#They will never change because they don't want to
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
naamahdarling ¡ 20 hours ago
Text
Horses. All animals but especially horses.
“Be curious about what you’re writing about” is not stock Common Writing Advice but it really, really should be. There are a lot of written works that fail due to the authors just being obviously incurious about what they are writing about.
#I've actually had this argument with other writers#convinced they'll be fine just making up whatever details they want#which is a garbage strategy because even if you somehow managed not to make any mistakes#you're missing out on a whole lot of really cool things you could have included if you bothered to do any goddamn research at all#the worst offender never changed their ways#they also refused to read within their genre lest they be influenced by “inferior writing and ideas”#what.#i stopped communicating with them not long after that#that's like somebody who wants to be a professional chef refusing to learn about where the ingredients come from and how they're grown#and absolutely never eating any of the dishes they want to cook and relying just on vibes and what they want to happen#r/ididnthaveeggs mentality#carrots and zucchini are both vegetables surely my substitution in this carrot cake recipe will work#it tastes bad?! you just don't understand my vision!#how dare you bring me a piece from your favorite bakery that's disgusting and also insulting to my craft#jesus christ im so glad i left that server#they got so mad when someone compared their line by line prose to [prominent award-winning author]#because they'd never even read that author how dare anyone insinuate their style wasn't completely original#six months later guess what#'i discovered this rad new author!'#did you indeed#last i heard they were dipping their toes into romance even though they despise the genre because how hard can it be?#my twist endings surely won't enrage readers even though i myself hate twist endings!#if you're reading this babe i hope you have finally read more than 3 books published after 2005 and learned how horses work#sorry this person was just really infuriating
8K notes ¡ View notes
genderqueerdykes ¡ 3 days ago
Note
just kind of throwing this at your wall, sorry in advance. saw the post about "kill all men" and got really upset
im a trans guy. my boyfriend is cis, and im the first guy hes dated before. (sees me fully as whatever i want to be, does not care about my gender expression and loves me for me. great guy). he doesnt have many friends from being asocial as a teenager, so most of his friends are my trans friends!
of course. like every trans group seems to fall prey to, theres always the "all [CIS] men are bad" conversation that comes up somehow. and i never really thought much of it, because in my head itd be "ah yeah all men Except My Boyfriend"
but he and i were talking after some drinks, and he made a point that really struck me. about how he doesn't like being The Exception to the point, that he's still a man and has no interest in being anything But a man. so when people say stuff like that, he gets uncomfortable; not because He IS The Problem (like everyone who gives the "if youre saying not all men, youre the men" argument) but because it makes him feel ostracized from everyone. and idk, it really struck me.
we say stuff like that way too often in an attempt to exclude certain groups of people; and i feel like we end up excluding people close to us by proxy.
thanks for listening
i really appreciate you for taking the time to send this. i've been meaning to talk about this and have been forgetting. the following is of course not directed at you, anon, it is directed at people who behave like this
you're not feminist, progressive, cool, pro-queer rights or funny for saying "kill all men". you are exposing that you are a violent and dangerous person for believing that people should be profiled and literally killed for their gender or PERCEIVED gender.
this doesn't make people like you more. it outs you as a danger. how do we know you won't turn that hatred toward women whenever you feel like changing the goalposts? i can't trust someone like that to not turn that hatred toward other genders, either. YOU are the dangerous person you are profiling men as. you can't use men as a scapegoat for everything. sometimes YOU are the violent person who needs help.
your boyfriend shouldn't have to feel like that. like people have never really cared about gay men but people just straight up gave up all pretenses that they do and i hate it. cis men are not inherently evil. cis men can still be queer. cis men can still be good people. your boyfriend shouldn't have to feel isolated because he's cis. that's profiling. he belongs. why do people assume that everyone with a partner who is a man hates them? not everyone is choosing to be in a relationship with someone they hate. i understand that some people will date someone no matter who just to have a partner so they're not lonely, but not everyone does this. some people genuinely love their boyfriends
i'm sorry you both have dealt with this. i hope things can improve because men don't deserve to feel like this. this is why toxic masculinity exists in the first place. we have to stop reinforcing that men are evil monsters. they won't stop believing that if we keep telling them that forever. stay safe. your boyfriend is not a bad person & deserves to have a wonderful life.
487 notes ¡ View notes
achilles-rage ¡ 2 days ago
Text
Is She Mine?
Tumblr media
summary: when buck left pennsylvania, he unknowingly left you there, pregnant with his child. four years later he runs into you and your daughter at the grocery store.
word count: 2.8k
a/n: another buck with a kid fic, another baby name from my baby name list used<3 if you don't like the name argue with the wall. someone gave me this idea months ago, but i can't find the ask, and i know birthmarks like that aren't hereditary or anything, but just pretend lol. anyway, enjoy<3
warnings: barely edited (sorry), reader has a daughter (obviously lol), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader
Tumblr media
“Delia, come back here right now!” you whisper-yell down the grocery aisle, looking up right as you see your daughter disappear around the corner.
You’ve always been against kids on leashes, but lately, your three-year-old daughter has been single-handedly changing your opinion on them. You can’t take your eyes off of her for more than a couple of seconds before she’s gone; chasing after nothing in particular and probably talking to a random stranger or two along the way, if you know her at all.
You see flickers of her father in her; not merely in her appearance, but in who she is on the inside as well, and she’s never even met him. She’s extremely outgoing and talkative, and stubborn, and has a heart of gold. As much as you hate to see the painful glimmer of her father within her, it also makes you happy to think of your time with him.
You haven’t seen him since shortly after you realized you were pregnant. You were both in college in your home state, and when you took the pregnancy test, you couldn’t figure out how to tell him. You had ended up waiting too long, and when he told you that he was leaving to travel the world, you couldn’t stop him, as much as you wanted to.
You knew how miserable he was with his parents, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ruin his dreams. You knew all he wanted to do was get out of Pennsylvania, and you didn’t want to force him to stay with you just because you had done something stupid. 
You abandon your cart in the middle of the aisle and race after her, haphazardly pulling your purse up your arm as your eyes frantically look around you for a glimpse of her hair, or her light blue shirt. Or was it purple? God, you really need to start taking pictures of her before you go out with her, you think to yourself as your heart hammers in your chest.
Finally, you hear her loud giggle, and you let out a relieved sigh, following the noise and finally setting your sight on her curly hair and her blue shirt. Good to know you were right about that, at least.
“De, what are you doing? You can’t run away from m-” your words catch in your throat as you see that she’s talking to a man who’s bent down to her level and smiling fondly at her. 
When he turns and locks eyes with you, the smile drops from his face, and he stands up straight as his eyes travel down your body. His breath has been ripped from his lungs as he watches you pick up the little girl and set her on your hip, but before either of you can speak, your daughter squeals excitedly in your ear.
“Mommy, he’s got dots, too!” Her tiny hand shoots out toward his eyebrow, pointing at the birthmark above his eye, and you nod slowly, eyes still focused on Buck. Your sweet girl is completely oblivious to the tension between you and Buck; all she can focus on is that this random man at the grocery store has the exact same birthmark as her.
“Buck,” you breathe in disbelief, watching as the realization dawns on him. He knows exactly what he just heard. Mommy. And unless he’s suddenly extremely bad at math, he knows exactly what this means.
His eyes dart between you and your daughter, now seeing the mix of your features on her face. She has your eyes, and her hair is the exact same, but she also has his bright smile, and his nose, and of course, the same birthmark above her eye.
“Is she-” he begins, trailing off as he shakes his head. He’s trying hard to wrap his head around this situation, and the only thought running through his mind is why the hell didn’t she tell me?
“She’s three,” you reply softly, unable to bring yourself to say the real truth. He’s not stupid; you know you shouldn’t need to, and you don’t want to say a thing around Delia, anyway. 
“Why didn’t you-?” he begins again, but you cut him off, keeping a firm grip on your daughter as she wiggles around in your arms.
“You were miserable in Pennsylvania, I couldn’t make you stay,” you explain, your throat feeling tight as you feel all the emotions you’ve been shoving deep down for the past four years fighting their way to the surface again.
“You wouldn’t be making me stay, if I knew, I would’ve wanted to stay. You know that,” he tells you, brows furrowed. 
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you since he left. Leaving you in Pennsylvania was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but he knew how important it was for you to graduate, and he couldn’t ask you to leave with him and throw away your own dreams for his. 
Now, looking at you, and the little girl in your arms, his heart feels heavy. He feels guilty for not being there for you for four years. He wishes that he never left.
“And I wasn’t miserable. I had you,” he continues, his fists clenching at his sides as he watches his daughter wrap her arms around your neck and rest her little head on your shoulder. He wants more than anything to hold her, but she has no idea who he is, and that causes a pain in his chest.
“I’m sorry. We were young, and I didn’t know what to do,” you explain, guilt filling your belly. In hindsight, you know you should’ve told Buck; he had a right to know, but you didn’t know what to say.
“Well, I can’t just forget about this now. I can’t just go back to not seeing you, not seeing her,” he says, his tone pleading as he looks down at your daughter again, his eyes soft as he takes in her drowsy eyes.
“Delia,” you tell him with a small smile, tilting your head to the side and resting your cheek against the top of her head.
He smiles too, and you think you see tears forming in his eyes as he nods, then clears his throat.
“Delia,” he whispers. “She looks just like you,” he continues, louder this time. 
You laugh softly, shrugging as you squeeze Delia tighter to you. You’re thankful that she’s been quiet while you talk, clearly tired after a long day at the park, and then running errands.
“I think she looks like you,” you reply, and he chuckles softly, feeling a sense of pride fill his chest. He can’t believe he hasn’t been there to see his little girl grow up, and that you’ve had to do this all alone.
“Please let me see you again. Please.” You smile at his words; you knew Buck would want to help out as much as he could if he ever found out. You feel guilt eating at you as you see the longing in his expression, but this feels like a second chance, and you don’t want to cut him off again.
“Okay. But, can I call you later? I should get her home and ready for daycare tomorrow. We shouldn’t really talk about this here, anyway,” you say quietly, gesturing down to Delia. She may only be three, but she understands a lot, even in her sleepy state, and you don’t want to confuse her before you know what this is.
He nods quickly, then gives you his phone to get your number, and when he has it, you say goodbye before you go your separate ways. 
Your daughter waves haphazardly at Buck as you walk away, and you can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face. She’s asked about her father before, and you never quite knew what to say. Maybe now she’ll actually be able to have the father she’s always asked about. The one that you’ve longed for for the last four years.
Later that night, when Delia’s in bed, you call Buck and set up a day for him to come over to spend the day with you two. You both agree not to tell Delia who he really is, at least not right away. First, you’ll just get her used to him, and then you’ll cross the next bridge when you get to it.
Tumblr media
You weren’t at all surprised when the first time Buck showed up on your doorstep, Delia welcomed him in with a bright smile, grabbing his hand and bringing him into the living room where all her toys were scattered around. You weren’t surprised when Buck sat right down with her and played with her all day, either, only stopping for snack breaks.
Anything she would ask for, he would do, whether it was playing hide and seek, or painting with her, or throwing her up in the air as many times as she wanted while playing what she calls “rocket ship.”
Eventually, his afternoon visits ended up ending later and later, and you’d sit on the couch and talk long after Delia went to bed. You missed hanging out with him, and seeing him being so good with Delia had you falling for him all over again. 
It wasn’t hard to see that he felt the same; you could see the way his eyes wandered down your body, or down to your lips when you were speaking, but you never did anything about it. Your number one priority is Delia, and you don’t want to do anything too early and confuse her. 
One day, a few months after you had run into Buck, he’s sitting on the carpet with your daughter, holding two of her Barbie’s in his hands with furrowed brows as she explains to him who they are. You’re sitting with them, watching with a fond smile, when Delia stops, looking up at Buck quizzically.
“Are you my daddy?” she asks softly, her brows knit together in confusion as she eyes him.
Both you and Buck’s eyes widen, and your lips part as you try to figure out what to say. You knew this was coming, but you couldn’t figure out how to go about it.
“Why do you ask, sweetheart?” Buck finally says, tilting his head to the side as you watch them.
“Everyone at school has daddies. And, you love my mommy,” she explains, looking between the two of you. You tilt your head to the side and steal a glance at Buck, seeing the smile growing on his face. He meets your gaze for a second, raising a brow, and you nod once. You don’t know how this is going to go, but you want to try.
“Of course, I love your mommy. And I love you, too,” he assures her with a smile, bringing a hand up and tracing her chubby cheek with his fingers.
She smiles bashfully, tilting her head to the side, then stops for a moment, thinking. You can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she looks at the space between the two of you, spaced out, and then she looks back up at Buck.
“Will you be my daddy?” she asks, and your heart shatters when you see the nervousness in her eyes. Buck can feel tears forming in his eyes as he looks back into her eyes, and his heart somehow feels both full and empty at her words. He’s been hoping to eventually become Delia’s father for real, but hearing the uncertainty in her voice makes him want to hold her close and never leave her again.
“Yeah, baby, I’ll be your daddy,” he says after a moment, not wanting her to wait a second longer. He lets out a huff as Delia suddenly shoots up and launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and settling into his lap with an elated giggle.
“I love you, daddy,” she says breathlessly, nuzzling into his neck and squeezing him hard. You watch with a smile, tears forming in your own eyes as you see a tear slip down Buck’s cheek.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice shaky as he hugs her close to his chest.
He’s always wanted a family, and now that he has this one, he never wants to let it go. He just can’t believe he missed out on the first three years. He’ll have to make it up to his girls, he thinks to himself.
“I’m gonna go talk to your mommy for a second. We’ll be right back, okay?” he tells your daughter when she finally gets off his lap and goes back to playing with her Barbie’s.
When you’re both in the kitchen, and sure Delia’s distracted, Buck closes the space between you two, cupping your cheeks and bringing your lips to his in a passionate kiss. You hold his wrists as you kiss him back, caught slightly off guard but quickly regaining your composure as you move your lips in time with his.
When you finally pull back, you’re both out of breath, and he looks down at you with sparkling eyes, studying your face for a moment before bringing your foreheads together. 
“I want to be a real family. I don’t just want her, I want you, too.” he whispers, letting his thumb trace along your skin as he holds your face in his hands. You laugh in slight disbelief, then nod, letting a tear finally fall down your cheek. The last four years without him have been exhausting, and all you wanted was this, but you never thought you could have it. Except now Buck is standing right in front of you, telling you that he wants exactly what you want.
“I want that, too.” you tell him softly, then bring your lips up to his again, kissing him with newfound fervour. 
Your hands go to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer as you part your lips and let his tongue slip into your mouth, searching. He keeps one hand on your face as the other goes down to your hip, holding you flush against him as he tilts your head further up into the kiss, and a low groan escapes his throat as he feels your plush middle pressed against him. 
You finally have to pull away when you hear your daughter’s squeal from the other room; yelling a high pitched “daddy!” 
You both race to the living room, letting out sighs of relief when you see her sitting in the same spot on the carpet that you’d left her, with a cheeky smile on her face.
“Can we have ice cream for dinner?” You scoff, laughing softly as you shake your head. You’ve seen that sweet little expression before; she knows exactly how to ask for what she wants, but unlike Buck, you’re more used to having to say no.
“Yeah, we can have ice cream for dinner, baby,” Buck replies before you can, and your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowed. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, however, as he’s smiling fondly at Delia as she squeals excitedly and makes her way to him.
When Buck picks your daughter up in his arms and finally turns to face you, you can feel the sliver of anger slip away, seeing how Delia is looking up at Buck with a dazed smile; clearly happy about finally having her daddy. 
“You’re already wrapped around her finger.” you tease, and all he does is shrug, a smile plastered to his face.
“Happily.” he replies, then leans down and gives you a gentle kiss. You both laugh when you hear Delia’s fake sounds of disgust, and when you pull back, Buck throws her up in the air, then catches her.
“Hey, if I’m gonna be your daddy, you’re gonna have to let me kiss your mommy, that’s part of the deal.” he teases as he throws her up in the air, eliciting a high-pitched giggle from her lips. 
“Okay, okay, okay!” she gets out through breathless gasps, and when Buck hums in victory and lowers her back into his arms, he gives her a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.
You watch with a grin, and you can’t believe that you lived for four years without Buck. But now that he’s back, you never want to leave him again.
Tumblr media
notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33
click here for my masterlist!
click here to be added to my taglist!
click here to read my request rules!
taglist: @officiallyalbino @wanniiieeee @dreams-encapsulated-in-glamour @buckandeddiesverison @catkight @tatyhend @emilysuperswag @kulteule @korosevren @nyx3028 @sporadicmakerwerewolf @sherlocksbaby2323 @essienoe @p14th0mps0n @celestixldarling @brooke0297 @zelfanswhenshecan @avengersgirllorianna @bingbongsupremacy @nishinoyahhh @alyssanicole01 @outof-spite @supernatural-bangtanboys @x0xchristine @pear-1206 @swanshells @tpwkstiles @lulubelle14 @cannibalhellhound @odetolocksmiths @rafecameronsloverrrrr @charlie-winchester94 @hollandxxmix @evysian @starbyun92939798 @maxinish @uhmidkmuch @theking-mustdie @daeswash @911varietyposts @superlock-in-the-tardis @lilsquatch7898 @hufflepuff-spidey @starboygf @wnbweasley @damndirtylitch @eva-tts5 @alexxavicry @sammiejane22 @boybandbaby (if you interacted with my taglist post and are not on this list, make sure your blog is visible in searches or i can’t tag you!)
330 notes ¡ View notes
paulgadzikowski ¡ 3 days ago
Text
My brother once asked me, because his therapist had once asked him, what I would want from our father to help heal the trauma from his abuse. He said his answer had been to get an apology, and he said it actually happened once, though my brother conceded that it wasn't a real apology and was therefore more of a new transgression. I answered him:
'In this world I don't believe it can get better than it's been since our October 2017 message exchange with Dad's "pissing contests" message [in response to my initial notice of having worked out how abusive he is, the most important thing I ever told him]. Not our February 2017 exchange with his mock apology - after that one I thought for awhile we'd reached an equilibrium I could bear wherein I would avoid further confrontation forever while also avoiding him forever; but actually I needed the closure of informing Dad how he stands with me, because avoiding that kind of confrontation is exactly what I can't bear about his way. This confrontation [the one I needed for closure] happened in the October 2017 exchange. The closure in the hand is worth twice the closure in the mist.'
My brother returned that he didn't think I'd answered the question, so I elaborated:
'I wished for the same thing as you did, and then I got the same thing as you did instead. Dad asked me "Fill me in", and I answered him my need was for him to engage with me, and he responded to my answer with what I call the mock apology as if my answer hadn't happened. I immediately became unable to wish or hope for better for I saw the fruitlessness of wishing or hoping for better. With this, the last vestiges of my capacity for allowing him his fantasy, what I call the imaginary Paul, were demolished but when I tell him any of this he calls it "pissing contests" or a "filter that sifts my words". I'd never have thought Dad could have a more able imagination about anything while mine had failed but here we are. I've always called the mock apology mind-boggling and truly it was. I can no longer bring myself even to imagine or wish for a genuine apology from Dad hypothetically or ideally because I was so violently disillusioned when I explicitly requested engagement in answering Dad's explicit request for feedback. After the effort he put me through to get this far, I can't even be sorry that I can't wish for better. I don't have another answer for you. The best I can do is wish for Dad the closure I have.'
Some months later I had occasion to add, in answer to a new development between Dad and someone else:
'I … don't [wish things were different]. I can't wish things were different. For me and Dad to reconcile (any other way than for me to, just, return with[in] range to allow him to resume his trespasses against me, which I can no longer bear, which is why I moved out of range) would require Dad to change his behavior sufficiently to constitute becoming an entirely different person. Wishing someone else to be an entirely different person is his crime against me and I won't do it to him. I can't, not even momentarily for therapeutic purposes. I've written this to both of you before, years ago, but I've thought lately I should have repeated it last January to have been clearer when you, Mark, asked me what happy resolution to the conflict I would wish for. I answered I could wish for no more than that Dad find closure with the new status quo as I have, but if I'd also repeated this then I think I would have been clearer.'
My point is yes, you must stop going to the hardware store for oranges or, possibly, even for hardware. I did.
Tumblr media
39K notes ¡ View notes
rimatsu ¡ 2 days ago
Note
Ok convince me to reject caution and embrace delusion. Why are you so hopeful? 
the safe bet is definitely caution. but regardless of initial intentions, nothing is ever set in stone in the 911 writing room and that’s reason enough to remain hopeful. still, when people say the chances of a reconciliation are non-zero, i think that’s low-balling it. at the very least, we’re at 10% chance, 90% faith.
granted the interviews i (unwillingly) absorbed via osmosis don't exactly inspire confidence but again: 1) tim is fickle as the wind and writers can change their minds at the drop of a hat, 2) nothing that was directly stated by actors or showrunner contradicts the idea of a makeup arc, 3) if the breakup was intentionally designed as a temporary hurdle they’d imply otherwise anyway (oh god i sound like Them don't i.... this is a cry for help)
the reasons why 8x06 could qualify as a temporary split have been extensively discussed so i’ll try to be brief (spoiler: i failed) before tackling what i’d like to see in 8b. buckle up buttercup, i’m a yapper:
1) the breakup wasn’t written as definitive or unfixable. buck and tommy didn’t part because of irreconcilable differences or because passion/attraction fizzled out. if they wanted that door closed, tommy could’ve simply said he was uninterested in pursuing long term commitment with buck, that they’re not compatible in the long run — there: a clean, uncomplicated break. instead, we’re told that tommy desperately wants to be the person buck settles down with, but he’s convinced buck is propelled by the excitement of novelty, that he suspects buck is latching onto him for the wrong reasons, that he can’t allow himself to merge their home life together in fear he’ll never recover once buck wants out. the implications here being tommy is in love with buck already. for his part, buck came to the realization that he wants a future with tommy and immediately decided to pursue it because that's just the type of man he is: never one to do things by half-measures, seeing no value in waiting once his mind is made up. so there’s no conflicting desire there. they want the same thing: permanence with each other. the next two episodes also paint a strange picture if the goal is a definitive separation. buck bakes excessively in an attempt to cope when he never needed a coping mechanism following a breakup before, and we’re told several times that he wants to reach out — in fact buck was about to reach out until he was physically stopped. in total, 3 tommy mentions so far. usually we get the one and then buck moves on to greener pastures (abby notwithstanding, but she's an exception and not the rule, main character privilege and all). we were even deliberately shown that tommy considered contacting buck on his own. that's establishing regret and a desire for reconnection on both sides of the equation. again, that’s a never seen before: tommy is an outlier. completely unnecessary if the breakup is a done deal. whether they follow it through or not, the aftermath was written in such a way that there’s ground for a reconciliation if needs be
2) this is the first buck break up to happen during the first act of the season, something that’s normally reserved for the finale for maximum impact. why this distinction? strange placement for the end of a romantic storyline if you ask me.
3) they're never going to replicate a LI that checks out as many boxes as tommy does, or recapture the romcom magic that was 7x04-7x06. and it's fine if they don't, not all endgame romances need to be the most memorable of the bunch, but it'd be stupid to let the remaining potential go to waste. it's undeniable, the show is nearing its end, i don't imagine they get renewed past s10. if they go the natalia route again and introduce a LI at the last moment, it's going to pale in comparison to the other viable option, one that has pre-established history and connection to buck/the 118. inadvertently or not, they set up an epic love story of intertwined fate. tommy has literally haunted the narrative since the pilot: one of the very first thing abby reveals is that she’s not over tommy breaking off their (retconned) engagement. as such, tommy has played a pivotal role in shaping buck into the man he is today: if tommy hadn’t transferred out to harbor station, buck wouldn’t have found his family and his life purpose. if tommy hadn’t left abby, buck wouldn’t have realized that emotional intimacy and romantic connection is what he seeks. if tommy hadn’t kissed him, a huge part of buck’s identity would’ve remained buried and unexplored. how are they possibly going to top a red string theory dating back 8 seasons? they can’t. i’m sure they’re aware of that.
4) why bring our attention to tommy’s admiration and envy for a tight-knit unit like the 118, on three separate occasions, if the ultimate goal isn’t to reward him and integrate him into the makeshift family?
5) idk what it's worth, if it's worth anything at all, but there’s been a substantial amount of displeasure voiced over their breakup. tommy is buck’s most well-received LI to date. they took a risk with the Big Bisexual Reveal and it paid off with increased engagement and viewership. if they were still debating a reconciliation, surely they've heard that at least some people will eagerly welcome a makeup arc with open arms.
i'm a broken record so i'm probably repeating myself but here goes my ideal timeline for the rest of the season (not a speculation, not wishful thinking, but a secret third thing):
i'm gonna operate under the assumption that the breakup happened solely so buck could be at his lowest for the kidnapping plot line with a minimal/reduced support system (no boyfriend AND no best friend around when his pregnant sister is abducted). in other words, i don't think buck will be in a place to venture back into the dating world by 8x09-8x10 quite yet (i don’t actually buy the buck-dates-the-serial-killer theory). he's handled the breakup fairly well but now with the kidnapping & eddie gone/in the process of moving, i assume that's when he really starts to spiral.
(if we get a fourth tommy mention here, i'd say it's a promising sign. it’d be a purposeful way to keep him in viewers’ radar after the 4-month break)
i think getting maddie back after a few days of fear and uncertainty will be a breakthrough for buck and he’ll make a conscious decision to move on from his funk by the end of 8x10.
ideally “jumping back into the pond” would take place in 8x11 to 8x13, starting with a comedic montage of buck in a string of various failed dates. this is the part of the season where i expect him to utter the word bisexual, probably when the topic of exes comes into play. every other queer identity in the show gets labeled and stated in no uncertain terms, but bisexuality is ever only vaguely implied (nancy in ls) or shown but not explicitly spoken (buck and eva). it’s frustrating. personally i choose to believe buck’s lackluster reaction to maddie’s questionable “how many men did she turn gay?” joke was intentional on the writers’ part. it was the perfect opportunity to reaffirm his sexuality but buck didn’t bc he's not fully in tune with his queerness yet. yeah he speedran through his coming out but recalibrating your entire identity after 3 decades of presumed heterosexuality is a complex process rifled with ups and downs. i hope it gets explored with more care and depth in future episodes.
supposedly we know two things: the fling is another form of coping mechanism, and it's short-lived. chances are it's going to be a woman, and i'd love for it to be a bi girl bc 1) yay bi4bi m/f representation, 2) he's dating someone who can intimately relate to his experience and can maybe offer some additional clarity where clarity is still needed.
my other preferred scenario is that he meets a guy who immediately clocks that buck is still hung up on his ex and not emotionally available for anything more than casual fun. basically give buck a sex friend who can expose him to the LA gay scene. if my memory serves me right, OS said he'd like to see buck in queer spaces. i would like to see it too (we could’ve had that exploration with tommy but i digress….)
long story short, he eventually meets someone he has chemistry with, but it's still not as easy or companionable or butterfly-inducing as it was with tommy. buck gets back home from the seemingly successful date and he just... starts baking — wordlessly communicating to the audience that he’s still plagued by Tommy Thoughts.
now if i put on my clown shoes, i’d say the bts pictures of the 217 engines suggest an upcoming bucktommy reunion on a call (surely they were made for a reason. right. RIGHT????), ideally in 8x14. i’ve babbled about it here, but the sparknotes version is:
- there's a 5 alarm high-rise fire requiring ground and aerial ops. tommy is tasked with delivering firefighters to the roof, including the 118. the chopper ride to destination is understandably awkward but professional enough
- tommy joins ground ops once he’s completed his maximum hours of flight. he ends up trapped in a pocket of rubbles with buck after a partial structural collapse. that’s when they hash it out. it’s not pretty: they’re on edge and exhausted and full of adrenaline and words aren’t sugarcoated or minced. but they’re honest, and afterward they understand each other’s perspective.
it has been said before, but i don't think buck registered the underlying message of the breakup. we know he doesn't handle rejection well, and it's likely he was so hyperfocused on being told no that he didn’t compute the “no matter how much i want to be (your last)” part. that’d explain the 118’s strange response to the split. if i was told “my boyfriend broke up with me because he thinks i'll eventually break his heart once i figure out he's not who i truly want” i’d strongly advise communication before calling it quit prematurely. but if my friend told me “my boyfriend broke up with me when i asked him to move in bc he doesn't think we'll last bc i don’t know what i want” i would trust that they relayed the correct story and i too would discourage contact.
anyway buck has stated that he doesn’t want to chase after someone who doesn’t want him before, but now he knows that wanting was never the issue with tommy, that the breakup was fueled by insecurities and fears and trauma rather than disinterest. at first, it’s presented as reaching a necessary closure: once the fire is contained, buck and tommy part way with another “see you around, buck. i truly hope you find what you’re looking for” and a bittersweet smile. except now buck has had another breakthrough, he’s full of renewed resolved and clarity, and he’s ready to fight for this relationship, so he shows up at tommy’s doorstep the next night and pleads his case.
in 8x15-8x16, we see them readjust to being a couple except this time, it's with the knowledge that they both want serious in the long run. maybe they discover facets of each other previously kept under wraps for the sake of 'keeping it light and breezy'. also they fuck/fade to black on screen (this is imperative)
the last two episodes are focused on the closing disaster, whatever that might be. in this hypothetical timeline, we get a few more glimpses of domesticity. maybe even establish the setup for a move-in next season when bucktommy discuss buck’s lease.
you can have the helicopter crash as a treat for s9. once they're truly settled with each other and it's bound to be more devastating.
voilà <3 apologies and congratulations for your perseverance if you made it this far. the answer was never supposed to be this lengthy or tangencial oops can you tell i’m obsessed. terminally ill even
197 notes ¡ View notes
andvys ¡ 2 days ago
Text
The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter one
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
⭐︎ Welcome and Goodbye
Warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, mentions of death, gore, post apocalypse, mentions of being drugged, mentions of SA (not actually happening here), allusions to sex trafficking, dark themes, mean!Steve, grumpy!Steve, grumpy x sunshine
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: Steve can't stand your presence, won't accept his friends' pleading to let you stay with them, nothing will change his mind, he wants you gone... he really does.
Word count: 7.5k
Author's note: first chapter ya'll, I know there isn't much action yet but trust me when I say it's gonna get wild in here. @hellfire--cult is my assistant as always, so don't forget about her, she proofreads AND she writes with me (don't listen to her)
⭐︎ series masterlist
⭐︎ prologue
☀︎
It’s not the nightmares that wake you from your sleep this morning, it’s not the lingering fear and the anxiety this world has brought upon you, it’s the silence, the ray of sunlight peeking through the curtains that Nancy had closed last night. The mattress is soft beneath you, the covers are warm, your hair is sprawled over the pillow under your head, smelling of shampoo, floral and sweet, a luxury in this world, to smell nice, to be clean, to wake up in safety, fully rested, you can’t remember the last time you woke up like this, you can’t remember ever waking up like this since the world has ended, and every day you find yourself missing your small apartment you left abandoned in New York. You wonder what happened to it, if it was one of the buildings that burned down after the big cities were bombed, when the government, the military still thought that the end of the world could be stopped, that the monsters could be stopped. 
You don’t look back a lot, there is no point to it, to grieve something that will never come back again but a part of you feels sad for the girl you were before the evil had spread, before you had to adapt to the ugliness this world has brought, before you had to accept that the real monsters weren’t the creatures. 
A sinking feeling takes over when you register the voices downstairs, loud and angry, filled with rage and hatred – hatred for you, for no reason at all. 
The lump in your throat grows, bigger and bigger each passing second. 
He doesn’t want you here, and it didn’t change overnight. 
You swallow harshly, and throw the covers off yourself, your feet hit the cold ground when you stand up. You look around the room, Nancy’s room, that she kindly let you stay in. You find the clothes she picked out for you, probably in one of the abandoned houses. You reach for the pants, a pair of denim jeans, you grab your belt and your thigh holster, surprised that it’s still on the desk where you had left it last night, a part of you expected Steve to take it from you and only give it back when you are by the gates and ready to leave this place, like he wants you to. 
It felt nice to be around people again, people your age, ones who didn’t turn you away or had ill intentions for you. Eddie and Nancy were sweet and welcoming, they provided food and a place to stay, they made conversation, the way people used to do before all this. 
It makes you sick, knowing you have to leave today, by yourself, to know that you won’t get a good night’s sleep again, to know that you won’t wake up so peacefully tomorrow morning – if there will be one for you. 
You throw the black shirt on, before you lean down towards the different pairs and sizes of shoes she had left here for you. They are different from your converse, which have too many holes in them already, the sole is wearing off. They used to be your favorite pair but it’s time to abandon them now too, you pick a pair of combat boots this time and tie the laces tightly. 
You stop by the bathroom first, to wash your face and brush your teeth, you drown out the angry voices that belong to Steve and Nancy, you know they are fighting because of you. She wants you to stay, he wants you to leave, he doesn’t care to hide his distaste. 
You stare at your reflection in the mirror, taking in the sight of yourself. You haven’t changed much, you think. Your hair got longer, you lost weight but that isn’t a surprise to you, you have gone days without food or even water, too many nights you struggled to fall asleep because of the hunger and the emptiness in your stomach.
A sigh escapes you, a sad one, you know what is waiting for you downstairs. 
“Steve, she is all alone, we can’t just let her go like that!” You hear Nancy say when you slowly make your way towards the staircase. 
“You know we have a supply limit. We rationed water and food for three people only, and now we would have to do it for one more?” Steve scoffs, and from what you have seen of him yesterday, you can imagine the look on his face and how he is crossing his arms over his chest, stubbornly. 
“No one else would take her in! Everyone left in Hawkins are old people who can’t even fend for themselves properly–”
“She didn’t ask to stay,” Steve interrupts, not allowing her to finish her sentence. “Besides, I give two shits about her, Nance.”
His words shouldn’t sting the way they do, he is nothing but a stranger, his harsh words shouldn’t even touch you… and yet they do. 
“What is wrong with you? You weren’t like this at all!” Nancy’s voice seems shocked, taken aback by the words that just left his mouth. 
You hear his scoff, his humorless chuckle, “oh really? I thought you weren’t like this either! Before you would have threatened a stranger with a gun to their head, and now you let some random girl just use our things and let her stay!?” 
“She seems nice, Steve!” 
A part of you wants to run down the stairs and break apart the fight, you never planned on staying, you never wanted this to happen, all you wanted was shelter for the night and a new map, you never meant for this to happen. 
You stand frozen in place, holding onto the railing of the stairs. 
“She ain’t going to replace Barb if that’s what you think.” 
Silence follows after, no words are spoken, nothing, just silence, for a minute or two. 
You know he’s hit a nerve, you know he aimed for the kill with that. It fills you with guilt, knowing that this is only about you, that your presence prompted him to throw something at her that he knew would hurt her. 
“You’re bringing Barb into this!? Are you seriously bringing back what happened to Barb?!” Nancy’s voice of disbelief rings in your ears. 
“I am not bringing anything back, all I’m saying is she is not a pet, or a doll to keep you both fucking company!” 
“She is a person!” 
“She is a nuisance!” 
You suck in a sharp breath, that one stung. You know you aren’t welcome here, you aren’t – weren’t welcome anywhere, it never really hurt to be turned away, so you won’t let it hurt now either. 
You start making your way down the stairs, slowly and quietly. You ignore the beating of your heart as you step into the hallway and make your way into the dining room to get to the kitchen where the silence is suddenly deafening. You step where they can’t see you and you take in the sight of both of them as they stand across from one another, he is leaning against the kitchen island, glaring at the girl that welcomed you with nothing but kindness. Her arms are crossed, her eyes are burning with anger and disbelief, but mostly with disappointment. 
“Wow Steve, you sure sound like your dad there.” 
You watch and wait for his reaction, you see the way he tenses up, the way he furrows his eyebrows and frowns at her, he huffs loudly and drops his arms to his sides, shaking his head at her. 
“See? She comes along and we fight, when we never fucking did this whole year!”
“How could there be any time to fight when we spent it grieving–”
Before she can say anymore, and reveal something that they might not want you to know about, you clear your throat and step into the kitchen, making them both snap their heads towards you. 
“You guys don’t have to fight because of me, I’m not staying here, that was never my intention. I was passing through, like I told you yesterday,” you tell him, looking at him only for a second, not wanting to look any longer and see the false pity. “I appreciate what you have done for me, Nancy. You and Eddie, you have done more for me than I could have asked for, but I’ll be on my way now, and out of your hair,” you mumble the last part to the man before you, who is avoiding your eyes now, choosing to look at the hardwood floor instead. 
“Good, got your map?” Steve asks, not caring about saying anything else to you. 
Nancy scoffs at him, clenching her fists, she shakes her head. She can’t believe what she is hearing, what he is saying, the hatred in his eyes he holds for someone he doesn’t even know, how he is ready to turn someone away and send them to their death, because this is what is waiting for you behind these walls. 
You nod your head and eye him slowly, his jaw is clenched, his eyes filled with something you can’t fully read, you see the disbelief in her whole expression – he hasn’t always been like this, the shock in her voice proved it, you wonder what happened to him, you wonder what made him so… cruel. 
“Yeah, I’m gonna go now–”
“What’s happening here?” Eddie’s voice interrupts you, he stops beside you, wiping motor oil off his hands with a dark blue bandana, he scans your faces, notices the tension in the room, right away. One look at Nancy and the deep frown and he knows what is happening. 
You can’t even open your mouth to answer his question before Steve beats you to it. 
“She was just leaving,” he glares at his friend, warning him with his eyes not to try anything, but Eddie isn’t like Nancy, he won’t fight, he won’t argue, he simply won’t listen to him. “Got the map, right?” He asks again. 
“You know what,” Eddie starts, already grinning at his friend. “I lost my last copy. And requesting one in the community takes a long while, which I already took care of. Callaway is preparing one but you know… gotta scavenge to find a good updated one and that ass is a fucking sloth.” 
Steve pushes himself off the counter, furrowing his brows, he purses his lips as he shakes his head in confusion, “what– are you lying?” 
“Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head, already stepping closer to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder, not letting you go anywhere. “So, no. Sweetheart here can’t leave without a map. The only copy is the one for when we leave–”
Steve sighs again, probably for the tenth time this morning. 
“We’re not leaving.” 
“--And we’re not giving our personal map away so… until there is a spare one, she has to stay.” 
Your cheeks heat up when Steve glances at you, the hazel in his eyes darkens, the frown on his face deepens. You feel weird beneath his gaze, you don’t like this, you don’t like staying somewhere you’re not wanted but Eddie is persistent, Nancy is too, and you don’t want to be by yourself again, not yet. You can’t look into his eyes any longer though, or at his face, so you look down instead. 
Steve knows not to argue with Eddie, it’s no use, not with him, the look on his face tells him that Eddie is ready to bite his face off if he even dares to utter another word about you leaving. He still doesn’t hide his distaste for you, and he scoffs at his friends, looking between Nancy and Eddie, he shakes his head in disappointment, “you know, this is exactly what will get you both killed,” he grumbles before he storms past you and out of the house. 
Eddie murmurs words under his breath as he shakes his head, before he turns to you, noticing the frown on your face, the uncertainty. 
“Come on, you are helping me with something today.”
You finally look up again, glancing at him first, at the kind smile directed at you, the warmth in his eyes so different from the coldness in Steve’s. Nancy offers you a small smile too but the tears in her eyes aren’t hard to miss, the sadness in her features, the disappointment – maybe you should have left when he told you to. 
“I– um, I can find a map somewhere else, I’ll go–”
“No.” Nancy shakes her head, “you’re staying, that’s final.” 
“He doesn’t want me here,” you speak, your voice barely above a whisper. 
“I want you here,” she argues, shrugging her shoulders. 
“So do I.” Eddie nudges your shoulder, still smiling just as softly as before. “You’re staying until he– we’re ready to leave, we’ll go together when the time is right.” 
You don’t understand why they want you here so badly, why they even care as much as they do, you understand him more, better. 
You welcome their company with open arms though, appreciating it more than anything. You have been on your own for too long, you hated every minute of it, no matter how normal it became to you, you hated it, you don’t want it anymore. 
Eddie doesn’t wait for you to say yes – he won’t let you leave anyways, even if you insisted. 
“So… have you ever gone fishing?” Eddie asks you, beginning to lead you away when he hears Nancy’s soft sniffle, knowing she won’t want comfort or sympathy from him or you. There is only one she would want it from, but that one is long gone, so the only thing he or anyone can do is give her the space that she needs in moments like these. 
He shuts the door behind him.
-
The wind is soft against your skin, warm and pleasant, the sun shines down on you, bright and golden rays hitting the lake and the grass surrounding you. There is a boat by the shore, slightly moving every time the waves slosh against it. 
Eddie is humming beside you, enjoying the warm day, the silence. It’s easy to forget what’s out there when you take in your peaceful surroundings and breathe in the fresh air – though the smell of spring, fresh grass and flowers are missing, nothing really grows anymore. You remember the rotten smell in the first few months before winter came, you remember the dead birds on the ground, the apples that fell from the trees, infested by maggots, it was disgusting and you constantly had to wear a mask as to not gag after every breath you took of this rotten world. 
You feel sad every time you think of how you will never smell flowers again or grass after the rain, how you will never see a field of sunflowers again, even when a part of you always hoped that the one behind your house was somehow spared by this world – it would have to be a miracle and miracles are something rare nowadays. 
You wonder what this place looked like before, if any flowers grew surrounding the field in front of the lake, if it was filled with people in the summer, if any teenagers have snuck down here to throw bonfire parties, to jump into the water in the middle of the night, to share a first kiss, to come here to be alone, to cry, to enjoy the silence, to enjoy the view. 
Places that were once filled with people, are now abandoned, haunted with the sound of what once was, of something that will never be again. It’s not only the world that has changed, people have too. 
“Do you wanna try?” Eddie asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 
“Hm?” You tilt your head to the side, furrowing your brows at the curly haired man before you. 
He chuckles, noticing the confused frown on your face, the lost look in your eyes. You were distracted, far away from here. 
“I know I’m handsome, didn’t think you’d be so distracted by my beauty,” he smirks and rolls his shoulders. 
You can’t hold back the giggle that falls from your lips, the playfully arrogant look on his face, the plastered smirk. You have only known him for a couple of hours, yet you can already tell that this man loves to tease people.
“I was actually distracted by my surroundings, I was wondering what this place looked like before… you know.” 
Eddie nods, his smiling fading a bit, he looks down at the rod in his hand, “it was nice, I mean it still is, considering everything,” he pauses, pointing at the big willow tree that was somehow left untouched by this new world. “Flowers used to grow right here though, lots of ‘em. Bet you would’ve loved that.” 
A smile grazes your face, you nod at him, “I know I would, there used to be this big field of sunflowers behind my parents’ house, it was beautiful. I got lost in it as a child though… once or twice.” 
Eddie chuckles at that, “or thrice?” 
You squint your eyes and smile sheepishly at him, making him chuckle again, “that’s cute.” 
You nudge his shoulder with your own, “you think me getting lost is cute?” 
“Hey, you’ve come a long way since then, look at you, traveling through the country without getting lost,” he teases, nudging you back. 
“Who says I didn’t get lost a few times? I might’ve taken one too many wrong routes and got off the path.” 
“Oh no, sweets,” Eddie shakes his head at you, “I think you’ve taken the right ones, they lead you right here and now you’re with us, you’re on the right path.” 
Eddie can see the bit of confusion in your eyes, like you don’t understand him, just like you don’t understand Nancy, he knows there must be reasons for that, he can’t even imagine them though. 
You look away from his warm eyes, to his arms, to the tattoos and the scars that linger on his skin, his hand is holding the rod tightly, his fingers are adorned with rings, you can tell that they are a part of him, just like the tattoos, every single one of them has a meaning. You look back into his eyes – Eddie is still a stranger to you but there is a certain energy around him, you can’t help but feel safe with him. 
“You are really kind, Eddie. You and Nancy, I appreciate that a lot.” 
The tone in your voice is sad, he can tell that much, he can see it too when you cast your eyes on the ground. 
“Hey, I think we could use some kindness in this world, don’t you think?” He smiles softly. 
Your lips curl upwards, you nod slowly, though you stay quiet for another second or two. 
“Steve doesn’t seem to share that opinion with you…” You murmur quietly, a little scared to touch that topic but still curious. You heard what Nancy had said to him, it left you wondering all day. “He is not very kind, and he doesn’t want me here.”
“He’ll come around,” Eddie says, shrugging. “Besides, we’re not staying either, as soon as the RV is done, we’re leaving, together.” 
Nancy had told you about it, about the community, a safe haven, somewhere far away, on the shores of California. Her family is there, her mother and her siblings, Mike and Holly, and other survivors who were led away from here by a man named Hopper. For months they hadn’t heard from them, didn’t know if they had made it there or not. Steve was positive that they had died just like everyone else did – but then, a few weeks ago, the radio station in their living room had finally given a signal, after months and months of waiting, it finally came to life, and through came the voice of Dustin Henderson, Mike’s friend. 
Eddie had started fixing the RV right after. He didn’t want to waste more time staying in Hawkins, in the small gated residential that is now only filled with a few old people who refuse to leave their homes behind, they will die here and they’re okay with that. Eddie and Nancy aren’t. 
“Nancy told me Nevada is your destination?” Eddie asks, continuing after you nod. “It’s on our way, we’ll go there together.” 
You like the sound of that, you like the thought of not having to continue your travels by yourself, because it gets quite lonely, sometimes unsettling. 
You want to go home, to your family, to your parents and your brother. You know that there is a great chance that they have left, that they have found some place else to stay but the last time you have spoken to them, when you were still able to call, when you were still in your apartment in New York, they were set on staying at the house. Your dad said that it was safe to stay, that gates and fences were built around the town, around the neighbourhood, nothing could come through. 
“I’d like that.” You wish you could smile, you wish you could believe it, but you know that Steve doesn’t want to leave and you can’t imagine Eddie and Nancy leaving without him. “Steve doesn’t want to leave though… why is that?”
At that, Eddie falls quiet for a moment, his back hunches, his lips curl into a frown, sadness flashes in his features. 
“He uh,” he pauses to take a deep breath, “he doesn’t want to leave his best friend, Robin.” 
When he looks up at you, he notices how you get lost in your thoughts for a moment, millions of questions flash before you, questions you want to ask but won’t, out of respect. You open your mouth a few times, though no words come out.
There is this feeling inside of you, that heavy yet hollow feeling that takes home in your chest that tells you everything you need to know, it’s a feeling you have mistaken for anxiety before, when you didn’t know yet what it actually was. 
“...Why isn’t Robin going too?”
Eddie hesitates, turning to look at the lake, he takes a few deep breaths, blinks as he stares ahead. 
“She uh, she wants to stay here.”
“Oh.” 
Eddie tries to smile, though it seems forced. 
“But you don’t want to, and neither does Nancy,” you point out, knowing that she can’t wait to get out of here. 
Eddie shakes his head, pressing his lips together as he breathes in, “no, I wanna be with my friends and my uncle.” 
“He’s in the community too?” 
Now he smiles genuinely, “yeah, he is there. Bet he is on a boat all day, catching fish for everyone. That’s something he always dreamed of actually, living by the ocean, going on boat tours, he never got the chance to before, when he wasn’t struggling with money, he was taking care of me… I can’t believe the world had to end for him to live a better life.” 
You smile sadly, you can see that his uncle means a lot to him, you can tell that he misses him strongly. 
“Yeah, well… life is weird, most people don’t fit into this world, most people are guided by fear and hatred now but… some have it the other way around, I suppose, as crazy as that sounds.”
Eddie nods at that, a soft chuckle falls from his lips as he looks back at the water, “honestly, this still feels like a fever dream.”
It did to you too, it felt like a dream you desperately wanted to wake up from, a nightmare like none you have ever experienced before. You don’t even remember what it was that made you realize that your old life was over, that nothing would go back to the way it was, that this was your life now and for always – perhaps it was the evilness that had awoken in most people you have encountered, or maybe it was the gruesome ways you watched people getting killed, or maybe it was the loneliness and the lack of life on the streets. 
You doubt that Eddie had changed much, you feel like he had always been this way, kind and openhearted. 
You wonder about Steve though, you have heard what Nancy said to him. 
“What uh, what about Steve? Was he always like this?”
“You mean was he always an asshole?” Eddie asks, chuckling. 
Your face flushes at that, and you quickly shake your head. 
“No, I-I mean–”
“Come on, sweetheart,” Eddie tilts his head, eyes flashing with amusement, “he is kind of an asshole but to answer your question, no, he wasn’t always like this, he was always protective but now it’s more than that, he’s… everything is a threat to him now, everything he doesn’t know is danger.”
“So… I’m a threat to him?” 
Eddie chuckles again, he shakes his head. 
“I don’t think you could look like one even if you tried. He is just wary, he’ll come around though.” 
You huff at his words, frowning a little, you’re well aware that people think you’re an easy target. Your experiences from the past, ones that happened not too long ago even, are proof of that. 
“Well, even if he saw me as a threat or anyone else for that matter, I wouldn’t blame him.”
Eddie furrows his brows, “this world, the monsters are the real enemy.”
You once thought so too, back when you were still naive, still untouched by this world. 
“There are worse things than monsters out there, Eddie.” 
There’s no smile on your face now, no softness in your eyes, the tone in your voice is serious. A chill runs down his spine, something about the way you said it, worries him. He wants to ask, he wants to know what you are talking about, though a part of him already knows the answer to that. 
“I–” Before he can utter another word, he watches the way your eyes widen as you touch his shoulder without forcing your eyes away from the lake. 
“You got one! I think you got one!” You point at the line that keeps jerking forward. 
“Oh!” Eddie jumps up, lifting the rod back up in the air, he starts pulling the fish up. His tongue pokes out between his teeth, a look of concentration taking over his face now. 
“You got it, you got it!” You clap your hands excitedly, making him chuckle beside you as you jump on the grass. 
“Alright,” Eddie murmurs, not even struggling against the strength that keeps pulling at the rod, “get the net for me, please.”
You bend down and reach for the net that he threw down earlier. You pick it up, and follow him to the shore. 
“You’re next, sweetheart,” Eddie grins at you, “gonna let you catch the second fish.” 
-
“That’s one big fucking fish! Good job, Eds!” Nancy exclaims with joy as she serves the big plate in the middle of the table. 
Steve looks up at Eddie to see if he is smiling proudly, instead he sees him scowling. 
“It… wasn’t me.” 
Steve and Nancy slowly turn their heads to you, to see you wiggling in your seat, excitedly. 
“I caught the mackerels,” Eddie grumbles as he reaches for the freshly baked bread, “she caught that one.”
Steve hides his surprise well, though he still looks at you as he sips on his whiskey before he reaches for the bowl of cooked potatoes. 
“Wait, you fish?” Nancy asks as she sits down beside you. 
You shake your head, smiling at your new friend, “nope! But I’m strong and I learn fast!” 
You ignore Steve’s sighs and his incoherent words that he grumbles under his breath. You look at him from the side though, catching him glaring at you. 
“I can tell!” Nancy chuckles as she turns to Eddie, “you’ve got some competition.” 
“I fucking know, Nance,” Eddie mumbles, pretending to be mad, like he didn’t cheer when you caught that fish. He turns to Steve, who not only fills his own plate but also Eddie’s and then Nancy’s. 
It’s a sweet gesture, one that shows you that he isn’t as heartless as he pretends to be. 
“Thanks man,” Eddie grins, to which Steve doesn’t even smile or look at him, he turns to you though, looking into your eyes intensely – no smile, no kindness, nothing. It’s hard to look past his cold behaviour, to take him in fully, he is so robotic and rude, even when he isn’t speaking to you, he is mean, you can’t see anything else but that. You don’t expect him to put dinner on your plate like he does for his friends, you are not welcome here in his eyes but you also don’t expect him to hand you the bowl. 
You reach for it, taking it from his hands, he immediately withdraws when your fingers touch his, like you are venom. 
“I can take you to the greenhouse tomorrow!” Nancy smiles as she picks up her fork, stabbing it into the steamed carrots. “I’ll show you our crops, we’ve got a lot of carrots growing, right now!” 
Steve glares at her, he wants you gone by the morning, he’s made it loud and clear when he came back earlier while you were out fishing with Eddie. 
Nancy ignores him, Eddie does too, he is too busy taking apart the fish on his plate. But you, you can’t unsee the disapproving look on his face, it makes you squirm in your seat, it takes away your appetite too. 
“I’m still surprised by how much food you have–”
“It isn’t much,” Steve interrupts you as he takes a bite of his food, his eyes practically pierce through your soul, making you cower. He acts like you will take away everything. 
Nancy’s angry eyes do little, she even kicks him under the table but he ignores her. 
“It’s much for someone who had nothing for months. Besides, I didn’t think that vegetables and fruit could still grow, there’s a lot of rotten land out there.” 
There is no regret or guilt in his eyes, he can tell that you hadn’t had much to eat, that yesterday’s dinner and all the food on the table tonight, is a real feast for you. 
“I’m sure there are other places out there that have more food, you’ll find your way there.” 
Eddie sighs loudly beside him, shaking his head, though to keep the peace at this table, he bites his tongue. 
Nancy leans back in her chair, she clenches her jaw, not hiding the anger she has got directed at him. 
“Yeah… I’m sure I will,” You murmur quietly before you pick up your fork and start eating, forcing the food down that you were excited for. 
He looks down at you, not blinking, not moving. You chew your food slowly unlike the night before. You tuck your hair behind your ear and pull the sleeve of your sweater over your free hand. There are dark circles under your eyes, like you haven’t slept in days – and you probably haven’t until last night, even that wasn’t enough to catch up on all that you have lost. You probably haven’t had a warm meal in weeks, maybe months. You probably haven’t felt safe since the day the world has ended. But he can’t care, he shouldn’t, it will only make things complicated, it will only do damage. 
“We will,” Nancy exclaims. 
“What?” Steve asks, forcing his gaze away from you. 
“I said, we will find a place like that out there, in fact we will find our way to California together, she is coming with us as soon as the RV is ready.” Nancy says with a loud and determined tone, not caring to go soft on him anymore. 
Steve slams his fork down, making you flinch. He stands up, nearly causing his chair to fall over. He grabs his gear that he threw on the coffee table earlier. 
“Where are you going?” Nancy frowns, also getting up. 
“To Robin. I can’t believe you two are still going on about this,” he scoffs, taking one last look at you before he storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him. 
You sit quietly, looking down at your plate, no longer feeling the hunger in your stomach. 
Nancy sighs loudly, she looks up at the ceiling, her jaw still clenched. She sits down again, and picks her fork back up. 
You lift your head and glance at Eddie, “is Robin…”
“The best friend who doesn’t want to leave the community, yeah.” He glances at Nancy, for only a split second, before he looks down again and continues eating. 
Nancy clears her throat before she looks at you, she knows you’re curious about her, about why she isn’t here, why she isn’t coming too. 
“Her parents are really strict, they don’t allow her to leave Hawkins,” she explains, hesitating for a moment, “and… Steve doesn’t want to leave without her, so…”
“Oh,” you nod in understanding, squinting your eyes as you look at his empty space. He is so angry, so hateful towards everything and everyone. “Is he… are they like in love or something?” 
Eddie laughs at that, shaking his head, “mmm… no… trust me, birdie’s type is more… people like you.” 
Nancy looks down with a smile and flushed cheeks. 
You tilt your head to the side, “oh… you mean non grumpy?” 
They both chuckle in amusement, the questioning and innocent look in your eyes is funny to them both. 
It takes you a moment to realize why they are so amused by your question, and you grow flustered once you understand. 
“...Oh!” 
That still doesn’t answer your question about him though. 
“Now eat up, sweets,” Eddie says, gesturing to your nearly untouched plate, “forget that grumpy asshole.” 
Nancy looks down with wide eyes, taking a deep breath as she starts eating again too, “kinda hard to when he acts like this.” 
Yeah, it is hard to forget that man and his glaring eyes, the cold shoulder and the mean comments that are meant to drive you away as fast as possible. You know he is probably counting down the hours until you’re gone and he doesn’t have to see you anymore. 
Tomorrow you will be alone again, all by yourself, with no one to talk to, with no one to laugh with. You will be back on the road and you will turn around after nearly every step that you will take, you won’t have a warm dinner and a hot shower, you won’t have that feeling of safety, you won’t sleep again. 
So, you try, you try to forget him, you try to enjoy this moment with Eddie and Nancy, you try for as long as you can, even when it gets late and Nancy excuses herself to take a shower while you and Eddie clean the kitchen together. 
A comfortable silence settles between you both, you wipe down the counter while he washes the dishes. You can tell that he is thinking hard about something, you noticed that he always frowns really strongly when he gets lost in his own head. 
You grab a fresh towel and lean against the counter beside him, reaching for one of the washed plates, and you start drying it. 
“Can I ask you something?” He finally breaks the silence, and you know you’re about to find out what went on in his head. 
“Sure.” 
“Earlier you said that there are worse things than monsters out there,” he pauses and puts the sponge down, putting the washed cutlery on the counter for you to dry, he wipes his hands with the towel that was thrown over his shoulder and he crosses his arms over his chest when he turns his whole body to face you. “What’d you mean by that?”
A quiet ‘oh’ falls from your lips. You don’t answer his question right away, taking your time to finish drying the plates. Eddie doesn’t push you, waiting for you to be ready, and when you are, you turn to face him, as well. 
“I meant people.” 
He only raises his eyebrows at you. 
“People are bad, Eddie. You can’t even imagine what it’s like out there,” you sigh, not hiding the fear in your eyes. “People will do anything to survive, they will take anything they want, anyone they want…” 
His brown eyes that were previously filled with confusion and curiosity are blank for a moment, his eyebrows stay furrowed until your words fully dawn on him and his features pull into a look of shock, understanding. 
“Oh,” he whispers softly as his arms fall to his sides. 
“There are no rules out there, anyone can get away with anything. I’ve seen people kill others for cans of food, for ammo or water. I’ve come across people who didn’t take me in so kindly, all I got was stale bread and a cell to sleep in for the night and those weren’t even the worst ones.” 
Eddie frowns, he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, not knowing what to say yet. 
“I’ve heard rumors… of young girls and boys being sold, traded for weapons and other things. I didn’t want to believe it.” 
His face pales at your words, he shakes his head slowly, disbelief is written all over his face. 
You swallow the growing lump in your throat, take a deep breath, you try to ignore the chills that run down your spine still from that night. 
“A few days ago, maybe a week… I was looking for food at a gas station when a sick person snuck up on me, nearly ripped a hole into my head when it grabbed at my hair. I fell onto broken glass,” you pause to show him the wound on your shoulder, “that fucker nearly got me, I couldn’t reach my gun fast enough, I thought I was done for… Someone saved me, a man.”
Eddie swallows, bracing himself for what he is about to hear. 
“Scared me more than that sick person, honestly. I didn’t trust him, but he helped me, got me alcohol and bandages for my wound, and offered me water and food. He told me that he lived in a nearby community, that his wife and his kids were there too. I was naive. I was tired and desperate for shelter, I fell for it and I almost paid for my stupidity.” You pause, feeling your heart race from just telling the story. “I had a bad feeling but I still got into his car, and it only took two minutes for him to pull out a syringe. I knew right then and there what I had gotten myself into.” 
“Jesus,” Eddie whispers, eyeing you worriedly. 
“I fought, I-I don’t know how I got myself out of that one but I did.” 
You try not to think of the way you had almost lost that fight, how his hands grabbed at you, how scared you felt, how you thought that your heart was gonna jump out of your throat, how he nearly stabbed that needle into your neck if you hadn’t managed to kick your heel into his groin, buying you that time that you needed to get out of there and jump out of the moving car. 
“I ran into the woods, I didn’t want to get back into that town and risk him coming back for me… with more men. I was lost for days, at one point I thought that I wouldn’t find my way back out of those woods but I did, I made it out and I got here. Steve was the first person, the first man I stumbled into after that. I-I was a little scared… but he looked harmless compared to the one before, and even if he wasn’t, I would’ve taken him over anyone else.” You admit, looking down at your hands. 
Eddie is stunned, he doesn’t know what to say after all of this. He is shocked and horrified. He knew that people were cruel, even before all of this, but he never thought that they would turn into this. He looks down at you, sadly, he is glad that worse didn’t happen but what you went through was bad enough. 
“People are like that…?”
You nod, “yeah… it’s rough out there… when you’re alone.”
Eddie didn’t want you to leave before but now? He would fight Steve to make you stay. 
He places his hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly, he looks into your eyes, giving you a promising look, “you’re not alone anymore, alright? You’ve got us–”
“But Steve–”
“It doesn’t matter what he said, he wouldn’t let you out there either if he knew about this. He is not that cruel, I promise. You’re with us now and you ain’t leaving without us.” 
Eddie makes a promise, and you can tell by the look in his eyes that he won’t break it. 
“Okay,” you whisper, smiling softly at him before you turn away and pick up your task again. 
Eddie keeps looking at you though, with a smile that slowly fades and eyes that flash with sadness. He has only known you for one day but he couldn’t help but grow protective of you already, just the way he felt when he was still in high school and he took in all the lost sheep who were looking for shelter from all those hungry wolves. 
He won’t let you out there on your own, he won’t let Steve throw you out to the wolves who have gotten even hungrier. 
Eddie had dealt with so much guilt when he was dragged into this world two years ago. He had no chance of saving her, but he can save you. He knows you will die if you go out there alone, with or without a map. You can’t depend on your luck alone. It got you this far, but how much more is there for you to use?
And as he chats away with you again, to distract you and himself from the sudden fear of what else they might encounter once they leave the community, you two don’t hear the creak of the stairs as someone goes to their room after spending the last minutes perched on the kitchen’s doorway.
Someone whose eyebrows were furrowed in the middle with worry, with guilt. He didn’t know it was that bad out there. He didn’t know the monsters weren’t the only ones killing, and from what you told Eddie, the bite of a demobat seemed a far better outcome than being taken away by some random people for them to do, god knows what with you.
Steve’s heart was torn as he went into his room, sighing as he dropped his bag to the floor. He felt his stomach twisting with emotions, with nerves, with feelings that he couldn’t quite figure out at the moment. It was all too dangerous, everything was. But maybe now that Eddie knew how dangerous moving around was, the idea of leaving was no longer brought up to him.
And you… He wants to strangle you.
-
Your feet drag you down the stairs, rubbing your eye lazily as you try to wipe the sleep away from you. You kept thinking of the conversation with Eddie, and you wondered how in the world were you going to be in the same place as someone who just didn’t want you breathing their same oxygen. There was no way you could possibly stay a long time with someone like that. 
The smell of coffee filled your nostrils, something you just couldn’t believe you were smelling yet. Something you never thought you would smell ever again. Nancy must be awake, and you couldn’t wait to ask her what you could help with today, but the moment you crossed the kitchen’s doorway, you were surprised to see brown brushed hair, a broad back facing you, wearing a plain white t-shirt and some black sweatpants. 
Steve turned around, his eyes clashing with yours for just one second before placing a cup on the counter, filled with coffee.
“We have milk, but we save it. I can only offer black coffee and some sugar.” You were not expecting him to hand you coffee. You were not expecting a good morning from him at all, and for you, this gesture was his way of saying it.
“I– It’s okay…” Your hands grabbed onto the cup and then poured six spoonfuls of sugar, making Steve wince at the sight.
“God, just like Munson–” You heard him scoff as he turned away from you and your eyes looked at his broad back as you watched him pour coffee into his own cup. You immediately brought the cup to your lips as he turned to face you again.
“T–Thank you.” His jaw clenched for a second, taking a sip of his coffee at the same time you did. Silence filled the room and you could feel just how awkward everything was. What were you supposed to say now? Should you be the one to tell him you might be staying? That Eddie is not letting you leave? Your mouth opened only for his voice to interrupt you.
“If you are planning on staying here, you’ll have to do chores and tasks like we all do.” 
“Huh?” Your eyes widened as you looked at him. He was looking at his coffee as if it were the most interesting thing in the world before his sharp gaze turned to you.
“We shift our tasks daily. We don’t do the same thing everyday. Patrolling is a two men job–”
“You were alone that day–”
“Eddie had an emergency and it was time I had to go home anyways. There’s fishing, cooking, cleaning, gardening, patroling.” You were blinking absentmindedly at him as he kept talking and you couldn’t believe he was letting you stay. With conditions, but he was letting you fucking stay.
“Wait, are you serious?” Your voice was small as you asked the questions, “I can stay?”
“Who’s staying?” Nancy walked in, her hair a matter mess on her head, which made Steve scoff in disapproval, only for her to shrug at him as she went to get a cup from the cupboard.
“She is staying.” Nancy almost dropped the cup as she heard Steve’s words, her eyes widening as she looked at him and then back at you. “And you better not make me fucking regret this.”
His eyes were locked with yours and for some reason he felt a shiver running down his spine. Something that was telling him ‘you did the right thing’. He better have. Whatever just told him he made the right decision, better not fuck him over. Nancy turned to jump in excitement your way, smiling as she started to tell you what tasks you could take on, while you stared between her and him, not understanding what was going on yet.
Maybe he can convince you to stay, and maybe that is the key to making Eddie and Nancy stay. To forget the idea of leaving Hawkins. He can’t leave Robin. He doesn’t understand how Eddie and Nancy can easily leave her behind. He just hopes you don’t do the exact opposite.
God, he really does hope he did the right thing.
☀︎
taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @thesickestqrmydcll @tvserie-s-world @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections
310 notes ¡ View notes
crazydznutz ¡ 2 days ago
Text
My chocolate chip cookies are very loved so allow me to share my secret
I just follow whatever the fuck cookie recipe I know the person generally likes. Like someone who loves Crumbl cookies will get a Crumbl copycat recipe. Someone who loves those tollhouse cookies will get that copycat recipe. Doesn't matter. Here's what does:
- Cream the fuck out of that butter and sugar. That shit needs to look like its own substance, like the butter and sugar have 100% become cream
- Vary the kind of chocolate you use. Lidl and Aldi are cheap and they also have European chocolate that doesn't have milk powder in it. I like to get some chunks, some morsels, some chocolate bars that I cut up myself, and maybe sometimes even the tried and true chips. I also like to vary the intensity. Maybe some semi-sweets and some dark chocolate. Maybe some milk chocolate. Maybe some white chocolate depending on who it's for.
- Just fucking wing it with the amount of salt you add. I usually end up adding more than a recipe calls for because salt is very important to bringing out flavor. Also adding some course seasalt on top right before or after baking will add some texture and also a very delicious change in flavor
- Wing it with the vanilla too. Bitches love vanilla. Add a little bit of almond extract in there too. Trust me. It adds something.
- Add some espresso powder if whoever you're making it for is fine with it. Adds some nice delicious brown earthy flavor to it. Coffee powder is probably also good but I have a caffeine addiction and one day the grocery store had a wild sale on espresso powder so now we have unlimited jars (pro tip: these are also good for reusing to put easy homemade jams or overnight oats in. Never throw out a good glass jar)
- Wing it just a little bit with the sugar. Don't be doubling up on sugar or you will fuck that recipe up. But over scoop it a little, bitches love a little extra sugar
- Chill your dough! I don't have the executive function to chill overnight but I give it thirty minutes or an hour or something and set a timer and go do some chores and come back to it. Usually I just clean the kitchen or collect and run the laundry and make some tea
- If you're rich and fancy as fuck and have one of those kitchen torches do that for a smokey flavor. Or if you're rich but don't feel like being fancy, buy me one because I really want to blowtorch my cookie while saying "you gotta flambĂŠ it" in a Jake the dog impression
These rules generally apply to other cookies as well but there's a lot of cookies out there so there's probably many exceptions
Tumblr media
7K notes ¡ View notes
itsnesss ¡ 2 days ago
Text
𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 | hwang in-jo (the frontman) × fem!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
summary | you stand in silence, completely under his control. every movement, every touch is his command, and you obey without question, craving his approval. your submission is absolute, each action bringing you closer to the edge of your devotion
warnings | smut, explicit content, dom!frontman, sub!reader, eroticism, objectification, fingering, size kink, p in v, unprotected sex
word count | 3.7 k
author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᥣ𐭊
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The echo of your footsteps resonates against the walls of the dark room, the only sound daring to break the sepulchral silence of the place. Your short dress barely brushes your thighs as you walk, and the black mask snug over your eyes doesn’t manage to hide the shine in your gaze. You know he’s watching you, seated on that enormous black leather sofa with the giant screen in front of him. He always watches you, even though he never says it.
He’s wearing his mask too, as always. Black, with elegant and terrifying lines, a symbol of absolute authority. You’ve never seen his face, and deep down, you know you never will. But you don’t need to see it; the strength of his presence is enough to remind you who’s in charge here.
"Come closer." His voice, deep and commanding, cuts through the air like a blade. He doesn’t need to repeat himself; your legs automatically move toward him.
In front of the sofa, you stop and lower your head slightly, a gesture you’ve learned he likes. You don’t need words; he knows you’re waiting for his orders.
"Get me a glass of whiskey."
His tone leaves no room for argument. You turn around, your movements delicate and precise, like a porcelain doll designed solely to please him. You walk to the bar in the corner of the room, feeling his eyes—hidden behind the mask—on you the entire time. You know he doesn’t miss a single detail: the way the dress clings to your body, how your small hands move gracefully as you take the bottle and the glass.
You uncork the bottle and pour the golden liquid, ensuring the amount is exact. Not too much, not too little. You bring it back to him, walking with calculated steps, your heels resonating like a metronome marking the rhythm of your devotion.
When you arrive, you lean slightly to offer him the glass. He takes it, but his eyes never leave you—or at least, that’s what you imagine. Through the mask, it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, but you can feel his intensity, the weight of his attention.
"Sit down."
The order is simple, but your heart skips a beat. You know what it means. You know where he wants you to sit.
With slow, careful movements, you place yourself on his lap. His hands, large and firm, rest on your hips, ensuring you don’t move too much.
"Are you comfortable?" His tone is softer, almost mocking, but you know it’s a test.
"Yes, sir," you murmur, nodding slightly.
He brings the glass to his lips, taking a sip as his eyes, hidden behind the mask, return to the screen. The sound of screams and gunfire from the games fills the room, but for you, everything fades away. The only thing that matters is being here, close to him, doing as he asks.
One of his hands slowly moves up your back, stopping just at the base of your neck. His touch isn’t affectionate, but it isn’t cruel either. It’s possessive, a silent reminder that you belong to him.
"You’ve been good today," he says after a long silence. His gaze seems to harden even through the mask as a player on the screen makes a fatal mistake. "You always do as I say, don’t you?"
"Always, sir," you respond firmly, without hesitation. Because it’s the truth. Because your only reason for existing is to follow his orders, to please him, to be his perfect doll.
He smiles, or at least you imagine he does. The slight tilt of his head and the change in his posture tell you he’s pleased.
"Good girl." The hand on your neck moves forward, until it covers your throat. Your breath stops for a moment, but you don't dare make a move. His fingers press gently and then release, like a caress.
His fingers trace their way back to your nape, where they begin to caress you gently. It is not a loving or affectionate touch; it is possessive, as if you were on display for an invisible audience, and he was just waiting for someone to claim you.
"I want you to take off the dress," he says suddenly, his voice low and grave.
You nod, trying to keep your breathing as calm as possible, as if this were a normal game. It is; it's just that he always plays with an advantage.
You slowly rise from his legs, giving him space to see you better. His eyes follow you, like the camera in a movie you can't control.
The dress falls to your feet, revealing your naked body. You have your hair up in a high bun, as always, because he prefers you that way. All so that you are more interesting, so that you feel more intimidated, so that he always has control.
"Well" he says, his voice low and soothing. He places the glass on the table. The game continues on the screen behind him, but he no longer seems to care. "Come here". The order is brief and unequivocal.
You obey, walking towards him until you stand between his open legs. His arms stretch over the sofa's armrests; the dark sleeves of his shirt, fitted to his muscular forearms, cannot hide the tension in his muscles.
"What do you want me to do, sir?" you ask obediently, because you know that's how it should be.
His fingers stretch out and stop just before touching your thighs. He stares at them for a moment before moving his hand up to cover your hip.
His grip is strong, but his touch is gentle, as if he were trying to calm a frightened animal.
"Don't ask me questions," he says softly. "Do what you're told". His eyes shift to the left, towards the table where he left the glass. "Pour me another whiskey" .
"Yes, Sir," you respond immediately.
Six steps are all you need to reach the table, but your legs feel like melted wax as you walk. You are afraid of doing anything wrong, of not pleasing him enough. You know that if that happens, he will punish you, and you don't want that. You never want that.
You uncork the bottle with precise movements and fill the glass exactly as you did before. After placing the bottle on the table, you turn towards him with the glass in your hand. The movement makes your hips sway slightly; his eyes must be fixed on them, but you don't allow yourself to look.
You stand between his legs again and lean forward to offer him the glass, without losing your composure, without trembling. You let him take it, his fingers brushing against yours fleetingly. You can't help but feel a spark of tension when his skin touches yours.
"You're trembling" he says coldly, after placing the glass on the table. "Why?" His fingers cover your hips again, and his thumbs move in small circles. "Have I scared you?"
"No, sir," you say quickly, as if that were the last thing you wanted. "It never scares me" . It's the truth, but there's a hint of fear in your words. The fear of not pleasing, of not doing enough.
He tilts his head, the mask covering his face like a shadow. His smile resembles a grimace, but you can't take your eyes off it.
"I understand," he says. His fingers caress you gently, as if they were comforting you.
You feel as if you have passed a test; as if, at least for now, you have pleased him enough.
"But there's something else you can do," he says, softly but with the authority that makes you tremble. Something I would love.
You nod. His fingers move downwards, brushing your thighs firmly and caressing them as if they were a carpet. The sensation makes you bite your cheeks, but you don't make a move. Not until he gives you permission.
His eyes linger on your breasts.
"That I like" he says. The hand that covers your thigh moves up to touch the tip of your nipple. You pull back slightly at the feel of his touch, but you don't dare move too much. "You like everything, don't you?"
"Everything, sir".
"I'm glad," he says. His fingers play with your nipples, caressing and stretching them in a way that makes you scream silently. "I'm very happy". His eyes remain fixed on your breasts, as if he were drawing them.
"Now come here" he says suddenly, his eyes shifting towards you. "I want to see better". He extends a hand and grabs your arm, pulling you forward without hesitation.
"Get on my lap" he orders. "And do it slowly".
The words are like an order that makes you tremble, but you obey, climbing up his legs slowly. The erection in his pants is palpable against the back of your thighs.
He whispers an approving sound when you sit on his lap. His fingers cover your breasts again, squeezing them and caressing your nipples with a soft but firm touch. His fingers continue their journey downwards until they touch your crotch, and when you feel more dazed than ever, he caresses your sex with a light touch, like a feather brushing your skin.
"Mmm, I like seeing you like this" he says softly. His fingers don't move away. The way he touches you is as if he were examining a precious jewel and didn't know what to do with it. "You are so wet, so beautiful. Do you like me doing this to you?"
"Yes," you say, because you know it's what he wants to hear. His fingers caress your inner lips, brushing against the clitoris with a light touch.
He smiles again, a dark and mocking grimace through the mask. His eyes seem to shine with satisfaction.
"And I'm glad you're enjoying it" he says. His fingers give your clitoris a little touch and then stop. "But there's something else you want, isn't there?"
"Yes..." The words slip from your lips without you realizing. "I love him". You feel a shiver in your legs as you say it, but you can't help it. You can't lie to him when he knows who you really are.
His fingers glide along the inside of your thighs, like a playful hand on a soft carpet. You don't dare to move, to breathe, to do anything that might ruin the moment.
"I understand," he says softly. "And it makes me happy" . His fingers slowly rise to touch your sex again.
"I'm going to give you what you desire". His fingers stop over your crotch. "If you behave" .
"I will do it," you promise, with a serious and sincere tone. Anything but not doing it.
"Good" he says. His voice sounds approving and pleased, like a king who has found a loyal servant.
"Good". His fingers change direction, taking the zipper of his pants between them. "Let me help you" he says. His fingers unzip the zipper with an audible sound and release his erection.
You nod and lean towards him, raising your knees to position yourself over his thighs and leaving space for his erection. You can't look at it without feeling embarrassed, but you have to. You have to look at her, because he orders it, because he wants it that way.
It is thick and long, the tip red and shiny. Her fingers encircle the base, covering the foreskin, before pushing it up, inside you.
"It's big" he says when you sit on top of him, wrapping around him with a muffled scream. "But you know what you have to do, don't you?" The question isn't real; it doesn't expect an answer. "You have to do it" .
You have to. There's no turning back, there's no escape. You just have to do it, because he ordered you to.
You start to move, the sofa sheets scraping against your thighs as you slowly rise and fall on his erection. He doesn't help you, doesn't grab or hold you; he just sits there, looking at you with an expression you can't see behind his mask.
The movements become a steady rhythm, the moans escape your lips as you make room for his erection with each rise and fall. You know he has control; he always has. He could make you stop with just one order, but he doesn't.
His hand glides over your back and hips before finding its way to your sex. His fingers caress it lightly before finding your clitoris; the contact makes you scream loudly.
"You're so wet" he says softly, his fingers playing with your inner lips. "So wet. You like it a lot, don't you?"
You can't answer. The question is like a test, something you know you can answer, but you fear you might get it wrong.
"Fine," he says softly after a moment of silence.
"Good" . His fingers change the rhythm on your clitoris, making them slower and softer. "I understand" . His fingers trace small circles over your sex.
"So you like me" he says softly, with a measured rhythm. "I like you a lot. His fingers touch your labia minora before sliding over the surface of the clitoris again.
"Say it" he orders with authority. His fingers stop moving when they await a response.
"Say that you like me". Her tone is like a knife, but the order is unequivocal.
"I like it a lot" you say, with a whisper that feels like a scream in your ears. "A lot" The sound of the word "mucho" makes his fingers move a little faster over your clitoris.
"So you like it" he says, with a dark smile behind the mask. "I understand". His fingers start to speed up again, making everything faster and stronger.
You can barely breathe when he touches you, your body covered in sweat and your sex dripping with moisture. You feel like you're going to die; not from pain, not from fear, but because pleasure has ruined you.
"That's how" he says "That's how I like it". His hand on your waist tightens as you make yourself smaller on him.
"This is how you should do it". His hand on your clitoris stops and he begins to caress your labia minora with a light but firm touch "I like that you are mine" he says, after a moment of pause.
"I like it a lot". Her words are not a question; they are an order. "And I know you like me too". His fingers begin to tug at your labia over and over again. "Don't be afraid" he says as your screams begin to grow in intensity.
"Don't do it" . His fingers brush against the clitoris suddenly, just before something explodes in your sex. The feeling is as if something were breaking your soul, as if your breath were slipping through your fingers while I hold you.
Your back arches as he holds you, your pussy turning each of his movements into an orgasm that makes the pleasure escape from you in a scream.
His fingers continue to caress your labia and clitoris as the orgasm consumes you, as if it would never stop.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the orgasm begins to fade. Your body crumbles in his arms, your breath becomes a gasping torrent.
He holds you for a moment longer before letting you rest on his thighs. The erection remains inside you, hard and thick.
"You were good," he says softly as he starts moving under you again. "Very good." His eyes shine behind the mask, with a glimmer you can't decipher.
"I'm very happy". His fingers will cradle your hips and move you over him with a gentle rhythm.
"Do you know why?" You don't expect an answer; he never does when he asks a question.
"I stay away a lot because you know I'm the one in control". His fingers tighten around your hips for a moment, like a silent threat. "I will always have him" . His fingers loosen their grip on your hips again, but the rhythm of your movements doesn't change.
"And that's what I like the most". His fingers descend to touch your buttocks, caressing them gently before touching your thighs.
"Yes" he says as if he were talking to himself "That's what I like the most".
His fingers encircle your clitoris, playing with it. Each movement makes you scream a little more, as if someone were fiddling with a fire button in your crotch.
"So this is what you want" he says softly as your screams become sharper.
"You want me to fuck you like this, don't you?" His fingers quicken their pace on your clitoris. "You want it like this". He grabs your waist with his free hand, stopping your movements so you can't move. "You want to let him touch you, don't you?"
You nod, with your eyes closed. Your breath escapes between your lips and a torrent of sweat covers your back.
Tumblr media
164 notes ¡ View notes
sweetly-yours-and-mine ¡ 3 days ago
Text
The Band Played On
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Word Count: 8.5k
Summary: You'd never met someone who loved the way Joel Miller did.
Warnings: talk of death of a spouse and child, age gap (less than ten years), brief suicidal thoughts, mentions of depression, yEaRnInG, author is very sensitive pls be nice, i was listening to the song of the same name by Guy Lombardo,
A/N: She's back baby! This one has been in the works for over a year (eep), and is basically just a love letter to @mirrormauve and I'm so glad she's back now and I've finally finished it. Becs, I love you with all my heart <3.
I don't own photos, dividers, or characters.
Tumblr media
You’d never met someone who loved the way Joel Miller did. 
His severe, violent dedication to it, bits of soul laid down on the ground as offerings to the gods. Cracking open his chest, tearing off each rib and handing it over, not to say here is my heart but to say, here is the thing that protects my heart, it reminds me of you.
You thought this love was only talked about, only dreamt up. 
But then you’d been on a walk, in the early spring with the Earth vibrating with promise and you’d seen Joel, the worn, well-loved brown of his leather jacket, greying, long strands of his hair brushing against its collar, and you’d seen Joel, beside a tree, wrapping rope around its broken limp, saying soft things under his breath. You’ll be alright, yeah. That’s okay, I’ll be back soon, his voice heavy and measured with his drawl, warm. His fingers drifting over new buds, still tightly curled like a clenched fist, and cooing out his pride like a lullaby. 
Joel loved fiercely, savage and primal. There was nothing beautiful about the way he did it, but it was simple, it was honest and true and gentle. It was his work-roughened hands catching against fabric, his prickly stubble against his niece’s soft skin, the smell of whiskey on his breath and leather on his skin. 
His love wasn’t that of the ocean to the shore, the sun to the moon, the moon to the ocean. A tiring push and pull, illusive and fickle. 
He loved the way the soil loved the roots, giving over chunks of himself for nourishment and food. 
He loved the way the roots loved the soil, wooden fingers clutching tight against dirt and turning it dewy and tender with love. Constant, reliable, never changing. A tried and true dance that would continue to the end of time. 
Tumblr media
He drew you to him unknowingly. Unravelled your affection for him like a ball of yarn, stringing it around everywhere he went, lighting up street corners and houses the way lamplighters used to do each evening in a world before you, Joel, and the slow thing he was knitting inside of you, row after patient row. 
Your eyes followed him like a magnet to the North, unknowingly, intrinsically, like breathing, drinking water. You found grooves and corners in Joel Miller that you revelled in, that you painted up inside your mind and took home with you to hang on your empty walls. 
The way he holds his spoon, wipes his mouth. The gnarled knots of his fingers’ joints. The rose-like curling of the skin around his eyes and mouth when he laughs, the way he touches and does so deliberately with intent and purpose. 
You walk by his house in the evenings, catching the glint of his eyes from the yellow porch light as he strums his guitar, the one he pieced together the way he did that tree. Ellie running home at all hours of the day, the trust held between them branching out towards Jackson like coconut, the aroma subtle, blink and you’ll miss it. But it hangs in the air like humidity, like frost on window panes or the fog of your breath against glass during the harsh Wyoming winters. 
You crave more, you’re starving for it. You want Joel’s love, and you want it because you’re selfish, because you don’t like the empty half of your bed, and you think he’d look nice in it, his golden skin and grey hair against floral sheets. You long more than anything to be part of the souls he holds up to the light and plops into his pocket like a marble collection. 
Whenever you are where Joel is, you look at him, fleeting glances in his direction like a heartbeat, over and over, rhythmic and regular. You’re eager to see more of him, to see him when he doesn’t know you’re watching so you can trace the curve of his neck with your eyes and pretend it’s your hands instead, to feel the soft hairs that grow there like peach fuzz. 
Joel loves in spades, in heaping bucketfuls of it. It strains throughout Jackson like a liquid heavier than water, curling around each corner in a warm embrace. You can’t go anywhere without being faced by it, the door hinge he’d fixed, the chairs he’d stacked, the floors he’d swept. The love he’s spread around soaking into your shoes and through your socks, drifting up towards your ankles and making your bones ache. 
It’s hard to deal with it. Its constant, uncompromising presence. The true reality of the man that he was, is. 
It’s even harder to deal with your craving for it, the way your skin sings for it, the way your lungs chase each trace of it they find in the air. 
Tumblr media
Maria finds you one day in the gardens, asks, gently hesitant, for you to come over for dinner. You wonder if it was out of concern or pity for the life you lead alone, the simple, yet tried and true routine you occupy your days with. 
Worse than that, you begin to fear that she’s picked up on the fascination you’ve grown for her brother-in-law and the way his worn belt sits on his hips. 
And so to not aggravate it anymore, you agree to spend an evening close to Joel. 
Not alone with him, Tommy and Maria are at the table as well, Ellie coming and going, breaking conversation into brittle pieces of Sohan, but still you’re close and he gives you a brief taste of what sharing love with him could look like. 
His voice is rumbly and deep, river-like as it streams and trips over smooth rocks. The whiskey has loosened him up a bit, the straight, hard edges of his body softening over with comfort, the weight of survival lifted off of him. 
He’s pretty. You want him to reach inside of you and grab your heart, start pumping it for you and press his mouth against yours so you can share air together. 
It’s hard to focus around him, your eyes not wanting to work in tandem whenever they look in his direction, as if protecting you from what might happen if you manage to see him clearly, his peppering of a beard and moustache, the engravings of smile lines on his face. 
To abate the beating inside your chest, you get up for some water, go to refill Maria’s glass while you’re at it. Out of fear of the emotions he’s drawing out of you and your chest. 
You want to calm down, be normal about him and this growing obsession inside of you for an older man. Yet your body and mind refuse to do so vehemently, almost to seek vengeance on you for wanting to quell it, pour water over the burning fire.
As you stand at the counter, waiting for the water to boil and tracing the top button of your jeans round and round with the pad of your finger, you hear Joel and his lopsided walk follow you, his left foot dragging more than his right. 
“Hey.” 
The word falls at the end of itself, stretches against the ground. You follow the trails it leaves in the air, like citrus oil that sparks out of a freshly-peeled orange, bursting out like dust motes in a vibrant sunbeam. 
“Hi,” you turn around, smile at him as best as you can through the tangling of your lungs and stomach. 
Joel looks over his shoulder, back at Tommy and Maria, at Ellie, nudged into her uncle’s side, then he turns to you, “Nice evening.” 
You agree with him, though to yourself you think it’s only because of him, because of the cloud that hangs humid about him, makes the edges of his body go soft and blurry, grainy like all photos are, incapable of catching the true essence of what made them photo-worthy. 
He comes and leans against the counter beside you, hands folded on top of each other. A lock of his hair falls into his forehead and you think if he’d let it, you’d brush it away and go straight to the graveyard so you could die happy, dragging your stone along with you like a blanket. 
It takes everything inside of you to not inch closer to him. 
Despite the community and support that surrounds you everyday, you’re still lonely, still aching for something else. Something to come home to. To be something for someone to come home to. 
You have faint visions of Joel in the doorway of your house, revel in the way he’d drape his jacket over the couch. You want to see him basked in the glow of an early morning, to see his sleep-rumpled shirt and press your face into it and take in greedy lungfuls of his smell.
Ellie’s laugh rings out around the room. You think of the future she was going to have and the one she will have now, and you’re glad that she’s in Jackson away from the dark holes that are the QZs. 
You gaze up at Joel, at the cords rising in his neck like bread dough. Some depraved sprout shoots up inside you and longs to trace your nose against them and their engravings on his skin. You force yourself to look away, down at the glass of water in your hand. 
You ache to move your feet forward and away from him, for the betterment of the both of you and the cage you keep around your chest, the key of which you want to press into Joel’s hands. 
“You should come by more often.” 
He talks to you the same way he talked to the sapling. You wonder if he would rope you up the same way if you broke your arm too, in the same way. It sows dreams inside of you and you rub them away a couple seconds later, thinking of Maria’s sudden invitation asking you over tonight. 
“Thanks,” you murmur it. You’re not going to give him a rebuttal about being a bother so you won’t fall into the push and pull dance with him. 
To your surprise, he straightens up, ducks his head until you look up at him. “M’serious, honey. Really,” you see his hand reach forward before it falls back to place. It flinches and fidgets before it returns to normal. Here all the hair on his skin is grey. “We’ll do this more.” The condition has dropped from his voice. 
Despite your suspicions and reluctance, a bruised, battered thing weeps out inside of you, stops you from turning down his offer again, after he’s pressed it with you. It sits smooth and heavy in the palm of your hand, you run your thumb over it, pretend to mull it over. 
“Well, how about it? Me ‘n Ellie do board games a night each week, you should come,” There’s a swing to his voice, a soft gravel in it. If you could bask in it you’d never leave. 
He chuckles at your lack of response, “Now don’t you be tellin’ me you don’t like to play at cards.”
Finally, you collect yourself enough to shake your head, laugh a little though it’s hard when your lungs are turning themselves inside out at the thought that Joel Miller has invited you to spend more time with him, that he’s deemed you worthy of it. 
Tumblr media
Tonight, you play Dutch Blitz. They’re not real Dutch Blitz cards, but with the mixing of yours and his decks, the picture cards tossed aside, there’s enough to play with.
Joel brings you hot water with some whiskey slipped in, his hand resting deliberately on top of yours when he gives it to you. He sits opposite you, Ellie at the head, his owl mug beside him, close enough that you long to trace with your fingers, follow the curves and valleys of it, and wonder if you can get it to talk to you the same way Joel talks to trees, close enough that you can see the splattering of spots ceramics often have. 
When he takes a drink, you have to look away from him and the wave-like motion of his throat for fear of doing something stupid and falling in love. 
He’s terrible at the game. 
After the first couple of rounds, he’d said it was because he didn’t have his glasses and went into the living room to rummage around for them. You could hear his voice sometimes, filtering in back to his kitchen. Not there, some rustling, a drawer being closed, no, I’m sure I ain’t left’em here. His voice is grumbly with aggravation and it makes you and Ellie giggle. 
It had been a long time since you’d laughed like that. Light and childish. The boulder of your personhood lifted off. 
When he does find them, he places them on the edge of his nose, but they don’t help him at all. With the sudden addition of a third player, the flick and slam of cards on the table, quickly adding up to a cap, it’s hard for him to focus. Ellie says that though he never does win, he doesn’t lose so abysmally either when she plays him one-on-one.
He murmurs to himself when he’s playing, like the gentle hum of a honeybee and it distracts you as well, giving Ellie yet another set of wins under her belt. 
“Face it, Joel,” she’s grinning now, shuffling up her hand of cards. “You’re fucking horrible at this.” 
He huffs, “You’re not giving me a fair fightin’ chance, that’s what.” The slope of his neck is just the right angle. He gathers his cards up, does an expert riffle shuffle. “And what’s more I ain’t playin’ no more. Go grab somethin’ else.” 
You’re surprised at how easily Ellie gives into him now, teasing only slightly before she goes away, back to the closet where Joel stores the board games he’s managed to piece together over the years. Monopoly, The Game of Life, Scrabble. There are Jenga blocks as well, ones he’s made himself, and that he’s sanded away at patiently, night after night on his porch. 
It’s your favourite game to play with him, Jenga. It’s tense, but quiet and calm. It gives you time to study his face intently, shade in the scar on his nose and the subtle way he favours the right edge of his mouth to his left when he’s talking. You like it even more because it means you can touch things his hands have touched, the ones he’s worked at patiently, each one a labour of love. 
Even kids come over to his house now, particularly during the summer, and play in his backyard with his Jenga blocks, Joel’s place an extension of the worlds they play in, the juniper trees at the edge perfect for games of hide-and-seek and tag. 
“She’s right,” he sighs, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I am horrible at this.” 
With his glasses in his hand he gestures to the cards. The action pulls at your liver, you may as well have drunk a whole bottle of whiskey. 
“Nonsense,” there’s a strange tendril of confidence wrapping around your throat, drawing out words before you knew what they were. “It’s a hard game. Fast-paced.” 
He laughs to himself, softly. It sounds like molasses, deep and rich and velvety. “That’s just a fancy way of calling me old, darlin’.” 
“I don’t mind,” the words surprise you, the emotion and conviction behind them and you drop them as soon as you can. 
“You don’t mind what?” 
Looking down at your hands, “That you’re old.” You don’t like how you’re bringing attention to it and meekly, you string behind it, “If it matters any.” 
Silence hangs around you, presses hard against your chest and breaks a rib. 
“Thanks, sweetheart. It matters much…more’n you could know.”
A being lies behind his words, unknown and ominous. You don’t want to touch it, break the beehive and let the honey pour onto the grass, the bees angry and furious ready to sting. 
You offer instead to wash the dishes to be able to touch his special mug, finally trace the curve of the owl’s body, embroidered into baked clay. You wonder where Joel found this mug. If it came with the house, how it morphed into his favourite one, if it was a certain thing, from first sight, or if it was a slow and steady climb. 
Ellie comes back a few moments later, the Jenga blocks in her hands. You feel his eyes against your back and you hold your hands under the hot water until they’re irritated and sensitive. 
Tumblr media
Joel shows up at your door unannounced. In his hands is a bowl of strawberries, his fingers stained red from picking up, that soft gentle smile on his face. 
“Howdy,” He invites himself in, says the words for you and hands over the bowl. “For you.” 
You think about jam and honey, imagine the feel of granulated sugar clicking under your teeth. 
It’s the late afternoon, a lazy sun stretching into your open window, highlighting dust motes in the air in a stream of light. You place the strawberries on the table, Joel takes one and pops it in his mouth, the hinge of his jaw moving up and down as he chews. 
Laughing, he tells you quietly, “They’re supposed to be for you, I had a stomachful pickin’em.” 
Something twists and knots inside of you at the thought of Joel in the gardens, bending down beside the strawberry plants, choosing fruit for you and bringing it to your door. You wonder if he talked to them the way he seems to do anything, whether or not it can respond to him. 
“They’re good,” he pushes them towards you. “Have some.” 
The berries are a ruby red, vibrant with survival. They press against you as you roll their tiny bodies between your fingers, your nail catching on the seeds pressed into the skins. Biting down into one, you find it intimate to know that you and Joel are tasting the same flavour, tart and sweet, that he has a belly filled with this, that he’d filled his belly behind the soft of his waistline because he was picking you a gift. 
It’s hard to tear your eyes from him, from where he’s looking at you. The sun kisses his shoulder, curls up and around his ear. The strange need you have for him grows and reaches its peak, overwhelming you. You wonder what the soft behind his ear will feel like if you took his with your teeth and soothed the bite over with your tongue, what his hair will smell like. 
You want to ask him, demand him, to kiss you. To press you against the strawberries and not let you go until you’re covered in red juice. 
“Thank you for these,” you say instead, get up to put on some hot water.
“‘Course, honey.” 
You think that Joel may consider you a friend. His friend. 
You like the possession that lies inside the words. The heady things they imply, how they hold your heart in a clenched fist and promise to never let go. 
The other night, he’d invited you over for dinner. Just you. Had been clear about it as well. Ellie’s at Dina’s, Tommy and Maria have date night together. Like he could read your mind and knew the riptides you were apt to fall into if you weren’t careful. 
He’d talked to you, low and soft like he always does. Whiskey had been poured into your coffee and the sunset had lit up the sky in much the same manner as his voice, muted and tender, the air tinted golden like saffron. 
You think that that was the night you realised you couldn’t run from it anymore, had fallen, arms extended but helpless in catching you, towards him and how the sole of his left shoe is smoother than his right. 
The strawberries spark conversation in him about the upcoming harvest, and he analyses the weather with severity, concerned about the apples and squashes if it were to stay the way it was. You pour two cups of hot water, wishing you could give him something he likes more than that, whiskey or wine, and think of what you could trade to get a bottle for your kitchen. 
“...don’t know how we’ll make it through the winter at this rate.” 
Steam curls up from your cup, the heat of the summer day already fading with the sunlight. 
“We’ll make it, one way or the other,” you say. His worries are endearing, parts and pieces of him that you think he’ll never learn to let go of, not even if there was fresh fruit on the table, hot water in the pipes. 
Joel from before. 
He fascinates you, in every form you think of him. 
With your words, you see something in his eyes, something young and untamed. You think he’s going to press it with you, show you why the amount of rain and sun the settlement’s been getting will be its exact downfall. But it dies down, calms back into the soft burnt toffee you know them to be, and the ever-present smiling not-smile returns to his face. 
Finally, he nods his head towards the strawberries and winks at you. You start eating them again, trying to paint up images of him in the gardens, of the strawberries looking even smaller beside his hands. His voice, mellowed and soft, Yeah, yeah, you’re good, that’s alright now, okay? 
Joel’s hand brushes against yours as you reach in for another one, lighting a match against your skin, flames bursting up and down your body. He doesn’t seem to give it much mind, his unshakable calm draped against him like always. 
With a chuckle, he looks down at the one in his hand, “My mama used to make these inta jams.” He eats it, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. Your body pulls at itself and you take one for yourself as well, flavour oozing out into your mouth, tasting like love because you’re sharing it with him. 
“Loved’em with a fresh biscuit,” pausing, he breaks out of his memories to look at you. “You ever had jam ‘n biscuits?” 
“Sure, sometimes.” 
He tilts his head, “Homemade ones?” You shake your head and he waves you off in response, “Oh, then you hadn’t had jam ‘n biscuits. Lemme tell ya, my mama made’em mean. Nothin’ like a hot jar of strawberry jam.” 
Eyes going a little misty he keeps on, “Now, Tommy?” he laughs soft and low, mainly to himself, shakes his head some more. “Tommy he’d scarf’em down the moment they were outta the oven, boy’s got no patience. Couldn’t even wait to take out the jam and then he’d-” the words had been pouring out of his mouth like honey, soothing to your ears but he cuts them off abruptly, “-Ah, would you look at that. I’m borin’ yer head off.” 
It sounds like he is getting ready to leave, his eyes flicking around, on the table, back to you, to the strawberries. You rush forward without thinking about it to get him to stay, “No, no. I-I like talking with you…s’nice.” You finish with a helpless little shrug. 
You don’t know where this sudden confidence has come from and you’re scared you’ve gripped too tight on the bar of soap and Joel will slip out of your grasp and into the sink, that you have to scramble to take it back. To your surprise, you haven’t. 
The discomfort starts to fade away from Joel’s face and you fear what’s going to be put in its place and how similar it might be to what you hold in the farthest corner of your heart, closely guarded away from him. He melts down back into his seat, eats a strawberry. 
If you look closely, the greyer hairs in his moustache are stained red. 
“Well, there ya have it,” he chuckles, deep and warm. “The story of my mama’s biscuits.” 
“Lovely.” 
It stands in front of you, a bunny rabbit of a story, her nose twitching, ears flicking back and forth and incredibly small. You remember the first baby rabbit you ever saw, when you were sixteen over thirty years ago. You hadn’t thought something could be so tiny and also be able to move. It had scampered away the moment it caught sight of you, the bushes bristling into silence in its wake, but behind it one of your lungs and one of your kidneys followed dutifully, leaving you alive but just barely. 
Right now, you cup Joel’s story in your palm, tuck it away in some safe pocket and delight each time you brush against it, a knotted ball of heat and innocence. 
Gaze still fixed on the button-like eyes in front of you, you get surprised when he moves to sit in the chair at your side. His shoulders are broad and mighty still, and you have to look just slightly up to be able to see him fully. 
You see him struggle with his words. Maybe he always does, and you’ve never been this close enough to see it, thoughts breaking on the shore of his mouth, the twitch around his nose, the ever changing colour of his eyes not even quivering still for a moment. 
“You’re-” he clears his throat, it rumbles gently like an earthquake from your feet to your head, shaking your heart in the middle, reminding you of the ache inside it. “You’ve been lonely here…in Jackson.” 
There’s not much to say, and you shrug, “I’m alive.” 
“Not what I said.” 
It stings through you, sharp with truth and a keen observation. You’d thought you’d manage to hide it well, that people had bigger problems than to worry about you, and the emotions running in you that you’ve forgotten what they are and how they’re supposed to feel like. You don’t know what to say, looking down at your hands, starting digging into your cuticles for something to do with them. 
He hums softly, and on instinct you turn your gaze to him, watching his front profile bent forward. “These years…they’ve been hard,” he almost hears your thoughts. “On us all.” 
You think of your husband. The one who’d married you young, though you’d felt like you were anything but at the time, and cradled your heart gently and coaxed you out of moods as if it was the only thing he was made for and wanted to do. He doesn’t come to your mind often anymore, having lost him several years before the world blew up. Together, you’d lived a quiet life. Defined by soothing, soft sunlight and lazy afternoons. 
Truly, you’ve felt lonely your whole life. It didn’t really start twenty years ago, or two years ago when you arrived in Jackson. Had been a quiet and almost ignored child. There’s not much you remember from your childhood, but the knoll of a memory rings true every time. Standing in line for a whole afternoon, a worksheet grasped in your sweaty palms, feeling that soon, soon, you’d be rewarded for listening, for being quiet. 
How interminable that afternoon had seemed to you, long and drawn out, testing your patience at each turn, and how you’d risen up to each defiantly, child-like sense of justice still strong and unfailable. 
You learnt your lesson too late, when your soul and essence had already hardened into unchangeable patterns. So, you got used to getting hurt, tears springing at your eyes and burning through your lungs. 
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this.” The corners of Joel’s eyes crinkle, fold up into themselves like fabric. He chuckles softly and you feel your face press into a smile. “I was real angry…and mean. People wouldn’t come within a square mile of me if they could help it.” 
His eyes glisten when he hears you laugh, and he holds up his hands, “I ain’t lyin’, I swear. Ask anyone you want, I was the town grump, yellin’ at kids to get off my lawn.” The words make you laugh even more, hiding it behind your hand and maybe the energy sparks in the air, because Joel starts to laugh too. A deep, gentle, belly laugh that seems to have come from another world. Of soft grey hair and tender eyes. It’s hard to imagine Joel as mean, a grump. 
The perpetuity of time weighs down on you heavily. How separated you feel from yourself at sixteen, twenty, thirty. The decades rolling past you like boulders. It scares you that you and Joel remember a world, a life, that doesn’t exist anymore and soon the two of you will be gone, the memories falling off into the air like they’ve done for generation upon generation. 
You wonder how so little time, in the grand scheme of things, can feel so long and tiresome. How you’re not even fifty yet and still, the thought of having to fall asleep and wake up the next day to do it all again exhausts you to the point of tears. The thought of having to do this for one more day even seems impossible, leave alone for years. 
When you were younger, and you’d first started feeling like this, you’d thought it would pass when you got married, when you got older. When the world fell apart you’d thought you would snap out of it, yet it never happened. The only time you’d felt happy waking up was from nightmares, panting and struggling to orient yourself. 
It had been better since you arrived at Jackson, found some semblance of routine and stability that you’d craved since you were a child. 
Joel sighs, drawing you out of your thoughts, and focusing you in again to see him rub at his beard, the movement tugging at the insides of you. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this really,” he lets out a quiet breath, and it washes over you, ocean-like. “I-I…” He swallows thickly, and you’re alarmed to see him gather himself as if to move to go. “Been botherin’ you really-” 
You cut him off by saying his name. It tolls inside you, flashes of hospitals and the dark green carpet of the funeral home coming to the forefront of your mind. 
You think about your husband's eyes, the soft slope of them, so similar and yet so different to Joel’s. You wonder if Joel would have liked him, if in another world the two of them would drink beer together and play poker, while you complained about them to friends you’ve never truly, properly had. 
The image is domestic, tugs at you and you know soon you’re going to cry if you’re not careful. You start talking, how the two of you had met, the sudden and then slow fall. 
The ache in you grows and grows, till it’s fit to burst. Talking about him to Joel feels like emptying out an abscess, makes you feel both guilty and relieved. 
He talks in turn. Of a daughter. The pulsing, too-hot blood covering his forearms and screaming until he’d lost his voice and spat red for a week later. Hot, bright flashes of anger that never truly went away. 
You wonder if that’s what had drawn you to Joel in the first place, that gaping, weeping hole inside of him that reflected so tenderly back into your stomach. He laughs a couple of times, telling you about Ellie. Then he cries and despite everything, you envy him for how he does it so rightfully, well-timed. 
You can’t remember a time you’d talked so much. The sun sets over his back, beside his ear. 
There’s a fatigue in your bone marrow, a deep, strong ache that ripples through your back and muscles. Joel looks a different person to you know, the ghost of a girl standing behind him, her hand placed on his forearm, gentle features in her face ringing true to her father’s and that of a woman you don’t know. You’re seized with the urge to turn back time, to see if you would have found Joel in the old world just like you have this one. If you would have liked his daughter, found companionship in her the way you do with all women. 
Joel smiles at you, eyes glistening, murmuring something about the time. The day comes back to you at once, and you feel you’ve taken a breath after hours of holding it in. You wonder at the way Joel’s drawn all this out of you, patient and with no rush at all. How he’d deemed you worthy of time and attention. 
You walk with him to your front door, feeling as if it was years since he’d shown up at it, bowl in hand. 
“Hey, honey?” The back of Joel’s shirt is wrinkled from the way he was sitting at your table. He turns back to you, the sun fully set now. 
You have a strange need to offer to walk him home. Then you hope he’d offer to walk you home and you’d do the same and then you could spend the rest of your life walking with him home. 
“Yeah?” 
The pull he has terrifies you. There’s a subconscious ache in your muscles to be closer to him, to right what seems to have been wronged. 
He does it for you, takes a step away from the door and barely a few breaths of space between you. From here, you can see the sunspots in his beard, flecked onto tanned and weathered skin and you think about a time when Joel was so young he didn’t have a beard. 
“There’s a-uh…ah, ” he goes gravelly and clears his throat, running a hand up and down his beard comfortingly. Something inside him renews and the insecurity falls away, it’s fascinating and addicting to watch. You’re sure there isn’t a more interesting person on the Earth. “You wanna come with me? To the dance next week?” 
You swallow and it does nothing to help the feeling inside you that you’re being torn into two. “Oh, Joel I…” you fumble for an excuse out of all the well-used and well-rehearsed ones you have. “I-uh…I’m not much of a dancer.” 
“Hell,” he laughs, and his eyes go to the size of slivered almonds. “Neither am I. But they play some fancy records. I go for the music.” 
“What kind?” 
You’re not going to go, you’re certain of this, already feeling like you’ve imposed far too much on him, but this is another part of Joel, the music he listens to each week at the community dance. There’s no harm in taking it for yourself. 
“Real old stuff,” his eyes twinkle. “You think me old? Wait ‘til ya hear it, it’s stuff my grandparents listened to growin’ up.” A beat, something drops in his tone, “M’serious.” He sounds nervous even, “I want you to go with me.” 
You don’t know how to tell Joel this is the first time someone’s asked you out in a long, long, while. If ever. Your husband was the only man who ever loved you and he’d always been there. Had proposed to you in the low light of his kitchen, matter-of-fact sort of, I suppose we should get married. 
You don’t know how much of your story Joel’s gratuitously, much to the contradiction of your character, filled in. You want to have led the life he’s envisioned for you, so kindly and tenderly, eating strawberries at your kitchen table, rather than the cold, lonely one you’ve led instead. 
Through the sudden twisting and turning inside you, a cold pang stops it at your foolishness to assume that this is what you’d thought it was. That you’d taken the opaque words and read through them, leading yourself astray and susceptible to getting hurt. 
“Darlin’? Makes me real nervous when you take so long to answer questions like this,” he coos softly, you think again of the way he talks to everything, as if he can see through it to the marrow and essence, trace it with his finger. You see his hand twitch and this time he does touch you, holding onto your forearm, a soft fire burning on your skin. “What’s wrong, hm?” 
“I don’t know how to dance, Joel,” you say finally. You feel and see yourself leaning close to his touch, the warmth of his body spilling into your own, but you’re helpless to stop it. You want to feel his chest on your bare back, the prickle of his beard against your skin, roughened palms against your stomach. So much roughness pressing on you with love. 
He lets out a tender breath, as if to say, that’s all? “Well, I’ll teach ya if ya want. And if not, we’ll have a drink and listen to some Guy Lombardo, alright?” 
You know you should protest again, keep pushing it with him until he drops the act, keeps this where it ought to remain. But your yearning for him is overwhelming and tiring to fight against, “Alright.” 
“Alright?” His thumb brushes back and forth against your skin. You look up at him and you fear that now there’s no hiding from him anymore, behind quiet and excuses. You feel his eyes hit the back of your lungs. “Alright, honey,” he smiles at you, his skin folding up like intricate origami, stealing your breath away at seeing it up so close. 
“I’ll see you soon, then,” he murmurs. Then he’s leaning down towards you to kiss your cheek. A rough brush of slightly chapped lips before he’s straightened up and the door clicking shut behind him, a trail of blood following him from where your chest is, gaping empty, your heart trudging along unknowingly behind him and his broad shoulders like slug. 
For two years you fought against it, pushing it aside as it continued to grow like an untamed weed, growing a strong, unbreakable net of roots only for you to lose all of it in close to five minutes, to show you how fragile and fallible you were when it came to Joel Miller. 
Tumblr media
The community centre in Jackson is one of the only buildings left nearly intact. The floors were still original wood, and creaked and groaned with each step. With the fall of summer, the harvest close to over, the nights were coming earlier, quicker, and colder. As you walk towards the building, the lights glow from the windows flickering some strange sense of nostalgia in you, twinging at a corner you’d thought was long gone inside your heart. 
Joel is standing at the entryway, hair brushed back in a way that, in the fickle light, almost makes him unrecognizable. You’ve never seen him like this, not just his hair, but his appearance. Your heart stutters when it sees itself reflected, nervous and trembling in Joel’s face. The thought of him making himself all pretty-like for you in the glow of his bathroom makes you feel faint, makes you feel young in a way you don’t ever remember feeling. That maybe, the thought of you has him nervous and stumbling and anxious, how you so often feel around him. 
“Hey, honey.” 
You stammer a little smile, say you hope you hadn’t kept him too long. A record scratch comes from inside and the soft drone of trumpets and crooning filters out to the two of you like fairy dust.
Putting his hand on the small of your back, Joel leads you inside. 
True to his word, he doesn’t do any dancing. You’re not sure if you can handle such close proximity to him, feeling the gentle wash of his breath, to breathe him in so deeply the push outwards strains your lungs without the promise of being able to do it again whenever you want to.  
He gets you two a drink and sways with you, arm around your shoulders, talking in soothing tones that rival the one he uses with his niece. When he pretends to not notice you looking, you gaze at him, his profile glowing in the lights of the hall, the wrinkles in his face like those of a tree trunk. 
You’d been nervous to be seen out like this with Joel, worried to hear rumours fly and nervous that your reaction to them would give away inner corners of your heart that you don’t even dare graze in the safety of the early morning darkness, alone, in your own bed and house. Even more, you didn’t want him hearing them, the malicious tongues of Jackson picking you apart any more than they already had had. 
Yet to your surprise, people only smile at you, ask you to join them at the Tipsy Bison, Joel agreeing readily for you as you struggle to find the words. 
You and Joel, it seems, are no great news. 
You wonder how much time has been wasted just because of your broken mind, thoughts from your childhood running through it constantly chiming truth-like when they were only supposed to light laughing matters now. 
The weight of Joel’s hand grows suddenly, and it drops onto your chest. The subtle, comforting smell of wood turns stifling, dust floating up and stinging your eyes. With a quiet word, you slip out from under Joel’s arm as he’s talking to Tommy, head back outside and start taking greedy gulps of air. 
The normalcy of it, the quiet indifference and accepting looks around you had taken you aghast. At how quickly you’d lost the rules you’d set in place for when you were around Joel. At how quickly you’d managed to fool yourself into thinking that you could do this, be normal and sound, at how you’d tricked Joel into thinking the same and now it felt that everything was suspended in the balance. 
The whole unworthiness of it. How you’d managed to outsmart the world time and time again into staying alive for whole decades after you’d thought you would, and how you couldn’t do the same for your husband, a man so worthy of life compared to you. How he’d worked at you patiently, tenderly. Made you believe, for brief, fleeting moments that maybe you were wrong, that you can think wrong thoughts and yet there was nothing wrong with that, and that nobody had been tricked and everyone was deserving. 
And how quickly that had all been torn away from you in a torturous six months. 
Some days, you feel you’ve gotten better, the tug of black tar lighter, only to drown even worse the next. 
He’d been the only person ever to convince you otherwise. And he’d been wrong. 
Until now. 
The back porch creaks softly under Joel’s shoes, and by now you’ve given up wondering why you can recognize the way the world around him reacts to his presence. You turn to face him, to see the angel-like glow around his silhouette for the half-instant it’s there. 
You look down quickly at your feet, hoping it hides the sudden heat rising to your face and calms it down. 
In so many ways, you feel older than you are, ready to lay down in the ground and surrender to the dirt and grass, and in others you still feel like a child, helpless and naive. Joel shouldn’t be finding you out here, staring into the night for answers you know won’t be there. 
“There ya are,” you’ve never heard his voice this way before, the many nuances and inflections that you’ve studied like a religion. 
Your shame is so great you can’t even bring yourself to apologize, an annoying habit your mother always lashed out at you for, your apparent insolence and indifference. 
There’s the same shuffling step of his, the left favoured over the right. There’s a loud round of laughter from inside and you flinch at it as Joel comes to stand beside you. 
“Needed some air?” 
If you could, you would crawl into his chest, burrow down there so he’d lull you to sleep with the rumble of his voice. Though he’s only inches from you, he feels much farther away. 
You nod quietly and you wonder how you can tell Joel that the outbreak hadn’t made you like this, that Jackson had brought it out of you again after years of a toughened, fraud outside you’d held to yourself protectively like a blanket. That there wasn’t anything more to peel away, and you couldn’t be fixed with rope or soft words like the plants he loves and the wood he whittles away into gifts. 
“Joel…” you lick your lips, bite down on the inside of your cheek until you bleed. His name feels right, shaped out of your voice, and you marvel at how well-trained your mind is, after almost fifty years of feeding you lies and your fighting right back against it, to find the cracks in your armour and press and press until it gives out. “I’m sorry.” 
Words so familiar to you they should be written on your gravestone. 
He tsks, waving at the air dismissively, “Now, stop with all that.” It’s the harshest he’s ever spoken to you yet it’s still quiet and kind. He comes to face you, the light inside falling on his face and into the deep groves of it. 
Despite yourself, you gaze into his eyes, to peer at the earnestness in them, dreadfully familiar. 
“I’m sorry.” A frozen clock, stuck on the same time, the seconds hand beating and beating and going nowhere, as the world around it covers itself in dust and death. 
Pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris. 
He smiles, eyes still feather-soft and honey-sweet. A strand of hair comes loose, falling into his face and you see the Joel you’ve come to love, despite any and all precautions. 
You say his name quietly, “He was the only one who…” It’s hard to describe what your husband had done for you, even if you hadn’t felt so stunted with words since you started learning them. His earnest and pure love that had flowed through him for you and the whole world while he was alive, how you’d thwarted it away, the black, rotten core inside of you screaming out, and how, wave after wave, he’d returned to you. 
“And you think there’s only one person for you in this world?” There’s nothing patronizing in his voice, which makes it all the worse for you. You wish it had been that simple, that you had seen yourself worthy of only your husband’s love, had seen something in his relentless pursuit of giving it over to you with no hope of return. How it had been only stronger on the days it had been hard to eat, and sleep, and wake up. 
Your voice breaks, “I wasn’t even supposed to get the one.” 
“Oh, honey,” he coos. The heel of his palm is rough as it brushes against your jaw. Coaxing, he tilts your head up to face his. The second time only you’ve been so close to him and it seems your body still hasn’t gotten used to it. 
The darkness of the night is enshrouding, humidity pressing against your lungs. Joel’s jacket is on top of your shoulders, his presence drowning out the darkness, leaving sunlight and trees instead. You feel his roots claw down into your chest, latch onto your liver and heart. 
“You know…” he swallows and you’re too close to the motion because you’re dangerously close to your knees giving out underneath you. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.” 
It’s not judgmental, Joel could never be that. But you shrink inside nonetheless, embarrassed and feeling smaller than ever. 
Ghosts swarm around the two of you, stirring the air and making a soft breeze and goosebumps rise against your skin. 
You go to look away but he wills it not and what is the turning of the Earth if not for the wants of Joel Miller? 
“Real flattered, if I could say so. Didn’t think-” he clears his throat and this time he looks away, shy and young, a bird hiding its beak in its wing. “Didn’t think you’d fancy an old man like me.” 
The truth behind his words amazes you, how it’s something he seems to have considered time and time again relentlessly, from all angles, and still decided it to be his reality. 
“How-how…could I not?” 
There’s the deep, soothing rumble of his laugh again. It rings clear with tradition and home, and baked clay and spotted ceramic owls. “You’re a bit hard to read sometimes, honey.” 
Inside of you, your veins seize up, heart quivering at his words. He smiles down at you in that gentle, Joel way of his, quieting your thoughts. The soft drone of music drifts out from the open window, the slow murmur of a content crowd of happy people. 
His arm wraps around your waist, testing, eyes flitting back and forth on you. With each pass of his gaze, you feel the soft patter-like feet of butterflies resting against your cheeks, wings flapping slowly, measured as if to show your heart how to beat again, properly. 
Daringly, you inch closer to him. His nose comes down to meet yours. 
“Hey, darlin’...honey?” 
He’s whispering and he’s never whispered with you before. 
His breath is warm against your face, if you could, you would tuck your head under his shirt and never come up again. 
“Can I kiss ya? Would ya let me?” 
It’s hard to think that this is where you’ve ended up with Joel, from the first time you saw him those handful of years ago, where he’d been standing off to the side talking with someone, standing over a pile of wood, until now. His weight leaned on one leg, hip popped out making you lose your breath at the sight of it. 
Like a blossoming tea he’s unfurled for you. Had stretched and arched in hot water, catching your eye for it never to be let go of again. 
He traces your hairline with his finger, murmurs your name. “Can I?” His eyes are only on your mouth now, sometimes coming up to blink and meet yours. 
Joel seems close to as nervous as you, seems as if he sees you to be precious the same way you do him. It’s equally surprising and comforting, gives you the final push forward, your foot slipping against a grainy edge and plummeting you towards the bottom, wind beating against your ears. 
“Yeah.” You sound strong, certain. The sturdy trunk of an oak tree. Even more daring, you press your palm against his tummy, a few fingers under the edge of his ribs, enjoying the give of his flesh as you lean up into him even more. 
His voice rumbles against your lips, the whispering lost to the wind now, “Ain’t you the sweetest thing.” 
Tumblr media
Thanks so much for reading, hopefully I haven't lost my edge after a year off. If you liked this please consider leaving me some feedback, I obsess over it constantly!
200 notes ¡ View notes
kawhh ¡ 2 days ago
Note
Dark Quinn would do casual dominance on purpose. Not letting you pay for anything, even if you have money and don't want to spend his bc it makes you feel like you're just using him but I digress. Texting you reminders for any meds or to eat and drink water. (he knows when you haven't because of the cameras) Picking outfits and such for you, sometimes even "suggesting" what you should eat for the day when he's not there. Making it seem like it was your idea to have it....
I'm shaking the bars of my cage. Might have stretched the definition of casual lmao.
He'd be so meticulously dominant. He knows not to be too obvious about it - you're a little naive and blindly trust him but you have a stubborn streak than he can't seem to tame.
If he over reacts or offers too many details you're likely to sniff him out. You'll be even more cautious then and that's not gonna work.
Imagine if you found out about the cameras? You'd throw a fit. The idea that he can just watch you? Is watching you?
He has to make it a routine. Make it normal for you. Make the texts and calls in the day expected.
Making sure you don't leave the house without him - if you go out it's harder for him to stop you using your own money. He has banking notifications for you on his phone so he can cancel any online purchases you make and reorder them himself so you don't notice.
Keeping a hand on your back when you're out together - you think it's just a comforting gesture from him but he's subtly directing you away from 'danger'. He doesn't want anyone around you that looks 'suspicious' and he doesn't want you in busy places with too many men around.
You have a shopping list? You really should stop using those cute little bear pencils - it's so easy for him to change the list. He's just helping. You're adorable when you're confused shopping. You wrote them down, silly girl.
You like buying clothes he doesn't want you wearing? He's blocking the website. Oh it's not working? Maybe they've closed down. Why don't you use this other website instead?
You'll never suspect anything. He's sure of it.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
159 notes ¡ View notes
lovewithmary ¡ 2 days ago
Text
loving hearts (and growing homes), max verstappen & charles leclerc — one
an f1 x mcu crossover
★ fc: madison beer ☆ pairing: stark!oc x max verstappen (current), poly!max verstappen x stark!oc x charles leclerc (future) ★ summary: evangeline "evie" stark has been the subject of headlines even before she was born, subjecting her to much scrutiny over the years. ever since she became a teenager, the media has always speculated on who she was dating, whether it be her long-time best friend/colleague peter parker, or fellow billionaire's child, harry osborn, or whoever they can connect evie with. frankly, it was a little disparaging considering that she's been in a relationship with one max verstappen since they were 15. however, once their relationship has been revealed, will their relationship stay the same, or does a certain monegasque ferrari driver have something to say about it? (spoiler alert: charles wants both of them, not just one) ☆ notes: to those of you who are familiar with my work, this is a reboot of one of my old series, (not) moving on. however, this series is not going to be like (not) moving on, as i've changed a lot of things about the series and what's coming up. so i hope you guys enjoy it!
( 1997, 2004, 2009 ) ( pictures are in chronological order )
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
( 2012 )
Evie's phone buzzed, removing her attention from what she was working on to grab her phone quickly. She smiled at the sight of Max's text and texted back.
"Is that lover boy texting you? Do I have to revoke your phone privileges or can you refrain from making puppy dog eyes at it?" Tony teased his daughter, fully knowing what was taking her attention.
Evie looked up to see that both her dad and Peter were looking at her. Her dad with the smug look he always made when he had caught her doing something, and Peter with a clueless expression, looking like he didn't have any idea what the conversation was.
She rolled her eyes, sending a response to Max's text before putting her phone down. "I was not making puppy dog eyes. And for your information, it was Max," she said, going back to her laptop.
"Lover boy, Max, same person," Tony remarked.
"Who's Max?" Peter asked.
"Max is..." Evie trailed off, not knowing if Peter was even allowed to know.
Despite her and Max getting together only recently, they had readily agreed to keep their relationship a secret. Not because they were ashamed of it, never because of that (if it had been Max's choice, he would've told everyone he knew he was dating the Evie Stark, future CEO of Stark Industries) (and Evie would've been telling everyone she was dating the Max Verstappen, future F1 WDC).
It was because of the media, for the most part. They both knew how vicious news outlets and gossip columns were, considering they had a few stories come out about them and they didn't even do anything. Evie was familiar with being rumored to be in a relationship with every billionaire son who was in a close age range with her, so she had her fair share of rumors.
"Just tell the kid, he might be here for long enough to meet Max anyways," Tony shrugged.
Evie turned to Peter and said, "Whatever I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room,"
Peter quickly nodded and said, "I won't tell anyone,"
"I have a boyfriend," Evie said.
Peter blinked. "That's it?"
"Okay, I am so not loving the enthusiasm right now," she said.
"I mean, everyone gets boyfriends," Peter shrugged.
"I missed it when you were scared of me and thought I was going to terrorize you," Evie sighed.
"The rumors called you scary! I thought if I looked at you wrong, you were gonna yell at me!" Peter defended.
Evie rolled her eyes and said, "The only reason why I don't want a lot of people knowing is because he's a driver,"
"So what, he drives? I don't have my license yet but that's only 'cause we're in New York and who drives in New York besides Taxi Drivers and Business Men?"
Evie already felt a headache forming. "Not just a driver, a race car driver,"
"Like Dom Toretto? Is that why you're hiding your relationship, because he's older and illegally drives cars? Is he bald too?"
"What—no, Peter, I am dating someone that's our age and drives cars professionally and in no way illegal. And not bald!"
"Oh, who is he? Maybe I know him,"
"His name is Max Verstappen and I highly doubt you know him,"
"Verstappen? Isn't he that driver guy that drove for F1 and Mr Stark talked to him once?"
"Ha, I want you to refer to Jos as 'that driver guy' and see how he reacts," Tony cackled.
"It's not Jos, it's his son. And don't say that ever again, I do not want that insinuation in my mind," Evie gagged.
"Did you guys meet when Mr Stark's nearly died in Monaco?" Peter questioned, the relationship piquing his interest.
It wasn't every day you'd be able to hear the relationship details from someone as well-known as Evie Stark, especially since she had made him swear he wouldn't say anything. Also since a driver wasn't someone he expected Evie to be interested in. Peter thought that she would be dating a billionaire's son or the son of a superhero.
"We met when we were kids, actually. His dad knew mine, and I'm pretty sure Jos was trying to get on Dad's good side using me. But now I'm dating his son and he can't get rid of me so that backfired on him since he and Dad just bicker all the time whenever they see each other," she told him.
"You don't like him, Mr Stark?"
"More like I don't like how he treats his son sometimes, but that's neither here nor there. I just try to make sure the kid gets to be a kid with Evie sometimes," Tony said.
Peter was about to ask one more question, but Evie's phone started to buzz incessantly, indicating someone was calling her.
And based on how Evie's eyes lit up and how she smiled, Peter could only guess that it was Max. "Can I..." Evie trailed off, looking at her dad.
Tony rolled his eyes and said, "Go,"
Evie stood up from her chair and gave a brief hug to Tony and a wave to Peter then said, "Talk to you guys later!"
( 2016 )
"You don't have to watch every race. The time difference is too much, especially here in Spain and you're in New York," Max spoke into the phone.
"Nonsense, if I don't watch every race, then I can't say that I'm the biggest Max Verstappen fan since day one, can I?" Evie replied.
Max smiled at that. Despite Evie regularly insisting she was the original Max Verstappen fan, he still couldn't get used to how much faith she had in him. At this point, it had been 4 to 5 years since he had asked her to be his girlfriend, and she still was so confident in his abilities to reach F1 that he had actually managed to achieve it.
Being together this long was impressive, especially since they were still young and long distance for the most part due to Max's career. But both of them were willing to make it work and put in the effort that was needed to keep the relationship strong. Like daily phone calls and text messages throughout the day helped them.
"Besides, I was already awake so I might as well stay up for a little longer to watch your race," Evie casually said, but Max knew better.
"Did you stay up late again? You know how messed up your sleep schedule is," he lightly scolded her.
Evie had a habit of staying up to work on projects, which she got from Tony. From what he knew, she mainly worked on her dad's Iron Man suits and Peter's Spider-Man suit. There were many sleepless nights Max had spent with Evie when he was over in New York, trying to convince Evie to go to sleep. Most of the time it worked, but other times, he resigned himself to staying up with Evie so she had someone to be with, even if she was focused on her project and wasn't very talkative.
"I'll go to sleep right after your race, promise," she said to appease him, which it kind of did (he would've preferred she sleeps now but he'll take what he can get).
"You wouldn't even miss anything, I probably won't even finish the race again with my luck," Max sighed.
He heard rustling from the other side and Max could just tell that Evie had sat up indignantly, ready to scold him. "Max, you can't say that!" she said, sounding angry at him on his behalf.
"Look, Schat, I'm just being realistic. It's a miracle if I even finish a race," he told her.
"That's not very future World Champion of you,"
"World Champions would finish races," he countered.
"Maxie, you're not gonna win anything—"
"Well, thanks for the words of encouragement,"
"If you let me finish, smartass, you'll hear me say you aren't gonna win anything with that mindset. And do you think that every World Champion is going to win automatically? It's a process, and you'll get better with time,"
"And how do you know?"
"Because you're Max Verstappen, and when you have your first WDC, I'll be the one beside you to tell you I told you so, and this time I'll be the Trophy Girlfriend," Evie teased.
( 2021 )
sinews has tweeted!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
───
f1 has tweeted!
Tumblr media
───
f1gossip has posted on instagram!
Tumblr media
29402 likes
f1gossip: Max Verstappen seen with mystery woman 👀👀
view the comments
user1: all these angles and you guys couldn’t even get her face??
user2: even dispatch could’ve gotten her face come on guys
user3: HE GETS BITCHES???
user4: all these years we thought he was bitchless, he just knew how to hide it from us
view all comments
───
eviestark has posted on instagram!
Tumblr media
liked by tonystark, peterparker, pepperpotts, and 9914509 others
eviestark: my world champion <3
i don't want to say i told you so but... i told you so
ive been in love with you ever since we were 15 and knew you'd become an f1 wdc for even longer than that.
happy 9-year anniversary and congrats to your first wdc (and many more to come)!
tagged: maxverstappen
view all comments
maxverstappen: I love you schatje ❤︎ by eviestark and 56733 others
───
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
333 notes ¡ View notes
ariestrxsh ¡ 1 day ago
Text
Tumblr media
dealer!chris x dealer!reader
Tumblr media
💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of masturbation, mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn
💸 summary: you and chris set aside your differences to join forces and close on a sweet deal with a local supplier.
there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.
Tumblr media
WHEN SPARKS FLY
chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 |
You and Chris rode in your silver Honda Accord through the rainy streets, following all the laws, using your turn signals, and driving the speed limit. Not because you were law-abiding citizens but because you had about twelve bricks of the city's finest coke stashed in a suitcase in your trunk.
"So, what now? We go bag this shit?" Chris asked, fidgeting with one of his rings. "I mean, I'm not doing anything tonight. Are you?" You asked, your eyes darting over at the boy slouched down in his seat beside you. He shook his head and shrugged.
"Let's go back to my place. I'll make coffee, and we can stay up tonight bagging. Tomorrow we start selling," you suggested, glancing into your rearview and fixing your gaze back on the car in front of you.
"You know, you're a pretty established dealer. Pretty high up there. What do you go on your own runs for, ma? I'm sure you could pay someone to do it," Chris wondered, hoping he could be a candidate for the job.
"I don't need help, Chris," you shook your head. "I didn't say you need it. I'm just wondering why you don't," he clarified.
"I like to do shit myself, Chris. It keeps me busy, it makes me more money, and if I'm the one doing it, I know it's getting done efficiently. Why would I pay someone to dip into my stash and give product away to their friends behind my back?" You shrugged.
"Damn, ma. You got trust issues," Chris shook his head. "Don't you?" You inquired, peering over at Chris. "Nah, I don't think so," Chris replied, staring out his window at the falling rain.
"You're telling me you've been in this business for how long, and you've never been fucked over?" You narrowed your eyes at him. "Nah, I haven't," Chris mumbled. "Then someone's fucking you over, and you don't know about it," you dryly responded.
"Damn, ma. That's not a very bright outlook, but if that's how you wanna be," Chris shook his head. "I'm just being realistic," you shrugged. "Who hurt you?" Chris asked, sounding somewhat genuine with his question.
"Wouldn't you like to know? I'm not playing this twenty questions shit. We're not having a heart-to-heart right now, alright? We're just doing business," you rolled your eyes, putting up your defenses.
"That's fine, ma. I don't mind when they're tough to crack," Chris joked with a playfulness in his tone, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The two of you drove silently through the slick streets back to your place where you unloaded the heavy suitcase. You started a pot of coffee, the smell of the medium-roast brew drifting through the air as you started to take off your blazer, kick off your heels, and unstrap your gun.
"I'll be right back. I'm going to go change," you declared, making your way to the bottom of the staircase. You reached around to try to unzip your dress, but it didn't budge. "Shit," you whispered, fidgeting with the stuck zipper.
"Need help?" Chris asked you, starting to walk towards you. "No, I got it," you told him, but you didn't have it, and you were still struggling. "C'mon, ma. You don't have to do everything yourself all the time," Chris chuckled, coming up behind you.
You felt silly. Earlier, you were bragging about how you didn't need anyone, and now you were being humbled by a piece of metal that was stuck on a thread from your dress.
Chris fiddled with it for a few minutes. "Got it," Chris said as you heard the slow ziiip as it came undone.
He tried to remain professional about it, but he found himself nearly holding his breath as his eyes traveled to the curve of your back and how pretty your skin looked in the soft, dim lighting.
Suddenly, his phone started to vibrate, pulling him out of the trance you unknowingly held him in. He let go of your zipper, and his hand flew to his phone that was in his pocket.
"Who's that?" You asked, peeking at him from over your shoulder. A pang of guilt about how he'd been looking at you all night surged through him as he peered down at his screen. "My girlfriend," Chris replied, glancing back up at you.
You pulled your gaze away from his. A very small part of you felt a little jealous and hurt because you'd thought Chris had been flirting with you all night.
"Don't tell her too many details about our deal tonight. The fewer people that know the names, locations, and prices, the better," you told him, and he nodded at you.
"Hey, baby. I'm gonna be stuck at work pretty late tonight. No, don't wait up for me," he told her as you started ascending the stairs. "I know, I know," you heard his voice take on a more sultry tone.
"I know. I bet you miss my cock so much right now, don't you, baby?" Chris cooed into the phone, his voice sounding further and further away as you got closer to your room. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at his vulgarity.
You shut your door behind you, slipping your straps off your shoulders and letting the fabric drop to the floor. You unhooked your bra and let out a sigh of relief as it fell, joining your dress that laid at your feet. You tossed them into the hamper and slipped into sweatpants and a sweater.
Your eyes danced across Chris' jeans, his shirt, and his hoodie that were thrown into a pile next to your bed. You couldn't help but kind of like the idea of Chris' clothes littering your bedroom floor, but you tried to push that thought out of your mind upon learning that he was dating someone and upon remembering that you totally hated him.
You threw your hair up in a bun and started back out your door to let Chris know he could use your room to change now. You stood at the top of the stairs as Chris' voice came back into earshot.
"I know, baby. Pretend your fingers are mine, alright? C'mon. Be a good girl and cum all over them for me," you heard Chris say into the phone in your living room. Your jaw fell open, your breath caught in your throat, and your hand flew up to cover your mouth.
You felt your body temperature rise as you slowly descended the steps, listening while he talked her through it. You knew Chris self-reportedly knew how to talk to people, but you didn't know it extended to the bedroom, too.
You felt a slickness between your thighs as Chris' seductive voice danced through the air. You tiptoed down your stairs, peeking over the banister at Chris, who was sitting on your couch, legs splayed out, gently caressing the bulge in his pants while he spoke to his girlfriend.
Your eyes widened, and you pulled back before Chris could see you. You took a deep breath and cleared your throat before descending the stairs the rest of the way. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Chris jump a bit.
"Sorry, baby. I gotta go. Gotta get back to work. I'll come over once I'm done. I love you," he told her before hastily hanging up. Chris leaned forward on your couch, placing both his elbows on his knees, and interlocking his fingers to hide how hard he was.
It wasn't very often that men made you lose your composure, but as your gaze met Chris', you hoped he wouldn't notice your flushed expression.
"You can go change out of that corny ass suit if you want. Room's all yours," you casually told him. "Thanks, ma," he said, getting up quickly and darting up your stairs, hoping you didn't overhear his phone conversation.
Chris stepped into your room, shedding the layers of the suit that was too big for him, and he climbed back into the clothes he started off in, making sure to tuck his erection into the waistband of his boxers. He neatly folded the suit over the back of your chair before departing from your room and heading back down the steps.
He found you in the kitchen, pouring two mugs of hot, black drip coffee, steam rising into the air as you emptied the pot. Your eyes rose up to meet his again, and you gave him a subtle smile.
"So, what's your girlfriend like?" You asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it as you handed him the dark blue ceramic mug that was filled nearly to the brim. Chris nodded, silently thanking you for the beverage as he took it from you.
"Her name is Daisy. She's a very sweet person. She's affectionate. She's understanding. She cooks and cleans," Chris told you, smiling to himself. You could tell he was really in love with her by the way he spoke about her. "She gives great head," Chris added.
"Gross!" You exclaimed, rolling your eyes and giving Chris a look of disgust. "You almost had me. You almost had me thinking you were a romantic."
"I am a romantic. I always return the favor," he cracked a smug grin in your direction as he said it. You scoffed in annoyance. "How long have you guys been together?" You wondered. You placed both your hands around your coffee mug, enjoying the heat it provided and taking a long sip.
"About six months," he responded after counting on his fingers and thinking about it for a second. "She know you sell?" You wondered, raising an eyebrow. Chris sighed and shook his head.
"Chris," you said sternly, setting your cup down on your marble counter top. "You can't keep something like that from her. That's not fair," you told him, looking him dead in the eye.
"I know. But it's either I keep it from her, or I have her worrying about me all the time," Chris replied, scanning your expression for some kind of understanding. "If you knew her, you'd know why I made the decision I did to keep it from her."
"No, Chris. She might worry about you, but she has a right to. This is a dangerous business. What if you get raided when she's over at your place? What if someone robs you? What if you get arrested and she doesn't know until she sees your mugshot?" You said, raising your voice.
Chris was silent. He hadn't considered any of those scenarios until the words left your mouth.
"This business is dangerous, Chris. Everyone around you is subject to the risk," you reminded him, running your fingers along the letters of your name engraved into the mug in front of you.
"So, that's why you don't ever get close to anyone, huh, ma?" Chris smugly suggested, reading you like a book. "You don't know me," you scoffed, narrowing your gaze and folding your arms across your chest.
"When's the last time you dated anyone?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. "Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, and let's bag this shit," you angrily huffed, picking up your drink and pushing past him. "You got it, ma," Chris agreed, nearly spilling his coffee as you shoulderchecked him.
You unzipped the suitcase, revealing the neatly organized bricks of white powder and perfectly stacked cash. You picked up a $10,000 bundle and handed it to Chris, but before you let go of it, you gave him a serious look.
"Chris, don't go spending this on anything. Got it? This is part of our reup money after we sell all this."
In most cases, you wouldn't have even given it to him, yet, but it was a test. It was great that Chris could talk to people and get you discounted deals, but you had to make sure he was good with his money.
"Don't worry, ma. I know what I'm doing," Chris said with a sly smirk, but you didn't take people for their word. You watched their actions.
"First things first, I'm always testing my shit," you said, pulling a test kit out of a drawer. You pulled out a switch blade and made just the tiniest slit in the plastic wrap around the brick.
"I just get out the tiniest bit, and I'm gonna mix it with this solution here, and based off what color it turns, it'll tell us exactly what we have. Whether it's pure coke, whether it's cut with something," you taught him, holding the test tube up to eye level. "It usually doesn't take too long. Ah, look at that. Bright blue. It's pure," you said, smiling.
"Miles tried to sell me bunk shit once, but I told him what's up, and now he only sells me pure shit. He knows we'd have a problem if he tried to give me anything less. I still check anyway," you mentioned, glancing over at the blue-eyed boy to your left who was mesmerized by you.
He loved the way you looked like some kind of sexy chemist or badass drug lord, and it was undeniably turning him on a bit. He watched and listened intently, soaking up all the knowledge you bestowed upon him.
"Alright, Chris. When I'm bagging, I usually do it in fairly small quantities, and then I take those bundles and put them together. So, we want all the small baggies in a pile, and we want it to add up to a kilo, so it's very important we only break open one brick at a time," you told him, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a bunch of little plastic ziploc bags.
"I don't like to count things a million times, so we're gonna make piles of ten. We're weighing out mostly eight balls, and we use the scale every time. No eyeballing shit," you stated, handing him a stack of bags.
"Yes, ma. You know, you teaching me all this, it's kind of sexy," Chris admitted, peering over at you. You rolled your eyes and stared back at him. "You shouldn't be saying that kind of shit when you have a girlfriend who's laying in bed waiting for you right now while you're out bagging up drugs she doesn't know anything about," you replied coldly, raising an eyebrow.
"Damn, ma. It's just a little playful flirting. I think intention matters, and I'm not trying to actually do anything about it," Chris shrugged, scooping an eight ball into the tiny square bag. "Intention matters, but so does perception. What if I liked it?" You asked, weighing out your bundle.
"You do," Chris smirked, looking over at you. "No, I don't," you dryly answered. "I'm just saying, you flirt like a single man. It gives off the wrong impression. Leads people on," you replied.
"What? You gonna fall for me, ma?" Chris nudged you in the leg with his. You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying his accusation with a response.
The two of you continued to weigh out the powder, methodically organizing it the same way you always did. Despite the thrills and everyday excitement that came with being a dealer, these were the times you really looked forward to - the mundane.
This is where you felt most relaxed, sitting on your couch with a cup of coffee at the end of the day, just counting, your heart, beating at a resting rate, and your mind, temporarily free of worry.
It was almost nice to have company - even if your company was a former enemy who you weren't sure if you could trust yet. It just felt nice to have someone that could bask in the silence with you while the rest of the world slept soundly.
"Wow. Is it really that time already?" Chris asked, peering over at the analog clock on your wall that read 2 a.m. You yawned and took a sip of your coffee before rubbing your tired eyes. "Time flies when you're having fun," you dryly replied, stretching your arms above your head.
"I should probably head out. I told my girl I'd stay over at her place tonight," Chris responded, glancing down at his phone to see if he had any missed texts. "I can drive you," you offered. "No, I can't let you do that. Look at how tired you are," Chris declined, getting up from your couch.
"Trust me, Chris. It's safer if I drive you. Neighborhoods around here can be sketchy at night," you warned him, gesturing towards the bundle of cash he'd made from the deal. "Ah, you got a point, ma," Chris smirked at you, reconsidering your offer.
"You know, if you're gonna be my partner in crime, you gotta be smarter," you joked, reaching for your keys. Chris followed you out the door, stepping out into the stormy weather.
Your heavy eyelids struggled to stay open as you fixed your gaze on the freshly paved road. The soothing vibration of your tires driving over the smooth asphalt almost made it harder for you to stay awake.
The two of you rode in silence, Chris tapping away on his phone and looking up every few minutes to direct you down different side streets.
You rolled to a stop underneath a flickering streetlight when you pulled up to Daisy's house, a single light bulb lighting up her doorstep. She always left the porch light on and the door unlocked for Chris when she knew he would be coming over late after work.
"Hey," you stopped him before he stepped out of the car. "Thank you for tonight. I'm really impressed with what you did back there with the deal and everything. Plus, we bagged up the product in half the time that it would have taken me to do it myself," you told him.
"Told you I could be valuable to you, ma. Thanks for giving me a chance, and thank you for the ride," he said, cracking a smile. "Yeah, of course, and thanks for the company. It was.. nice," you shrugged, fiddling with the gear shifter.
His stare lingered on your lips for a second before flickering back up to your eyes, and you swore he was about to lean in and kiss you, but his eyes darted straight ahead, and his hand flew up to the door handle. "Night, ma," he murmured, gently easing your car door open and stepping back out into the drizzling rain that was finally letting up.
You got about half a block before you heard the vibration of your phone in your cup holder. Chris' contact information appeared on your screen. Thinking he must have left something in your car, you picked up and slowed your speed, preparing to turn around. "Chris?" You said into the speaker.
"Hey, ma. I just wanted to stay on the phone with you and keep you up until you get back home. You looked pretty tired," Chris quietly answered. "You didn't have to do that," you replied.
"I know, but I could never forgive myself if you didn't make it back safe, ma," Chris replied, still standing outside on Daisy's porch and staring up at the clouds that were passing over the moon. You couldn't help but to smile at his words. It felt nice to have someone care about you. "Plus, I wouldn't know what to do with all this coke if you croaked," he added.
There it was. Every time Chris said something somewhat endearing, he always ruined it by following it up with something perverted or vile. "Gee, thanks, Chris," you sarcastically murmured.
"What are you gonna do when you get home, ma?" Chris casually asked. "I'm probably gonna pass out the second my head hits the pillow," you said, straightening your back and rapidly blinking your eyes to refocus them. "How about you?"
"Probably smoke a joint. Maybe jerk off," he casually admitted, shrugging his shoulders and putting a hand in his pocket.
"Well, you're just an open book, aren't you?" You replied, your heart racing as you pictured him with a pleasured look on his face, pumping his fist around his cock. "I mean, you asked, and I have nothing to hide," Chris replied.
After a moment of silence, his voice came through again. "You're imagining it, aren't you?" A smirk crept into his expression. "What? Gross. I-I'm not. No," you defensively responded, his assumption catching you off guard.
"Relaaax, ma. I'm fucking with you," Chris chuckled. You rolled your eyes as you cranked the steering wheel, turning onto your street. "Well, Chris. Have fun with that. I'm about to pull into my driveway. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
taglist: @skye-44 @faiyaz555 @idrk2292 @chrisslittleslut @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @drewstarkeysdoll @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1 @chrislova @stellarsturns @lelesturniolo @sturniolodoll
162 notes ¡ View notes
chosolace ¡ 1 day ago
Text
Tumblr media
ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ flashing lights, lights
model! geto suguru x fem!reader x model! gojo satoru
models!suguru and satoru are one of, if not the, most sought after models of this time. the most prepossessing faces with perfectly built bodies, everyone loves seeing both of them on the runway. they find the money nice, and yeah they love the fact that they get to explore the world for free, but they only really care about one thing, you!
models!suguru and satoru are loyal only to you. whether it's getting their hair done or touching up their makeup - they only want it done by you.
models!suguru and satoru were absolute menaces to anyone who was not you during shows that had certain hairstylists and makeup artists they hired. the poor stylists and artists who were trying to do their jobs were often compared them to you.
"oh did you even try to match it with my skin? I look like a ghost."
"she would never burn my hair. did you even use heat protectant?"
"ugh I can't do this anymore. if it's not her, I don't want anyone else touching me."
their poor manager would have to beg them to hold out until they were in a position to demand you as their hair stylist so they waited. after they became famous, they made sure to avoid those certain shows because who cares if you weren't a professional? they like how you made them look so why would they not go to you?
models!suguru and satoru are your closest best friends. because doing their hair and makeup was your hobby, they often forget that you also have a full-time job. whenever you tell them that you're too tired or you had a difficult day at work, they love to surprise you by showing up at your door with your favourite snacks. they listen to you rant as you snack on the food they brought. satoru will always joke that you should just quit your job and become their full time stylist because they can easily fund whatever lifestyle you want to live. suguru will back him up but both of them know that they actually mean it but to you, it's just another one of their silly jokes.
models!suguru and satoru hate working with other models. you rarely see them work with other models during photoshoots because they hate doing those. they never mind it if it's just the two of them but if you add another model, they'll leave. they have the privilege of picking and choosing which jobs they want to do, and they'll do anything to avoid interacting with anyone they do not want to.
models!suguru and satoru suddenly go deaf when you ask them to set you up with a model friend of theirs. you're their pretty little thing so why would they share? satoru will tell you that they only have 1 model friend and he's engaged, while suguru will lie and say that all the model friends they have are not interested in women.
models!suguru and satoru have an unhealthy obsession with you. they'll always reject the celebrities who ask for their personal number, and will outright say no to anyone who tries asking them out. the only person they want to be with is you, and no money or fame can change that.
models!suguru and satoru will always adorn you in the finest luxuries of life. they're the faces of the most opulent brands so of course they would use that to dress you up in a designer dress you really liked on a model. they would gift you with lavish jewelry that you were scared to wear in fear of either getting robbed or losing it. everything they've given you would easily surpass $1 million if you ever decide to sell them.
models!suguru and satoru never fail to intimidate your dates whenever they find out you're on one. it's always oh so convenient that they show up in the restaurant you're in when they were supposed to be in new york for a photoshoot. all they have to do is greet you in the most affectionate way with a kiss either on your cheek or on the back of your hand, and then they'd subtly (not really) make you introduce them. if their presence didn't scare off your date, then finding out who they were will. you always think that it's just a coincidence that satoru and suguru wanted to have dinner at that exact restaurant, but if only you knew...
models!suguru and satoru avoid controversies at all cost, even if that means declining jobs that could potentially give you the wrong idea. if that means posing closing with another model or even acting as a couple with someone else, suguru and satoru will always say no. they don't go to parties and if they do, they stay there for an hour max. they find parties boring if you're not there with them.
models!suguru and satoru confess time and time again that they love you. you think that they're being just affectionate friends but no. each time they're declaring their love for you and they don't care if you don't say anything back because deep down, they know you feel the same way.
models!suguru and satoru who will wait patiently for the day you realize that you're meant to be with them. they'll play along with your little games, pretending that you're happy dating some random man but inside, they're seething. they'll hang around by your side until you either get upset with them or they wronged you in some way. suguru and satoru will comfort you and cuddle with you until you feel better. if it was a really bad heartbreak, they'll console you in the fastest way — the most breathtaking orgasm you'll ever have so you'll remember how no one else can make you feel like that except them.
ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈
inspired by this fanart
121 notes ¡ View notes
gatheringbones ¡ 2 days ago
Note
If I'm 23 and have never been in a sexual or romantic relationship, is there a point in trying? I feel like I missed the boat on developing the skills necessary to make either of those things work, and it'd be selfish of me to expect others to hold themselves back so I can unlearn all of my emotional and sexual issues with them. Part of me feels like it's possible to unlearn all of that by myself, but another part feels like it's like any other two-person activity and no amount of solo practice can really prepare you for actually engaging with another person. And honestly, it just hurts that I'm this old and this far behind, that there's this whole side of the world that I haven't experienced, these whole new facets of people's inner worlds and intimacies that I haven't been exposed to. I feel like I have only a very surface-level relationships with even my platonic friends because I don't actually understand or relate to anything going on in their romantic or sexual lives. Like I'm an overgrown child. It doesn't help that I'm very isolated by the material conditions of my life and I can't see those changing anytime soon. I dunno. I realize that I'm just demonstrating all of the negative traits you were talking about and that I'd just be using a partner as a tool for my own masturbatory self-aggrandizement (i.e. caring more about wanting to float around in a sea of my own feelings instead of forming an actual connection to another human being.) It just sucks to admit the truth that I have to become a whole person before I can stop being alone and that it'll probably take me like years before that happens and then I'll be a thirty year-old virgin in a world of people looking for someone to settle down with that I'm going to have to ask to be the equivalent of a high-school fling. I'm sorry for ranting in your inbox, I guess if anything it's a good indication that your post struck a nerve in the insecure do-nothing fandom lol
I realized partway through reading this that what you are reacting to in such horror is in many ways the story of my life and I found it very funny. when I reached the part about the terrifying fate of being a 30 year old virgin I laughed so hard I scared the dog.
I met c when I was twenty nine. my life was unrelenting isolation and horror. I’d kissed all of three people. I didn’t stop being a quote unquote virgin until six months into our relationship. I spent most of my twenties doing exactly what you described: floating through the motions of dating using other human beings to play out preconceived ideas about myself that only left me bored and bewildered. Everyone I met was doing the exact same. We treated each other abysmally; like objects.
then I kept looking and kept throwing out my net and c showed up (because she was looking and throwing out her net). your question made me so exuberant with joy I upset the senior citizen chaweenie mix she adopted five years before she ever met me.
everything will turn out all right.
114 notes ¡ View notes
bonefall ¡ 21 hours ago
Text
Update + Reply Bundle
Heyo all, it's been a while with some radio static and I've got a bundle of bits to reply to here!
If you're wondering where I've been, it's actually that things got MEGA busy on my end. Between the new year, a small promotion at work, getting a license to operate an X-ray machine for extremities (i have no idea how this happened man i have an applied science degree in dead people), learning some Java, and making travel plans to visit my partner overseas, it's been hectic but good.
But I ain't gonna pay it no mind, because every 6 months in queensland a man is torn apart by a crocodile the Warrior Cats never stops. I have also been passively ruminating on the Family Tree and keeping up with checking the inbox. Before I get to ShadowClan and the Glitch Warriors, I'll tackle all the other things.
SO reply time;
Changing Skies Reactions (On Moonpaw's sister being stillborn, the ShellFern cheating situation, etc)
The Flipclaw/Myrtlebloom Family Tree Fix plumthrift is soooo back
Other Fun Stuff (Which character should be allowed to say fuck. Names I'd like to use in other Clans.)
(NOTE; not addressing anything submitted about BB!ASC just yet, I want to put all my plans together first)
CHANGING SKIES REACTIONS
Tumblr media
My honest feeling is that they don't know what a chimera is, BUT, I'm actually glad about that.
I would 100% rather they go with having her be possessed by a dead stillborn rather than them making her rare, ultimately harmless genetic quirk "the reason" why she's haunted. The stillborn haunting is the sort of concept I've come to accept in the setting (though I do have my critiques and reservations about another Evil Voice plotline, especially given the shitshow that was Splashstar in the last book of ASC), but there are DEEP layers to how messed up the implication of "zygote souls" would be.
Others have been joining into the convo in the meanwhile, tho. In essence, I agree with @mothdapple's thoughts on the subject. I hope the voice isn't wholly evil, and I hope that the haunting doesn't stem from her chimerism.
Tumblr media
I'm betting that she gets a weird shipping moment with one of her cousins tbh. Especially if she survives this arc and doesn't become a medcat. You just know they'll open up the next arc with her and Sunkit being mates with 400 babies if you ship her with a girl too hard lmaooo
Tumblr media
@dawn-sunlight
MANNNNN. You CANNOT convince me that I'm not correct about this at this point. The first 4 times it might have been coincidence, but they seem to have pinpoint accuracy for sinking popular LGBT headcanons and hetconning straight romance into old material.
That's Riverstar, Blossomfall, Ivypool, Leopardstar, Onestar (they replaced a firestar scene man), and now Thriftear and Flipclaw in one fell swoop?
Not to mention how everyone was joking around about "Old Woman Yuri" with Tawnypelt and Leafstar and then BAM, Sudden Crowfeather.
Like idk. Watch Barley get a super edition called Barley's Boo where it's revealed he once fell in love with a beautiful BloodClan she-cat who he had to leave behind, until it's revealed she's in WarriorClan now, so he leaves the barn to get her pregnant before dying. And also she's his first cousin.
That's a joke but if Apollo hits me with the dodgeball I hope he kills me in 1 hit
THE FLIPCLAW/MYRTLEBLOOM FAMILY TREE FIX
Tumblr media Tumblr media
thank god. This is actually an extremely easy fix for me, now. All the pre-emptive cleaning I've done for the BB!ThunderClan family tree has paid off.
I Don't Rewrite Arcs Until They're Done, BUT, I have discussed the previous options at length before and how I intend to fix it. If you're reading along but need to catch up on the convo and context, follow these links in order,
Summary and Intro: BB!ThunderClan and the Propositions (ShellFern, StormCherry, FlipBay, or PlumThrift)
Anon ShellFern argument
Anon StormCherry argument
Hypokit Moonpaw Designs for All Four Options
Phantom of the Opera FlipBay Moonpaw
StormCherry Voter who changed their mind for FlipBay or PlumThrift
All caught up? Nice.
PlumThrift is sooooo back. It's basically what they've shown in the first book of CS. Soccer moms and their weird ass kid who they're desperately pushing to be an overachiever LET'S GOO. The most likely thing that will happen is that Moonpaw is a PlumThrift kitten-- unless something big changes.
(Though I am a little bit saddened that I can't do the cool Phantom of the Opera mask thing which came from Bayshine... unless Moon was honor sired, of course. Or maybe adopted. Hmm...)
For Oakkit, Sunkit, and Hazelkit though, I'm leaning towards what anon mentioned. Their canon parents are Myrtlebloom/Flipclaw, so it would be very easy for me to change to FlipBay because of my pre-emptive fixes. It'll match canon, and I have also grown fond of the idea of the two silly dads.
(plus then it's extra easy to have Moonpaw come from the first surrogated litter which was for PlumThrift to raise, and the second litter is for FlipBay. Biologically full siblings, socially cousins.)
That said, there's still a small chance they get shuffled over to ShellFern. Or, more radically, I might end up sending them over to StormCherry. If that doesn't happen though, don't worry, I'm still keeping Honeyfur and Leafshade in my back pocket in case there's no other opportunities to give them kids.
I will say this for certain though-- PlumThrift BB!Moonpaw would never have full siblings. She will be the only child they ever raise. If the canon parents ever have another litter, they would immediately get shuffled to FlipBay or someone else.
Sunbeam's kittens are, of course, Finchlight's. im punting that other thing into RiverClan. GIT.
OTHER FUN STUFF
Tumblr media
I do actually want more mushroom names broadly, because sapient cats would actually be REALLY interested in fungi. I'd even say they'd be more interested in them than flowers. A lot of edible fungi have a chemical compound that makes them smell and taste like meat, so imo, they should be kind of like natural snacks or treats you can find while out and about.
Kinda like how humans have fruit, a culture of cats would have mushrooms. I plan on researching and writing a VERY elaborate mushroom guide at some point explaining this all in-depth (which I will be going thru my little "rolladex" of artists to illustrate it, when it's time), so I don't want to dive into the details just yet.
But in terms of names...
Something I wish I'd been able to do more of is weird, hard-to-translate prefixes. Scents that humans overlook, more time-related names about seasons or crepuscular events, categories of birds and invertebrates, etc.
Petricorfur, Prey-scent-tail, Arionbelly (a particularly large slug for eating), Rascalheart (a particularly feisty bit of prey that gives you a good chase), Thermalhawk (a thermal is a rising wind that allows birds of prey to soar more easily) etc.
If I was going back and scrounging up Glitch Warriors for other Clans, or just generally shaking up the prefixes, I would add names with these "themes" into each Clan;
Thunder: Sweet things and more wood-related terms Nectar, Drupe, Sap, Pith, Grain, bark textures like Fissure, Scale, Tessel.
River: More aquatic animal terms, poetic imagery, and "beautiful" things Caddis, Cray, Salmon, Roe, Mussel, Pearl, Dazzle, Twirl, Dance, Sway, Mirror (for the state of water when it's absolutely calm).
Wind: Sounds, events around the time of birth Bellow, Hiss, Roar, Crackle, Swale (if born around the time of a muirburn), Journey (if born out of camp), Drowsy (for a long birth)
Shadow: Mushrooms, wetland terms, fermentation effects, names that might otherwise sound like insults to other Clans Cake, Candle, Jelly, Parasol, Elf, Sphagnum, Gas, Drake (male duck), Muck, Peat, Bog, Fizzle, Bubble, Rot, Blight, Gnat, etc.
Sky: Cars and Suburban Terms Truck, Bike, Cycle, Wheel, Asphalt, Lawn, Fence, Board, Shingle, etc.
I also really want to put Vetch in someplace. It's a pretty normal and common kind of flower, I just think the name is neat.
Tumblr media
@angelinelitalady
Firestar's Quest Chapter 5: "ARE YOU TELLING ME SKYCLAN HAD TO LEAVE BECAUSE THERE WEREN'T ENOUGH FUCKING TREES????"
Canon? I will never not answer Bumble, you're going to have to give me two guns to ask this kind of question because there isn't a version of me in any nearby timelines that would say anyone except Bumble. It should be a rocket launcher, actually. We need to give her the nuclear codes. In BB I'd give it to Spotty. It would be REALLY funny. 25% of the story is preventing the rise of TigerClan and the other 75% of the story is taking the gun away from her.
Tumblr media
HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR ALSO! IT'S SNAKE TIME BABEYYYY
Tumblr media Tumblr media
@magewolf-the-artist
Do it! Go ahead! I can put it over in the Fan-Fanart post if you'd like. I should really make a section there for written art, too.
Everything about BB and everything WC-related I put on this blog is open source, from Clanmew, to plot threads, to Clan Culture, etc. PLEASE reference what you'd like if you're inspired by anything you see here!
The only thing I ask is that you keep that spirit of mutual collaboration alive. If you add onto Clanmew, allow others to reference it too. Talk about your thought processes. Encourage people to be inspired by what you did and make versions of their own. That's the beauty of fandom.
My end-game goal is for BB to result in a "skeleton" of chapter-by-chapter notes, the sort of thing you would hand to a ghost writer, so that it's essentially bones that anyone could take and write out themselves. This will take a looooong time because it's more about me having fun along the way, so if you want to write something, go ahead!
Never, never worry about "getting something wrong." You can change things, you can grow as a writer with time, wisdom, and practice. The worst piece of art is a piece that is never made.
112 notes ¡ View notes
restless-soulz ¡ 2 days ago
Text
It was dark and boring underneath rubble. I don't know what else you were expecting.
I don't know how long it had been since that final storm, but it was long enough that I could feel roots and vines creep over the cool stone to make me colder. There's not much to do when you're stuck. I already recalled every book I've read, every invention humanity created, recited the history of the earth. I fantasized about using the roots on my left knee to make a crotchet needle, since all it did was hook into me.
And then the rubble started to move.
I held my breath, waiting for the sound to begin again.
There!
Above, the blackness grew infinitesimally lighter. And lighter. Sometimes, the noise stopped for a while before it began again.
The bits of light hurt my eyes. I was glad it was slow going, because my muscles were not great except for straining themselves for however long to see if I could move (I never could). Sound hurt too. I wept when it felt that the noise didntwouldntcouldnt stop.
And then something wet fell on my face.
I opened my eyes, confused as to how they closed in the first place only to freeze. I had never before seen this creature before. It had feathers and fur, like the dinosaurs replicas I saw in museums, but its mouth wasn't beaked. No, that was a little puppy dog.
"Hello." Disuse had my made my voice atrophy like the rest of me, but in time it would return. Probably.
The thing above me gekkered, and the ducked out of the little skylight it made. From that, I could see the blue sky again. And it was as wonderful as it had been before.
I named it Thing. Thing worked fast, and was very efficient for its presumable size. Sometimes, it dropped a few leaves and unidentifiable carcasses on me. The smell got bad for a bit, but then I couldn't smell it anymore.
When Thing got most of the rubble off, it chipped excitedly as I stumble to feet that hadn't been used in years. Breathing felt difficult, and I knew it was probably because of atmospheric changes. And less people. More oxygen for me then.
Thing was a cuddly creature, and it also smelled. The first nightfall I saw, it curled up into my lap as I kept watch for it.
The ruins of the city in the moonlight were...in a lack of a better word, shocking. Buildings were overtaken by nature, and in the distance, huge creatures could be seen eating from the rooftops of skyscrapers yet to fall. Bees that were bigger than I'd ever seen flocked to midnight blooming flowers, that were also enormous.
Thing wanted us to travel. I found a long piece of rebar and followed it. I told it stories about the Earth, anecdotes from long dead friends, and everything else that had been waiting to spill while I was alone.
It brought us to orchards gone wild, across hills, and once a lake. And then Thing reached the sea.
I stopped.
There, in the water, was a human. Or at least...something human-like.It waved at Thing, and it jumped into the water. A tail flapped behind the person.
They finally seemed to notice me because they stopped too. Their eyes went wide, I could see that from shore, and they turned back into the water.
I missed Thing and there was nothing else to do, so I made camp on the beach and waited. I didn't have to wait for longer than a day. The person (mermaid?) came back, and this time with a whole crew. And Thing.
Thing trotted from the shallows to shove itself underneath my hands, demanding to be pet.
One of the new species people swam forward.
"Flolo?"
"Hello."
They frowned. "H-h-" They gills fluttered and turned red.
"Try ello, then."
"ello. o are loo? Are loo sthe Eve?"
I stared in shock. How did they know my name?
They took my silence as an answer. "E ave been shearching forr more shmart life. Like ush. Come an teasch?"
The water was warm, and their hand was colder, but the place they gave me was nice. Someone came to speak with me at every hour. They brought astrological charts, devices that worked in ways I barely understood, and for some reason they had a bible. Heavily translated it seemed like since it wasn't made with wood paper, but with seaweed ground paper that could be wet. We compared knowledge, I shared everything that humanity had learned including all the languages that they had been unable to translate without a lot of guessing.
One day, I asked them why they called me Eve. How did they know my name.
Scal gekkered (where Thing had learned to laugh from it seemed like) and told me that they had been sending rescues onto land for a long time. Centuries. Trying to excavate fossils of a civilization long past when they found a heat signature in the center of an abandoned city. They weren't sure what it was, and began to scour their texts. The bible had their answer. The story of Adam and Eve.
"You were the one that left your garden. You are the Eve, mother of our people."
You're an immortal being who has been trapped deep under the rubble of a destroyed city for thousands of years after a series of natural disasters wiped out all of humanity. You've given up hope of ever being freed from this nightmare. One day, the rubble begins to shift…
2K notes ¡ View notes