#I have so many fuckin songs I wanna just shove at you guys

[sodo-mizerr]

Thanks to @criminallyoverrated for tagging me!! I like..NEVER get tagged in these types of posts! So hell yahhh!! (Ps; how dare you, I can never choose my fav songs grahhh)

Sodo's certified top 5 of this month!! Rah!

Man I was forcing myself to not just add more songs to this😭 Kiss and Ghost are my hyperfixations but cant just fill it with that!! Grah!

Tagging: @boabeloved @cheesborgar (I DONT KNOW ALOT OF PPL HERE AND I'M SCARED TO TAG ANYONE SORRY)

I was tagged by @marimayscarlett to post my 5 favourite songs at the moment 🎶 Thank you dear!

Tagging @samshinechester @meinewellemeinstrand @vulnerant-omnes @morgana-lefay @franwikema @frampk @naomullen @itconsumesyou @gabibbo06 💚

[elli3luvs]

p.u.n.k girl!!

summary: the times you have while dating ellie

wc: 1.1k

a/n: based off the amazing song "p.u.n.k girl" by heavenly! i recommend it a lot!!

p is for the painful way she makes me feel some days.

fighting with ellie wasn't all that common. the two of you were exceptionally good at communicating, opting to talk through problems before going into a full-fledged fight. but there were just some days when ellie woke up with a short fuse. she tried to distance herself during those days, feeling awful for even doing that, but today you wouldn't let her have time to herself to decompress.

she had snapped at you after you continued to be clingy. ellie has asked you to give her just a tiny bit of space. you clambered off of her arm and she felt her body relax. this was all she wanted. when she felt the air suddenly shift, though, that's when she knew she completely fucked up. her eyes trailed over to yours, ready to apologize for her outburst, when she noticed the tears springing to your eyes.

 ellie hated when you cried. it made her feel like a complete and total bitch. when your bottom lip started wobbling she knew she had to get over her mood to comfort you no matter what.

you would push her but it wasn't enough to actually move her, "i thought you wanted to be alone!"

ellie's hand would smooth over your hair whispering apologies. you would try to fight it for a couple more minutes but finally, you would relax into her touch. tears would drip from your eyes onto her sweatshirt.

god, she hated when you cried. it made her heart clench in her chest.

"i'm sorry baby," she kissed the crown of your head, "shouldn't have snapped like that."

u is for utopia, the other times with her.

ellie held the spoon to your lips, which you opened with no hesitation. the smooth caramel flavor of the ice cream hit your tongue causing you to exclaim in approval. your eyes were wide as you looked at her. 

"fuckin' awesome, right?" she looks proud of her ice cream selection. her spoon dips into the bowl again to get a scoop for herself. 

the ice cream parlor was dead except for the two of you. it was the dead of winter with snow twirling around outside. the both of you were bundled up. it made no sense to be here at this time. 

the worker looked at you like you guys needed to be locked up in an asylum, but you didn't care.

ice cream was always welcome.

you take a bit of your brownie-flavored ice cream, "next time we come here i'm getting your flavor. that shit is awesome."

she smiles, "wanna come again tomorrow?"

you could almost hear the worker's eyes rolling.

n is for the new-wave dreams she had back in her teens.

ellie has all of her old school projects spread out on her bed, a cheesy smile gracing her lips as she looks at them. they were mostly to do with space. you wondered if that's all she kept. there was one book report but it was crinkled off to the side, it looked as if she had shoved it in the bottom of her closet. the rest were her pristine condition poster boards explaining the galaxies and solar systems.

"whaddya think?" she is nearly bouncing with excitment as her hand touches a random part of the poster board.

you fall over, nuzzling her neck to stifle a chuckle, "god, why are you so cute?"

she grabs your shoulders, pulling you back and shaking you, "cute?! cute..!!!" her voice growls as she strains it, "i'm so not cute..."

you laugh at the pout that replaces the smile, "you are actually pouting right now. you are so cute."

ellie crosses her arms, "you are cuter. like by 100 times- no, like, 300 times!"

you roll your eyes, focusing back on the poster boards, "why did you do so many on space? i knew you liked it but they are the only ones you kept." you notice her pushing the book report off of the bed.

nerd.

ellie leans against the wall, her arms falling in her lap, "i wanted to work at NASA. well, i knew i wasn't smart enough for NASA or close enough to them but i wanted to do something similar. so, i focused on science fairs and stuff like that. i hoped i would get noticed by an organization."

your chest swells. you would do anything to go back in time so you could see teenage ellie putting her entire effort into the science fairs. you could imagine her winning, a goofy smile going over her freckled face. you wondered if she jumped up and down before she retrieved an award or if she tried to be calm. you bet she poured her entire attention over these projects, neglecting everything else. that was the ellie style.

joel had to have been so excited when she would come home with new awards. he was always so proud of her.

"my little space girl." ellie beams at that nickname. 

k is for the kid in her.

ellie weaves in and out of the crowd that's separating her from her favorite thing. she has a red backpack bouncing on her back and she can faintly hear you yelling, 'god, els! wait up!' but there was only one objective on her mind.

beat the little snotty kids in front of her so she could be in the first row to see the dinosaur animatronics. it was a new attraction that had come to your city and when you surprised her with tickets she almost passed out. ellie didn't let go of you for hours after. she would say 'thank you, baby' every couple minutes as she planted little kisses on your neck.

she had been anticipating this for weeks, and no crotch goblin was gonna take her spot. there were only a couple more kids she had to pass to be the first person. she slowed her full bolt to a speed walk now as she noticed the mothers giving her a nasty look.

she felt your hand on her bare shoulder, "jesus! you are fucking fast."

ellie still has her eyes on the front of the line but she does slow down a little bit more so your legs could keep up, "i gotta get up front."

your chuckle makes her smile. she loves that sound, "els, you are like a foot taller than most of these kids. you will be able to see."

you were right. she knew you were right.

but her legs kept their pace.

she had to see the dinosaurs up close.

[tobyislame]

some ticci toby headcanons

consider this a headcanon salad cus these were all randomly thrown together as they came to me

- fragile masculinity up to the NINES with this one

- totally an ice eater what a sicko

- he's double jointed in so many places. also freakishly flexible. likes to freak people out by popping his joints in and out of place lmao

- has the crackiest bones ever. you think you hear sticks breaking in the woods its just toby's crack ass ankles

- weed partaker but stays the freak away from the bottle cus yk he doesn't want to find out if that "like father like son" stuff is true

- plays guitar and makes up shitty 1 minute sad guy with a guitar songs. fingerstyle typa guy

- plays ONLY FOR HIMSELF and gets embarrassed but tries to act like he's not if someone walks in on him. like he'll just hastily stop n scramble to put away his guitar n act all cool like he totally wasn't playing guitar just now and go "whaddyouwant"

- definitely sneaks into concerts and shows. it's easy for him to blend in there. gets suuuper fucking beat up in the pit cus yk he doesn't realize how battered up he's getting in the moment until he gets a glimpse of himself and is like oh hell my lip's busted and my nose is in a different place than it was before

- think he'd have an owen wilson nose on account of how much he's broken it

- also one of his canines is missing

- just a SUUUPER accident prone guy. has no sense of self preservation. like ZERO (cus he was never really taught how to manage his cipa) (well he was yk before The Incident but he doesn't remember much of it)

- has sun spots cus he's outside all day all the time. also tonsss of freckles and moles

- burns his playlists onto cds

- he'd like every music genre but in particular i think he'd listen to late 90s/early 2000s teenage boy music. also 80s music. specifically new wave stuff

- knows a lil bit of asl for his verbal shutdowns

- also i hc him as audhd

- along with his stutter (which i don't consider to be related to his tourettes) he also just has a speech impediment. like sometimes his r's or l's come out as w's and he has trouble pronouncing certain sounds or words and just says them wrong and people correct him consistently he just doesn't really listen or care to correct himself

- not too good at spelling or any of that grammar stuff

- i really want to stress that he's NOT stupid. he hate hate hates how people patronize him and make him out to be some sort of incapable dunce. it makes him feel small and he hates feeling small. he's smart, he's just not good at communicating it. no matter what he tries his words just come out wrong. "i'm lots smarter in my head" is what he'd probably say

- always has a fidget spinner/cube on him

- he kinda just vomits when he gets overwhelmed. like when he has to ride in a car he leans his head out the window like a dog the whole way, partly just cus he likes it and it's fun to play airplane with his hand in the wind but also cus he could spew his guts at any moment

- collects spider-man comics and cool rocks. also unironically looks up to spider-man cus he always gets back up despite all the shit he gets put through. he feels like he could learn from that. he thinks it makes him seem like a kid though which is something he really wants to prove that he's not so he keeps it to himself

- super gross oh my god he's so gross. like doesn't wash his body in the shower cus "the water will get it" picks his nose and eats it kind of gross. will also get all obnoxious and in your face about it if you rightfully tell him he's a sick fuck for that

- honestly that'd be his response every time someone criticizes him

- like you could be like "you fuckin reek" n he'd be like "oh yea?" and grapple you into a headlock with his armpit shoved in your face

- his speech pattern is a little funky. like his sentences just come out like they were sorta haphazardly put together. he doesn't make much sense a lot of the time

- i wanna say he's endearingly dorky but he's just fucking weird. like he probably flirts in a napoleon dynamite-esque fashion. he has a vague idea of what flirting is he just doesn't quite got it but hey he's got the spirit

- he really just has a vague idea of what conversation is in general. he just doesn't have that good of a grasp on how people talk to each other. he feels a major glaring disconnect between himself and every other human in the world and it just makes him feel even smaller

- a lost fucking puppy when it comes to talking to women. just completely and utterly helpless. he stutters a lot more he trips over his words a lot more which just makes him red it's brutal to watch

- my voiceclaim for him is whoever voices bumblebee before he loses his voice box in the michael bay transformers movies (just looked it up it's stiles fucking stilinski)

- his voice cracks all the time ESPECIALLY when he raises his voice. he gets red and embarrassed every time it does and he really badly tries to hide it which just makes it even funnier to everyone else poor guy

- wants so badly to be perceived as a big intimidating muscle man but he just isn't no matter how hard he tries

[kiridarling]

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐄

d.kaminari and h.sero | f!reader + corruption + weed/shotguning + praise + threesome + more! minors dni!

— 3.6k words

"I knew I wanted you the second I saw you."

Denki’s addicted to the pre-concert high.

His veins hum with a song that has yet to start, fingers drumming some mixed beat on the body of his electric guitar as he assumes his place on the dark stage. The theater’s dead silent, the room suspended in a titilating anticipation—and the steady rhythm Denki's heart dissapates into chaos when the faint crack of Eijirou's drumsticks bounce off the walls, and the click in his earpiece begins.

Eijirou hits the kick drum once. Twice. Then his hands fly across the set in a flurry, the rolling beat echoing into the packed arena and spurring the crowd to explode, fans flying to their feet to render their vocal cords for the night.

As the other instruments fill the blank space, Denki's hand grips the back of his guitar's neck, on hold for his solo, and by the time the electric blond steps up to the mic, pavlov's theory has already kicked in overdrive.

"Who’s ready to feel good tonight?”

“Dude, I’m on fucking fire!” Denki vibrates, nearly glowing in comparison to his bandmates as they sift through a flurry of fans at a meet and greet. It always seems like Denki and Eijirou are the only ones with energy after a good show—but what can he say? Being on stage lights him up like a live wire.

"You said that last concert, buddy," Hanta snorts, before his a fan ran sacks his attention by shoving a tiara into his hairline.

"And? My point still stan—" Denki cuts himself off with a gasp as a bra slings across his face, followed by a burst of pain when the metal hits him in the cheek. He peels the lacy thing off with an eye on the audience and an eyebrow raised in question, unsure of what to do with the undergarment (other than put it on) until someone screams:

“Sign it!”

Denki shrugs and pops the Sharpie cap with his teeth to sign the crest of both cups before flinging it back into the audience—he can only pray it pinpoints its rightful owner before the meet and greet ends.

Katsuki clicks his tongue (because he hates these events) and as the next round of fans lineup in front of their table, Eijirou stretches like this is a sport, saying, “Guess it’s go-time.”

"Go-time is when we perform," Katsuki grumbles in the seat to Denki’s right. "Go-time is when we're in the studio makin' a goddamn album, not meeting crazy fuckin' fans—no, I’m not gonna marry you, you obsessed fuckin—“

“Oh, you're just salty you're not popular with the ladies~“ Denki gushes, wiggling his eyebrows, and a fan hands him a canvas the size of his upper body. “Un—oh wow, did you make this for me—Unlike me, of course.”

"Okay, pretty boy." Hanta rolls his eyes, before signing a phone case and returning it to an overzealous fan. With a hand covering his mouth, he whispers, “Can you believe this guy? So full of himself, I swear.”

The fan giggles and Hanta meets the blushing cheeks with a satisfied smirk. Denki huffs from the disrespect, crossing both arms over his chest. “Full of myself? It’s not my fault I’m sexy—*an autograph? Of course!"

Katsuki chuckles, scratching under his chin with ink blue fingertips, "Call yourself sexy one more fuckin’ time and I'm projectile vomiti—no, I'm not signing your tits, give me a goddamn paper or somethin—"

"What?” Denki scoffs, chest collapsing with the disbelief that one could make such a lie. “I'm literally the definition of I'm sexy and I kno—"

"Um, excuse me?"

His gesticulations freeze at the passive voice, arms stretched wide and to the sky, and Denki knows he has to look absolutely ridiculous as he blinks down at the next person in-line; who's stood with bambi eyes and such a sweet smile the electric blond thinks it might make him sick.

"I-I'm your biggest fan! Could you—um, please sign this for me?"

She comes alive, shoving a poster into his chest with pink cheeks and shifty irises. Out of all the bras, all the breasts he's been asked to sign today, and here you are, with your pocket-sized poster and your lamb countenance. Denki beams.

"Of course, Sweetness! What's your name?"

"[Y/N]!" you say, giggling, and it's so. Cute. Denki opens the Sharpie and struggles to focus on signing instead of your gorgeous fucking face.

"Anything specific you'd like me to say?"

And he knows there's a rule—there always are when it comes to these things, and it's simple: don't fuck the fans. As tempting as it is, don't invite them back to your hotel room because there are too many uncertainties, and if something leaks to the press that’s possibly career ending, that’s it. So, Denki holds his tongue. For the future of himself and the band.

"Uhm, just write what you want! I...I think I'd like it best if it was authentic and came straight from you, so."

Fuck. Of course she does.

And maybe Denki just can't help it when he leans down to speak, perhaps a little lower, "You want something more authentic, cutie?"

You light up like a kid on Christmas, gasping, "Yes please Mr. Kaminari!"

So eager, too.

"Awe, you can call me Denki if you'd like," he coos, and you nod so quickly he starts to worry about whiplash. "Meet me out back, in the alley behind the venue if you wanna get to know me better. Sound like a deal?”

"O-Okay!" You nod, and when he returns your sign you grip it tight between both hands. "I'll um, see you soon Mr. Kami—I mean, D-Denki!"

You flush from the mix up and bow in apology, and Denki knows he's made the right choice when you light up, indicating you have no idea what he meant at all.

"Row row row your boat, gently down the stream," you hum, sniffling. You’re unsure if your nose is running, it's too frozen to tell, and it has you patting to confirm it’s presence. With your hands stuffed in your pockets and a jacket wrapped tight around your body, you'd think you'd be warm, but no.

The alley is dark. It's dank enough that you can smell it and you're positive what you're dancing in is vomit, but none the matter—today, you met your favorite band. Literally the people you'd die for.

"Merrily, merrily," kicking the loose rocks in the gravel every which way, you enjoy the sound of them scattering against the surrounding brick walls. "Merrily, merrily..."

"Life is but a dream," a voice finishes, a yelp rips from your throat and you jump twenty feet in alarm. But you’d know that voice anywhere; Denki chuckles at your reaction and it has you recoiling with timidity, unprepared for the surprised audience. "You have a lovely voice, Cutie. You should use it more often."

"I..." but you're not exactly sure what to say to that, knowing Denki's heard so many professional voices in his career to last a lifetime, and yet yours is lovely. "T-Thank you."

Denki watches your reaction with a hum and a smile, his visible breath escaping between the slit of his lips and into the cool air.

"Of course, Cutie."

Another voice sighs, shattering the friction that fills your gut when Denki gives you that look. You're not sure what to call it, but it makes you shiver, and that's enough to make you to run and hide.

"...Denki, who's this?"

"Um," the blond places his frozen hands in his pockets and swivels his head around to Hanta, guilty written all over his face. "A fan?"

Hanta sighs again, head tilting to the right in exhausperation, “Denki—"

"I know, I know," the electric blond sighs, waving him off. "But it's fine as long as we don't get caught, right?"

Hanta's black hair threatens to fall into his face so he combs through it, and you try not to drool at the sight of his bicep flexing. "Yeah, until we get caught."

A honk blares and it has you shrieking, to reveal a parked tour bus in the alley once the lights flicker on. Denki points the car keys at the vehicle and the doors swing open. "Awe c'mon, don't be a sour puss. It's a one-time thing, alright?"

Hanta's eyes narrow into slits.

"Seriously, dude! I'm a man of my word! On God."

The noirette's shoulders sag, but he waltzes around both of you to get on the bus. Over his shoulder, he warns, "Denki I swear to fucking god—"

"I'll be careful, I'll be careful~" he singsongs, hopping onto the stairs after the pianist. When Denki notices not you're not moving, he stills at the top step. "You coming, [Y/N]?"

"O-Oh, am I um, am I allowed?" You ask, biting your cheek at the thought of what Hanta just said as you peer around the electric blond’s body. Denki snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, you're allowed," he exits the bus, only to tug you on via your collar. "Now c'mon! Let's have some fun, yeah?"

"Okay!"

Denki steers you through the bus and into a space that looks a bit like a living room, with a couch, tv, and a makeshift kitchen in the corner. Following Denki to the kitchen, you look around.

"Where are Kirishima and Bakugou?"

"Out drinking," Denki tosses, flicking open a RedBull. You wonder if this is always the post-concert routine. Hanta fiddles in with something on the couch, but he still has yet to look you in the eyes tonight, even when you ask him:

"What are you doing?"

It seems he didn't realize you’ve relocated from the kitchen to the couch next to him from the noirette nearly jumps. The green stuff in his fingers crumbles, and you scrunch your nose at the smell.

"It stinks," you add. Denki snorts, jumping onto the cushion to your right. There isn’t a whole lot of room and his addition causes your shoulders to slush between the two of them, but it’s strangely comfortable.

"It's weed," he explains like it's obvious. "You smoke, Cutie?"

"Obviously not," you and Hanta say at the same time. You turn his way, and for the first time that night, Hanta looks you in the eyes—and it's a smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners, but there's...something else. Something else hidden behind the thinnest veil that makes you cower, if ever so slightly.

Something feral.

Denki, unaware of the crushing grip your hand has around your thigh, huffs, and tosses the energy drink down his gullet, "It was a genuine question! Geez."

"What are you doing?" You ask again, and the electric blond whimpers from being ignored.

"Rolling a joint," he utters, lifting the paper to his lips to lick the length. You watch, semi-disgusted, as Hanta finally folds over the last bit of paper around the crest of the joint, gluing it together.

"Know what a joint is?" The noirette implores.

"Yeah," you breathe, shifting at the new closeness Denki provides when you feel his chest against your back. "My roommate smokes, so."

Hanta taps it on a tray, or what Denki describes as "packing it down," before twisting the tip and tossing it back onto the tray in conclusion. Denki cheers.

"Aha! The joint-rolling master has blessed us! Everyone say thank you, joint-rolling master."

"Thank you, joint-rolling master!" You giggle when Hanta's face turns a ruddy red. He reaches over to pop Denki upside the head. Denki gasps, before lunging to return the favor, and you squeal from being jostled between two men.

"Okay," when Denki returns to his seat he's panting and so is the noirette. He picks the joint off the tray and though there isn't much room, turns so he's facing you, your legs smushed against his body indian style. "You ready, Cutie?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," you huff, swinging your arms in preparation despite the lack of space. Just in case.

Hanta snorts, holding the joint to your lips, and Denki raises the lighter and raises it to the end until it's hot enough to burn on its own.

“Now suck."

You do, cheeks puffing, and you blow the smoke straight in Denki's face. It's...a lot.

"Not quite," Hanta chuckles, and flips you via the waist so you're facing him. Denki whines from the change but finds solace in hooking his chin over your shoulder. "Suck, and then inhale. Act like it's a big breath—you gotta hold it in your lungs for a sec."

"Okay," you assert with a nod, eyes burning with a new determination. When Hanta holds it to your lips, you suck and inhale, and start coughing your throat raw, in a flurry of smoke and tears, eyes watering and nose burning. You scramble for water, but by the time you get some, the only thing that's left to soothe is a sore throat.

"Here," Denki offers, grabbing the joint before flipping you his way again. "Take smaller hits, like this."

Denki's mouth wraps around the tip and smoke pours from his lips so smoothly you're determined to do the same. With a raised eyebrow, he passes it back to you, and though it takes a moment, you try again.

The back of your throat tingles but the glide is much smoother, and you find that it doesn't burn on your next exhale. So you do it again. And again. And agai—

"Okay," Hanta picks the joint from your fingers with a click of his tongue, before taking a hit himself. You frown, making grabby hands.

"Hey, wai—"

"Nu-uh," he tuts, pushing you down by your forehead. "You'll feel it soon enough, trust me."

You whine, crossing your arms over your chest. Hanta gives you nothing but a raised eyebrow as he takes another hit, and you're convinced it's to taunt you. "I'm not eve—"

But then the world blurs, a bit, and your legs hum in a way they haven't before; it's warm and it's nice, and it has you blinking down at your hands in bewilderment. Whoa.

"And there she goes," Denki announces, and somehow seized the joint from the noirette when you weren't looking. Your mouth drops to say something, but all you can produce is a light giggle before it melts into a guffaw that only comes straight from the gut, your hands trying to soothe your cramping belly. Tears come to your eyes fairly easily, and when Hanta asks if you're okay he sounds like he's underwater, and that's enough to send you flying through another fit of laughs.

"I—y-yeah, I'm just—just fine," you snort behind a hand, chest spasming as you finally gather yourself enough to calm down. "I'm good. Mhm."

"Yep. Totally fine," Hanta says, but something in his tone suggests he doesn't believe you at all.

You nod, biting your bottom lip to avoid another laugh attack with your hands bunching the bottom of your shirt for extra purchase. Hanta narrows his eyes while taking another hit, so you sock him in the shoulder with a huff. "Stop looking at me like that."

The noirette snorts, "Like what?"

"Like..." you start strong, but falter under his eyes. "Like you want to eat me."

Hanta hums at the comment but says nothing, and you're not sure if your mind fabricated the quick look he gives the electric blond sat behind you. Denki speaks first.

"Do you know what shotgunning is, [Y/N]?"

You frown, "Like a shotgun?"

"So no," Hanta answers for you.

"Here," Denki offers, turning you again. Plucking the nub of a joint from the noirette, he takes a big hit before picking your face up by the jaw and hovering your lips over yours. You're not sure what to do, but once your lips connect, smoke fills your lungs, and you don't exhale until Denki pulls away. You blink, a little dazed.

You just kissed Denki Kaminari.

"Feel good?" He asks, never leaving your personal space. You nod, and he grins. "Wanna do it again?"

Your hands fist his shirt, teeth tearing the inside of your cheek due to the amount of embarrassment this question encourages. "I wan—can we do it again but without the um...without the smoke?"

Denki's hands find your hips and it's hard for him to contain a sly smirk, biting his lips to move in on his prey.

"I knew I waned you the second I saw you."

Denki's lips feel much better when he puts a little weight into the kiss, pinning you between him and the noirette. You're not exactly sure what you're doing but he takes the lead, titling his head and kissing harder, rougher, so your lips are pink and swollen by the time he pulls away.

"A-Another," you whimper, tightening your grip around his tee.

Denki hums in contemplation, picking your head up by your chin. "Ask nicely, Cutie."

Flushing deeper, your eyes dart to the coffee table.

“Another, please."

"Good girl," Denki coos, and he's propping you up against Hanta's chest. You shiver at the comment, finding purchase on Hanta's thighs as Denki kisses you on the lips again. "Wanna feel even better?"

"Yes," you nod vehemently. "Yes please."

Denki hums at that, climbing down your body as his hands glide from your waist to the band of your pants. You frown, "What—What are you doing?"

"Eating you out, Cutie," the electric blond says, hands freezing once his thumbs dip under your waistband. "That okay?"

"Oh okay," you breathe, relaxing against Hanta's chest. "Y-Yeah, that's fine."

Denki rips your pants off at that, tossing them towards the corner of the room and ultimately, to a place you'll probably never find them. Pushing your panties to the side, he licks his lips at the sight of your pussy, and flicks your clit with a smirk. You jump.

"H-Hey, that's not—"

He flattens his tongue against your slit and chuckles when you shudder, and after tossing both of your legs over his shoulders. You're not sure what he does after that though, because Hanta picks your face up by the chin and presses his lips to yours.

Denki slides a finger inside and you squeal against Hanta's chapped lips. You hear the electric blond moan, readjusting himself between your thighs, before you finally peel your lips off the noirette's, chest having from lack of oxygen.

"Such a pretty pussy, Baby," Denki gushes before his warm lips fold around your clit and he sucks, humming in surprise when you buck against his mouth. Hanta hooks his chin around your shoulder with a second joint dangling between his lips—and where it came from is beyond you.

Once he exhales, the joint finds its way between your lips and he instructs you to inhale, and the head rush afterwards has you digging your head into his chest.

"You're so wet, holy shit," Denki pulls away, lips strawberry pink and glossed with slick as he trades his both for his thumb and inserting another finger. It crooks just right and that's enough to make your hips buck, nails carving crescents in Hanta's thighs.

“T-There,” you whimper, wiggling your hips again, and Denki grins, thumb pressing into your clit. Your thighs quiver with the strain it takes to hold them back and Hanta’s calloused hands skip to your waist after dropping the burning joint off in the tray.

“Pull his hair,” the noirette commands, but you hesitate, hands glued to his thighs. Hanta sighs, reaching over you to tug for himself.

“Mph—fuck!” Denki’s eyelids flutter as he moans into your pussy with a new passion, his hands wrapping around your thighs to hold you in place. You gasp at his reaction, fingers scrambling under Hanta’s own to thread through his electric blond hair.

“Move your hips—grind against his face, c’mon,” Hanta’s grip tightens around your waist as he offers the suggestion, and you whimper with a nod before your bucking into Denki’s mouth without abandon. As the noirette trails butterfly kisses up the column of your neck, the coil in your gut snaps, and you barely have time to squeak out a warning before you’re flooding Denki’s mouth.

“Good girl...ride it out—there you go,” Hanta coos, biting your ear. You shiver as Denki pulls away with a final (and obscene) slurp, grinning like he didn’t just shatter you to pieces with nothing but his tongue and fingers.

Denki’s lips are on yours in a blink—you moan, legs still buzzing from the afterglow as you weakly grope for the small hairs on the back of his neck.

“Taste good, don’t ya?” He says with a click of a tongue after pulling away.

“I guess so,” you flush, the humiliation from so shamelessly digging your heels into Denki’s back finally settling in. Hanta reaches under your arm for Denki’s chin.

“What? Want a taste too?” The electric blond giggles, wiggling his eyebrows. Hanta snorts.

“If you could be so kind.”

Denki hums at that, placing a hand on your inner thigh for balance as he slams his lips on the noirette’s for the first time that night. He dives straight for the kill, tongue and teeth and everything, and Denki moas when Hanta’s teeth sink into his bottom lip; you find that you like it a lot.

Though eventually you tired of watching, and press the heel of your hand on Hanta’s hard cock through the fabric of his jeans. The pianist hisses, and you grin—you’ve got their attention now.

“Whoa Sweetheart, what are y—“

“I...I want more,” you assert despite the tremor in your voice. Hanta raises an eyebrow in question which has you pressing harder in hopes he’ll cave just as easily as before. Just in case, you add, “Please.”

Denki redirects your attention by squishing your cheeks until you’re looking him in the eyes. With dark eyes, he says, “You sure you want more, Cutie?”

You nod despite the restriction, “Wanna...wanna get to know you better.”

You watch Denki’s pupils dialate at that, and he can’t even hold back a groan when he says:

“Gods, Baby. We’re going to ruin you.”

unpopular opinion: bakugou's the bassist and kirishima's the drummer. fight me.

not me projecting 12yo sun's fantasy of getting railed in the tour bus by 5sos um—

[mrs-gucci]

Mr. Handsy {Clyde Logan x wife!Reader}

@icarusinthesea :

Okay, okay. I think I've thought of something. Eh, it's a mediocre idea, but it does it for me. Fighting with Clyde followed by sweet, hot, nasty make up sex. I can not think of anything else. But whatever you write I'll love. 🥰

author’s notes: hello, hello! writers block has been hitting HARDCORE as of late, which is kind of a bummer, but luckily I’m feeling a bit better now! @icarusinthesea​ thank you for this request!! I hope it was worth the (very long) wait, and I send love to you, friend <3 <3

warnings: fluff. smut. club brawls. violence against an asshole. protectiveness. dom!Clyde. oral sex (m receiving). rough sex. unprotected sex/creampie.

(possible) tw’s: non-con touching (not by Clyde). physical conflict. sex in a public restroom.

word count: 1.9k

my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman @dirtytissuebox @thepalaceofmelanie @einmal-im-traum @charliesahottie​ @gotham-city-uber-driver​ @gildedstarlight​ @slytheriin2002 clyde’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings​ @icarusinthesea​ @lumdelacour​ @readingreaver​ @eagerforhoney​ @trubluepensfan​ @beachwoodmonet​ if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, the sign up is linked here and can also be found in my description :)

You had a bad feeling about this place from the very beginning, from the moment you stepped into this stupid sleazy club for your co-worker’s birthday.

Clyde decided to tag along, mainly to hang out with the other poor guys whose wives dragged them along tonight.

The bass pulses your eardrums as you make your way over to the booth that they’d claimed, saying some very loud ‘hi’s’ and ‘hello’s’ to everyone before taking a seat on Clyde’s lap.

Your outfit certainly matches the locale of tonight’s party, sexy and risqué while maintaining at least some coverage and dignity for your larger areas. Clyde’s been having some trouble keeping his eyes, and now that he can, his hands, off you.

His calloused flesh hand runs over your thigh and hip in a soothing manner, mindless in its movements over your exposed skin.

Soon, a good dancing song comes on and no matter how much you try to beg Clyde to join you on the crowded floor, he refuses, insisting that you go have some fun with your friends.

His eyes keep a close watch on you, knowing that unfortunately, it’s highly likely that some bonehead Joe will come along and think he can touch without permission.

He finds himself in a sort of entranced state, watching the way your hips move when you dance, watches your skin bounce and jiggle with each motion, sees the way the multicolored lights bounce off the sequins on your dress…

Sure enough, said bonehead Joe dances his way over to you, not-so-subtly checking you out from a bit of a distance before making his approach.

Clyde almost instantly leaps into action when his hand touches your hip and he slides in behind you. Thinking that the man behind you is Clyde, you start grinding against him a bit more, smirking.

But, only after a second or two, his motions and touch begin to feel awfully foreign. You’ve just truly begun to doubt your dancing partner’s identity when he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Keep dancing like this and I’ll just have to take you home, babygirl.”

Goosebumps form on your skin in disgust the moment you hear an unfamiliar voice, yanking away from his grubby grip.

“How dar—“

“Hey, you!”

Your eyes widen and you look around the man to see a very angry-looking Clyde storming his way over to where you’re standing.

He turns the handsy man around with a hand on his shoulder, then gives him a shove. “Can’t ya see she’s married, asshole? Don’t you ever think ya can just go ‘round here, touchin’ what ain’t yours.”

“Cly—“

“Don’t ya even start with me right now, Y/N. I can’t believe ya didn’t stop ‘im, can’t believe ye kept grindin’ against ‘im.”

Your eyes widen. “Clyde, p-please, it’s not like tha—“

“I thought I told ya t’ can it, Y/N.”

You shudder at his commanding and harsh tone, immediately backing down and biting your lip as the tears swell in your eyes.

The man wears a small smirk, giving Clyde an equally rough shove backwards. “And what, you’re telling me she’s yours? Bullshit she is. Who’d ever wanna marry a one-armed redneck like you?”

Big mistake. Clyde used to just stand down and shut off whenever someone made fun of his disability, but usually now, he just gets fucking pissed.

Sure enough, his jaw clenches and he quickly lunges at Mr. Handsy, forcefully knocking him to the scuffed dance floor. Often times, mostly due to his kind and gentle demeanor, you forget that Clyde’s a veteran. A special ops veteran, at that.

You can’t deny that bearing witness to his unbridled anger and dominance isn’t at least a little bit sexy, even if you do feel incredibly guilty about not realizing sooner that it wasn’t Clyde.

Like the coward he truly is, and that many men like him are, he flees the scene quickly when he looks up and sees the anger in Clyde’s eyes.

Meanwhile, you instantly rush up to him, apologizing repeatedly. “Clyde, I’m so sorry, I thought it was you and I didn’t mean to—“

He snatches your wrist, bending down so that his hot, slightly strained breath wafts across your face. “You’d better yer slutty ass into the restroom right fuckin’ now.” He growls, letting you go.

You nod, whimpering under your breath as you scurry off into the bathroom.

He follows after you, pushing you into the single stall before reaching around to lock the door.

“Clyde, please, I’m so sorry. I promise that I didn’t know it wasn’t you until he spoke and I pulled away right after that. I would never…”

He holds a hand up and you trail off, then crosses it back over his chest along with the other. When you look up at him, ready to apologize further, he gives you a subtle head shake and a faint smile.

“Get m’ cock out.”

You know, then, that he’s not mad, and you know exactly what he wants from you. You step up to him with a small smirk and pop the button on his Levi’s, pulling the zipper down before reaching in to fish out his half-hard length.

“Now stroke it. You know how I like it.”

Your hand holds a steady grip around the protrusion, starting off slow but quickening randomly, just as he likes it.

His head tilts back onto the cheap tiled wall, nostrils flaring as he exhales shakily. “Thaaaaat’s m’ girl, just like that.”

You speed up just a bit, focusing your pressure and ministrations on the upper half of his shaft, moving the little bit of excess skin up and down his shiny pink head.

“Mmmmffhhh.” He groans through pursed lips, hips rutting forward into your touch.

Suddenly, he pushes your hand away, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to cope with the sudden loss of stimulation on his pulsing arousal.

“Knees.”

You get onto your knees, using his shoes as cushioning.

“Mouth open.”

Your jaw falls open and he wastes no time in moving himself into proper position, sheathing himself fully in your mouth.

“Ghhhohhh, s-shit.”

You’re choking right off the bat, shoulders shaking with each violent cough.

“Yeah, take it. Gon’ make ye choke on me, shove m’ cock down yer lil throat ‘till ya can’t breathe no more.”

You somehow manage to moan around him in between your gags and coughs, lungs panicked for the rough cutoff of airflow by Clyde’s length. Tears begin to swell in your eyes, soon running down your cheeks.

His eyebrows are tightly knitted in the center of his forehead, skin glistening with the beginnings of sweat as his hips rut into your cavern even quicker and rougher now.

Clyde has to physically pull himself away from your mouth, shuddering as his cock bobs and throbs angrily at the loss of friction. His hand splays out on the wall, chest heaving as he takes a moment to re-gain composure.

Then, he looks down at you, gaze sizzling your very skin.

“Up. Turn yerself ‘round n’ bend over, ass out n’ legs spread nicely.”

You put yourself into the position, wiggling your ass just a bit for play after pushing your jean shorts down, earning you a harsh smack across your newly-exposed skin. He smirks when you squeal softly, giving himself a few lazy strokes as he steps up behind you, lips instantly attacking your neck.

“Yer gon’ walk outta ‘ere with all o’ my marks on your neck, hickeys n’ bite marks. Maybe then everyone’ll understand who it is ya belong t’."

His chin digs into your shoulder, then he’s thrusting forward, filling you up and stretching you out to the max. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

“Ohhhhh.”

He groans into your ear, chin digging into your shoulder as he begins fucking you fast and hard. There’s nothing gentle or romantic about this union; it’s hunger and wanting, it’s pure carnal lust.

Tears quickly swell up in your eyes at the sweet pleasure currently surging through your body, tickling every nerve ending and igniting every pleasure center. 

It’s humid in the club, the bathroom no exception and already, a sheen of sweat has formed on the surface of your skin. Clyde’s good hand takes an even firmer hold on the meat of your hips, hips thrusting at an impossibly fast pace.

“G’damnit, wrapped ‘round m-me so tight, fffuck Y/N. Such a lil’ cccunt, love shovin’ m’ b-big cock in ya, ssssplittin’ ya right in half--christ.”

You love how his accent gets thicker and thicker at times like this, so much so that sometimes you can’t even make sense of what he’s saying. It’s adorable.

“Mmm, C-Clyde! Please baby, please mmmake me cum!”

His lips latch onto the side of your neck, sucking as hard as they possibly can while he reaches around to rub your clit with the cool metal digits of his prosthetic. 

Your hips instantly grind down on him, a shaky gasp leaving your lips. “Ohh god, mmmmmfffuck--right there! Yes, yes, Clyde!”

“Say y-yer mine.” He growls into your ear, panting. “Tell everyone who ya bbbelong to. Scream ma name w-when ya cum.”

“Y-Yours, all yours, Clyde. I’m yours!” You whimper. 

Clyde fucks you with everything he’s got, biting into your skin and sucking more of the flesh until you’re littered with marks. It’s not long before you’re tumbling over the edge, body trembling as you release all over his shaft with a shout of his name.

“Clyde! C-Clyde, fuck!”

Not long after you, Clyde falls over the edge, desperately rutting and fucking each drop of his hot load deep into your spasming cunt.

“Y/N, g’damnit...fuuuckin’ s-shit!”

Both of you are rendered breathless as you come down from your respective highs. His lips and tongue gently soothe the harsh bites and bruises that have been left behind in his wake. 

He sighs softly when he pulls out, helping you pull your shorts back up before tucking himself back into his pants. When you turn around, he crashes his lips into yours, hands resting gently on your hips. 

“‘m real sorry fer that, Y/N; dunno what got int’ me. I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

You smile, cradling his face in your hands. “Clyde, there is no need to apologize or feel bad for that. You know if I was uncomfortable, I would’ve stopped you or said something. I loved it, more than I probably should have, and I love you.”

His lips tug up into a soft, lopsided smile, relief flooding across his expression.

“I love ya too, Y/N, so, so much. Thank ya fer puttin’ up with me n’ bein’ mine.”

“No ‘thank you’ necessary, baby. I’m yours, always yours.”

Clyde grins, pulling you in for a hug as he repeats your words out loud.

“All mine.”

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts 

Part 22:

You closed your phone, rolling your eyes at his words. 

You were a floor down from Bakugou’s hospital room, currently stood in front of the vending machine. After your collective screaming match, you’d quickly realized just how hungry you were. Apparently, arguing and yelling so much works up one hell of an appetite- who knew? So now here you were, standing in front of the machine, holding a wad of horribly crinkled money Bakugou had insistently and unwaveringly shoved at you on your way out.

Originally, you had fully intended to pay for your own snacks. You’d even sneakily tried to grab your wallet as you left, but apparently that didn’t work. He saw you, because of course he did. So, waffling over it for just barely another second, you put your own money away. You knew Bakugou wasn’t bluffing- or probably wasn’t. It wouldn’t surprise you at all if he truly did know how expensive the vending machine was, down to the very last cent of each item. He was weird like that.

You shrugged, if he wanted you to use his money so badly than you weren’t gonna pick at fight over it. You selected a bag of chips for yourself, and the gross-looking health bar Bakugou had requested- because apparently, even while already uncomfortable and injured, Bakugou didn’t have an easy time giving himself a break. 

When you walked back, entering the hospital room once more, Bakugou wasn’t alone. You couldn’t tell what surprised you more- the three police officers crowding his bed, or the man standing off to the side. A man with hair so obviously fake and stop-sign red that it nearly nauseated you.

You weren’t sure how to proceed, whether or not you were even supposed to be hearing this conversation, but you didn’t have to flounder for long. The red-haired man saw you almost immediately and began making his way over. 

“Hey! How’s it going? I’m so sorry, but Dynamite’s actually not taking visitors right now!” He says, says brightly. Then he’s spinning you around and pushing at your shoulders lightly to get you moving out the door. “My name’s Kirishima though, and I can totally, totally, help you back downstairs to wait with the other civilians!”

“No, but I-” You start, your feet barely able to move as fast as Kirishima is dragging you along. “I have to-”

“Yeah, I get it! And that’s so totally nice of you to want to thank him, super, super nice,” Kirishima interrupts you, leading you down the hallway. “But he’s real busy talking to the police right now so-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m his soulmate!” You pull your wrist out of his light grip, halting. “My name’s Y/n L/n.”

“Wait-” Kirishima stops in his tracks, suddenly spinning around to face you. “How do you know that name?”

“Oh my god-” You huff in frustration, shaking Kirishima’s hands off you. “You sound just like Bakugou. It’s- that’s my name- like, my actual name, okay! How else would I know it if it wasn’t me?” 

A beat of silence as you watch his eyes widen.

“So you’re really her?” He says in disbelief.

“Yes! Obviously,” You pinch the bridge of your nose, breathing through your irritation. “Now would you knock it off and let me go back to his room? I get it- you’re like, security, or whatever, but I’m not a civilian and I-”

“He’s gonna kill me.” Kirishima pales in front of you, suddenly grabbing your wrist again and pulling you fast in the direction of Bakugou’s room. “Oh god, he’s gonna kill me.” 

“W-what? Why?” You stumble, nearly falling into his back. “Hey! Slow down!” 

“Because I totally manhandled you out the door- god, that was so not manly of me!” He breathes out quickly, but he listens and drops your wrist, slowing down to a pace you could keep up with. “I’m sorry, it’s just- I thought you were a civilian, you know? They’ve been crawling all over the waiting room since I got here, sneakin’ up and trying to thank him, and I thought you were one of ‘em.”

“Thank him? For what?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Um- no?”

It’s hits you then that you didn’t really know why Bakugou was in the hospital in the first place. Only that he was ‘held up’ and then hurt and had been absent for the last two weeks. You wanted to smack yourself in the face. You’d spent the entire afternoon yelling and arguing with him and absolutely not asking the important questions. Well- you did ask some questions, but not enough. Apparently.

“Wow, figures. You know, that’s just like our guy Bakugou! Always talkin’ so much but still never bragging about all the actual cool shit he pulls off.” Kirishima rubs the back of his neck awkwardly for a moment. “C’mon, lets hurry back. I really don’t think he’d be too happy if I was the one who told ya everything.” 

You have a million and one questions sitting on your tongue but quickly decide you’d much rather ask Bakugou than the man standing in front of you. You pick up your pace, finally once again in front of Room 427. When you enter, the police are leaving, all three of them walking past you on their way out. 

“Hey! Shitty Hair!” Bakugou seems to ignore you, instead choosing to yell, loudly, at Kirishima. “Who the fuck gave you permission to go around draggin’ her like that? I fuckin’ saw you, you imbecile!”

“Hey!” The red-head whines, hands out and placating. “How was I supposed to know? You didn’t say anything, man! I didn’t know, okay?”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter, you dumbass, I’m not gonna let you just fuckin-” Bakugou starts, but then he whips his head around toward you, eyes catching yours. “Oi- Idiot. What the hell are you standin’ around in the doorway like that for, hah? Look stupid as shit.” 

“Bakugou!” Kirishima seems appalled, grabbing at his chest dramatically. “You can’t talk to her like that! She’s-”

“Perfectly fucking capable of defending herself, thank you very much.” You snark, walking towards Bakugou and tossing the health bar at him lightly. He doesn’t expect it and you watch as it hits him squarely in the chest. You smile. “Real nice catch, angry man.” 

“Woulda fuckin’ caught it if I was in top shape.” He grumbles, but then he’s smirking and opening the snack just the same. “Anyways- yeah, that’s Shitty Hair. Sorry he fuckin’ sucks.” 

You clasp a hand over your as a laugh escapes. Kirishima doesn’t seem to think it’s nearly as funny as you do, and you watch as his face seizes.

“Hey, man! What the hell!” 

“You deserve it, bitch! Shouldn’t a fuckin’ grabbed her like that and dragged her wherever the fuck.” Bakugou shrugs. “If you don’t wanna be told you suck, then don’t fuckin’ suck! It’s easy as shit- even for a clown like you.”

Kirishima just groans, hands beginning to wave emphatically. “Do you even know how many people I stopped from walking in here? I did it for you, man!” 

“Yeah. Whatever.” Bakugou barks, taking a bite of the health bar. He chews for all of a second, before talking through a mouthful of food. “You should fuckin’ leave.” 

“What? Why do I-” Kirishima pauses a second, blinks, looks at you, and then a smirk begins to tug at his lips. “Oh, I get it! Totally manly, Bakugou! It’s because of h-”

“No!” Bakugou defends, his cheeks reddening slightly. “It’s- fuckin’ police, shitty hair! Told ‘em to wait outside. They wanna talk to your dumbass- They have more idiotic fuckin’ questions about after I passed out.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” Kirishima nods, moving towards the door. “You want me to come back later?”

“No.” Bakugou growls.

That, you notice, strangely doesn’t seem to make Kirishima upset? He instead smiles brightly at Bakugou, giving him a thumbs up, and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

It’s suddenly quiet in the room, but you don’t let it last long. You’ve got answers to pry out of your soulmate.

“So- heard you passed out, angry man.” You state simply, dropping once again in the chair next to his bedside. “When’d that happen?”

“Few days ago. Been here since then.”

You roll your eyes at his short answer. Leave it up to Bakugou to tell you only what you literally asked for and absolutely nothing else.

“Okay. But how? Where?” You ask. “What about before then?”

Bakugou huffs at all your questions, but then he’d nodding and answering all the same.

“Had to fuckin’ save this man from hittin’ the ground real hard so I took all the impact. Hit my head or something, when I hit the ground, and I broke a bunch of shitty bones. Guess I was out a few days, and then I woke up here. Then I fuckin’ called you or whatever.”

“You- you took a fall? That knocked you out? For days?” You gasped. “How goddamn far was the fall? Jesus!” 

“Four stories.” Bakugou says, and the uneffected, factual way he says it makes your blood go cold. “My fault. Shoulda been faster but I was already fuckin’ weak from bein’ captured.” 

  “Captured?”

“Yeah. Went undercover and tried to infiltrate this villian lair, and the fuckin’ stupid group of villians lumped me in with a bunch of other hostages.” He grunted. “I tried to blow ‘em all the fuck up, once I realized, but they had this absolute bitch, with a stupid fuckin’ siren quirk! Sang a bunch of shitty, annoying, fuckin’ songs that paralyzed me. Couldn’t do a damn thing! For over a week!”

“O-okay.” You nodded shakily. “Then what happened? How’d you get out?”

“Fuckin’ didnt. Just sat there, stuck on my ass, kept barely alive by that stupid bitch and her henchman!” Bakugou barked, hands clenching into fists. “Then shitty hair and a few other fuckers came and knocked her out- they stayed to fight the rest of the other villians or whatever but I was still too fuckin’ weak to fight so I rounded up the other hostages.”

“So you fell saving one of them?”

“Yeah. Stupid kid stayed to watch the fight, like a complete fuckin’ idiot, and got blasted by a villian out the window.” Bakugou flushes, averting his eyes. “I jumped out after him. To save him or whatever.”

You nod, very minutely smiling as you looked at his flushing face.

You were proud of him.

He might’ve been bad- had done bad in the past, but it seemed like that wasn’t all Bakugou was. He had good in him. A lot of good. He nearly finished himself off saving an innocent after all- that had to a least make him some sort of a hero.

“Well- okay....That all- that all sounds fucking horrifying, but I get it. It’s your job, right?” You sigh. “I’m just glad you made it out alive. I was really scared, you know?”

“Hah? Scared? Now why the fuck would ya go and do something stupid like that?”

“Because you weren’t answering me!”

“I told you I’d be gone!” Bakugou defends, before pulling out his phone. “Look! Fuckin’ sent ya the texts and everything!”

“You said a few days! Not 2 fucking we-“ You paused. “Wait. Why did you say a few days in the first place?”

“Knew it was gonna be fuckin’ dangerous when I left, so, you know,” He averted his eyes, voice coming out low and guilty. “Was supposed to be incase I got hurt. And was fuckin’ out or something. So you wouldn’t wor-“

“Worry?” You groaned, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “It didn’t- I was worried! I thought something happened! Or worse I thought that-“

“Worse? Fuck you mean, shitty woman? What the fuck stupid conclusion did you come to that’s worse than dyin’?”

“Bakugou,” You huffed, your shoulders sagging. “I thought maybe, that maybe you wouldn’t tell me anything because you were a bad guy- a bad villian.”

Bakugou’s face crumples. His angry eyebrows fall and his puffed out cheeks deflate, and his mouth closes tip-lipped and tense over sharp teeth. He looks devastated. “It- I didn’t-“ He struggles and you’ve never heard his voice sound so small before. “Y-you don’t think that, right? Now?”

“No!” You try to recover, hands out and assuring. “It’s- after the video, maybe? I did, b-but not now! Not now.”

He doesn’t say anything- won’t meet your eyes.

“Look, Bakugou,” You clear your throat. “I only know you as you are now, not who you were before. And I think- I think that maybe, now you’re almost a different person than before. So that’s why it was a shock. To see you like that. To see you so hateful.”

You duck your head, just barely catching his eyes before he averts them again.

“But that’s not you anymore? Right? You’re not that guy. So it’s okay. We’re okay.” You sigh. “Will you look at me? Please?”

He doesn’t, just continues fiddling with the thin blankets trapped between his shaking fingers.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” You ask, tone pleading. “I feel like, maybe, if I didn’t have to find out like tha-“

“Woulda been the same. ‘S always the same.” He interrupts, voice barely there. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t- because it would’ve- there would’ve- you fuckin’ wouldn’t-“

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and sitting still for a few moments.

“You wouldn’ta kept fuckin’ talking to me.” He admits. He looks so small in that moment that it nearly breaks you. “Didn’t wanna- I didn’t wanna wait all my life, have this fuckin’ tattoo for so long and still have nothing because I was stupid.”

You pause, the breath knocked out of your chest.

“What- I- how long have you had your tattoo?”

Bakugou lifts his head, finally looking at you. He looks bewildered. Scared, even.

“My whole fuckin’ life- didn’t you?”

“No!” You cried desperately. “I told you, remember? Over text, the first time I talked to you! The day my tattoo appeared!”

“You were serious about that shit?” His voice is utter disbelief, eyebrows creasing together. “I thought- I thought-“

“What?”

“It’s- it’s not the first time somebody has gotten my number and told me they’re my fuckin’ soulmate. So I didn’t think it was real- thought you were jokin’ or somethi-“

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not- don’t,” He stutters, blushing just a bit. “Being a pro-hero, people always say weird shit to me for fame. So I’ve gotten that before- a fuckin’ random text saying they’re my soulmate.”

“What?” You ask, voice offended. “Who- why- I don’t get it-“

“Every hero gets ‘em- even one’s that don’t even have a fuckin’ soulmate.” Bakugou says. “I guess maybe they just text everybody or some shit- I don’t know? Didn’t matter to me I always jus’ blocked ‘em.”

You could hardly believe your ears, feeling winded as you brought a hand to your chest.

Bakugou had a tattoo- your name for his entire life.

He’d know about you his entire life.

Had been waiting on you for his entire life.

“Why- why’d you believe me?” You ask quietly. “If you didn’t believe the others, why me?”

“Ya told me your name.” He pulls aside his hospital gown, exposing the writing on his ribcage. “It’s- if ya didn’t, I wouldn’ta believed you.”

On his side, just under the last rib, is your name. It’s a simple tattoo- small, but it’s there, and in your handwriting.

“That’s my name.” You say dumbly.

“Obviously, sunshine.” He sort of laughs, something a little sad but a little happy too. “Only been waitin’ my entire life for your dumb ass.”

“Why didn’t you look for me?” You can’t help but ask, pressing your against against your suddenly stinging eyes. “If you knew- why?”

Bakugou goes quiet again, dropping his hospital gown back down. His tattoo is covered, but that doesn’t matter to you, you couldn’t forget the look of it if you tried.

It’s a long few moments before Bakugou speaks again.

“It wouldn’t- I wasn’t ready-“ His voice is low, quiet, the most vulnerable you’ve ever heard it be. “Before now- I wouldn’t have been good. For you.”

He sighs, shifting uncomfortably in the hospital bed.

“Think- I think maybe that’s why yours didn’t come in ‘till now. Wouldn’t of fuckin’ worked before.”

When you pull your palms away from your eyes, it’s like you’re seeing him again for the very first time.

It’s strange- the way your heart seems to be breaking entirely and rebuilding itself completely all at the same time. It’s a wave crashing against your ribs- pushing and pulling and tumbling and pushing and pulling and turning and twisting and- calming when you look at his face. When you look at the way his hair sits and the way his jaw slopes and the way his eyes meet yours. It’s death and completetion and rebirth and red, red wildfire.

It’s your old life scorching and curling and burning up. And it’s your new, better, warmer life rising from the ashes.

“God, I’m so fucking glad I said my name.” You gasp, tears freely falling from your eyes.

Bakugou smiles, so soft and warm and fond. “I know idiot.”

You just laugh at the name, choking on tears and snot and emotion, but you’re smiling. You’re smiling and smiling and it feels like you’re never gonna stop smiling. Will never have to again.

Because he’s him and you’re you and finally- finally, you’re together.

It takes a long while for you to calm down, for your tears to stop falling. But when you finally do, when you finally feel okay, Bakugou’s already looking at you.

So how long are ya plannin’ to fuckin’ stay, idiot?”

“Huh?” You shook your head, tears still drying on your cheeks. “I literally- but- but no- I- D-do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Bakugou groans in frustration. “That’s not- can’t ya just listen to the words I say without fuckin’ readin’ into them all the time?”

“Yes?” You say unsurely, but then your shoulders drop and you sigh. “Actually no. Probably not, sorry I-”

“I told you not to fuckin’ apologize, remember?”

“Yeah,” You say sadly. “But it’s not exactly that easy.”

The room is quiet again, and Bakugou is smoothing out his hospital gown, fidgeting with the tie on the side. He looks nervous, his cheeks red, and his voice comes out quiet and strained when he speaks.

“If- if I gotta work on me not screamin’ and bein’ angry all the time then you gotta stop apologizin’ and worryin’ so goddamn much.” He takes a deep breath, finally turning to look at you but only to just barely make eye contact. “It-we can fuckin’ do it together or whatever. Idiot.” 

You blink, almost shaking your head in disbelief. Bakugou was sitting in front of you, blushing and grimacing and had just said something borderline sweet? Out loud? To you? You huff half a laugh when you look at him once more, at his intense eyebrows and his red cheeks and his pinched expression. He looked constipated. Like saying the words physically pained him.

You soulmate was an utter drama queen, a certifiable child- and you just found it adorable.

“Okay,” You wiped your final tears away, leaned forward on your elbows. Your chest hits the side of his hospital bed, and, extending your hand, you meet his eyes. “Pinky swear on it, then?”

“What? No! You makin’ fun of me? That’s- that’s-” Bakugou growls, but then he sees the hopeful look in your eyes. You watch as his irritated expression melts away and he grumbles as he extends his own hand. “Fine. Whatever.”

When you loop your pinky around his, pulling his arm until it lies flush against yours, you think it feels right. To be that close to him. To be touching him at all, really. You wonder if it’ll always feel like that- if the completeness you feel will ever fade.

 You hope it doesn’t. 

You think Bakugou must feel it too, his eyes focused on the way your skin meets. Something guarded in his gaze softens, almost minutely, but you don’t miss it. 

“Happy?” He suddenly says. He waves your connected hands in the air, but makes no move to shake free from your grip. “Feel all fuckin’ better now, idiot?”

“Much.” You smile something small and tender. “Thanks, Katsuki.”

Pop.

You yank your hand back in surprise, jumping slightly at the tiny zap you’d just felt on your pinky. It didn’t hurt, didn’t feel like much really- If you had to compare it, it was very similar to tiny, electro-static shocks you’d felt before when touching carpet.

“Did- did you?”

“No!” He yells, hand still left in the air. “I didn’t so fuckin’ shut up about it- it was nothing! You didn’t feel anything! Nothing happened! It didn’t happen! I-”

Mid way through his rant, Bakugou grabs at you hand, awkwardly jabbing his fingers into your palm before he finally just laces then through yours. He continues like he didn’t, though, not taking a single breath between his words.

“-And even if I did- which I didn’t- it’s your fuckin fault! So just- so just shut up about it already!” He huffs, absolutely red in the face as he averts his eyes. He grumbles. “Idiot.”

You just smile, giving his hand a squeeze. 

Bakugou won’t look at you, his eyes trained on quite literally anything else, but you think you seem him smile too. Something small, and unsure, and barely there- just the tiniest hint of his lip curling up. 

He squeezes back. 

--//--

hope u all enjoy,, luv u!!

[cultgambles]

Is Your Boyfriend Jealous Yet?

Hawks likes putting on a show, can you blame him?

I was on GWA and this girl had a nice fun plot and audio and I was really feeling it in the moment hehe...so largely inspired by that!

Contains: nsfw, car sex, reader cheats, cunnilingus, exhibition, fandom hawks behavior

Also: wrap it before you tap it

Word Count: 2118

Masterlist | Requests? open

“So there I was, staring this villain down at the end of the street, and then he just appeared! My idol!”

“Endeavor? What did he do?”

“Of course he didn’t waste any time taking em down, it was cool and all to see it but he really took the spotlight, ya know?”

“Oh please, as if you need to be loved by the public anymore.”

“I do! That’s who I am!”

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Who’s that chick staring at you?”

Hawks turns, looking over his shoulder, “I dunno, a fan maybe? She’s coming over!”

“Act natural!”

“I am a natural. All nat-ur-ral.” He smooths down his silky burgundy button up shirt. 

“Hey! Hawks?” 

“The one and only!” Hawks gives a dazzling style, saluting towards you.

“I just wanted to say how cool you are, every time you employ your Quirk I’m amazed! And you’re not too bad to look at either!” you giggle.

“Thanks, kid,” he smiles, a real one. “People like you are the ones that make hero work worth it.”

“Yeah? Do you have time to chat? My name’s [Y/N], by the way. Are your wings okay? They look a little sparse.”

“‘Course I have time to chat. You wanna drink? Hey! One Lemon Drop for the lady, if you will!”

“Coming right up!”

“My most recent showdown against a villain. No biggie, they’ll grow back in a couple days.” Hawks turns a little so you can see the appendages where his feathers would usually be. There’s little small ones beginning to peek through. 

“Wow! I don’t think I saw that fight on the news or anything,” you murmur.

“I’m okay with doin’ it in silence, as long as it gets done, you know? 

It’s nice knowing people are safe and that there’s one less piece of shit on the street. But it’s also hard work” he continued. 

“The man who’s just a bit too fast, huh? You ever get tired?” you query. “Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

“No problem! And yeah, it’s hard to slow down, and I know I need to; but I always feel like I’m bein’ too lazy when I could be out there in the field.” 

Hawks is surprised, he’s never been this forward and vulnerable. Especially to a complete stranger. Maybe it was that gin and tonic he had earlier.

Your mouth opens, but before you can say anything, a booming voice cuts through the crowd.

“[Y/N] What the hell are you doing! Get over here!” Your face falls slightly, and Hawks notices with a curious, but watchful gaze. 

“I just saw Hawks here! I’ve never been this close to a pro hero before, and I wanted to say my thanks,” you mumble.

“Well I don’t like my girlfriend wandering off and talking to other guys, regardless if they’re a hero or not. Come on, we’re leaving!”

“But we just got here!” you protest.

“Now, [Y/N],” he growls, shoving you away from the pro hero, and towards the door.

“Hey, buddy,” Hawks clamps a hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder, holding him in place. “Don’t go pushing women around.” 

“This isn’t even your problem, man.”

“I’m going to make it my problem.” Hawks is deadly, intimidating. Even though you’re a little scared, you’re a bit turned on, to be honest. He’s got this air of danger around him, his eyes slit to pinpricks.

Before your boyfriend can get another word out, one of the club bouncers steps up, towering over the three of you. “Problem here? Or am I going to have to escort you out?”

“Nah, man, we’ll take it outside. Don’t worry about us,” Hawks shrugs. Your boyfriend tugs you along, seething behind Hawks.

“This isn’t over, Hawks. And you, don’t you EVER cause a scene like that, you hear?” 

You sniff. “I just wanted to say my thanks…”

“She was doin’ nothin’, that was all you man.” Hawks shakes his head. “I’d even say she was more into me than she has been in a while. I mean, the way you shouted at her was pretty scary,” he says, popping the ‘p.’

You look at Hawks under your lashes.

“No she wasn’t!” your boyfriend drops your arm, marching right up to the pro hero.

 Hawks leans around him and nods his head at you. “Why don’t we show him a thing or two?” You give him a puzzled look. “My car’s right there if you know what I mean.”

“Hold on, you have a car? How would you even fit your wings in.”

“Baby, you’re ruining the moment,” Hawks laughs, stepping in next to you. “I just take my car for a spin when I can’t fly. Not a walking type of guy, really.”

“So let me get this straight, you wanna fuck me? In your car? For why?”

“Give a little show to your asshole of a boyfriend. So he can see how to really treat a woman, hm?”

“Don’t you go with him, [Y/N]! I will literally kill you.”

“Is that really the smartest thing to say right next to a pro hero? Okay, Hawks, what that tongue do?” You purr.

“I’ll show you,” Hawks’ car’s doors unlock with a click. “Get in the back.”

Your boyfriend outside looks right mad, shouting and screaming at you. You swear a crowd has formed.

Hawks lays down and motions a finger for you. You shut the door behind you, and it’s just you two in this moment, boyfriend be damned. 

“Hold onto the headrests, okay, baby?” Hawks asks as you situate yourself above his mouth. 

“Lucky for me, you’re just wearing that cute little skirt and skimpy top. What, did you want every guy to turn heads for you?” Hawks grips your plush thighs, digging his nose to your panties. “All that from earlier really got you goin’, huh? Look how wet you are for me.” He kisses your clothed sex before pulling your underwear to the side. A long, languid lick all the way up to your clit has you shivering with pleasure, begging for more.

You’re grinding down on Hawks’ tongue, he’s just that fucking good. You briefly wonder how many other people have experienced this ecstasy. At least you have him for this moment. 

Breathy squeaks leave your mouth as his mouth catches on particular spots. 

“Let it out, I wanna hear you. I want him to hear what I’m doing to you.” Locking eyes with your boyfriend outside the car sends you over the edge, his face as bright as the heels on your feet. His eyes dim slightly just as yours slip closed, mouth agape. Hawks continues to pleasure you as you come down from your high. 

Carefully, he lifts you up to sit you on his lap. A little cramped, but worth it. Your wetness glistens along Hawks’ jawline, and you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself and him. 

“That’s cute,” he whispers, bringing his hands up to knead at your breasts slightly. His gold eyes shimmer as you rub against his cock. 

“Gonna show me your cute dick next?” you ask.

“It’s cute, like, big, not cute as in small. Just so you know. How about you lay down, baby,” he turns towards you slightly, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his black trousers. His cock is nice. As nice as one can be. It’s a little thicker, curved to the left a bit. He’s trimmed. He strokes it a couple times, dragging his precum along the shaft. You flick your panties off and they land on his head.

“Impatient, are we?” he grins. 

“Just a bit,” you smile, reaching between your legs to spread yourself open a bit for him to see. 

“Pretty pussy for a pretty girl,” he leans over, hand guiding to your quivering sex. He pushes in slowly, letting out a deep moan be swallowed up by your kiss. “You’re so tight around me.”

He lets you adjust, and not long after, you’re clawing at him to start moving. “Feels so good, you fill me up so good, Hawks.”

“They’re all watching us now, hummingbird. I bet they’re jealous at how good I’m fucking you,” he says over his grunts.

You’re bleary-eyed and blissed out, barely registering his words. “Who...Who’re they?”

“Seems like your little boyfriend’s screaming match has attracted quite a crowd.”

“O-oh? How big?”

“Enough.”

“You wanna get out, don’t you.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah okay, whatever you want, Hawks. Who am I to deny a pro hero what he wants? Just keep fucking me, please.”

Hawks’ eyes flash, hand scrambling for the door handle and pulling you out into the brisk air. “Really? Whatever I want? How about I just bend you over the trunk of my car and rail you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow?” 

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me for a lil while longer.” Hawks pushes your head down almost gently as he presses into you against the cool metal. You sigh as he slips back inside of you. Then he’s pulling your top down to your waist, your breasts squishing against the dirt and dust. A few people whoop. Somehow, you don’t care that everyone can see, or that camera flashes are blinding your vision. The way he drills into you makes you even forget how you even got into this situation to begin with. 

“What about the--” you moan “--press?” 

“Don’t give a fuck about them, none at all. My PR team could probably cover it up, I don’t know. Don’t wanna think about that. Y’all see this? Her nasty ass boyfriend was fuckin’ rippin’ on her, treating her like shit on a stick. No one should treat a woman like that, ya hear?” he’s loud, addressing the people around you. “Well, I guess ex boyfriend would be appropriate. What do you think, [Y/N]?”

“Y-yeah You’re right! Oh! OH! Hawks.”

“C’mon songbird, sing me that song,” he says right next to your ear, sucking a hickey into your neck.

“[Y/N], baby, how could you do this to me?” your boyfriend pleads. Ex-boyfriend, you mean.

“That’s what you get for being a shit. And you’re not even that mad, you’re enjoying yourself too,” you moan to him. “Hawks is technically police, you don’t want him to throw you in jail, now do you?”

“He wouldn’t, he can’t! I didn’t really do anything.”

“I can and I will,” Hawks growls.

“You’re just using your privilege!”

“Yeah,” Hawks agrees. “But then again, I’m sure I could find some dirt on you.”

“Haw--”

“Yes baby?” his attention snaps to you.

Your ex was never this attentive. It gave you butterflies. You swallowed them to let him know you were close. 

If he had his feathers, they would surely flush out. 

“Come on, birdie, cream on my cock, I know you can do it.” He reaches around your waist to swipe at your clit. 

“Nnnggft,” you moan, your cunt seizing up, the pressure building. It explodes, sending a chill down your spine. 

“Yes baby, keep up for me, I’m right behind ya...” Hawks thrusts impossibly faster, chasing his own climax, loving the way your sex flutters around him.  

“[Y/N] I’m--” Hawks’ voice dies out as he shoots thick ropes of cum in you, white seed painting your insides. 

The both of you struggle to catch your breaths. Hawks leans over you, massaging your hips. “Why don’t we take this back to your place and finish up?”

“Why not yours?” You laugh, running a hand over his sweat sheened forehead and into his unruly blonde hair.

“Security? At least take me on a date,” he laughs.

You sigh with contempt. “Okay, Hawks. Okay.” He nuzzles your neck slightly, pulling out of you. 

Hawks tucks himself back in his trousers and pulls up your top. “Let’s get outta here, then. Hey! I got it, don’t worry,” he says, pulling the passenger door open.

“Where’s my underwear?”

“Dunno.”

“I’m gonna leave a wet spot.”

“I don’t mind,” he says nonchalantly before hopping into the driver’s seat next to you. The ignition rolls over and Hawks backs out of the parking space. His hand rests on the inside of your thigh, rubbing in slow circles. 

You notice his nails are black, and curved a bit like talons. 

Pretty.

“Okay hummingbird, lead the way,” he says, giving you a soft smile.

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

can u write more leachel please

no but i can fuck ur bitch

Leah’s first public reading was not packed. Of course, the seven of them all filed into front row seats and of course her parents, grandparents, Ian, and most of her teachers were scattered throughout the audience. Even Emily, her friend from middle school who she hadn’t really talked to since she went to private school, showed up. It was a sweet gesture but beyond the people who knew Leah personally, only around fifty or so were actual fans. It was fine and Leah did an amazing talk and afterwards Rachel slapped her hand against her thigh, wishing she could actually clap.

Leah’s tenth public reading was standing room only.

The National book festival was held once a year in DC and while there were two panels Leah was put on, they also asked her to do her own talk because she had a new book coming out. It’d been called by the New York Times book review “the most anticipated book of the year!” And Rachel had only been allowed to read the first draft of the first chapter, which was slightly killing her. But her girlfriend had a process, even if that process was to solely talk to Nora about it. Nora and sometimes Toni.

When Leah walked onto the slightly raised platform the entire room erupted into applause. It was a standing ovation and Leah looked beautiful and also incredibly embarrassed. Her eyes found Rachel’s immediately and they were so fucking intense, Rachel just wanted her to keep looking at her forever. Forever and a half.

“Wow,” Leah began when she reached her microphone. “I haven’t even said anything yet.” There was laughter, more cheers, gradually people sat down. “Thank you all for coming, I know there’s some pretty amazing panels going on right now. There’s still time to go to Roxanne Gay’s talk, it’s a few rooms down.”

More laughter, more cheers, a “We love you Leah Rilke!”

Rachel shook her head, smiling. Leah could pretend all she wanted, but Rachel saw what was happening. The entire world was slowly coming to life under her touch. The English language was being shaped to fit Leah Rilke.

Every think piece, ever op-ed, every review, mentioned the words Leah Rilke somewhere in there. Every teenage girl was talking about her like they’d talk about the Bible. TV studios and movie execs sat in rooms and discussed about how they could capture her writing style. Publishing houses wanted to find their very own Leah Rilke. Tattoo artists were adding to their pre drawn collections symbols from her books.

It was happening slowly, a little at a time, but time happened all at once. And history textbooks were being printed in Texas for the year 2032 that had an entire chapter about Leah Rilke.

The world was changing, and for the next half-century it’d be one where Leah Rilke was alive. And after, it’d be one where everyone was looking for the next Leah Rilke, however futile.

Leah didn’t see it, but Rachel could. And Nora. They talked about it sometimes, when a Dolly Parton song came on or Tolkien happened to come up in conversation.

“I’m not really afraid of public speaking,” Leah continued. “But can you all look somewhere else for a minute? I just need a break, I feel like you all are staring.”

There was more laughter and Rachel felt her phone buzz. Her eyebrow furrowed and she ignored it, instead focusing on the woman wearing her engagement ring.

It’d taken her a minute to propose, insecurities thriving with Leah off giving talks or going to conventions like this one. In a big empty house it wasn’t hard to feel less than, especially with one hand.

It’d been Dot who talked sense into her. Dot surprisingly sensible when she herself had eloped with Fatin, annulled it, and eloped again.

“Okay,” Dot said. “Maybe she’s too good for you. So what? She doesn’t know that.”

“Exactly,” Rachel said. “That’s my fucking point. She’s gonna find someone better and realize that I’m just… me.”

“Yeah,” Dot nodded.

Rachel glared at her. “You aren’t making me feel better.”

“I’m not Fatin, or Shelby, or Martha.”

“I know that,” Rachel said.

“It sounds like you wanna marry her,” Dot said. “So fuckin’ marry her. Then she won’t be able to fuck off with someone else.”

“But I want her to be happy,” Rachel said.

“So fuckin’ make her happy,” Dot said. “I don’t get what the fuckin’ problem is.”

So she proposed. Leah said yes immediately, not even a moment of hesitation, and they were planning a small wedding with a rabbi they both knew and a Huppa but not a Ketubah. Some sort of halfway for the both of them.

Rachel’s phone buzzed again and she turned it off, slipping it in her backpack to focus on Leah.

“This is probably the hardest book I’ve ever written. Not because its deeply personal or anything, just because I had to do so much research for it,” Leah said. “I even had to dedicate it to my sister in law because she spent hours with me looking at flight patterns and chess strategies. Do you guys know how many different kind of tulips there are? I can’t say I don’t understand the dutch a little better now.”

Nora squeezed her wrist and she looked over at her. Shelby caught her eye from beside Nora and passed her a phone, the notes app open.

Jeffs here.

Rachel frowned. Jeff Greene? The book review guy? Or maybe Jeffery Wilson, the Sony guy. Didn’t they have a neighbor named Jeff who liked to complain about their noise level to the police?

“Jeff?” She mouthed back.

Shelby was stone faced when she nodded and something sunk in Rachel’s gut.

Fuck. Jeff.

Leah was still talking but Rachel couldn’t hear her.

Where?

Shelby took the phone back.

The back.

Rachel clenched her jaw and Nora squeezed her wrist again, eyes wide.

Has Leah seen him?

Shelby shook her head and Rachel let out a breath of relief.

She got to her feet, and cast a quick smile back at Leah who’s brow furrowed at her. She kept talking though, stumbling a little on her speech. Behind her, Fatin, Martha, and Shelby followed.

Jeff wasn’t hard to spot. He was the washed-up has been, with the fraying hair and dark circles under his eyes.

“You need to leave,” Rachel spat.

“I’m just here to apologize,” Jeff said. “I don’t even—”

“You’re leaving,” Shelby cut off. “Now. Or I’ll call security.”

“Take this outside,” Someone hissed and Fatin dragged him out, shoving him roughly through the open door. Several more people waiting outside slipped inside, entirely grateful.

“Listen, I know I fucked up, I want to apologize,” Jeff said.

“She was a child,” Fatin said. “You’re a fucking predator.”

Jeff paled.

“Wait,” Martha said. “Are you here to apologize for dumping her, or for raping her?”

“I didn’t—”

Maybe it was Shelby that threw the first punch, or maybe Rachel. Maybe they both came at him at once. But Martha didn’t hold Rachel back like she normally would’ve, and Fatin snapped at some people to put their phones away.

Leah said it was ironic later, that Fatin was telling people to put their phones away, while Martha urged on a fight.

But it wasn’t a fight, it was a beat down.

Shelby had taken Toni to enough kickboxing lessons over the years to know how to throw a punch, and Rachel had been picturing this moment with Jeff for too long.

No one intervened once Martha pushed a couple people away explaining he was a pedophile who prayed on teenage girls. One person said, “Isn’t that Jeff Galanis?”

And Martha said: “Yes.”

Jeff Galanis hasn’t published a book in five years at that point, he wouldn’t publish one again. Leah wasn’t happy Rachel broke her only hand, and Toni started going to kickboxing lessons alone.

“It was stupid,” Leah told her, when she met her outside after they’d all been thrown out. “I don’t give a shit about him anymore. I just wanted you there.”

“I know,” Rachel said. “But it wasn’t stupid to me. I wanted you to know you wouldn’t have to see him again.”

“Rach,” Leah sighed. “You remember how when we were driving here a Smith’s song came on?” Rachel nodded. “I realized then I literally couldn’t remember his last name.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Leah said. “We’re getting married in a few months, my new book is coming out, your starting your new job. We’ll probably be aunts as soon as Toni and Shelby finish those foster parent classes. Jeff is like—probably the least important person in the universe right now.”

“Sorry I missed the talk,” Rachel said.

Leah kissed her, soft and easy like they’d never once been.

“It’s okay,” she promised. “There’ll be others.”

There were.

[pressedinthepages]

Adrenaline

YOU GUYS. I just hit 400 followers here on the tumble machine. I cannot thank you guys enough for your love and support and allowing me to explore this side of my creativity with you <3 To celebrate, I asked some of my friends in @continentcakeshop to give me pairings to go with a short list of prompts. So over the next little while, I will be posting 6 fics to fill those prompts!

For Prompt #4, we have “Keep quiet or someone'll hear“ for @major-trouble <33

Relationship: Lambert/Jaskier

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: smut, public sex, voyeurism, oral

Summary: Lambert does his best to escape a party, and finds himself on a balcony with the bard who brought him there in the first place.

Lambert narrowed his eyes at the twinkling stars above, attempting to will away the sounds of the party just around the corner of shrubbery with sheer mental force. He’d escaped the overwhelming sights and sounds quick enough, traversing through twisting hallways and up spiraling staircases, only to wind up at a balcony barely a floor above and no more than fifty paces away from the seemingly never-ending celebration.

He wasn’t even sure why he was there in the first place. Sure, he’d slain the basilisk that had been prowling the countryside for a fortnight, but he didn’t belong at an event like this. He should’ve just taken his coin and left, just like any other contract.

But no.

Of course, Geralt’s fucking bard found him in the tavern, and of course he was the one to inform Lambert of the contract on the damned overgrown lizard in the first place. Now, Lambert knew what a softie Geralt was with his bard. He’d let him tag along on contracts with merely the bat of some pretty eyelashes and a peek of fuzzy chest hair. But that was where Lambert drew the line. He’d told those stunning blue eyes that he didn’t need to be worrying about his tight little ass while also trying to avoid spitfire. He promised a good story in return for the bard’s songs, but that was all.

And then, when he’d come back, Jaskier had already roped the whole damned court into throwing a ball in celebration of his ‘victory over the beast’ and insisted that he join them, ‘just for a bit.’

And damn, did Lambert understand Geralt when he looked into those pleading eyes.

One thing led to another and there he was, alone beneath a clear starry sky with his ears ringing from the countless voices not nearly far enough away and his mind rattled trying to figure out a mental map of the castle to find a better hiding spot.

Before he could get terribly far though, a somewhat familiar set of footsteps pattered up the stairs in his direction, soft and frantic, well used to a Witcher’s ears listening for them. Lambert needn't turn to find Jaskier behind him, he could practically feel the rainwater blue eyes boring into the back of his neck.

“What, bard?”

“Chose a hell of a hiding spot,” Jaskier spoke quietly, his voice like honey atop warm bread, seeping into the cracks and crevices of Lambert’s mind. “What’s on your mind?”

“Not that it matters,” Lambert groused, clenching his jaw, “but it’s fuckin’ loud. ‘S too many people, too close together. Didn’t wanna come anyways.”

“Then why did you?”

Lambert looked over his shoulder, his heart stuttering a beat at the sight of Jaskier bathed in the light of the moon, adrenaline flushed and unkempt from an evening of performing. He’d lost his doublet before the sun had even set, and his chemise was untied and barely still tucked into his trousers. He looked like every wet dream that had been plaguing Lambert since he discovered just what a cock felt like in his ass, and he had this soft look in his eyes that drew Lambert to pause.

He cleared his throat. “Because you asked.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed with a smirk, glancing down and back up where Lambert leaned against the balcony railing. “In that case, might I suggest a...change of events for the evening?”

Lambert narrowed his eyes and swallowed thickly, his eyes drawn to the warm thrum of Jaskier’s pulse in his neck as he sauntered to the edge of the balcony. “Just what did you have in mind?”

Jaskier slowly reached out and, finding no ill-will or hesitation in Lambert’s eyes, dragged his finger up the edge of Lambert’s arm over his soft undershirt. “I’m sure we can think of something…”

Lambert smirked and glanced off towards the party before nodding. “Yeah, alright. I can see where you’re going with this one. Know where any beds are in this maze of a castle?”

“Oh, no no no. You’re far too pretty under the stars for me to let this go to waste here,” Jaskier set his hands on the balcony around Lambert’s waist, pinning him with a wolfish glint in his eyes. “I think I’ll have you just like this.”

“You’re on, Pretty Boy,” Lambert chuckled and leaned in, capturing Jaskier’s lips in a kiss that burned with fire behind his teeth and the soft echoes of whispers on his tongue. Jaskier tasted of rich pastry and the spice of mulled cider and Lambert lifted his arms to cup his hands around the back of his neck. He could feel that fluttering pulse beneath his fingers and he couldn’t quite help the moan that tore itself from the back of his throat.

But faster than his mind could register, Jaskier parted their lips and shoved a hand between them, covering Lambert’s mouth with his fingers. “Keep quiet or someone will hear,” he hissed, his cheeks flushed around the smirk on his lips.

Lambert narrowed his eyes once more, putting as much venom and disdain into his eyes as he could. Jaskier’s hand over his mouth was...well. His fingers were long and dextrous, and his skin was warm and soft, his fingertips haunted by callouses born from his art. He smelled of lanolin and chamomile and cherry blossoms and Lambert felt the hint of the threat of his knees buckling beneath him.

He nipped carefully at the soft flesh of Jaskier’s palm, all too aware of his just-too-sharp teeth. Jaskier gasped and shook his hand away, shooting a fiery glance at him before the Witcher tugged him back by the waist. “Then make me, bard.”

A devilish look shadowed itself in Jaskier’s eyes and he spun them around, leaning back on the bannister with Lambert overlooking the sprawling gardens and the lights of the party just around the bend. “Go on, get down,” Jaskier whispered into Lambert’s lips, “let’s put that mouth of yours to good use.”

Lambert smirked and dropped to his knees after a cursory glance behind him. He dragged his hands over the supple silk of Jaskier’s trousers and carefully squeezed the muscular thighs that were so wonderfully encased within. “You’re sure about this, Jaskier?”

The bard smiled down at him, that same soft look bleeding through the sass and smirk of the performative practice. “Truly, yes. And you?”

Lambert nodded and started undoing the buttons to Jaskier’s trousers, flitting them apart one by one until his cock hung half-hard into the night air. Well, fuck, Lambert thought to himself as he took in the dark curls that sat nestled around the base of Jaskier’s ruddy flushed cock, he’s even pretty here.

One of Jaskier’s hands balled itself into a fist and rose to his lips, stifling a gasping moan as his other hand tangled into Lambert’s hair as the Witcher wrapped his lips around Jaskier’s cock and began lightly sucking at the sensitive skin. Lambert felt him swell and pulse on his tongue and he hollowed his cheeks, slowly taking more and more of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth. He tasted the salty musk of his arousal dripping onto his tongue and Lambert felt his own cock take interest and start to harden in his trousers.

“Gods above, Lambert,” Jaskier whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear where he knelt between his thighs. Lambert closed his eyes and allowed himself to immerse himself in Jaskier. The feeling of his blood pounding beneath his hands, the velvety hardness resting in his mouth. The scent of his arousal and sweat from a night of performing, mingling with the subtle peaceful aroma that surrounded the bard. The sound of his heart fluttering, his breath hitching in his throat. The fucking taste of his slick on his tongue, the sight of his flushed cheeks and freckled chest beneath the stars.

It was enough to distract him, even to make him feel as though he were hours away, alone in a campsite with Jaskier backed up against a tree. But there was still adrenaline coursing through his veins as the party roared beneath them, and Lambert couldn’t help but imagine the flashes of what may happen if they were found in such a compromising position.

His arousal flexed and hardened as he finally took Jaskier to the base, his nose nestled in the coarse hairs and the head of his cock tickling the back of his throat. He breathed in through his nose, willing himself not to gag on the poor bard, though he’d probably enjoy that, his ego’s large enough for the both of us.

Lambert slurped and licked back up slowly, circling the tip of Jaskier’s length with a cheeky glance up, feeling Jaskier’s thighs trembling under his fingers. He bobbed his head back and forth, never looking away from those bright blue eyes that kept so many, now including Lambert, entranced. He flexed his tongue around the underside of his cock as he rose back to the tip, toying with the sensitive patch of skin and listening to the frankly delicious groans that were only just audible over the din of the party.

He chuckled and pulled back enough to catch his breath for a moment, “I thought we were supposed to be quiet, bard.”

Jaskier dropped his head back with a hearty laugh, born from deep in the chest and with enough joy to even bring a soft smile to Lambert’s cheeks. “You have me on that, Lambert. Alright, alright. Yes, fine, I take it back. Please, just-”

“Ah, my favorite word,” Lambert shook his shoulders out and shuffled his knees into a more comfortable spot, “please...”

Lambert wasted no time in swallowing him back down, setting a brutal pace that had Jaskier’s knees fully buckling into him, letting his arms hold him up around the backs of his legs. Jaskier gasped and moaned and cursed, throwing his head back unabashedly and clenching his thighs around Lambert’s head.

Lambert could feel the bard’s rapidly approaching climax with every stuttered shift of his hips and drip of slick onto his tongue. He hummed around Jaskier’s cock and felt him flex deep in his throat, pulling a cough out of his chest as he readjusted. Close, so godsdamned close.

“L-Lambert, please...please just-fuck,” Jaskier spat through gritted teeth, his blunt nails scratching along Lambert’s scalp, “‘m gonna-where should I-”

Lambert hummed and kept himself steady, taking Jaskier as deep as he could and swallowing around him, encouraging the orgasm that was so quickly looming. Jaskier gasped and gave several aborted thrusts of his hips up into Lambert’s mouth, barely enough to push him any deeper before he finally spilled into him.

Jaskier was hot and musky, deliciously thick as Lambert’s throat worked to swallow every last drop of his spend. His fingers dug into Jaskier’s thighs, his lips relaxing and slowing to ease Jaskier through the encompassing bliss of his orgasm. Lambert finally felt Jaskier’s fingers soften their grip in his hair and he pulled himself back, swallowing the last remnants of his climax with a cheeky wipe from the back of his hand.

“Right then,” Lambert stood and bracketed his arms on either side of Jaskier’s waist, grinding his still-hard cock into the crook of the bard’s hip, “my turn.”

[just-jordie-things]

Can’t Pretend - Richie Tozier

word count: 13,840 warnings: swearing, sexual themes summary: richie and (y/n) share a dirty little secret, and it’s starting to get in the way of her relationship.  but it shouldn’t if it was just a fling, right? based on this song (a/n): about to hit 5.4k so I thought I'd celebrate by posting this ol’ thing :) I really like it I hope y'all do too :3

___

[ love... i have wounds, only you can mend // i guess that’s love… i can’t pretend ]

It was a plain saturday for the Losers.  And by plain, I mean they were chilling in Bill’s bedroom, thankful that his parents were out of town for the weekend because that meant they could raid the liquor cabinet and be a bit louder than usual.

(y/n) was leaning against the mattress, sat on the floor, a beer bottle in hand and a smile on her face.  These were the best kinds of nights, where all they did was talk, and it was all they had to do.

Eddie smacks Richie on his shoulder, but nearly hits his face in his drunken stupor.  And when (y/n) laughs, her head leans a little more into Ben’s leg, which is hanging off the side of the bed where he sat.  She’s laughing loudly into the denim of his jeans, and the material does nothing to muffle the sound.

Everyone else is laughing too, though, so it doesn’t matter.

“Alright, so is anyone aware that in four months, we won’t see each other like this anymore?” Beverly asks, a frown on her face as she takes another drink.  “I mean, what, am I supposed to make new friends?”

“Yeah, good look with that, Ringwald” Richie snorts, and Bev just flips him off, the way she always does when he calls her that.

“We won’t be that far from each other” Ben says to her with a sweet smile.

“And it’s not like we won’t write, too,” Stan chimes in.  “Except you Richie, after we graduate, never fucking talk to me again-”

“Oh, I’ll send you love letters every day sweetie pie,” Richie says before Stan can even finish.  “Don’t you worry, it’ll be like I’m right there with you”

He sticks his tongue out and snickers, while Stan grumbles about needing a break.

(y/n) can’t help but giggle at both boys.  Partially because she gets very giggly when tipsy, and partially because they’re the two funniest people she knows.  Richie grins at her when he catches her laughing, only making her laugh more.

“How are w-we gonna do it?” Bill muses, not really looking for an answer, because there really isn’t one.

“We don’t,” (y/n) shrugs.  “We avoid it until… there’s not really any other option” 

“Dark” Ben mumbled.

“It’s true,” (y/n) argued.  “If we go through this year with the mindset that this is the end, then we’ll push each other away, it’s psychology”

Eddie nods because he was in her class and is pretty sure he remembers hearing that.

“So we just live our best year” He agrees with her.

She high fives him.

“Well you’re already on your way,” Beverly said, and stood up from where she sat next to Mike so she could plop down next to her best girl.  “What, with your fancy scholarship, and your boyfriend” She singsonged the word, and (y/n) wilted with embarrassment.

“Come on Bev-”

“Are you guys gonna stay together?” Stan asks, the gears in his head turning as soon as her boyfriend was mentioned.  “I mean it’s been like… five months, right?”

“Four and a half” (y/n) mumbled, pulling her knees to her chest.

She stares down at her drink, and then takes a long swig.  She had a feeling she’d need it.

Talking about her boyfriend when everyone was around was… awkward.  It was one thing if it was just her and Beverly, but to have all the boys’ eyes on her every time his name came up made her feel hot, like she was being interrogated.

“So you’re kinda serious,” Stan shrugged.  “How many times have you done it?”

She chokes, and coughs for a long moment before catching her breath.

“Stan you don’t get to-”

“Come on, just fess up,” Beverly giggles.  “We won’t make fun! Promise!”

(y/n’s) cheeks go hot, and she knows they’re pink and that she’ll only be picked on more for it.  She locks eyes with Richie, who winks at her, and now her face must be red.

“We- uh-” Her eyes dart away before she can choke and lose her train of thought again.  “We actually um… haven’t… done… that” She says slowly, and with every reluctant word her voice gets softer.

“What?” Eddie screeches.

“No way,” Stan is laughing in disbelief.  “Come on, just give up the number.  What, ten? Fifteen? Twenty-?!”

(y/n’s) eyes are narrowed at him, silently yelling for him to fuck off.

“Really?” Beverly asks, just as shocked as the others.

Well, everyone was surprised.

“But he’s so…”

“Hot?” Eddie offers, only to get nudged in the ribs by the trashmouth next to him.

“I was going to say affectionate,” Beverly answers, staring skeptically at Richie.  “He’s always hanging all over you, how have you not hooked up?”

(y/n) shrugs her shoulders and stares down at her drink again.

“I dunno” She mumbles weakly.

“Has he tried-?”

“This is super awkward, can we be done?” She asked, voice still soft, embarrassed.

“I mean come on, don’t you want to f-”

“Can we stop fucking talking about this, before I’m forced to visualize his dick?” Richie cuts in, faking a gag.  “Oh, fuck, too late, thanks a lot you sluts”

Stan and Beverly are distracted by the comment and burst into laughter while Richie pretends to throw up.

After the conversation ends, and Ben starts talking about the colleges he’s deciding between, (y/n) glances over to her favorite glasses-wearing idiot.  He catches her gaze, and she mouths ‘thank you’.  He just smiles, before diving right back into conversation about why Ben should be an architect and not a poet.

A few beers later and they have to cut themselves off, because if they drink too much then Bill’s parents will notice and they’ll all get in trouble.  They shouldn’t be drinking anymore anyways, because everyone’s relatively tipsy, and with the general excitable mood among the group, drinking more would be a bad idea.

Everyone’s lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling and talking about nonsense.  What was once a serious conversation about their future has turned into a debate about what the most important thing to have when stranded on an island would be.

“A knife, definitely a knife” Mike argues.

“What? Fuck no, a gun” Stanley fights back, thus starting an argument about not having bullets because you can only choose one item.

“Flint? I guess? I don’t fuckin’ know” Beverly says sleepily.  She didn’t care much for this discussion when it started, and forty five minutes later, she still doesn’t.

“I’d bring an issue of Maxim, for sure.  Gotta keep busy you know-”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie grumbles.  “I’d bring an epipen.  I’m allergic to everything on an island”

“Oh fuck off, you’re not allergic to sand” Richie smacks the boy on his arm for suggesting something so idiotic.

“I’d bring  one of my grandpa’s sheep,” Mike spoke after what seemed like forever of deliberation.  “It’d save his life and I’d have a companion”

“That’s sweet,” (y/n) cooed, smiling delightedly at the idea of Mike wanting a friend more than anything else.  “I’ll take a sheep too, please”

The two break out into laughter for a few minutes, uncontrollable, belly aching laughter.

“You can’t copy Mike, come up with your own!” Eddie scolded, offended that (y/n) tried to break the rules of their made up game.

“Alright, alright, let a girl think first…” (y/n) folded her arms over her head as she squinted, to help her thought process.  “Um… a book”

“A book?” Eddie laughed almost maniacally at her answer.  “Alright, just fuckin’ take a sheep from Mike, that was even worse”

“What? No it isn’t,” (y/n) argued.  “It’ll keep me occupied and entertained, and when it’s done I can read it over again”

“Lame” Eddie muttered.

She reached over to smack him, and sadly Bill got caught in the crossfire.

“You wouldn’t bring your lover?” Stan teased, and she almost hit him too.  “You’d pick a farm animal over your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t think of it like that” She said quietly.

“I don’t get you guys,” Stan says, and she sighs because the conversation has somehow drifted to him, again.  “I mean, it’s been four and a half months, and typically couples get it on for their one month.  But you’ve had four anniversaries and still haven’t-”

“Why are you so interested in my business, Stanley?” (y/n) asked, a bit more defensive than she needed to be.

He raises his hands and pulls an innocent face.

“I’m just worried about you!” He retorts.  “You’re the one in desperate need-”

“I’m not desperate for anything” She snaps.

“Yeah, Stan, she’s not a virgin, (y/n’s) gotten some before” Beverly makes an attempt to back (y/n) up, but it only makes her feel worse.

“What? But he’s her first boyfriend- oh my god, who was it?” Stan asks, way more interested in this topic now.

“Leave me alone” She rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder.

“Oh god, it must be real embarrassing,” Eddie is giddy for the gossip now, sitting up to join in better.  “Who was it?”

“Cut it out” She says a bit louder, sharp eyes meeting Eddies, a silent threat in them.

“Who was it, Bev?” Eddie asked, deciding to go the source it came from.

But she shrugs her shoulders, and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound.

“What do you m-mean you don’t kn-know?” Bill stammers out.

“She didn’t wanna tell me” Beverly answers, simple as that.

(y/n) covers her face with her hands.  She wishes she was more drunk than she was, because then maybe there was hope for recovering from this.  Or maybe even forgetting completely.

“Must be real embarrassing,” Richie teases.

She peeks at him through her fingers.

“Bowers?” He asks with a raised brow, and she barks out a laugh.

Everyone laughs then, at the mere idea of anyone hooking up with that nutcase.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell, okay?” She admits after the laughter has died and all attention is on her again.  “It’s private” She adds softer.

“Fine” Stan gives in, not wanting to make the girl anymore uncomfortable.

If they knew anything about (y/n), it was that she kept secrets and promises locked away forever.  She was the most trustworthy person any of them had ever met.  And she’d never break someone else’s trust either.

“But if you’ve done it before, why aren’t you, yaknow, still doing it?” Stan asks, and begins to giggle at his own words.  “I mean, if I had a hot girlfriend, I’d be doing it like… all the time”

“Pervert” (y/n) mumbles.

“Did you just call (y/n) hot?” Eddie asks, and everyone ooohs at his catch.

“Alright, alright! Calm down, of course I did!” Stan announces, and a blush takes over the girl’s face again.  But this time she’s not embarrassed, she’s flattered.  “It’s an observation, okay? Jesus”

She giggles, and leans over to kiss his cheek.

“You guys are so dumb,” She mumbles.  “I love you all so much”

“All I’m asking,” Stan declares, voice loud.  “Is why you’re avoiding it!”

“I’m not avoiding it” She argues, but she knows she’s failed because it’s such a blatant lie, and any sober mind would be able to see that.

Luckily, no one in this room is sober.

“Oh yeah?” Stan scoffs.  “Have you been home alone with him in the last four and a half months?”

“Yeah?” She asks, voice cracking slightly.

“And you didn’t screw him?”

“Watch it” Richie’s voice bites from where he lies a few feet away from them.  Stan pays it no mind, but Bev kicks his leg, and furrows her brow at him, wondering why he gave a fuck what Stan had to say.

The others were either asleep, or didn’t want to step in on the mini argument (y/n) and Stan were having.

Ben and Mike had passed out on the floor a few minutes ago.  And Eddie and Bill just sat and listened to the argument, wishing they could pass out.

“No, I- I didn’t,” (y/n) stammers.  “But so? I don’t want to rush it-”

“Liaaaar,” Stan singsongs.  “You don’t want to hook up with him”

“That’s not true!” She exclaims.  “We-. we’re actually hanging out at his place tuesday night,” She tells him matter of factly.  “Alone!”

“Ooh, good for you,” Stan retorts sarcastically.  “That doesn’t mean shit unless you actually take your pants off”

Her face scrunches up as her eyes narrow at him.  Now she’s angry, because he doesn’t believe her, and he’s not trying to.  So what if she’s lying through her teeth? He’s her friend and he should believe her.

“I’m tired” She announces suddenly, and forces herself to stand up.

She steals one of the few blankets on Bill’s bed that he’d prepared for everyone.  Her balance is a bit shaky as she wraps it around herself, and heads for the door.

“Goodnight” She calls, only once she’s left the room and is heading for the pullout bed in the living room sofa.

The room is silent for a few minutes after she’s left.

“Well fuck, you’re gonna have to apologize in the morning” Eddie mumbles, and San knows he’s talking to him.

“I didn’t think she’d get that pissed,” He replied guiltily.  “I was just messin’, I thought she’d just get embarrassed.  I don’t know what I did-”

“She doesn’t like talking about that stuff, dumbass,” Richie says.  “Shit makes her uncomfortable”

“Well I didn’t know that-” Stan starts to argue.

Beverly stops him before he can start any more drama tonight.

“Don’t worry about it, Stan, she’ll be alright,” She says, and then gets up to get a blanket as well.  “I’ll go talk to her to make sure she really is alright, goodnight”

The boys mumble a ‘goodnight’ back to her, and she descends the staircase to check on her friend, who’s laying facedown on the mattress.

“Oh, hon,” Bev laughs, and lays down next to her.  “Don’t be so upset with Stan, he was just being dumb-”

“I know” (y/n) mumbles into her pillow.

Beverly pulls the blanket she’s brought with her and drapes it over her back, so she won’t get cold while she’s pouting.

“Then what’s troubling you?”

Her words are a bit slurred, but the care is still there.

“I just… I don’t know.  I didn’t have to think about it before and now I can’t stop,” (y/n) admits with a sign.  “And maybe I’m upset because… he’s right.  Maybe I’m upset because he’s write and I wouldn’t admit it to myself, but I have been avoiding hooking up with him.  I mean, so much could go wrong and I just… don’t want to have a bunch of drama our senior year, yaknow? I want it to be smooth and easy.  And so far with him our relationship has been smooth and easy, but what if he’s wanted to do it this whole time and I keep dodging him and now he’s gonna break up with me?”

(y/n) lifts her head to turn to her redheaded friend for advice.

But Beverly is sound asleep, snoring softly against her pillow.

(y/n) can’t help but smile a bit, even though she really needed help sorting out her messy thoughts.  But she wasn’t going to bother Beverly by waking her up.

So she carefully crept off the squeaky pullout mattress, and went back upstairs.

Ben and Mike are still asleep on the floor, but someone’s thrown a couple blankets over them.

Stan is on Bill’s bed, facing the opposite direction as Bill, and they’ve both knocked off as well.

Maybe everyone else had more to drink than her, she thinks as she shuts the door to leave them be.  When she turns to head to the guest bedroom, she nearly runs into Eddie.

“Who are you looking for?” He asks right away.

He rubs his tired eyes, and she adores that he looks like a child when he does so.

“Um-”

“Richie’s in bed already,” Eddie says before she can answer.  “If you’re gonna prank him, you might want to wait a few minutes, so you know he’s in a deep enough sleep”

(y/n) chuckles at the unprompted advice, and nods her head.

“Alright... thanks” She says.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else as he pushes past her to go to sleep in Bill’s room.

“You aren’t gonna sleep in the guest room?” She asks with furrowed brows.

“Fuck no, Richie kicks and talks in his sleep.  I’d rather stay on the floor with those two” Eddie answers, and then gives her a small wave before shutting the bedroom door.

She takes a deep breath as she stands in front of the guest room’s door.  And then before she could stop herself, she opens the door, and shuts it quickly behind her as she steps inside.

Richie's laying in bed, arms wrapped around the pillow that his face is pressed into.  He mumbles a slurred ‘who is it?’ into the feathery cushion.  But he knows it’s her before she even answers.  Because as she sits on the side of the bed next to him, he can smell her perfume.

He squints up at her, having lost his glasses somewhere in Bill’s room, and wonders what she’s doing here.

“Surprise” She says weakly, and a slight smirk tugs on his lips.

“What’s goin’ on?” He asks, leaning his face back down into the comfort of the cool pillow.  He was already getting a headache from the four beers he had.  (He’d drank two of the three Eddie had gotten)

“Can we talk?” She asks in a voice so soft that she can only be referencing one thing.

Richie nods, and pats the space next to him with his palm.

She hesitates for just a moment, before giving in and laying down in the spot, grabbing a hold of the other pillow she mirrors Richie’s actions and hugs it under her head.

He doesn’t say anything, just lays there with his eyes closed in the dark and waits for her to go first.

“Was I….” She starts, but then bites her lip and shakes her head as she changes her mind.  “When we…”

“...hooked up?” He offers.

It’s so casual, so quiet, that her heart skips a beat, because she can’t believe he can just say it like that.  Speak their darkest, most carefully kept secret, out into the open like that.

“Yeah…” She mumbled back.  “Was I… I don’t know… good?”

He opens his eyes now, and his brows furrow as he sees her anxious expression.

They hadn’t talked about it since it had happened, which was their deal, but after her argument with Stan he figured she was going to sneak in here and talk to him.  He’s not sure why she looks so scared, though.

“Were you good?” He repeats her question, like he doesn’t understand it.

She nods her head.

“(y/n), of course you were good, you were you,” He chuckles, a genuine smile on his lips.  The compliment, if you could call it that, made her blush.  “He’ll be lucky to have you in his bed, alright?”

“Be honest with me,” She said.  “Don’t just say stuff to make me feel better”

“I’m not” Richie grumbles, laying back down again.

His head his swirling a bit, and with her laying so close to him, it wasn’t helping.

“Why haven’t you done it yet, anyways?” He asks her after it’s been silent for too long.

“I…” She tries and fails to answer the question.  But she’s her most honest self when she’s with Richie, and feels he deserves an explanation for her behavior tonight.  “... was scared” She finishes after a few minutes.

“You’re scared of sex?” He mumbles, and she shakes her head.

“No… just… with him”

“That makes no sense, (y/n/n)”

“I know” She whispers out, and her fingers draw patterns on the sheets.

“You think he’s gonna… hurt you?” Richie asks, because as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he has to ask.

“No, of course not,” She replies, and lifts up his blanket so she can shimmy under it and warm up a bit.  “Sometimes I feel like I just don’t know him” Her voice drops to a whisper again.

Her eyes are focused on his tee shirt, trying to figure out what band is advertised on it while Richie thinks.  He’s not sure what to tell her, because of course he doesn’t want to promote her hooking up with him.  But… the guy’s her boyfriend, so what’s he supposed to do?

“(y/n)....” He sighs, and subconsciously wraps an arm around her.  His hand tangles in her hair, massaging her scalp comfortingly.  “That’s not true, you’ve been together for a while now”

The logic is there, but she’s unconvinced.

“And besides,” He continues, and she looks up at him, meeting his kind eyes.  “When you’re ready, you’ll know,” He says, and he grins before poking her cheek and nose.  “But you already know that”

She giggles softly, swatting away his hand.

“I hate when you’re right, you know,” She says through a yawn.

Without thinking, she leaned her head into his chest.

“What if I don’t want to do it, though?” She asks.  “What if… what if I don’t like it?”

“You hurt my feelings when you talk like you’ve never done it before”

“No more jokes,” She whispers.  “I mean it”

“Then you tell him, and you stop,” Richie answers without missing a beat.  “That’s how it works… you know that, right?”

“S-sure,” She stammers out.  “But what if-”

“No, there’s no ‘what ifs’ about that one, (y/n/n),” He tells her seriously.  “I’m not fucking around, if you want to stop then you-”

“Don’t worry, Rich,” She hums.  “You don’t have to give me the consent talk, that’s not what I mean”

His brows furrow down at her, but she doesn’t see because her eyes are closed and her face is hidden in his shirt.  For a second he’s distracted and wonders if he should be holding her like this when she has a boyfriend.

“What… do you mean, then?”

“What if I’m not… um…” She trails off, clearly embarrassed.

“Come on, don’t hold out on me now” Richie chuckles teasingly.

“... attracted to him… sexually?” She speaks like she’s unsure of her words, and it takes everything in Richie not to laugh out loud.

“That’s not something I can fix, hon” He tells her, and she can tell he’s holding back a laugh.

She’s silent, and Richie hopes she hasn’t fallen asleep, because knows it wouldn’t be right to share a bed for the night.

“I mean you’ve… done other stuff, right?” He asks, and even that seems wrong.  He really shouldn’t even be talking to her about this, but it’s not his fault that he’s the only person she can talk to about this stuff.

(It’s maybe his fault that they slept together in the first place, but surely (y/n) can take some responsibility for that one)

“Not really” She says in a barely audible mumble.

“Not really?” He repeats, confused by the question.  “All you’ve done is-”

“We’ve made out a couple times,” She tells him before she overthinks it and starts to feel uncomfortable.  “That’s it”

“Clothes have never come off?” He asks with a chuckle he can’t contain.

(y/n) shakes her head.

“What the fuck is wrong with-”

“Richie…”

“-him?” He finished anyways, taking her by surprise that he wasn’t trying to bash on her.  “Look, (y/n/n), it’s your relationship, you do what you want to do.  But do you even see a future with him?”

She’s silent again.

And then she shuffles off the mattress, and heads for the door.

“(y/n),” Richie called with a sigh.  “It’s just a question”

She held the open door in her hand, and looked back at him.  He had a guilty but confused look on his face, and was propped up in ed, hoping she’d come back and finish talking.

“I’m tired, Richie,” She said softly.  “Goodnight”

He let out a sigh, regretting having been so forward and pushing her out of her comfort zone.  He hadn’t realized it when he’d asked, but he sure as hell could tell now.

“Goodnight” He said before she could shut the door behind her.

(y/n) was glad that Beverly was fast asleep on the pullout bed still, because all she did for the rest of the night is fuss to get comfortable, only to lay wide awake, overthinking.

Trying to figure out a future with her boyfriend in it. ___

[ oh feel our bodies grow, and our souls they play // yeah love i hope you know how much my heart depends ]

It was loud, it was so loud that the bass in the music playing was ringing in her ears, and making the liquid in her cup ripple.  But that might have just been because she was stumbling around so much, trying to find somewhere to chill out for a minute in this sea of bodies.

Richie Tozier’s hand was holding on tightly to hers, pulling her behind him, acting as a guide through the chaos.  But who was she kidding, he was the chaos.  It was his house party after all.

How he’d even invited this many people, (y/n) wasn’t sure.  It’s not like he knew everyone here, but word of mouth works fast in Derry, and a byob party that had half a dozen kegs and then some, not one student from their school missed it.

Even Stan was here… somewhere.  

It was a bit hopeless to go looking for people in this crowd.

Finally Richie had taken them outside.  There were still a couple dozen people hanging out in his backyard, but at least she could hear herself think, or take a step without bumping into someone.

“Thank god,” She huffed, pushing her hair out of her face and taking a drink.  “I thought I was gonna get trampled to death in there”

Richie chuckles, eyes shining as he watched her finally relax a bit.

“You would’ve made this party worth talking about if you had” He teases her.

“I think it already is,” She replies with a small and nervous laugh.  “The whole school’s here, Rich, I think people will be talking about it for a- who brought a kiddie pool?”

She cuts herself off as her eye catch a plastic pool, filled with eyes and the most beer she’s ever seen all at once.  They definitely hadn’t brought it, although she’s surprised that none of them had thought of it when planning for this party.

“Don’t know” Richie shrugs, and then wanders over to grab them two bottles.

They’d been drinking soda all night, not wanting to get shit faced so they could keep an eye on things.  But they were well past that, and at this point, whatever happens, happens.

She taps her glass against his in a quiet ‘clink’

“Cheers to you, Tozier” She says with a rather sweet smile, the kind that he compulsively smiles back at.

“And you” He replies, before tipping the bottle back and taking a long swig.

The thing about (y/n) was that… well, there was just this thing.  An undeniable, unspoken, electric thing.  There was something about her that drew Richie towards her like a magnet.  Even tonight, he’d shown up at her side, and just like that they’d spent the last two hours together.  She was such a lovely person, which was a rarity in this town.  

He had a feeling that she owned his heart, even though he just had a silly teenage crush on her.  But what had started as a silly crush, an admiration for her beauty, grew into an adoration of her entire being, her soul.  He was falling for her, at a speed from the atmosphere, and he was bound to crash soon.

Her hand reaches out and seizes the sleeve of his denim jacket, yanking him towards her all in one motion.  His heart’s beating out of his chest with anticipation, but as quickly as she’d grabbed him, she was shaking him out of his daze.

“You almost got knocked over,” She tells him, nodding to the pair of drunken boys with their arms slung around one another, stumbling around the backyard, trying to walk in sync.  “You alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, out of it” He answered with choppy words.

He finds the crease between her brows adorable.

“You only took one sip,” She jokes, poking at his bottle.  “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” She asks, holding four fingers in front of his face while giggling.

Richie rolls his eyes, grabbing her hand to pull it out of his face.

But he doesn’t let go.

And for the next hour, as they talk and drink a little and dance, her hand remains in his.  She didn’t say anything about it, which he’s silently thankful for.  Maybe she feels safer when attached to him, knowing she’s not going to get sucked into the crowd and lost.  Or maybe she just… wants to.

They’re dancing in the living room, to a song neither of them knew, with a hundred strangers, when she finally mentions it.

“You’re blushing!” She announces, albeit a bit tipsy.

There’s a grin on her face, and with her free hand she pokes at the pink on his cheeks.

“Cut that out- what’s with you and jabbing your fingers at me today?” He says, trying to brush it off and get her to forget about it.  It doesn’t work.

She bursts into a fit of laughter, and her body leans towards his a bit as she does.

She only lets go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck and spin them around excitedly.

“You never blush,” She says.  “So what’s on your mind?”

She sounds bubbly, as if his answer is amusing to her, and she’s impatient to hear it.  Richie shakes his head, and wills the heat in his face to go away, but it doesn’t.  Of course it doesn’t, she’s standing a few inches away from him and staring at him with those round and curious eyes that he loves and-

“You” He responds with a shrug.

His voice is cool and casual as ever, but he’s losing his shit on the inside.

Her lips form an ‘o’ as she processes the single word.  For a second he regretted speaking, which was kinda normal for him, but then her eyes lit up and she giggles with delightful bashfulness.

A breath of a laugh escapes his lips as he laughs nervously with her.

“You’re adorably funny” She says, and takes him by surprise when she leans up on her toes, cups her face in one hand, and presses a kiss to his other cheek.

When she lands back flat on her feet, she’s amused by the grin that she’d put on his face.

“Drinks?” She asks, and when he pulls a face, she clarifies, “Non-alcoholic drinks”

“Fine” He agrees, and when they head out of the living room, her hand reaches out and grabs his, slotting her fingers through his with ease.

He glances down to her when she does so, but she just gives him a big and innocent smile.

They find their friends in the kitchen.  Beverly and Eddie are quite… shit faced, while Bill is drinking water and trying to get them to have some as well.  From what Richie and (y/n) could tell, his efforts were useless.

“Let them be,” (y/n) says, ruffling up Eddie’s hair with her free hand, only to get swatted away.  “They’ll pay the consequences in the morning”

Bill shrugs and hums in agreement, but he tries to get them to drink something.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Bev asks, pointing at Richie and (y/n’s) conjoined hands.

Richie starts to let go, but she squeezes his hand and smiles almost proudly at her drunk friend.

“Well I don’t wanna get lost” She says confidently.

Beverly shrugs, not having the attention span to ask further questions, or really care.

“Is that- are you- is that rootbeer?” Eddie asks, and he squints at the can in (y/n’s) hand, like he can’t see.  “You’re at a- a fuckin’ party and you’re drinkin’ a soda?”

“Leave her alone Eddie Spaghetti” Richie chides, smacking the shorter boy on the shoulder.

“Yeah, Eddie Spaghetti” (y/n) adds in a mocking tone, and giggles to herself at the nickname.

Eddie hates it, but he’s drunk off his ass, so there’s not much he can do about it.  He’ll try to throw hands with Richie tomorrow.

Bev starts to tell a story about a fight she saw on the front lawn.  It’s missing parts, and she’s having a hard time remembering most of it, but they listen because it’s funny and interesting.

(y/n) sat herself on the kitchen counter, drink in one hand and Richie’s hand in the other, laughing along and encouraging her to continue.  Even when she finishes her story, she’s not sure what happened, or who was even fighting, but it doesn’t matter.

“It’s l-late,” Bill says, eyeing the stove that reads 2:15.  “I think I should go”

“You’re not staying the night?” (y/n) asked.

Richie’s parents would be gone for another day, leaving plenty of time for the Losers Club to hang out, and clean up the trashed house everyone else left behind.

“No, I sh-shouldn’t,” He says.  “B-but I’ll come b-back tomorrow to help with th-the mess” He adds in a reassuring tone.

“Alright Billy,” (y/n) reaches her arms out towards him, prompting him to hug her goodbye.  She embraces him tightly for a short moment.  “See ya tomorrow”

He gives a small wave, and then offers a ride to Eddie and Bev.  They both decide to keep drinking and crash at the house.  He’s not surprised.

“I feel like dancing!” Beverly declares, and is out of the kitchen before anyone could say a word.

“Man is she fuckin’ wasted” Eddie chuckles.

Richie and (y/n) burst out laughing at the irony, but don’t tell him why it’s funny when he asks why they’re laughing their asses off.

Eddie winds up sitting on the kitchen floor, and then laying on it, cradling an empty bottle of vodka to his chest.

“You gonna sleep down there with him?” Richie asks (y/n), and gives the asmathic on the floor a gentle kick.

(y/n) giggles and shakes her head, and without thinking, reaches out to grab onto his hands again.  With a small tug, he steps closer, almost standing between her open legs.  But he doesn’t dare move that close.

“No…” She answers after a minute.  “There’s no way in hell you’re making me sleep on a floor”

“Well, if the beds are all taken-”

“Richard Tozier” She says his name firmly, “If you don’t give me a bed to sleep in like a human fucking being I swear I will-”

“You’ll what, sweetheart?”

His voice drops an octave, and his head cocks to the side a bit as he stares at her skeptically, wondering what it was she was about to say next.  When her mouth is left hanging open, he smirks a little.

“Come on (y/n/n), you’re not the threatening type,” He speaks at a normal volume again, but his closeness and the look on his face doesn’t fade.  “Besides, you got nothing on me”

“Oh, I doubt that-” She tries to argue, but he cuts her off again.

“Just try to think of something, you can’t.  My record’s squeaky clean”  

He leans a bit closer with every word, but the movement is miniscule, and she’s probably the only person in the room who could have noticed it.

As soon as he eyes wander to his lips, they dart right back up, but it’s too late, he caught the glance, and his smirk widens.

Richie quirks a brow in question, like an asshole.

She sets her soda can on the counter next to her.

“You really value me so little that you’ll make me sleep, where, on the floor? The bathtub?”

“I think the tub is still occupied, actually,” Richie says.  “And the floor, well, it’s covered in trash and…” He looks down to Eddie, who’s very close to passing out.  “... more trash”

(y/n) hits his chest with the back of her hand.

“That was for Eddie” She says, and Richie laughs.

She’s got an offended look on her face, and fuck if it wasn’t the cutest thing he’s ever seen…

“I’m just saying sweetheart…” He shrugs his shoulders innocently.  “Your sleeping options aren’t looking great.  Pretty much everywhere is taken”

She’s quiet for a moment, and he can tell she’s hesitant, because she bites down on her lip, and she has a hard time keeping eye contact.  He doesn’t rush her to say whatever’s on her mind, just stands there, unmoving, and waits.

“Show me a bed, then, Tozier”

It’s soft, whispered like a secret, and unsure.

They’re both still for a beat, each waiting for the other to back out.

But neither do.

So he offers her his hand, which she gladly takes before hopping off the counter and following closely behind him.  Through the thinning crowd in the living room, and then up the stairs.

When they’re in the hall, he casts a look over his shoulder to her, and her eyes meet his instantly.

There’s something serious in them that he’s never seen in her before.  Like she was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it is.

Her free hand grabs onto the sleeve of his jacket, tethering herself to him.  There was nowhere to get lost up here, everyone was downstairs.  Except for the boy passed out in the bathtub, and Richie was fairly certain a couple passed out in his parent’s bedroom.  But right now, they were alone.

He brings her to his room, carefully peeking in to make sure no one was in there, before letting her inside.  He’s quick to shut and lock the door.

(y/n) gives him a look at the sound of the lock clicking, and his face flushes.

“I mean- it’d be weird if some frisky couple were to come in- while we’re in here” He defends his actions.

She just hums, and wanders over to his dresser, where his fish tank sat.  She smiled at his goldfish before swirling the tip of her finger in the water.

Richie just admires her while she glances over his things.  The picture frames, the trinkets and forgotten things he’s left there.  She looks so natural standing there.

It wasn’t often that she was in his room, Richie’s house isn’t somewhere that everyone hangs out at, and (y/n) and Richie rarely hang out alone.  It was kind of nice to have so much time with her tonight, just her.  And still, he wanted it all the time.

She can feel his eyes on her, and when she turns around, she isn’t surprised that she was right.

She gives him a small smile, and clasps her hands together behind her back.  It was a nervous habit she had, squeezing her hands together tightly, and Richie loved seeing her do it now.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been in here,” She says, desperately trying to fill the silence.  “Hasn’t changed much though” She added in a quieter voice.

He doesn’t say anything, and it only amps up her nerves.

And then he strides over to her, rather quickly, and her breath caught in her throat as he’s suddenly towering over her, face a mere few inches away from hers.  

She’s frozen, staring at him wide eyed and waiting for him to do something.

She’d thought he was going to kiss her, and when he didn’t, hear heart only beat harder in her chest.

“What?” She asks, wondering what he was doing if he wasn’t going to make a move.

“Nothing” He shakes his head, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing then?” She questions him again, voice a hundred times softer.

He gives her a playful smirk, and she almost frowns at him, annoyed by the teasing.

“I’m not doing anything” He hums with a shrug.

She rolls her eyes, done with the games, and steps away.  She needs a breath.  Or two.  Two very deep breaths.

But before she can, Richie’s hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, pulling her back so rough that she collides into his chest, making them both stagger for a brief moment, until his lips crash down into hers.

She’s just gotten her balance back when he pulls away, staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to tell him to stop.

Her lips are parted and she’s panting softly, still in shock, and her eyes flutter open to meet his.

She doesn’t tell him to stop, instead, she leans up on the tips of her toes to kiss him again, a much longer kiss that she wished he’d begun with.

They pulled away at the same time.

“We can’t tell the others!” They both rush out the words so fast, so panicked, but it disappears as they register the other agrees.

And then all at once they’re kissing again.  His hands are gripping her hips, keeping her pressed completely against him, while hers are tangled in his hair, combing and gripping at his strands of curls.

Their lips move so feverishly, both desperate for every second to be fulfilling.  They knew this was a once in a lifetime chance, that this was their only chance, and it had to be perfect.

They part for a few seconds, so (y/n) can catch her breath.

His nose prods against hers, before he takes her cin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her head to the side so that he can trail a line of kisses along her jaw, tracing up to the sweet spot just below her ear.

He bit the soft skin, because he couldn’t help himself.  She gasped softly, and then giggled at the delightful and ticklish feeling of his mouth against the spot.  Her hands tighten a bit in his hair.

Eventually, once he’s left a decent purple mark on her neck, she tugs on his hair, pulling his lips back to hers needily.  She’s delicate as she glides over the seam of his lips with her tongue.  Richie isn’t so sweet as he gladly tangles his own tongue with hers.

When she’s the one to win the battle for dominance, she smirks against his lips.  But Richie’s quick to retaliate, turning her suddenly, and pushing her backwards until she runs into the wall.

Her lips detach from his as she grunts at the surprise contact, and her eyes shoot up to his out of annoyance.

“Jesus, fucking watch it” She mutters.

She grabs the collar of his jacket and yanks his lips back down to hers anyways, already craving more contact.

Kissing Richie Tozier is exactly as she expected, or more accurately dreamed, it would be.  Bliss.  Passionate.  Hot.

She hastily shoves his jacket down his shoulders, and then practically clawed the sleeves off of his arms.  As soon as it was discarded, his hands slammed into the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.  She loves it.

She wonders if he’s really gotten her addicted to his lips in a matter of two minutes.

After a few more kisses, she confirms that he has.

Her arms wrap around his neck and she can’t hold back a smile.

They part for a moment, and then rush to his bed.

(y/n’s) giggling as Richie crawls over her, one hand caressing her cheek while the other is pinned to the bed as not to crush her.  His thumb brushed over her cheekbone sweetly.

“You’re sure?” He asks, suddenly worried that he was rushing her.

But she nods, excitedly, and pulls his face down so she can kiss him again.

“But like-” Richie pulls away.  “You’re sure you’re sure? Like absolutely positive?”

“Richie,” She laughs, shaking her head a bit.  “Yes”

And that’s how it happened. ___

[ but i guess that’s love, i can’t pretend… i can’t pretend... ]

(y/n) had known Richie pretty much her whole life.  And they’d always gotten along, despite his big mouth and his tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.  She found it endearing that he would call her hot stuff and then his face would go bright red, knowing he’d made a mistake.

But the thing was, that changed the day after they’d hooked up.  They were still friends, they still hung out, and it wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it was different.  He didn’t call her cute names anymore, not even sweetheart.  He stuck solely to his nickname for her.

She wasn’t sure if it was because of their incident, or because she was seeing someone.  It often felt like she was walking on eggshells around him, unsure of what to say or do.  It was like as soon as they’d crossed the line between friends and more than friends, she wasn’t sure how to go back to being just friends.

And she hadn’t ever thought of Richie as boyfriend material.  Even when they’d hooked up, she hadn’t considered the idea of being with him romantically.  Sure, he was attractive and funny and… charismatic, exciting, and somehow tender at the same time-”

“Babe..? Babe?”

(y/n) snapped back to reality, spinning around to see her boyfriend standing behind her.  He gave a short laugh before nodding to the dish in her hand that she must have been scrubbing for a few minutes now.

“Daydreaming?” He asks, while she bashfully set the very clean plate on the counter.

“Something like that” She replied, and went on to cleaning the next dish.

They’d had a nice dinner, one they both prepared.  She thought it would be fun to cook with him, maybe they would even listen to music and dance around the tiled floor.  But her boyfriend wasn’t that kind of guy, and this wasn’t a romantic comedy.

Richie would dance in the kitchen with me-

“So!” (y/n) spoke, a little too loud as she tried to rid her own thoughts from her head.  “Movie?”

Her boyfriend grinned, and gave her a thumbs up before leaving the kitchen and heading to the living room to pick out a good movie for them to watch.

(y/n) went back to distracting herself with doing the dishes.  But her pesky thoughts kept on getting in the way of her task.

Thinking of Richie in a romantic light made her feel dazed.  He was Richie.  Trashmouth Tozier, the boy she grew up with that was infamous for trying to ride his bike off the cliffside at the quarry.  He wasn’t someone you had a crush on, he was someone you always had a dumb story about.

But besides that, it simply wasn’t fair of her to think of him this way.  They had both agreed that what they had was a one time thing, and it didn’t mean anything to either of them.  They were just friends, and that was all either of them wanted to be.

At least, that’s what she’d always told herself.

But when she thought back on last summer, all she could remember was how badly she wanted him to kiss her that whole night.  And when he finally had… it felt like she was flying.

Drying the last dish, she left it on the counter, and forced herself to relax on the couch with her boyfriend.

Whatever movie he’d picked, she’d never heard of, and it only took seven minutes of watching it for her to realize why.  It was boring.

She was so damn near close to passing out, even though he seemed excited to share it with her.

“Hey,” She hummed after half an hour of forcing herself to stay awake.  He hummed in response, but didn’t look away from the television.  

So she took matters into her own hands, and turned his head so she could kiss him.

She poured all of the passion that she could into the kiss, hoping to convey that she wanted him, and she wanted him now.

But how could she do such a thing when it wasn’t true? She simply wasn’t convincing enough.  Not to him, or herself.

Defeated, she pulled away from him, and by the look on his face, she knew that he sensed her disappointment.  Which was ironic, because he had never been in sync with her emotions in the last four and a half months they’d been together.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

There was a deep frown on her face, and her eyes were so apologetic that he just knew what was coming next.

“I’m sorry” She mumbled out.

“(y/n)...?” He was hoping that by some miracle she wasn’t about to break up with him.

“I can’t do this anymore” She finished weakly, voice cracking a bit as her throat burned with tears.

“What do you mean?” He asked.  “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She didn’t say anything, just shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep herself from crying.  It would be pathetic if she broke up with him and she was the one to cry about it.

“Whatever it is I can work on it, we can fix it-”

“No, you can’t-”

“Yes I can-”

“You can’t fix this!” She shouted, not meaning to come off as angry, but her emotions had flustered her and it was making her frustrated.  “Because there’s nothing to fix, there’s nothing here” She clarified, her hands flying between them.

“What do you mean there’s nothing here?” He asked, sounding broken.  For a moment, she felt bad for saying something so cruel.  “Is there someone else?”

And then her guilt disappeared.

“What? Of course not-”

“Well there- there has to be!”

“Well there isn’t!” She shouted back.  “Jesus Christ, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be,” She rolled her eyes.  “I don’t feel anything, anything, for you! I thought with time that I could learn to love you, but I haven’t.  There’s no spark-”

He seized forward, taking her face in his hands and kissing her frantically.

But just as soon as his mouth crushed over hers, she shoved his shoulders with all the force she could muster, and leapt off of the sofa.

She was stunned to silence at first, surprised that he’d done something so dramatic and… disgusting.

“I’m done,” She said, heading for the door, and putting on her shoes and coat with lightning speed.  “Don’t fucking call me- don’t talk to me at school, I’m done”

He tried to call after her, but she slammed the door behind her as she stormed out, and ran down the sidewalk, just in case he had the idiotic idea to chase after her.

She slowed at the end of the block, mentally striking herself upside the head at the thought.  Of course he wouldn't chase after her.  It would be an act of passion for him to pursue her, and he would be in denial to think he was any more in love with her than she was with him.

It dawned on her that she’d been in denial for the past four months for thinking she could learn to love him.  You can’t learn to love anybody, it has to come naturally.  And there wasn’t one natural thing about their relationship.

She wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm in the chilly december air, and walked the rest of the way home.  She’d had enough of today, and just wanted to crawl into bed, and try not to cry. ___

When the doorbell rang, Richie ignored it.  Surely his parents would get it, and he could stay in bed.

When it rang again, he shoved his pillow over his head.

It wasn’t until the third time the sound rang that he remembered his parents were at an event in Augusta tonight.

So with a groan, and the realization that whoever it was, wasn’t going to go away, he dragged himself out of bed, and down the stairs.

It was almost midnight, who the fuck was a the door? He decided if it was some freshman ding-dong ditching him, that he’d run them down and ruin their shit.

When he whipped open the door, he also opened his can of whoop ass on the unsuspecting freshman.

“Do you realize that it’s the middle of the fucking ni-”

He shut up real fast when he realized it was (y/n) standing there, who now looked incredibly taken off guard to have been greeted so harshly.

“(y/n)?”

It was only then that he realized she was crying softly.

“Oh- oh my god, I’m sorry-  I thought you were-”

“It’s fine” She said, and then sniffled quietly.

“What- what are you-”

“I’m sorry, it’s not r-right of me to show up in the middle of the night,” She whimpered a little bit, and wiped her sleeve over her cheeks to get rid of her tears.  “I should go home-”

“No,” Richie reached out, taking her wrist and tugging her inside.  “Come in, stay” He rushed the words out while shutting the door, not wanting her to leave, and especially not like this.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop her own shivering.  She didn’t even want to look at Richie while crying, but at the same time-

“So what’s going on-?”

Before he could even finish talking, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

Richie stumbled a bit from the sudden force of her hug, but wrapped his arms around her nonetheless and hugged her tightly.

It was obvious that she was trying to stop crying in front of him, but she just couldn’t help it.

“Did something happen?” He asked, but received no answer.  “Are you hurt?”

He could feel her tears seeping into the fabric of his tee shirt.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He called softly, and pulled her away to look at her.  She kept her eyes shut, which made him chuckle, but eventually she looked up at him.  “Come on, (y/n/n),” He hummed.  “Talk to me”

She took in a deep breath, and Richie mentally prepared himself for whatever was going to come next.  It must be serious if she came to him instead of Beverly, or Eddie.

“I couldn’t have sex with him” She murmured.

Richie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and confusion, and a feeling he wasn’t quite sure of.  He never would have guessed that’s what had her so distraught.

“Um…”

“I know,” (y/n) cried out, tears streaming down her cheeks again.  “It’s pathetic, I’m so pathetic!”

“(y/n),” Richie said, setting his hands on her shoulders so she would calm down.  “You’re not- where is this coming from? Why are you so upset about this?”

It took her a minute to catch her breath, and her tears hadn’t really stopped flooding, but at least she could speak again.

“I broke up with him” She admitted.

Richie’s eyes widened, and again, she’d done what he’d least expected.  Her eyes were darting between his, trying to figure out what he was thinking.  But he looked so shocked, she couldn’t tell.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” She asked in a murur, her hands resting against his chest, and her body gravitating towards his a bit more from the sensitive question.

“I…”

He was having a hard time maintaining eye contact with her, his brain moving far too fast and his train of thought going in too many different directions for him to comprehend what he even thought.

“You do, don’t you?” (y/n) asked defeatedly.  “I should’ve tried harder- maybe I could have loved him-?”

“What? (y/n), no, don’t think like that,” He scolded her gently.  “If you didn’t feel anything, then that’s it, that’s the end, it didn’t work”

She stares down at her feet.

“(y/n)...” Richie sighed, lifting her chin softly with his hand.  “Did you even like him?”

She shrugged her shoulders, which was answer enough.

“Oh, (y/n),” His thumb stroked gently against her jaw, before he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her again.  “If you didn’t like him there was never even a chance of you falling in love- that’s just not how it works sweetheart”

(y/n) grabbed the back of his shirt in her fists, just wanting to hold onto him for a few moments longer.

“How’s it work?” She mumbled into his shoulder after embracing for a few moments.

“Well first of all, you don’t learn to do it, it just happens,” He chuckles, and his hands begin to rhythmically rub her back.  “And you won’t find them boring.  That guy was a sack of fucking potatoes (y/n/n) I don’t know what you were doing with him-”

“Yeah yeah I get it,” She cut him off before he could go on.  “What else?” Her voice was so soft, so full of curiosity for where these kind words were coming from, that she just had to know what more Richie thought about the subject.

“Well…” He hummed, still rubbing her back as he thought.  “You typically enjoy their company, more than anyone else’s, even if you won’t admit it,” He was thinking out loud.  “And they’ll always be the prettiest thing in your eyes- even when they won’t stop crying all over you” He teased.

She glared up at him, and wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

“Come on, be real,” She said.  “He was nice, and cute, and he really liked me, why wasn’t there a spark?”

He shook his head at her.

“Like I said.  Can’t learn to love someone, and you can’t force what isn’t there,” He shrugged.  “I’m sorry though.  You’re clearly bothered by it”

She wanted to explain that she wasn’t bothered by the breakup at all.  She was bothered by the mixup in her feelings.  By what she thought to be true- but wasn’t quite sure yet.

“You want tea? Or something?” He offered after she hadn’t spoken for a few beats.

“No,” She shook her head, and then stepped back from him.  “A blanket would be nice though? I had to walk the whole way here and it’s freezing”

Richie chuckled, and nodded.

“‘I’ll get one from upstairs.  Be right back”

He headed off rather quickly, taking the steps two at a time to get a blanket from his room.

The one time she’d stayed overnight, she’d really liked one of his- and he’d know, because she hogged it, and he had to wake her up to get her to share.  So he figured that one would do fine.

At the sound of a soft knocking at his door frame, he turned to see (y/n) standing there.

Her eyes were wandering around his room, mapping it out like it was her first time here.  However, she hadn’t been here since…

He didn’t miss the blush on her cheeks when her gaze landed on his bed, the covers messed up from his attempts to sleep earlier.  And then finally, she looked at him.

“Oh,” She smiled, and walked into the room, taking the blanket from his hands.  “You remembered” She said with a small laugh as she wrapped it tightly around herself.

It was still a little bit warmed, and smelled so distinctly like Richie, it made her want to melt into it.  And she nearly did for a moment.

“Well how could I you almost made me freeze to death that night”  He muttered teasingly.

“Fuck off, I did not” She played back, but her voice was much gentler than his.

He gave her a look as if to say ‘you did though’, which she only rolled her eyes to.

Deciding it’d be best to ignore him, she walked over to his dresser to excitedly play with his fish.  It didn’t do much, but it did swim back and forth in front of her finger, which was amusing enough.

“You… want to watch a movie?” Richie asked.

He didn’t want her to leave, but he didn’t know how to offer her to stay the night either.

“Sure” She answered, and followed him downstairs.

Richie made her pick the movie, that way whatever they watched she wouldn’t lose interest in.

“What?” She’s asked when he tried to leave the room for popcorn.

“I said pick whatever you want so you actually watch it and enjoy it” Richie repeated himself, and was in the kitchen before he could see her face change expressions.

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest, and all she could do was stare at where he stood with his back to her.  She didn’t even bother looking at his DVD collection, and followed him into the kitchen.

“You want me to pick a movie I like?” She asked him.

Richie gave her a weird look over his shoulder as she set the timer on the microwave.

“What? Yeah” He answered.

“But you’ll hate it,” She said matter-of-factly.  “It’s a chick flick, it’s real cheesy, not even Eds would watch it with me”

“Okay?” Richie repeated.  “You setting me up to hate it?”

She stared at him skeptically, and Richie had a similar look on his face, but only because he was very confused.

“Just pick a movie, (y/n/n), anyone’s fine” He chuckled.

He pulled the bag of popcorn out of the mic when it beeped, and dumped it’s contents into a large bowl.  When he turned back around, (y/n) was still standing there.  His brows furrowed, and he popped a kernel into his mouth.

“Would you dance with me?” She asked him.

Her volume was so soft he almost didn’t catch what she’d said, but when he processed the words, he was sure he’d heard her wrong.

“What?”

“Would you dance with me?” She repeated, a bit more clearly.  “If I asked?”

“Is…. that what you want to do?” Richie spoke unsurely, trying to figure out what part of the breakup process ‘dancing’ would fall under.  He shoved more popcorn into his mouth.

“I just wanna know” She shrugged.

“I mean, sure, but then the popcorn would get cold, it’s only good when it’s-”

“Richie” She mumbled, and by some miracle he actually heard her, and stopped rambling.  He knows from the way she’s staring at him, and the sudden softness in her voice that something’s up.  He waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t.

“What?” He feels like he’s lost, because he really has no idea what’s going on with her tonight.  This breakup had really thrown her for a loop, he supposed

“Nothing” She shook her head, and before he could question her about her strange behavior, snatched the popcorn bowl and made a break for the living room.

When they got settled on the sofa and the movie (y/n) picked began to play.  They were sat side by side, the bowl of popcorn separating them.  She tucked her feet up underneath her in an attempt to be more comfortable, and kept on fussing with the blanket.  It was like no matter how many times she readjusted, she just couldn’t get settled.

Eventually, she sighed, and looked over at Richie.

Low and behold, he was completely wrapped up in the plot of the movie, and hadn’t noticed a thing.  (y/n) smiled at this, loving that he’d actually gotten into her lame romantic comedy.  She leaned her head back on the cushion as she admired him.  He was so serious when he was focused on something, his jaw set in place, eyes trained on the screen.  It was so cute how drawn into the movie he really was.

Something happened that made him laugh, and he turned to (y/n) to crack a joke about it, but whatever he was about to say was lost on him when he caught her eyes already locked on him.

“Would you do it again?” She asked, before he could think of anything to say.  He doesn’t have to ask her to clarify what she means, because he knows, he can tell by the way she’s studying him.  “Ever?” She adds in a mumble after he’s been quiet for just a beat too long.

“Well, that’s a trick question now isn’t it?” He chuckles, but she shakes her head.

“No,” She speaks softly, “It’s not, I’m just wondering,”

She’s looking up at him so innocently that he wonders what sparked this question.  Not that he hadn’t been thinking about it every minute of every day for the past four and a half months or so.  He just didn’t think it ever crossed her mind.  They had sworn to each other that it was a one time thing, no pesky strings or feelings attached.  And Richie had thought she’d stuck to that promise pretty well- mostly because not a week later she’d gotten asked out, and then she dated the guy for a while.  

“There’s no wrong answer, Rich,” She giggles, a nervous little sound that was the result of her heart doing backflips in her chest.  “Really”

His eyes flicker between her impatient ones, testing to see if that were really true.

“Kind of” He says.

Her brows furrowed, signaling that there apparently was a wrong answer, and he’d said it.

“Kind of-?”

“Well, there’s a lot I’d do differently” He muses with a shrug of his shoulders, before she could get upset and ask him just what the hell ‘kind of’ means.

She angles her body a bit more towards his, waiting eagerly to hear what he has to say.  But he gives her a confused look.

“What would you do differently?” She asks.  She sounds restless, and Richie chuckles to himself.  “Come on, really”

“For starters, I wouldn’t have chosen to do it at my own houseparty.  Someone busted the coffee table you know, and I blame you for that-”

“What else?” She asks abruptly.

“Alright well,” Richie huffs, deciding there was no turning back now, because she was already more than eager to hear what he was thinking.  “Also probably should’ve been a little more sober, just a little,” She laughed quietly, but didn’t speak so that he’ll keep talking.  “And I would’ve grabbed an extra blanket, had I known you were a blanket hogger”

She laughs again, and this time he laughs with her.  It’s a sweet moment, for it being so vulnerable.

“And I would’ve made sure you didn’t go in the morning” He confesses, in the midst of their laughter.  (y/n’s) laughter stops instantaneously.

“What?” She murmurs, like she’d heard him wrong, because she must have heard him wrong.

“Yeah,” He shrugs.  “I wouldn’t have let you go”

She blinks, stunned.

“You wanted me to stay?” She asks, a sweet little whisper that was bound to make everything come crashing down.

“Of course I did,” Richie chuckles.  “I’d be an idiot to let you- I was an idiot to let you go.  I hated that feeling,”

She’s silent again, her lips parted as the more he explained himself, the more surprised she was.

“It felt like- like I’d made the biggest mistake of my life- and trust me sweetheart, sleeping with you was a miracle- but if I could do it over again I wish that I could’ve...um…”

She’s waiting, hanging on to every word he spoke.  She doesn’t realize that she’s leaning closer to him, too antsy to wait for him to find his voice.

“(y/n/n) if I’m being honest then I would’ve told you how I felt- about you- that night”

“How you felt about me?” She repeats in disbelief, and then sits upright on the couch, realizing they’re only a few inches away from one another.  

Richie watches her as she takes the popcorn bowl and sets it to the side.  And then leans back in towards him again, giving him her undivided attention.

“And how did you feel about me?” She murmurs.

Her hands set on his wrists, grasping onto them softly as his hands reach out to wrap around her waist.

“How didn’t I feel- Jesus I liked you so much I lost my fucking mind when you wanted me too”

Once he’s holding her firmly, she lets go of his hands to rest her palms on his shoulders, tilting up towards him to be more at his height.  Even sat on the couch Richie practically towered over her.

“I didn’t know it was more to you than a quick fuck” She hums.  Her voice is too sweet to be saying something so filthy, and it makes him chuckle just a bit.

He couldn’t help but tug her hips forwards, small prod really, but she took the bait and swung her leg over his lap.

“There was nothing quick about it sweetheart,” He teases, and as she situates herself on his lap, he releases one of his hands from her waist to gently trail his fingers over her throat, until his hand settles against the side of her neck.  She’s blushing, but she’s smiling with anticipation.

He pulls her towards him a bit, and the tip of her nose presses against his cheek, her lips barely ghosting his.  When her eyes flickered shut, Richie smirks

“And you were never a quick fuck”

She leans in, wanting nothing more than to kiss him and never stop.  There was more electricity between them in this moment than she’d ever felt with her ex, and the realization made her feel like she was alive again.

Just as her moment of liberation is about to happen, the doorbell rings.

Richie brushes it off and cups her cheek, leaning in to kiss her anyways, but then his visitor started screaming.

“Richiieeee!” The distinct voice of Eddie Kaspbrack rings out from the other side of the door.  “Dude! Open up! I got some drama for you!”

Richie and (y/n) turn to look at each other, equally confused.

“Let’s just pretend he’s not there” Richie says, making her giggle as he finally tries to kiss her.

And then Eddie lets himself in.

“I’m coming in!” He announces, and shuts the door behind him.  “You’re not gonna believe this! (y/n) broke up with-”

It doesn’t surprise the couple on the couch when Eddie stops talking, and stares wide eyed and open mouthed.

“What the fuck is going on here!?” He’s screaming, which also isn’t a surprise, but it’s very upsetting.

(y/n) calmly slides off of Richie’s lap, and he lets go of his hold on her.

“Nothing” They say at the same time, unconvincingly.

“You were on his lap-” Eddie accuses.

“I-”

“You were kissing-!”

“No-?” Richie tries.

“You guys have been fucking this whole time!” He screeches.

“No!” Richie and (y/n) speak simultaneously again.

“Wait,” (y/n) walks over to Eddie.  “How did you know I broke up with-”

“He called me” Eddie shrugged.

“What?”

“Yeah, he was trying to call you, but you never picked up.  Clearly you weren’t home, because you were here, letting Richie get in your pants- jesus fuck (y/n) I thought you had better standards-”

“Stop it” (y/n) hissed, before frustratedly running her hands through her hair.

Richie shot up from the couch, walking over in hopes of convincing her to sit back down and relax again.  But she shrugged off his hand and continued to pace around between him and Eddie.

“Very uncool, dickwad” Richie muttered to Eddie, who gave him an exasperated look and flipped him off.

“Why’d you come here then?” (y/n) spoke up.

“Um… huh?” Eddie played stupid.

“Why’d you come here? If my ex called you looking for me, why’d you come to tell Richie the news?”

Eddie and Richie shared a look, only making the girl more confused.

“I- well I thought you’d be here, you know, for support-”

Eddie shut up when the girl narrowed her eyes in disbelief.  He was never a good liar, and (y/n) had a pretty good bullshit detector.

“This isn’t important,” Eddie shook his head.  “What’s important is that he’s heartbroken, and looking for y-”

“I don’t care,” (y/n) said with a humorless chuckle as she crossed her arms over her chest.  “I don’t fucking care! He’s the worst, and he’s insane to think that he was ever in love with me.  Had a real boring way of expressing it-”

“Uh, I’m not here to tell you to get back together with him” Eddie said before she could yell anymore.

“What are you here for, then?” (y/n) asked.

“I could ask you the same thing” Eddie shoots back, and smirks victoriously between the two.

Richie’s just standing there, knowing better than to open his mouth.  If he did, something bad would slip and he knew it, so he stared down at the ground.

(y/n) puckers her lips, casting a glance to Rich before back to Eddie.

“Well?” The asthmatic boy asks.  “What the fuck were you guys up to?”

“None of your business,” Richie says before (y/n) has the chance to say anything.  “You should go, Eds, I’ll call you tomorrow.  We’re busy”

“With what?” Eddie’s practically daring Richie to confess.

“We’re watching a movie, don’t make me fucking kick you out”

Eddie rolls his eyes, bored with the lack of drama, and then heads for the door.

As soon as he closes it, he whips it open again, pointing an accusatory finger at the pair left standing there, as if he’d caught them in the act.

“Go, Eds” They both say, with the utmost annoyance in their voices.

This time when he left, they both watched the door, as if waiting for him to jump back into the room again.  When it was clear he’d actually gone this time, (y/n) let out a sigh of relief.

She looked at Richie, and then back to the couch, where the movie, the popcorn bowl, and her blanket were left unattended.

“I should probably g-”

“You wanna stay the night?” Richie asked before she could finish her sentence, and her eyes shot up to his.

“Really?” She asked in disbelief.

Richie just nodded, and so she hesitantly nodded back.

“Okay” She agreed softly.

“I’ll find something for you to sleep in,” He told her.  “You can finish the movie if you want” And with that he headed up the stairs.

At this point, she was more confused than ever.  She had no idea where her and Richie stood now, the line between friendship and something… else… was so warped in her mind that she couldn’t tell how he felt anymore.

Richie came back down a few minutes later, finding her sat on the couch with the movie paused and the popcorn bowl in her lap.  He grinned as he handed her a long sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants that looked very soft.

After changing quickly in the bathroom, she concluded they were the coziest things she’d ever worn.  And Richie’s scent and laundry detergent lingered in them, making every inhale of breath she took be inviting.

When she came back out, Richie was on the couch, just waiting.  His back was turned to her, and she could tell he was drumming his hands on his legs, a frequently done nervous habit of his.

She stood there for a moment, too anxious to walk over and sit with him like nothing had happened in the last half hour.  Even though with everything that’s happened, her heart was beating a mile a minute with no end in sight.

Richie must’ve realized she was there, because he turned and made a face as if to ask why she was just standing there.

His expression softened though when his eyes landed on her figure.  She looked so goddamn cute in his clothes that were just a bit too big for her.  And by just a bit, I mean the sleeves kept falling over her hands and the waistband of the sweatpants had probably been rolled three times to keep the fabric from barely touching the ground.

He thought he was gonna have a stroke.

“You gonna come sit, sweetheart?” He finally spoke, “Or just stand there and look pretty all night?”

She laughs, and the tension in the room thins out a little as she makes her way over to sit with him again.  Richie plays the movie again, and just like before, gets sucked right into it.

(y/n) sort of watches it, but has little attachment to what’s going on.  Her mind is too busy processing everything, there was no capacity to keep an eye on a film as well.

The popcorn bowl is empty, so she can’t distract herself with eating.  And she’s already tapping her fingers on her knee to a made up beat in her mind.  How Richie is able to actually watch this movie right now is beyond her.

“(y/n)?” He asks, and she realizes he’s been staring at her for a while, trying to get her attention.  She hums in response.  “Do you want me to shut off the movie?”

Her eyes are wide as they meet his.

“W-why?” She stammers out.

“Because you aren’t paying attention at all,” He chuckles.  “Are you tired? It is like… one in the morning”

“Uh- yeah, I-I guess” She stumbles over her words again, and balls up the fabric of her blanket in her hands.

He gives her a dorky little smile, and then stands to turn off the tv.  She watches him grab the empty bowl before leaving the room.

She gets up to follow him into the kitchen, but he waved her off.

“You should go up to bed,” He says.  “I’ll finish up down here”

She doesn’t know what else to say, so she follows the instructions.

It dawns on her that she hasn’t told her parents that she won’t be coming home tonight, but as she gets situated in Richie’s bed with her new favorite blanket, she just can’t seem to care.  She decides a lecture when she comes home tomorrow is worth it.

She’s under all the covers, and her face is buried deep into a pillow when Richie finally comes up.  He smirks at how settled she’s already gotten.

“You sleeping already?” He asks quietly, and her eyes open to smile at him.

“No, ‘m waiting” She hums, before snuggling her face back into her pillow.

“Waiting?” He asks, and walks closer to hear her better.

“Mhm”

“For… Santa?”

“For you, dummy,” She giggles softly, and then makes a grabby hand towards him.  “Hurry up”

He laughs, and shakes his head at her, before kneeling onto the bed.

“I kinda thought I should sleep on the-”

“In here,” She whispers, hand finding his wrist and latching onto it.  “With me, please” She adds in a much softer voice, like she’s embarrassed to ask, and he knows that she is.

“Okay…” Richie hesitantly gets under the covers.  “As long as that doesn’t bother you”

“It didn’t before” She replies casually.

Her eyes are closed, but he smiles warmly at the comment.  He thinks she’s falling asleep, but he was wrong, because her hand trailed from his wrist so that her fingertips were pressed into his palm.

“Richie?” She calls quietly.

He hums.

Her eyes open, and she squirms a little closer to him, finding comfort in the heat he radiated.

Her fingers slot into the spaces between his perfectly, and she grasps his hand tight.

“You weren’t a quick fuck for me either,” She admits gently.

He can see in her eyes that she’s uncertain, that she’s nervous to say anything, so he squeezes her hand to reassure her that she can tell him anything.

“And I wanted you long before that night, I just… um…” She licks her lips anxiously before continuing.  “I didn’t think that you uh… actually wanted me, you know, like, more than…” She doesn’t finish her thought, but she doesn’t have to.

Richie gives her a smile, and then reaches his free hand out to brush his knuckles over her cheek.  She smiles back at the comforting touch.

“You’ll stay in the morning?” He whispers, and she nods, brows drawn together as her smile widens.  “Good” He breathes out in relief.

They lean in simultaneously, and their lips touch in a soft and sweet kiss.  (y/n) relishes in how her lips seemed to have his committed to memory, and she melts against him once again.

She pushes forward so that her body is flush against his, and her free hand is holding his shirt in a fist.  She’s filled with more love and lust and happiness that a girl can be, practically overflowing with it, even.

Richie pulls away too soon for her liking, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear tenderly before meeting her gaze.

“If anyone asks,” He tells her, “That was our first kiss”

(y/n) giggles, and nods her head before kissing him sweetly again.

“Okay” She agrees.

His fingers comb through her hair for a few moments, and he contemplates laying here, like this, with her, for the rest of his life.  The quiet moment is so serene, so perfect, that he can’t imagine ever being happier than he is right now.

(y/n) whispers something, but it’s so soft that he only catches her lips moving.

“What?” He muses, and instantly there’s a pink blush blooming across her cheeks.  “What?” He asks again, this time chuckling at her bashfulness.

“I love you…” She murmurs, only darkening her blush.

Richie pulls her into his chest, wrapping her up in his arms as he cradles her close for the night.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” He responds with a kiss to the top of her head.  “Let’s do it right this time, okay?”

“M’kay” She hums back delightedly, already beginning to fall asleep in his arms.

It took months of agony and confusion to get here, but it couldn’t be clearer now.  This is what love was supposed to feel like.  She hadn’t learned to love before because that’s simply not how it works.  Her heart already belonged to someone else, and she hardly even knew it.  But now, it and she were all his, and he’d take good care of them.

[ i guess that’s love, i can’t pretend. ]

___

taglist: @fiantomartell​ @lemonypink @darling-egg​​

xoxo ~ jordie

[platypanthewriter]

Breeze

Harringrove April Prompt 20: Breeze Billy doesn't know what's the most nightmarish about Hawkins--the stuff he can see, or the stuff he can't.

Billy’d been just gonna drop Max off at the Sinclair place, but then the sky turned green with the sounds of screaming, and somebody—who turned out to be Lucas—ran towards them from the house, and banged on the window.  “Tornado!  Get in the storm cellar!” he yelled, through the noise and the dust, and waved them to park in the barn.  

Billy didn’t wanna admit he was spooked, but he definitely walked a little faster than a saunter to that door in the ground.  It was pitch black inside, and he kept bumping into Max, who swore at him.  “I can’t see where I’m going!” she hissed, and Billy growled, “I can’t stand up,” from where he was still wedged against the door.  

“Come down heeeeeere,” came the voice of one of Max’s little shithead friends, the curly one.  “We have a ouija board.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Max said, and Billy heartily agreed, biting his lips together.  

“It’s traditional!” said Curly, lighting a candle, and Max groaned.  He lit five candles in a circle, which looked creepy as shit, because they were all blowing in the same direction—into the darkest part of the cellar, not even something logical, towards or away from the door.  Billy tried not to wonder what was in the darkest corner, sucking up the light.  

Nobody wanted to sit there, he noticed, all the kids gathering around the other side, so Billy had to man up and sit with his back facing the sucking darkness, a soft breeze bringing up goose pimples all along his shirtless spine.  “Where the hell are your parents,” he growled, half wondering, half wishing there was an actual adult around so he could ask how likely he was to find a cow halfway through his Camaro after the tornado went through.

“They got sucked up in the last tornado,” said Lucas’ little sister, and Billy stared at her for a long second, until Max and Curly started snickering. 

“Ask for Great-grandma,” Little Shithead Sinclair said, elbowing her brother.  “She died in the kitchen,” she told Billy, who glared back at her.  

“Fuck off,” he said.

“No, that’s actually true,” Curly said, grinning over.  “It might have been murder.”

Billy hated them all.

“Our old dog used to stare at her, wandering around the spot where she died,” Lucas said, his mouth twitching.

“Where she was murdered,” his sister whispered, like a ghoul.

“It gets really cold in their kitchen,” Max reported, and Billy glared at her, wondering why the fuck everyone in Hawkins was weird as shit, and why he was in their creepy fucking house, when suddenly the whole cellar lit up, and filled with the sound of screaming wind like a passing freight train.  

“Hey!  Everybody’s down here, huh?” came Steve Harrington’s voice, and Billy wished he was dead.  Harrington yanked the cellar door shut again, humming like a lunatic as he walked from death into the basement of a haunted house.  

Lucas shifted closer to Tiny Evil Sinclair to make room, Max, the traitor, shifted close to Lucas, and all the space was left around Billy.  

Harrington stopped when he saw him.  “Oh,” he said, then, “—uh.”  He grimaced, and then sat down between Billy and Curls, and Billy just set his jaw, keeping his eye on the ouija board.

“Oh!” Harrington said again, like a genius.  “Ghosts, huh?”

“Just my great-grandma,” said Lucas, and Max nodded, like oh, yeah, the Sinclair fuckin’ murdered grandma ghost, of course.

“Can she check for…” and here Harrington honest-to-god side-eyed Billy, like he wasn’t supposed to know about their freaky Hawkins bullshit.  “You know,” Harrington whispered.  “Other things?”

“Ohhhh,” said Lucas, like that made sense, and Billy wanted to shake both of them and yell “What fucking other things, Harrington?!” but he just glared at Max, biting his lips.  

The little coward avoided his gaze.

“How far can she look?” Harrington asked, like they were doing got-damn military reconnaissance, and Billy leaned over and punched Max’s leg, so she’d look up.  She didn’t.

Steve reached out and put his hands on the ouija board thing, with Max and Curly and Smallest Sinclair, and it sped over to ‘no’.  The house rattled around them.

“Wait,” Lucas said.  “Does that mean they’re not out there, or she can’t?” and Billy was left to hope they were all united in fucking with him, because he did not want to know what was creepy enough to send a ghost to surveil.  

They got super into it, even drawing a map of Hawkins in the dirt on the floor, while Billy noticed the shelves and shelves of lumpy reddish substances in jars, and peered closer, wondering whether he was about to become an organ donor.  The wind was so strong the weighted door was slamming in a regular rhythm, like a heartbeat.  

“It’s jam,” Max hissed, and he nodded, like he hadn’t jumped at her voice.

“Out by the Steelworks,” Steve said.  “Better all stay away from there.  Hopper and his deputies can check it out, okay.”  He glared around, and Curly and Lucas rolled their eyes and nodded, Max glowered back, crossing her arms, and Tiny Ghoul Sinclair snorted a laugh.  “I mean it,” Steve said, glaring even at Billy, who raised his eyebrows.  “We might not get so lucky next time.”

Billy just raised his eyebrows back, thinking he was damned if he was going anywhere these freaks thought was creepy.  “What,” he said.

“Don’t go out there,” Harrington repeated.

“Gee, I really wanted to,” Billy sneered.  “Steelworks.  Sounds rad.”

“No, don’t,” Max said, sounding shaken.  “Billy.”

“What the fuck is out there,” Billy blurted, and they all kinda...glanced at each other.  

“Guys,” Harrington hissed.

“....ummmmm,” said Tiny Sinclair, kinda sing-songing it, and Billy ignored her to glare at Max.  

“Uh,” she said, wincing.

“Clayface?” Curly said, and Lucas screwed his face up in thought, slowly nodding.

“What?” Steve asked, frowning at them.

“I don’t read comics,” Billy said, which was a dumb thing to say, because they both stared at him.

“How’d you know he was from a comic, then?” Curly asked, raising his eyebrows, and Billy groaned.  “It looks like somebody you know, right, but it’s not,” Curls told Max, who groaned.

“Bullshit,” Billy growled, but looked over to see Harrington biting his lips together, his eyebrows raised.  

“Nobody can hear us in this,” Max said, suddenly.  “Nobody.  Nobody is listening.  We can just—tell him.”

“Who the fuck would be listening to you,” Billy bit out, but everyone scooted closer to the candles.  

“You know Will Byers,” Max said, glancing over her shoulder.  “He disappeared last year.”

If they hadn’t all looked so shaken, and if Harrington hadn’t gone along, his knuckles whitening as he flexed his fists, Billy wouldn’t even have listened—but he had nowhere to be, and even if Max was insane, her version of the last few months in Hawkins answered some questions.  

When they got to the day Billy’d chased Max all over hell and gone when she knew he’d get in trouble, he gritted his teeth, but kept listening.  

“You know this sounds crazy, right,” he said, and Max sighed.  

“I’ve got a picture of one in my wallet,” Curls said, whipping it out, and handing over a bent photo of something huge and slippery-looking wedged in a fridge.  

“...what the fuck is that,” Billy breathed, and they all leaned in around the candles, pointing out stuff in the photo, and talking about Steve Harrington like he was a superhero.  

“So you can’t go out to the Steelworks,” Max said, glaring over, and Billy held back a laugh.

“I didn’t want to!” he told her.  “I’m not going near anything you all think is creepy,” he snorted, gesturing at the whole world around them, and Steve cocked his head, then nodded, like Billy had a point.

The wind outside sounded even louder—they were all shouting to be heard—and the breeze towards the darkest corner hadn’t stopped.  The breeze licked up Billy’s neck, and he full-body shuddered.  It was really cold, back there, and Billy scooted back over next to Harrington, who gave him kind of a weird look, but then went back to their creepy map with big X’s on it.  They kept saying things like “How many,” and “—that’s not good, that could be infecting…”

“Stop fucking with me,” Billy muttered.  “You’re just moving that thing yourself.”

“What?!” Max said, and Lucas opened his mouth, and then closed it, setting his jaw.  

“Let him do it,” said Curly, and Tiny Shitstirrer Sinclair grinned evilly.  

“Why the fuck would I want to,” Billy asked, but Max grabbed his hand and smacked it down.  

“Close your eyes,” she said.  

It did feel like it was tugging, and he did hold it in fucking place, because all he had left was denial.  “See?” he said.  “It didn’t move.”

The candles blew out at the same time, into the direction of the fucking haunted breeze from behind Billy, and everyone yelled, Billy the loudest, half falling into Harrington.  

Harrington started laughing, silently, Billy could tell, but it was pitch black and the wind was still screaming outside, and as Lucas lit the candles again, the plastic pointer thing in Billy’s hand moved to I—A-M—H-E-R-E.  He yanked his hand back, wanting to punch Harrington, just as the cellar door blew open, rain blew in, pelting around them, and the candles blew out again.  Billy grabbed for the nearest anything, and found Harrington’s arm.

“It’s okay, Hargrove, I’ll protect you,” Harrington said, laughing, and Billy was ready to shove him away and stumble off into the freezing cold basement, when Curly’s voice laughed shakily.  

“Yeah, you better.”

“S’what I’m here for, right?  You okay, Erica?  Max?  Lucas?” Harrington asked, and they said they were, but they sounded rattled.  Billy didn’t lean into Harrington, but he didn’t move away, either, and then he thought of the candles, patting towards them as Harrington stood up.  The door clattered shut again, and it didn’t bang.

“I put the board across this time,” Harrington said, as Billy lit a candle.  

There was movement behind the Shittiest Sinclair.  Billy squinted, as his stomach dropped.  “Everybody behind me,” he said hoarsely, trying to make something different out of what his eyes were telling him about the dark shape on the floor in the flickering candlelight.  

“What?!” she asked, glaring at him, and he said it louder, trying to keep his voice even.  

“Everybody get behind me right now.”  

Harrington glanced at his face and then grabbed Curly and tiny Sinclair, shoving them at Billy, and Billy took a shaky breath of relief, pulling them closer as the coiled snake in the corner raised its head.  Steve swore and grabbed Lucas, as Max yelped, seeing it finally, and scrambled towards Billy.

“Cottonmouth,” said Curly.  “Water moccasin.  Should leave us alone, over here.”

“Shit,” Harrington breathed, stepping close to Billy, so the raised hairs on the back of their arms brushed.  

“Are they poisonous,” Max hissed at Lucas, who was pushing her behind Billy, while glaring at his little sister.  The snake eased back down, shutting its mouth instead of the eerie white gape.  In the light of only two candles, it was nearly invisible again.

“They’re in the viper family,” Curly breathed, staring.  “So it will just rot your flesh.”

“What,” Steve said, which was what Billy was thinking.  

“It’s called necrosis, it’s like gangrene,” Curly said cheerfully, and Billy kinda wanted to feed him to the snake.  “It’s way better than anything that causes nervous system damage!”

“Probably down here to get away from the tornado,” Lucas sighed, and they stayed there, because every time one of them ventured forward, the snake raised its head.  Smallest Sinclair kept trying to wedge her way out, and Billy shoved her back.  

The portal to the nether realms or whatever the fuck was still behind them—probably the Upside-Down, Billy thought, shivering from actual cold the way he never thought he would in the summer in Hawkins Indiana.  Harrington kept shooting him glances, like there was something weird about standing as far as possible from a huge poisonous snake when you couldn’t leave a basement the size of a bathroom.  They finally slid back down to sit against the ground and the wall, pressed up against each other in the darkness.

“...there’s some kind of...wind back here,” Max muttered, used to such things, probably, in Hawkins Indiana.  Billy’s little fucking sister would probably be one of those old ladies in zombie movies that ran into a zombie and hit it with her purse, he thought, biting back a grin.  He kept his mouth shut, for once, because he’d been sweating in his car on the drive over, and now the fucking graveyard breeze had him shuddering with cold.  

When the tornado outside finally slowed, Harrington tapped Lucas’ shoulder.  “Go unbar the door,” he said, watching the snake.  Lucas slid out and did so, and then Small Evil Sinclair, and Billy realized he was going to be alone in the basement with Harrington, and Harrington’s grudge.

Curls and Max went last, and then it was just Billy and Harrington—and Billy couldn’t stop shivering, in no shirt, with the soft, freezing cold breeze wafting against his arms, back, and neck.  Everybody would believe Harrington, Billy realized, if he said Billy’d tried to fight a snake, and Billy grimaced, not liking what that said about his image.

“Close your eyes,” Harrington said, and Billy jerked his head up to squint at him through the darkness.  He could just make out a concerned frown, in the light from the open cellar door

“What?!” he hissed back.

“It’s fine, I’ll get you out of here,” Harrington told him, putting both hands on Billy’s biceps, like that made sense.  His hands felt like heaters in the haunted breeze, and Billy set his jaw and didn’t lean in.

“The hell are you t-talking about,” Billy tried to growl back, but he full-body shivered in the middle of his sentence, and Harrington gripped him tighter.  

“Shut your eyes, I’ll get you past the snake,” Harrington said against his ear, and Billy realized between his shuddering, and his reaction earlier...Harrington thought he was terrified of snakes.  “Come on,” Harrington said, “—I won’t tell anybody, just don’t look at it.  I’ll get you out.”

Billy stared back at him.  “...what,” he said, blankly.

“You can’t stay in this corner forever,” Harrington told him, frowning at the snake.  “They’re pretty chill, but I’m not just—leaving you down here.”  Billy shivered again, and Harrington’s frown deepened.  “Trust me.”

It was not how Billy’d thought the day would go—the fucking tornado, or the snake, but certainly not Steve Harrington trying to help him save face.  He nodded, finally, and Harrington insisted he close his eyes, and walked him over to the stairs, telling him every bump in the floor, and when to lift his feet for the stairs.  “You’re okay, it can’t reach you, it’d hit me first, even,” he kept saying, and stuff like it.  

“That was cool of you, putting yourself between it and Erica,” he said, off-handedly, and Billy wondered what the hell kind of person Harrington thought he was, that he’d hide behind a little girl, and then shivered again at Harrington’s breath on his neck and shoulder.  “Shit, if you hadn’t been down there, somebody coulda died,” he said, laughing shakily.  “I’ll get you away from snakes anytime, man.”

At the top of the stairs, he let go, and Billy stopped automatically, so Harrington walked into him.  “You can open your eyes now,” he laughed.  “...you okay?  You need anything?  Want something to drink?” Harrington asked, drawing him away from the storm cellar by the wrist, like Billy was having some kinda breakdown, just because he was a shivering mess.  He kinda wanted to keep playing it up, keep Harrington watching Billy like he needed protecting.  Billy rubbed his arms, but he didn’t pull his wrist out of Harrington’s grasp.

The yard was a mess of blown branches and trash, and Billy wondered, sinkingly, about his Camaro.  “...I owe you one,” he told Harrington, sighing.  “Two, I guess.  Hit me up.”

Harrington was silent for a long second, and then he nodded.  “...yeah,” he said, trailing off awkwardly, before changing the subject.  “Jesus, it was freezing down there next to that storm window,” he said, and Billy said, “...what?”

Steve pointed to a cracked chunk of plywood screwed just above the ground, and Billy realized it was right over his haunted devil’s corner.  “Didn’t you notice?” Harrington said, shivering.  “Kept letting in a breeze.”

"God fucking damn it," Billy breathed, his face heating as he started to laugh.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done! 

[voxymoxyboxy]

Scrapped Secret Santa Idea

While struggling to write for my AU drabbles, I was looking at my old writing and stumbled across this abandoned draft for the Sam and Max secret santa from last year! I read it and found that I still really liked it so I thought I would publish it on here for people to read! It’s not finished, but I do really like what I wrote. Please enjoy!

The familiar thrum of the microwave sounded through Sybil’s kitchen as she leaned against a nearby counter. Little pops began a few seconds later, the smell of butter and salt slowly, but surely, washing over her like a warm bath. Thin fingers drummed against the large plastic bowl in her hands. Rather than compose a new symphony for one- though that didn’t sound too bad for her next career-, Sybil decided to cross things off a mental list.

Comfortable pajamas pulled from the depths of a bottom drawer? Check.

Snacks? Enough to feel like utter garbage come morning.

Fluffy blanket? Spread on the couch just waiting to be wrecked by her guest.

Speaking of her guest… Sybil checked her watch. It was almost eight o’clock, the time when their little girl’s night was supposed to start. Supposed to, because Max wasn’t exactly known for his punctuality. The woman sighed. If she had to guess, the lagomorph would burst through her front door at about nine, a full hour late, wide smile on-

A knock on the door startled Sybil from her thoughts. The bowl clattered to the floor, but the women kicked it aside as she made her way through the living room. Whoever was waiting outside stopped for a second, only to be begin spamming the doorbell instead. Sybil quickened her steps.

“I’m coming!” she shouted. “Just give me a second!” The ringing continued, much to the woman’s dismay.

“Sybil!” a high-pitched voice called through the wood. “What you say in the bedroom’s none o’ my business!” Nearly banging her arm against the doorknob in her hurry, Sybil threw open the door to find Max, wide teasing smirk on his face clothed in nothing more than a flimsy scarf. His hands were clasped behind his back and he rocked back and forth on his heels.

The woman rubbed the bridge of her nose but returned the lagomorph’s smile. “Good to see you Max.” She stepped to the side to let him in. “Come on in.”

Max strutted inside, a bag the woman hadn’t noticed until then clutched in his paws. Sybil raised a brow when, instead of just dumping it on her carpet, the lagomorph gently placed the bag under the coffee table. Free from potential harm and the crumb zone, the woman noted. He jumped on the couch, already making himself at home by wrapping himself up in Sybil’s blanket like stuffing in a burrito.

“So.” The lagomorph eyed the snacks on the coffee table. The woman watched as Max snatched the largest chip bag of the bunch. Ripping it open, Max dug out a handful of salty goodness and stuffed it all in his mouth. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, crumbs spraying everywhere from talking with his mouth full.

Sybil grimaced. Tomorrow would be a clean-up day for sure. “I left Penny with a good friend of mine from work.”

“What is it this time? Graphic designer?” Max picked at his teeth. “Toy making? No!” He snapped his fingers. “Mall Santa!”

“Elf, actually.” Sybil said, making her way back towards the kitchen. “Hired me on the spot after finding out I’m a mother.”

“Must be desperate to avoid any lawsuits this year.” Max commented and dumped the rest of the bag down his gaping maw. “Probably don’t wanna lose another Santa.”

“Lose another Santa?” the woman parroted, confusion plain in her voice. “I don’t remember hearing anything about a Santa being arrested last year.” Max flattened out his blanket nest so his arms were now free to move about. He grabbed a soda and popped it open.

“Whaddaya mean?” The lagomorph took a small sip before continuing. “You were there! I kidnapped you that mornin’ to help me get a present fer Sam! Near ‘bout had a heart attack when he burst in and handcuffed the bastard.” He traced the rim of the can, ears drooping a bit before shooting right back up. “Right?”

Sybil had to tread carefully.

“The popcorn’s done. Why don’t you get it while I turn on the tv?” Max was silent for a beat. While subtle, she could see his jaw tighten, grin turning forced. The grip on his soda tightened, leaving tiny dents in the aluminum. And yet, just as quickly, Max was bouncing back. Literally, as he’d jumped to his feet.

“You actually trust me to go within six feet of yer microwave?” the lagomorph said. He brushed away an imaginary tear. “I’m touched!”

“Get going before I regret my decision.”

“You probably should.”

“Go.” The woman chuckled, playfully shoving him towards the kitchen archway. Max ‘harumphed’ and left the room. Sybil rolled her eyes. It was all just for show. The guy was a drama queen through and through. What had caught her eye were the muscles in Max’s shoulders. The habit leftover from her old job as a masseuse proved to be useful, for they were tense, almost like the lagomorph was preparing to fight.

Or flee.

Sybil reached over the side of the couch and pulled out the remote. After finding the device in Penny’s mouth one too many times, she’d decided to buy one of those stupid arm slings to hold it. Admittedly, it worked pretty well. She flicked the tv on, muting it before leaning to get comfortable. Flipping through channels, the woman looked for the right one. No, no, uggh, ah-ha! Now she could really get settled in.

Before she could really hunker down, Max slid in front of the flat screen. His back faced Sybil, pristine white fur now covered by a long-sleeved purple pajama shirt, both sleeves and matching pants rolled up. Bowl held over his head, he leaped back onto soft cushions, stray pieces flying to hit Sybil’s arm and leg. Her gaze traveled over Max and she stifled laughter with a hand as she saw what was hovering over his chest.

“Merry Christmas, Ho, Ho Hoes?” she read, giggles bursting through her fingertips. For the first time that night, Max’s smile turned genuine. The lagomorph puffed his chest out, pride radiating off his person.

“Jealous?” he nearly purred.

“Hardly.”

“Green doesn’t become you, Sybil.” Max sing-songed.

Said woman gasped. “I’ll have you know it brings out my eyes!”

“Whatever helps ya sleep at night!” Max shot back.

The two started at each other for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter. Some of the tension from before ebbed away as they clutched their quickly hurting middles. Wiping away small tears, she glanced over at her friend. A weight Sybil hadn’t known about lifted from her shoulders as the rabbit devolved into giggles, stray pieces of popcorn flying everywhere.

“You know,” Sybil scootched back to her side of the sofa, "I was wondering.”

“Bout what?” Max tossed a kernel and caught it with a loud crunch.

Sybil gestured towards the television. “Why Hallmark movies?” She tucked her legs under her. “I thought you hated those.”

Max froze, caught off-guard by the woman’s question. He recovered fast, face blank as his attention turned to the movie. The woman on the screen- the heroine, Sybil assumed- walked under a garden arch adorned with Christmas lights. A man followed close behind, a look of complete adoration gracing his features. Slowly, he plopped the dish onto the middle cushion.

“Yeah,” he brought his knees to his chest, “I do.”

“Then why…?”

Max buried himself in Sybil’s blanket. He placed his chin on his knees. “How long’ve we known each other, Sybil?”

Sybil tilted her head quizzically. “About two or three years now, I think.” She paused. “Why?”

Snow began falling in the movie. The woman laughed and pulled the man towards a tackily-decorated gazebo. He followed without fail, lips flapping as he probably spouted cheesy dialogue.

“It’s funny, ‘s all.” Max said, sad little smile on his muzzle. Sybil had a feeling he didn’t really mean it. “From what I remember, it’s been at least five. But then again,” the lagomorph tapped his head, “Never did have the best memory.”

“Don’t sell yourself short Max.” Sybil scooted closer and lightly placed a hand over Max’s. He flinched but didn’t move to rip the limb off. She took it as a good sign, welling with pride as she squeezed the paw. “You’re smarter than you think. But that’s not the real issue here, is it?”

“Dunno. You tell me Miss Psychotherapist.” The rabbit tried to crack a joke, but the woman wasn’t having it.

“Max.” she said, slightly increasing the pressure on his hand. By now the soon-to-be couple were sitting on a bench found in their temporary shelter, shoulders brushing while they talked. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. But know, as your friend, I’m here for you.”

Max tossed the words around in his head. He pulled his hand from Sybil’s and grabbed a mug from the table, whipped cream already melted into the warm cocoa. Holding it with both paws, the lagomorph took a deep breath.

“It happened a few years. You n’me were just fuckin’ around at one of our movie nights.” His grip tightened around the porcelain handle. “Landed on the channel and had the crappy idea to mute it and write our own story.” Patiently the woman waited as Max took another swig.

“Was so stupid.” the rabbit mumbled, corners of his mouth pulling up just so. “But fun. Were laughin’ our asses off by the end of the night. When I was ‘bout to leave, you suggested we do it every year and-“

“You wanted to keep the tradition going.” Sybil finished, voice wrought with understanding.

Max sent his friend a look, mouth shutting with a clack. “Somethin’ like that.” The rabbit’s gaze wandered back to the film, pang in his chest at the woman and man twining their fingers together. “Guess I just wanted something familiar in m’life.” he confessed.

Sybil peered at her friend intently. “…Have you told Sam?”

“Hell no!” Max said. “He’s the last one I wanna tell!”

“Is something going on between you two?”

“No.” he lied, thumb running over the edge of Sybil’s mug.

“Did he do anything? Because I know the guy can be dense sometimes-”

The lagomorph shook his head. “Yer readin’ too much int’ it Sybil.”

The heroine and hero were staring at each now, the camera rotating around the outside of the gazebo in a way that had to make some people sick.

“…Has he been distant lately?” Sybil tried, sadness clawing at her throat when Max’s ears pinned against his skull. “Do you know why?”

Max bit the inside of his cheek. “No. But what I do know,” the rabbit hugged the mug closer, “is that he’s been weird round me. It’s like…” he tugged at his pajama sleeves, racking his brain for the right words, “guy’s always on edge. Just yesterday me and Sam were caught n’ the middle of a few mafia goons.”

“Tis the season.” Sybil chimes in, prompting a snort from her friend.

“Bullets are flyin’ everywhere, the smell of gun smoke heavy in the air. I take two of ‘em down no prob but then,” Max furrows his brows, “then Sam just freezes up. Had ta save his sorry ass and off the rest myself. When I asked what happened, he tried to play it off like it was no big deal!”

“How long’s this been going on?”

“Not too long after we started dating.” The lagomorph sighed. At that moment, the man pointed out a sprig of mistletoe hung on the ceiling. Trapped like rats, the two hesitate but for a beat before kissing. “Makes me feel like, like-”

“You’re the problem.” 

Max pouted. “Stop that!”

Sybil chuckled. “Sorry. Force of habit. Still.” She placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. “You should tell him. You two may be terrible at talking about anything emotional, but Sam appreciates honesty.” The woman squeezed it and slid back to her claimed space. “He’ll listen. You’ve just gotta trap him somehow.”

[robinrunsfiction]

She’s The Prettiest Girl At The Party And She Can Prove It With A Solid Right Hook

Pairing: Dallon Weekes x Female Reader

Rating: General

Requested By: None

Word Count: ~3,900

Author’s Note: Wow, I started this story a LONG time ago. Like May. Anyway, I’ve always kinda liked the trope where one of the characters is from the wrong side of the tracks, but usually it’s the guy. Well I decided to change it around.

The frat house was packed with rowdy, drunk college kids, sweaty from the lingering heat of the day, as summer wasn’t giving up despite the school year starting. (YN) was with some friends, trying to finish her cup of warm, stale beer when the shoving started. She glanced over her shoulder to see a tall, lanky guy getting pushed around by one of the frat guys, her friend Abby’s ex-boyfriend Dave.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” Dave shouted at the other guy who looked rattled.

“Sorry dude, it was an accident,” the other guy replied, putting his hands up defensively.

“An accident?! You ruined my fuckin’ shirt!” Dave shouted, raising his fist. That’s when (YN) swung her fist right into the aggressor’s face. 

“Oh my god!” She cried out, trying to shake out the pain that shot through her hand as the frat brothers looked on in stunned silence. The whole party seemed frozen, staring at the scene.

“Out! Get them both out!” Dave shouted as he held his nose, blood joining the beer stains on his shirt.

Before (YN) could realize what was happening, rough hands were pushing her toward the door. The air outdoors felt refreshing and cool as she stumbled down the stairs and into someone.

“Oh my god, you hit that guy! He was gonna hit me and you hit him!” (YN) looked up and saw it was the guy she had jumped in front of. He still looked shocked, eyes wide.

(YN) laughed from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. “I did! Oh my god! Oh my god, we should get out of here!”

“Yea. Umm, can I walk you home or something?” he offered, starting to calm down.

“That would be great,” (YN) replied as they vacated the lawn. “I live in the dorms.”

He nodded as they started to walk back toward campus. “Does your hand hurt?”

“I think it’s ok? No, nope, wrong, my hand really hurts,” she winced as she flexed her fingers.

When they reached the next streetlight, he took her hand and examined it. “If you can move the fingers, it’s probably not broken. Should probably ice it though. There’s a convenience store up ahead, we can get some ice there.”

“Thanks,” she replied. 

“No, thank you!” He replied. “I’m Dallon by the way.”

“(YN). I’d shake your hand, but, ya know,” she shrugged.

“Do you normally haul off and punch guys in the face like that?”

(YN) laughed. “No, that’s my friend’s shitty ex-boyfriend. He’s always been an asshole, so when the opportunity finally presented itself, I had to take it.” Dallon laughed, the smile made his eyes crinkle, and (YN) noticed he looked pretty cute when that happened. 

The conversation lulled as they walked down the street. The night was fairly quiet once they were away from Fraternity Row, music coming from the occasional house, breaking the silence. Eventually they arrived at the convenience store and they headed inside. They got a cup of ice and (YN) stuck her hand inside as they finished the walk back to her dorm. As they arrived at her building, there was a chime.

“Is that your phone?” Dallon asked

“Yea, hold this,” she said, handing him the cup as she reached in her back pocket with her good hand. “Oh my god,” she muttered. “My stupid friend Abby is apparently getting back with Dave now and she never wants to speak to me again because I hit him. Whatever.”

“I’m really sorry I ruined things between you and your friend,” Dallon said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, it’s fine,” she shook her head. “I just... I didn’t think that friendship was gonna last much longer anyway, ya know? We’re too different in too many ways.”

Dallon nodded. “Yea, I get it. Well, thanks again for saving me,” he smiled.

“Thanks for walking me home. I’ll see you around,” (YN) waved before heading inside.

~

(YN) wandered through the student union with her lunch tray in hand. It had been a few days since the fight and while the swelling and pain in her hand had gone down, she was starting to feel lost. Over the summer it had become clear that she was growing apart from the friends she had made during her freshman year, but the fact that they all abandoned her after one right hook still hurt.

“(YN)!” She heard someone calling. She glanced around and saw Dallon waving at her from an empty table.

She smiled and made her way over to him. “Hey Dallon, how’ve you been?”

“Good thanks. Wanna sit?”

(YN) felt her heart swell at the gesture. “Yea sure.”

“How’s the hand?”

“Getting better,” she replied, flexing her fingers. He reached out, took her hand gently, and examined it. She watched as his thumb ran across her knuckles before she looked up at his eyes. She hadn’t noticed them the night they met but they were sparkling blue. He looked up too and smiled.

“Thanks again, who knows what those jerks would have done if you hadn’t stopped that guy in his tracks.”

(YN) shrugged as she pulled her hand back. “Like I said, it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

“Weekes,” she heard a voice behind her say. She turned in her chair to see a few people looking at Dallon disdainfully.

“Hey,” he replied sheepishly as they walked past.

“What is your deal?” (YN) asked with eyebrows knitted together. “Making enemies wherever you go?”

“No, no, we were in a study group together last year and I told them I wouldn’t be working with them this year and I guess they’re… upset.”

(YN) nodded. “So what’s your major?”

“Music performance, you?”

“Marketing. So are you a singer, or play an instrument?”

“I play bass and sing,” he replied as he dug into his lunch.

“Good thing your hand didn’t get injured then. You need me to be your bodyguard full time?” She laughed.

“Maybe I should get your number so I can call in case I get into trouble again,” he asked with a sheepish smile playing at his lips.

“Oh you’re smooth. Gimme your phone then,” she replied with a smirk. “And feel free to call if you wanna hang out or whatever, not just when you’re causing problems.”

“Well in that case do you wanna get dinner tonight?”

“I’d love to, but I have to work,” she pouted.

“Where do you work?”

“Sunrise Cafe, on 2nd street,” she replied.

“I live near there, but I’ve never been,” Dallon confessed.

“Well feel free to stop by anytime. So, where do you live?”

“At 306 West,” he replied, almost embarrassed.

(YN)’s eyes went wide upon hearing that he lived in one of the most expensive apartment buildings off campus. “Wow! Well, feel free to come by anytime. It’s usually pretty slow in the evening, so any company is appreciated. Just don’t start any fights.”

Dallon laughed. “I think I can behave myself, at least for one night.”

~

“You come here often?” (YN) asked as she and Dallon were seated at a table in one of the nicest restaurants in town a couple of nights later.

“Only once before, when my parents came to visit last year,” Dallon replied.

“Well don’t I feel special,” she smiled coyly.

“You should,” Dallon replied and (YN) raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean, you are special, you’re not like any other girl I’ve ever met I don’t think.”

“Ok I will accept that as a compliment,” she laughed.

(YN) quickly realized as they talked that their upbringings were vastly different, but that didn’t change the fact that she had a great time with Dallon. He really was quite charming and she enjoyed his company. When dinner was over, he drove her back to her back to her dorm, and even walked her to the door, his hand on her lower back.

“I had a nice time tonight. I haven't gone on a real date in a long time,” (YN) smiled. 

Dallon smiled back as he ran his hand through his hair and (YN)’s stomach did a flip. “I’m glad. Would you like to go out again?”

(YN) nodded and took a step toward Dallon. “Yea,” she replied. “I’d really like that.”

Dallon seemed a little nervous as one hand found her waist. "I really like you (YN)," Dallon murmured.

“I like you too,” she said looking up in his eyes, her heart pounding as she leaned even closer to him.

“I really wanna kiss you,” he whispered, his lips so close to hers.

“Then you should,” she replied. He didn’t hesitate a second more, pressing his lips to hers, as his hand caressed her face. His large hand on her waist holding her close as she draped her arms over his shoulders. Her body curved into his as their lips moved together.

When she pulled back and looked into Dallon's eyes, he looked completely enamoured and she knew at that moment that there was no way that she wasn’t going to fall hard.

~

It didn’t take long for Dallon and (YN) to settle comfortably into each other's lives. He would stop by the cafe when she worked to keep her company during late shifts, and she’d listen to him practice bass for hours while she studied while making up little songs for her. 

He cleared space in one of his drawers for her so she could stay over because he hated when she had to go at the end of the night. She loved waking up next to him, brushing his hair out of his face in the morning when they didn’t have early classes or work, and he’d smile softly in his sleep. 

(YN) loved the way he looked at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen, even when she just finished a long shift at the cafe and the way he touched her with such reverence that she’d never experienced before. At first she worried they were moving too quickly, but she didn’t care, it just felt right.

“Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?” Dallon asked in the middle of November.

“No, me and my dad never really celebrate it,” (YN) shrugged. “Are you going home?”

“Yea,” he paused. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Well I have to work the next afternoon,” she replied.

“Good, that gives us an excuse to leave early,” he laughed.

“Oh so that’s why you want me to come along!” She said with a smirk.

“No, that’s not it," he replied quickly.

"I know, I'm just giving you a hard time," (YN) laughed. “Sure, I guess this could be fun. Who doesn’t love meeting their boyfriend’s parents.”

~

The ominous feeling settled in the pit of (YN)’s stomach as soon as Dallon pulled onto his street. The houses were large and stately, set back on well manicured lawns. When he pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house, she took a deep breath before getting out and following him to the front door.

“Mom? Dad? We’re here!” Dallon called as they walked in.

“Oh wonderful! Hello, you must be (YN)!” Dallon’s mom said as she walked into the foyer.

“Yep, that’s me, nice to meet you,” (YN) said pleasantly. She was surprised to see how fancy the older woman was dressed since she was just in the kitchen cooking. Glancing down at her jeans and plain sweater, (YN) felt even more out of place.

“We have so much to talk about, Dallon doesn’t tell us hardly anything it seems. Let me show you up to your room,” she smiled and started up the stairs. (YN) shot Dallon a look and he shrugged before they both followed her. “(YN), we have the guest room ready for you. Dallon you’ll find your room just as you left it, for better or worse,” she laughed dryly.

“Thanks,” (YN) smiled awkwardly, setting down her bag.

“I have to go check the turkey. Dallon, go find your father,” she said before rushing back downstairs.

“That was,” (YN) said astonished, shaking her head.

“That was my mom,” Dallon nodded knowingly.

“So am I allowed in your room? Or is innocent little Dallon not allowed to have girls in there?” (YN) laughed, running her hand up his arm.

Dallon groaned in embarrassment. “Come on.”

A while later, they were sitting down to dinner with Dallon’s parents. (YN) could feel their eyes on her, silently picking her apart.

“So (YN), are you also pre-med?” Dallon’s mom asked.

(YN) was taken aback for a moment. Pre-med? Dallon told her he was a music major. She glanced over at him for clarity.

“No, umm, we met through mutual acquaintance,” Dallon answered.

“Yea, I’m a marketing major actually,” (YN) replied, her mind finally clicking back into gear. But she noticed the way his parents looked at each other with disdain.

“And what do your parents do?” His mom asked.

At this point (YN)'s defenses started to go up. “My mom split when I was little, and my dad works for Exact Medical Systems.”

That seemed to be a good answer, and their interest seemed piqued. “Is he a medical researcher?” Dallon’s dad asked.

“No, he does maintenance. Keeps everything running, so he’s really quite important,” she replied indignantly.

Dallon’s dad cleared his throat and the meal continued on in silence.

After everyone had finished eating, Dallon's dad called him into his office to speak with him. (YN) offered to help clear the table, but Dallon's mom insisted she didn’t need any help and hurried back to the kitchen as if it offered her sanctuary from (YN) and all her undesirable qualities. Unsure what else to do, (YN) retreated back to her room, but as she passed by the office she couldn't help her attention being caught by the conversation coming from the other side of the ajar door.

“Dallon, you cannot be wasting your time with a girl like that. If you expect to get into Harvard Medical School like I did, you need to focus on your studies. You need someone who has the same goals, the same expectations of their life, not someone that comes from a broken home without a clear direction or plan.”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me! Who are you to dictate to me how my life should go!”

“I am your father!” He bellowed.

“And you want me to be just like Eric. Blindly following in your footsteps, whether I like it or not!”

(YN) had heard enough. She turned and hurried up the stairs to her room and slammed the door behind her. She started to repack her bag as she tried to think of how she could get home with the small amount of cash she had on her. She was startled from her thoughts when there was a knock on the door.

“(YN)?”

She opened the door and let Dallon in. “What the hell is going on?!” She snapped.

Dallon sighed and ran his hands over his face. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

“Obviously,” she muttered as she zipped up her bag.

“Ok, let me grab my things,” Dallon replied. He took a step toward her and she just put her hand up to stop him.

“Just hurry up.”

He nodded in acceptance and hurried out.

Soon they were back in his car, driving back toward campus. (YN) didn’t hear anything further of what was said between Dallon and his parents, as she waited in her room until he told her that he was ready to go, and his parents made no attempt to stop them leaving. She sat silently with her head resting against the window. “Why did you lie about your major? Why didn’t you tell me you’re pre-med? When do you even study?” She asked, breaking the silence.

Dallon sighed. “I didn’t. Last year I was in the pre-med program, with a music minor. At the end of last year I changed programs because I, I just love music so much more than science. I just don’t give a damn about it, but my parents are paying for everything under the condition that I get into medical school. I can't tell them I've changed majors or they'll cut me off."

(YN) scoffed. "Oh because god forbid you have to take out a loan or apply for a scholarship or get a job like some plebeian! And what are you going to do for the next two years until suddenly you aren't going to Harvard or wherever? What then?"

"I dunno," he replied meekly.

"And I'm never gonna be the type of girl they want for you. God, it's like I'm in Legally Blonde, or Crazy Rich Asians or something! But life isn't a rom-com," she muttered. “There aren’t happy endings.”

"I don't care about what they think of you (YN)! I like you, a lot, and I want to be with you," he said emphatically. 

"So I'll just be part of your secret double life? Take this exit," she sighed.

"This isn't the one for campus,"

"Just do it and then take the first left."

After a couple more turns into the neighborhood, they pulled up in front of a small green house that looked like it needed a new coat of paint and a patchy, brown lawn. "Dallon, this is why we aren't going to work. This is where I'm from and it’s why I'm not gonna fit in with your snooty, upper crust life."

(YN) got out of the car, pulling her bag with her and marched into the house. Dallon sat in stunned silence, her words reverberating through his mind. He waited, wondering if she was going to come back out. Then a light in a room at the end of the house turned on and he saw her silhouette in the window. She paused, and then drew the curtains.

~

A couple weeks later (YN) was working the last open mic night at the cafe before all the students left campus for winter break. The crowd wasn't huge, it never was on open mic night, but she still was busy. Eventually the lights dimmed and her coworker went up to announce the first performers. 

"Ok, first up we have a duo called… I don't know?"

(YN) shook her head at her coworker butchering the band name, but her attention was quickly drawn to the small stage. 

"Hey, my name is Dallon, this is my friend Ryan, we are I Dont Know How But They Found Me. Unfortunately that didn't fit on the sign up sheet." The crowd laughed and Dallon was grinning. "This first song is Modern Day Cain."

(YN) had avoided all the places she knew Dallon would be once she was back on campus after the Thanksgiving break, but suddenly he was right there. She tried to remain calm and focused on her work, but she couldn’t help but remember all the times she remembered him practicing those bass lines. When they finished the song, there was a smattering of applause. 

"This next song is called I'd Be A Punk If My Mom Would Let Me," Dallon announced and (YN) couldn't help the snort of laughter that broke through the silence before the song started. The second song got a bit more applause as the crowd warmed to the band.

"Umm, this last song is a cover of a song by Frank Iero and the Cellabration. I'd like to dedicate it to a girl who probably wishes she could punch me in the face right now. It's called She's The Prettiest Girl At The Party, And She Can Prove It With A Solid Right Hook."

(YN) looked up from the spot she was wiping up on the counter and met Dallon's eyes. As she listened to the words that he was definitely singing right to her, she felt a tightness in her throat. 

After the song was finished, they packed up their gear and the next performer took the stage. Between artists there was a flurry of people looking for refills of their coffee and tea, and (YN) lost track of Dallon, so she assumed he left. 

At the end of the night the last few customers were getting up to leave when she spotted Dallon sitting alone at a table with his laptop open.

"We're closing," she said, walking over to him.

"Can we talk?" He asked, looking up at her with pleading eyes. (YN) shrugged and sat down next to him and he turned his computer to her.

"What's this?"

"I told my parents I switched majors."

(YN)'s eyebrows shot up in surprise and she leaned in to read the screen. Dallon’s email to his parents was emphatic, explaining about how he didn’t want to disappoint them, but he had to pursue what he loved. He couldn’t imagine years of schoolwork to ultimately be trapped in such an important job that he didn’t enjoy. His dad’s reply was nothing short of hostile, calling him a disappointment, berating him for wasting his intelligence, and ultimately informing him they would not be paying for anything starting with the upcoming spring semester.  

"Do you need help filling out the student loan paperwork?" (YN) asked, sitting back.

Dallon shook his head. "No thanks, I think I got it figured out."

"But why'd you tell them now? Why not wait like you were planning?"

"Because you and music are the two things that make me happiest. I don't want to hide either anymore,” he said looking at (YN). 

“We aren’t…” (YN) started, shaking her head as she trailed off. 

“We could be again, if you’ll have me,” he replied, reaching out and taking her hand, his thumb running over her knuckles. “From the moment you threw that punch for me, I knew you were something special. You’re strong, clever, and beautiful and I’m sorry that my family made you feel anything less than that. And I’m sorry I was anything but completely honest with you from the beginning. I love you (YN).”

(YN) tore her eyes away from her hand in his to look out the window. It seemed to be snowing outside, but she couldn’t be sure since her vision was blurred by tears about to spill over. She sniffled and blinked hard, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Since that day I’ve been trying to think about who I wanted to talk to about all this with, but the only person I could think of was you. Over and over again I wanted to come running back to you Dallon. Because despite it all, I love you too.”

Dallon reached up and brushed away the tears away from her cheek "Please say we can be together again," he pleaded.

(YN) bit her lip and nodded. "I want my friend back. I want the person who I'd throw a punch for back. I want you back in my life because it feels empty without you."

Dallon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close as he could for how they were sitting. "I love you (YN), I love you so much," he murmured. 

[lucas-koh]

Stitches - Bryce Lahela x MC XI

Parts 1-10 linked in bio!

Only somewhat canon compliant.

Song: sex (catching feelings) - EDEN

Rating: M; sexual content, swearing, mentions of death, drinking

Word Count: 4261

Taglist: @lahellacute @lahamseiroshoe @anotherbeingsworld @fuseboxmusebox @choicesficwriterscreations @bubblelaureno @bratzlahela @eleanorbloom @bryceslahela @thegreentwin @kelseaaa || please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from this list

Chapter Eleven: Tequila Flavoured Sutures

And ring in the New Year they did, for hours and hours and hours. There was little concern about the noise they were making due to the fact that everyone was passed out from alcohol by that point.

—-

It took almost the entire month of January until Suki had a day off, in fact, two days off. She skipped over her birthday on the 18th, opting for takeout and a movie (and not telling anyone it was her birthday so they wouldn’t make a fuss). Yay to twenty-eight. Her plans for her days off initially involved those chips and candy she didn’t get to indulge in before; but then she thought about Bryce’s words the last time ‘…and you didn’t even think to invite me?’ And immediately caved. She did want to see him after such a long time. Especially after how he was in bed at New Years…

Santa Fe: 👃yours?

Scalpel Jockey: i finish in a couple hours?

Santa Fe: cool, i’ll be there

Scalpel Jockey: 😈

So after a couple of hours Suki arrived at Bryce’s place. Pretty much as soon as she stepped through the door she was rushing Bryce’s shirt off.

“Woah, someone’s eager.”

“It’s been a little while.”

—-

A chunk of time and a few rounds later, Bryce and Suki caught their breath on his bed. Suki wasn’t ready for the night to end, she was pretty horny still, and she had the day off tomorrow, too.

“Hey,” she grinned with mischief and sudden inspiration in her eyes, she had missed out on birthday fun after all, “wanna get drunk and do body shots?”

“Absolutely,” Bryce bit his lip and his eyelids sunk with desire. Suki already knew this would be an interesting night.

They partially dressed and headed into the kitchen to grab Bryce’s alcohol. He crouched down to a little cupboard in the corner of his kitchen.

“Oh.” He pulled a bottle of rum from the cupboard. There was barely anything left in it.

“Shit,” Suki laughed.

“I can grab something from the convenience store?”

“Eh, why not, I’ll come along.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Some fresh air might be nice after all that… exertion.”

So Bryce and Suki put on the rest of their clothes and headed out to walk to the store. The late January cold was biting but neither of them noticed much.

On the walk they talked about everything and nothing, like they were old friends catching up after too long away. Suki tried to ignore the fact that their hands brushed when they walked too close together. That the cold metal of his rings sent a jolt through the nerves in her fingers. She also tried to ignore the fact that made her think about holding that hand. Back on the first day, when they’d danced to The Stone Roses, when he’d asked if she wanted to be adored and made her scramble under his gaze. And then the many times she’d gripped his hand while he was fucking her into oblivion, letting it press her own into the mattress with pressure, his fingers fitting between her own desperately and needing like puzzle pieces. Her nails digging into the back of his hand and vice versa. She remembered how that first time and all the times since their hands had felt right, like an old key and lock with a very specific shape.

Once they reached the store, they picked up two bottles of tequila, and some fresh limes.

“I’ll pay,” Bryce rushed in front of her, “I’ll keep whatever’s left over.”

“Not if we drink it all,” she teased.

“That’s 70cl each, I think not,” Bryce chuckled as the cashier put the bottles in their over-used old plastic bag for them. Suki pulled the full bag from the counter once Bryce had paid.

“Can’t handle it?”

“Thanks man,” Bryce said to the cashier and they began to make their way outside. “As doctors I think we both know 70cl is like, death limits.”

“Long term, maybe,” she shrugged. When she saw the look Bryce was giving her, she added, “I’m joking, you dumbass! I’m not sure why you even bought two bottles.”

“Eh, saves coming down here again.”

“Lazy-ass.”

They pushed open the door to step into the cold outside. Bryce shook his head affectionately and laughed at Suki, despite the conversation being barely funny.

As he laughed, Bryce stumbled backwards off the step up to the shop and into a man drinking just outside the store.

“Oops, sorry man,” he grinned an apology. It was lighthearted and accidental and that should’ve been the end of it. But this dude did not look happy.

“Hey Buddy, are you looking for a fight?”

“No, not at all – just an accident, dude.”

“Are you fuckin’ sure?” The man signalled down to the ground where a vodka bottle was smashed into large pieces.

“I’m sorry, I’ll buy you another.”

Suki was beginning to feel very stressed. Confrontation was her least favourite thing ever. She pulled one of the tequila bottles from her bag.

“Here, sir. Have this. He really didn’t mean to break it.”

“Tell your boyfriend to be more careful,” he spat.

Suki didn’t want to provoke him any more by correcting him, but she also didn’t want him to keep talking smack. Hearing this guy get so worked up over Bryce’s mere mistake was enough to give Suki a major adrenaline and confidence boost.

“He tripped, and then apologised immediately. We offered to buy you another bottle, and even offered up our own. Maybe you need to calm down.” Her voice was slightly raised and she was starting to see red from anger.

“Suki-“ Bryce started, holding a hand out as though to shield her.

But this man was very intoxicated and clearly in the mood to be a dick, because he walked over to Suki and shoved her to the floor. It was like everything was moving in fast forward because it happened in just seconds. And then all of a sudden Suki was on the other side of the coin and in slow motion, stumbling down to the concrete. In the process the tequila in the dishevelled bag in her hand also smashed through the worn plastic and to the floor and Suki, in trying to break her fall, stumbled back on her hands. She winced as her hand dug right into one particularly sharp shard of glass.

“Shit.”

The man’s eyes widened as he noticed what he’d done and the absolute rage and contempt on Bryce’s face. Bryce was furious. Suki had never seen him so mad. Not even that day he’d lost the surgery. And it wasn’t cartoon smoke-out-the-ears fury either, it was scary. Pure. The drunkard was clearly terrified by Bryce’s expression and his tightly clenching fists and he scarpered.

“HEY! ASSHOLE!” Bryce shouted after him, running down the road after him a bit. Suki was surprised at how fast he was running. He got a little ways down the sidewalk when the other man crossed a traffic-filled road. Bryce looked back and saw Suki on the floor - he knew his priority was her.

He returned to where she was now sat on the floor, examining the glass shoved into her hand and crumbs of concrete around the area, too. The aroma of tequila mixed with blood was overwhelming. Suki was honestly feeling a mixture of shell-shock and dizzy headiness.

“Fuck,” Bryce said, crouching beside her and taking her hand in his like the very limb was made of glass. “I’ll fucking kill him. Does anywhere else hurt? Are you okay emotionally?”

His deep brown eyes searched hers, desperate concern clouding them. All traces of the absolute anger of before were gone, only solicitude and tunnelled focus on the woman before him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Maybe a bruise on my butt but I’ve had worse. What a dick.”

Bryce held the underside of her hand in both of his, securing her wrist steady, and scrunched his face up as he inspected it. “We need to get the glass out of this.”

“Easy, it’s only the one piece.” Suki tried not to yelp as she pulled the shard from her palm.

“Suki!” Bryce chastised.

“It’s all good, see?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just do that after nine years of medical training.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him, hoping her eyes were telling him so too. Sure, it hurt, but it wasn’t enough to make a big deal out of.

“You should let me take you to the emergency room.”

“Bryce. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

He winced as he looked at the blood still pouring from the gash in her hand. “I swear I’ll deck that guy if I ever see him again. It’ll heal much better if you go to the ER and get stitches. The last thing a doctor needs is nerve damage.”

“Bryce.”

“Fine, then you’re coming back to mine and letting me stitch it.”

“Bryce!” Suki was feeling like a broken record, but honestly at that moment, a combination of shock and the odd feeling Bryce’s eyes gave her was making it a little difficult to access her full word library.

“Don’t wear my name out,” he winked, keeping one hand on hers and placing the other round her waist as he helped pull her up from the ground. She was sure to grab the unaffected tequila bottle and limes with her functioning hand.

“I could’ve stood up by myself you know, my legs are fine.”

“I’m keeping this hand so you don’t do anything else to it,” he said, taking Suki’s wrist to hold her bleeding hand above her heart, and began to pull her along with him. She sighed but let him pull her along, anything to get him not to go after that guy. She didn’t need the further mortification.

The walk back had lost the vibe of the walk there; solemn and sober. Mostly filled with Bryce muttering things about the man and retained asking of Suki’s well-being.

Bryce held her wrist the entire way, catching most of the leftover dripping blood on his own hand.

They reached Bryce’s apartment and he unlocked the door for them, closed it behind him, and then led Suki over to the sofa.

“Stay there,” he instructed before disappearing into the kitchen. Seconds later he re-emerged with a sizeable first aid kit.

“That’s big,” Suki laughed, a little more colour in her cheeks now that they were inside, “I would say you’re compensating for something but...”

“But you know I’m not,” he grinned smugly as he perched beside her.

Bryce was ever so delicate as he held Suki’s hand and cleaned away the blood with an antiseptic wipe. She winced the first time the cool chemical wipe made contact with the gash which caused Bryce to immediately stop and look at her. She gave him a little nod to continue. He did his best to be careful as he moved the skin around a bit under his phone flashlight to see if any glass was lingering.

“I swear Suki if this heals and there’s still glass in there because you wouldn’t let me take you to the ER, you’ll never hear the end of this.”

“Fine, but I trust your 20/20 vision and steady scalpel hand.”

“As you should.”

Once the wound was clean and Bryce had checked multiple times for fragments of glass, he pulled his suture kit from the box.

Watching Bryce steady the curved needle end in some tweezers was artful. He was so practised, so sure. The way his pretty features furrowed together slightly in focus was magnetising. She was amazed at how steady his hands were, how such large appendages could look so fine and delicate. Each stitch pulled through was neat and even, Suki’s eyes flicking between the stitches and Bryce’s facial expression. It was piercing her skin but it was like she couldn’t feel it. His other hand remained beneath hers, holding it up and keeping it from shaking. Then Bryce secured the stitches and started to wrap some bandage around for extra protection.

Bryce finished off his bandaging by tucking it in at the back of her hand. He held her hand, still.

“It’s going to scar,” he sighed.

“What’s a doctor without a few scars?”

“Touché.”

“Thank you for doing this.”

“It was no question.”

Suki couldn’t help but notice the way Bryce’s thumb soothed the back of the hand it was holding. She looked up to the clock. It had only been an hour since they’d left for drinks. Eventful hour.

Eventually Bryce seemed to notice his hand and removed it from hers.

“What about those body shots then?” She smirked.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s a cut on my hand, I was planning on doing these shots with my mouth…”

Bryce raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. “Well, we did manage to salvage one bottle.”

“Not to mention it has been secured by ‘the best surgical intern at Edenbrook’.”

“Oh you’re damn fucking right. Fine, you know how to convince a guy. We’re gonna take it careful though, okay?”

“Deal. On which I will not shake my hand.”

He laughed and got up to fetch the shot glasses from the kitchen, beckoning her over.

“The counter will be best.”

Suki laid down first, letting Bryce slip her top over her head (with which he was incredibly careful with her hand), and slide her pants down her legs until she was laying on his kitchen island in only her underwear.

“Now, this is a sight that could encourage me to be in the kitchen more,” Bryce laughed, trailing a finger up and down her arm and causing her to tremble.

“Still haven’t learned any recipes, huh?”

“No. But there’s no way in hell we’re talking about cooking right now.”

Bryce licked a finger and trailed it slowly between Suki’s breasts, then sprinkled some salt over that area. He rested the lime wedge on her stomach. Finally he filled a shot glass with the spirit and placed it in her mouth. She was trying not to laugh too hard so that she didn’t spill the tequila all over her face.

“Ready?” He smirked. She lifted her good hand in an ‘ok’ sign.

As Bryce leaned down towards Suki’s chest, his face was hungry, craving. That look was making Suki’s stomach flip all kinds of directions. He sensuously licked his tongue up between her breasts, catching each grain of salt. He laughed a little as he moved to collect the shot glass in his own mouth. Their lips touched briefly as he secured it in his mouth, then he threw his head back and downed the shot immediately. Then rather swiftly Bryce moved down to Suki’s stomach to suck all the juice from the lime and counter the sharp tequila flavour.

“Okay, that was a really good idea,” he exhaled in the way one does after a strong shot of alcohol. Bryce took another three shots from various parts of Suki’s body; for the last two she lay on her stomach and he used spots such as the nape of her neck, small of her back, and asscheek. The two of them were a messy mix of laughing the whole time, and really enjoying the whole thing.

“Right? My turn now.”

Bryce and Suki switched places, and he threw all his clothing bar underpants off towards the lounge.

Suki used her tongue to dampen the line in the middle of Bryce’s abs for the salt, balanced the shot glass precariously on the flat part of his chest, and placed the lime in his mouth.

She was slow and tantalising as she lapped up the salt, swift as she took the shot, and then there was the lime. She leant down to suck out the sour juice, but kept the lime in his mouth the entire time she drained it. It was an odd but exciting semi-kiss.

After a couple more shots Suki had a new idea.

“Wait, wait,” she laughed, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“What?”

“What if… I poured a bit on your stomach and licked it up…” she was laughing a lot, but it was obvious the idea appealed a lot to her.

“Do it.”

She placed a hand on his stomach to steady him before she planned to carefully pour the liquid over him.

“Hey, careful with that hand,” Bryce nudged, noticing it pressed flat on his body.

“Yes, yes, Dr. Lahela,” she teased.

Time seemed to fly by as the pair took shot after shot, broken up by messy intoxicated kisses, neither realising that Suki’s tolerance was far lower than Bryce’s. After losing count, they wordlessly abandoned the game, relocating to dance around stupidly in their underwear in the living room. Suki may or may not have been swigging tequila directly from the bottle at that point.

A number of songs played and then:

“I’m… pretty drunk,” Suki laughed, closing her eyes and letting herself sway a bit.

“Same!” Bryce enthused, before Suki began to topple over towards the sofa, “woah! Okay, you’re more drunk than me.” He giggled as he caught her fall. Now he was sitting on the floor with Suki’s jelly-like body in his arms. He kept a weary eye on her bandaged hand.

Yes, Bryce was drunk, but the moment he needed to be sensible or protective it was like a switch went off in his brain.

Her eyes were still shut and a blissful smile spread over her face. “Kiss me.”

Bryce leaned in and gave her a chaste peck to the lips.

“I know you can kiss better than that,” she echoed his words from their epic kiss.

“Not when you’re drunker than me I can’t.”

“Boohoo.”

“We should get you home. I’ll come with, I’m not sure I’m comfortable putting you in an Uber alone.”

“I don’t think I can walk very far, Bryyyceee.”

“Okay, you can have my bed then. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Nooooo,” she brought up her limp hands to grab either side of his face, visibly wincing a bit when the bandaged one made contact with his face. “Sleep with me.”

“Clothed? Sure.” Bryce took her damaged hand in his own and held it away from any pain risks.

“Nopeeee,” Suki’s remaining clumsy hand began to slide down Bryce’s chest and fiddle with the band of his boxers. He laughed and grabbed them both with his free hand to stop her.

“I’m not having sex with you again tonight.”

“Meanie.”

“Okay.” He chuckled again.

“But will you sleep with me? Like, to make sure I don’t throw up in the night or something.”

“Sure, miss tequila.”

Bryce stood and pulled Suki up with him, her eyes fluttering open at the movement, and supported her in the walk to his bedroom.

“Are you cold? I have some pyjamas if you’d like,” he offered when they got there, still holding her tightly to his side.

She shook her head, but didn’t seem sure. She looked up to Bryce with wide eyes and a startled expression like she was only just really seeing him.

“Bathroom,” she choked out, and Bryce rushed her towards his en-suite. He supported her all the way to her eventually emptying the contents of her stomach into his toilet bowl.

He held her hair back from her face as she very inelegantly upchucked into Bryce’s toilet a few times.

“I’m sorry,” she looked up at him, eyes wide and apologetic, “I didn’t mean to drink so much I’m just…” nervous around you. Stupidly feeling ways I shouldn’t for my fuck Buddy. Wanted you to see me as fun and free-spirited. Now I’m just embarrassing myself.

“You don’t need to explain yourself. It’s okay.”

Once it was clear nothing else was coming out, Bryce helped Suki drink from a glass of water, and briefly left the room for her to pee.

Bryce was gentle as he ran a spare (unused) toothbrush around her mouth and directed her head to the sink each time to spit.

Suki wasn’t coherent enough to ramble all her apologies and thanks’, but she was so grateful. Could this man stop being so amazing, please? I’m trying to stop being weird, here.

Eventually Bryce was able to help Suki into some of his pyjamas, somehow without looking at all. Seeing a very drunk naked girl is not the same, even if he had seen said girl naked many times prior. Then he helped her into bed and she collapsed against his pillow like a rag doll. He climbed into bed beside her, careful to keep his distance.

“Bryce…” she slurred, the sleep clear in her voice. “You’re a really great guy. I’m glad we’re…” Suki was going to say friends, but it felt wrong coming out of her mouth at that moment. “I’m glad I know you.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I know you too.” Bryce reached up a hand to stroke her cheek. She sighed into his hand, moving a bit cat-like.

“Since you wouldn’t fuck me, will you at least cuddle me?”

Bryce laughed. “Of course.”

“You are so great. So great. Great guy.” As she mumbled these words drunkenly it was clear the unconsciousness was taking over.

Bryce rolled towards her and cradled her into his chest, holding her tightly as though it had been a long time coming.

Bryce’s breaths came gently over Suki’s forehead. And after a few minutes, when he was sure she’d fallen asleep, he spoke ever so quietly.

“If only you knew what a screw up I was,” he muttered. Suki may have been drunk and spewing shit she wouldn’t sober, but her ears were working fine. And she would remember this in the morning. Despite the intoxication she knew such out of pocket words would be something she’d recall. She knew then to keep as still as she could, not alerting to him that she was awake or coherent.

—-

When Suki woke up, her pillow was hard. Her duvet was gripping her waist kind of tightly, too. As she nuzzled into the pillow her senses were invigorated with a sudden and familiar scent: suddenly most of the nights events clocked in her brain.

Sex with Bryce. Walk to convenience store. Accidental beef with drunk man. Damaged hand. Bryce stitching up said hand. Body shots. Lots of body shots. Random blank moment. Oh god - throwing up in Bryce’s toilet. Being dressed by a closed-eye Bryce. Finally falling into bed. Those words.

What the hell could he have meant by that last night? If only I knew what a screw up he was? As far as I’m concerned right now he’s an angel sent from above to deal with a problematically drunk Suki.

He was breathing gently beneath her, quiet noises at each exhale. She noticed as she listened to the rhythm of his heart, that her heart was beating in time with his.

Maybe she should’ve left. After all, she’d ended up causing a lot of trouble for Bryce. And, she’d stayed the night. Maybe if she left before he woke up it wouldn’t count that she’d broken the rule.

But before she could truly agonise over her decision, Bryce stirred, blinking awake and looking down at her.

“Hey,” he smiled. To Suki’s surprise his arm remained around her waist. Okay, I’m surprised he doesn’t hate me. Then again, he wouldn’t be the type to be open about hating someone.

“Hey,” she replied quietly, looking up at him from his chest. “So… I was pretty drunk last night.”

“Yeah. I thought I was too and then you fell over. The decline was pretty quick after that.”

“I’m so sorry. That you had to see me like that, look after me, and then I hijacked your bed too… it wasn’t appropriate of me and it was unfair on you.”

“It’s okay, Suki. You’d do the same for me. We’re friends and making sure you’re okay and looked after is important to me,” he nodded sincerely before grinning and adding, “plus, now I have plenty of blackmail material.”

“God I was awful wasn’t I?”

He chuckled.

Oh shit. “Did I say anything really bad? If I did please ignore it because I talk out of my ass when I’m drunk I’m sure it was utter nonsense.”

“If you did, I think I’ll keep it to myself.”

Ughhhhh. She groaned loudly and buried her face into his chest so that she didn’t have to see that stupid smirk. Now my mind will race about what I could’ve said for the rest of time.

Suki actually felt like hitting Bryce as his large hand slowly soothed her back.

He had to stop doing so much for her, being so exemplary, because it was adding to a problem that had been brewing in Suki for a while. He’d comforted her in the supply closet twice, he’d looked after Tommy, he’d held her hair back while she was sick and let her stay the night, and he’d stitched up her wound so carefully and precisely. He’d even nearly beat up that guy for her.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

She’d broken her promise, because it wasn’t just about sex anymore. Truthfully, maybe it never was.

There was absolutely no way she could swing it any longer. Suki Moore liked Bryce Lahela. As more than a friend, more than a body. She was enamoured by him, and had no clue what to do about it.

[canniballistix]

consider: Over the hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin as a complete characterization for Dean and his Happy Ending (tm) with Cas

In heaven, you have time to learn guitar.

It was a phrase that had popped into Dean's head one day as his fingers fumbled along the frets of the acoustic he'd picked up cheap.

He didn't mean heaven-heaven. At least he didn't think so. No, this was more like when those old-time Hollywood crooners would sing about heaven.

Maybe heaven was a feeling. Maybe it was a woman. For Dean, it was the open road.

Not the road-road. The idea of a road. Like that poem: two roads diverged in a wood, and Dean Winchester could at last choose which to take. He would take the road less-traveled-- at least by a hunter's standards.

He sat on the hood of the Impala. In the sun. The full, hot, direct light of it, feeling it bake his forearms and his cheeks as he plucked away at those shuddering strings.

His fingertips were delicate. Perhaps the most delicate parts of him-- never the target of violence and scarring, never hardened to a callous. He may have had the muscle for steel string, but his fingers cracked and bled and stained the wood.

The most wonderful bit was that, when he did begin to bleed, he could quit. He could put the guitar down and heal patiently, only to pick it up again later.

He could play the notes, but not the rhythm. That was a common issue of his. Everything rolled along so easy when he played slowly, but became a great muddled mess when he tried to play at speed. This song especially had him over a barrel; most difficult right in the beginning. With quick notes, meant to sound casual and not at all technical.

If he could just get to the meat of it, it would be all strumming away.

But he could wait. He'd get this part right, and then he'd be home free.

In heaven, you have time to learn guitar.

He plucked it again. Just the first few notes, quick as he could. Some were quicker than others.

"Agh, shit," Dean muttered.

He scooted back a bit on the hood, feet swinging freely over the asphalt. He bent forward a bit, scrutinizing his fingers as they struggled to slide along the strings. They plowed through it again, hung up in the same place as always-- though it was beginning to feel more familiar.

"Dammit." Dean chuckled to himself, then tried again.

"You're getting better at that."

"Christ!" Dean jumped a bit. He'd never be used to that, as much as he tried to be.

Castiel smirked. "Good guess, but unfortunately no."

Dean returned the easygoing smile. "That's only 'cause you've never heard this song," he said, gaze rolling back down to the strings as he played it again.

Cas leaned against the car beside Dean. He, too, peered down at the neck as Dean's fingers stumbled through the notes. "I'm sorry?"

"The song," Dean said, strumming over the strings very gently. "It's sounds good 'cause you've never heard the real one."

"Of course I have," Cas said. "It was on that tape. The Zepp Tracks tape."

Dean paused the practice to sift through his memories. "God, you kept that?"

Cas smiled and looked down at his hands. "Ah, well. A boy I liked gave it to me," he said coyly. "I couldn't get rid of something like that."

"And exactly how many times did you listen to that tape?" Dean asked. He was grinning like an idiot, now, though he feigned a focus on his playing. "I'm guessing more than once or twice?"

"Enough times to recognize the opening notes of Over the Hills and Far Away," he said matter-of-factly. "Even a little slow and a little off the beat. Is that too many?"

Dean shook his head. "No, sir. Not for any of the tracks on that tape," he said. "No such thing as too many."

"Hm." He nodded. "That's what I thought, too."

Castiel listened patiently as Dean worked through it again. And again. Over and over, the notes falling all over each other like crabs in a bucket. Getting closer all the time.

It was a beautiful day. A beautiful day for playing guitar and smiling and maybe, just maybe, singing along.

In heaven, there is time to learn guitar.

"You know," Castiel said at last, shifting ever so slightly, "if you wanted to learn faster, I could heal your fingers."

"Not the point, Cas," Dean said, jolly as always.

Cas tilted his head. "Isn't the point to learn?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Well-- sure, I guess. But…" He ran his fingers down the neck before dropping his hand to his knee. "I mean, I think the real point is that I've got time, now."

"Hm." Cas nodded slowly.

"I'm not… God, I'm not rushing to get it all in before I die," Dean said, though his words were choked off by something between a laugh and a cry. "Waiting around for wounds to heal is a luxury, Cas. I'm gonna enjoy it."

Cas scoffed. "That sounds more than a little masochistic."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's not, it's not. It's-- God." He lifted the guitar strap up over his head and set the thing down on the hood beside him. "Y'know who had callouses on his fingers, Cas? Johnny fuckin' Cash."

"And…" Castiel squinted. "You want to be like Johnny Cash?"

"Johnny Cash lived," Dean continued, unphased. "He's been everywhere, man-- and I wanna go everywhere, too."

"Dean, you just bragged to me yesterday about having visited a Biggerson's in every state."

"And I stand by that accomplishment," Dean said, chuckling again. "But I've done all that. I've done that stuff so many goddamn times. I've driven back and forth across this country, and I've died more times than… I dunno. Batman, probably."

Cas shook his head, but couldn't hide his smile.

"Y'know what I've never done?" Dean asked.

"What?"

"I've never learned to play guitar," Dean replied. "I've never tried to bake a pie. I've never, in all the time I've lived in that stupid library, read the Lord of the Rings-- and I've never once spent a guilt-free day in pajamas."

Cas gave Dean a sideways look. "These are high are on your to-do list, Dean?"

"Man, shut up…" Dean gave Cas a playful shove, and Cas accepted it faithfully. "You know what I'm saying. All my life, I've been one thing. And I've been it really, really well."

"That you have," Cas agreed with a bit of a nod.

"And the best part about being done is that I… I can be someone else." Dean looked down at his hands, at the unfamiliar cracks on the pads of his fingers.

Cas nodded. "I know you're talking about being a hunter," he said. "But I think that would apply to other things, as well."

Dean swiveled around to face the angel-- or maybe not-so-angel-anymore. Castiel cast a glance over his shoulder at Dean, now cross-legged on the hood of his beloved car.

Cas very subtly uncrossed his arms and rested one hand on the hood. Dean unflinchingly reached out and took it in his own.

"Oh, yeah?" Dean's fingers danced along Cas' much in the way they had leapt between the frets on his guitar. "Such as?"

Cas clucked his tongue. "Womanizer, perhaps," he suggested wryly. "Soldier. Martyr."

"And thank God for that, huh?" Dean leaned forward slightly, and pressed his forehead into the space between Castiel's shoulder blades.

They sat like this a while. Dean's fingers wormed between Castiel's, and they interlaced with practiced ease. The sun was warm on them-- enough to burn the back of Dean's neck, but he hardly noticed. Castiel was warmer than the sun, he thought.

"I was so tired, Cas," Dean whispered.

"I know."

"There were times I thought I--" He choked on the words. "But I didn't. I'm still here."

Castiel squeezed his hand gently. "I'm glad."

"I didn't think I'd be able to do it, y'know?" Dean said.

"Me neither," Cas said. "I didn't think I'd be able to, that is."

Dean lifted his head. "It's like coming home from a war, isn't it?" he said. "I read a great book about that once. Long time ago."

"Did you?"

Dean nodded, though Cas couldn't see. "I mean, I don't remember what it was called," he said. He ran his thumb over the back of Cas' hand. "But I-- I remember the guy who came home just drove around. All day, all night. Ate at drive-through restaurants and chatted up girls and listened to the radio. He didn't know what else to do with himself, y'know?"

Castiel chuckled. "Sounds familiar."

"Maybe."

Cas pulled his hand away from Dean's.

Dean leaned back a bit as Castiel turned to face him, both hands on the car's hood-- one on either side of Dean's folded legs.

They stayed here, frozen, for a very long moment. Hardly a foot between them.

"I'm gonna be okay though," Dean said at last, softly. "You know how I know?"

"How?"

"I have you," Dean said simply. "And we can be veterans of war together. You ever think about learning guitar? Or maybe banjo?"

Castiel sighed lightly. "I don't think you should read Lord of the Rings," he said.

Dean snorted. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"I don't think you'd like the ending."

"You've read it?"

Cas shrugged. "I know more about pop culture than just what you've taught me."

Dean let out a long, low whistle. "Look at the big man, over here," he teased, tugging gently on Cas' tie. "This guy knows the end of Lord of the Rings."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

Cas looked into Dean's eyes for a moment. It was a strange sort of look, like a man sizing up a show horse. It drug on for far too long, Dean thought. Far too long for Castiel to be so close.

"Cas?" Dean repeated.

"I was thinking about kissing you," Cas said.

Dean's heart caught in his throat. "Uh. That your way of asking permission or something?"

"I just figured…" Cas cleared his throat. "Well--seeing as I hadn't before--I should say something."

Dean nodded slowly. "You don't have to get all hung up on thinking about it," he said.

But, even if he had, it would have been okay.

In heaven, you have time to learn guitar.

[filthy-rat]

Mary Had a Little Lamb

AO3 Link

You were never really one for parties, so you aren’t exactly sure how you managed to let your friend, Angel, drag you out one crisp autumn night.

From what they had said, this party was going to be mostly drinking and smoking weed and playing video games—all things you enjoyed, right? So maybe you would have a good time. You think about the inherent awkwardness of talking to people and the mortifying ordeal of being known, and your stomach clenches in fear. Ugh, maybe not. You make a mental note to do a better job of hiding your melancholy from them the next time they start giving you the Concerned Face.

As you approach the run down apartment building in the heart of the city, apprehension gnaws at your gut. For the third time in your five minute walk, you come to a halt, frowning at your companion.

“I don’t know, dude, I-I really shouldn’t—”

“Ugh, c’mon!” Impatiently, they stomp back to you, latch onto the sleeve of your jacket, and tug you along. “It’ll be fun! I’m sick of you moping around the house!”

“...I wasn’t moping,” you mumble, stuffing your hands into your pockets and shrugging off their hand from your sleeve. “And besides, do you even know anyone at this party?”

“Like, one or two people. But it’s a party, you’re not really supposed to know everyone.” They link arms with you, continuing to pull you down the street. “Listen, if we get any scummy vibes, we’ll bounce, okay?”

“Fine.” Huffing out an irritated sigh, you allow yourself to be pulled.

“There’s supposed to be some really hot guys here, too.” Angel flashes you an excited grin.

“Yeah, ‘cause hot guys have a history of being into me.”

“Oh, my god, stop that or I’m gonna kick your ass.” They nudge your elbow with theirs and give you another look. The dreaded Concerned Face. You hate it when they do that.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get up there before they drink all the good beer.”

“Hell yea.”

Arm in arm, the two of you make your way to the building, and Angel leans in to press the buzzer. A disgruntled, raspy voice on the other end asks shockingly few questions of the two of you before opening the door. There’s no elevator. You groan as you realize you’ll have to hoof it up five flights of stairs.

You can hear the music pounding from about a floor and a half below, and it only gets louder the closer you get to your destination. When you finally reach the correct floor, you’re gasping and clutching at a stitch in your side and regretting your life choices. Why the fuck isn’t there an elevator?

“C’mon, it’s this door,” Angel says, after catching their breath, and they approach a door at the end of the hallway.

The worn wood is absolutely slathered in band stickers and old Halloween decorations and painted-on pentagrams. Though the plaque on the door reads “66”, someone has taken a red marker and added an additional 6 to the end. You give Angel a dubious side eye.

“Listen, these guys are… a little rough. Just give them a chance, though. Most punks and goths are good people.” They give a nervous laugh, grimace, and knock on the door.

After a moment, it opens to reveal a thin youth with multicolored dreadlocks tied in twin tails and a bridge piercing. Arching a perfect brow, she saddles the two of you with an unimpressed eye, and steps back to see if any other partygoers will claim you.

“Who the fuck are these herbs?” asks one of them, putting an emphasis on the letter ‘h’ that makes everyone laugh.

You shoot Angel a glare. Punks and goths are good people, huh? They have the decency to look a little chagrined, and rub anxiously at the back of their neck.

“Angel!” shouts a voice, and you vaguely recognize one of Angel’s friends—you’ve never formally met the guy—as he approaches and pulls them into a one armed hug. “Hey, you finally made it! I was wondering when you were gonna get your slow-ass up here.” With the music so loud, they have to lean close and yet still practically shout to be heard.

“You could’ve fucking warned me there was no elevator,” Angel says, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Show me where the drinks are before I change my mind!”

Without another word, the two of them disappear arm in arm deeper into the shabby apartment, leaving you standing in the door awkwardly. The girl at the door eyes you up and down, her expression blatantly judgemental, but merely gestures inside with a grand sweep of her arm. With a polite but nervous smile, you step over the threshold and immediately glue yourself to the wall just inside the door. There are people milling about everywhere, drinking, laughing, making out.

You’ve never felt more out of place in your entire life. A part of you wants to leave—but you can’t do that to Angel. So you’re stuck there, leaning against the wall and pretending like you don’t exist.

The music pounding through the stereo lulls momentarily as another song is chosen.

“Hey there, sweet thing.” A voice, much too close to your ear, makes you jump and you whirl on the spot. “Tell me you ain’t wearing a fuckin’ Stryper t-shirt.”

Leaning his shoulder against the very same wall, the epitome of rough, roguish charm, is a pale, gaunt-looking young man. His dark hair is pulled down in front of his face in a messy devil lock, and there’s long, red lines of blood—hopefully fake—dribbling down from the crown of his head to his chin and onto the front of his sleeveless Candlemass shirt. A wrinkled, hand-rolled cigarette is tucked behind one ear, and the vest he wears rattles with many pins when he moves. You don’t think you’ve ever seen tighter jeans in your life. It’s like they were fucking painted on. Are those fishnet tights you spy through the shredded knees?

Who is this guy?

As you take in his appearance, eyes wide, he reaches out and gently cups your chin, forcing your eyes back up to his face. He gives you a knowing smirk, eyes hooded, and your whole face feels very warm.

The music starts up again, but quieter this time—a slow power ballad. You’re distantly aware of people pairing up in the background, but your eyes are focused on his.

“You lost, little lamb?” he says, his voice low, almost a purr.

“N-No, I came here with my friend.”

With an arch of his thick brows, the bloodied stranger casts an exaggerated look around you, then resettles against the wall with a shrug. “Don’t see you with anyone.”

“...Yeah, they kinda abandoned me.” A brief, rueful smile tugs your lips.

“That’s okay. I’ll be your friend,” he says, flashing a wicked grin that quickly makes him seem less a friend and more a wolf.

Is that why he called you ‘lamb’?

“...I don’t even know your name.” But, fuck, do you want to. You can’t remember the last time someone this hot even gave you the time of day.

“I don’t know yours either,” he points out, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips. “Names are so fuckin’ superfluous, kitten, but you can call me Mary.”

“Mary?” Your brow furrows. “That’s a strange—”

As he fishes a lighter from his pocket and brings the flame to the end of the cigarette, he gestures with his free hand to his bloody face. He takes a drag and exhales a plume of smoke, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s a joke.” A beat. He heaves a sigh, and shoots you a scowl. “Why do I even fuckin’—Bloody Mary, get it?”

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” You’re not quite sure you do get it, really, but he seems to be satisfied with this answer. You change the subject. “So, do you live here?”

“Sometimes, if I feel like it.” He plucks the cigarette from his lips and offers it to you, held delicately between two long fingers. The black polish on his nails is chipped, you notice.

“I don’t smoke.”

Mary smirks. “It ain’t tobacco, lamb.”

“Oh.” Frowning, you look down at the smoldering cigarette and a little bubble of panic rises in your chest. “I-I’ve never uh. Done it. This way before.”

Mary arches a brow.

“Me and my friend, w-we usually put it in brownies.” You feel silly just saying it, and avert your gaze with a grimace.

“Oh, well… you wanna shotgun it?”

You look back up at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What is that?”

“C’mere.”

He leans in closer, until his lips are nearly touching yours. For one heart-stopping second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but no—he stops just shy of contact. The tip of his nose brushes featherlight against yours, though, and goosebumps erupt across your skin. His eyes are hooded, and there’s something so sensual and alluring in those dark depths that it makes your stomach do a little somersault.

“I exhale, you inhale, yeah?” His lip quirks into a crooked smile.

You give a slow nod, afraid that if you moved too suddenly he’d bolt like a wild animal. He lifts the joint to his lips, takes a long hit, and holds it for just a moment. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips. When he exhales a cloud of smoke, you inhale too quickly, and the unfamiliar burn of it makes your lungs spasm and you jerk backward with a cough.

Mary gives a rueful laugh and reaches past you to an open ice chest on the kitchen counter. With his free hand, he fishes out a can of beer and cracks it open. It foams and he holds it out at arms’ length with a quiet, disgruntled ah, fuck as suds splatter onto the carpet.

When it finishes spewing, he pushes the damp can into your hands, and you gratefully gulp it down to soothe your burning throat.

“Wanna go again?” he asks, once you’ve recovered enough to speak.

You eye him with apprehension. Do you want to go again? You’re pretty sure another close encounter with Mary might kill you. On the other hand, you’re craving more of that closeness.

“Okay.”

“Cool. This time,” Mary says, and he sidles a step closer, centimeters away from his body making contact with yours. “Don’t suck it into your lungs right away. Into your mouth first, like a milkshake.”

Or like something else? Your cheeks flush as this filthy thought enters your head. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice as he leans in. This time, you’re ready, and though your throat burns again, you manage to cut your coughing time by half. The cold beer helps. Mary reaches around you and extinguishes the roach in a nearby ashtray, then settles back against the wall, his shoulder touching yours. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence as the weed works its magic. It isn’t long before you feel yourself loosening up a little.

“So… is Mary your real name?” you ask, casting him an expectant glance.

Before he can answer, however, both your attentions are diverted. In the living room before you, where most of the party seems to be congregated, a girl is sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing idly with an empty bottle of wine. She leans forward and gives the bottle a spin as she talks, and when it finally comes a stop, the mouth of it points to a taller girl leaning on the wall across from her.

“Ha, now you guys have to make out,” giggles another partygoer.

An nervous titter rises up from the other partiers.

Wordlessly, the girl on the floor gets to her feet, approaches the girl on the wall, and draws her lips downwards in a kiss. Several wolf whistles and appreciative hoots rise up from the crowd, and eventually the two part, looking flushed but grinning. The tall girl leaning against the wall grabs the other girl’s hand, and fishes out a marker to scribble a phone number across her palm.

Mary tilts his head back against the wall he’s leaning on and gives you a curious look out of the corner of his eye. You pretend like you don’t see his gaze linger on your body.

“Someone else spin!” demands a partygoer, and another person grabs the wine bottle.

“What is this, a party of stupid horny teenagers?” snorts someone else, and everyone drowns them out with a chorus of boos. Someone throws a pillow at them and everyone laughs.

“You wanna play?” asks Mary, his lip curving into a wolfish smirk. “Get someone’s tongue down your throat?”

“W-What?” Eyes widening, you tear your gaze away from the display before you to look him in the face. “No…” Not unless it’s yours. Even though you don’t say that last part, you can’t help but glance down at his lips as you think it.

“No?” He turns towards you, leaning now on one shoulder instead of two, and lets the side of his head rest lazily on the wall. That smirk only grows more wicked. “Oh, so you want your tongue in—”

A collective squeal rises up from the partiers congregated in the living room as the game of spin the bottle has now become a game of truth or dare, it seems. Instead of making out with a stranger, someone’s been dared to flash everyone. With a gasp of shock, you look away as a dude gets to his feet and starts fumbling with the fly of his pants.

Mary doesn’t look away.

“Do you want to play?” you ask him, looking up at his face.

“Always, kitten.” Tearing his gaze from the flasher, he looks down at you with those gorgeous dark eyes of his, and he gives you a wink.

“Fine.” The weed and beer have made you more confident—perhaps stupidly so. “Let’s play.”

Mary’s face splits into a crooked grin—a wicked flashing of teeth that does very little to soothe your nerves—and his hand grabs yours. You barely have time to grab another beer before he’s yanking you towards the circle of partygoers that’s begun to crowd around the spinning bottle.

You think maybe Mary’s going to sit beside you, but instead, he elbows his way into the circle across from you, and sits cross-legged on the floor. The game continues without interruption, and everyone decides if they’d rather kiss the person the bottle lands on, tell a truth, or do a dare.

Most people pick dare.

In the five minutes it takes for your turn to arrive, you’ve seen a lot of tits and ass from strangers. More than you’d ever care to see, really. You get the impression that these people aren’t exactly creative when it comes to thinking up dares. Or they’re just really horny. Most of the dares involve getting naked or showing off body parts.

Finally, it’s your turn.

You swallow hard, pointedly avoiding Mary’s gaze, and give the bottle a twist. It spins and spins and spins in a seemingly endless loop.

You chance a glimpse at Mary. Those dark eyes of his are hooded and staring at you with such an intensity, as if he’s reading every filthy thought you’ve ever had in your entire life and he’s imagining ways to sweetly torment you with them. Your stomach does a little somersault. Somehow, you just know where the bottle’s going to land. Mary’s lip twists into a subtle, wicked smirk, and the bottle comes to a stop.

It’s pointed to the girl just to Mary’s left.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Mary arches an eyebrow at you, an unasked question lurking in the inky depths of his eyes. But now the girl is asking the question and your attention is diverted away from him.

“Truth or dare?”

“...Dare, I guess.” You make direct eye contact with Mary as you say it. You think he looks a little impressed, but it’s hard to tell.

The girl chews her bottom lip in thought. “Dare you to…” She gives you an impish grin. “Let us look through the pics on your phone for one minute.”

A collective “ooooh” rises up from the congregation and several pair of eager eyes fall on you. A hot blush crawls up your cheeks, and as you fish your phone from your pocket, unlock it, and hand it to her, you silently pray you deleted those nudes you took a couple of weeks ago just for fun.

As your darer scrolls through your picture gallery, Mary leans to look over her shoulder, occasionally flicking his eyes up at you and smirking. The minute seems to drag on forever, and you busy yourself with taking sips of your beer, but you can’t help anxiously watching as they go through all your photos.

“Oh my God,” giggles your darer, and she turns your phone around to show you. “Cute selfie but is that a fucking dildo??”

A cackle rises up from the crowd of people as you look at the picture. You’d taken it a couple of days ago but never posted it to your social media for this exact reason. Sitting on the dresser in the background is a large, silky purple dildo. Face hot and red now, you snatch away the phone, grumbling under your breath as you stuff it back into your pocket.

“It’s my roommate’s,” you mumble, but no one hears you.

Mary gives a snorting giggle.

The person to your left gives the bottle a spin and the game continues. Several shotgunned beers, flashed body parts, eaten teaspoons of mustard, and one extremely loud streak later, it’s Mary’s turn.

The bottle lands on you. Mary cocks his head to one side, his eyes patient but there’s an unspoken challenge there that makes your pulse leap with anticipation.

“Dare.” He says it without even waiting to be asked.

“Okay…” You think for a moment, then flash him a grin of your own. “Dare you to sing us a verse from your favorite song.”

This seems to have finally flapped the unflappable Mary. His intense, challenging gaze falters a bit, replaced with utter bewilderment. He blinks, and a subtle blush rises to his cheeks, barely visible beneath the lines of dried blood. A thrill of pride surges through at the thought that you managed to surprise him.

“And no cheating, Goore,” says the girl beside him, elbowing his ribs gently. She flashes him a smug smirk. “They said sing, not growl.”

Mary casts her an irritated glower, before flicking his eyes back to you. For a moment, he contemplates, and his gaze holds yours the whole time. Someone turns down the music so that he can be heard better. With a clear of his throat, he closes his eyes, and begins singing.

I'm crucified Crucified like my savior Saintlike behavior A lifetime I prayed

I'm crucified For the holy dimension Godlike ascension Heavens away

A stunned silence follows this brief display. Everyone is staring at Mary with disbelief in their eyes, including you. Never would you have suspected that such an angelic voice could’ve come out of such a rough-looking guy. Several people clap, but Mary has eyes for only you. The intensity to his gaze fills you with both anxiety and elation. You’re unsure if there’s a punishment or a reward coming for you the next time your turn comes up.

You’re unsure which idea thrills you more.

The game continues, and a few uncreative rounds later, your spin finally selects Mary as your darer again.

He flashes you a mischievous grin, and your pulse spikes with adrenaline. By this point, you’ve had a couple more beers, and you’re really beginning to feel the effect. You’re a little braver, but only a little. A tiny, cowardly part of you wants to chicken out and pick truth, but Mary doesn’t even give you a choice.

“Dare you to make out with the hottest guy here.”

Fuck.

Judging from the smug grin and the intense smolder to his eyes, he knows he’s got you now. He cocks his head to one side, and his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, as if preparing himself for the inevitable.

Well, if he’s going to be so insufferable about it.

Holding his gaze, you turn to the guy immediately to your left, lean in, and capture his lips in a searing kiss. He grunts in surprise, but at least he reciprocates. Several hoots and whistles rise up from the crowd as the kiss continues on for a minute or two. You briefly toy with the notion of sliding into the stranger’s lap, but decide this will suffice for now. After a moment, your eyes open and you meet Mary’s gaze.

That insufferably smug look on his face has utterly evaporated. He stares at you, his expression hovering somewhere between heartbroken and incredulous. Then that, too, dissolves, and he looks away with a scowl.

“I need some air,” he mutters, and he gets to his feet.

Avoiding your gaze, he picks his way through the circle, and strides off. Guilt sinks its hot teeth into your stomach and you break away from your unsuspecting kissing victim.

“Mary, wait.”

With clumsy, drunken movements, you scramble to your feet, tripping only a little, and hurry after him. You find him out on the tiny balcony of the apartment, leaning on the railing and smoking a cigarette. Trying your best to be stealthy, you slip out onto the balcony. He doesn’t look up as you shyly approach the railing beside him.

“...I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Mary exhales a lungful of smoke, and casts you an unreadable glance out of the corner of his eye.

“For that, back there.” You frown. “I don’t know why I—“

“Forget about it.” He gives a shrug, turning his gaze back out to the glittering city stretching out before you, and takes another drag of his cigarette. “Got no fuckin’ reason to be mad, do I?”

Your heart sinks a little. He has a point, but you hate it anyway. Slowly, you shuffle a half step closer, until your arm lightly brushes against his, and look up at him. In your half-drunk state, you can’t find yourself to be ashamed of your ogling. He really is beautiful, even with lines of red dribbling down his face. The neon lights of the city below throw odd shadows across his features, highlighting the curve of his cheekbones, the crooked angularity to his nose, the definition of his brow. His lips look so soft and inviting. You find yourself studying them while biting your own.

“...It’s you, yanno,” you mumble quietly, rotating to lean your elbows on the railing. “I was just… I dunno, being stupid, I guess.” You look away from him, frowning at nothing in particular. “You know it’s you, that’s why you asked.”

“What’s me?” he asks, as he flicks the spent cigarette over the railing. With hooded eyes, he finally turns his head to look at you, and you just can’t resist anymore.

Wordlessly, you reach for his face and pull his lips down to meet yours. Obediently, he lets himself be pulled. He hums out a chuckle against your mouth, low and quiet. There’s some minor adjusting as he sidles closer, one hand sliding up to the back of your neck while the other yanks your hips against his, and his lips part in silent invitation. He tastes like beer and cigarettes and there’s some kind of unnameable metallic tang on his tongue, but holy fuck do you need more.

A soft, desperate moan escapes you, immediately swallowed by his kiss, and he adjusts more, sliding one of his thighs between your legs. You grind yourself against him with a whine. His hands fall to your hips, squeezing you and guiding you just right on his thigh. For a moment or two, he seems content with this—your lips on his, his tongue in your mouth, your crotch grinding against his thigh. With a groan through clenched teeth, he breaks the kiss and brings his lips to your ear.

“Better tell me what it is you’re after, little lamb,” whispers Mary, as your hands fumble with the overly-large belt buckle at his waist. “Or else I ain’t gonna fuckin’ know.”

“Want you,” you mumble incoherently, whining as he gives the thigh you’re riding a bounce. “Fuck me, please. Please.”

“Mm…” He makes a show of considering your proposal, cocking his head to one side. He leans in a little, and you think that he’s going to kiss you again, to get you going, and take it a step further. Then his face splits into a wicked grin.

“Nah.”

And he just pulls away.

You gasp in shock, your mouth hanging open in betrayal. As Mary Goore steps away from you, leaving you panting and needy and utterly unsatisfied, he gives a little cackle. So this is your punishment for disobeying his dare. God, what an asshole!

At the sliding glass door, Mary pauses, flashes you a shit-eating grin accompanied with a two-fingered salute in farewell, and disappears back inside.

What the fuck.