#Like even him moving in next to gatsby!

[axsolotle]

do you ever think about how in The Great Gatsby Nick never really does anything of his own accord? how he’s always doing what others expected of him by others? because I sure do

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x F! reader, best friend! Eddie, friends to lovers, dry humping, nipple play Summary: Eddie turns up at your house one night and in need of help so you show him how far you're willing to go to help out your closest friend. WC:4K

For the most part you were indifferent towards Jeff Parker. Neither of you ran in the same circles and he was usually the type to keep his head down but add a little alcohol to the equation and the guy turns into a regular Jay Gatsby — all over indulgent and the life of the party. You just wish that party wasn't taking place 15 feet away from your bedroom window.

It was all the drunken hollering and the thumping music that kept you up that night, bone-tired after pulling double shifts at work. It was the police sirens blaring an hour later that ripped you out of a dream just as you were finally able to doze off with your head buried beneath your pillow. And it was the tapping on your bedroom window that came ten minutes later that made you spring up and nearly shoot out of your own skin.

"Eddie! what the hell?", you whisper shout into the darkness of your bedroom, recognizing his shaggy haired silhouette crouched behind the glass and backlit by nearby streetlamps.

You figured he must have climbed up the lattice to get up onto your roof as he begins to point urgently at the lock on your window, mouthing at you to let him in.

Kicking off your covers, you quickly make your way over to the window and unlock it for him, pulling it open and stepping aside to allow him to barrel roll into your room and heave a heavy sigh of relief.

Sprawled out on your carpeted bedroom floor, Eddie pants the exertion away and you leave him there to rest, connecting the dots yourself.

"I told you to stop dealing at parties", you deadpan, shaking your head in that world weary way you often slip into when it comes to Eddie but all that seems to do is trigger a grin that makes him look suspiciously chipper.

"Got to make a living don't I?", he replies from the floor, his hair all wild and fanned out in an unruly halo of frizz and curls.

It's far too late at night for you to be bothered enough to get into it with Eddie so you simply roll your eyes at him instead, making sure to shut your window to keep the chilly night air from seeping into your warm, cozy room.

The music that'd been playing next door has finally been silenced, you're pleased to notice but as you look out the window you see that the patrol car responsible for making Eddie and several other partygoers disperse and hightail it out of there remains parked in front of Jeff's house.

"I'll make a move once the fuzz's gone. I'm parked a couple blocks away so it should be fine", Eddie explains casually, able to anticipate your concern but you keep your eyes fixed on the car and its flashing lights for a moment longer, chewing on your bottom lip.

The thing was, in a town where almost everyone had it out for your best friend, you weren't too fond of the idea of him driving home at this time of night with his pockets stuffed with illicit party favours. Hell, Eddie often gets pulled over in the middle of the day by asshole officers hoping to book him on a possession charge. And since the trailer park isn't exactly closeby, the likelihood of him running into another cop and getting pulled over seems way too high for your liking.

The thought of it alone makes your stomach plummet. You just didn't want to see your closest friend getting into any kind of trouble. Especially if you could do something to help prevent it.

Turning away from your window, you eye Eddie intently while he glances up at you from where he's still laid out on his back, his breathing even now that he's managed to catch his breath.

"I think you should stay the night. It'll be safer that way", you tell him plainly.

Though most of your room is draped in darkness, Eddie's lit up in a column of orange light that pours in through your window so it's easy for you to make out the way his eyebrows rise up and disappear behind his bangs, his eyes growing wider too as he props himself up on his elbows to look at you.

"Y' sure?", he asks and you can feel him studying your face closely, looking for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

You know he'll find none though. Sure, this is all very spur of the moment stuff but you have no reservations about having Eddie stay over. Exactly the opposite.

"Yeah. But be quiet, okay? My whole family's asleep", you tell him as he begins to pick himself up off the floor, face beaming as he grins at you and steps closer to where you're standing.

"Ya big softie. All worried about me, huh?", he posits, tipping his head to the side in a way that at any other time, you might have considered cute. Right now however, all he's managed to conjure is annoyance given how little sleep you've had tonight.

So you narrow your eyes at him, the rest of your expression flat as he makes the mistake of bringing his face closer to yours, giving you the opportunity to reach out and pinch his earlobe between your thumb and forefinger, twisting the soft skin until his teasing grin deflates and he throws up his hands in surrender.

"Fuck, uncle, uncle!", he calls out while keeping his voice as low as possible, face pinched in pain and looking all kinds of helpless before you decide to let go with a pleased scoff, a small smirk playing on your lips too.

Eddie rubs a hand over his newly freed ear, his gaze wandering away from your eyes, seemingly sizing you up before he takes a step back, no longer within your reach.

"By the way...", he utters cautiously, his gaze returning to your face when another smile curves his lips.

"Nice get up".

Confused, you take a look at yourself, your face turning warm as you tug down on the hem of your oversized t-shirt, hoping in vain that Eddie hadn't caught a glimpse of the panties you've got on underneath when he was down on the floor.

Though he doesn't confirm it, the look on his face says it all — that overly pleased smirk and that telltale glint lighting up his deep brown eyes. It irks you for just a moment before you surrender with a sigh.

"Eddie, I'm too exhausted for this. Please, can we skip the teasing and just go to sleep?"

A look of vague disappointment flashes over Eddie's face when you're able to quickly brush aside your momentary embarrassment, padding over to your side of the bed, no longer concerned with how much of your bare thighs might be on display before you pull back the covers and get in.

"C'mon, get in already", you urge him to join you as you motion to the vacant space on the left side of your bed, fighting off a yawn in the process because your eyelids are starting to feel heavy again.

It's Eddie who looks a little rattled now as he eyes your bed, his fingers fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket with restless uncertainty before he rids himself of it, setting it on your desk chair before he bends down to begin unlacing his shoes in the dark.

You hear him struggle while he's crouched down, whispers of 'shit', 'fuck' and 'god fucking damnit' said loud enough for you to hear while you giggle at him, feeling a bit more at ease now that you're reminded of the kind of dork Eddie is at his core — sharing a bed should be no problem.

You've already turned over, your back to Eddie and your cheek resting on your pillow by the time you feel him slide in under the covers next to you, mattress dipping under his weight.

"I'll take off before your folks get up, I promise", he says to you and you hum back a sleepy 'okay' in reply, nuzzling into your pillow.

With that out of the way and both of you settled in bed, you thought that would be the end of it until next morning but sleep doesn't come as quickly as you would like.

For the next couple of minutes you can feel him readjusting beside you, tossing and turning and you already know why. In the interest of getting back to sleep you interrupt him. "Eds, just take them off already", you mumble over your shoulder at him, causing him to freeze.

"You want me down to my underwear?", he whispers back at you and though your back's still to him you can feel the incredulous expression he's got on his face as his eyes bore into the back of your head.

"It's fine. I'm in mine too", you tell him with a seemingly unbothered huff though if he'd had his palm pressed to your chest and just above your heart he'd know you're nowhere near as calm as you make yourself out to be.

A moment of silence elapses before he finally answers.

"Mkay"

You feel him move around, catching the sound of his zipper being pulled down before he's shucking his tight jeans off, relief apparent in his tone when he settles back in bed now that he's shed the tight denim.

"Night then", he whispers to you as you do your best to stifle the warmth swirling in your belly.

"Night", you answer, eventually drifting off to sleep at last.

~

"Shit shit shit shit shit"

It's the first thing you hear when you begin to wake up, blinking several times to clear your blurry vision before you can take a look at your alarm clock.

6.30AM. The sun's just beginning to rise and you grumble under your breath as you turn over to face Eddie, figuring now's the best time for him to make his way home.

"What the hell?"

You squint at the boy who appears several shades paler than usual, his eyes all large, looking like some kind of cornered animal with a pillow shoved over his lap.

"Um, are you okay?", you sit up in bed, your back against the headboard just like Eddie's.

His eyes dart nervously all over the room, seemingly preferring to focus them anywhere else besides on you and that only leaves you feeling even more confused.

"Okay so- the thing is...I can't exactly leave right now", he mumbles sheepishly to you, the corner of his left eye pinching into a slight twitch.

"Why? are you okay?", you ask, yet to catch on as to what seems to be troubling him.

He looks positively torn with his teeth worrying his bottom lip and a light sweat forming at his temple. "Fuck. Okay. Please don't hate me. It's just that— I have no control over it, okay? it just happens sometimes in the mornings, you know? and- and I...oh god you think I'm some kind of perv don't you?"

You can only blink at Eddie as he brings both hands up to cover his eyes, his neck stretched taught as he leans his head back until it thuds softly against your wall, letting out a defeated sigh.

Looking down at the pillow placed over his lap, you're finally able to guess what the problem is, your belly swirling with a familiar flash of warmth again, same as when you listened to him taking his jeans off last night.

"Oh...well, I don't think you're a perv. It's uh, natural? you can't help it", you tell him as calmly as you can manage, wanting him to feel better by lightening the weight of shame and guilt he's currently shouldering.

Hands still on his face, he parts his fingers enough for him to peek at you from between them. "So you're not mad?", he whispers, watching you closely to gauge your reaction.

You shake your head softly, trying your best not to let your eyes drop back to the pillow in his lap like you might be able to see right through it. You want to see right through it. Badly.

"I'm not mad Eds. I promise".

With another deep sigh, he seems to be more at ease now that he knows that he hasn't upset you, letting his arms flop down at his sides.

"I don't know what to do" he whispers and you can hear how torn he is over the whole situation as you catch the helpless little quaver to his tone.

"What do you usually do?, you ask, your thoughts all frazzled and crowding your head way too quickly than you can manage to comprehend them.

Eddie says nothing, turning to face you with a pointed look, quirking an eyebrow up high at you.

"Right.. dumb question. sorry", you admit.

A few beats of silence commence as both of your minds work, passing over bad idea after bad idea before you turn to back to Eddie again.

"I mean, you could just use my—"

"I can't just jerk off in your bathroom with you sitting here", he stops you quickly and firmly though not unkindly, making you realize that no matter what you try to come up with, he's probably already thought of it first.

"Eddie we have to do something about it", you maintain, sparing a glance at your alarm clock as it reminds you that he's only got a limited amount of time left to leave before he risks getting caught by your family or a neighbor seeing him clamber out your window.

You think about it long and hard, one particular thought echoing louder than the rest in your mind. You try to will it away but it only takes up more space in your head until it's all you can think about, taking in a big breath before you decide to share it with Eddie.

"If you want, I could help you", you tell him, nervously picking at your fingers in your lap.

"...What do you mean?", he asks, looking at you suspiciously.

You shrug. "Y' could grind on me".

There's a pause that seems to drag on much longer than you would have liked, both of you staring into each others eyes, unblinking.

"I can't do that — feels like I'd be taking advantage of you or something", he finally breaks the silence, making you feel somewhat wounded that he'd turned your offer down even though you know he's only trying to be a decent friend. You wish he'd give it a rest.

"Would it help if I took over?", you offer next, steeling yourself in the case of him turning you down once more.

"Sweetheart...please don't tell me you're just fucking with me."

"I'm not I promise", you answer firmly.

"I...are you sure? I mean really 100% sure?", he asks again.

You can't help but roll your eyes at him, slipping your legs out from under the covers to straddle Eddie's thighs all while his jaw falls slack at the sight and feeling of you on top of him, your fingers curling around the pillow still resting on his lap.

"I'm sure. Are you?", you ask him before proceeding though if you were to guess, you could read the answer off his face with ease.

"I...yeah", he squeaks, eyes all big and round like he's in awe of the way you've taken the lead.

"Okay then. Let me get rid of this."

You toss the pillow aside to the spot you'd formerly occupied, gulping down the lump in your throat with some difficulty when you set your eyes on the tent in his striped boxers. The way it strains against his underwear, it's easy to guess he's both thick and lengthy under that thin veil of cotton and the more you look at it the more it feels like the room is starting to tilt and spin.

It's the kind of thing you've thought about in secret a fair amount, you and your best friend doing things that you wouldn't ordinarily do with someone who was just your friend. You pull yourself closer to him, laying your hands on his shoulders as you balance your core over his bulge, carefully lowering yourself until you're pressed up right against his clothed cock. Both of you release a shaky breath at the feeling, him, because you feel so warm and soft and you, because he feels so warm and firm.

"Put your hands on my hips", you tell him next, liking the way his cheeks pink up in response as he places them on you gently, sending a wave of goosebumps all along your body.

You start slow, grinding yourself on the ridge of his cock, unable to help the way your pussy flutters as you drag it up near Eddie's tip and back down close to his balls, working your way up to a simple rhythm.

"How's that? is it good?" you ask, making sure to check in with him.

"Shit yeah that's...that's good. Keep going", Eddie starts to firm up his grasp on you, guiding you, encouraging you to pick up the pace, all the while you try to keep secret the way your stomach tightens up with so much heat, your pussy dripping plenty with slick.

"Eddie..."

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?", you ask him as you notice the the way his brows have begun to knit together, the same way they get when he's concentrating on nailing a solo on stage.

"I don't think I should uh answer that", he answers cautiously, disappointment making your lips push out into a little pout.

"Please. I wanna know", you ask gently, melting his resolve with your pleading eyes

"...M' thinking about your tits", he grits out, looking like he ought to be ashamed about it. You figure you have a way to fix that.

"Do you want to see them? would that um, help?"

Your offer hangs in the air for a few seconds as you finally manage to catch your clit the right way along Eddie's clothed cock, your toes curling while pleasure blooms inside your bones.

You no longer make a strong effort to hide the way that humping his cock is making you feel either, that it's not just him who's getting off here and maybe that's why Eddie manages to convince himself that it's okay to take this next step with you.

"I want to see them — yeah", he manages to croak out, his fingers twitching with so much excitement around your hips. He's thought about it too — the two of you like this. How could he not? when you're the only one who's ever cared. When you look the way you do. When you're soaking through your underwear and his with your nipples already hard as they show through your shirt.

How could he not want you?

With Eddie giving you the green light, you take your hands off of his shoulders and pick up the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off as you toss it behind you, uncaring of where it might land.

"Oh my god."

To you it might have felt like a quick undressing but for Eddie the world slows down to a crawl. He sees it all; the subtle way your breasts bounce and shift with your movements, the way they slope and rest on your chest, rising and falling with every breath and the way your perky nipples react to the cold air in your room, pebbling before his eyes.

"You can touch them if you want", you notice the way he's looking at them, feeling his cock jump under you.

"Christ, you're trying to kill me", he answers all hoarse.

To you, there's no greater compliment, your smile widening into a grin. Carefully, you guide him this time, prying his hands away from your hips and encourage him to cup his hands over your tits instead, moaning when he begins to press into the soft flesh, squeezing and massaging them.

"That feels good", you whisper, hips still working as you drag your drenched clit along his cock. "God, Eddie I've— I've wanted this for so long", you sigh dreamily, the truth spilling out much faster than you can try to swallow it all back down, all because you're so weak for the way those big, wide cinnamon eyes of his are staring back at you.

Your core's all sticky now, panties practically pasted to your skin in that messy way that usually has you eager to peel them off. Though as much as you'd like for the both of you to rid yourselves of all the tacky cotton between you, to be completely bare with each other, you don't want to mess up the rhythm you've fallen into, your clit pulsing and throbbing as you ride Eddie's lap.

"Honey... are you telling me that we could have been doing this from the start?", he asks, slightly anguished. He continues to gently pulling and pinching at your nipples while he keeps his eyes locked on yours, hushed grunts and groans falling from his parted lips.

Your hips are moving faster now, bed squeaking beneath you both, not that you care about your family hearing it — not right now — not when you're so close.

"I— I guess. Yeah", you gasp out when he pinches your right nipple, his left hand falling back down to your hip to guide you.

"You know how many times I've thought of you like this? how many times I've had to picture you on top of me just to get me through the day?, he asks, pulling and pushing you along his length with fervor.

"Why didn't you say anything?", you whine back.

"C'mon. We both kno— know you can do better than—"

Despite almost reaching the peak of your climbing orgasm, you dig your nails into the hand Eddie's got fixed on your hip, forcing your knees into your mattress to bring you both to a halt.

"Don't ever say that. Don't ever say that because it's not true", you place your hands on his cheeks, caressing his face gently. "I only kept my mouth shut incase you didn't feel the same about me...I didn't want to spoil what we already had. I couldn't stand it if you didn't want to be friends anymore..."

"Baby—", it's his turn to cradle your face, thumb making gentle circles on your cheek. "You could never lose me", he tells you, soft but firm and then you feel a pull and you suppose he must feel it too because you're both leaning in, faces closer than they've ever been before, lips grazing each other before you're sharing a kiss with your best friend for the very first time

It's gentle at first, both of your fingers weaving into each others' hair, a soft nip here and there before growing more hungry when Eddie's tongue meets yours. Both of you moan and whimper into each other's mouths, sloppy and messy, your heartbeats turning rapid when you eventually have to break for air, Eddie in need of the same when your lips part with a sticky click and he leans back to rest against the headboard again, panting. Any longer and he'd have cum from the kiss alone.

You catch your breath first, the corner of your mouth picking up into a lopsided smile. "Now are we going to make up for lost time or what?", you challenge him, both of you beaming with bright eyes and brighter smiles.

You pick up where you'd both left off, your hands on Eddie's shoulders and him, one hand on your hip, the other on your right breast, squeezing your soft skin, flicking your nipple because it makes you gasp and he loves hearing the sound of it.

"Please tell me you're close" Eddie grunts, sure to leave marks behind on your hip in the shape of his fingers. You were looking forward to admiring them in the mirror later.

"G-getting there. Wanna go faster— is that okay?", you make sure to ask, his answer coming through when his left hand slips down to find space on your other hip, pulling and pushing you along his length quick enough to make you squirm on his lap as your clit drags on him just right.

"Eddie— feels perfect...I think I'm gonna-"

"Please—" he cuts you off quickly with a ragged huff, his eyes wandering away from the wet, sticky stains that'd developed on both your underwear and his, pausing on the way your breast bounce and jiggle before fixing on your your eyes. "Please cum. I wanna watch you."

Your body begins to move on instinct as it chases your climax, eager to reach it this time than let it slip through your fingers twice. You're closer than before because it feels even better when you begin to lean back, your hands coming to rest on Eddie's thighs behind you. Your chest puffs out while you start to bounce yourself on Eddie's clothed cock, your puffy clit grazing against the stiff underside of his shaft, dragging dragging dragging until your eyes squeeze shut and it happens. The force of it wracks your body, overcome as your whole body quivers, and shakes, your pelvis twitching and jerking — and Eddie watches it all closely and unblinking.

In all his years of settling for quick glances and sly peeks at your body like those times your cleavage showed above your neckline or your bare legs and thighs were displayed whenever the weather called for a pair or shorts or a skirt, Eddie's never seen a more beautiful sight than the one he's taking in now — The way a light sheen glistens on your face, neck and chest, your swollen lips parting, releasing whimper after moan, your hair a little wild and beautiful and your panties drenched and ruined.

Eddie reaches out and brings you close, wrapping his arms around you as your chests meet and you fold into him, burying your face in his neck, whimpering and whining as your clit aches with oversensitivity though not enough to ask him to stop.

He's close by the sound and feel of it, so you grit your teeth and let him buck up against your poor soaked cunt, over and over as you drink in every grunt and groan. You want him to feel good too, unable to resist helping him tip over the edge. You let your tongue slip out from between your lips, licking the salt by his pulse point and letting out a little whisper to unravel him completely.

"Go on, cum for me, Eddie."

A guttural groan rumbles out of his throat just seconds later. it's instantaneous the way pleasure flares white hot at the pit of his stomach, shooting all the way up and raining down on the rest of his body like fireworks.

Though you're yet to feel Eddie inside you, yet to have your walls stretch to accommodate his shape and length so that you don't miss every little jerk, twitch and throb before he spills hot into you, you're still able to feel the effect of Eddie's orgasm. His body shudders and twitches underneath your weight, your pussy feeling warmer and wetter where just under it, Eddie's cum spurts rope after messy rope into his underwear, the cotton becoming saturated with his spend and transferring to your panties.

In the moments following your intense mutual pleasure, the both of you remain entangled in each others arms, sitting in the damp mess you've made of yourselves while you fight to catch your breath. It's Eddie who manages to break the silence first.

"...Do I have to go?, he whispers to you, one warm hand stroking your back gently.

"Do you want to go?, you ask softly against his neck, nuzzling against his skin.

"Not if I can stay and be with you"

You smile hard, chuckling against his skin. "Then stay. I want you to stay too. Y' can hide out in here"

"Yeah? I'm your little secret, huh?", he teases, his lips kissing your temple

"Only for today", you reply.

"Oh?"

You gently unstick yourself from Eddie so you can look him in the eyes, brushing his sweaty bangs away from his bright eyes before you cradle his cheek with one hand.

"Tomorrow I'm telling everyone we know that you're mine"

[maddie0101]

『 chapter one 』

꧁ summary: dean and the reader get thrown back to the 1920s, stuck in a time where they don’t belong. with no clue how to get home, their best bet is to blend in, fast.

꧁ warnings: cussing, protective!dean, slight fluff, pinning, Dean in suspenders looking hot as ever, men in the 1920s, lmk if I missed anything?

꧁ word count: 4.3k

꧁ note: omg, I finally posted the first chapter! schedule has been set to chapters being released on mondays! lmk what you guys think!

series masterlist next chapter

The hunt had been routine. A simple case of cursed objects, an old mansion filled with junk that shouldn’t have been disturbed. Dean had been griping about how easy it was, how “even Sam could’ve handled this one over the phone,” right up until the moment the two of you touched the wrong damn thing.

At the time, though, nothing had happened.

You’d found the object, a small, gold watch tossed it in a cloth bag, and finished clearing the house. No sudden flashes of light, no eerie whispers, no instant consequences. Just another weird relic, probably cursed, definitely something to lock up in the bunker’s storage room and forget about.

Or so you thought.

By the time you got back to the bunker, exhaustion had settled deep in your bones. You dumped your gear on the war room table, letting out a sigh. Dean followed suit, tossing his duffel down with a thud before stretching his arms over his head.

“Well, that was a whole lotta nothin’,” he said, voice laced with boredom. “Could’ve wrapped that up in half the time if you weren’t so damn careful about everything.”

You shot him a look. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want to get cursed?”

Dean scoffed. “Please. If that thing was gonna do something, it would’ve done it already.”

And because fate was a cruel, ironic bitch, that was the exact moment the watch, forgotten inside the bag, began to hum. The sound was low at first, almost imperceptible, but then the whole room seemed to shift. The air grew thick, the overhead lights flickered, and a deep, unnatural pull wrapped around your gut.

“Uh, Dean—”

Before you could move, the watch pulsed with energy. A violent force yanked at you like a ripcord being pulled and the world tilted.

And then—The bunker was gone. The scent of gun oil and old books vanished, replaced by thick cigarette smoke and the sharp tang of gasoline. Instead of cool concrete floors, your boots scuffed against pavement.

Dean had grabbed your arm immediately, his grip solid and grounding, his body tensed like he was expecting a fight. “Tell me you’re seein’ what I’m seein’,” he muttered, his voice tight.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. The people around you were dressed like they’d walked straight out of The Great Gatsby—men in suits and fedoras, women in beaded dresses, their lips painted a deep red. A streetcar rattled past, kicking up dust, and a newspaper boy hollered from the corner, “Extra, extra! Read all about it—Prohibition raids downtown!”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh, hell no,” Dean muttered.

You turned to him, your own panic reflected in his wide green eyes. “Dean… I think we just got zapped into the 1920s.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me.”

People were already starting to stare. Not just quick glances, but full-on, lingering what the hell are they wearing? stares. A few passersby even whispered to each other, their eyes flicking from your boots to Dean’s flannel like you’d just stepped off a spaceship.

It took you a second to realize why. Your clothes.

Jeans, t-shirts, boots, the normal, comfortable, modern look you always went for. But in the middle of a street filled with suspenders, pressed slacks, and actual fucking fedoras, you and Dean might as well have been wearing neon signs that read: Not From Around Here.

Dean noticed it, too. His entire body tensed, his shoulders going rigid as he muttered, “Shit.”

“Yeah, okay, we gotta move,” he said, grabbing your wrist in that no-nonsense, don’t argue with me way and tugging you into motion. His pace was quick but controlled, his boots clicking against the pavement as he steered you down the sidewalk. You passed shop windows filled with fancy hats, silk gloves, and glass perfume bottles, their golden price tags glinting under the electric lights.

Dean was already muttering to himself, running through a plan. “We need to lay low, figure out where the hell we are, and—”

“—find clothes that don’t make us look like time travelers?” you cut in, glancing down at your boots. “Because we are definitely getting stared at.”

Dean exhaled through his nose, irritated but resigned. “Damn haunted antiques,” he grumbled. “Just once, I’d like to go on a case where we don’t get zapped, cursed, or thrown into some parallel dimension.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, guess we’re not that lucky.”

“No shit.” Dean’s grip tightened on your wrist. “We need to get off the street. Now.”

The moment you turned the corner, you nearly collided with a man stepping out of a shop. You gasped, stumbling back as he caught himself with a smooth step, barely fazed.

“Whoa—easy there, doll,” the stranger drawled, his voice slow and syrupy, like he had all the time in the world. He tipped his fedora at you, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You barely had a second to process the sweetheart before his gaze flickered over you and Dean, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “You two get caught in the rain or somethin’?” he asked, head tilting. “You look a little… out of place.”

Dean stiffened beside you, his entire body coiled tight like a spring. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his grip still firm around your wrist. He didn’t say anything, but you could practically hear the son of a bitch forming in his head.

So, you jumped in first, forcing what you hoped was an easy smile. “Uh, yeah,” you said quickly, heart hammering. “Long story. We, um… lost our luggage.”

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he didn’t press. “Tough luck,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You might wanna check out Miss Ruby’s dress shop down the way—she’ll fix you up real nice.” Then his gaze slid to Dean, taking in the flannel, the jeans, the decidedly not 1920s-approved boots, and his smirk deepened. “And, uh… maybe get your fella a proper suit before someone thinks he’s lost.”

Dean’s entire face twitched. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his grip on you tightening like he was this close to decking the guy just for existing. Instead, he forced what might’ve been the most painful smile of his life and muttered, “Yeah. Thanks, pal.”

The man gave a polite tip of his hat before strolling away, casual as ever, leaving you and Dean standing there in awkward silence.

“C’mon, Winchester,” you teased, stepping ahead of him, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. “Let’s get you looking respectable.”

Dean let out a low grumble behind you, but he followed.

Miss Ruby’s shop was small but elegant, nestled between a bakery and a hat store, its window display showcasing delicate lace gloves, silk scarves, and dresses that looked like they belonged in an old hollywood film. The moment you stepped inside, the scent of lavender and perfume wrapped around you like a thick, flowery embrace, mingling with the faint hint of dust and aged fabric. The place was warm, cozy in that old-money kind of way—polished wood floors, gold-framed mirrors lining the walls, and soft jazz crackling from a radio in the corner.

Miss Ruby herself was a sharp-eyed woman in her fifties, dressed to the nines in a dark burgundy dress with matching lipstick, her hair pinned into neat curls. The moment her gaze landed on you and Dean—your modern clothes standing out like a sore thumb—her thin brows lifted. She didn’t even hesitate before declaring, “Well, aren’t you two in a pickle?”

Dean huffed under his breath, shifting uncomfortably, but you stepped forward, plastering on a polite smile. “We, um… ran into some bad luck. We need outfits.”

Miss Ruby gave you a long, scrutinizing once-over, eyes narrowing slightly. “A couple in need of a wardrobe refresh, huh?”

Dean tensed beside you. “We’re not—”

“Yes,” you cut in quickly, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough that he let out a soft grunt. The last thing you needed was more questions, more suspicion. If blending in meant letting some random 1920s lady think you and Dean were a couple, then so be it.

Dean shot you a seriously? look but kept his mouth shut.

Miss Ruby didn’t look entirely convinced, but she just waved a hand. “Ladies’ section is in the back. Gents, you’ll be up front.” Then, with a smirk, she eyed Dean’s flannel like it personally offended her. “And maybe something that doesn’t look like it crawled out of a barn.”

Dean bristled, muttering something about perfectly good flannel and what the hell is wrong with barns? as you grinned and followed Miss Ruby deeper into the shop. The fabric of the dresses brushed against your fingertips as you passed—silks, velvets, delicate beading that caught the light. Everything here felt rich, out of place in your hands.

And for the first time since being thrown into this mess, the weight of it really hit you. You were stuck in another time, trying to fit into a world that wasn’t yours. But as your fingers skimmed the soft fabric of a midnight-blue dress, one thought grounded you.

At least you weren’t alone.

Ten minutes later…

You ran your hands down the beaded fabric of your dress, feeling the intricate embroidery beneath your fingertips, still struggling to believe you were actually wearing something so elegant. The midnight-blue silk clung to your figure in a way that felt both foreign and intoxicating, the delicate stitching shimmering under the soft glow of the shop’s lights.

Every movement sent a ripple through the fringe at the hem, making it swish around your legs like liquid silver. Your arms were bare except for the smooth embrace of long silk gloves that stretched up past your elbows, the fabric whispering against your skin. A delicate headband, adorned with tiny pearls and a single dark feather, sat nestled in your hair, completing the transformation. You caught your reflection in a nearby mirror and barely recognized the person staring back at you—like you’d stepped right out of an old photograph, a ghost of another time.

You weren’t sure how you felt about the dress--until you stepped out and saw Dean.

And oh, fuck.

He was standing near the shop’s front mirror, rolling his sleeves up just a little before adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt. The vest fit like it had been made for him, the suit hugging every inch of his broad frame in a way that was downright sinful. And then there were the suspenders, peeking out from beneath the vest, stretched taut over his chest. Jesus. Dean Winchester in suspenders should’ve been illegal.

Your brain stalled, your breath hitched, and for a second, you forgot what the hell you were even doing.

Dean turned at the sound of your footsteps, his mouth already opening—probably to complain about something—only for the words to die on his tongue the second he saw you.

He fucking froze. His lips parted slightly, green eyes dragging over you in a slow, deliberate sweep that left your skin burning in its wake. His gaze lingered on the curve of your waist, the way the fabric hugged every inch of you just right, the delicate feather in your hair. He swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and you swore you saw his fingers twitch at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach out.

For once in his life, Dean Winchester had nothing to say.

The silence stretched between you, thick and crackling, charged with something electric. Your heart pounded so damn hard you were sure he could hear it.

Finally, Dean let out a breath, a little unsteady, and muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

You raised a brow, fighting a smirk. “That a good son of a bitch or a bad one?”

His jaw worked, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you. “You look…” He exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

Warmth spread through your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was from the compliment or the way he was looking at you—like you were the only damn thing in the world.

But two could play at that game.

You stepped closer, letting your eyes drift over him, slow and deliberate. “Not so bad yourself, Winchester.” You tilted your head. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you in suspenders.”

Dean cleared his throat, tugging at them like they personally offended him. “Yeah, well. They’re tryin’ to kill me.”

You grinned. “Shame. They’re kinda workin’ for you.”

Dean blinked. A faint flush crept up his neck. “Yeah?”

You hummed, your lips curving. “Yeah.”

Miss Ruby, who had been watching the whole exchange with an amused smirk, finally clapped her hands. “Well, aren’t you two just a sight? Like something straight out of a picture show.”

Dean tore his eyes away from you and cleared his throat again. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

Miss Ruby handed you a small clutch and turned toward the register. “Go on and take a look at yourselves. Make sure everything fits.”

You turned to the mirror, expecting to feel a little ridiculous, but… you didn’t. Instead, you saw something else entirely—two people who looked like they belonged in this era. A sharp-dressed man and an elegant woman standing side by side, just like any other couple in the 1920s.

A couple.

Your breath caught in your throat, pulse hammering in your ears. Because for a second—just a damn second—it didn’t feel like you were on a hunt. Didn’t feel like you were trapped in the wrong time, wearing borrowed clothes, pretending to fit into a world that wasn’t yours.

It felt like something else. Something dangerous. Something that made your skin prickle and your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with fear. And Dean felt it too—you could see it clear as day. His reflection met yours in the mirror, his green eyes dark and unreadable, something flickering behind them that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers twitched at his sides, the same way they always did when he was holding himself back. Like he wanted to reach for you. Like he wanted to close the space between you, wanted to grab your waist and pull you flush against him—but didn’t dare.

The weight of it settled between you, thick as the summer air outside, humming like a live wire ready to snap.

It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? To give in. To step forward, to press your palm against his chest, feel the heat of him through all those damn layers. To tilt your chin up just a little, and—

Dean tore his eyes away first. Cleared his throat, shifted his stance like he was shaking off a punch. “We should, uh… get moving,” he muttered, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves.

You nodded, maybe a little too quickly, trying to ignore the heat still crawling up your neck. “Yeah. Right.”

Dean made a noise somewhere between agreement and frustration, rubbing a hand over his mouth before turning toward the counter. He tossed a few crumpled bills—borrowed from a less-than-honest game of poker—onto the counter and gave Miss Ruby a tight-lipped smile. “Appreciate it.”

Miss Ruby arched a perfectly shaped brow, her gaze flicking between the two of you, lingering just a little too long. “Mhm. You kids have fun now.”

Dean grumbled something under his breath and made a beeline for the door, pushing it open a little harder than necessary. You followed, stepping back out into the warm night air, the scent of cigarette smoke and distant perfume hitting you instantly.

The street had settled a bit since earlier, the crowds thinning, the glow of streetlights casting long, hazy shadows across the sidewalk. You glanced over at Dean, who was adjusting his vest, his jaw set tight. He still looked too damn good in that suit, and it was doing absolutely nothing to help you get your head on straight.

Dean, for his part, looked as uncomfortable as ever. He tugged at his tie like it was choking the life out of him, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Damn thing’s tryin’ to strangle me.”

You smirked, arms crossed as you watched him fumble with the knot. “You look good, Winchester. Try not to die over it.”

Dean shot you a look, equally annoyed and flustered but didn’t argue. Instead, he huffed and gave the tie one last, aggressive tug. “So what’s the plan, Miss I-Read-The-Great-Gatsby?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “First, we don’t draw attention to ourselves. Second, we figure out where the hell we are. Third, we find a way to get home.”

Dean grunted, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “And if we’re stuck?”

You swallowed hard. “We’re not stuck.”

Dean must’ve caught the flicker of doubt in your voice, because his jaw tightened. His eyes softened—just for a second but his voice was steady when he said, “Damn right, we’re not.”

Before you could respond, the sound of lighthearted laughter pulled your attention to a couple passing by. They were well-dressed, hands entwined as they strolled toward a neon-lit building tucked between a tailor shop and a dimly lit alleyway. The low thrum of music and lively conversation spilled onto the street, mingling with the scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke.

A speakeasy.

Dean followed your gaze, and a slow smirk crept onto his face. “Well, ain’t that convenient.”

You hesitated. “Dean, I don’t think—”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupted smoothly, extending his arm to you like a gentleman, “when in Rome.”

Your breath caught. It wasn’t fair, the way he could look at you like that, smirking, confident, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in all of this. The glow of the streetlamp cast shadows across his sharp features, the crisp lines of his suit making him look like he belonged here, like he was meant to be leaning in close, waiting for you to take his arm.

Goddamn it.

You exhaled, leveling him with a warning glance. “Fine. But if we get arrested, I’m blaming you.”

Dean’s grin widened. “That’s fair.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you slid your hand into the crook of his arm, trying not to notice the warmth radiating through the fabric. The smirk he shot you told you he definitely noticed. “Let’s go raise some hell”

The second you stepped inside, the air wrapped around you—thick with cigarette smoke, the rich scent of whiskey, and the underlying hum of something electric. The jazz band onstage was in full swing, the brass section wailing as a sultry-voiced singer leaned into the mic, crooning lyrics that melted into the haze of conversation and clinking glasses.

On the dance floor, flappers twirled, skirts flaring as men in sharp suits spun them effortlessly. Laughter and shouts of delight filled the room, and for a second, it didn’t feel like you were stuck in the wrong decade—it felt like you’d stepped into a dream, something dazzling and dangerous all at once.

Dean led you through the crowd, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. It should’ve been nothing—just instinct, just him keeping you close, but his touch seared through the silk of your dress like a brand. Every nerve in your body stood at attention.

“Looks like we fit right in,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath warm as it brushed against the shell of your ear.

A shiver threatened to race down your spine. You swallowed hard. “Guess so.”

The bar was a polished stretch of mahogany, manned by a broad-shouldered bartender in rolled-up sleeves and suspenders. He was wiping down a glass, his sharp gaze flicking up as you approached.

Dean leaned against the counter with that easy, practiced charm of his, flashing the bartender a lopsided grin. “Hey, pal. We’re new in town—just passin’ through. Know anywhere a couple of folks can get some work?”

The bartender’s eyes flicked between the two of you, his smirk slow and knowing. “Newlyweds?”

Dean choked on absolutely nothing.

You nearly did the same. “Uh—what?”

The bartender chuckled, clearly amused. “You two got the look. Lovebirds, fresh in the city.” He winked at you. “Don’t worry, doll. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Dean was still recovering, clearing his throat as he muttered, “Yeah. Great.”

Your heart flipped, an unwelcome warmth creeping up your neck at the thought of you and Dean looking like newlyweds. Which was ridiculous. Completely absurd. But then, as if he could feel the flustered mess brewing inside you, Dean slung an arm around your waist and pulled you against him.

You froze.

His voice, when he spoke, was smooth, easy. “Well, you got us all figured out, huh?”

The bartender grinned. “Hard to miss.”

Dean’s fingers flexed slightly at your waist, his grip firm, possessive. You had to remind yourself to breathe.

The bartender turned to grab a bottle of whiskey, and you seized the opportunity to lean in, lowering your voice to a harsh whisper. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dean didn’t loosen his hold. “Makin’ sure we don’t look suspicious.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Uh-huh.”

But he wasn’t looking at you anymore. His jaw was tight, his eyes trained on the bartender like he was waiting for something, calculating, already planning the next move. He was protecting you. And God help you because you didn’t want him to let go.

The bartender slid two glasses of whiskey across the counter, still smirking like he knew something you didn’t. You could still feel Dean’s arm draped around your waist, his fingers resting against your hip like they belonged there.

You swallowed hard, grabbed your drink, and downed half of it in one go. The burn in your throat was easier to deal with than the warmth curling in your stomach from Dean’s touch.

Dean chuckled under his breath. “Easy there, sweetheart. Ain’t gotta drink me pretty.”

You shot him a glare, your cheeks burning. “I’d have to drink a lot more for that.”

Dean grinned like he knew you were lying. Before you could throw another retort at him, a man slid onto the stool beside you. He was tall, lean, with sharp features and a cocky air about him. His suit was a little too nice, his smile a little too polished. Something about him set your hunter instincts on edge.

“Well, well,” the man drawled, looking between you and Dean. “You two are new around here.”

Dean’s hold on you tightened just slightly. “Just passin’ through.”

The man smiled like that amused him. “That so? Because a couple like you—” he gestured between the two of you, “—new in town, lookin’ for work? That makes people curious.”

You stiffened. “And what kind of people are we talkin’ about?”

His smile didn’t falter. “The kind who like to know who they’re dealing with.”

Dean let out a slow breath, his body tensing beside you. “Yeah? And what if we’re just here to enjoy a drink?”

The man tilted his head. “Then you’re in the wrong place.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Dean smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That so?”

The man smirked. “That’s so.” Then, as if this whole conversation was just so amusing, he slid a card across the counter. “If you’re looking for real work, I suggest you come find me.”

Dean didn’t pick up the card.

But you did. It was small, worn at the edges, with nothing but an address printed in bold, ink-black lettering. No name. No instructions. Just a destination, as if that was all you needed to know.

Your fingers tightened around it as you glanced up, searching for the man who had slipped it to you—but he was already gone, swallowed by the crowd like a ghost. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled.

Dean shifted beside you, his body coiled tight. “I already hate this guy,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with something sharp.

You exhaled through your nose, staring down at the card as your stomach twisted. “He knows something.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Yeah, well. I got a bad feelin’ about this.”

You tapped the card against the bar, your pulse thudding a little too fast. “You think we should go?”

Dean turned his head so slowly you almost laughed. Almost. The look he gave you could’ve curdled whiskey. “Do I want to? No. Do I think we should? Hell no.”

You sighed. “Dean.”

His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking. You could see the war happening behind those green eyes—every instinct telling him to walk the hell away, to trust his gut, to drag you out of here and find another way. But you both knew that wasn’t an option.

Finally, he let out a heavy breath. “Fine. But I swear, if this turns into some Al Capone meets monster-of-the-week situation, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

You smirked, leaning in just enough to make it worse. “I think you’d look good in a fedora.”

Dean huffed, unimpressed, and threw back the rest of his whiskey like he needed the liquid courage to put up with your shit. He set the glass down with a decisive clink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

But as the two of you stepped away from the bar, Dean’s arm still solid around your waist, the weight of the card in your palm felt heavier than it should have.

And deep down, you knew—this was just the beginning.

author’s note:

surprise!! here’s the first chapter!

omg, I’m so excited to finally share the first chapter with y’all! not gonna lie I’ve been kinda lazy with editing and writing lately, lmfao. the schedule has finally been set though!

every monday a new chapter will be released! the series will contain six chapters in total! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I had fun writing it! ❤︎

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @pressedwater @ladysparkles78 @waynes-multiverse @exansation @darkrose064 @fallingforfictionalmen @jollyhunter (lmk if I missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list)

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[irisbleufic]

REVIEW

Gatsby: An American Myth (Welch, Chavkin, Bartlett, Majok, & Tayeh; American Repertory Theater)

Something that most adaptations of Gatsby get wrong, whether film or stage, is the treatment of characters as archetypes rather than individuals. Symbolism drowns out most genuine attempts at capturing emotional connections and conflicts of personality. They forget that this story is not only a failure of the so-called American Dream; first and foremost, it’s a tragedy of failed roles and relationships. Almost every one of the players is attempting to be someone they are not, and even as they reach for what they believe they should want, they reveal with increasing fervor what they actually want. This is the heart of what makes Welch’s new adaptation so devastatingly, disarmingly unique, so true to its source.

The set design is literal wreckage. Crushed and warped automobile chassis scaffold the moving staircases, and concealed trap doors. The backdrop shows no clear incorporation of the infamous Eckleburg billboard; rather, it is made up of a dotted grid resembling headlights. These play out effects ranging from a downpour to camera flashes to, briefly and only once, a pair of eyes that make no effort to hide behind the owlish frames of glasses. The only thing infusing this jagged framework with meaning is the people who move through it.

The lighting design works with the set’s incongruences, deepening or excavating shadows as needed. The brightness, when it flares, is blinding. Jewel tones either enhance or diminish a costuming scheme that is composed of either very pale or very dark shades, no in between. And whether it’s the post-apocalyptic black and gray cabaret garb of the ensemble or the wealthy protagonists’ pale suits or the gunmetal and gray denizens of the wasteland, everyone’s trouser and skirt hems are conspicuously rimed with reddish dust. The visual effects are nearly impossible to describe without sounding like I had some kind of desperate fever dream.

So far, I realize that these descriptions of the set and lighting design sound like this production is about to fall into the trap of overplaying symbolism, but please bear with me. With all of that established, I can focus on what’s truly extraordinary here, what’s meant to and does shine unhindered. The acting, musicianship and vocals are all so precise that it was hard for me to believe this show is still in previews. It feels Broadway ready, West End ready, major international tours ready. If I was the production crew, I’d turn this loose on a massive scale from the get-go without a second thought.

Much like with Hadestown, the musicians are not down in an orchestra pit. They’re characters in their own right, present on the stage from start to finish on tiered risers that run up from the center on each side from one of the catwalks. I’m sure Chavkin’s involvement as director has everything to do with why this show feels so much like, moves so much like Hadestown. The company is on an equally small scale, about 23 - 25 people including the principals.

Costuming among the ensemble is delightfully gender agnostic. I mention a cabaret aesthetic earlier in this review, and I’m not kidding. If you had shown me the ensemble costume designs without showing me the principals’ designs, I would have assumed I was looking at a Cabaret revival. They’re the most talented dancers I’ve seen occupy one stage in more than a decade. The choreography relies on movements in eerie unison for a significant portion of the show, but not without allowance for individual flair within those constraints. The guy sitting next to me, when I spoke to him at the intermission, said he works as a choreographer in regional theater, and he’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t agree more; the dancing is singular, and as impressive as the musicianship is, the dancing and unusual body movement are maybe the greatest achievements of this show on the living, breathing end of things. I could have watched the dancers for those three hours without any dialogue or vocal intervention and still understood the story. That takes so much fucking doing.

As for the principal cast, they’re constantly among the ensemble; when I say these are all triple threats in the purest sense of that terminology, I really mean it. You always expect a few of the principals to be less dance and movement focused, more polished on the acting and singing side, but this show gives you terrifying proficiency from every angle. Even the guy playing Meyer Wolfsheim is at the center of what I think is the most memorable dance number in the piece. I’ve just never seen such versatile principals all in one production. What’s even more extraordinary is that I had never heard of or previously seen any of them, and that takes some doing given how much live theater I’ve consumed in several decades of life.

Ironically, the musical composition is the one aspect of this production on which I’ll be spending the least time. I need not tell you why Welch and Bartlett were perfect for this job. They understood the assignment, and then some. There’s not a single weak number among the track listings, and I desperately hope they release a recording soon. The standout numbers all have something in common: they showcase Soleia Pfeiffer as Myrtle Wilson. You can tell that’s the role where Welch sank most of the sound that’s considered her signature style. I don’t even need to describe it; you already know what I’m talking about. What’s impressive otherwise is the restraint, the lack of over-reliance on that signature style.

The principals are fucking perfect. I’ve kept this review tautly professional without meaning to thus far, but from here on out is where I start bleeding feels all over the post. If you don’t already know who my blorbos are due to my writing history with a Gatsby-related novel (The Pursued and the Pursuing, 2021), you’re going to know by the time you’re done reading this. You’re going to know exactly who I love and why, who I hate and why, who I ship and why. But you’ll also know that I approach all three of those elements from a place of enjoying every moment of those characters, even the ones I hate. Nobody’s performance put me off or struck the wrong tone when taken in context of the novel and how the tragedy of how their relationships play out.

For a long time, I’ve been saying that there are certain support roles, certain sidekicks, that make or break the higher-profile person to whose side they’re stuck, ride or die, until the bitter end. Horatio is a great example that I’ve ranted about before; if your Hamlet production has a lackluster Horatio, then it doesn’t matter how good the Hamlet is. You have nothing if you don’t have the binary star system at the heart of that harrowing universe. I’ve seen other adaptations of Gatsby consistently fall apart because Nick Carraway is treated like the kind of voyeur who doesn’t matter, the kind of voyeur who serves as the audience’s eyes and ears, and nothing else. Anyway, this is all to say: Ben Levi Ross as Nick might be the most compelling argument I can make for the fact that the creative team behind this show understood the assignment. He’s awkward, warm, sincere, and reactive in all of the ways you need Nick to be. He’s not a passive observer; he’s in the middle of everything, and he knows it. There’s a self-deprecating response he makes when one character, Jordan if I’m not mistaken, quips that maybe he’s the reason for Gatsby’s parties for all he knows. “Maybe I am,” he says, and the tongue-in-cheekness belies a gutting meta-sincerity. We believe Daisy is the point, Gatsby believes Daisy is the point, but what’s borne out every breathtaking moment of this production is that Nick is the point. He always was. He’s also given his due as a gay man in context of the story for the first time ever. I might make some folks mad when I say Nick has always been gay; I’m going to point you to Myrtle’s apartment party and the hookup with Mr. McKee as textual evidence in the novel. The kiss with McKee, the hookup with McKee, is unapologetically here. His lack of belonging everywhere else he’s ever been, because he is gay, is unapologetically here. One of the most memorable numbers in the show hinges on the hope feels at being able to be himself in New York. Queer fans of Gatsby have been waiting a long time for this. Anyone who’s read the text closely and understood him has been waiting a long time for this. I’ve been waiting several decades as a reader, and I would’ve waited forever to have Nick so fully, lovingly realized.

One of the other things that Gatsby adaptations have persistently gotten wrong is the titular character himself. The invention of Jay Gatsby hides the underlying James Gatz, makes it feel as if that old self is truly subsumed, as if it never mattered. But Isaac Powell gives us a Jay who’s exactly as he should be, who can’t hide beneath his own attempt at artifice and reinvention worth a goddamn. He’s young (as young as Nick; they’re 32 and 30 respectively both in the novel and here), painfully earnest, and just barely keeping a handle on the criminal shit he’s had to do in order to get where he is. When he says old sport to Nick, it’s not an affectation; when he says it to Tom, it becomes a biting insult. This is a Jay who knows where and why he’s vulnerable; he latches onto Nick like a not because he sees a man close to Daisy that he can exploit, but because he sees another young man who’s equally vulnerable, equally an outsider, equally haunted by the things they had to do in the war. From the moment they meet, they are almost always touching—a hand on the shoulder, on the back, getting in social harm’s way for each other, eyes seeking each other without cease in the most crowded of settings. When Jay takes Nick to lunch to meet Wolfsheim (who has in this production taken on the function of Dan Cody as well), it’s not to have somebody else vouch for the artifice of who Jay Gatsby is. It’s taking Nick to meet his fucking father-figure, and all of the messy, sincere “if you hurt my boy, I’ll kill you” sentiment that Wolfsheim aims at Nick was the moment I knew just how much the Nick’s loss by the end was going to hurt. Jay’s love for Daisy is a ghost of itself, even if as painfully earnest as everything else about him. Meanwhile, his attachment to Nick is so disarmingly genuine from the start that you understand the true tragedy you’re about to watch untold: these men who need each other, maybe even were made for each other, each prove unable to step outside their parallel distractions from what they truly are to each other. Jay’s interactions with Daisy and Nick’s interactions with several male and/or gender ambiguous members of the ensemble have something in common, which is a shocking level of physicality. This show had an intimacy coordinator; that’s the level of no holds barred we’re talking about. When you look at Tom and Myrtle, you can see why that was merited, too.

Speaking of Tom (Cory Jeacoma), the treatment of him here is every bit as scary as it should be. There’s no attempt to make him palatable, unlike what I’ve seen done with him in other adaptations. He towers over everyone else in the cast, I mean everyone, to a physical degree that’s uncomfortable. The way his wife, lover, and friends all flinch when he gets too close to them speaks volumes to the fact that he’s an abuser in every sense of the term. Even Nick, the prodigal college friend from Yale, is on eggshells around him (which, by the hotel blowup at the end of the show, becomes a sneering, reckless contempt, one of the driving forces that drives Nick to put himself between Jay and Tom whenever real harm is on the table). At the same time, this is a Tom who sincerely loves his wife and was only ever using Myrtle as a fling. You can tell he never meant any of the promises he made Myrtle. When Daisy tells him she didn’t stop the car on purpose, it’s as if his wife’s unapologetic act of manslaughter (“It was her or me!”) is the thing that wins him back. They aren’t careless people; they are people who consciously choose, day in and day out, to use others until they’re bored or done with them. The ruthlessness of Tom and Daisy as a couple is impressive, played up to a level that I feel more adaptations should do without fear of exaggerating the text.

As mentioned above, Daisy (Charlotte MacInnes) is no delicate, nervous creature who can’t help her actions under duress. She knows what she’s doing every bit as much as Tom knows what he’s doing. They use people, hurt people because they get bored and restless and enjoy it. I respect a Daisy who’s in control of her actions every step of the way even if I don’t like her; it’s better than trying to depict her as weak and at the mercy of the men around her. She’s a pragmatist and a survivor. So many of her songs are about choices and being conscious of those choices. She is a person you should fear every bit as much as you fear her husband, and even Jordan knows she’s not safe in Daisy’s orbit.

As Jordan, Eleri Ward is one of the neatest personalities on stage. Like Tom, she’s noticeably taller than most, which gives her a commanding physical presence. She has no romantic interest in anyone; I fucking love that this production show her and Nick bonding on the basis of being queer and tired of everyone else’s shit. This is a more likable, relatable Jordan than I’ve seen in the past. This is a Jordan whose relationship to Gatsby is much more familiar and warm, much more akin to the friendship she forms with Nick. In fact, the queer-and-tired vibes that roll off several of the principals in this production are palpable.

Myrtle and Wilson (Matthew Amira) aren’t always played as effective foils for Daisy and Tom, but here? They unquestionably are. They do actually love each other in spite of the things they’ve done to hurt each other, and it’s a constant dance of daring each other, challenging each other. The most memorable duet in the entire show is between them, during Act II. The confrontation is positively electric. These are two people with deep, complicated history. Of all the couples in the show, they feel the most real, the most alive. It makes the loss of Myrtle so much more wrenching; she’s not just a plot device emblematic of the bad choices they’ve all been making. She’s not shallow or frivolous or anything like that. She’s a shrewd woman with complex motivations, and for the first time ever I find myself loving her and caring what happens to her. She’s thrust even further into the action in that one of her part time gigs is working as a maid at Gatsby’s parties, a conceit that works shockingly well and hastens the devastating consequences of her affair with Tom.

I’ve made mention of Meyer Wolfsheim’s (Adam Grupper) uniquely enhanced role previously, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment on him again. This is a man who does, in fact, seem to give a shit about Jay above and beyond using him as a tool in his criminal empire. It’s not necessarily a healthy father-son dynamic, but Wolfsheim is usually played as ruthless, opportunistic, inhumanly calculating. Here, he’s a charming, but unquestionably dangerous man moved by a young soldier’s plight. He seems conflicted between his love for Jay and his need to have Jay continue to hold the party line within their business relationship. Wolfsheim is deeply conflicted about Jay in a way that I haven’t seen any Wolfsheim be played previously. And, as I mentioned earlier, the actor has a showstopper of a song and dance number. That may be the #1 “I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take it!” moment for me in this show. And I say “may be” only because the moment that truly stopped my heart, will stay with me until everything else fades from memory, is perhaps only understandable in the context of my engagement with the text of Gatsby as a writer of transformative works.

Daisy’s and Tom’s daughter, Pam Buchanan doesn’t always appear in adaptations because she’s a toddler. Even in the novel, she a throwaway mention plus a single scene near the end where the nanny brings her out to meet Jay and Nick. She’s most often left as a throwaway mention without even grave of the scene where she appears. The scene in the novel, however brief, is memorable—and has been captured in all its fragile beauty for the first time in this adaptation. Jay and Nick both pay bewildered, wondering attention to this kid when she’s brought out. Jay drops to his knees and takes her hand when she greets him while Nick looks on in a moment of singular focus on both of them. The child who plays Pam here has a spark, an expressiveness that made me choke up even though she’s only on stage for a few minutes, if that. The tableau is one in which you can feel the shock of reality, however brief, touch on these men—Daisy’s and Tom’s reckless actions may yet do harm to someone who’s barely even begun to live her life, but who is just conscious enough to be a participant in it. They recognize that they, like this child, are probably in for a word of ruin—and that they have let it go on for so long that there’s now nothing they can do about it. For me, the deepest tragedy was watching Nick and Jay throw off that moment of heartbroken, horrified recognition prompted by Pam and return to the parts they’d decided to play out until the moment one of their hearts stopped.

Speaking of grief, of Nick’s grief since he’s the one who loses so much: there is only one person who loses more, and that’s Mr. Gatz, Jay’s father. They preserve his arrival at the house when Nick is the only person who stays around to carry out Jay’s funeral and burial. And when he arrives, the visceral shock of seeing his dark skin, braids, and beaded elements of Native regalia in juxtaposition with his otherwise period-typical Western garb underscore the tragedy of what young Jay was running away from, of what he never quite succeeded in erasing from himself. The burial scene shows Nick reverently bringing several of Jay’s folded shirts from the house and handing them down into the grave to Mr. Gatz, who places them reverently as possessions to accompany his son into thereafter. The cultural ramifications are all at once understated and devastating. Nick has moments with each of Jay’s father figures that are among the most complex and moving in the show. The program does not make clear the name of the ensemble member who takes on this most memorable of all Mr. Gatz appearances, and this erasure in and of itself is both unfortunate and telling. This is a world that never belonged to the majority of those who inhabit it, and Nick realizes it with heartbroken clarity after having this final interaction. Even though he’s an outsider, he’s part of a world that has erased and betrayed the man he loved so much at every turn.

The closing number, “We Beat On,” felt like it needed something more, but it utilized the final line of the novel to a deeply moving effect. The lights go down suddenly as the last word is sung; it feels like the song is half finished. When the lights came up, Nick and Jay were center stage in each other’s embrace, just withdrawing from each other as the entire company transitioned into final bows. That’s how I’ll remember them, always: touching even when they’ve already lost each other, borne ceaselessly back into each other’s arms. If Nick is Orpheus, then I have no doubt that he, too, will tell this story again and again until someday, somewhere, something gives.

[marysdonuts]

Turning Tables

wants to be chased!Jeonghan x had enough of chasing!reader

Synopsis: requested in this two part ask

WC: 1.6K

Warnings: not much, making Jeonghan jealous, crack, implied oral (f)

a/n: both parts combined to one post. first half - your pov, second - Jeonghan's

masterlist / requests / taglist

Oh the almighty Jeonghan. Sent from above specifically to torture you. The popular guy who has six ladies lined up on each finger hoping to get their turn. Funny, easy on the eye but that personality? Ugh, you've seen better.

You made your interest in him more than clear, still.. to this day no definite answer. Only insufferable amount of teasing. You weren't one to play the game of push n' pull. It was getting on your nerves. Especially the constant flirting with anything that moved - just for sport. Or maybe not for sport per sé but to get you jealous. Making sure you saw him making move on somebody. There was even a moment when he jokingly almost kissed you only to pull away at the last moment, smug as hell. So full of himself.

Fuck it. Does he think he is the only one who has options? Isn't the last man on Earth for sure. The hell. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

//

And so you danced. You danced with every man who showed even drop of interest that night. Sending Jeonghan clear message - this is what you are missing by acting like a little bitch. Drowning one drink after another. Price? Didn't matter. They were paying.

When a friend of yours, equally as drunk, suggested to climb on the bar, you thought it an excellent idea. Both of you moving to the rhythm of some latino song with questionable, extremely toxic lyrics. Drink in hand, Great Gatsby style, you cheered the growing attendance at your feet. People going feral.

"I think you've had enough fun for today," Jeonghan's cold hand grasping your ankle "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" seemingly asking the audience a rhetorical question, crushing his fingers with your heel

"Your boyfriend~" squirming in pain

"My boyfriend?? Stop pissing me off Jeonghan. I had enough of your shit. It's not difficult to find somebody better than yo-"

Fuck, am I falling?

All the drinks from before picked the worst moment to take effect. Dizzy head, weak legs, heels plus slippery bar? Unfortunate combination. You were indeed about to hit the floor.

Next thing you know shawty got low low low - Music in the background mocking your life decisions

"Aaaaaaa" crashing down, drink spilled, body aching, pride hurt

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again." patting it lovingly

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" Noticing Jeonghan squished under you, also lovingly patting your bum in unison

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" intoxication not letting you fishing your sentence, making you wobble, once again ending up in Jeonghan's arms

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

This fucking bitch keeps playing with me!! You wanted to punch hole into his beautiful face. Body working faster than the mouth, clenched fist flew towards douchebag's face.

KAPOW!!!

Sadly, your fist was not at all clenched, flying much further from his face, finally landing on his chest. You weren't sure if his shirt was always this unbuttoned but what was staring at you currently - pair of *shiny* man-tiddies.

"wow" blinded by the sight

"Well, well, well," Jeonghan caressed your hand moving it over his heart "do you really want to know my feelings that much?" Mischievous eyes trying to meet the hazy ones.

"yea" gaze still kinda stuck on his tiddies

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The first time Jeonghan kissed you was in backseat of taxi on the way to his apartment. It wasn't just a kiss. More like he was feeding off your growing excitement. Producing such obscene sounds the driver had to rise the radio volume.

//

Reaching the destination, the moment the door closed shut, you found yourself pinned against them. Jeonghan's urgent lips tracing the curve of your neck.

"You really made a number on me today, you know that?" sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving mark behind

"Oh? Allow me to laugh. The Jeonghan hot and bothered? Hard to believe." tauntingly, grasping the hair

"Tell me 'bout it..," defeated exhale tickling your ear "seeing you with all those men...didn't expect to feel like that. Made me want to jump every single one of them."

"Did it, now?" placing thumb on his bottom lip "little boy got upset when his toy was taken away?" full of irony

"I was never good at sharing" allowing the entire length of your finger feel the softness of his mouth, sucking it almost apologetically

"Forgive me?" Big brown eyes praying for redemption

Not sure if it was the residual alcohol but this time his words felt sincere. Seeing him sucking on your thumb like that, all docile and at your mercy..? Ufff, you were running too hot

"Want me to forgive you, huh, " making him sink to his knees under your authoritarian tone.

"you know what to do." parted legs offering not so subtle invitation to the sinner beneath you.

.

.

.

"At your service, my lady~"

Jeonghan's pov

Yes- he loved to tease you even after you confessed your feelings. He played games to make sure you were really up for the challenge. Testing your character and morals. Enjoyed torturing you a bit too much. However when it came to his feelings.. Jeonghan thought himself to be the only one worthy of your affections. He intended to show his interest soon enough, just wanted to frolic for a moment longer. Tragically that was exactly where he miscalculated.

And there you were, in all your glory, dancing with bunch of worthless peasants.

Jeonghan could literally feel the blood in his veins boiling. How dare they put their filthy, sweaty little hands on your holy vessel? Were they really so dense to think someone like YOU would be interested in them?

"Pathetic losers." Furiously gulping down his drink only to smash the glass on the floor. Making any bystander jump away in fear.

Tangible darkness emitting from Jeonghan's pitch black stare in direction of the unfortunate dude you were dancing with. Poor guy shivering, cold sweat running down his spine. He got the message and promptly took his leave.

"That's what I thought" Jeonghan scoffed, raking thru his hair

After not so subtly, striking terror into all the suitors, new drink in hand and in high spirits, he was watching your bar show. How your hair sparkled in the light, how you moved to the seductive latino rhythm - not a care in the world. He watched you cheer the crowd, queen in the castle.

"It's about time I made my move." few long steps, grasp on your ankle

"I think you've had enough fun for today," lifting his gaze, half entertained half worried you might come crashing down "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" the way you proudly pushed your chest out, the delicate curve of your décolleté, made it's way straight to his pants heart

"Your boyfriend~" damn, stepping on my fingers now? Guess I deserve that

"Aaaaaaa"

Jeonghan saw you falling in slow motion, drink spilled all over him, catching you at the last moment

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again."

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" rubbing your bum lovingly, it was very nice bum

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" There you were once again falling into his open arms. Jeonghan could hardly contain his enjoyment, pulling you closer

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

Angry palm flying in his direction made him chuckle. Such tiny hand managed to destroy four buttons on his shirt. He could see your eyes glued to the bare chest. Like what you see?

"Well, well, well, do you really want to know my feelings that much?"

"yea"

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The moment taxi started moving all the repressed feelings came rushing to his head, famished animal, so so desperate, his lips on yours were searching for sustenance. You were so beautiful and his. After he's done with you tonight he will shout it to the whole world but right now he will at least let this old man behind the wheel know what's up.

He fucked up and was willing to do anything to make it up to you.

//

Once he had his hands on you he couldn't let go. Well, he could but didn't want to. Holding you so tight, no distance left between the two of you, it was almost unbearable. Every part screaming into the void of his aching heart.

He just wanted to make you feel good. To show you how much he really liked you. Spoil you rotten. Never let another guy touch an inch of your body.

"Forgive me?" Falling to his knees, just a sinner asking for redemption in front of your heavenly gates

"Want me to forgive you, huh," "you know what to do."

Oh, he knew

"At your service, my lady~" After finally receiving his absolution Jeonghan prayed more than dutifully

[puckleberryfinnie]

ok so ik my req might seem a bit weird butttttt.. i have been dyingggg for ray. like his body tea, i loveeee his lil accent and smile so i just wanna see like host!reader get nervous when he gets injured, him giving reader his jersey, and a lil post-game smooch 🫶🏾🫶🏾.

girll you don't understand how glad I am that someone else feels this way about him like I feel so wrong about it but?? he's such a cutie?? thank you soso much for sending this in, love this idea <33 so sorry this took so long, life took hold of meee

Beautiful Little Fools

You being a friend of Kai's, and being in several of his streams as an internet personality yourself. Of course, you meet several of his friends, including Ray. He's just using his cheesy "rizz" with Kai's encouragement, and you're laughing on to all his funny tactics.

When the Beta Squad and AMP decide to have the match, there's almost immediately an invitation for you to join in as a host, that you accept gratefully!

The days leading up to the event, you spend a lot of time hanging out with the American group, as well as meeting new people that you become fast friends with.

Ray, however, stays close to either you or Kai at most points, finding himself most comfortable with people he knows pretty well already. Everyone (thought mostly Kai) loves the relationship you two have, and joke around about it a LOT.

You, of course, enjoy his company and help him with training that they have set up for those participating the day before the real match. It's mostly just simple things, though, like returning the balls to him or mock-guarding him.

At some point during the practice, he gets slightly injured, tripping over a ball or something like that. It really isn't that bad, but you find it concerning, especially considering the big match is the following day.

He, however, reassures you, comforting you by patting your head and giving you a brief hug. He doesn't like you being worried about it, so he tried to make sure you understand he's okay.

The next day is obviously intense, and you spend a lot of time making sure Ray is safe, keeping an eye on him throughout the game. You interview him at halftime momentarily, joking around together before he has to go. You also remind him to be safe out there, yelling after him.

He clearly doesn't follow this advice too closely, however, and ends up getting tackled by some larger player (probs Niko lets be so fr) You, of course, feel incredibly scared, watching him from the sidelines all while trying to keep composure as a host.

As he gets guided to the bench to rest, you move yourself over there to talk to him, frantically making sure he's ok. You end up in his arms, him holding you tightly.

After that interaction and him assuring you plenty that he's alright, you go back to doing your job as a host, interviewing other players and such.

Post game, he comes back to see you, striding over to you with intent. It startles you for a moment, when you suddenly see him standing so close to you. He give a short hug followed by a even shorter, nervous kiss.

After a moment of staring at each other, he takes off his jersey, handing it to you with a smile. He doesn't even say anything, just holds it out for you to take.

You end up wearing that jersey on your flight back and on many occasions afterwards. <3

guys I legit don't know why but I really can't tell if I like this style of writing or not. let me know what you think, I'm soso sorry this isn't very good, I truly hope you still enjoy <33

title is a song from great gatsby the musical ofc

anyways, thank you sososo much for being my first ever request, I love you to the moon and back tbh!!

I definitely want to do more of these before school starts to make everything crazy again, so if anyone wants to send something in feel completely free and wanted within my inbox! I'll take requests about pretty much anyone (check out the list of things I love for some reference!!) or I'm for sure here to chat <33

MUAH LOVE YA!!

[spider-man-199999]

The bracelet

pairing: Nathan Drake x Reader

word count: 3,5 k

warnings: drinking

summary: You meet Nathan while he's working at the bar. He recognizes you and tries to steal your bracelet because he knows you're filthy rich. Instead, you manage to steal his heart.

a/n: This idea originally was supposed to be smut, but I changed my mind. I could make the smut part a part 2 if it's liked enough?

part2

Your black high heels clicked on the floor as you made your way over to the bar. The black dress that tightly hugged your body was making it rather uncomfortable to move and breathe but it certainly did make you look fantastic. Heads were turning to look at you, an emotionless expression on your own face, avoiding eye contact. It was your first night out since the divorce, which made you even more anxious, especially since you deciced to go out alone, no friends, no driver, no bodyguard. After your husband left you, or rather you left him with half of his fortune, which included a hotel to own, you hadn't really been there much, it brought back too many bad memories. But tonight wasn't about the bad memories, it was about forgetting them. So, you sat down in front of the bartender, looking him up and down before he even managed to notice you, placing your bag next you as your hands rested on the bar. He was handsome and young, his dark hair styled nicely. He looked at your hands, staring at the diamond bracelet on your left wrist before his eyes shot up and looked into your own. You smiled at him, crossing your legs on the stool and adjusting your position.

“Aren’t you too pretty to be here alone?” He asked you, placing down the glass he was previously cleaning.

“Aren’t you too handsome to be a bartender?” You asked back casually, earning yourself a raised eyebrow from the man in white shirt and black vest.

“So what will it be tonight? Sex on the beach?”

“Last time I checked the beach was pretty far from here”

He shook his head at you, bitting back a smile.

“A martini would be fine”

“Really? A martini? I can do better than that”

You turned your back to him, resting your elbows on the bar. Looking around the place for a few seconds, taking in the scenery. It was calm and relaxing, piano playing in the background, the soft chatter of people all around, the sounds of the cute bartender moving around behind you. The lights of the crystal chandelier flickering softly. It felt like the 20s, like a scene from "The great Gatsby". Rich people everywhere, expensive drinks, expensive furniture, muffled private conversaions, secret lovers shooting eachother provocative glances. You got almost lost in the moment of calmness, closing your eyes for a second before your nirvana was interrupted by a soft. “Your martini madam”, which made you turn slowly. Your small hand grabbed the tall martini glass, taking a sip from it as you kept staring at the brow-haired boy, a soft smile on your lips. He was way smoother in his movements than you anticipated him to be, you barely even noticed when exactly he took the diamond bracelet off of your wrist. Fascinating, you didn’t expect the night to become so fun so soon. He was one of your own, a smuggler, a man of deception. He went on making drinks for other clients while you stared at him, playing with the olive in your glass. It felt like the bar was a barrier between your two worlds, you knew he probably made minimum wadge without the tip. And there you were, on the other side of the bar, owning half of the hotel, dressed in a Versache dress that was probably worth more than his rent, not a single care in the world but your shattered heart. Guess some were better at deception than others. However, he managed to capture your attention, even if not intended by him.

“I didn’t catch your name” you said as he came near you, playing around with the shaker as he was mixing something up.

“Nate” he replied with a stern voice, poring out the content in a pretty glass and serving it to the person who had ordered. He seemed slightly anxious, like he was avoiding your gaze. Crucial mistake when stealing.

Nate retuned back to you shortly, his body seemed stiff, and he wiped some sweat from his forehead. He worked hard, you could say that, but he mostly looked nervous.

“I assume you already know who I am, since you didn’t ask”

He thought for a second as he looked into your pretty eyes, analysing your face, or rather admiring your features. He cleared his throat after he caught himself staring, breaking the intense eye contact and grabbing a glass to clean.

“I know” he replied shortly, continuing his act of polishing the glass.

Of course he knew who you were, your face was in the newspapers way too often for your own good, along with the change of surname every once in a while. He thought that those tabloids never did you justice now that he had seen you. In the pictures you always seemed gorgeous, but not even nearly as gorgeous as you were under the warm lights of the bar. They called you the “black widow of the upper east side", rumours about your intimate relationships with some of the richest men in New York were spreading like a forest fire. Even if in reality they were nothing more than just fiction, one thing was not, and it was your marriage to the owner of The Ritz-Carlton, the very place he worked at. Nate had heard about the divorce from clients here and there, everyone was talking about how you had managed to set him up into fake cheating on you so you could divorce him. Brilliant move, unfortunately, it was just a rumour. Maybe in your previous marriage you had pulled a stunt or two to get out with as much money as possible, fake accusations, setting up scenes, they were your speciality. But not this time, this time the cheating was very real and very much not your own idea. Maybe that's why this time it hurt so bad, because you actually loved your, now ex, husband. Defeat was something hard to admit for someone with so much pride and confidence as yourself. Nate knew nothing, only gossip.

“Then why did you take my bracelet? It was a gift from my ex husband” you asked, earning yourself a shocked looked for a brief second, before he put on his poker face and looked away. He had a few ways to play his cards in that moment, thoughts calculating the possible outcomes of each one.

“You could’ve lost it” he stated “Do you want me to look around and ask if anyone has found anything?”

You smile at him charmingly, making him blush slightly. You gracefully stood up from your stool, placing your arms on the bar as you hovered closer to him, faces side by side, your cheeks almost touching each other. You whispered in his ear softly, which got Nate’s heart beating so loud he could barely hear your words. While he was busy being nervous your hand travelled down to the pocket of his pants, slipping inside and finding the heavy jewellery that was previously on your wrist. The weight and shape of the bracelet felt familiar between your fingers, I’d worn it countless of times. You took it out, your hand travelling up Nate’s body.

“I have to admit your work is impressive” you said, hand still moving slowly up until you reached his shoulder. You knew he couldn’t feel a thing because your movement was slow enough and far away enough. “But you still have to master the speed of your hands, your touch needs to be like silk, felt only when you want it to be” you continued whispering in his ear.

You knew your mission was successful when he flinched at the touch of the cold diamonds against the bare skin of his neck. You smiled at him and pulled away, shock written all over his pretty face.

“Looks like I found my bracelet!” You giggled happily, clicking it on your wrist as he stared at you.

Nate obviously didn’t know what to say and how to react, he knew that one wrong move would get him fired, possibly arrested and charged with theft. However, your smile suggested otherwise.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you’re scared” you told him, taking a sip from the martini. “Don’t be, I wouldn’t say a word, actually, you can have the bracelet if you want it, I came here and I intended to lose it”

And it was the truth. It was the only gift your dear ex husband ever gave you that was not originally bought for his mistress and passed down to you when she didn’t like the gift. This was the only gift you knew, or at least liked to think that, was ever bought with the intention to be given to you. It hadn’t left your wrist in public since. After the divorce you kept it as a reminder that for a brief moment there actually was a version of you that was loved by your husband, there was a version of you that you were capable of loving someone too. Now it was a token of a broken, dysfunctional marriage, that came crumbling down the second your foot stepped out of the presence of your husband. With a swift motion you took it off, placing the bracelet on the bar. It sparkled almost blindingly under the soft interior light. Nate’s eyes kept travelling from your face to the bracelet and back. He was rested against the bar, unsure of what the right move was. He assumed it was some sort of trick that would get him in a lot of trouble. You smiled reassuringly as his hand reached for the diamond jewlery, taking it and placing it in his pocket again.

"Well, it's not every day that someone tips you with a diamond bracelet" he said, making you giggle softly

''You'll have more use of it than I do, that's for sure'' you told him, finishing up the martini. You took out the olive and ate it, starting to get lost in your sour thoughts about the bracelet and what it symbolised.

"Another drink?" he asked, taking you out of your train of thought

"Maybe another night" you said, feeling overwhelmed enough to want to leave. "All this bracelet talk kind of ruined my mood"

Nathan was undeniably very handsome, and you did come with the idea of not leaving alone but all the memories of your ex came rushing in and was about to turn your night into a nightmare. You took out some money from your purse to pay him from the drink but he stopped you, placing a hand over yours.

"It's on me"

"Aww, a gentleman" you smiled at him "Some lady is going to be very lucky with you"

"Maybe you could be that lady" he winked, shooting you a smile.

You looked at him confused for a split second, starting to laugh softly at his sudden boldness. You got up, collecting your things and straightening out your dress while he watched your every movement.

“You don’t have to be nice to me because I gave you the bracelet”

"I was serious" he stated "How about I pick you up after my shift and lighten up your mood?"

"Pick me up from where exctly?" you asked, almost not believing what he was saying.

"Here, 12:30, lose that dress and put on somethig more comfortable"

You looked at him in disbelief but agreed. As you walked away from the bar you could feel his eyes on you as you ocassionally stopped here and there too greet some people you knew. Maybe this "date" was going to be a nice change of pace. After all of the dating on the upper east side, the luxury restaurants, the balls, the charity events, you had no actual idea what people usually did when they were on normal dates anymore. After not one but two failed marriages, the dating world seemed so distant, so surreal. Frankly you had no intention to pursue anything serious with anymore, let alone a bartender that was your employee.

An hour later you found yourself staring dumfolded at your wardrobe, Nathan's voice kept repeating in your head "wear something comfortable". You mocked his tone aloud as you took out even more clothes to throw on your bed. Was he going to be in his work clothes? How were you supposed to match that up? Finally, you stopped on a blue high-waisted, wide leg jeans and simple black blouse. For a while you were considering black heels but decided to switch them up with some very old platform converse sneakers that you hadn't worn for years. You put on a leather bomber jacket to finish off the look. It felt ridiculous, you hadn't dressed this causal since freshmen year at university, having forgotten you even had those clothes at all. You sighed, shaking your head as you walked out of the door and headed towards the hotel. Unsrprisingly, you got there about 15 minutes late, which got you anxious because Nate could gotten discouraged and left. You looked around, not seeing him and you felt slightly disappointed, but not surprised. The whole situation was so odd to begin with, no wonder it didn’t follow through.

"And I thought you couldn't get more gorgeous" you heard from behind you, turning to be met with Nate's charming smile. He just walked out of the doors of the lobby, probably spotted you from inside.

"I'm sorry for the wait"

"It's alright, it was worth waiting for, come on, I'm starving" he said, taking your hand and leading you somewhere.

You followed him, as you walked the streets of New York hand in hand. He wasn’t in his work clothes, instead he wore a simple grey t-shirt with a leather jacket on top, black jeans and probably his work shoes. He had a backpack on one shoulder, assuming this was where he kept his uniform. The spring air was warm but there we ocassional cold brezzes. You looked around the flashy signs of shops and supermarkets, the monotonous souds of ocassional cars filled your ears, along with the calming sound of his footsteps a little ahead of yours. They say New York is the city that never sleeps and it's true, but despite living there your whole life, you never got to experience it in that way. You didn't really know where Nate was taking you but you didn't care either, too engaged in the scenery. Late night walks were something so foreign and so new, your eyes were shining more than the diamond bracelt that you gave him and he couldn't help but smile at how awed you looked by everything around you.

"You ever been to this side of town?"

"I have no memory of it"

"You're adorable" And that made you blush, hiding in his shoulder. He laughed at how cute you were being, stopping at a 24-hour sandwitch shop.

"Are you hungry?" He asked after the two of you got in

"I guess, it's kind of late though"

"Who cares?"

He ordered for the two of you, finally letting go of your hand so he could pay and grab the two cola bottles he had bought. In a couple of minutes your sandwitches were ready, so Nate guided you to the closest bech in the nearby small park. The park was adorable, it looked more like a sitting area with a playground for children. You really had never been to this side of town before. Nate started eating hungrily and you couldn't help but stare at how he devoured the food in his hands. You chuckled softly before bitting into your own sandwitch. It was warm in your cold hands and tasted way better than it actually looked. It wasn't like you had never eaten sandwitches on a bench before, but it was so long ago you could hardly recall when it really was. It did remind of freshmen year, being out late at night, eating fast food and meeting up with a guy you actually liked and had no intention to manipulate. It was, in a way, nostalgic even. After the two of you were done with your food the silence was finally broken.

"I feel so alive!" Nate exclaimed and startled you, making you jump in your seat. Both of you laughed softly at that.

"I'm glad you're happy and content" you said, rubbing his belly.

He got up from the bench, offering you a hand. You took it, following him up.

"So where are we going?" you asked finally

"You'll see." He said, continuing the walk. You got to an apartment buildind soon enough, he walked you to the alley on the side where the fire escape was.

"Come on, we go up" He told you, helping you get to the ladder. Nate followed closely behind, guiding you to the rooftop.

''I'm so glad I wore pants to this" You said once you reached the top.

"Yeah? Well I'm not" He joked, taking your hand again and walking you towards an area on the rooftop that had pouf chairs and fairly lights.

"It's so pretty" you said once he sat you down. Nate pulled one of the poufs next to yours and threw himself on it.

"Yeah, best part is, you can see the stars"

You looked up, despite the light pollution, you could really see stars and the moon almost clearly.

"You see this constelation there? It kind of looks like a pan?"

You nodded with a giggle at his description, following the arm that was showing you were to look. You scooted over to him, the top of your head touching his.

"That's Ursa Major..." he contionued

"The great bear"

"So you know your constellations?" he shot up, looking at you

"No, just latin"

"Oh in that case you're about to have a blast!"

And you really did have a blast, you sat there for hours listening to him, looking at the stars. It was so romantic that you wanted to melt into the chair and stay there forever. You lost track of time, reality even. It felt like you two were in your own small world on that rooftop and nothing and no one could reach you. Around 3 am the two of you started to get sleepy, cuddled up against eachother. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, your head rested on his chest. At some point the two of you had decided that moving on one pouf was better. Your eyes were starting to feel heavy while his voice soothed you into sleep.

"Hey" he said softly "Want me to drive you home?"

You nodded sleepishly, getting up after him. He drove you home in his slightly beat-up car, walking you to the door of the building.

"I really had fun tonight" you told him at the door "I really hope that you're not working tomorrow, it's so late"

"I'm glad you had fun, you shouldn't worry about me"

You nodded, kissing his cheek goodnight.

You hadn't had such a great date in a while, which made you think about Nate more in the past few days. How could you not? The pictures of the two of you wandering the streets of New York hand in hand, the headlines wondering who your new "victim" was. Your head would start hurting solely from the idea of putting him in this position. So, you decided it was best to talk to him. That night, you walked into the hotel in your usual attire, but this time the dress was champagne colored.

"Hi Nate" you said as you sat down. He greeted you with his charming smile, wiping the bar in front of you.

"A martini?" He asked, grabbing the bottle

"Actually, a word in private"

He had a puzzled look on his face but followed you to a more private area by the windows. Neiter of you sat down, you were too nervous to adress the topic and he became nervous from your worried state.

"I'm sure you've seen the papers..."

"Oh my god it's about that!" he sighed in relief, placing his handa in his pockets

"What else could it be about?"

"From the way you acted I thought someone died"

"Well, no, I just wanted us to talk about the pictures and say I'm sorry"

"Sorry about what? The way they talk about me?"

"Precisely"

"Well, I find it amusing actually"

"I don't people seeing us and thinking that way"

"I don't care about who sees, I like you"

You looked up at him with sadness in your eyes and it seemed like he got the idea you had in mind. He shook his head in disbelief, his hand reaching out to hold your waist and bring you closer.

"You can't be serious"

"I am"

His hand travelled up, cupping your chin.

"I'll have to kiss you now, you know that" he whispered againt your lips. You closed your eyes and waited, his lips pressing softly against yours. You returned the kiss but your hands remained on your clutch, afraid that the whole thing was going to get out of control if you got too touchy.

"I should have kissed you that night" he whispered against your lips

"You should have"

"You'll wait for me right? I'll become rich for you, I promise"

You nodded in response, hugging him tightly, feeling his heartbeat agaisnt yours and the warmth of his body. You could feel his gaze as you walked away, probably the hardest walking-away you had to do in a long while.

The picture of the two of you kissing also made the papers.

A week later Nate left his workplace and you didn't hear a word from him.

[izzysink]

𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 𝟷𝟶𝟹𝟹 ✎ 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑠: 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 ✎ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟷 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟸 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟹

𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑜 = @lanalosty0uu - you should totally check out their steve x reader time travel fic here on Tumblr!

part 2!! god speed people!! I've decided this is an Eddie x reader, but in the future I really wanna write for Gareth, he's so silly I love him 🤭 anyways not as long as the other part but also I don't do long chapters in general soo ;P the moodboard isn't moodboarding today!! >:(

So, to recap; you’d left your dorm room at Hawkins Community College at 10:30 am on the 10th of the 3rd 2025, and had taken your usual route through the old high school building, now the arts department for the HCC, and somehow ended up in the bustling corridors of Hawkins High. And at 11:00 on the 10th of the 3rd 1986, stood outside of the local convenience store, you realised how exactly fucked you really were. 

Oh. 

You slumped down onto the nearest park bench, tapping your foot idly as you thought, what was a girl to do? You had no money (your card hadn’t worked at the grocery store, a rookie move in hindsight. Every time-traveler worth their salt knew that a bank card from a bank whose owners aren’t even born yet wouldn’t work; obviously.) And no way to get back. Oh your professor was so going to fail you. 

Your stomach panged, telling you it wanted more than the instant coffee you’d had that morning. Bringing your knees up to your chest you mumbled an oh my god before silent tears began to streak your face, mascara running down your cheeks.

↜✿↝

Eddie been having a woefully normal day, wake up when school starts, pull up half-way through registration, head to first period, head to second period, find a note in his locker from one of the jocks for an afterschool meeting, head to third period, meet in the drama room for a quick DnD session with Hellfire, say hi to the girl, wait. Who? 

Admittedly, he had been caught off guard by the intruder of Hellfire’s precious space, but that annoyance had turned to quick curiosity when you stumbled around the room, going outside into the yard before immediately coming back in again, wide eyed and confused. You were cute, he noticed, and your clothes were weird for a college-age girl, but he did have a private appreciation for the low jeans you wore.

“You okay there, princess?” your head snapped up, eyes meeting with his for an electrifying moment before mumbling a response and going silent. He watched as you looked around the room quietly, confusion and distress clear on your face. The bell rang, and the freshman cleared out instantly, rushing out in a wave of hormones, taking you with them. Eddie decided to skip next period, it was English anyway, and he’s read those books three times already, the Great Gatsby can wait.

Eddie watched quietly with his arms crossed as you stood in the middle of the corridor, marvelling at the drab decorations on the walls. It was kinda sweet that the place he’s been stuck in for 3 years was so interesting for you. Not that he cared what you thought, you’re a stranger, obviously…

He introduced himself awkwardly, curse this enchanting woman, and you answered him absent-mindedly, cute and ignoring him, just his type. He tasted your name on his mouth, echoing in his mind, it fit you perfectly, the otherworldly vibe you gave off pulling him like a moth to a flame. Not that you seemed to notice though, as you turned on your heel and sped-walked towards the front entrance.

He was tempted to follow you, but thought better of it, don’t be a creep, munson, heading off to greet his favourite English teacher, she loved him, really.

↜✿↝

You stayed on the bench for a good while before deciding to try and find some answers, or at least somewhere to stay. You first found a public bathroom, using some paper towels to clean your face and around your eyes, goodbye rare beauty blush, you will be missed. You wandered around Hawkins, observing the similarities and differences of an 80s Hawkins and a twenty-first century Hawkins. Surprisingly, not much had changed, only a few shops were different, and the mall was walled off for some reason, but mostly things were the same. It was comforting, knowing where you were going and seeing a familiar place even if the faces were different. 

You got a few weird looks for your outfit and your face of wonder at the little town, but you weren’t too bothered. 

Turns out, you wandered around for hours, your conviction to find answers melting away as you floated around Hawkins. You spent so much time wandering, in fact, that you noticed a trickle of high school students hanging out after school. You were pretty far away from Hawkins High, so you didn’t see many of them, which was why it was so easy to spot the group of kids in black and white shirts again. You saw now that there was also a devil graphic on the front, and the words HELLFIRE CLUB written in bold across the top. 

With them, was a guy around your age with the most gorgeous hair you’d ever seen. He wasn’t really your type though, sadly, he definitely gave off amazing boyfriend vibes™.

You carried on, not wanting to disturb or interrupt them, walking down one of the more suburban streets, picket fences and lush yards lining the road.

A van pulled up beside you, slowing to a snail's pace for the driver to lower the window. It was the boy from before, Eddie, if you remembered correctly, and now that you were more relaxed and calmed, you saw just how attractive the man was.

He had wonderful just-past-shoulder-length curly hair, and an innocent but mature face, a cheeky smile spread his pink lips, and looking further down you saw he was wearing one of the same Hellfire shirts as well as a leather jacket and a sleeveless denim jacket overtop. You guessed he would be wearing black jeans of some kind. The thing that caught your eye the most were the rings on his hands, the way the silver gleamed teasingly in the sunlight, the shining metal drawing your eyes like a bee to honey.

“-a ride?” you jerk your head up to meet his deep brown eyes, “sorry what?” He huffed a laugh, blowing air through his mouth, some of it pushing up the bangs that rested in his forehead adorably, “would you like a ride, princess?”

𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠! 🤍

[cameronspecial]

Drew x actress!y/n play charades at one of the y/n's friends it's going to be a fun evening

Charades

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

When Y/N got her own place, the first tradition that came to be in the apartment was Friday game night. Her life as an actress means she is used to going from one fancy and public event to another, so a night in with her friends is exactly what she needs. Drew soon joined in on the routine when they started dating and every night has been a success since. The couple's favourite game to play? Charades. They just understood each other in a way that helped them dominate in the game. “Okay, alright. Cheery couple, it’s your turn,” Natalia announces, holding up the bowl to her friend. Drew nudges Y/N’s shoulders, so she gets up to pick a paper out of the bowl. She reads the book on the slip of paper and motions with her head for Ben to start the timer. She mimes reading a book. “Book,” Drew guesses and she nods, moving on to the next motion. She rubs her arms, pretending to be freezing. Drew stands up and points at her, “The Great Gatsby.” “Ding. Ding. Ding. You got it, Baby,” she congratulates, jumping into his arms. Natalia and Ben look at each other with jaws on the floor. “That is a lie. There is no way he got The Great Gatsby from what? You being cold. Show me your paper,” Ben complains. Y/N holds up the paper for the other two to read and it does say The Great Gatsby. 

Natalia looks between the couple, “How did you know?” “It was a book. Leo was in the adaptation of the book. He was also on Titanic. Hence, she was cold and that leads me to The Great Gatsby,” he shrugs, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Okay, it’s your guys’ turn,” Y/N points out to the other team. She hands the bowl to Ben and after a very unsuccessful attempt at getting Natalia to guess Die Hard, it is Y/N and Drew’s turn again. 

He pats her thigh as he takes her off of his lap. He stands and picks out a word. The Office. Oh, this was going to be easy. Ben starts the time and Drew forms a box with his fingers. “TV show,” she states, watching for his next move. He thinks about what to do. There are so many different things that he knows he can do to get her to guess, but he wants her to continue their streak of guessing it with the first gesture. He finally figures it out and a lightbulb goes off in his mind. He motions taking something that is being handed to him. “The Office,” she screams with excitement because she knows she got it right. She doesn’t wait for him to confirm her victory before she runs around the room. Drew knows the other two are going to ask for verification, so he holds the paper out for them. She runs back to his side, “He was acting out the scene where Pam gives Jim the lamp she just bought and Jim is just like, okay then.” Natalia and Ben look at each other. “You guys pick the most obscure moments to reference,” Nat says with raised eyebrows. One of Y/N’s shoulders rises, “What can I say? He just gets me.” Ben opens up the ottoman to take out a different game. “We aren’t playing this anymore. It’s not fair with the mind readers over there,” Ben informs. Drew chuckles, “You can pick out any game, but I promise we are going to win all of them because we know each other that well. Although, we won’t be as good as we are at charades.” This is how Natalia and Ben learned why almost all of Y/N’s other friends stopped coming to game night. Because there is no chance of winning against the combined forces of Y/N and Drew.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[miryum]

Always in All Ways (Mattheo Riddle x Reader) Great Gatsby AU

Warnings: angst!!!! (but a happy ending) Reader wears a dress (once) cause it’s the 20s. Talk of kids and a future together. For the sake of incest, we’re gonna ignore the fact that Enzo and Mattheo are half brothers… And if you squint, there could be a sign of domestic abuse (but it is so little there that I'm not sure if you can call it that). Reader is married (not to Mattheo at first) and it's not technically cheating.... it's hard to explain. As always, swearing. Not entirely proof-read, but will get it done soon

Lorenzo Berkshire had moved into a gated, two story house, surrounded by a thick forest. The neighbourhood he had moved into was affectionately called Diadem East. 

Diadem East was surrounded by a large bay, which, in turn, separated it from Diadem West. Diadem East and Diadem West were similar in the fact that they were obscenely rich. Even though both had enough wealth to buy the island of New York, Diadem West looked down on Diadem East because of generational wealth. Diadem West had come from old money - long lines of families that treated life like a simple game of chess and they could move others like pawns. Diadem East were those who only recently came into money and spent it freely and without care.

Lorenzo had moved to Diadem East in hopes of getting away from his overbearing parents, and it helped that his cousin lived right across the bay in Diadem West. 

Y/n Pucey was a recent newlywed to Adrian Pucey. Lorenzo hadn’t been able to make it to the wedding, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see his baby cousin married to a man fifteen years older than her. Y/n had always been Lorenzo’s favourite cousin; she was a bubbling, carefree girl, probably due to the fact that from birth, she had no restrictions with her father’s money. Now that she was married to the pretentious Pucey family, Lorenzo doubted she was familiar with the word ‘no’. 

What Lorenzo did doubt, however, was Y/n’s happiness. He remembered a time, back when she was nineteen, that he had visited her over summer break. She told him tales of a man that had captured her heart. Lorenzo remembered how Y/n’s eyes gleamed and her cheeks burned with her extensive smiling. He remembered laughing with Y/n in the sunroom, saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

“I’m in love, Enzo,” she had replied simply. 

Needless to say, Lorenzo couldn’t wait to see his cousin again. He also couldn’t wait to return to a normal sleep schedule, given that his new neighbour wouldn’t stop having parties every single night that blasted light and music into Lorenzo’s bedroom window. It wasn’t until Thursday at four pm when a butler knocked on Lorenzo’s back door, holding a silver plate with a letter positioned on it. “Can I help you?” Enzo asked slowly, leaning on the door frame.

“Mister Riddle requests your presence on Friday night for a party he is throwing,” the butler said. 

“Mister… Riddle?” Enzo reiterated. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Your neighbour, Mister Mattheo Riddle,” the butler explained. “He wanted to welcome you into the neighbourhood.”

“Right,” Enzo trailed off. “I’ll be there.”

“Mister Riddle looks forward to making your acquaintance.”

****

The next day, Enzo drove up to Diadem West, the hilltop Pucey Manor looming over everything. As soon as Enzo finished driving up the winding gravel road, the front door swung open dramatically. Y/n stood there, arms flung wide. “Darling Enzo!” she squealed. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” 

“My sweet cousin!” Enzo called back, bounding up the steps. He whirled Y/n up in his arms, swinging her back and forth, much to her delight. Her sundress flared around them in a swirling dance. “How have you been?”

“Lively,” Y/n answered simply. “How are those back home? You must tell me everything.”

Enzo flung his head back and said dramatically, “they miss you dearly, loving cousin. When I passed through town, everyone wept when they heard I was to see you. Jealous men came running down from their houses and begged me to take them with you. Mothers sobbed and cried out how they wished their daughters would turn out like you. Children dashed through the streets, racing after my carriage with joy.”

“They did?” Y/n beamed, gripping onto Enzo’s arms. “I do miss them, you know. Perhaps I should visit next summer.”

“They would all love to see you,” Enzo stated plainly. “Yet I have a question for you. Do you know of-”

“Lorenzo Berkshire,” a voice boomed from the front door. “What’s a man like you doing in these parts?”

Enzo stared up at Adrian Pucey, the esteemed husband of Y/n. “Adrian,” Enzo peeled himself away from Y/n and sauntered up the steps. “It’s nice to see you again.” He held out his hand for the man to shake.

“Get in here, good pal.” Adrian clapped Enzo’s hand and pulled him into a rough hug. Enzo let out a huff of air as he collided with Adrian’s chest. “Wonderful to see you as well. Tell me, how’s the stock business going?” Adrian placed a nonnegotiable hand on Enzo’s shoulder and led him inside the Pucey mansion. Y/n let out a noise of surprise and hurried in after them, determined not to be left behind. 

“Good, good.” Enzo made senseless conversation with Adrian as he tried to take in the curated house he was in. All the doors and windows were open, letting in a soft breeze and the stinging smell of the bay water. The curtains fluttered around Y/n as she walked, her eyes cautiously on her cousin and husband. No matter how she acted, Lorenzo knew of the whip sharp mind that Y/n had.

“And you know where he’s living, Adrian?” Y/n cut in, moving to recline gracefully on the settee. “In Diadem East!” 

Adrian’s brows rose and he turned to Enzo as the men sat on the couch. “Why not buy a house here? Hell, you’re welcome to stay in our guest room. Anything for a relative.”

“No, please.” Enzo held a hand up. “I’m perfectly fine on my own and I don’t want to intrude. It’s a nice, cosy house looking over the bay. In fact, if I look towards the right, I can see the end of your pier.”

“Really?” Y/n lit up, head turning towards Enzo. “How sweet. It’s almost as if we’re neighbours.”

“Speaking of neighbours,” Enzo took this opportunity to ask, “my own seems to be very eccentric.”

Adrian chuckled and poured himself some whiskey. “How so? Do you want any?” He gestured to the whiskey.

“No, but thank you.” Enzo adjusted in his seat and crossed his legs. “My neighbour throws these obscene parties almost every single night. I’m convinced that if it weren’t for the trees, I wouldn’t be able to get any sleep.” Y/n stretched out her legs and leaned her head back until it was resting on the arm of the chair. “But the oddest thing happened - he invited me to one tonight.”

“Really?” Adrian sipped his drink. “And who is this poseur?”

“A Mister Riddle.”

Y/n’s lips parted and, almost in slow motion, her eyes flickered to Lorenzo before going back to staring out the window to the gleaming blue water outside. “Riddle?” she murmured. Adrian glanced at her and Enzo’s brows furrowed. “I mean, there must be a thousand Riddles… why, in fact, just last month, I was introduced to a Ryder. Which is like Riddle, I guess.”

“Y/n, are you alright?” Enzo asked softly.

“Yes, are you well?” Adrian added on.

“I’m sure I’m fine,” Y/n said. “Perhaps just lightheaded. I’m going to go lay down now.” Her hand flit to her collarbone where a small chain was tucked under her dress.

“Okay.” Enzo stared after her, admittedly worried about his cousin, before standing and adjusting his suit. “Well, I'm afraid I have to go. Mustn’t be late to this fellow’s party.”

“Of course.” Adrian stood as well, in common courtesy, knowing that the two men had nothing in common or nothing to do with each other without Y/n as the mediator. “Riddle…” the man muttered. “I could’ve sworn I heard that name somewhere.”

“It’s a common name, you know.” Enzo chuckled as he swiped out the door. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Adrian closed the door behind Enzo almost as an afterthought.

****

“What do you want, my darling? Anything you wish and I will make it happen.”

“I’m happy with just you, Matty.”

“That’s not a good enough answer, and you know it. Now, I’m going to ask again: what do you want?”

“… I… I want a big house. Overlooking the water so our kids can play in the water.”

“Our kids, hm?”

“Oh, yes, Matty. Our kids.”

“Alright. And what else?”

“Hmm… and a big ballroom that we can dance in. And all the paintings will be our favourites. And big parties for every occasion. Perhaps a pool. Or a sunroom. And the largest bedroom ever.”

“Is that all?”

“As long as I have you, Matty, that’s all I ask.”

****

While everyone else arrived to Riddle’s party in new and shining cars, Enzo simply walked. People of all backgrounds were streaming in the doors and Enzo was pushed into the unrelenting mob of partygoers. Enzo shoved his way to the first butler he saw and presented his invitation. “Uh, yes. I have this invitation here…” 

The butler glanced down at the letter and said stoically, “you needn’t one.”

“Pardon?” Enzo had never been to a party where he didn’t need to be invited. 

“The guests come and go as they please - per Mister Riddle’s orders.”

“Alright,” Enzo pursed his lips together and nodded awkwardly. “Thank you. Do you know where I could find Mister Riddle?”

“No, sir,” the butler replied. “He likes to socialise with his attendees and be in the throng of things. He likes to make sure that everyone is comfortable and having a good time.”

Enzo hummed and nodded in thanks before allowing himself to be swept up in the current. He was carried further into the opulent mansion and Lorenzo needed to remind himself to close his mouth at the palatial nature of it all. 

Practically every surface was plated with gold or made of marble. The ballroom opened up to a balcony that overlooked a large pool which was currently populated with dozens of people. On the other side of the ballroom, a large sunroom was occupied by a throng of people, cigarette smoke wisping up through the open roof. The stars were obscured by not only the smoke, but by the fact that every light in the mansion was turned on. Marble stairs led down to another open room which held a stage and a band whose music filtered up throughout the rooms. Congressmen, celebrities, and random people off the street were packed into the house, booze and drugs were passed around and waiters tried to filter through the crowd to hand out refreshments and food.

As he passed, Enzo heard tidbits of conversations about their host. “Did you know he was a bootlegger?”

“No, no, I heard he fought in the last war.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s all terribly romantic.”

“Well, I thought that he was chasing a girl-”

Enzo managed to fight his way to the balcony and snag a glass of champagne on his way. He sighed in relief at finding a bubble of air to himself. A man dressed in a finely pressed suit jostled into him and quickly apologised. “Terribly sorry, old friend,” the man said. “I didn’t see you there. It’s a rowdy party tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Enzo replied loudly. “Is it usually like this?”

“Unfortunately,” the man grinned. “Although few frequent. I always find that many people come once and then never return.”

“You seem like you know an awful lot about Mister Riddle’s parties. Do you come here often?”

“Yes,” the man tsked. “As hard as I try, I can’t pull myself away from this old mansion. Something always draws me back. Did you know that Mattheo Riddle built this house from scratch?”

“I did not.”

“Yes,” the man laughed, his lips curing up. “Of course, he didn’t build the actual thing, but he bought the land and drew up the blueprints years ago. Six, to be exact.”

“Why is that?”

“No one knows for sure. There’s a lot of rumours circulating around Riddle.”

Enzo shouted over the music, “I was actually invited by Mister Riddle himself. But his butler seemed surprised by that.”

“Yes, it is very rare that one is personally invited to these gatherings.”

“Do you know where I could find him? Mister Riddle, I mean.” Enzo took a sip of his champagne.

The man laughed again and raised his own champagne glass. A smirk coiled up on his face and he said simply, “why, you’re talking to him, old friend. I am Mattheo Riddle.”

The party noise faded in Enzo’s ears. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” His hand shot out for Riddle to shake. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Pardon me, Mister Riddle.”

Mattheo Riddle shook Enzo’s hand, still grinning. His eyes held a mix of anticipation and happiness. Those who were close to Mattheo Riddle - which, really, was no one - had never seen such joy on Mattheo’s face. “Oh, call me Riddle. Or better yet, Mattheo. I feel as if I already know you, old friend. And, seeing as we’re neighbours, I hope to get to know you even better. How would you like to join me in my study?”

Enzo raised a brow and cliched his champagne fluke. “May I ask what for?”

“Oh, well, to tell you my life story, after all.” Mattheo clapped a hand on Enzo’s shoulder, much like Adrian had hours earlier. But unlike Adrian, Enzo found himself agreeing to go along with this man he only met today. 

Mattheo led Enzo down the hallway and nodded to a butler who was standing guard over an oak door. The butler opened the door up to Mattheo’s study, which was more of a library. The library was a much different aesthetic than the rest of the house. While the mansion next to Enzo’s little cottage was energetic and extravagant, Mattheo’s library was dark and cosy. Instead of gold and marble, it was made of oak and the flickering flames of candles.

“An impressive collection,” Enzo commented, glancing around the room at the rows of books.

“Why, thank you,” Mattheo replied. “It overlooks the bay, you see?” He pointed towards the window that, true to his word, was directly facing the large water. 

Enzo peered out the window and huffed a laugh when he saw Y/n’s house staring back at him. “That’s my cousin's house,” Enzo glanced back at Mattheo to see his gaze locked on the Pucey mansion. 

“I know,” Mattheo said quietly. 

“You know?” Lorenzo repeated questioningly. 

“Yeah,” Mattheo nodded. “You’ve heard rumours of me.” It wasn’t a question. Before Enzo could answer, Matthei continued, “but I can assure you, only one of those is true, old friend. I am… a helpless romantic.” Mattheo chuckled lowly, a sad layer in his eyes. Instead of sitting behind his large desk, Mattheo opted to lounge on a couch and Enzo sat in a loveseat next to him. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“About… eight years ago I met this girl. God, she was absolutely perfect.” Mattheo gazed out at Diadem West. “I have been bereft of her for so many years… And I finally hope to make it up to her. I’ve become the man that will be good enough for her archaic parents.”

“Where did you meet her?” Enzo asked quietly.

“I was visiting her hometown one day, eight years ago. And I just…” Mattheo took a moment to wet his chapped lips. “She had all other eyes on her. She was simply walking down the street, yet she drew everyone to her. And when I was blessed enough to hold her in my arms… to kiss her lips is better than heaven.”

“May I guess her name?” Enzo’s smile grew larger. “Is this lovely, captivating woman my cousin, Y/n Pucey?”

“How did you know?” Mattheo’s voice was airy and wistful.

“Many men have tripped over their feet just to take a glance at my cousin. She is not only beautiful, holding the Berkshire genes, but witty, magnetic, and gentle.” Enzo finished his champagne and lit a cigar that Mattheo had offered him. “And, well, she might have mentioned you once or twice. She was in love with you when she was nineteen. Perhaps she still is.” Mattheo’s eyes snapped to Enzo. “Then she was married to Adrian Pucey. Honestly, I’m a little surprised that you’re living right across from her.”

“Yes, I’m aware of all that,” Mattheo stated. “But nothing has been an accident, Mister Berkshire. There’s a reason why I host parties every weekend, why I keep the lights on every night, why my home is directly across from hers, and why you, her cousin, is renting next to me.”

Enzo scrutinised this stranger across from him. “You’re obsessed with my cousin,” he stated, somewhat disgustedly. 

“No,” Mattheo whispered. “I’m in love with your cousin. I have always been in love with her - in all ways. And she is me. Mention my name around her and you’ll see.”

“I have,” Enzo admitted. “She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. But she also looked guilty, Riddle. She’s married. She has a life. She wants children.” Mattheo’s jaw jumped as Enzo continued, “you can’t rip her away from that. It’s been years, Riddle. She hasn’t seen you for years.”

“I know…” Mattheo trailed off. “But just to see her again would fulfil any wish of mine. I have a vow I need to make due on. I- uh, I was wondering if you could invite her over for tea. And I could drop by. Just one day.” Mattheo’s eyes felt dry and he quickly blinked. 

Enzo sighed deeply and after a long moment, said, “okay. Tuesday? At three?”

A weight lifted off of Mattheo’s shoulders. He now had all the time in the world. In his eyes, everything was finally falling into place. Mattheo would finally get to be happy again. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

****

Tuesday was outrageously cloudy. Lorenzo could hardly see the sun as he drove back to his house. As he pulled into his driveway, he came to see an ostentatious green Rolls-Royce convertible that was blocking his drive. Enzo stared defeatedly at the car for a long moment, knowing exactly whose it was. 

Mattheo Riddle leaned on the hood and proceeded to wave at Enzo as if the man wasn’t hours too early to tea. 

“You have a watch, don’t you?” Enzo called out, getting out of his car. 

“I couldn’t wait,” Mattheo admitted. “I had nothing else to do today - well, that’s not true. I in fact cancelled some meetings that were set to take place today, but no worries.”

“You cancelled - you know what? Nevermind. Look, Riddle, I sure hope you know what you’re doing. Y/n… she’s changed from when you met her.” Enzo couldn’t look at his neighbour as he unlocked his door. Mattheo followed in after him, glancing around courteously, as if the real reason he was here wasn’t sending waves of nerves through his stomach. Enzo glanced back at Mattheo and moved to the kitchen to make some tea. Mattheo followed after him, his gait slow. “She used to believe that she could live any way she wanted,” Enzo continued. “But then she met Adrian.”

“Hm.” Mattheo made a low noise in his throat, fingers reaching out to play with the teacups that hung from a shelf. 

“She’s not… unhappy with Adrian,” Enzo tried to explain. “But she’s putting her happiness aside for the grandeur of life.” 

“I could give her that grandeur,” Mattheo muttered. 

“Do you know how people back home would treat her if they found out she got divorced from Adrian Pucey just to marry a man who is rumoured to be a bootlegger?” Enzo asked, aghast. He roughly swallowed and said quietly, “I’m sorry. That was out of line.” 

“No, no,” Mattheo waved him off, still seemingly fascinated by Enzo’s teacups. “It’s perfectly in line. You make a valid point. Though I can assure you, I am not a bootlegger. Far from it.”

“Then what is your line of work?” 

“Never you mind. When is Y/n coming?” Mattheo turned to Enzo, changing the topic at an alarming speed. The teacups were long forgotten.

Enzo exhaled and dunked a teabag in the teapot. “She said she’ll be arriving around three. However, that means that she’ll either be arriving at two-fifteen on account of wanting to escape Adrian, or she’ll arrive at four-thirty because Adrian needs something from her.”

“Let’s hope it’s the former,” Mattheo growled.

As if on cue, the two men heard the rumbling of a car approaching. The air in the room stilled. Mattheo’s face dropped and he turned pale, staring at the door. They heard Y/n’s honey voice call out, “Lorenzo!” Enzo quickly came to his senses and rushed to open the door. Y/n was driving up, waving her hat enthusiastically in one hand. A smile split on Enzo’s face as he rushed over to help her out of her car. “I must say, I was wary when you asked me to visit without Adrian,” Y/n chatted as Enzo escorted her into the house. “I couldn’t possibly think of anything you would need from me.”

“Can’t I just ask you over for tea?” Enzo chuckled. “Does everything I do need malicious intent?”

“Based on your past, yes.”

Enzo rolled his eyes playfully. After he took Y/n’s coat and hat, his eyes darted around his house, but he couldn’t find one trace of Mattheo anywhere. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll… I’ll grab the tea,” Enzo muttered. He moved to his kitchen, and seeing his back door ajar, he shoved it open. “Where are you going?!” he cried out to Mattheo who was currently halfway across the lawn.

Mattheo spun back to Enzo, fear deeply rooted in his expression. “I can’t,” he whispered after he jogged back to Enzo. “I can’t do it. You’re absolutely right. She... she has a life. And probably doesn’t even remember me. It would be cruel to subject her to such emotions. I don’t want to cause her any harm.”

Enzo shook his head. “I will not have invited my cousin to tea under false pretences,” he said slowly and firmly. “You owe this to her,” he added. 

A droplet of rain fell from a passing cloud and fell faster and faster until it splattered on Mattheo’s wrist. The water was absorbed by the cuff of Mattheo’s shift, but a small bit of the water rolled down onto his hand and drifted its way down to Mattheo’s ring finger. A thin gold band sat snug there. “Do you know what a pyrrhic victory means?” 

“Yes.” Enzo frowned inquisitively. “It’s victory that cost the victor more than it did the defeated. But what does that have to do with Y/n?”

“My love for Y/n has cost me everything,” Mattheo muttered. “But she is everything. I'm used to people hating me for my wealth and how reserved I am. What I'm used to isn't people's love. And now, my love is with Y/n and I'm not letting anyone ruin that or take it away from me.” More raindrops began falling from the sky until a gentle pitter-patter could be heard all around them.

“So why don’t you come in and tell her that?” Enzo asked, gesturing towards his door. 

Mattheo’s jaw jumped but he nodded, giving in. He shuffled through the door and into the living room where Y/n sat. Enzo grinned to himself and shut the door behind them before hearing Y/n gasp and the sound of a glass breaking. Enzo cursed to himself, knowing one of his precious teacups had now lost its life.

“M- Matty?” Y/n murmured, eyes wide. “Oh- oh, dear.” She stared down at the broken teacup on the carpet and bent down, hands shuddering. Mattheo crouched down as well, maintaining eye contact with Y/n the entire way. Y/n shook her head and focused on cleaning up her mess. Enzo noticed her whole body was trembling and he took a step forward as if to console her. Mattheo beat him to the punch. He grasped her forearms and helped her up, leaving the teacup behind. Y/n sniffed and repeated, “Matty?”

“Yeah, darling. It’s me,” Mattheo murmured, stepping closer to her. His hold on her arms softened and his cheek brushed against her forehead. 

Y/n exhaled shakily. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, tipping her head to lean into a more intimate position with Mattheo. Enzo slid out of the room, smirking faintly.

“I live next to Enzo,” Mattheo said, neither one bothering to look for Y/n’s cousin. 

Y/n chuckled humourlessly. “Tell me the real reason, Matty. I know you better than this.”

Mattheo smiled - the truest smile Enzo had ever seen on his neighbour’s face (not that Enzo was watching from the next room) - and leaned down to bump his nose against hers. “I could never hide anything from you. Not that I ever would, but I digress.” Mattheo reached down and gently lifted Y/n’s hand to his lips. He pressed featherlight kisses along her fingertips and confessed, “a year after you married Adrian, I built a house across the bay. The mansion whose windows are alight every single night with fireworks going off every weekend… that’s me, darling. Trying to get you to even glance over at me. Renting the neighbouring cabin to your cousin… that’s me. Every little detail, down to my car, is so I can see you again.”

“You did all that for me?” Y/n ran a soft thumb over Mattheo’s jawline, making the man shiver. 

“And I will do so much more,” Mattheo promised. “I am yours, my love. Always in all ways.”

****

Y/n sat curled in Mattheo’s lap. The pair was under a tree on a picnic blanket, far from the L/n Villa. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend my birthday with you, Matty,” Y/n murmured to him. “I know you had a surprise for me.”

“It’s alright, darling,” Mattheo whispered back, dragging his fingers through Y/n’s hair. “I know nineteen is a monumental birthday for your family.”

“But now you have me all to yourself,” Y/n lightly laughed, turning to grin at her lover. “What was the surprise you had for me? You’ve been awfully suspicious these past few days, Matty.”

Mattheo hummed, looking to the sky and rhythmically tapping his fingers against you. “Well, I don’t know, my love,” he teased. “What could I possibly get the most perfect girl for her birthday?” After your protests, he continued, not before kissing your temple. “I got you my heart,” he whispered. Out from his pocket, he pulled a thin chain. Dangling teasingly from the chain was a golden ring. “So I can be with you always,” Mattheo explained quietly. 

Tears pricked at Y/n’s eyes as she gently took the necklace from him and thread the chain through her fingers. “You… you’re being serious right now?” Her focus was drawn to Mattheo’s own ring finger, where she noticed a new, immortal band lay proudly. “Are you…?”

“Only for you,” Mattheo reassured her. “Don’t worry. It’s my way of showing my devotion.” He twisted the necklace around her neck, clipping it there. 

“Only for me?”

“Always in all ways,” Mattheo vowed.

****

Y/n frequented outings with her friends much more often as of late. Adrian only sent Y/n away with a half-committed kiss on the cheek and eyes fixated on his golfing or his business contracts. Y/n would get in her car (or Enzo’s if he was feeling nice), and drive down to Mattheo’s mansion. Most days, there would be other cars there, waiting for Riddle’s house to open to party. They would be carrying booze and wearing all fashions of clothes, and when they would walk up to his door only to be turned away, they would pout and groan. Mattheo’s house wasn’t blazing his lights anymore, nor were there any fireworks crackling each weekend. His car was kept parked in his garage and his smile was constant. 

The first time Y/n had gone over to Mattheo’s mansion, so conveniently and coincidentally located across from hers, she had been in awe. “It’s exquisite!” she had exclaimed. She had run all over the house, marvelling at the floors and the ceilings, dragging Mattheo along behind her. Mattheo laughed loudly, his joy echoing off the walls. Of course, all of the art decorating his walls was accented to Y/n’s taste and the colour palette was exactly as Y/n had hoped for all those years ago. 

“Dance with me,” she beckoned Mattheo one day, already spinning on the deserted dance floor. Mattheo would lock the doors to his manor and keep out the partiers forever and always if it meant he could see Y/n on his dance floor, waiting for him. 

Mattheo stared at her, his eyes bright with love. He swept her up in his arms, pressing her close, and they danced to nonexistent music. Y/n rested her head on Mattheo’s chest and whispered, “this is nice.”

“This is very nice, indeed. I hope to do it more often.”

Y/n’s fingers gripped onto Mattheo’s shoulders. “Matty…” she whispered. “You know my feelings for you. But I- Adrian-”

“Please don’t speak his name,” Mattheo pleaded. “And I know about him. But I don’t care about him. Please tell me you don’t care about him either.”

“He is my husband, Mattheo.”

“That doesn’t mean you care about him.” Y/n took a breath and stepped slowly back from Mattheo. His mouth parted slowly and desperation filled his eyes. His hands reached out in anguish. “Please, my love. Don’t do this.”

“I will never love him as much as I love you,” Y/n clarified gently. “But I don’t hate him, either. Over the years, I have come to care for him. It’s a complicated feeling, Mattheo, I’m sure you understand.”

“Marry me,” Mattheo suddenly declared. “I promise, my dearest, I will give you all and more.”

“It’s not fair to Adrian,” Y/n protested, her hands dropped to her sides. “We don’t live in a life where one can just divorce their spouse to pursue another. You know of the rigidity and the silent rules that if we don’t follow, the exile we face.”

“Exile of what?” Mattheo cried, helplessness in his voice. “You can move in here. I can give you the life we dreamed of.”

“The life I dreamed of included my parents and my loved ones,” Y/n objected. “Not an isolated life with only one of the many I love.”

“Anyone you love can come visit you if they want,” Mattheo offered. “I won’t push anyone away. I just want you.”

“You know they won’t visit,” Y/n’s voice broke. “You know people will ridicule us. And I am so sorry, Matty, but I don’t know if I could live with that.” Mattheo didn’t speak for a long moment, staring at Y/n’s neck. “What’s wrong?” she eventually demanded. “Do I have something on my collar?”

“No,” Mattheo murmured softly. “It’s just… you kept it.” He pointed to Y/n’s neck and reached out to finger the chain around Y/n’s neck. The woman couldn’t help but shiver under his light touch. “You kept it,” he repeated. Carefully, as if afraid he might break her, Mattheo lifted the hidden necklace that was tucked under Y/n’s dress. “My ring.”

“I couldn’t bear to get rid of it,” Y/n’s breath hitched and she swallowed back tears. “I’ve never taken it off. Even- even on my wedding day.”

Beside himself, Mattheo chuckled, though it quickly turned to a gasp for breath. “So even when he made love to you, you always kept my ring around your neck?” Tears slipped down his cheeks and Y/n reached up to quickly wipe them away. 

“I don’t want you thinking about that,” Y/n muttered, shaking her head at the absurdness of it all. “Please… just be here with me.”

“I’m here,” Mattheo could hardly get a couple words out. He pulled her close to him and pressed a firm kiss on her forehead. “You still haven’t said no to my proposal.”

Y/n laughed loudly. “I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“With you, I am always serious,” Mattheo grinned, bending down to look her in the eye. “And that wasn’t an answer. Why are you avoiding the question, darling?”

Y/n sighed, a coy smile on her lips. “Would I simply leave Adrian? What of my things? Adrian would come looking for me, you know?”

“I would buy you whatever you’re missing a thousand times over.” Mattheo stared at Y/n, his eyes holding all the tenderness that a lover was supposed to have. “I would protect you and Adrian would never know where you are. He will never harm you, I promise.” 

Y/n tapped Mattheo’s chest thrice and hummed. Mattheo’s heart fluttered and his lips brushed against her temple. Silently, he begged all the gods he knew of that Y/n would agree to be with him. His lips moved wordlessly, pleading, before Y/n said, “I will call you tomorrow, Matty. I’m sure Adrian already knows of our endeavours, but give me one night to collect my thoughts. Can you give me that much?”

“Of course, my love. Whatever you need.” He kissed Y/n’s forehead again. “Always in all ways.”

“Always in all ways,” Y/n repeated.

****

“Where are you going?”

Y/n’s shoulders tensed and she slowly turned around to face Adrian. A packed bag was on her bed. “Enzo, the sweetling cousin he is, invited me to stay with him,” she said. “I thought it would be fun to spend a night in East Diadem. To see how others live.”

“You? In East Diadem?” Adrian chortled a laugh. “And why, pray tell, would you do that?” 

“Because I love my cousin,” Y/n reiterated firmly. “Are you forbidding me to see my family?”

Adrian’s head hung and he shook his head. “I may be rich, but I’m not stupid.” He hesitated before stating, “I know about Riddle.”

“My old friend?” Y/n asked smoothly. “Yes, he was a friend of Enzo’s. That’s how I met him, you know.” She cleared her throat and zipped up her bag. 

“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?” Adrian then suddenly shouted out, his hair flying out of place and his face turning red. “He’s fucking my wife, that bastard! Why, I should- I outta- you bitch!” He growled and whirled around, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“Adrian.” Y/n held up her hands, trying to soothe his emotions. It was the only way she learned how. “I haven’t been unfaithful to you, I promise. I made a vow on our wedding day and I have since upheld it.”

Adrian grunted and demanded, “so tell me you love me.”

Y/n swallowed. “I- I love you, Adrian. Just not in the way you want me to.”

Her husband let out a yell of frustration and slammed his hands down on the back of an armchair. Y/n flinched. After a tense moment, he hissed out, “go, then. Leave me.” His voice rose to a crescendo and he shouted out, “but know that I will never let you back into this life again! No one will ever let you step inside Diadem West without rumours and hatred trailing behind you.” He let his voice drop and as Y/n shuffled back, he raised his head and looked at her, pleadingly. “I want to make you stay,” Adrian whispered. “I want to tell you all the ways I love you. But… But I think we both know I can’t.” He took a step towards her and held a hand out as if he wanted to cup her face in his palm. “You are so beautiful, Y/n,” he muttered. “But he makes you feel alive. You- you deserve that.”

“So do you, Adrian,” Y/n choked out. 

“I know,” he nodded once, conceding. “I know.”

****

It took four weeks for Y/n to officially move into the house across the bay. Immediately, she had sought out her cousin and stayed with him for some time. She spent many of those days sitting out on the lawn, staring out to the bay and her old house. Her hair would whip across her face and sometimes, Mattheo would come and sit a couple feet away from her, not saying a word. Mattheo knew she was experiencing the eroding feeling of guilt. He didn’t dare disturb her thoughts if, eventually, it would lead to him. What’s a couple more weeks when he had been waiting years?

Then, one day, Y/n turned towards Mattheo and said, “you promised to love me always and in all ways.” 

Mattheo’s head whipped toward her. The shame in his eyes was deep. “Yes,” he uttered.

“I think I’m ready to take you up on your offer.” 

Mattheo broke into a smile.

A year later, the pair was married. The band that had been around Y/n’s neck was now around her finger. Y/n’s parents refused to attend and she had spent the night crying in Mattheo’s arms. Enzo had taken the place of her father and walked her down the aisle. The wedding was sparse and while Mattheo’s aunt had come to offer her congratulations, as had one of Y/n’s old friends, the couple knew that their life would be a lonely one until they either made new friends or Y/n’s old friends in Diadem West came around. But they were happy. 

Grand parties weren’t a frequent occurrence, though every month or so, Mattheo threw a celebration for an unimportant holiday, simply to show Y/n off. He finally had the pleasure to kiss her in a room full of people and not be ridiculed. However, parties weren’t needed. As long as Mattheo woke up with Y/n in his arms, he would call it the most wonderful day ever. 

And when years had passed and their children would move out to begin their own endeavours, the house would lay empty. After decades had gone by and the mansion was simply a statement of extravagant wealth and the jubilance of society, people would wander in the house, marvelling at the gold and marble. Whispers would echo the hallways of the great love story that transpired within its walls. A large, dusty old portrait of the couple still hung above the fireplace, their eyes holding as much love as there was water in the bay.

[ittlll]

I know it sounds ridiculous but part of me can’t help but think of ghost who loves Lana Del Rey. Without any doubt he is one of the most tough guys in the world and has the most rational mindset humans can have. But does it mean he is lacking in sensibility? Definitely not.

I guess he will read poems and give his own annotations to the emotion between the lines. He takes it as a way to balance his cruel job and his inner self. He tends to always take anything in charge, including his mental health, to make sure his life is always on the right track and run like clockwork, more precisely, Haute Horlogerie. It’s just some kind of his *aesthetic*, he wants a quality life. So he does not reject sensuality.

Back to Lana Del Ray, I would rather believe he started with the great Gatsby and so Young and Beautiful. Of course he watch movies, alone or with his team at those movie nights. They chose action movies forever, but one day Soap changed his mind. He picked the classic movie. Ghost doesn't usually give any comment on his choices and just watches the film quietly .

He was *shocked* when he heard the song, even though he didn't show a hint. Maybe he would judge Gatsby for the way he loved, but he completely understood his feeling through the melody, lyrics, and the voice of Siren. He glanced at the Scotsman next to him, who was so gripped of the film, and moved his eyes back to the screen making no sign. He failed to read what he was thinking, maybe the same as him, maybe not.

He found himself falling in so quickly. He favors the soothing ones like Old Money, Chemtrails Over The Country Club and so on. But will he listen to Lolita or Breaking my heart? He won't initiate it, but he'll usually play the list randomly.

He enjoyed afternoon tea with wired headset. Tea was also part of his life art. Warm 2pm sunlight shone into the lounge. Soap woke up from his nap, looking around and finding ghost in the old single sofa. That had almost been his exclusive seat. Every afternoon, as long as he was in the barrack, he would sit up here on time for a while. Sometimes he read, sometimes he meditated.Today he listened to something.

“What are you listening?” Soap was not so sure that guy can actually hear him.

“Nothing.”Text Book, perfect one for the tea time.

“Imagine Dragons I bet.”

Ghost took off one side, turning to him.

“Really, Johnny?”

Soap eventually found the answer through his in-car music. Summertime Sadness. Soap froze as the song played in the quiet car. Jesus, the big black guy, having killed countless people, even had limited edition CDs of Lana Del Rey to fit his old jeep whose audio was still a CD player. What a world.

“Feels like I never know you, Lt.”

“Never.”

“Don’t be so casual about never or forever , Si.”Soap was on his passenger seat, he looked into the brownie-coloured eyes in the rear-view mirror, “Now I know you’re hiding so much interesting things. Learn a little bit every day, and one day I will get them all.”

“Those words could go into song lyrics.”Ghost smiled under the mask.

Oh my god' I feel it in the air,

Telephone wires above,

Are sizzlin' like a snare,

Honey I'm on fire' I feel it everywhere,

Nothin' scares me anymore.

[onlyteathings]

jay gatsby headcannons !!

• He sings when he’s alone. Finishing things his maids didn’t do, in the shower, or even just trying to sleep. Humming or singing softly to himself as a distraction.

• His feelings may be hidden, but you can always read him through his eyes. Whether it’s longing for Daisy, frustrations with a situation, or just plain enjoyment, his gaze always gives it away.

• Jay fiddles with his watch a lot. It reminds him that time is still moving, and soon it may run out for his chance to win Daisy back.

• He uses humor to mask insecurities and worries. Many see him as the gentle, stoic man, but from time to time if he slips up, or almost does, he’ll use humor to mask it.

• He’s protective of Nick, but also jealous of him at times. Gatsby sees Nick as a true friend and confidant, subtly shielding him from the dangers of his world, especially when the tension with Tom escalates. Yet, Gatsby harbors a quiet envy of Nick’s honesty and simplicity. He admires Nick’s unassuming nature but secretly wishes he could strip away his own elaborate façade and be just as genuine.

• He adores music. Gatsby has an ear for music and uses it to set the tone for his parties. He secretly loves jazz and might sit at his piano late at night, playing soft, melancholic tunes when the party’s over.

• He’s not big on intimacy, yet loves physical touch. He’s afraid of how emotional he gets during that connection, so he only admires little things like kisses, or a cuddle here and there.

• He’s a small gesture/gift giver. Other than throwing big, grand parties for Daisy or other large gestures, he also enjoys showing his love for Daisy in small ways— whether that includes sending her handwritten letters, or pressing flowers to give her later.

• Gatsby writes poetry in private, and he has a book next to his bed that he hasn’t published yet. They’re raw and heartfelt, and he doesn’t want to show them to anyone, except maybe Nick. The pages are smudged and worn, showing how much he revisits them.

• He has a secret garden. It’s a small, private section where he tends to his flowers himself. It’s a space he never shows his guests, as it represents his quieter, more grounded dreams.

• Gatsby is prone to overthinking and over planning, constantly reviewing scenarios in his head, or practicing a conversation with himself before he knows it’ll happen to ensure he won’t embarrass himself. It borders on obsessive.

• Jay has graphic nightmares from the war. He keeps his house loud and bright, because the darkness and isolation would only lead him to spiral. These nightmares occur no matter what he does, showing the cracks in his façade of perfection.

• He has a major fear of being “found out.” He’s cautious around Wolfsheim, and hopes that no one will ever see past the façade that he wears like stained glass, so pretty and glimmering, yet so weak and easy to break, and once you break it, it’s hard to put back together in the right spots.

• Gatsby is a perfectionist to the point of self destruction. He plans every detail of his life, from his wardrobe to his social interactions, leaving little room for spontaneity. This need for control stems from his fear of being seen as “less than.”

• Gatsby keeps a private collection of small objects tied to his life with Daisy—a dried flower from their first date, a broken clip from something in Daisy’s hair, even a lonesome bead that came from a bracelet that broke of hers. These items are hidden in a drawer that he opens only in his loneliest moments.

• While Gatsby always maintains an air of elegance and grace, there’s a restless energy in his movements—tapping his fingers, pacing when he’s alone, or adjusting his cufflinks repeatedly when anxious.

• Early on, Gatsby made an awkward attempt to bond with Tom, feigning interest in polo or attempting polite conversation. However, his frustration with Tom’s arrogance quickly shines through.

• If Jay ever spots someone he sees himself in, he’ll take them under his wing, sending notes and things like that, kind of like he did with Nick.

• Gatsby often sneaks away from his own parties to stand by the water and look at the stars. He whispers his wishes to them, imagining they’ll carry them to Daisy.

• Despite his fanciful lifestyle, Gatsby finds joy in simple things—freshly brewed coffee, a quiet morning spent at home, or an old book. These moments remind him of his more humble beginnings.

• Gatsby secretly sketches designs for his parties, from the decorations to the placement of the musicians. He may even attempt to draw a portrait of Daisy, though he never shows it to anyone.

• Gatsby’s relentless drive comes not just from his love for Daisy but from a deep seated fear of being forgotten or fading into the past. His parties, wealth, and charm are all part of his attempt to leave a lasting mark.

• The pool and the bay hold special meaning for this Gatsby. He views water as cleansing and symbolic of rebirth, often taking quiet swims to clear his mind and gather his resolve.

• Gatsby is surprisingly gentle and thoughtful with children, often kneeling down to their level to speak with them at parties.

• Whenever Jay feels unsure or anxious, he subtly adjusts his suit jacket, smoothing it over or pulling it down as if trying to compose himself.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 50: Are We All Safe?

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

How is it possible to function on three hours of sleep? All night I toss and turn trying to relax but my mind is too full. Eventually I hear Thomas get up and leave. It’s barely daylight but I shouldn’t pay any mind to him. I can easily count how many apologies he owes. 

I throw in the towel and begin to make breakfast. Charlie is still asleep so the meal will just be for me. After a small portion of toast and eggs I try to distract myself with a copy of The Great Gatsby. Talk about the American dream being disintegrated into a shallow pursuit of wealth. Just like another certain someone…

Ring! Ring!

Who would be calling? I jump up and rush to the phone. Oh Lord, is it someone from home-?

“Is this Verena?” A familiar voice asks on the other end.

I gawk at the receiver. “May?”

“Verena, is that you? My, it’s good to hear from you. I wanted to call and see how you’ve been. I stopped by to collect Thomas’ horse. Um, pardon me for asking but the Americans that Curly told me about, they wouldn’t happen to…?”

Hearing May’s concern is a wonderful reminder that not all the rich and wealthy are heartless. 

“My family’s Irish side has made me a part of this too. The Italians are known enemies of the White Hand gang. I’m afraid my terms with Changretta are painted the same as the Shelbys’.” Unless… “That is unless I can arrange a diplomatic meeting to take the hit off my family.”

“I’m so sorry.” There’s a pause over the phone. “Does Tommy still treat you well?”

The thought of yesterday’s events makes my fist clench. Between his remarks on my family’s situation and Lizzie’s cold stare I’d say that this vendetta is starting to become more like a prison sentence.

“As good as any other employee,” I reply darkly.

“I see.” May pauses again and this time uses a more upbeat tone. “It was good to catch up. Pop by London sometime. We’ll go shopping.”

Somehow the ghost of a smile tugs at my lips. “I’ll put it in the books.”

I replace the phone and begin to go about my normal routine- All aside from looking for Thomas. I’m still too heated to hear any excuse he has. As for that idea from earlier… I could try. It couldn’t hurt… Could it? If I wave the white flag and ask to speak with Changretta then I could ask him to remove my family’s hit. 

“Veena?” Charlie asks from the sofa. “Are you sad?”

Lord bless him and his childhood innocence. “I’m okay, Charlie. Just… a little tired, ‘s all.”

“Do you want a nap?”

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and feel myself decompress onto the sofa. “Charlie, a nap sounds wonderful. Are you still tired too?”

“Yeah.” The young Shelby crawls up next to me and lays down facing me. “Veena, is mummy with God too?”

I move my arm over to rub his small head. “Yes, Charlie. Your mummy was a very kind person, and she loved you very much. She watches over you every day.”

Charlie’s tired eyes widen. “She does?”

“She does,” I repeat. “And I promised her that I would take care of you. Right now you need to sleep, alright?”

“Okay.”

His eyes finally close and I wait for him to fall asleep before letting my own eyes shut. Somehow sleep does find me, because when I open my eyes again it’s because Thomas is shaking me awake. Charlie is awake too and is clinging to his dad’s leg.

“Verena? It’s after six. Are you alright?”

After six? I slept a solid seven hours! I jump up in surprise to look at the clock but then remember I’m still cross at Thomas. I resume a tight posture and merely hum in response.

“Charlie, why don’t you go play with your blocks, eh? Or I’m sure there are some books to read.” 

Thomas ushers his son off and stands directly in front of me so that I can’t avoid looking at him or getting up from the couch. Of course Thomas can tell when someone is angry. Heaven forbid he can tell when I’m trying to love him. 

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Are you going to apologize for speaking so harshly of my family yesterday?”

“Yes.” 

Thomas moves to sit next to me on the couch, looking at me with sincerity. His face tells a story of a man who’s frustrated with himself. Is he really going to say sorry? Can I bring myself to forgive him for not only mocking my family but also keeping me from talking to another man?

 “Verena, I’m sorry. You just need to understand that-”

“You are not the most empathetic person,” I say slowly. “I know.”

Something is wrong. Like Thomas once told me, no one apologizes unless they’ve done something else. The sound of his voice tells me he’s hiding something. He’s too stubborn to give in so quickly… What exactly happened at the office today?

“Something happened today,” I state bluntly and my face hardens with worry. “What happened?”

Thomas’ mouth drops slightly. “How-? You read me like a fucking book.”

“Thomas Shelby. Just answer me one fucking thing. Are we safe?”

If I had the idea of talking to Changretta then Thomas’ mind can’t be too far behind. This vendetta involves me too so if he makes any move to address it then I need to know. 

Thomas reaches across and takes my hand. “Yes.”

Does he mean everyone or just my family? “Are you safe?”

He holds up a finger. “That’s two questions.”

“Thomas Shelby!” I squeeze his hand tighter and can’t stop my brow from creasing. “You can keep me in the dark from whatever sinister deeds you concoct. I don’t want to know. What goes on in that boardroom is your burden. Whatever strike or uprising, it is brought on by yourself. I was hired for international relations and that is what I will work for. But that does not mean I stop caring for your safety. I do want to know that after all this is said and done that you will still be here.”

“And if I'm not?” Thomas challenges, still keeping a calm face. “If you could save your family by killing me, would you?”

My chest tightens and I fight to keep from crumbling into him. “You make it so easy to say yes. But you know I am no murderer, Thomas. Even if I don’t pull the trigger I will never arrange for you to be killed.”

There are far more dreadful ways of torture. If I ever want Thomas to suffer then I will walk away completely. We’ll see who’s angry when there is no one who will listen.

Thomas must believe me because his crystal eyes have a look of content sadness. If he has anything to say then it’s his own fault for staying quiet. As is mine.

“There is a meeting tomorrow I want you to be at,” the gangster murmurs. “At the hospital with Michael. Arthur, Ada, Polly, and Lizzie are coming too. See these?” He holds up a set of keys. "These are the keys to your car outside. You can take it to the meeting. Trust me, you will want to be there. Even if you’re still mad at me.”

“I will be there,” I promise. “Hopefully after a few more hours of sleep.”

“Yes, do sleep,” Thomas insists and gets up to let me have the whole sofa. “You shouldn’t have to go through this, Verena.”

He walks off to the kitchen. Did I hear him mutter ‘all my fault?’ Well, partially that is true. But it is also my fault for being dumb enough to come back. What have I accomplished? John is dead and I’m no closer to admitting my feelings than I was a year ago. Why does love have to be this complicated? I suppose another night of fighting for sleep might calm me down.

@meadows5

[blood-or4nge]

Dust and Echoes

The Girl in the Bookshop

The bell above the door gave a soft chime, the kind that belonged in a film about second chances and unexpected beginnings.

You barely looked up from the worn spine you were taping together—The Picture of Dorian Gray, its pages a little yellowed but still holding magic—when he walked in.

It was raining, which wasn’t unusual for this town. What was unusual was the man standing in your doorway, his hood pushed back just enough to reveal a familiar mop of brown hair, a flash of blue eyes, and the unmistakable air of someone used to being looked at. Except… he wasn’t asking to be recognized. If anything, he looked like he was trying to disappear.

You knew who he was, of course. Everyone did. But you didn’t say his name. You just offered a soft smile and nodded toward the shop interior, your way of saying, stay as long as you like.

He glanced around the space like he hadn’t been inside a bookshop in years. Maybe he hadn’t.

The shop was small and mismatched—floorboards that creaked, shelves that bowed under the weight of time, a little reading nook by the window with a stack of throw blankets in varying shades of neutral. You had painted the front window yourself, your name written in delicate white cursive above the words Second Chapter Books. It was your world. Your quiet, dusty, wonderful little world.

And now he was in it.

Louis moved through the shelves slowly, the kind of slow that meant he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Every so often, you heard the low scrape of a chair or the rustle of a page. No entourage. No cameras. Just him and the sound of the rain tapping against the glass.

He stayed for nearly an hour.

When he left, he purchased a battered copy of The Great Gatsby and a poetry collection you never thought anyone under 70 would even glance at.

“I like the quiet in here,” he murmured, glancing at you for the first time with real intention. “Feels like it doesn’t ask anything of me.”

You offered the same soft smile. The one you gave to the lonely souls and the ones who didn’t know they needed a story.

“Come back anytime,” you said.

ꕀ

He came back.

Twice the next week. Then four times the one after that. Always with a hood pulled low or sunglasses that didn’t quite hide the shape of his smile. And always, always to the poetry shelf.

He never asked for a discount, though you would’ve given him one. Never made a show of being recognized. Sometimes, he read in the nook by the window, thumb brushing the pages like he was trying to memorize them.

You learned that he liked tea over coffee. That he hummed when he read something he liked. That he always smelled faintly like bergamot and clean laundry.

“You’re not going to ask for a photo?” he asked one day, voice casual, but there was something heavy behind it.

You shook your head. “You’re not on stage here.”

That was the day he started helping you carry deliveries in from the back alley. And that was the day you started making him tea before he even asked.

ꕀ

One Thursday, you caught him talking to a little girl in the children’s section. She had big glasses and a bigger curiosity, asking him a hundred questions about music and why he had “tattoos like the cool people on telly.”

He answered each one with a grin, crouching to her level, never talking down to her.

“She your niece?” you asked later.

He shook his head. “Nah. Just someone who wanted a story read out loud.”

Your heart ached a little at that.

That night, after you locked the shop, you found a small note left on the poetry shelf.

You make the quiet feel like home. – L

You never told him you found it.

But the next day, you left a note of your own.

ꕀ

[lilac-murder]

I do not say this in a way of meaning that I wish they would stop being shipped (it's a work of fiction do whatever you want), but i am tired of going to AO3 to read fanfictions about "The Great Gatsby" where Gatsby just realizes that he loves Nick instead of Daisy like the flip of a switch.

I can understand why people feel that Gatsby falling in love with Nick would be easy, given how we see a lot more of the two's friendship and interactions throughout the book than the interactions between Jay and Daisy, which is ment to be a dynamic that we are ment to find romantic purely based on their past together. But this is of course because Nick isn't there to see them be together in the present except for chapter 5 where he helps to bring the two of them together for tea, chapter 6 where Tom and Daisy attend one of Gatsby's parties with Gatsby and Daisy sneaking off together at the end, and chapter 7 where they try to execute a plan of confronting Tom and having Daisy leave him for Gatsby. The main reason why some of the interactions between Gatsby and Jay have any sort of hint of romantic tension is because it is from NICK'S point of view, and for as much as i am writing here about how against i am about the current perception of how a romantic relationship between Jay and Nick would play out, there is no denying that Nick Carraway is about as gay as F. Scott Fitzgerald could accidentally write him.

Ever since chapter three Nick has had at the very least an infatuation with Gatsby, given how he describes his smile alone when he first meets the weird rich guy next door and how even just before Gatsby is shot in chapter 8 Nick proclaims to him that those around him are a rotten crowd and that Jay is worth the whole bunch put together even as he narrates of how he hates Gatsby at the same time. But even for all of Nick's subtle romantic feelings, it's most likely that Jay only truly sees Nick as a friend or at most someone that he can truly confide in about his worries or troubles.

There is also the matter of Jay's obsession with Daisy, or in other words, THE VERY DREAM AND HYPER FIXATION THAT HAS KEPT HIM GOING FOR YEARS. For as much as his love for Daisy is shallow and only exists because Jay can't grasp the concept of letting someone get away, he is VERY dedicated to his fantasy of having Daosy as his wife in a big house with lots of money. He has literally thrown himself into a very dangerous career of being a bootlegger just so that he could make the amount of money he didn't have when he and Daisy first met just to show her that he can take care of her now, and has wasted countless fortunes throwing extravagant parties just in the hopes that Daisy will come and see how much he has accomplished. In my eyes I don't see how there could be a way for Jay to just forget about his entire false love for Daisy just because someone that he's only known for less than three months is kind of cute and is really nice to talk to.

And wouldn't a story about Nick pining from a far without even realizing it with Gatsby constantly reminding him that he is in love with Daisy and Nick wondering why that makes him feel like crap and Nick only realizing he had feelings for Gatsby after he's dead be a more intriguing story than something like "Jay realizes he loves Nick at the slightest sign of rejection from Daisy." Nick realizing he loves Jay after his death would also give more meaning to Wolfshine's line in chapter 9 about showing someone your feelings when they're alive instead of waiting until they're dead, stabbing the dagger in his heart in further by giving him the false hope that Jay would have some how accepted his love when he was still around and breathing. This kind of grief powered wishing would also give Nick a tie to George Wilson in how they both experienced the loss of a close person in their lives that sent them into a bad mental state, with a narrative foil coming in with Nick deciding to move on with his life at the end of the book where as George decided to act on his grief by getting what he thought was revenge.

But I also don't really care and you can do whatever you want with your fanfics, I just can't write fiction for the life of me.

[marysdonuts]

FF idea :

Jeonghan is a type of man who understands other's emotions really quick and he knows when someone have crush on him, he flirts and teases subtly sometimes too bold but would never confess first cuz he would rather get chased instead of doing the chasing so now reader is chasing him and he is in the mood to tease to the point the reader starts losing interest and stopped the chase now what will jeonghan do?

thank you for the idea!

I want to preface this with- fckn hate nonchalant men. If it was me he would be blocked already

enjoy~

Tables have turned

Oh the almighty Jeonghan. Sent from above specifically to torture you. The popular guy who has six ladies lined up on each finger hoping to get their turn. Funny, easy on the eye but that personality? Ugh, you've seen better.

You made your interest in him more than clear, still.. to this day no definite answer. Only insufferable amount of teasing. You weren't one to play the game of push n' pull. It was getting on your nerves. Especially the constant flirting with anything that moved - just for sport. Or maybe not for sport per sé but to get you jealous. Making sure you saw him making move on somebody. There was even a moment when he jokingly almost kissed you only to pull away at the last moment, smug as hell. So full of himself.

Fuck it. Does he think he is the only one who has options? Isn't the last man on Earth for sure. The hell. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

//

And so you danced. You danced with every man who showed even drop of interest that night. Sending Jeonghan clear message - this is what you are missing by acting like a little bitch. Drowning one drink after another. Price? Didn't matter. They were paying.

When a friend of yours, equally as drunk, suggested to climb on the bar, you thought it an excellent idea. Both of you moving to the rhythm of some latino song with questionable, extremely toxic lyrics. Drink in hand, Great Gatsby style, you cheered the growing attendance at your feet. People going feral.

"I think you've had enough fun for today," Jeonghan's cold hand grasping your ankle "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" seemingly asking the audience a rhetorical question, crushing his fingers with your heel

"Your boyfriend~" squirming in pain

"My boyfriend?? Stop pissing me off Jeonghan. I had enough of your shit. It's not difficult to find somebody better than yo-"

Fuck, am I falling?

All the drinks from before picked the worst moment to take effect. Dizzy head, weak legs, heels plus slippery bar? Unfortunate combination. You were indeed about to hit the floor.

Next thing you know shawty got low low low - Music in the background mocking your life decisions

"Aaaaaaa" crashing down, drink spilled, body aching, pride hurt

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again." patting it lovingly

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" Noticing Jeonghan squished under you, also lovingly patting your bum in unison

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" intoxication not letting you fishing your sentence, making you wobble, once again ending up in Jeonghan's arms

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

This fucking bitch keeps playing with me!! You wanted to punch hole into his beautiful face. Body working faster than the mouth, clenched fist flew towards douchebag's face.

KAPOW!!!

Sadly, your fist was not at all clenched, flying much further from his face, finally landing on his chest. You weren't sure if his shirt was always this unbuttoned but what was staring at you currently - pair of *shiny* man-tiddies.

"wow" blinded by the sight

"Well, well, well," Jeonghan caressed your hand moving it over his heart "do you really want to know my feelings that much?" Mischievous eyes trying to meet the hazy ones.

"yea" gaze still kinda stuck on his tiddies

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The first time Jeonghan kissed you was in backseat of taxi on the way to his apartment. It wasn't just a kiss. More like he was feeding off your growing excitement. Producing such obscene sounds the driver had to rise the radio volume.

//

Reaching the destination, the moment the door closed shut, you found yourself pinned against them. Jeonghan's urgent lips tracing the curve of your neck.

"You really made a number on me today, you know that?" sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving mark behind

"Oh? Allow me to laugh. The Jeonghan hot and bothered? Hard to believe." tauntingly, grasping the hair

"Tell me 'bout it..," defeated exhale tickling your ear "seeing you with all those men...didn't expect to feel like that. Made me want to jump every single one of them."

"Did it, now?" placing thumb on his bottom lip "little boy got upset when his toy was taken away?" full of irony

"I was never good at sharing" allowing the entire length of your finger feel the softness of his mouth, sucking it almost apologetically

"Forgive me?" Big brown eyes praying for redemption

Not sure if it was the residual alcohol but this time his words felt sincere. Seeing him sucking on your thumb like that, all docile and at your mercy..? Ufff, you were running too hot

"Want me to forgive you, huh, " making him sink to his knees under your authoritarian tone.

"you know what to do." parted legs offering not so subtle invitation to the sinner beneath you.

.

.

.

"At your service, my lady~"