add?”  

“Well…don’t—don’t even pretend I’ve done even half of the dumb shit you’ve done!”  That smile still pulls at your lips uncontrollably and he’s not sure if you’ve given up trying to hold it back or if you’re so beyond tired and delusional that you’ve forgotten who you were talking to.  Either way this moment would be burned into his memory, even if it would be the last time you’d offer him the upturn of your lips, even if you were sleep deprived and not in your right mind.  

You continue to ramble, searching your brain as he admires to the best of his ability while driving, eyes drifting from you to the road and back.  “Like—like the raccoon thing!  Yeah you’re Racoon Boy!”  

He scoffs, rolling his eyes.  “Really?  Racoon Boy?  That’s the best you can come up with?  Doesn’t really roll off the tongue like Roadkill.”  

His criticism earned a glare from you but not the kind of glare he was so used to receiving from you.  This one held some kind of spark if he lingered long enough, large eyes beaming at you if you cared to notice.

“Okay well, a raccoon becomes Roadkill, right?.  If I’m Roadkill, you’re Roadkill.”  You decide.

Eddie doesn’t know why he has butterflies, all he knows is that the way you incorporated him into the phrase is making his palms sweat, just like when he was sixteen.  And the fact that you had even put his jacket on was something he never imagined in his wildest dreams.  Nevertheless, he keeps his cool.

“And you think I’m gonna stand for being called Roadkill?  You’re out of your mind.  Try again.”  His head shakes in disapproval.

“Oh please, would you rather be called Liar?”  Just like that everything reverted back to the way it was, as it intended to be.  

“Or Friend Fucker?”

He knew it was too good to be true, the way your eyes crinkled as you grinned just seconds ago, how you teetered on the brink of giggling as you attempted to conjure up a nickname for him, the sole fact that you were even trying to give him a nickname.  It was all a facade put on to deliver a blow of karma that he rightfully deserved and though it may not have been a facade on your part, he knew somehow the puppet strings controlled by the universe created this moment to torture him.  The air turned eerie, sour almost.  

Disgusting.

He felt disgusting.

Because you didn’t know how wrong you were about him and yet he kept further providing reasons for you to keep believing it.

Suddenly he’s seventeen in the stairwell of the Harrington’s basement regretting every move made that night.  And you were sixteen trying to make sense of it all, asking yourself, why?

And now you were still begging the question, why?  Why did Steve have to ruin everything?  Why was Eddie still causing destruction even now?  After all, he played just as big of a part when you’d seen them both leaving the van, so why did you offer him the courtesy of bestowing a nickname upon him as if you were old friends?  As if he hadn’t taken your heart, played with it, made it beat for him all those years ago only to take a dagger to it and leave you bleeding and devoid of the ability to beat for anyone else.

Your apartment came into view, an escape from the toxic atmosphere that you’d tricked yourself into breathing in, under the illusion of sleep deprivation and wounded feelings.  This wasn’t some redemption arc for Eddie as you’d begun to imagine in your deliriousness, this was you caving in at a moment of fragility and venturing to the nearest soul in hopes to cling onto some of your sanity.  But what you failed to realize in your misconception was that there was not one soul to sympathize with in your agony.  As the van came to a stop, you dared to glance over once more.  His eyes looked almost black, the absence of sunlight keeping every brown hue hidden in the shadows which only further fed into the idea that he was cold and heartless.  And as you exhaled a final time into the void created between two opposing forces, you were hoping that would be the end of it, that he wouldn’t do as he normally did and fabricate a reason to fuel a never ending war.  But then again you never had faith in him in the first place.

“I’ve told you.  I’m not a liar.”  His nostrils flared, ringed hand tightly gripping the steering wheel once again.

“You’re not a liar?”

“Did I stutter?”

“What do you call it then when someone withholds the truth from you?  You’re saying that doesn’t make them a liar?”

Your name was muttered under his breath as if it were a curse.  “Dammit!  When will you just let it go!?”  His face contorted in anger, brows furrowed in misery.  “Why do you have to fucking hold on to this thing that happened ages ago!?  I never once lied to you and you keep trying to throw it back in my face!”

“Never once lied to me, right.”  You laughed, however there was no humor behind it.

“Do you know how many times we’ve had this argument?  Do you ever think maybe I keep fighting back because you’re wrong?”  

“Oh, I’m wrong!?  Was I wrong when I caught you and Steve just now in the parking lot?  Was I wrong about that too?  Was it my imagination when you planted one on Steve?  At least I’m not a fucking liar!”  Tears welled up in your eyes and you’d never forgive yourself for it but it was inevitable, the anger demanded to be poured from your eyes.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it, I have never once lied to you.”  He sucked back his lip as if trying to hold himself back, fist now clenched in his lap.

“Another lie!”  You tried to stop them, oh how you tried but the tears began to trail down your cheeks one by one, sucking them back only did so much due to the overflow already gracing your waterline.  

Eddie debated digging up the old box in his heart that he locked up and swore off forever, promising to never let another soul touch it.  But he was Eddie and he didn’t know how to let others open him up, only knew how to push everything deeper until it was forgotten about and collecting dust.  All he could do was what he did best.  Shut down and push back.  He regretted inheriting even a sliver of the temper his father held.

“Get out.”  The demand was met with your wet eyes burning into him as he faced forward, gaze set straight ahead with no sign of meeting yours.  His jaw clenched, you could see him swallow.  Before you could offer any further comments, he caught you off guard.  “Get out.  Get the hell out.”  His arm was suddenly reaching over you to open the door, his damp curls tickling your cheek briefly until he was scowling at you from the driver’s side once again.  You remained sitting, not because you wanted to but because your brain simply refused to cooperate, leaving you staring dumbly at the floor of his van.  “Well, I’m not lying this time am I!?  Get out!”  

The way his voice raised made you wince and you had that gnawing feeling settling in your stomach and your chest.  Hands trembling, that random pang of anxiety began to take over and you wanted so badly to run and find some sense of comfort in your little apartment just upstairs but you were frozen.  The energy of the confrontation just endured shocked your nervous system and though you’d argued with Eddie before many times, it had to have been the build up throughout the night, the betrayal you’d experienced only adding that much more strain.  Everything was spiraling and it was as though a weight too heavy for anyone to carry was placed on your shoulders.  And you were left to bear it alone.  

Eddie stared expectantly, brow raised though he couldn’t catch your line of sight even if he tried, you were too in your head by this point and it seemed that the contents of the trashed floor was far more interesting however he was able to lower his head to catch the trace of fear—or maybe it wasn’t fear maybe it was loneliness topped off with uneasiness—either way he was able to detect it among your features and the way you were absent from the van, your mouth ajar and hands shaking in fists balled up at your sides.  Maybe he’d gone too far?  Or at least that was his initial conclusion but it didn’t make much sense seeing as you’d mouthed off to each other several times before and you’d both said things far worse.  Whatever the case, he knew he’d be laying on his lumpy mattress tonight wondering what he could’ve done differently.

“Shit.”  He mumbles while putting the van in park, undoing his seatbelt and inching the slightest bit closer to you.  “You still with me?”  It came out shakier than he’d intended, not really having the knowledge of what to do.  Sure he knew what he’d need to do for himself for the most part if it were him but comforting others was not something he specialized in.  Was it even comfort you needed?  He didn’t know, but there was something wrong and your body language was telling him that you were stuck in some kind of a panic.  

But before he could even make a decision on how to proceed, you’d snapped out of it right before his eyes, a wobbly breath escaping you before your eyes darted up to his wide ones.  He was too close for your liking, and far too close for someone who had just yelled at you to get the hell out.  It was frigid, the air from outside stinging your cheeks as the door remained open.  In the blink of an eye you were gone, your feet carrying you up the cement stairs of the complex and away from him, his jacket still engulfing your frame, sleeves falling over your hands and slapping against your legs as you scurried.  You hadn’t bothered to shut the door in your quick departure, raindrops finding their way onto the fabric of the seat and covering the interior.  At the top of the stairs, he caught a glimpse of you momentarily with your head in your hands before you rounded the corner and disappeared.  If he never saw his jacket again because it provided you with warmth, well he figured that would be just fine.  

“If I’m Roadkill, you’re Roadkill.”  He muttered with his eyes glued to the ceiling.

—

The Harrington House, December of Junior Year

“Munson, did you bring the stuff?”

“Yeah, what’re you looking to buy?”

“What?  You brought everything?”

“Just about, what’s your poison?”

Eddie rummaged through the little black metal box full of various substances, naming each one aloud to the jock that had spotted him across the living room, the music bumping as he shouted over it.  Was his name Ben?  Brady?  Eddie couldn’t recall and if he’s honest, he didn’t really care.  The only time the guy acknowledged his existence was to buy from him at whatever party they happened to be at.  This time it was Steve Harrington’s ugly Christmas sweater party, the second one in the making of an annual event.  Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those nasty sweaters with bells and tinsel but he certainly had no problem with making money off of the spoiled rich kids who would pay out the ass to pop a pill and let loose for the night.  And so he found himself lingering in the dark corner of the living room, awaiting those who would recognize him, giving them their fix in exchange for a fat stack of cash.  They seemed pathetic in his eyes, all decorated in their multi patterned sweaters with all kinds of crap dangling off of them, fiending for a high as they kept their interaction with him as minimal as possible.  It wasn’t his business though, his business was to sell and collect until his supply ran out and if he thought hard enough about it, both parties were doing the same song and dance of quick exchanges with not a smidge of regard for the other’s presence once the deal was done.  That’s just how it was and he wasn’t going to complain so long as he got paid.

So he sold Ben–whatever his name was, a few grams of weed and some ecstasy.  That guy would forget Eddie’s existence until the next party.  That or until he wanted to buy some more weed from him at school.  The guy was relatively mellow with Eddie when alone but once other senior jocks were in the equation they threw every name in the book at him and tried to make his life hell.  Key word, tried.  Eddie was tough and a few names were nothing, hell even the few times he’d been jumped by them in the school parking lot didn’t phase him.  You learn to pick your battles when your dad is the antagonist of your life.  That didn’t mean he didn’t lash out every now and then at them, cause he did.  He just knew which fights were worth a black eye and bloody knuckles and which ones to surrender on, let them shove him around a little bit, maybe take a kick to the ribs and then move on.  The less he struggled against them, the quicker they would get bored and call him a slur before marching off with their chests puffed out.  

It was only nine, the night was still young and he had already made enough to sneak a good amount into his Uncle Wayne’s wallet with enough leftover to pay for the week’s groceries.  He’d sooner just put the money into his own bank account and transfer it to Wayne’s but his old man was old fashioned and stuck mainly to cash.  That cash would usually go toward utilities if Eddie already handled the groceries.  By the end of the night he should have made enough of a profit to buy that new part for the van he was fixing up.  He’d made a deal with the guy at the junkyard that if he could get it working and get it the hell off his lot that it was his.  Sure it was an older model, a little rusty with a funky smell clinging to the interior but he could make anything work and he’d rather drive that than keep borrowing his uncle's pickup truck or hitch a ride with someone.  It just wasn’t reliable and he had his own agenda though he’d never tell Wayne exactly what that agenda was.  As far as he knew, Eddie was working odd jobs around town, repairing the neighbor’s sink, mowing lawns, fixing cars.  It wasn’t a lie–it was just that according to Wayne it generated a suspiciously large income.  Eddie always insisted his charm was a contributing factor and the moms up in the fancy neighborhoods would pay him extra for being ‘so sweet’.  Which wasn’t a lie either.  Those moms knew of his reputation but were reaching the point of their mid-life crisis and it seemed they were willing to do anything for a smidge of excitement while their boring husbands left for a business trip every other week.  He never entertained them past telling them how wonderful they looked.  But he would never admit outright to his uncle that he had been in contact with Rick who his dad had been involved with before going to prison.  Now it seemed at only seventeen he was following the same path however it was to keep food on the table and the strain of all of the financials off of Wayne’s aching back.  ‘This is different.’  He’d keep telling himself that but sometimes he’d look in the mirror and his father would be staring right back at him.

Becoming bored with the clientele of the living room corner, he made the decision to migrate to the hall just near the basement door.  There was heavy foot traffic and a possibility that he could sell out the rest of his supply in minutes to those desperate enough for a good time.  Leaning against the wall, he heard shouts from the basement, a beer pong game with high stakes no doubt.  A younger kid, most definitely a freshman shuffled by with six unopened beers clinking together in his arms and without drawing any attention to himself, Eddie snatched the one that was just seconds away from toppling over onto the floor.  It went unnoticed as the freshman continued down the hall toward the back door, a satisfying crisp snap filling his ears as he opened the stolen beer.  As the fizzy ale met his lips, he was grateful it was cold with condensation collecting on the glass since the house was stuffy and hot despite the contrasting weather outside.

In about ten minutes he’d sold almost everything, people were drawn to him like a moth to flame, knowing he was the go to for anything good.  It always sucked trying to get rid of the last of it, which made the night even longer since he just wanted to be done and leave.  Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck and a dip in the Harrington’s pool seemed like heaven right about now even in the freezing cold snow.  He was just about ready to give up and head down to the basement to start marketing his product to the rowdy football boys so he could get out of the muggy hallway when he caught someone’s gaze from the opposite end of the hall.  The only person he really hoped to see at this dumb party and he was intuitive enough to know that she would show up due to her friendship with King Steve.  Before he knew it she was making her way toward him, dodging other teenagers.

You kept your eyes on him throughout the several people in the way, reaching him being your only goal for the moment while Nancy and Robin–the new girl with the pretty blue eyes and freckles–rolled their eyes at your gawking and patiently waited while you wandered away.  It was loud but you tuned out everything as you took in his curls, longer than they were last year when you’d first noticed him.  He still seemed to be growing it out, brunette locks now covering his ears and a few hanging in his eyes as he bowed his head but still kept his focus on you.  You’d seen him just last week at school but you were only now noticing the progress on his hair growth, usually too enamored in his molasses pools of eyes.  He wore his standard getup, a black leather jacket, black jeans with a few holes, and some black boots.  Maybe it was the single shot you’d taken with Nancy and Robin back in the kitchen but he was looking especially handsome and you feared your heart was going to leap out of your chest right in front of him.

“Thought you swore off parties.”  You shouted over the bass vibrating the house.

Shaking the little metal box he held at you, you understood that he was ‘working’.  

“Parties are my biggest sellers so I couldn’t really keep my word on that one.”  

“Fair enough.”  You leaned your shoulder against the same wall he leaned his back on, turned toward him with all of your attention solely on him right now.

“Was just about to get outta here though.  I got roughly enough for one last sale, just need to find someone to bite.”  Taking a swig of his beer, he glanced around for any takers but still found no success.

“Well, what do you have?”  Your innocent eyes stared up at him, your ridiculous Christmas sweater being the only one he actually liked out of the hundreds he had seen that night.  

“I don’t sell to children.”  He teases.  You were only a year younger after all.

“I am not a child!  You’re a year older, c’mon!  What do you have?”  You whined, bouncing on your toes.

“No way, sweetheart.  I have the right to refuse service and I’m refusing yours.”  A smirk graced his lips as he turned his body toward you, mirroring your stance as you each leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“Munson-”

“Nope, closed for business.”  Tucking the little metal box under his leather jacket as if to hide it from your view, you playfully shoved at his shoulder.  

“I guess I’ll just have to get my weed from some other sketchy guy.”  You sighed dramatically.

“Whoa whoa, are you calling me sketchy?  I’ll have you know I am probably the least sketchy drug dealer you could hope for.”  He showed fake offense in the knitting of his brows and a hand thrown over his chest.

“I dunno, that sounds like something a sketchy drug dealer would say.”  

His eyes squinted at you in thought and he was definitely not going to sell you drugs however he could extend you an offer.

“How about…I keep a joint with your name on it on supply and you come get me when you wanna smoke?”  

Before you were able to answer, a group of jocks came tumbling into the hallway, one of them bumping into you particularly hard in his drunken state.  Eddie had already intervened before you could tell him that it was okay and that you were sure it was an accident.  

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!”  

His hand shoved the muscular guy back with no problem and had that guy not been completely wasted, a fight would’ve broken out but it seemed he couldn't register what was going on as he began roughhousing with one of his friends once again, thankfully making their way into the basement.  

“I-uh-how–how much?”  You stuttered, ignoring the interruption.

His plush lips tightened before his tongue darted out, one of his nervous habits.

“Share it with me and we’ll call it good.”  Your heart fluttered, face heating.

It was flirting.  It was in your face, outright, one hundred percent flirting and yet you couldn’t let yourself believe it.  He was just being friendly.  Because boys didn’t like you like that, they never have and they probably never will.  Especially the one in front of you who everyone warned you against associating yourself with.  It never stopped you from talking with him in the classes you shared or waving to him in the halls, him always returning the favor.  Your experiences clearly indicated that he wasn’t always rough around the edges like everyone said, he was actually a sweetheart with a lot of nerdy tendencies.  At least that's what you learned from your shared time at school.  There were select occasions outside of school such as previous parties where he’d sell that you would approach him with a shy smile and he would be as charming as always.  And there were times where he led you to think that maybe, just maybe he liked you as much as you liked him.  But you’d never act on it, having never even had a boyfriend before so what experience was there to guide you?  He was one of the only boys to offer you that kind of attention but it was never expected of you to cross a boundary and he let you take the lead, accounting for your bashfulness and fully realizing that he couldn’t just hook up with you and leave it at that.  Because there was something else there and he didn’t want to ruin whatever it was.  

“Well, I have to pay.  Seriously, how much?”

His arm was braced against the wall as he leaned toward you, breath fanning over your cheek, you didn’t even mind the smell of beer filling your nose.  

“Your money’s no good here.”  His dimples had you hypnotized.

“That’s not fair.”  You breathed, your eyes sparkling while looking up at him. 

“No?”

“No.”

“Alright Munson, quit hitting on my friend.  You got any weed left or are you done here?”  

Steve Harrington was going to get a mouthful from you later.

–

Present Day

You’d never existed in that van if anyone were to ask, not that they would.  It had been the shittiest night you’d experienced in a good while.  The worst part of it all was that you couldn’t even call Robin or Steve to rant to them about how shitty of a night it was because they were part of the reason.  Loneliness was the most debilitating illness and it was conquering you from the inside out.  Sure you could probably confide in Jonathan but your brain was screaming at you to suffer alone.  No one else needed to be bothered by your whining when they had their own lives to live.  This was now between you and yourself.  

Living in a small town had never been such an issue.  Working in the same coffee shop as your best friends as well as your biggest enemy was proving to be a stupid idea but you were in no position to change jobs, not when you could barely make rent and no other jobs would have the flexibility to keep you around with your class schedule.  Plus no one was even hiring, they’d already secured their seasonal hires.  So back to the drawing board you went.  No more arriving at work early, minimizing the chance of interaction with Steve and Robin and keeping to yourself your entire shift as a means to tune Eddie out no matter how hard he would try and press your buttons.  It was going to be hell but what other option did you have at this point in time?  There was always the choice to drop out of college but then that’d be a waste of a scholarship you’d received based on your low income in combination with a well written essay your senior year.  Senior year you would punch you in the face if you dropped out all because of the poorly thought out actions of others.  All that hard work down the drain for a couple of dumbasses?  Absolutely not.  

No.  You were not going to alter your life just because of them.  Although it felt you were being somewhat dramatic, you weren’t going to let this go.  It was as if they’d isolated you and laughed about it behind your back.  Left you in the dark and giggled to each other about how pathetic you were.  No one should ever have to endure this pain, especially not at the hands of the people who you’d thought mattered to you most but seemingly proved that they were just like everyone else.  You figured you still had the kids but then quickly remembered whose house they mainly hung out at and it left you defeated.  At least you could always stop in at the Byers, that much you knew.  Even so, you didn’t want to bother them with the sudden friendship politics, it seemed childish on your part and Will definitely didn’t need to hear you complain about the other two people he looked up to.  That was not a road you were willing to go down, he’d had enough of seeing adults bicker to last several lifetimes and you already vowed to shield him from any more of it.

That night was honestly even more awful the second your back hit your shitty mattress.  Sobs racked your body and it was nearly enough to make you throw up.  Nearly.  You held it down but still dry heaved, curled up in a ball like a loser while everyone else seemed fine.  The cherry on top was the way Eddie clawed at old wounds, your guts may as well have left a bloody trail from the street where he dropped you off all the way up the stairs to your apartment.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t the fact that he yelled at you to get out of his van that was inducing the vomit rising in the back of your throat.  It certainly contributed but what brought the taste of bile to your tongue was the way that you’d bantered for a split second just like in high school—when there was a chance.  When you were naive and sadly mistaken.  A love sick puppy for a boy who had only misled you and mistreated you.  You suppose some of the blame could’ve been on you, letting yourself fall harder and harder each time you’d seen his contagious smile in the halls and in class.  You know how they say some people peak in high school?  Well you could say that you hit rock bottom which to be honest, felt far more embarrassing than peaking.  All because of a stupid boy.  

Was this really what you’d become?  A sorry excuse of a woman muffling sobs into your pillow over some mistakenly split open feelings for a boy—now a man still taunting your everyday life?  Why did he have this power over you all of the sudden?  For the past few years you had felt nothing but disgust for him and now it felt like you were dealing with the heartbreak all over again, as if that night happened just hours ago.  

And Steve had practically spit on the heartbreak that he’d witnessed before his eyes.  That he’d helped nurse you through, drying your tears with countless tissues, lending his shoulder to cry on.  That version of him was flushed down the drain the minute he stepped out of that damn van.  Where you used to see kind and caring brown eyes with that sympathetic wrinkle in the middle of his eyebrows, you now saw betrayal in human form.  

—

The smudged mirror of the public bathroom in Hawkins Community did little to enhance any beauty you may have held at some point.  It only added to your dark under eyes, hues of purple beneath the skin along with a puffy redness from non stop crying.  To sum it up, you looked swollen and you were sorry to anyone that had to witness the sight.  The cool water you splashed on your face from the sputtering faucet didn’t do as much as the internet said it would.  If anything you only looked worse but now your nerves were shocked from the temperature change.  You had to get over yourself eventually, just suck it up and go to work.  

With one last wipe of a gritty paper towel, your nose raw from constantly wiping snot away, you gave up the pity party and forced yourself out of the depressing, poorly lit bathroom.  A push of the germy door with your shoulder has you moving on to brave the rest of the day—the hard part of the day.  The part that you’d dreaded and played out in your mind like a projector on a screen.  Every scenario laid out before you like a deck of cards and so unsure of which one would become your fate.  

The sky looked an eerie gray, more rain expected to accompany that morning's light drizzle, casting the hallways in a darker light than they usually led on.  It was beyond you that you kept leaving your umbrella at home when rain was almost always on the forecast these days.  You suppose the sky reflected your mood and that was fair enough.  

Stepping outside as the metal door slammed shut behind you, your skin erupted in goosebumps, wind swirling in your hair as mother nature declared its fury in thunderous echoes in the sky.  It was only a fifteen minute walk, just endure the unusually strong winds and keep on, that’s what you told yourself.  Things can’t get any shittier, they just can’t.  

—

Slowly The Under-Ground came into view as did the downtown square where not one person lingered due to the weather.  Each bench was devoid of its regular users and it seemed like a ghost town more than anything.  The faint smell of chimney smoke crossed your senses and it only made you wish you’d be able to just cozy up next to a fire and forget this cursed timeline you were in.  You could just imagine the families in their homes just a few blocks over, probably preparing for dinner in their well manicured kitchens while their kids enjoyed the warmth of the fireplace and watched a wholesome movie.  What you’d give to be in their position again.  Young and free of responsibility.  

Fat rain drops began to paint the pavement and you thanked whatever higher power that it had waited until you arrived at work to unleash the beginnings of what seemed to be a storm.  You now only bargained with Mother Nature that it would be kind enough to let up by the time your shift ended.  The Fall rain seemed to be treating Hawkins extra cruelly this year.  

You’d scurried as fast as you could to the front French doors of the shop, swinging one open as the bell chimes above and a blanket of warmth cocoons you, allowing you to take in the rich, chocolatey smell of a recently warmed brownie mixed with notes of espresso.  It was 4:55 PM, just five minutes shy of when your shift was supposed to start, aiming to keep it as close as possible to avoid Steve and Robin the best you could.

There wasn’t a single customer in sight, a brief whiff of bleach filling your nose as you walked by a ‘Caution Wet’ sign propped in the middle of the floor.  You didn’t even give whoever was behind the counter so much as a glance as you kept your focus on the floor, making your way toward the back to hopefully avoid everyone so you could set your things in your locker and prepare yourself for your shift.  The typical jazzy music played over the speakers and you could just barely hear a whisper of what had to be Robin’s voice directed at Steve.  Something along the lines of ‘fix it, right now’.  If she was referencing what you suspected, she was naive to think that Steve could just ‘fix it’ right here right now.  In your eyes she was practically telling him to slap a band-aid onto a bloody gash that would actually require a severe amount of stitches.  

Your gaze remained glued to the dark tiled floor, the grout interesting you more than the hushed conversation between two traitors.  The hope was to ignore any and all attempts to make amends at this point in time on Steve’s part.  And to dodge any reasoning Robin tried to sprinkle on top.  But hopes are often lost and before you could reach the back, Steve’s scuffed Adidas forced their way into your line of sight.  Your name fell from his tongue like an apology that you were far from accepting.

“Listen, can we-can we talk?”  He sounded as if he was begging for his life and you were too mad to look into his eyes to further read him.  

All you offered was a scoff as you tried to push past him however he stood in your way, a bold move for someone on such thin ice.  

“Please?”  His head ducked down in an effort to meet your eyes, succeeding for a mere second where you caught that stupid sympathetic wrinkle in between his eyebrows and his apologetic stare.  It didn’t work this time.

“Move.”  You were stern as you bit your lip to keep from showing any kind of emotion.

“We have to talk about it—“

“We don’t have to talk about anything.”  You snapped bitterly.

Robin seemed to understand to keep her mouth shut in this instance, she knew this wasn’t some dumb disagreement that you’d end up laughing about at the end of the day.  This was grounds for a possible severed bond.  So there she stood, wide eyed as she pretended to clean the already sparkling countertop, blue polish chipping from her nails as she gripped the rag with apprehension. 

And Steve seemed to know his place as he stepped aside, comprehending that he would not make much progress with you right now and that you may not even forgive him ever.  It terrified him but what could he do?  He fucked up and he was suffering the damages, a far greater loss than his selfish needs were worth.  Respecting your boundaries was the most he could do right now and it gutted him from the inside out.

You were lucky that only a single tear escaped and trailed down your cheek, your skilled ability to not cry in public proving very useful in the moment.  Wiping it away with dignity, you proceeded to the back room, only wishing to have a minute alone to recover before having to put on a facade.  Your locker was your only target but you’d fumbled as your mind worked quicker than your legs, bag flying off of your shoulder and spilling out a tube of mascara, a half eaten bag of chips, and a few papers from an assignment you’d tried to work on last night to take your mind away from the endless sobbing.  It felt as though the dark clouds outside were following you and wreaking more havoc than could handle.  Quickly, you scooped up each item and shoved them back in your bag, a few curses uttered under your breath and when you were about to push yourself up off the sticky ground, you were met with a pair of abyss-like brown eyes.  

He was tying his decked out apron around his waist, looking down at you with concern.  You hadn’t even seen him upon first walking in, his presence residing in the corner of the room where it seemed he placed his helmet on the window sill farthest from the door.  He was early.  And he was never early.  Without a word between you, his hands were up in surrender as he spun back around towards the window, back facing you as he pulled a pen from the apron and seemed to scribble on something.  The interaction seemed strange as he didn’t offer some insult about how clumsy you were.  And you didn’t snap at him the moment he laid eyes on you.

Seeing him still made you beyond upset but the tension in the air carried something far more complicated that you couldn’t distinguish.  So you left it, swinging open your locker and snatching your apron before shoving your bag inside, the metal clanking noisily as you did.  A breeze brushed past you while you secured your apron to your satisfaction and when you finally glanced behind you, Eddie was no longer in the room.  

Patting at your pockets dumbly for your phone before departing out to the front, you were having trouble locating the device.  You double checked your bag but no success, even feeling around the inside of the locker just in case.  It wasn’t until you turned around that you realized you must have abandoned it on the foldable break room table in your uncoordinated walk earlier.  And there it was sitting atop the table—with a steaming to-go cup next to it?  Surely that wasn’t there before, you would have definitely knocked it over with how close it was to your phone and how ungraceful you were in your movements.  You were starting to question how insane you were going with everything swirling around in your brain since last night, did you make yourself a coffee in the midst of Steve trying to coax you into a conversation?  That must have been it.

Except as you further inspected, there was some kind of writing on the side of the cup.  Scribbled in black sharpie was a single word.  And realization hits you like a train when you read it.  

“Roadkill”

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface

[stevesxyellowxsweater]

Stay

PAIRING: Jim Hopper x gn!reader WC: 1200+ CW: MINORS DON'T INTERACT!! Swearing, jealousy, implied sex, reader is an fbi agent, unedited work. SUMMARY: You're sent to Hawkins to find out about the disappearance of Barbara Holland and Will Byers' death and resurrection. You find yourself hitting it off with the police chief, but it seems he's only interested in a one time thing. AUTHOR NOTES: This is just a simple bit of fluffy angst that I've been thinking about, it's unedited so please ignore mistakes. First time writing Hopper so enjoy.

Jim Hopper was a stubborn guy, it was a fact you knew all too well from the moment you became friends with the guy. You'd been in town looking into what had been happening with these disappearances and Jesus like comeback of Will Byers. The FBI had become very interested and sent you to investigate. Hawkins wasn't somewhere you'd expected to be, yet you found yourself there.

You'd sat in Hopper's office, the pair of you trying to be more stubborn than the other. You refusing to believe his answers and him trying hard to dodge your questions or giving you a pack of lies. He'd finally given up and sighed.

“We've been at this all day, can I buy you a beer?”

“That's the smartest thing you've said all day.”

That was how the friendship started, you sat in the bar together that night discussing your love for old westerns. Talking about his divorce and about your separation from your high school sweetheart, you discussed law enforcement, and when the night came to an end you both ended up in your hotel room making the beast with two backs.

Of course your supervisor was less than happy when you called the next day to report that you learnt nothing. Orders to stay there till you did were made very clearly and you found yourself stuck in Hawkins trying to interview everyone that seemed to be connected to Will Byers and Barbra Holland.

Since that night with Jim though, he became increasingly distant, always making up excuses so you couldn't talk to him, always saying he had things to do. 

He'd been dodging you for nearly a week when you discovered that the reason he was blowing you off constantly was because of Joyce Byers, you couldn't help but feel a twang of jealousy each and every time you heard her name, or saw her. 

They were close, maybe closer than close. All you knew was that you and Hopper were now one and done. Especially while Joyce was around.

You began to become frustrated, all the time you found yourself stuck in this stupid town, wanting to go back home. Whenever you went into Melvald’s and Hopper was there talking to Joyce you became increasingly irritated and eventually started to ignore them. Throwing down your stuff, paying for it without a word and leaving. 

It had been about four times that you'd done this when Hopper finally had enough and came out after you.

“Don't you think you're being a little childish?”

“Oh I'm being childish am I? Says the guy who has been avoiding me for nearly two months. I've been stuck here, which is your fault by the way!” 

“How exactly is it my fault that you keep reaching dead ends?”

“Because you won't talk to me! I need to finish my damn interview with you, but you're acting as if I'm going to jump on you if we do!”

“I've been busy.” 

“So I noticed Jim.” 

There was a bitterness to your tone as you looked at him, unimpressed and unhappy.

“Tomorrow, I will be at your office first thing so I can get this shit over with and leave this Damn town!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” 

You stared at each other for a moment before storming away in different directions. Joyce stood inside the shop smirking as she watched you two.

“What was that about?” 

Bob asked, stepping inside and looking at Joyce.

“Young love.” 

Everything over the last two months had brought you to this moment, standing outside his cabin. You'd walked into the office bright and early to find he wasn't coming in today. Anger and annoyance bubbled inside you. You  stormed out, got in your car and drove to his place.

“Hopper!”

You'd wanted to be calm and collected, but the moment your knuckles touched the door you banged loudly and angrily.

“Open the damn door now!” 

You yelled through the wooden door.

“I know you're in there, this isn't funny. Open up now!”

The door opened and you stormed inside, you didn't even bother to look at him. 

“It's one thing keeping whatever happened here a secret. But keeping me here when you know I can't leave without some sort of report from you isn't fair!” 

You turned to look at him, his nose was red, his eyes glassy, and he had some sort of ugly blanket wrapped around his body keeping his chest warm. 

“Your sick.” 

“That right there is why you're in the FBI, so smart.” 

His voice was croaky and dripping with sarcasm, you couldn't help but find it hot even though he was very sick.

“Can you get out, I'll give you a report when I'm better.”

The door slammed practically in your face as he ushered you out, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you stood there. 

You couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered every time you were near him, couldn't deny that you enjoyed his scent, or the way he made butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

“Damn you Hopper.”

You left, only to come back armed with cold and flu medicines, vapor rub, soup, and a few other things to make him feel better. The look on his face had been a picture, shock and confusion as you pushed inside and placed down the cold and flu tabs. The Vapour rub, and everything else. 

“Take those, I'll get you some soup.” 

He stared for a minute or two, before he did as he was told. It had been a long time since Jim had been looked after when he was sick. Every single stubborn bone inside told him to tell you to go, but as he watched you he couldn't deny how badly he was enjoying watching you in his kitchen.

Placing down the soup as well as some fresh bread, you looked at him and smiled.

“You should eat up and then you should rest.”

There was an awkward air between the two of you as you stood there, he sat up and nodded only letting out a grunt before tucking into the soup.

“Feel better Jim.” 

Picking up your bag, you headed toward the door.

“Stay.”

His word caught you off guard, you froze too scared to look at him. He was busy slurping soup and you couldn't help but think you had imagined it. Shaking your head, you carried on walking.

“I said stay.”

It was clearer that time, so much so. Your heart fluttered as you turned to look at him. 

“Why?” 

Hopper took a breath, getting up he hunted around and found a piece of paper.

“Because I like you, and I don't want you to leave Hawkins.”

Walking over you took the piece of paper, you looked at the scribbled messages of him trying to explain how he felt and smiled.

“Joyce has been helping me to try and figure out how to tell you.”

“It's been two months, Hop.”

“I know, I'm a coward.” He said softly as he looked at you.

“You should eat your soup.”

“You should respond to my question.”

“It was more of a demand, Jim. Besides it took you two months to tell me, I'm sure I at least get till you finish your soup.”

Hopper smiled and sat back down, he looked at you and patted the chair beside him. You couldn't help but smile and dropped your bag on the floor and walked over to sit down. 

Once he'd finished his soup, he fell asleep. You kept yourself busy until he woke up and told you he was feeling better. But that didn't mean he got out of bed, simply that you joined him. 

[liviacardew]

deaths explained + time travelling kids au

so, when achilles crane-cardew, plutarch heavensbee, aelia ravinstill and athena creed are fourteen, all their parents die.

after their parents’ death, the kids were extremely distraught and were full of grief (athena more so than the others).

and when they’re eighteen, they finally find out how and who killed their parents. they’re all revengeful when they find out it was the same person that killed their parents. coriolanus snow.

here’s how they died

felix and clemensia were killed in a car accident. festus and persephone died due to food poisoning. hilarius and vipsania had a posca overdose. livia and arachne both had a sudden cardiac arrest.

felix and clemensia had been the first couple to die. they were both on the way home to their fourteen-year-old daughter from a social event. then, they got into a mysterious car accident. all the cctv footages of the car accident were gone. they all mysteriously disappeared. no one was able to figure it out until their own daughter, aelia ravinstill did the day she turned eighteen.

festus and persephone had passed a week after felix and clemensia. similarly, they were both in an event. coriolanus offered them food, and they both simply started choking and death came for them. the cctv cameras were broken that night. later when flavius was sixteen, he’d then take his own life. athena was the only price-creed left.

(help i lowkey do not know how to explain livia & arachne’s and hilarius & vipsania’s…like it just happened. or maybe that’s what coriolanus said what happened…who knows?)

time travelling kids au (scenario one)

in this au, the kids create a time travelling machine with the help of io jasper and urban canville’s son: albert canville (much to aelia’s dismay). they’re not technically sure about this whole time travelling thing, but they decided it’s the only way they could get their parents back and make sure coriolanus doesn’t end up a total prick like he is now.

they test out the time travelling machine, and the group of four actually did it. albert canville actually did it. they were now in the beginning of their parents’ senior year.

since they were wearing the academy uniform, professor demigloss/dean highbottom thinks they’re new students and tells them to go to the orientation. the four of them see each of their parents there + coriolanus and they just panic.

this is the first time they’ve seen their parents & co. in four years and when professor demigloss tells them to introduce themselves, all four of them would go like: “uh, um, well” for a few moments until arachne raises an eyebrow and give them that look.

they just make fake last names similar (in a way?) to their actual last names. so now, they’re achilles byrd-shaw, athena cress, aelia heron, and plutarch whimslou. (i actually do not know.)

coriolanus is suspicious of them immediately. when he asked them “why did you guys just enroll in the academy when we’re about to graduate?” and “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you around before?”, but they always dodge the topic somehow.

they’re a few days in and then all of a sudden, albert canville and june ruby snow show up. though, this one was by accident due to june ruby accidentally stumbling across the time travel machine and albert just tries to hide it, and they hit the button by accident.

them being there creates more chaos and albert and aelia get into an argument in front of everybody and they’re all like: hey, they remind me of felix and urban?

and to top it all off, albert literally says: “well, at least coriolanus snow didn’t murder my parents!” in front of coriolanus snow himself.

everyone is just shocked.

the kids explain everything to them- except for the part whrre they’re some of their children.

coriolanus is now terrified and doesn’t murder his friends in the future.

everyone’s happy and well in the future and june ruby still exists!

i was going to add scenario two in here but the post was already long enough (also, i haven’t thought fully about scenario two at all😭), so it’ll be in another post coming soon!

[eyeslikewatercoolers]

Four Halloweens-Sashnetra

Happy spooky season! Set in the Wedding Planner AU, here's four Halloween-themed drabbles in different points in Sasha's life.

Thank you to @kitty-padilla for betaing ❤️

Featuring Beyoncé, Shark Tale, Pregnetra, and the search for the bestest pumpkin ever.

read on ao3

Sasha age 19, Halloween

This was Sasha’s first Halloween as herself, so she had to make it count this year. 

Actually, this was her first Halloween ever, but that was beside the point.

Sasha’s been waiting nearly her whole life to wear a costume that she felt like Sasha in, so this would be a big moment for her. 

Except that she had no idea what she wanted to be for Halloween. Or where she would wear said costume. 

It took several weeks to scrounge up enough money to cover a costume. She took out some of the money she earned from her (very small) wedding photography side business. 

But Sasha will worry about that later. First, she needed to scope out the local Spirit Halloween store and see their options. 

Walking through the women’s section, Sasha wasn’t too impressed by the choices. Cheerleader, Disney princesses, and an entire wall of random skimpy costumes. She wouldn’t be opposed to wearing these specific costumes, if she was a little bit further into her transition and was happier with her body.

Sasha walked out of the store empty-handed and disappointed. As she turned on her old clunker of a car, the radio came to life with the top 40 station she always kept on. Upon listening to Beyoncé on the stereo system, she knew immediately what her costume would be.

Know that I can't get over you 'Cause everything I see is you And I don't want no substitute Baby I swear it's Déjà Vu

Sasha pulled into the nearest Goodwill and excitedly walked inside. She immediately went straight to the women’s section, dodging any older women who gave her a look for interrupting their shopping.

She searched through all the options on the rack and instantly gravitated to a shimmering silver dress. It’ll be some work for her, but it was the perfect option.

A blonde woman around her age looked at the dress from where she stood at the other end of the rack.

 “That’s a real pretty one you found.” she said, with a deep Southern twang to her voice. “It’ll make you feel amazing, I promise.” She lowered her voice for only Sasha to hear.

This girl was just like her. Her hair was growing past her shoulders, and her makeup brought the feminine features out of her face. 

“It’s gorgeous, but I’m using it for my Halloween costume,” Sasha explained. “But maybe I’ll try it on first, just to see it for myself.” She and the girl shared a knowing smile. 

“It was nice to meet you, I’m Kylie.” The blonde said after they both checked out.

“Sasha.” She smiled brightly at her new friend. 

After several days of cutting the dress and hand-sewing it back together, Sasha made it into a top and short skirt. She curled her hair into tight spirals and put on her outfit in an excited rush. When she looked at herself in the full-length mirror, a wide grin never left her face.

Sasha grabbed her camera from its case and started snapping pictures of her poses in the mirror. She had nowhere to wear this outfit, but she did not care if no one saw her right now. 

Maybe one day she’ll have someone to share the holiday with, but for right now, this Halloween was all for herself. 

Sasha age 27, Halloween

“What are you wearing?” 

“No, what are you wearing?” 

This was Sasha’s first Halloween together with her girlfriend, so they planned to wear matching couple’s costumes. But with whatever Anetra was wearing? Sasha was left very confused. 

“You said you were going to be Lola for Halloween. Both you and Marcia told me about it!” Sasha said, crossing her arms. 

“I am Lola,” Anetra said as she showed off her long white, flowy dress with thin red lines running horizontally over it. “That’s her name, isn’t it?” 

“Baby, nobody calls her by her name. Everyone calls her the sexy fish from Shark Tale!” Sasha said with a playful smile. She knew Anetra grew up very sheltered and only started watching non-Christian movies soon before they started dating. 

But she didn’t think Anetra was this out of touch with her generation.

“Oh,” Anetra said, eyes slightly downcast. “Is that why you chose that costume?” she asked.

Sasha nodded. “I assumed you meant Lola Bunny. So I wanted to surprise you with a Jessica Rabbit.” she gestured to the red, sparkly gown that she and Kylie worked on together making for the past week. 

“We should have talked a bit more about this, huh?” Anetra said as she crossed her arms, slightly closing herself off.

Sasha nodded, “It’s too late for us to find a second option too.”

She and Anetra have only been together for six months, so their communication wasn’t perfect just yet. They were still in the very beginning of this relationship, and this was just a small roadblock for them.

Sasha reached out to hold Anetra’s hand, “It’ll be okay, maybe it’s going to be like a little inside joke for us?” she offered as the front door to her apartment opened, letting in Luxx and Marcia.

“Look at our Shark Tale group! We are so winning the costume contest,” Luxx said before their eyes landed on Sasha. 

Silence fell between all four of them. Luxx was dressed in a fitted and bedazzled blue and yellow tracksuit, and Marcia wore a hooded shark-themed mini-dress. 

Anetra spoke up, “At least you’ll be the hottest Jessica Rabbit there," she said as an offering to Sasha.

“Next year we’ll be sexy M&M’s. Easy, simple, and no confusion,” Sasha said as she grabbed her purse, ready to go to the party. 

Sasha age 34, Halloween

Pulling her car into the garage next to Anetra’s (tarp-covered) motorcycle, Sasha felt mentally exhausted. For the autumn being the off-season for weddings, she had just put a busy day at the bridal shop behind her. 

She met with several winter (and some Valentine’s Day) brides, helped with alterations while Loosey was out sick, and oversaw a Halloween-themed ceremony and reception. 

She was mentally and physically exhausted, but it was a Friday and Halloween night. Kerri was going to a classmate’s party, and then spending the night with Jasmine.

 Sasha looked forward to having a quiet night in with her wife as they would set up a bowl of candy outside, letting trick-or-treaters help themselves. 

Tonight would be one of the last nights they’d have alone until their baby arrived in a couple more weeks. Both of them were needing a quiet and relaxing night before life with a newborn took over. 

After putting her purse on the hook and placing her shoes under the bench in the mud room, Sasha followed a pair of voices down the hall toward her daughter’s bedroom. 

Except the hallway bathroom with the light still on caused her a quick detour. She was about to feel for the light switch but looked in shock at the state of the bathroom. 

Orange paint was in almost every spot. It was in streaks around the sink, the toilet, and some on the floor. Some of it was mixed with green paint and some with brown. Upon closer inspection, the paint looked like it was from a face paint kit. 

“What’s with all the paint in the bathroom?” Sasha stood in the doorway to Kerri’s bedroom, looking at the two teenagers sitting on the bed, cross-legged.

“One second, Mama. We’re doing eye makeup here.” Kerri said without turning around, holding an eyeliner pencil to Jasmine’s eye. 

While she waited, Sasha walked closer to the room. Makeup was scattered around the bed, but none of it looked like face paint. Their costumes were hung against the closet door, as the two were still in their clothes from school. 

When Kerri finished, she looked at her mother, “We haven’t been using paint today, so I have no idea where it came from,” She shrugged as she looked at her lip glosses.  

Sasha sighed, realizing that this was the not-as-easy part of being the parent of a teenager. “So neither of you know why there’s orange paint all over the bathroom?”

Both teenagers shook their heads, “We’ve been in Kerri’s room since we got back from school,” Jasmine added. 

“I’ll just ask your mom then if she knows,” Sasha said as she walked back to the doorway, before turning back. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I think I heard her and Marcia go to the backyard a while ago.” Kerri said before picking up a small bottle of setting spray, turning her attention back to Jasmine, “Now, close your eyes and hold still.”

Several minutes later, Sasha opened the French doors to the backyard and saw Marcia and Anetra sitting in the still-green grass. Marcia sat directly in front of Anetra, while Anetra was facing away from Sasha’s view.

“One last line and...” Marcia said with a face of concentration. “…done!” she said, holding up a paintbrush with orange paint on it.

“Is that why the bathroom is covered in face paint?” Sasha asked, and the two turned to look at her. Despite the mess, she couldn’t help but smile at the two. 

“Sash! Look what Marcia made!” Anetra looked at her excitedly, trying to carefully move herself around to show her rounded bump to her wife. Painted on her outstretched skin was a detailed pumpkin with a brown stem and green leaves on the outer edges. 

“It looks nice, but why?” 

“I know we agreed on no costumes this year, but I’ve been so bored waiting for this baby to come. We found this kit when we went shopping today and decided to put it to use.” Anetra smiled as she looked at the painting on her round belly, still holding up her shirt. 

“I’ll go get my phone so we can take pictures!” Marcia jumped up and started walking back into the house. 

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” Sasha asked her.

Marcia turned around to see Anetra struggling to get off the ground, trying to maneuver her pregnant belly into a place where she could stand up. Sasha helped Marcia by grabbing one of Anetra’s hands and pulling her up to stand. 

The bathroom could wait until later to be cleaned. For now, she might as well join in on the Halloween fun.

Sasha age 37, (a few days before) Halloween

“What about this one?”

“Too big.”

“This one?” 

“Too lumpy.” 

“How about this one here?” 

“'Netra, I think that one is a gourd.” 

“Oh.” 

Sasha watched her wife’s face fall slightly as she placed the round gourd back on the ground. Feeling slightly bad for correcting her, Sasha placed a peck on Anetra’s cheek when their daughter wasn’t looking.

“It’s not your fault that toddlers are so picky.” Sasha pointed out as they continued to search through the pumpkin field. They had meant to spend the whole day doing different activities at the local farm that held a seasonal pumpkin patch, but they’d been stuck looking for ‘The bestest pumpkin ever.’

“It doesn’t help that she’s a little perfectionist like her Momma.” Anetra retorted, giving Sasha a pointed look. 

Sasha knew that her wife was right. Their daughter always colored inside the lines, hated her food touching and had to have her toys sitting from biggest to smallest. Delia might look like the mini version of Anetra, but Sasha really rubbed off on her personality. 

They watched as Delia carefully examined the pumpkins. The rest of the guests at the pumpkin patch slowly left to get on the hay rides back to the front of the farm. 

“I’ll go talk to her, and you go get us a good spot on the next hay ride,” Sasha told her wife as they parted ways. 

Sasha kneeled in front of the pumpkin that Delia just moved onto, and carefully rolled it out of the way. 

“I can’t find the bestest pumpkin.”  The toddler looked at her, worry growing in her eyes. 

Sasha held her hands out with the palms up, inviting Delia to hold hands with her. Smaller hands were enveloped by larger ones, and Delia had her full attention. 

“I’m sorry, Dee, but the pumpkins aren’t grown to be perfect.” 

“They aren’t?” 

Sasha shook her head, “Nope. Pumpkins are like people. A lot of us aren’t born with what we like about ourselves, but we can change things to make us happy. Like how we carve pumpkins to give them smiles.” 

“What do you mean, Momma?” Delia asked. 

Sasha and Anetra weren’t ready to dive fully into explaining everything about trans people to their toddler, but luckily she hasn’t asked yet. They’ve collected some advice from other trans parents, so they were prepared when the time came. 

Sasha looked over at Anetra standing at the front of the trailer, waiting for the hay ride to start. Then she got the perfect idea for an explanation. 

“You know how Mommy has red hair and we have brown hair?” Sasha asked, to which Delia nodded. 

“She actually was born with brown hair like us. But she realized that she is happier with red hair, so she keeps it that color.” 

“Mommy’s hair isn’t really red?” Delia looked back at her in shock. 

“Nope, but don’t tell her I told you.” Sasha playfully tapped Delia’s nose as she stood back up. “Now let’s find a pumpkin that we can make the bestest.” 

The pumpkin they found had a too-short stem and leaned when sat upright, but they later cut and carved it into the bestest jack-o-lantern just for them.

[c-11-22]

i walked into solitary, the cushion room — slipped a black str8 jacket from sean’s closet on and asked him to fasten me up, then he left and i sat down, i would never see him again, he doesn’t turn back till his tires are spent, i sat down in the back corner of the room, and asked someone anyone to turn up the frequency of the silence to brain splitting levels, and then i watched goo leak from some orifice and drip onto the bridge of my nose and i just stayed there watching my brain and intuition drip out like a leaky faucet for maybe two weeks and now i’m outside and have no idea why the white stucco on the ceiling is sucking into itself after just one newport i take outside, i haven’t touched a newport since i was trying to keep up with r on set four years ago , where i experienced nicotine poisoning for the first time but he did hold me on the way back to soho after we wrapped, which i might’ve appreciated had i not smoked a pack in 90 minutes, it was an incapacitated REM level L, and i don’t smoke them unless i miss feeling so weak, unless i wanna feel like that baby again, but no i dont smoke them i dont have the heart for them, i just found one smashed in the bottom of my purse i left at my parents seven months ago, i allowed myself the indulgence. a dear friend on the other end of the phone call just said grazie mille to the most toad like fantasia italian accent i think she’s in puglia and the exhibitor of the accent had handed her a midnight cigarette as she informed me she’s been crying in the shower and laughing by the time she dries off every day she’s been in puglia, she stumbled upon a man in a car getting his dick sucked by a woman in his car, in front of the church, which she was sitting in front of, but at some point i believe she got up and started pacing around the cobblestone, as i was, in my own non cobblestone la alleyway, while we were talking and processing did u process it “” or at least i like to think of her doing so, us walking the same, but maybe if i were in puglia and not southern california i’d be looking straight and up and around, not so much ahead and down. imiss her and things, it’s been hard to hug my mom, my sister, i didn’t intend to be here right now, but i am here right now, i’ll try to hug my sister tonight and my mom tomorrow. i know i’ll miss the chance when i miss the chance and leave back to ny, i wish i didn’t feel a tinge of agony hugging my blood family but they wouldn’t be my relatives if it didn’t

the cigarette i took smelled like upstate still and it tasted like the way i felt in july of 2019, angry, which means alive, grateful for a taste. i took it while dodging my mothers forty fifth ceremony for yet another fissured bong she tipped over while stretching to fix a flower pot on the steps. weed is allowed recreationally so, though it’s illegal to smoke anywhere outside here. the whole town, just like plastic bags. but the teenagers ride on their e bikes and suck them vapes down and eat the core like i do my apples— only if their sticker starts with 9 otherwise i leave about a half inch around the core before i flick it away. i flick him away. so illegal that the inflated tits stuck to the speedwalking moms, speedwalking by my pacing, glare at me. mine aren’t inflated but they scowl back , i shrug and suck it down. i’ve always been paranoid here, it’s because my hair always been different and that difference permeated everything and now i’m less meek maybe a bit brash , so it causes problems . my step is a step my resentfulness fed direct to confidence around these people, so it causes problems

but why does the stucco do that? i’m trying to rest and keep my eyes open, i’m trying to let him make his way out my head, he’s good at keeping his things with his things but i’ve asked him to double check thrice. why is the ceiling moving like this after the newport. it was suppose to sage him out. why is it dancing when i feel like sinking into the bed past the floor dropping down another level and seeping into the carpet down another level into the rubble and further till i reach ocean and then rock and then rock and then past that my brain is too hot to register? i already feel this way now but instead of hot i’m feeling neutral, a dry ice temperature, a burn im seeing but can’t place when i was touched

jimi hendrix and bob marley played soccer together on a chance encounter in greenwich two years before jimi was found dead by asphyxia. i was reading into the reopened case being closed on the grounds that much time had passed after his death, it’d be no service to the public to take another look. i don’t know, who’s to know, but why did she feel the need to recall her recollection in different ways excluding big clumps and including pipe cleaners and camouflage mesh in certain points. it was dry. the vomit was dry. i’m writing this from the rocks stage left of ziggy marleys performance with the orchestra, people are dancing and they seem happy

[photog-crafty]

Bless the Habanero, it tried so hard. This little Lexus RX knockoff loved to throw its rear end out and had a high-strung engine note that reminded me of a small displacement V6. It made it feel like it really, really wanted to be a tuner. If it had a little more mod potential or speed it would have been one of my favorite cars.

Also on the Lexus train, the game had a Lexus GS in the form of the Intruder. Naturally, I had to BIPPU it with an obnoxious wrap and oversized wheels. In spite of that, it was still a comfy car to drive. I think I'm just a sucker for full-width taillights.

The Weevil Custom was another really cool car released very late in the game's life that just wasn't enough to keep me coming back to it. It was fast, fun, cool looking, and mean, but when the cards were down it was just another car. At least it gave me some pleasure to take English Dave's prized car to the chop shop. Enjoy that panther cage, jerk.

There was a time when a Sultan was in every player's garage. As a fast four-door with good handling that could go off-road and be found on the streets, it was popular among brand new players who needed a reliable vehicle for heists and missions. Other cars eventually outclassed it and left it to be just another street car, but its day in the sun was bright indeed.

The poor, poor Bullet. Such a nice car doomed to a lifetime of heckling for being misclassified as a Super and landing squarely at the bottom of the rankings, when it would have fared much better in Sports. If you disregard the race tiers and judge it purely on its own merits, you'll find a fun little Ford clone that's great for cruising.

The Surge was a car that was easy to pick out in traffic due to its neat illuminated grille. It was ahead of its time, in my opinion, considering it was from 2013 and light-up badges and grilles didn't start catching on until years later. Performance was subpar, but it was at least small enough to fit between the bunker bollards and go roll around the weapons factory facilities.

My first GTA winter was spent in the company of a Radius. It even had steelies on so the nicer wheels wouldn't get damaged in the snow. This lovechild of a Dodge Caliber and a Ford Edge won my heart with above-average speed for an SUV and a comically aggressive exhaust note that you'd never expect from such a round little creature.

Honda's modern automotive offerings rarely caught my eye, but it was nice to see an interpretation of their new NSX in the form of the Jester. I remember it having quite a throaty sound to it that made it enjoyable to drive in spite of being an otherwise average sports car.

Sometimes I found it hard to believe that the Jackal was a car that could be insured directly off of the streets. It was a fast little thing and I remember being taken aback at how much torque it had in higher gears, where similar cars would have run out of breath. If I had to start all over and pick a four-door fresh out of the gate, I would probably pick a Jackal.

Truthfully, I was never much of a fan of the Swinger, but it showed up for free on the podium once and I couldn't help snagging one just to show off the needlessly obscure and nigh-unobtainable livery that was only available to people who played during one specific week many years ago.

[the-everlasting-downpour]

I. — Cognac.

Failure knows no bounds and makes its home here within me They Grieve — Wither

Martyrous In a trans Nero di Marte — Sisyphos

A dark evening in Port Nömbug. Wet concrete underfoot. Puddles, many puddles – thousands of puddles, as if it were meant to be. A population of fourteen thousand. Small four-story houses with families and singles living in separate huge apartments. The main contingent of the town is made up of paradisians. A few craft beer bars behind the back.

Three men are arguing with each other. One has clearly been drinking, big bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and working late. He is dressed in an unbuttoned, hobbled coat down to his ankles, with a knitted sweater underneath, black pants and shoes. He tries to keep his composure as a cultured intoxicated man might. The light of the streetlamps surrounds him and his two friends.

And the great northern sky stretches overhead.

Heated like a tungsten thread, the argument turns from the usual emotional dialog to a long great shout. One shout is layered on top of another. One of the trio, dressed in a sailor's uniform, hopes that people won't see it, that they won't call the police. The drunk one doesn't care about that – his soul has unfolded to the point of unbearability.

His scream pours into a fist connecting with the face of the sailor who tried to quiet him. A third man – a girl in a knit sweater and jeans – dodges his punch, goes behind his back, takes him under his arms. In an unspeakable floating frenzy, the drunken man begins screaming exhaustedly. Rising from the ground, the sailor punches the drunk in the face with all his might, knocking him unconscious.

The moon shows its pale face.

«Every morning is a new opportunity. Sometimes I don't think that's true, because I don't have any more opportunities. Unless I put a bullet in my head.» Diary of Newt Garfield, dated October 8, 2026.

Newt came to my shop about the first hour of the day, when the clientele is nowhere to be seen. He is a frequent visitor to my establishment, and I am always glad to meet him, though he said he was afraid he was annoying me with his frequent appearances. We shook hands, and he asked the familiar question:

— What's up with the car?

My face changed threefold – the smile came off it. Newt noticed this and became slightly concerned.

— Something very serious, wasn't it?

I just nodded and told him to follow me. Soon we were standing in front of his car, a reliable BMW from the nineties. Nice interior, powerful engine, the works. The hood was open, the center of attention was the unfinished cylinder block. There were strange marks inside each cylinder where the piston went.

I simply told him:

— Run your hand over it.

He looked at me first, then reached his hand inside one of the cylinders and felt the walls.

— How does it feel? – I asked him.

— Like… sandpaper.

— And it's like that all over the block.

He looked back at me sharply, his face a look of confusion and concern.

— You realize it can't be like that. We're gonna have to take the engine off and rebuild it. Not just the block, but the pistons as well.

— So what you’re trying to say is that the engine completely fucked?

— It is.

— That kills my plans, – Newt said with a sigh, tucking his hand into the pocket of his long coat.

— Why's that?

— You said you were going up north with your family for a couple weeks, – Newt said. – Maybe even a month.

— Yes, – I answered, – but not today!

Newt looked at me with a strange look of surprise.

— I'm leaving on Friday, – I explained. – Today is only Tuesday. I'll get my brother and my son to help me – we'll fix your car and only then go up north to visit our loved ones.

— I see. – He held out his hand to me. – Thank you very much.

I shook his hand. He waved goodbye and then disappeared from my sight. Soon, when the rhythm of my heart matched the pulsation of the returning silence, I went outside, lit a cigarette, and looked up at the sky. It was gray and breezy.

«And whenever the wish appears, the will disappears.» Diary of Newt Garfield, dated October 8, 2026.

He met me around two o'clock in the afternoon.

The place where my place is located doesn't get many visitors (unless it's on holidays, and even then it's not a sure thing – a lot of people just forget they exist), and sometimes I think about just shutting down the business, ditching my newfound friends, and going back to my country.

And that's what I would have done if it weren't for him.

Even though we haven't known each other that long (only a year), we're already thick as thieves. Once we were glued together, we'll never be unglued again. And he came to me one rainy evening – drenched, he asked for a cup of coffee, loudly placing two jsabs on the counter – loudly, almost with a slap, to hide the fact that his hands were shaking from the cold. I ordered and just watched: he gulped down the hot, scalding strong black coffee without sugar, left two more jsabs on the table, and disappeared out of the establishment back into the rain, turning into droplets.

And I figured that was the only time I would ever get to meet a rain man. But I was wrong.

He showed up at my place with weekly regularity, asked for the same thing – a cup of strong black coffee without sugar, always left a tip and disappeared. Between us there was not a single word, and we do not need words – we communicate and understand each other through looks, which could not but please (for several years of existence of my business, with any of the rare clients I have not had to reach such closeness).

And this day was no exception. It was overcast outside the window, I was smoking behind the counter, gradually losing hope that this day would bring anything at all. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. There was a desire to close prematurely, to return home and report to my father, who will once again tell me: fool, why I did not go to the teacher, as he did. The door opens abruptly, and he walks inside with a quick stride. He walks up to the counter, places the prepared two jsabs (a bill of exchange this time, which can't help but make me happy) on the counter. For a moment our gazes meet. I take the bill, and after a couple of minutes I hand him a cup of coffee. He silently drinks it, puts two more jsab (with the bill) on the table and leaves the place.

When he finally disappeared from sight, I left the place. I wanted to take a drag, but the cigarette in my fingers was already rotten. I threw the cigarette butt away and lit a new one. I looked up at the sky. It was even sadder in the blue haze.

«Dirty engine of thought, clean engine of blood. I'm still young, though I've been standing on the ground for half a century.» Diary of Newt Garfield dated October 8, 2026.

«I couldn't be happier that you are continuing with this therapy, even though you previously thought it wouldn't help you. During this session, I saw a change in your behavior – you became calmer and more rational. You seem to have started to go along with the darker thoughts of yours. Your alcoholism is still seen as a problem. I am trying to develop a method that will benefit both of us in our way. All I can say now is that that matter is all about timing now. As for me – you can be more independent now. You know the recommendations, so I'll take a back seat. You can still visit me, but now it will be optional. Keep up the good work!»

— Why I have to lie?..

«Sense is being lost with every passing second.» Diary of Newt Garfield dated October 8, 2026.

Alex A. wakes up at six o'clock in the morning in his house. He gets dressed and goes for a jog, and when he comes back, he takes a shower. When he comes out of the shower, he goes to the kitchen and eats breakfast. Then he'll go back to his room and start working on his next novel. After work, he'll then go out and then go to bed.

And so it has been for the tenth year.

Alex A. is an innovative writer from the cold Russian countryside. Slowly but surely, in Paradise and on the territory of his vast homeland, he released several books, immediately put in the level of cult writers of the northern lands. What set him apart from other authors was his lack of greed and maximum anonymity – no one from outside his circle of friends and acquaintances could get to him, even if they wanted to.

And in that circle of friends, surprisingly small, but honest with him and with himself, Newt found himself. They'd met at some trade show about four months ago-and they still walked shoulder to shoulder.

Alex A. sat in the kitchen, drinking his bitter herbal tea. The phone was lying next to him, and if Alex A. had been a dozen years younger, he would have had a manic desire to take it in his hand and browse the Internet, in order to somehow spend these quiet minutes. However, Alex A. has grown out of this obsession, and now he wants nothing – only calmness, peace. A chance to leave the world and go to his Nirvana.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Alex A. slowly and quietly put the mug on the table. In confusion, he almost grabbed the gun lying nearby. Who it could be was the main question in his mind.

— It's open! – he shouted.

The door opened. Newt appeared from behind it, reflecting the light from his glass eye into Alex A.'s face.

— Oh, it's you, – Alex A. said, unsurprised. – Come in, no need to fuck around at my porch.

Newt shyly stepped inside, took off his shoes, coat, and hat. Walked into the kitchen, sat down next to him, said hello to the writer by the hand. They started talking.

And they talked for a short time, but it felt like hours. They talked about everything that came under the hand of consciousness. The living room and kitchen became brighter. The tea cooled slightly.

Words were lost, and so was the meaning. An unbearable lightness of being. The cautious hand of consciousness pored over the options for continuation. Neural connections succumbed to the pulsing rhythm of music played through a non-existent turntable. Quietly becoming insane.

Thank goodness it all stopped quickly. Newt, under the pretext «I have to go, I have other things to do», promptly got up from his chair, walked out into the hallway. Alex slowly followed him and noticed him putting on his hat.

— Ah, answer me one last question, – Newt said, with a smug smile. – Your girlfriend's coochie – is it really candy-sweet?

Alex A. stood with a nonchalant expression on his face. It was like he knew Newt was going to say that.

— It's funny, it's really funny, – he said sarcastically and absentmindedly. – You know what's funnier, though?

— What? – Newt asked.

— You're almost half a century old and you can't put your fucking past behind you.

Newt stood up in exasperation. The phrase, said with almost no emotion, echoed inside his skull. Alex A. snapped his fingers and said as he walked away:

— Now that's really funny.

«White king, black queen. The illusory utopia of our lives.» Diary of Newt Garfield dated October 8, 2026.

After watching the play, the Captain said goodbye to Helinia and went home. He didn't feel bad, but he didn't feel good either. It wasn't that the actors, the sets, the soundtrack, or the whole show in general had failed his expectations – he was just tired, and so he couldn't react normally to this theatrical beauty that Helinia had encouraged him to see.

Looking around, he saw nothing but buildings, as if fluorescent-lit, and street lamps that scared him away with their light. The captain wrapped himself in his uniform and quickened his step. He was uncomfortable with the light of these lamps and even more so with the fluorescent lights that surrounded the buildings as if they were divine beings.

It reminded him of a fairy tale he had heard a long time ago. The tale of the sailor who met the sea serpent. The tale of the sailor who went mad in the lonely and identical sea. A tale that hid a creepiness under the cover of simple words and wrong truths. I was a sailor for nothing, the Captain sometimes thought, inside the walls of his apartment.

Suddenly, stopping, he noticed that he was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Where the houses were taller than anything else in the world. Where there wasn't even a moon, and where the clouds pressed down on consciousness with a rabid, armed hammer. Consciousness, like the Captain, began to get lost among these high-rises, began to imagine some creatures existing beyond the boundaries of vision. Turn around and there stands Death, faithful to us all.

But suddenly he noticed a dim luminescent glow in the sky, which surrounded one of the black buildings with a halo. With shaky hands he pulled out his phone and turned on his flashlight, the Captain moved quickly, almost running, toward the building. The cars around seemed to be deformed creatures of metallic flesh and mechanical existence. When he reached the heavy metal door of this high-rise, the Captain noticed the sign: 14/2 Manserrate St. Right now he was standing at the foot of the high-rise where his alcoholic friend lived.

With ease in mind and body, the captain opened the heavy door, stepped inside. The stomp of his boots echoed throughout the stairwell. Climbing the three steps up, he walked to the elevator. There was duct tape on the doors and a sign that said: «NON-FUNCTIONAL». Disappointed by this fact, the Captain sighed and began to climb up the stairs.

Soon, Captain made his way up to the seventh floor, where Newt's apartment was located. He rested his hand on the railing, exhaled, and looked through the gap between the flights. The distance was vast. The captain, removing his hand from the railing to his coat pocket, looked around the doors, searching for the right one. Finding one, he approached, knocked politely. Silence – drinking, Captain thought, and glanced at the knob, which meant the door was not closed. He pushed the doorknob and stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet and dark. As his vision slowly adjusted to the darkness, Captain took off his shoes and carefully left them right by the door. He looked into the living room – no one was there, only the unshaded windows allowed him to see the deep dark blue color of the evening sky. He went into the kitchen and found Newt staring dumbly at his kitchen table, where there was an empty glass and a bottle of brandy. The captain sat down beside him, put his hand on the table and, looking at his drunken friend for a moment, said:

— This is the tenth year we have lived here. It's been about fourteen since her death and his disappearance. You've grown up, found a decent hobby that can pay for your needs, are among good and loyal friends. Yet you continue to brood over the past.

The captain took the bottle of cognac, examined the labels on both sides, stood up and put it back in the refrigerator.

— And we, – Captain continued, sighing, – are trying to get you out of this… self-assembled hell.

Captain returned to his seat. He moved closer to Newt, placing his one hand on the other.

— We don't care that you don't think anything will work. We don't care about your pleas to leave you alone. You're in a big delusion if you think alcoholism will solve your problems. Even if there is the tiniest chance of freedom, we will go after it. We'll try, we'll make mistakes and start over, but we'll fight to the end.

Newt continued to stare dumbly into his desk. He wasn't listening. He couldn't listen. All sound was drowned out by the churning of blood and the sounds of electrons transferring across neural connections. Captain lowered his gaze for a moment, thinking about what to say next, but soon came to the conclusion that everything necessary had been said. He stood up, and before he left, he reached into his pocket and said:

— Some stranger handed me this letter. – Captain took out a sealed flat envelope. Says it's addressed to you. Read it tomorrow and tell me what's in it.

Captain left the letter on the table, rubbed Newt's shoulder, and, after glancing at him for the last time today, left the apartment.

«Newt. I don't know if this letter will get to you or not, and I don't know if you'll read it…. …But if it does, if you're reading it, know that your son is alive…»