#and then he texted me in september asking if i could work like no dude i got a job lol

[sunjoys]

i dont have attachment issues (my tax credits are fucked up because i still havent manually removed my previous job from my tax info)

[badomensgoodomens]

BAD DECISIONS

CHAPTER TWO.

Noah Sebastian X reader

cw: emo. and mention of taylor swift. if u have a problem with that please get over it.

taglist at bottom of post.

He stared at the computer in front of him, nothing was working, the lyrics weren’t flowing and he was just a mess. his knee bounced up and down, his thoughts constantly went back to her, it had been a week since she completely shut him out. Blocked him and removed him from everything. All because he couldn't give her what she wanted. 

he jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock on the door. ��Come in” he croaked out, Nick's face scrunched up as he entered the studio, wincing at the bags under Noah's eyes. “You look like actual shit man.” he states, setting down a plate of food. He pulls up a chair next to him, grunting at the way it scraped along the wood floors. “Right, you won’t talk to jolly, you won’t talk to nicholas, what's got your knickers in a twist?” he said, resting his hands on his thighs. He came from good intent obviously, but it was painful how the boys wouldn't leave him alone. 

“What are you? The fucking IRS?” Noah grumbled, picking at the food. “Is it a girl?” Nick asked, taking notice of the way Noah tensed. “It is a girl!!! Tell me everything.”

“Dude. you're crazy. If an art hoe is in love with you, you gotta bag her.” Nick said, nudging Noah. He shook his head, sighing. “You know I'm not ready for that.” Nick audibly groaned. “It’s always Natasha bro. You need to get over her.” 

“I am over her! It’s just…” Noah took a deep breath. “You know how I am with commitment after that.” 

Nick sighed,  his shoulders visibly dropping. 

“Lets get you into some therapy, hey?” 

She was gutted, crying to every single Taylor Swift song that was even remotely related to her current situation. It took her a couple days to even leave the house.  No long drive through the city, accompanied by fast food and sad songs, could save her from this. Her sister, Nevada, always told her never to fall too hard for a situationship, but I guess that advice fell on deaf ears. 

‘Us’ played over the radio as she cruised through the bustling city part of florida. 

‘I wonder if you regret, the secret of us’ 

Hearing those words sung was almost laughable, she was a silly girl for ever believing that she was in love. Tears clouded her vision as she drove, rain beating down on her windshield. It was only September, yet the seasons were changing drastically. 

“I just wanted to be yours.”  

The words came out in a broken whisper, almost a plea. Truth be told, she barely knew Noah. Never cared to look into his social status, his music, what he was like other than the feeling of his sex. She had created this false idea of what he was outside of sex. It made her want to tear her hair out.

Eventually, she couldn’t go any farther. She pulled over, her hands shaking as she gripped the steering wheel, tears blurring her vision until the world outside became a hazy mess. She sobbed, gasping for breath, as though trying to expel the weight that had settled deep in her chest. All she could think was that she was waiting—for a sign, for some kind of message, anything that would make sense of the chaos, that would make this unbearable ache stop. A text. A call. A word, just one word to tell her it wasn’t really over, that there was still something left to hold on to.

It was a futile effort, her and Noah meant next to nothing. How is one supposed to build a thriving relationship off of a sex bond? 

After a long phone call with her sister, she came to the conclusion she needed a change of scene. This town had seen too  much of her, from every highschool heartbreak, to coming home at 4am from the club. Her art was never appreciated here either, no success at markets, or even by word of mouth. Her day job was excruciating, a boring cubicle with endless paperwork. Multiple times she’d considered giving up, leaving this boring life to live in a trailer park with some junkies, or move to LA and become a stripper. 

It took awhile, but she packed up her studio, and her small townhouse, and took the long drive across to her sister’s house in California. Nevada had so graciously offered her a job as the barista in the small, quaint coffee shop she and her husband owned. She fell in love with Dawn in senior year, she was a cheerleader and he played in the band. He had successfully set off within the music industry, thus providing financial support to nevadas small coffee shop that probably loses 30k a year.

After a terrible night's sleep in a cheap, shitty motel, she pulled up to her sister's big white house. They both welcomed her with open arms, setting up the guest bedroom to be her temporary home until she got back on her feet. Her paintings being stored in the back shed. 

For a while, things had been good. She was in a better place mentally, her routine steady with a reliable income from the coffee shop. Life in California was finally starting to feel right—like everything was falling into place. But then, as if on cue, her past came rushing back. Her ex from high school walked into the café, his new girlfriend in tow, and just when she thought she had control, disaster struck: the back shed went up in flames.

 Her ex was just taunting, but the shed was gut wrenching. Her past lay scattered like ashes in the wind, each memory a flicker of flame extinguished, leaving only whispers of who she once was. Just as the remnants of a life turned to smoke drift into the afterlife, so too did her former self dissolve into the ether, leaving behind a haunting silence where laughter and light once thrived.

Dawn apologised profusely, explaining that his electrical gardening equipment had spontaneously combusted, turning everything, including the shed exterior, to ash. She brushed him off, it wasn’t his fault whatsoever, it was just daunting that she’d have to put all that behind her. 

It was going to happen inevitably, but a more appropriate exit would have sufficed. She managed to book some therapy sessions. Just barely being able to pay for them. I mean, music in itself was a perfect form of therapy, 

“It only hurts this much right now.” 

Were the words she whispered at the beginning of each session. They were draining, and fried her social battery almost immediately. But they were helpful. Dr Sanchez was able to help her label the fact she allowed herself to fall easily, despite knowing the boundaries of their situationship. 

It was hard, having to deal with the different diagnoses that came with therapy. Especially how Dr Sanchez was able to offer medication for Adhd and anxiety. It made her question a lot about her childhood. Her dad, who was never there, did not believe in mental health, much less not abusing his children. Her mom however was riddled with mental health issues, which definitely contributed to the divorce. Hence why Nevada was so quick to move away.  

9/10 times when she got home from therapy, she would escape to her room. Instead of painting, she opted for drawing, sitting in front of the big window. The sun set, illuminating the soft pout of her lips as she concentrated, and the small dimples in her cheeks. She watched as the cars drove past, taking note of the gradual transition to headlights. Her mind subconsciously drifted back to her old life, having pondered so much of it with Dr Sanchez, it was almost a daily occurrence. 

He had spent the past month drinking himself hopefully into a coma. He was butthurt for no reason, not even about y/n, but about everything, about Natasha. He had a nightmare about her recently, it set him back quite a bit, almost reversing all the therapy it took to get here. It was then that he made the conscious decision to take folios advice, and go back to therapy. 

He kept drinking for a while after that, despite Jolly's constant complaints. Some of his best songs had always come from his drunk thoughts. Right now, they were deep into working on their newest album, fine-tuning each track. It was a shift in direction—blending elements of The Weeknd’s atmospheric style with hints of Bring Me The Horizon’s intensity

At the start of their new album cycle, Noah had 3 demos in production. The songs were oddly personal compared to previous albums, the boys just assumed Noah was finally channelling and dealing with his emotions through song following his return to therapy. 

Not one week goes by where Noah doesn’t ponder about what could’ve been, with both Natasha and y/n. They honestly didn’t live far, Noah even considered visiting them. I’m sure Natasha would’ve been thrilled, y/n not so much. Didn’t stop him though, a whole year after they stopped talking, Noah found himself planted in front of y/n's house. Standing face to face with an empty block of land. 

‘Fuck.’

It invoked something in him, an odd feeling that left him feeling unsettled and kind of woozy. He didn’t love her, he swore up and down he’d never date someone again. But as he slowly pushed his pride and fears aside, maybe she had wormed her way into his heart. With her warm skin and the scent of her perfume, or perhaps the cheeky smile always slung across her face. 

It made him a little suicidal that he had somebody infront of him, that despite the sole purpose of their relationship was to be greedy, and seek sexual pleasure from eachother with no strings attached, was so, so deeply infatuated with him. He felt guilty that he wasn’t ready and in the right place to hand himself over to someone, yet still agreed to be friends with benefits. It was a selfish act, nobody could connect in the way that they did, and not fall in love. 

Nothing has ever felt so wrong. 

Tour had kicked off, something to distract Noah. He wrote and scrapped so many songs in the two years he had between touring. His song writing, and the new album sumerian was egging for, were a losing battle. 

On a particularly windy night, Noah was sitting in the confines of his tiny bunk, hunched over his notebook. Nicholas poked his head in, staring at the tall man, concern lacing his tone. “You look like shit.” his words echo within the bus, earning a grunt of agreement from Joakim. 

Noah rubbed a hand over his face, the words scribbled on the page barely making sense. “I know.” he grunted, crossing out a line. “Look, i get that sumerians on your dick about the new album but-” Noah cut him off, waving his hand in his face. “I don’t have time for a break. I’ve pushed it back far enough.” Noah grumbled out, pulling the black fabric of his curtain along the rod, concealing himself from his concerned bandmates. 

‘I’m taking it slowly, you’d never know’

‘Her skin feels unholy, but I'm still drawn.’

‘No god, no religion. Just bad, bad decisions.’ 

The words made no sense by themselves, but they sounded right. He took a swig of hennessy, the bitterness burning his tongue. it almost made him laugh, thinking back to that night. Their relationship was just one, big bad decision. 

‘Bitter ends to the night’

‘I'm along for the ride.’

‘Out of breath out of time.’ 

‘Everything has a price.’ 

The way everything flowed together made Noah want to tear his own skin. 

‘You can be all ive got, what's the difference?’

‘Hennessy, and a lot of bad decisions.’ 

The song itself made Noah think deeply if perhaps everything that happened had stemmed from his ‘slight’ alcohol problem that had lingered from the stress of last tour. He had managed to polish off a whole bottle of hennessy and a whole new song by 2am. Drunkenly sliding under the covers to fall asleep.

He awoke to Nick and Nicholas standing above him, reading the notebook he had forgotten to stash away. Immediate regret filled his stomach, this is not what he needed.   

“Yooo is this about art hoe? Damn bro she got you messed up,” Nick said, laughing. 

“Who the fuck is art hoe?” Nicholas says, brows furrowed as he read over the lyrics. 

Noah rubbed his hands over his face, groaning internally. He was hungover and not about to deal with their shit today. 

READERS POV

I tied the apron around my waist with a weary sigh. Morning shifts at the café were always tough. It was early November, and winter was starting to creep in, its chill settling in the air. After flicking on the lights, I got to work, preparing the weekly specials with practised ease.

A small interchangeable collection of cakes Nevada and I designed. I’ve taken an interest in design lately, taking short classes at the local uni. I was gradually ticking off the long strenuous list of chores when the bell above the door rang. Looking up, I met the eyes of a happy looking boy. 

“Hey, what can I get you?” I smiled up at him, his dark brown hair was loosely combed back, his nose adorned a silver ring, a grin on his face. 

“I’ve got quite the order, if you don’t mind.” he said, pulling his phone out. I internally groan, peering over the counter to the long message laying out his order. 

“Okay.. perfect. Let me just type that into the system..” I hummed, lip between my teeth as I focused. “Alright, name?” I said, looking up at the boy, taking notice of the casualness, and sweetness radiating off of him. 

“Nick” he replied, a small smile on his face. He really was beautiful, ugh. And youthful, how old was this guy? “Alright, that’ll be $63.80” I respond, a little astounded myself at the price. “Fuck, sorry one moment please.” he smiled, pulling his phone out. I make myself busy, cleaning up my mess from before,  managing to catch on briefly to the end of his phone call conversation. 

“Alright, I'll just use the band card-” 

Huh. Maybe this guy is a musician or something. I've definitely dealt with a fareshare of musicians. 

All done?" I asked, smiling at him. He nodded, handing over the payment for the drinks. The bell above the door jingled as Nevada rushes in, offering a flurry of hurried apologies as she quickly tied her apron and hurried behind the counter.

It took a while, but we finally sent Nick off with his seven drinks. The day moved slowly after that—Fridays aren’t exactly prime café days. Most people prefer hitting up bars or catching a gig. I used to enjoy concerts, but these days, I’ve become more of a homebody.

“Yo dude i saw the cutest girl at the coffee shop-” Noah groaned, having heard enough of Nick’s questionable relationship choices while on tour. “No- seriously, she had this long, thick hair. She probably has a boyfriend though. Californian boys snatch the hot ones up real quick-” fuck? This kid was yapping. 

“Do you say that about every girl you see?” Jolly snorted, throwing a pillow in Nick's direction. He scoffed, throwing it back. The smaller boy sits down next to Noah on the bunks, handing him a controller. “You’re all so uptight, come on, play a round of mario kart with me.” 

Nights like these always ended the same, drunk rounds of mario kart followed by play fighting until everyone was too tired to move. The sun set hours ago, yet Noah found himself sitting on the bus roof with his notebook. The creative flair just wasn’t quite there though, the page having been empty for the past hour. He was feeling so many different, violent emotions, yet none at the same time. It was hard to portray these emotions in a controlled way, especially during tour. He tried not to let the boys see him when he was most vulnerable, wanting to maintain the respect they had for him. It was unrealistic, almost like a ticking time bomb. 

When Noah went back inside, Nicholas, his best friend, was the only one still awake. They sat opposite each other on the leather couch, beer in hand. “How’s the missus?” Noah slurred, taking a swig. “Ivy’s good, I really wanna marry her, yaknow?” Nicholas slurred back. The mention of marriage knocks the breath out of Noah’s lungs. “I wanted to marry Natasha.” he drunkenly murmured, slumping back on the couch. “I think she was a porn star.” Nicholas mumbled, his words make Noah laugh.  

She laid staring at her ceiling, the window, which faced the city, was cracked open the slightest. Something so melancholic, yet comforting about laying in the dark, just feeling feelings. 

Not even about anyone in particular, just feelings.

She knew she needed to be awake at 6am for work, but the feeling pooling in her stomach was addicting, overwhelming, and most of all, fucking amazing. It was like a coil, seconds away from laughing, seconds away from crying. 

hi gang!!! see, this one is somewhat better than the first chapter. I understand if you feel that this story is moving too fast but honey... this is just the beginning xoxo.

reply to be added to the taglist x

Tags: @emluvsuxo @Ima1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @briefpersonenemy

[7rashstar]

i didn’t rly sleep last night yap sesh below the cut

missed mayday festivities because i am debilitatingly socially anxious but then went camping for a friends bday and felt refreshed by being able to see soooo many stars and be outside…(and go on the most extreme hike of my life dude omfg)

while we were camping my digi cam fell out of my pocket when i laid on the ground to look at the sky and stars and it stormed that night and my camera got destroyed. hoping the sd card is salvageable..

creepy had hella ticks on him (including one thats head got stuck in his uhh..wiener lol) went to the vet got em removed in total there were 8 (!!) that we found. he has so much fur man idk there could be some more on him but at least they’d be dead atp because i ALSO finally got a flea tick preventative that he can take monthly. it’s been impossible to get a vet appointment anywhere, especially at the clinic i’ve been taking him to since he was a bb. praying he didn’t contract anything from the ticks…we’ll get a blood test sometime in september-december

bestie soup told me u could see the northern lights in the city last night + they sent me some pics but i pulled a leg muscle skating n it hurt too bad to waddle over to the overpass (plus there’s been several shootings in my neighborhood the past couple weeks outside my building so i don’t rly like going out at night rn anyway)

yesterday oomf texted the gc n said a friend of a friend asked him where to listen to my music online bc they loved my set :’)) the last time i played a show was the beginning of march!!!! that made me feel rly good so now i have more incentive to finally upload things to soundcloud again. might work on that later today…like. might,…finally post something

he said he sent them a link to my old bandcamp and i forgot i never deleted my music there i only scrubbed my sc so i went over n listened to what i posted. it was kinda cute. in 2020 i started using ableton for the first time consistently and actually tried to figure out how to make stuff w it so everything f from that time is like. ahh. i’d do that so different now!! but at the time i was so proud of myself and that makes me feel kinda fuzzy (in a good way) like noticeable artistic growth yanno? n also knowing that version of myself who was constantly suffering and seeking an End still felt excited abt what i was making. it’s cute. my old self is someone ive made peace w and hold close to my heart in the ‘it’s different now and it’s Awesome’ way like fuck yea lil buddy you got clean and made it out alive. that’s sick

some of my old music goes hard asf too tho. a lot of unreleased stuff on my google drive i dug thru after listening to my bandcamp i don’t even rly remember making but i was like :0 !!

i was up until 5:30am working on a flyer !! i wanna make more flyers!! i miss making flyers. i’m outta practice and using procreate bc i don’t have photoshop anymore so still a newbie on the program front but i think. i did a good job and it looks cool so that’s nice

i rly wanna skate but my leg hurts i feel like that spongebob guy

[livthechoochieslayer]

505

When two people meet in an unexpected way, love is usually not something that comes out of it.

Story warnings: Nothing crazy, mostly fluff but the end does feature 5k words of smut. HA.

Summary/intro: When Lia went on a girls trip New York, she never thought writing her phone number on a bathroom wall would lead to a relationship, let alone meeting a man she has only seen on camera. Dominic would have never imagined he would be catching an airplane across the country for a girl, especially one he has never met.

Chapter TWS: Slight suggested stuff?? Nothing intense.

2 OF 9

Link for part 1

____________________________

After the first text, surprisingly, Lia and Dominic hit it off. 

The conversations were awkward and sparse for awhile, but for some reason they both kept wanting to talk to each other. The time difference was annoying, and conversations would span days due to it. 

After an especially mentally draining week and way too many shots at home, Dominic needed to talk to someone. 

He had friends he could call up, or even his parents, but something in him decided to click on Lias name and typed away.

Dominic: Hehyy! U up????

Lia: Yeah… it’s only 10pm here meaning it's 1 for you. Why are you up?

Dominic: I dntno I was aat work topay and man. PEOPLE piss me off?

Lia: r u drunk?

Dominic: Maybe.,,... 

Dominic: Anywyas! This guy his namse Tyler right, he never shits the fuck up!!!!!

Lia: Dominic, go get some sleep. 

Dominic: Hes my boss or watevr but heseems to alwys got sometgn bad to say aboutme.

Lia: Dominic that sucks dude, but go to sleep, it will help. We can talk in the morning if you want.

Dominic: realy Lia? Youd do that? Talk to poooor old me?????

Dominic: thanks. I got to go feed ma fish htne ill go to bed. Promise youll talk tomorrow?

Lia: Yes. Now go sleep.

Dominic: Yes maam!

  Dominic texted the next morning apologizing, but they ended up talking about Dominic and his shitty boss for over 2 hours that morning. The transition from surface level acquaintances to friends happened after that, and their conversations became more frequent. 

For a while, they mainly communicated when one was drunk. They had many late night text chains where one person was laughing their ass off as the other was rambling aimlessly either through text or through Siri crafted messages.

It evolved as the weeks turned into months and summer slowly started fading into fall. One fateful night at the end of September was when things started to change. Their texting had definitely increased leading up to the first call, but it was still a big step for Lia to take. 

“Dominic? You there?” She spoke into the phone, the cold screen pressed against her rosy cheek. It was late and brisk outside, the ocean wind not helping her stay warm in her thin long sleeve and jeans. Lia’s hands were cold, and her hair was flying everywhere despite the clips she had put in that morning. 

She had just finished a shift at the local diner she worked at and was walking home like she usually did. Once the sun sets, the small diner fills with locals while only a few tourists stick around. 

Usually, the locals stay as respectful as old drunk men can be, but today featured a group of men who were new in town. They never did anything worth saying something about, but their eyes liked to wonder and she just didn't have a good feeling about them.

Lia was unfazed by men being men, but she kept seeing shadows on her way home that freaked her out a bit. Plus, the fact she could barely hear the sound of her own boots clomping on the ground over her racing heart spooked her further.

Hence why she called Dominic. She didn’t have many friends, (there was really no one below the age of 35 in her town,) so calling Dominic was her first, and what seemed like the best idea at the time. 

“Who is this?” Dominic had groggily asked, and Lia realized it was 2AM in Manhattan. She winced at the realization that she woke him up and due to the big gust of wind that blew her hair right into her face. 

“Sorry to wake you, maybe I should have just called someone else,” she responded, wondering if walking the next 4 blocks with just her mind to scare the shit out of her was a good idea. 

“No, no. It’s okay Lia,” His yawn cut his message in half, “Nice to hear your voice for the first time, you sound sexy.” Lia could hear the smirk in his notably hot, gravely sleep-filled voice and rolled her eyes with a scoff. 

“Why did you call me? Are you alright? You lost after drinking too much or something?” Dominic became serious then, hearing how strong the wind sounded even through his crappy phone speaker. 

“Wow thanks, but no. I’m not.” Her lips tilted up a little. She had drunk dialed him once, but she was too far gone to remember if she actually even said anything to him. 

“I just got finished at my work and I’m walking home alone. I guess I just got spooked from the wind and wanted to talk to someone.” Her voice became small, feeling vulnerable about sharing how she really felt. 

Dominic understood and talked to her as she made her way all the way home, back into her warm, dimly lit living room where her cat lounged out waiting to be stroked. 

“Thank you,” Lia spoke after a long pause. “I really appreciate that, especially since it’s almost 2:30 there now.” She laughed, making it more casual as she got up and made her way to her bedroom. 

“Yeah, no problem. Anytime you need, just give me a call okay?” He sleepily replied, while rubbing his eyes slightly. 

What either of them knew at the time was that Lia would take up Dominic’s offer and call him on her walk home from work every night for the next 2 and a half years. 

The second time they called, it went much smoother than the first, and the conversation flowed easily. Lia was less on edge since the sea decided to mellow out, and her new addition of pepper spray attached to her keychain helped ease her fright.

Dominic was just happy to be there. 

He would listen to her talk about how her day was at work while he lounged in bed filled with cream silk pillows and smoke colored sheets. He would often watch Peanut, his fish who sat on the black window sill as he and Lia would chat late at night. 

Peanut’s tank faced the west, and Dominic wondered that if he looked far enough, he would see a stretch of the Oregon coast. Maybe on the blonde sand sat a beautiful girl who would laugh and smile at all the bad jokes he told her. 

She asked him one time, months later in the dead of winter, how after the first time they called, he always seems to be awake at the same time every night. His answer was simple. Dominic told her he could never fall asleep at a decent time usually, and she believed him even though that wasn’t the truth. 

What he would do was set an alarm for 2:00 in the morning just so he could hear her voice over the phone and talk with her about the most mundane events of the day.

____________

Their relationship blossomed just like the flowers did as spring came around, and soon those evening calls were happening not just in the evening. They would talk in the mornings, in the afternoons, at night, and any time in between. 

Of course, it grew into more than just friendship as constant texting became a thing between the two and the first selfies were being sent.

Both Dominic and Lia were astonished by each others’ looks, happily surprised how they seemed to compliment each other perfectly. 

Both had darkish hair, Dominic’s a lighter brown that seems to always be messy and never really set in one specific style, while Lia’s long dark brown hair always seemed to be up in some creative way.

Lia’s skin was naturally tan, but she noticed how the Oregon coast's cloudy skies had not been helping her keep her skin golden the way California’s usual rays did. She had definitely noticed how pale she felt since moving up north. 

On the opposite side, Dominic had very fair skin, with freckles almost everywhere, mostly on his face. He was teased for them growing up, but started to like them once he got into high school and appreciated them even more since Lia seemed to love them.  

They were both uniquely beautiful in their own way, from Dominic’s hazel eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses to Lia’s brown eyes that were complimented with thick, curled lashes. 

Soon after seeing each other for the first time, the idea of FaceTiming started to float around their minds. Dominic was the one who did it first, conveniently spilling his guts out about his feelings to Lia at the same time. 

The first thing he did on the call was tell her how beautiful she looked. She thought that was a load of bullshit. 

She woke up with her naturally wavy hair knotted and ugly, her face bare of any makeup, while squinting slightly at the bright screen.

He had his glasses on top of his nose and headphones on his head as he quickly navigated through the mobs of people down in the subway. He explained to her how much his feelings had grown with hardly any worries about the people around him hearing, and he said what he wanted to with no shame. 

At this point, they knew each other for around 7 months, and Lia was delighted to hear her feelings that had developed weren’t one sided. She thought it was adorable the way he couldn’t wait any longer until he told her. 

He was quite literally weaving in between people who were on their way to work as he talked on and on nervously about wanting to take things further than just a friendship. 

“I mean, we’re just so close you know? I feel like you know everything about me and I know everything about you, and I’ve been thinking recently… Well,” he paused, quirking his head as a small smile popped up, “I’ve actually been thinking for quite a while now how my feelings have grown for you. And it’s okay, you know, if you think it’s too much or something or the distance is too far for this to wor-“ 

Lia laughed at him, burrowing her face into her light sunset orange colored pillows. 

“Don’t worry,” she lifted her head up to look back at him, “I like you too.” She paused before she spoke out loud, cheeks dusting with red like a slight sunburn on a warm day.

He smiled wide in return, and Lia swore she could hear him say ‘Yes!’ in excitement under his breath. Dominic let her sleep after that, and went through his day with a smile on his face and a little extra pep to his step.

They both had felt such a deep connection with the other person, despite having very different backgrounds and ways of life. Dominic felt like she knew him on a deeper level than most, and Lia finally had someone she could be herself around. 

After that, their relationship skyrocketed. FaceTimes became regular, addresses were being shared, and gifts were being sent. 

Packages included things like favorite snacks, cat toys, sweatshirts spritzed with perfume, letters, and jewelry. 

Their relationship also evolved in a different sense. Late phone calls often turned into something more when the other person was feeling lonelier than usual. It took awhile though, more than a year, for anything to become explicit. 

It all became real after Lia got home from work one day and called later than usual. 

She was already at home when she tapped on his contact, wanting to talk to Dominic as she got ready for bed. 

“So that’s how my day went, it was pretty slow to be honest.” She sighed into the phone, smiling slightly as she tugged a cream colored shirt over her head that Dominic sent her a few weeks ago. 

Her phone was perched against her moss green dresser, speaker on with no response from Dominic. She frowned and all she could hear from the other side was blankets rustling like he was trying to get more comfortable. 

They had been talking about her day at work like usual, and Dominic abandoning the conversation was out of the ordinary. 

“Can I ask you something?” Dominic spoke after his long pause, his voice sounding quieter and deeper than usual. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in question, but she said sure anyways as she walked into her bathroom to put her hair up.

She never wore her hair down to bed since she hated the feeling of it on her neck, especially because of how long her hair had gotten recently. She would either put it in braids or a ponytail, both helping her manage her hair the next morning for work.

“Are you wearing one of my shirts right now?” He asked her, and she was pulled out of the hair rant she was having in her mind. 

She frowned again, confused why he asked. She ended up walking out of the bathroom with her damp hair in a loose braid that cascaded down her back.

“Yea, why?” She questioned, genuinely wondering where he was going with this. She was standing in the middle of her room, one hand on her hip while the other held her blue phone up. 

“What else?” He remarked in that same quiet, low tone. 

“I don’t know, clothes? I’m in your t-shirt and underwear like normal.” She laughed slightly,

“What about you? Are you in a onesie or something?” She grinned, picturing in her mind how silly he would look in a panda suit. 

“No,” he sighed. “I’ve got boxers on, but that’s it. It was hot here today.” He told her, a simple sentence left hanging like his mind was caught up on something else.

“I was just thinkin’ of how good you would look in my shirt,” he slipped in, and her heart skipped a beat. 

They might have both participated in sending slightly revealing pictures in the past, but none that went lower than a belly button. Lia had drooled over Dominic’s lean, fit body and Dominic definitely had to take a very cold shower after seeing his girl in nothing but underwear and a small tank top. 

Lia didn’t know what to say after Dominic’s comment, but he thankfully continued. 

“You know that picture I saved from our FaceTime the other day? The one with you smirking in that pink tank top?” She nodded as she remembered the picture, but realized she was on a call and verbally added a small, ‘Mhm.’ She made the decision to turn off her main room light and lay down in her bed, snuggling up into her cozy, lamp-lit room. 

“I wanted to see you in person so bad after that, you don’t understand.” Dominic muttered, seeming to have a hard time keeping his voice even. The energy between them started to progress into something intense, maybe even heated. 

“You okay? Feel like you haven’t said anything.” Dominic commented, and Lia could tell he knew that she was internally freaking out. He’d sent some dirty texts before and even then she didn’t know how to respond, let alone in real time on the phone. 

His texts were never too bold, but they definitely caught her attention. They spanned anywhere between, ‘I’ve missed you extra today’ to, ‘I wish you were here right now’ and, ‘I could make you feel so good if you were here.’

They would come all hours of the day, sometimes when she knew he was at work and other times when she woke up to them in the morning. The texts had time stamps, showing how late he was up when he pressed the blue glowing arrow.

She might have even received a picture of something in his pants but never responded to it, too flustered to know what to say, yet eagerly wanting to. 

She will admit, she might have pulled that picture up more than once in the past while he was asleep, quickly getting comfortable before tucking her hand under the sheets. 

“It’s okay baby,” he exhaled, “you don’t have to talk, I can do it.” He reassured her, almost in a mocking tone in response to her long pause. The more he talked, the more flustered Lia felt. 

Butterflies were going crazy in her stomach, and she felt like she was floating in a way. This didn’t feel real, but if it was a dream, she certainly didn’t want it to end. 

“I was thinking about you earlier, around 1:30 when you were still at work. I thought about you with me here, in my bed.”

“What about me?” They were both surprised she was able to speak, even if it was quiet and somewhat breathy. 

“Just wanted to see you.” Lia could hear rustling and wondered what he was doing. “Wanted to see you in that tiny little shirt again, maybe even without it.” He tested the waters with his comments to see how far he could go. 

Lia was feeling fine, other than the fact she felt something growing in her lower stomach that didn’t want to leave. Her lips quirked up in interest at his comment, but she didn’t have the guts to say anything back. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll do all the talking, and you can just listen.” He told her, knowing from other conversations how shy she felt in these types of situations. Lia and Dominic had talked about boundaries and what was okay and not, and Dominic had never once made Lia feel uncomfortable. Even with the unsolicited pictures and dirty texts, Lia never felt objectified or used. She wanted those pictures and she wanted to send them. 

“I wanna see you Lia. In person. I’m craving someone I’ve never even fucking met in person before. That’s how much control you have over me, baby.” He told her, and Lia didn’t seem to notice the subtle change in his voice that was caused by Dominic’s hand trailing down his bare chest. 

She was getting flustered sitting there and listening to him, hanging on to every last word he was saying. His voice was like a blanket of comfort, but at the same time it helped stir up something hot inside her. 

Dominic’s fingertips eagerly brushed the waistband of his boxers at that point, waiting for some sort of response from Lia. He just hoped that he was creating the right environment for this to take place. The last thing he would want to do is make Lia feel uncomfortable in any way.

“How you feeling, baby?” His question was genuine, and Dominic’s voice only had the sound of reassurance in it.

“Good,” she stated, “really good.” She was breathing faster than normal and her cheeks wouldn’t cool down. 

“I’m glad. Now, whatever you’re comfortable with, do it. If that’s just to sit there and listen to me talk, that’s perfectly fine. Might ask you a couple simple yes or no questions. Otherwise you can join me, or simply hang up okay?” He explained, and Lia took a deep breath as a sort of calm washed over her.

She could be herself around him, and there was no need to be out of her comfort zone. 

“I just want to listen for now, I think.” 

He liked how she said for now, maybe another time hopefully sooner rather than later, she would join him. 

“That’s wonderful, baby. Now how are you feeling? You comfortable in bed?” He reached down under the loose waistband of his boxers, feeling the rough wrinkled material of them. 

“I’m feeling good, ‘m feeling hot though.” Lia quietly told Dominic, wiggling further under the safety of her blankets and listened. 

“I'm feeling hot too. I really wish you were here, want you to know how much I want you.” It almost sounded like a whine, the way he said it, desperate for Lia to hear how much she means to him in every way possible. 

That night was the first night of many for the young couple to experience each other in a closer, more raw sense.

_________________

Slay its getting intense.

[aspxnvii]

ranting about this guy i've been talking to for the last 3 months because i don't know anymore

we originally matched in june last year, we talked for like a week and then i stopped responding cuz he was never asking me about anything in my life but i was asking him all the questions getting to know him etc etc

he reached out to me in september and i told him that i felt like he didn't care to get to know me and that's why i ghosted him and he apologized and immediately improved after that. so i said okay lets just go with it whatever. **we talk allday everyday since september last year**

he came on really strong at first and was like oh we could have movie nights and cuddle nights and etc etc and i was like dude relax you havent even met me yet etc. first time we hung out was in october - we went to a cafe and talked for 5 hrs, it went well and he said we should do this again sometime and i agreed.

2 weeks later we have a movie night at his house (that he invited me over for) we watch the movie and we both end up passing out and i left around 6am (nothing happened sexually or flirty but i wasnt planning on doing anything with him at the time), i hugged him goodbye and since then we have not hung out **once** and yet he texts me good morning and good night without fail every single day, asks me how my day is, aks how work was, asks me what i'm up to etc etc **every single day** to this day.

i even didnt message him for a whole week because i was going back and forth about the idea of cutting him off and i was like okay if he doesnt want a relationship and just isnt saying anything that's okay, i understand - let's just be friends. and during that whole week of me not messaging him, he still texted me multiple times everyday even tho i wasn't responding????

i eventually start talking to him again and we've been talking everyday since. keep in mind, i have mentioned us getting into a discord call together, going to an arcade together, playing a game together or going to a carnival together and he always says "oh yeah of course we'll do that"

weeks keep passing and nothing is happening. i don't fucking understand. does this make sense to anyone?

When i was at his house, his tv didnt work, we had to watch the movie on his computer - which tells me that he does not have friends over often, if ever. and he has like 3 friend groups on discord that he talks to all day everyday. so i'm wondering if he just prioritizes his comfort and his friends over a relationship. cuz that's what it seems to me and idk shits weird. i've never ran into a guy like this and just don't understand. like i genuinely think he's like someone who doesn't want to get up and get out and do anything. and i just???? BUT the fact that we're both online a lot and yes we're messaging eachother on discord allday - he never wants to call or play something together. so idk. we started sending each other deranged memes and he said i cant send you half teh shit on my phone and i told him i love deranged shit and he was like "i cant i dont want you to stop talking to me". sooooo liiiiiiike????????? we have so many inside jokes and we make eachother laugh all the time soo hhh

the guys who i've been dated and guys who have wanted to date m in the past have wanted to see me everyday, or atleast every weekend or want to call everyday etc. so this feels very strange

[forbidden-x-tree-mist]

September 7, 2023

“You can’t go back to the past just because it is familiar.”

But what do you do when all the boundaries of present and the future blur themselves into this difficult shade of blue you can’t decode. What do you do when you would just do anything to go back to that part of your life where at least something is familiar to you. Moreover, what do you do when the present does not work, the future is bleak and you don’t remember any even a single worthwhile memory to hold on to your past for.

It all feels like damn damn labyrinth, i was out of it for sometime and I really believed that i was, but now that all this has started again, was i really ever out of it? No! Some of us are really trapped inside ourselves, in our own lives and it is the toughest thing to make the people understand what we really feel at that point of time. A few days ago my friend texted me that she needs a cigarette really bad (has been trying to avoid them), i called her up and was like dude dont go down that street, but really it was so easy for me to say that. And she did tell me how i would never understand how she felt. A few hours ago i did something terrible too, as Frost would put it I took the wrong road, I took a way i knew too well, too well to even know that it was the wrong one. But right now while im writing this even im not able to imagine let alone understand what was i feeling then.

Today just happens to be one of those bad days you know, which start bad and keep getting worse and all you can do is to wait, wait for time to pass and heal all that has been eroded. I remember writing in my diary once that how, “We have all slept for nights, after which we never wished to wake up again.” Today is really one of those nights, and I do wonder that how shall it pass, but ik it will, because Shakespeare said no, “This too shall pass.” But does it really matter what Shakespeare said when he can’t feel what im feeling, and are his words but really helping me? Are my own words really helping me for that sake? Will I get over the guilt of doing what I just did and like that? Will I ever be happy? Will my words really make sense anyday?

Will i have the answers to these spirals that run down in my head?

John Green said that, “What you need to understand about me is that I’m a deeply unhappy person.” Was Green talking about me when he wrote this, i dont know. But what Ive sort of slightly understood is that my grief has become so much entwined with who i am as a person that i somehow am not really ready for it to leave me. I remember reading this post on Instagram where this person asks his friend that are we really willing to let go off our grief? I guess im never going to do that, what i have felt during my low times is something i wish to carry through my highs, for i shall always remember how far Ive come.

I really was on the good track from some days/months ago, i started to adore myself like i have never done before, but today it feels like i did away with everything with just some (8) blows. It’s like literally i took the sharpest edge of the screwdriver and dig it in my skin. Sometimes there’s so much going on in my head that i really wish it to get out through inflicting pain upon my body, like really. It goes so hard that i get an adrenaline rush from harming myself, and want to see myself more hurt after that.

i have cursed my skin a lot, a lot in the damn twenty years i have spent on this planet but today i do really feel bad for it, for i have inflicted more pain on it, than it really deserved. But isn’t life unfair to me too like that inflicting more pain on me than i deserve, than i really can take, isnt life unfair too!?

I remember this person in college I telling people how i was all about money and good clothes, i wish she could see this side of things as well. But haven’t all of us at some point of times in our lives been like her only, ignoring what the other person feels just due to the look they put out for us too see, dont we too often feel like how other people get it easy in their lives, but really are any of us getting it any easy than each other? I feel we are too broken for a generation to be. But aren’t we also broken because we were raised by a generation which was broken too? Is this world really so broken, is it as broken as my skin is, but is my skin more broken or my heart, or my poetry.

Is it a competition for being the most broken?

(Will i win)

- N

[thatblackravenclaw]

Will You Be Mine?

Masterlist

author note: AAHHH MY FIRST PETER FIC!!! The way I'm so excited for y'all to read this.

Background info: Gwen is alive just not connected to Peter.

Tasm!Peter x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

song: Beginning Middle End -Leah Nobel

warning(s): cussing, peter is a sweetie, this whole thing is corny tbh lol

Sometimes, you get what you’ve always been wishing for

And most times it’s not on your deadline, but that’s alright

September 30, 2022

“That’s not the point Gwen. The point is that Ben is dating MJ, Anna is dating Remy, and you’re transferring to fucking Oxford because you got offered your dream job. I’m single and work at the university library that literally no one goes to unless its midterms or finals.”

“Why are you in such a rush? You’re only 22.”

“Okay? You’re 22 too! You’ve accomplished so much. I feel like I’m letting all my years just fly by. I haven’t even been in love. People from my high school literally have children and are married. My current commitment is literally to a Jane Austen novel. I just wanted to at least be in a committed relationship or something by junior year.”

“You have time. You don’t have a deadline to find love.”

“Yeah yeah. I gotta get to organic chem. Be here when I get back?”

“You know it.”

I was worn out and jaded

From trying on people to love

But you fit so well

April 1, 2023

“You know before I met you I was gonna swear off men and turn myself into the nunnery.”

“You’re not even Catholic.”

“I know.”

“Oh, whatever. You were not gonna do that.”

“Okay fine maybe not, but I was about to give up on love. It was just so tiring trying to someone to be with. It was like trying to find a pair of jeans that fit perfectly without any crotch bump or that weird gap in the back. You, however, were the perfect fit.”

“Were you this cheesy when we met?”

I squinted at him and then just sighed. “Don’t you have Spidey duties to tend to?”

“Hear any police sirens?”

“No.”

“Then no. I’m all yours baby.”

When they ask why

I can never explain

March 14, 2023

“I just need to know. Peter Parker? Awkward skater dude? Why him out of everyone on this campus?”

“I don’t know Gwen. He’s just. I don’t know. Remember when I got back from chemistry that one day?”

“Yeah?”

“When he sat down he told me his name and I swear I heard a symphony. A symphony bitch. If that’s not a sign then I don’t know what is.”

“I think you need to give romance books a break.”

“I’m serious Max! I just kne- *Kim Possible text tone* It’s Peter. I gotta go.”

“What? Didn’t you just get here?”

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry, but I completely forgot that I promised Pete that I’d go to the museum with him.”

“It’s fine I have packing to do but tell Parker I’d really appreciate having my best friend back!” she yells to me as I’m speed walking towards the door.

“I will!”

Sometimes, it’s hard to see what the future holds

And most times, it feels like a steep climb

And that’s alright

2 weeks before graduation

I’m staring at Pete sitting at my desk from my bed. He’s going through his camera roll; looking at some pictures we just got back from taking on the Brooklyn Bridge. I couldn’t help this uneasiness in my stomach whenever I would look up from him. I enjoy being with him a lot, but what if these moments I cherish so much with him will be ending soon? I guess I knew subconsciously that we were eventually gonna have the after graduation talk. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon. Was this just a college thing?

“What are you overthinking?” I hear Peter ask me from across the room.

“Are we gonna break up when we graduate?”

There’s nothing, but silence. I look up and see Pete just staring at me.

“If that’s what you want.”

I could hear the crack in his voice.

“No! God, no! It’s just.. we never talked about what we would do after college. We never discussed if we were staying together or if this was just a college thing.”

“I’m sorry I just assumed that we were together no matter what. I’d become a freelance photographer and you’d work at The Met.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that works.”

I know it’s just Peter, but I’m so embarrassed right now. I can’t even look at him. I get up and decide to go to the kitchen, so the awkwardness in the atmosphere dissipates. Once I get to the kitchen I kind of just stand there staring at the fridge. It’s more of me just zoning off and replaying the previous events in my head. All of a sudden the sight of the blurry fridge is replaced with a blurry Peter.

“Can’t believe you thought us graduating was gonna rid you of me. You’re stuck with me for a while. Probably life.” He says while hugging me. I squeeze a bit harder. Savoring the moment, a bit longer. “You’re it for me bug.” And that right there made me burst out in tears.

“You know there’s no backing out now, right?” I say though sniffling.

“Do you?” He says with extra emphasis on the “you”.

There’s magic in details

The tender small gestures of love

And they all add up

Current Day

“Babe, babe, where is that charm bracelet I gave you for your birthday last year?” Peter asks when he lands on my window ledge.

“Well, hello to you too.” I say while giggling and getting up from my desk, so I can walk over to him. Checking for bruises and such.

“Hey. Now, Where’s the bracelet?”

“Last time I checked it was on my wrist. Why?”

“I got you another charm. Remember how you said it would be cool to have a Spider-Man charm for your bracelet, so you could take me everywhere you go? Well, I made one.”

“Stop. Let me see it!” It was absolutely gorgeous. Had his signature colors and everything.

“Here, let me put it on.”

I put my wrist out so he can attach it to the next available space on the bracelet. My heart swells up looking at him put the charm on so diligently. I will never be able to convey to him how much this means to me.

“And voila. Mini me.”

I just busted out laughing because what the fuck.

“Okay, was there a reason you came in here at the speed of light just to give me a charm?”

“It’s not just a charm! I’m offended. It’s a charm that you said you wanted, so I spent time making it, so I could give it to my lovely girlfriend. Is that a crime?”

“No, but almost breaking my window coming in here was,” I say with an underlining joking tone. “Did you have somewhere to be after this?”

“No, just wanted to give it to you as soon as possible.”

“Alright bug boy strip.”

“Oh? Is this my thank you?” He said wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re gross you know that right? I’m checking to make sure nothing is broken. You might get a thank you after. Now strip.”

7 months later

And they said writing a song would be hard. This was probably one of the easiest things I’ve done. I can’t wait to sing it for Peter. Speaking of, he texted me that he was 5 minutes away 5 minutes ago so

“Darling? Love of my life? Please open your window. It’s freezing.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why it's closed.” I said while laughing and going to open the window. I made sure to lay out some warm pajamas for him, so he could go straight to the shower. He jumps off the windowsill and tries to sit down on my bean bag until I started yelling.

“AH! You know better! Go take a shower before you catch a cold.”

“But bug.”

“But bug nothing. Go.”

He hangs his head but goes to take a shower. I decide to get my guitar ready, so as soon as he’s settled I can sing for him. He’s in there for about 15 minutes before he comes out. I will admit seeing him come out of our bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist did something to me, but we are going to have just a sweet night tonight where I don’t end up almost having our neighbors complain to the landlord about loud noise past 10. Besides. I don’t miss seeing the developing bruises on his ribcage.

“Remember how I told you I wanted to write a song?”

“Mhm.” He replies knowingly while putting on his pajamas.

“Well, I finished.”

He whips his head towards me. “No way. Let me hear it.”

I go to pick up my guitar, but he picks me up from my seat so he can take my place while moving me to sit on his lap.

“Babe, I need my guitar.”

“Do you really?” He says while holding me tighter making sure I can’t get up to get my guitar.

“You’re abusing your spider powers by holding me captive.”

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says while smiling mischievously at me. “Now, come on. I need to hear this amazing song you wrote.”

“How do you know it’s amazing? You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“Because you wrote it.”

“You’re so corny.”

I sing most of the song without looking at him, because I know he’s giving me that look that makes me re-fall in love with him and I can’t handle that right now. I get closer to the ending and that’s when I decide to look at him because it’s the verse that really brought this song to be.

“Five years later, and I’m still yours. Ten years later, and I’m still yours. Fifty years later, and I’m still your beginning and middle and end.” And that repeats again and then I finish off the song by saying, “Will you be mine?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“In five, ten, and fifty years I’ll be yours.”

There it is. The look that makes me re-fall in love with him.

“And I’ll be yours,” I reply before he pulls me in for a kiss.

[earlgreytea68]

“Okay, okay, okay,” Pete says. “But do you see this?”

They’re in a Borders, and Patrick feels curiously like no time has passed at all since that fateful night he stood in a Borders and interrupted Joe’s conversation. Like, sure, he’s got a band so successful they basically can’t play in public anymore without causing riots and they’re in the middle of writing an album for a major label and oh, yeah, they’re in California. But also it feels like, well, he’s right back in a Borders, where it all began, as if none of it ever happened and he just dreamed it all.

Except there’s Pete Wentz next to him, in his skinny jeans and a hoodie up over his head, just because he’s in a hide-from-the-world mood, and Patrick thinks of telling his past Borders self, Yo, someday you’ll be in one of these stores with Pete Wentz, and almost snorts laughter.

They’re supposed to be Christmas shopping. Well, Patrick is supposed to be Christmas shopping. Pete claims to be done with all of his Christmas shopping. Patrick doesn’t know whether he’s telling the truth or not. Pete can be a weirdly wonderful gift-giver. “Weirdly” because Pete can give the impression of being an absolute self-centered mess who never cares about anyone else, but Pete’s usually the best friend out of all of them, staunchly loyal and always buying gifts “just because.” Pete probably has picked out a perfect Christmas gift for all of them and everyone in his family and everyone in Patrick’s family, too, because that’s just how Pete is. Meanwhile, Patrick will probably buy his mom socks and his mom will be like, How nice, Rick, thank you, did you see the perfect bottle of perfume Pete bought me?

This makes Patrick think. “Have you bought a gift for my mom?”

“Huh?” Pete looks up from whatever’s caught his attention. “What?”

“For Christmas. Remember how it’s almost Christmas?” Patrick gestures around. The store is full of snowflakes. The sound system is playing Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.

“Of course I bought your mom a Christmas gift, what the fuck,” Pete answers incredulously, like Patrick has just asked the world’s most ridiculous question.

“What is it?” Patrick asks hopefully.

“No way, dude, I’m not telling you so you can copy my gift.”

“You’re a terrible best friend,” Patrick grumbles. “You can’t show me up on gifts to my own mom.”

“Been doing it for years, Trickalicious,” Pete says without remorse. “Listen, Christmas gifts aren’t hard, just think of what would make your mom smile. And pay attention to me, this is more important.”

“Yeah, you think you’re more important because you’ve already bought everyone’s Christmas gifts,” Patrick says, but indulgently looks over at whatever Pete has in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Rolling Stone,” Pete says, showing Patrick the cover.

“The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time,” reads Patrick, and raises his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, they’re definitely going to fuck up that list.”

“We’re going to be on this,” Pete says confidently, flipping through it.

“Yeah? ‘Where Is Your Boy’ got a lot of votes, huh?”

“I didn’t say we were on it now. I said we’re going to be.”

“When?”

“In the future.”

“What, they’re doing one every year?”

Pete scowls at him. “No, but obviously they’re not going to only do this once. Like, songs keep getting made. It’s not like the 500 greatest songs of all time have all already been written.”

“I think they have, and they are all there in that magazine.”

“You know what I mean. We’re working on an album right now. We could be writing one of the 500 greatest songs of all time right now.”

“Sure,” Patrick agrees, and goes back to his more pressing problem of fucking Christmas fucking shopping.

“I promise you,” Pete says. “We are writing a song for this list. That should be our goal, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” A thought occurs to Patrick. “Hey, for Christmas, how about I write you one of the 500 greatest songs of all time?”

Pete gives him an unimpressed look. “You really don’t know what to get me for Christmas? I’m like the easiest person of all time to buy for.”

“Do you want the Lego Star Wars cantina?”

“That would be awesome.”

***

The text from Patrick just reads Merry Christmas. And it’s September. And for a moment Pete worries about Patrick’s state of mind. For a moment Pete worries about his own state of mind.

But only for a moment, because then it comes to him: standing in that Borders at Christmas seventeen years ago, flipping through a magazine and making promises to Patrick.

Pete smiles and texts back. Dude you totally still owe me the lego star wars cantina you fucking loser.

Patrick’s reply is, How about for Christmas I write you one of the 100 greatest songs of all time?

[jay-and-dean]

Don’t look down, Baby   Part 1/3

Dean x reader

Summary :  Dean told her to ignore the “thing” between them and to jump in any guy’s arms. Any of them but him.

When we think of a guy our Y/n could be with, longing for Dean, it’s usually a nice dude, a little boring, right ? Because who can compete with Dean ? Now, what if this guy was as badass as Dean ?

Characters : Dean Winchesters, Sam Winchester, Reader, Abraham Hale (OC)

Warnings : Angst, jealous Dean, Smut (unprotected sex -you’re smarter than this !-, oral, also kinda lame sex if it’s a warning), cheating, swearing, smoking, drinking... More warnings in the second part.

Wordcount : 6k (yes, just the part one... now you get why I cut it.)

Note : So for the Aestetic, I used the face of Jax Teller from Sons Of Anarchy, and you have to know, even if Abraham Hale looks like him, he is totally an OC.

This is writen both in Reader and Dean’s Pov. Dean’s thought are in italic. 

Text divider by the talented @talesmaniac89​

Jay’s Masterlist

September 16, 10:33pm

 Dean’s POV

           I always thought that when Y/n finds a guy, it would be the perfect douche I wanted for her. Some nice dude named Robert, a cop maybe, or a realtor with a friendly family.

           He would annoy me to death with his stories about growing up in a farm, and call her Pumpkin. He would worry a little when she goes out with us because he thinks we drink too much when we’re together.

           He would tear her from me and I would hate him for that. She would skip a hunt to meet his parents, another to spend a few days in the cabin he rented… But even if it breaks my heart, it would be exactly what I want for her, so I would let her go.

           I had it all planned.

           But, of course, she didn’t play by the rules.

           And that guy is no Robert…

           His loud manly laugh tears me from my thoughts. His tattooed hand wraps around his whiskey glass and I turn my head to that waitress that always gives me warm smiles, she’s staring at him now, with the sweetness that was once for me.

           Abe.

           Ex-gang member, Abe. Bad guy turned good. Raised by the widow of a gang member, in a violent environment, he already had a criminal record at fourteen, started selling guns before he was officially allowed to drink, ended up in prison at Twenty-two.

Sweet smile Abe. Reformed bad boy with an attitude. Became a hunter after he met a vampire gang and slew them to the last. Now defender of the good citizen, he found his fight, and the hunters talk about him as one of the bests.

Afraid of nothing and ready to fight, charismatic, alpha Abe. His muscular arm in the back of my girl, his long blond hair falling on his face when he lights up a cigarette in a grunt of content while she touches his neck.

Abe. My new nemesis.

“So Dean” he says with his deep voice hoarse from smoking too much. “How did you meet my girl ?”

I met her on a hunt, invited her to my room and took her on that wall. Do you remember, Y/n ? Don’t look down baby, look at me.

“On a hunt.”

“That’s how I met her too” he smiles and kisses her temple. “Seems like we have a lot in common.”

“Looks like we do” I state.

           Her eyes darken and she turns her head, I know how to read her, she is pissed, and I don’t even know why. I did nothing, I said nothing, and her rock-and-roll version of prince charming is worshiping her, so what causes that bitterness ?

What is it, baby ? Am I missing something ?

“So I heard your brother and you have this fucking palace ?” he gives me a corner smile, smoke coming out of his nose.

“Who told you that ?” I grunt.

What is the point of a secret bunker if it is as secret as a freaking tweet ?

           He chuckles and takes a sip of his whiskey, not answering.

           Abe never answers all the questions he is asked, maybe it is some cool thing for guys like him, maybe it is his way of look mysterious or powerful. What is sure is, as annoying as it is, it freaking works. But each time he smirks with his eyes lost in the bottom of his glass in a little huff instead of speaking, I get closer to losing it and smashing his pretty face on the table.

“I told him” she says almost coldly. “Like you did all your friends, Abe is my boyfriend, Dean.”

I nod. What can I say, she’s right after all. She’s always right…

           She was right about that cop being the bad guy the first time we hunted together, right about the fact that my so-called bond with Amara would fade the second she gets whatever she wanted. She was right about Jack being a good kid but dangerous enough to need to be watched and educated instead of pushed away. Right about Mary hurting me more than I admitted…

She was right when she said I was wrong. The day I told her we shouldn’t sleep together again, that she should just ignore that thing between us and jump in any guy’s arms. Any of them but me…

I really say that : any of them. I did.

Did you choose Abe just to annoy me, baby ? To prove a point ? You had to bring a guy who would beat me at my own grumpy-loner-badass-crap-drink-too-much game, right ?

“That place sounds sure awesome, because Y/n keeps coming back to it” he states, not letting me know the true meaning he puts in that sentence, his piercing blue eyes free of any emotions on the surface.

“Well it’s home for her” I say, and that bastard chuckles. “Is it funny ?”

“Not at all !” he says with a warm and kind laugh, and a friendly tap on my shoulder. “You should relax Dean, you look like the bar is full of demons !”

I stay stern, I know I should probably look friendly, but I rarely hated someone nice that much.

           He gets up and kisses her head before he walks away, his manly way to move catching women’s attention, and some men’s too. One of his hand goes through his blond hair while he walks to the bathroom with the other hand deep in his jeans’ pocket.

“So… Abe, huh ?” I ask, the second he’s gone.

           I should be more coherent, I know. I want her gone, but I want her for me. I was sure I was ready to see her with someone else, it’s been three years. Three years ! After we only made love six times. She is not mine, she never was.

And I thought calling her Baby in my head would make me strong. It’s a weird feeling, like I could let her be happy, but still feel special. I would have been the passion of her youth, the one that died young and of which she would think a little when she rocks her baby in her pretty house…

I had somehow romanticized my heartbreak.

But that doesn’t feel romantic at all. And all I can think of is that he is passion too, I’m not dead, and I just have to see him touch her and imagine them at night…

“Yes” she says, still with that bitterness in her voice. “You could make an effort, Dean. He has been nothing but nice, and you act like he’s an enemy.”

“I haven’t decided if he is one yet.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in disapproval.

I recognize hurt. My Y/n, when she’s hurt, she gets angry. Always. And I made her angry so often. Her irritation is growing, I can see it in her burning eyes.

“You can’t do that” she says low. “You can’t treat him like that, no one gives you the right.”

“And him ?” I dare asking, staring at her reddened face. “Does he treat you right ?”

Her eyes fills with tears again and her jaw clenches.

“Better than you did, you mean ?” her words feel like a stab in my heart.

 Reader’s POV

           I didn’t want to say that, it came out by itself.

           I’m thin-skinned lately. I feel like I could cry or scream any moment, all the time. My emotions have always been loud, my sensibility overwhelming, but for a few weeks I’m drowning.

           The fact that I decided to try to get over Dean Winchester probably caused that.

A long time ago, I thought living with Dean without ever having him would be the worst, then I saw him with other women and was convinced I was mistaking before : the worst was definitely that. How wrong was I ?

           The worst is having had him. Not once, but several times, each time a little more intimate. More kisses, more touches, more suspended seconds watching in each other’s eyes… Until we spent that night together, that last night, and he fell asleep against me for the first time.

           It was over. It was too much for Dean, and not enough for me.

           Dean Winchester can’t belong to anyone, not again. He doesn’t want to be a boyfriend, and he doesn’t want me to be his girl ; who am I to insist ?

“Well, that’s a minimum” he answers in a soft groan after a little while, and my heart breaks because I just did what I swore I would never do : Reproach him for any of it.

“I’m sorry” I sigh, thinking of those weeks after the last night, when I had to hide the worst pain I ever felt because I didn’t want him to feel bad about not wanting me.

I still do... -feel that pain and try to hide- because Abe or not, I still live with Dean and he doesn’t deserve to carry my pain on top of the world on his shoulders.

“Can you at least try ?” I beg, low, seeing my boyfriend getting out of the restroom but stopping next to the door to talk to someone he obviously knows.

“Yes” Dean answers. “I’m just… He’s a hunter and…”

“He’s a good man” I assure him, looking at Abe walking toward us above Dean’s shoulder. “He comes from a dark place, like us, but he is a good man.”

 September 21, 08:12pm

 “That place is crazy !” Abe says, sitting at the table of the library. “I have never seen anything like this.”

           While Sam tells him a little more about the bunker, I look at my boyfriend.

           I stare at him, trying to get rid of that uncomfortable impression, that feeling screaming that he doesn’t belong here ; because if he doesn’t belong in the bunker, then he probably just has nothing to do in my life.

           A lot of memories cross my mind, like it happens a lot lately.

The memory of entering the bunker for the first time and deeply knowing that, as long as I am welcome here, this would be my home. Because it just feels right and because, even if I’m not the granddaughter of Henri Winchester, he trusted me with this place, as much as he trusted his family. That man actually welcomed me like Mary never really did, like I was just as legit as blood.

At his frank smile, the memory of meeting Abe crosses me too. I was alone in this hunter bar, trying to get information for a case. I hadn’t told Sam and Dean that I would go there, because I know how much uncomfortable the hunter community makes them. And I was introduced to him : Abraham Hale. I found him so beautiful, with his mischievous smile that seemed to mock the entire world, his wheat blond hair and his tattoos. Something felt so safe about him, not because he looked like a bad boy, but because he was light and happy, laughing at everything and taking nothing seriously… All that Dean wasn’t.

I loved his wild energy right away. Abe was like the drums in a rock song, like summer wind. In his arms, I forgot about Dean for a few seconds a day during the first weeks. We spent days sleeping and having sex behind the curtains of that motel room, hiding from summer heat, and nights drinking and listen to rock music...

But now I look at him, his bright blue eyes seem pale next to the deep green looking back, and his beauty is bland.

“Thank you for showing me your home, Treasure” he says, putting a tender hand on my back like he always does.

And my eyes cross Dean’s.

           I know what he’s thinking, he’s cringing at the nickname, and that reminds me why I am with Abe : Dean never gave me a nickname, he never called me anything else than my name, he will never and even when others do, he thinks it’s lame and cheesy.

 Dean’s POV

           That hurt on her face again.

Baby, you can’t look at me like that each time he calls you Treasure . I don’t like it, but you’re supposed to do.

           This is much harder than I thought, and I was aware it would be impossible.

           Each and every one of his actions makes me face my own contradictions : The more loving he is, the more I want to push him away from her. But the more she seems distant and to have her head in the clouds, the more it eases the pain. Am I selfish enough to hate her happiness even though I love her ?

           I was in control, during those three years not touching her, my heart was aching with craving and my soul was screaming at me to make her love me. But as much as the heartbreak was constant, I had chosen it. I was in control.

           I never realize that it was only bearable because she was still here, my partner, my best friend, my roommate. Mine.

           Now she took it back. She raised her middle finger right in my face and decided she wouldn’t be mine anymore.

And that is a whole new level of pain.

           I don’t sleep when she’s not home, and sometimes food just won’t let me eat it. She texts during our movie nights and wears that pendant he gave her. I hate that pendant because it reminds me I never gave her a present. Not once in all those years.

“Another drink ?” Y/n asks him with the bottle in her hand.

“Don’t you drive ?” I cut him before he answers and I see her eyes shoot me with imaginary bullets.

I’m sorry Baby but it’s movie night tonight, can’t he just leave already ?

“He’s right” she says giving me a little hope that she will ask him to leave soon. “You should stay for the night.”

My breathing gets stuck in my lungs.

No Baby, don’t do that to me. Please.

“With pleasure !” he smiles.

 September 21, 11:49pm

 Reader’s Pov

           He grabs my thigh to lift it a little and grunt in my ear. His kisses are hot on my neck, his heavy body moving cautiously on top of me.

           My eyes are on the ceiling, my hands on his sweaty muscular back and I wait.

           Damn, what is happening ? He’s close, I am going to fake it ? I swore I would never fake, I swore if the guy can’t get me there, he should know, but… Abe is not the problem, I am.

           I just watch the ceiling wondering what is wrong with me. He did everything right, nice foreplays and those love words he always has for me. But nothing seems to turn me on anymore, and without the need and the pleasure, his thrusts are just uncomfortable and I feel weird.

           Come already.

           I sigh. I know what is making this impossible. Dean. This fucker is the last I had in my own bed, the only one in fact. And everything reminds me that Abe is not Dean fucking Winchester !

“You okay Treasure ?” he pants in my ear, nibbling at it.

I’m not a freaking snack, what is it with his mouth and teeth always ?

“Yes” I fake a moan. “I’m close Abe, come.”

Just don’t be loud, that would be so awkward.

           When he loses rhythm, I close my eyes at the relief, it won’t be long now, make it stop. He shakes a little and grunt loud, filling the condom inside of me ; and, to make my fake moans credible, I clench my walls around him one time or two, rolling my eyes at his proud groan.

           Sex with Abe used to be so much more than this. I'm getting frustrated. Did I break something in me ? Why can't I enjoy anything anymore ?

           He rolls on my side, panting, and smiles tenderly at me. He’s beautiful, I have to admit that, and he’s nice and loving.

“You’re amazing” he hums. “I guess I can’t smoke in your bedroom ?”

“I don’t mind” I answer sincerely. “The air co is magical, just, don’t smoke more than one.”

           He sits on the bed to get his pants, his beautiful tattooed back on me. The smoke flies in pretty wreath. I put my hand on the lion tattooed on his back. It suits him, with his solar attitude and his confidence, his beautiful blond hair…

           Yet I keep longing for my wolf.

 Dean’s Pov

           Now I know I could kill him. And now I know what the limit amount of pain I can take is.

           I pace my room like a crazy man. He is taking her, my Baby. He is sinking inside of her and stealing pleasure. Does she wrap her legs around him like she always did with me ? To push me deeper. Is she as responsive ? As lost in pleasure as she was ? With that way only she has too beg for more with her entire body, voice strangled and arms caging me the best she can…

           Is she…

“F-fuck…” I whine, holding my heart.

I think I just felt it break.

Baby…

Breathing is painful now, I feel like I’m drowning.

Baby… Why did you have to do that to me ? I know I hurt you but your revenge is unbearable.

I sit on my bed, still holding my chest.

I can’t take it, you know.

“Shit” I grunt.

How can this kind of familiar panic attack be back ? How can this hurt so much ? It’s not Hell, it’s not Purgatory…

“It is Hell” I say out loud.

Loosing you, Baby. It’s Hell. Do you love him ? Because…

“Fuck, I love her” I whine.

 September 28, 06:05pm

             Sitting in my “Fortress of Deanitude”, I wait. The tray with snacks is there, beers too, and Netflix is ready for our next episode of Stanger Things.

           But there is a big chance she won’t come. Our movie nights are getting rarer and rarer, like our time together in general. And this place is slowly becoming a Fortress of Solitude…

           You never know how much you need something until you lost it, right ? I was stupid enough to think I could be stronger than the need for her and now look at me, alone in that big empty room in a bigger emptier bunker.

           All I can think of is how much each day pulls her closer to him and further from me. They are building memories in which I’m not, they are building an intimacy that I lost three years ago. She will forget me and he will have her, maybe even make her change a little, until one day she is among those people who talk about their personal tastes by saying “we”. “We prefer red wine”.

           Ew.

           Is he going to change my girl, for real ? Make her love Led Zeppelin a little less, make her a little less her, make her want other things, another life, need me less ? Our things will become unimportant and be replaced by all kind of other things I have no idea about.

           I take a long sip of my glass. It’s not like I had my word to say anyway. I lost her. I lost her in the worst way possible : willingly.

           But just when I’m about to get up and go put the snacks away, she opens the door, panting a little, like she had ran.

“Dean” she says entering the room. “I’m sorry. There was an accident on the road and the traffic was disturbed.”

You were at his place, Baby, and you ran to me ?

A little smile lights up my face when her presence revive my heart.

“It’s okay” I say.

“I’m late, but I have…” she takes her hand out of her purse. “Giant skittles !”

“You found them ?” I smile, sitting straighter when she hands me a bag.

Our things are not all gone. And she still cares about me and about our time together.

“Yup ! I made Abe stop in every shop yesterday.”

So you think of me when you’re with him, Baby ? Have you ever thought of me while he was inside of you ?

“Sit” I pat the armchair next to mine. “Let’s find out if Dusty’s girlfriend exists !”

“I really hope !” she exclaims, taking off her jacket.

I try not to look at her, but when she quickly takes off her jeans to slip in her pajamas pants, I swallow hard. Those thighs could have been for me, and I could have watched the show while holding her.

           She sits with her knees up against her chest in the big chair next to me, and takes a beer. My eyes are glued to her, looking for anything unusual, and fearing it more than anything in the same time.

“What ?” she calls me out of my thoughts.

“Nothing, I…” have no idea how to finish this sentence.

“I’m still okay you know ?” she says without looking at me, playing with the label of her beer bottle. “You always stare at me like something had happened to me. I know what you think of Abraham, but he doesn’t treat me bad.”

 Reader’s Pov

“I’m sorry” he sighs. “You know how protective I can get. Especially with you…”

A chuckle escapes me and I know he doesn’t like it, but protective with me ? He broke my heart. He ripped it and threw it on the floor because I had said those words.

“Yeah…” I nod, nibbling at my lip. “You won’t find bruises on me.”

He doesn’t answer.

           When did we become like this ?

           After a silence, he hands me candies and presses play. But, chewing on sugar and my eyes on the screen, I keep my full attention on him.

           I have everything any girl would want : A lover with hot blood, beauty and a heart of gold. But I'm not any girl, and the only thing I want is Dean Winchester. The genius who thinks he's dumb, the scared little boy who lost his mom, the leader, the victim of his fate, the killer, the loyal friend, the rebel, the torturer, the perfect brother, the wary hunter, the crappy dancer ; grumpy Dean, childish Dean, stubborn Dean, all of Dean...

           I look at him and my eyes travel down his neck, his beard is fighting to grow back there but I know he won't let it. The slow movements of his chest are mesmerizing. My eyes go down, to his thighs and crotch...

           I really shouldn't let myself look there but his smell and aura are like a mermaid song and I'm drowning. His strength is radiating of him and I feel myself respond to it in everyone of my heartbeats.

           He could make me scream. He always did, so easily. Dean made me cry of pleasure more than once, sometimes without any effort, the brushes of his fingers, the burning of his kisses... And when he finally buried himself inside of me, it was like a firework in Heaven. He never had to do anything really special...

           And now I wonder : Is something broken about me ? Abe is passionate and loving, we used to work great, he was easy as whiskey. And he loves me. Why am I unable to enjoy any of it lately ?

           My eyes trace the bump in Dean’s pants and I remember the simple ecstasy of feeling his cock twitch for me. Dean... I bite my lip to hold back the moan hanging on my tongue. His thigh moves a little, strong muscles hidden in his jeans, and I think of his stomach contracting that time he came on my tongue. I…

“I see you” his deep serious voice hits the air like thunder.

I look up to meet his eyes and realize I have been staring at his crotch, licking my lips and probably visibly holding back moans.

“Do you need something ?” he asks with a proud aura on his face.

I want to punch that expression off of his perfect features.

           I look down and sigh. Yes, I do. I need him, not only want like I would like to think, but need indeed. I need him to feel my body, to make it alive, and to hear my soul breathe again.

“Dean…” I just say.

Like it was an answer or reproach but of course, he hears it for what it is.

           A call.

           So he gets up, suddenly so tall that he eclipses the TV, the light and my will. He comes in front of me, standing there, making me look up timidly through my lashes. His strong hand lands cautiously on my cheek, gently holding my face while I lean on his touch.

           I can resist him. I can.

           I think of Abe's sweet smile, of his deep voice and his arms around me. I think of this night he told me about jail and I tried all I could to make him feel safe again, that was a beautiful moment... We are something beautiful Abe and me. We are going to make it right, to make it count. Right ?

           As my heart fights itself, playing all the love songs I know at once in my head in a deafening dim of emotions, my eyes fill with tears. I know what is going to happen, and the cruel god writing my story can stop there, the end is already obvious.

           I can't resist Dean. I just can't.

           And Abe will cry, right ? He trusts me. He will take his bag and yell maybe, the sun inside of him will get clouded, he will drive away. Then I will let my body slide on the door frame, unable to hold my weight up, because I will have broken the only man that ever truly loved me.

           I look down to hide the pain from Dean, but he knows me better.

"I can leave" he says.

But it's the last thing I want because I miss him, I miss him like a part of me died years ago and I still feel empty and cold... I miss him when I'm alone, and even more when I'm not.

           When he's about to move, take a step back to leave me alone, I grab his belt and hold him in place firmly. I have no plan, no solid thought, but I know I can't be away from him for now. He smells both like the most familiar home and the wildest dream.

           My other hand grazes the fabric of his jeans on his thigh, I close my eyes for a second and a little whimper escapes me. I started touching Dean less than a day after meeting him, and it seems I can't be around him without having my hands on his body.

           He hums, staring down at me, bow legs slightly parted like he needed balance, like he was gripping the floor for both of us. Dean had always been my anchor. His shoulders look wider from down here and I want nothing more than letting my hands grab his butt to rub my cheek on his crotch like a cat marking its territory.

"Touch me like you need it, Baby" he murmurs and a little sob escapes me unexpectedly.

He never ever called me Baby.

           He never gave me any nickname like he never gave me the place I thought I could take in his heart. And Abe, he calls me Treasure. He welcomed me in his heart...

"What's wrong ?" Dean asks like he didn't know.

Dean Winchester is the world's greatest hero, saved basically everyone's life without any reward, and for this he is a saint ; and still, he's the one that is going to be the end of me. Hero or not, he's my villain.

"Everything is wrong, Dean" I answer in a broken voice. "Everything."

He squats in front of me and my hand panics at losing my grip on his belt so it grasps his flannel like my life depends on it.

"Not everything" he whispers, bending to let his poisonous lips graze my skin.

My treacherous mouth opens in reflex at the proximity of his, making him respond by biting my lower lip. I whimper again and pull him closer.

"I got you" he states, letting his burning lips trace down my chin and my neck followed by his thumb, scratching my skin with his short nail. And I catch fire.

I let my head falls back and I surrender totally.

           That's how bad he is for me : I could let him break my heart again without an hesitation, after it took me years to recover just enough to just function. And oh, I will. I will shatter the heart of the man that trusts me just to let Dean selfishly remind me how much I love him.

           His breath is burning my skin, spreading in the fabric of my t-shirt when he buries his face on my chest, opening his mouth wide to pretend to bite my breast, hand cupping my sides like he had missed me for real. I let go of the plaid fabric to grip the short strand of his hair like I can.

"Dean..." the moan I have been holding comes out, filling the room with sin and the echo of future lies.

"I got you" he repeats.

His hungry hands seize my jeans and tear it open, fighting the metallic button's resistance brutally. The fabric hurts my lower back in a last resistance but is ripped off of me the second after, taking my panties in its way.

           And before I can sit straighter now that I'm on the edge of the chair, before I can talk, think or breath. Dean's anaconda arms grab my thighs firmly and his burning breath is on my folds.

"Wh-" I start but what can I say now.

He kisses my folds like no men ever did : like he was in love with that part of me. An open mouth kiss, tongue eagerly lapping my juice from my entrance to my clit.

"AH !" I scream, arching my back but Dean doesn't take a second to breathe, burying his face on me.

I squirm, licking my lips like I was kissing him back but the place he is devouring can only respond with throbs and getting soaked, which is does.

           I'm panting, I'm being eaten by the flames of that indescribable pleasure that is back. My stomach is shaking, my temples are beating so loud. I suck a breath when he sucks at my clit, moist hand gripping the leather of the chair.

"Dean" I moan again in the subdued light of the warm room.

He answers with a hum, and his nimble tongue pushes at my entrance, making my thighs shake violently in the vise grip of his arms.

           I can't escape what Dean does to me so I let go.

           My whole body falls backward when I come, harder than I have in years, holding his hair so tight it might hurt him, legs shaken by electricity, back arching and chest fighting itself to breath. My sensible clit seems to have nerves in my whole body and I fall silent, covered in sweat, suffocated by a forbidden crushing orgasm.

           I whimper desperately, limp and lost, panting in the chair like I didn't realize yet what just hit me. But Dean knows what he's doing, he knows where this goes.

           He opens his jeans, I can feel it even though I don't see him, my head still back, moaning at the caresses of his tongue on my neck. I bite my lip hard, hand moving from the arm of the chair to his, to feel his eagerness.

           And he grabs my thighs harshly, making me fall on the floor with him and holds my back when I can't, keeping me against him.

"So wrong..." I whisper in a dying echo of my disgrace.

His hand grasps my face firmly and makes me look at him. His eyes have this fire in them, he clenches his jaw when I roll my lips a little, wetting his craved cock on me, dying of being finally filled by him.

"Keep your eyes on me" he groans, grabbing his length to guide it at my throbbing entrance.

"Dean..." I moan, fingers reaching his stomach under his clothes to feel it tremble.

"Eyes on me baby" he repeats low.

 Dean's Pov

           She can't think of him. Not now. I need her with me, I need her for me.

Feel me, baby.

           I smile slightly when she dives her unfocused pupils in my eyes. She's perfect and I love her ; but I must say when she seems to surrender so completely to my touch, that's when forgot why I asked her to stay away.

           When I enter her, her phone lights up once again in her back, on the floor. I groan loud as she wraps me like only she can, like she was trying to suck me inside her core. She's shaking, she's fighting to keep her eyes on me and I'm fighting that urge to grab her phone and shatter it in a million pieces against the wall.

           She gasps, her body threatening to fall back so I hold her.

That's it baby, stay with me, feel me, let me take you like I used to when you were mine.

My hand fists her hair and my mouth gets attracted to her pulse point so I bend to suck at it, barely thrusting for now, just enjoying to be inside of her, feeling her pulsating with desire, the concrete hard floor digging in my knees.

           Her arms wrap around me, she cling to me and I try to ignore my jealousy shouting at me.

Baby, you try to ignore me but can he do that to you ? Can he turn you into a purring cat like that ?

"Dean" she moans, clenching around me, her thighs trying to get herself even closer so she takes me impossibly deeper.

"Say you want me" I murmur against her skin in a voice I barely recognize.

"I want you" she gives in, exhaling in my ear.

           Behind her, her phone lights up one more time with a text : "I found us a case in California, Treasure."

=> PART 2

FEEDBACK IS GOLD

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[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 10

Day 10 - You are born with a birthmark, similar to a tattoo, that is shared by your soulmate.

Pairing(s): Romantic Anaroceit, Romantic RemSleep, Ambiguous Poly Glasses Gays 

TWs: Swearing, Remus being Remus, animal death metions briefly, implied sexual mention once I think? 

–

Why was it so difficult to simply bring together two handsome, obnoxious soulmates?

How could grown men be this dense?!Virgil had been trying for MONTHS at this point to get these idiots to date, yet for some reason 

Instead of wanting to date each other, they both seemed far more interested in someone else.

In him.

Why, why did this have to be his life? Tormented by such stupid, handsome men?

Okay, maybe he had a teeny crush on both of them but Virgil was getting ahead of himself.

Working at the local theatre was doing some real good for Virgil; being a techie meant he was mostly out of the spotlight - so no chance of any performance anxiety - and it meant he had to actually wake up and be a functional human being but was flexible enough that he could call in sick pretty easily if he needed a mental health day. 

Thankfully, things had been going well until Virgil looked down from the catwalk to note that the two best actors in their troupe, Roman Prince and Janus D. Lyre, both bore each other’s soulmate markings. Both on the backs of their necks, all too easy to miss. Ever since, Virgil had been trying to subtly get them to realise they were soulmates. Of course, given the intimacy of the soulmate marks, it would be entirely outrageous for Virgil to simply tell them they were soulmates; social etiquette wasn’t his forte, but his anxiety really didn’t want the possible shunning he might receive if he broke that rule. Knowing that Janus and Roman were often together for rehearsals and were similarly self-obsessed, Virgil assumed getting them interested in each other would be a piece of cake.

And yet. Somehow. The man they were both interested in was Virgil himself.

Every time he tried to get the two talking, Virgil wound up being flirted with or found himself stuck between two arguing idiots. If anything, Virgil wondered if his interfering had made things worse. Now instead of kidding and being perfect and gorgeous together, they were absolutely straight up enemies. Janus did his best to interrupt - and one-up - Roman’s stellar attempts at flirting, and Roman often tried to out shine Janus by giving Virgil anything from his favourite chocolates to gothic black roses to new headphones.

Not that Virgil didn’t secretly love being the object of their mutual affection, if anything it gave him hope that perhaps whoever his soulmate was would dote on him just as much. But just like his non-existent soulmate mark, this just wasn’t meant to be. He still wasn’t sure why he didn’t have a soulmate mark like everyone else; even his ace and aro friends confirmed they had soulmates too, so why was he skipped over? Probably because no one would ever want to be his soulmate.Yeah. Probably.

Virgil was lost in that downward spiral when Remus leapt off of the set he was painting and landed just shy of crushing the poor emo.

“Wow you look like shit,”, the trash rat greeted, sitting and slinging an arm around Virgil before he could protest, “Are the girls fighting again?”

Virgil tried to stifle a snicker. It’s a stupid meme reference, Virgil, don’t laugh.

“Of course it fucking is, when is it not?“

Remus nodded, though he looked more bored than sympathetic, “Well, how about I offer you some advice, my good bitch?”

Virgil squinted at him in both annoyance and suspicion. “If it’s going to get me arrested, it’s a solid ‘fuck no’.”

“Relax, asshole, it’s totally legal and requires zero body bags and or falsified witness statements!”

Well. That’s about as good as they’re going to get. Virgil huffed, “Fine, give me the deets, Ratman.”

Remus snickered at the old nickname; A decade had passed but still the memory of the two of them graffitiing their high school gym with their tags on their last day still lived on.

“Alright, Stitch Bitch, here’s how you do it,”, Remus ignored Virgil’s eye roll and continued, “Ask them both on a date, same place and time. Talk about your interests, since you’re probably not gonna actually have that much in common, then you can just reject both of them! They’ll be driven into each other’s arms, or some shit. You know what they’re like, they’re dramatic as fuck. It’ll be perfect.”

Virgil wasn’t amused, “But what if they don’t? What if I just end up breaking both their hearts and they wind up all depressed and-?!”

“Then it solves your problem anyway, dipshit.”, he rolled his eyes, “Jeez, you’re worse than Roman with the dramatics! Think of the middle ground, you turn them both down, they go home sulking, but they’re big boys! They’ll get over it and get together some other day! Big deal!” Remus affectionately ruffled Virgil’s hair and didn’t stop until Virgil all but threw him off, “Alright, alright, fine! I’ll try, but if it all goes wrong, you’re helping me pack to move across the fucking globe.” “Ooh, alright! Or I can hide your body if it goes REALLY badly! I know how to make sure the police never find it, after all! Did you know you just need to bury it vertically and put a dead animal on top-”

Virgil tuned him out, already trying to narrow down locations for dates in his head. He’d need to pick somewhere both Roman and Janus would agree to go. He didn’t exactly doubt either of them would turn him down, but he needed to be sure they’d both attend. Perhaps the local restaurants would be a good place to start? It’d be easy to Mrs.Doubtfire that shit. Minus the clothing change, of course. Maybe the Golden Palace might be a good idea? It’s bougie enough for Roman, classy enough for Janus, and if Virgil got lucky enough, perhaps they’d both be the ones to pay for dinner.

“...And so I told Roman about it and then Roman tells me “Remus, you dunce, you got arrested because you were caught carrying a dangerous weapon in Starbucks” but I personally think that cop was just an asshole. I mean, it was just a baseball bat for fuck’s sake, so WHAT if it had a few nails in it-”

The techie noted that Remus was still babbling to himself so he clicked his fingers just shy or flicking him in the ear,

“When’s Roman free? I know Janus is pretty flexible-”

“I’ll bet.”, Remus snickered. “Dude. You have your soulmate, don’t be a dick.”

“Hey, that doesn’t mean I can’t mentally rank every guy here on how bendy I think they’d be in bed-”

“THAT ASIDE.”, Virgil interrupted, rubbing his temples like it would squeeze out the horrible mental image and several questions he never wanted answers to, “I’ve nailed down the where, I just need the when. Janus is free most days, but Roman’s pretty enigmatic about that shit. Do you know if he’s free tonight? Might as well get this shit over with.”

Remus mulled it over, “He should be. But you should probably just ask him first then Janus. Y’know, save yourself the trouble.”

Ah. That did make sense. Virgil tried not to let it show that he hadn’t thought of that and nodded, “Right… Okay. Just, if I fuck up talking to either of them, be ready.”

“With the car or a shovel?”

“Both.”

The trashrat snickered and let Virgil stand up, giving him an ‘affectionate’ jab in the back of his knee just to get a reaction out of the techie. Virgil wasn’t sure why Remus did that sometimes, he figured it was just another one of the demented twin’s eccentricities.

Inhaling deeply, Virgil sought out Roman, careful to avoid Janus’ line of sight as he tapped the flamboyant twin on the arm. Roman spun to face him, his expression lighting up in a way that made Virgil shamefully wish that he was his soulmate. That he was worthy of all his doting.

“Virge! What can I do for you, my dark and stormy knight?”

Stop being so fucking charming perhaps?

“Uh, it’s kind of an embarrassing request, so bear with me.”

“Of course! What’s up?”

Just ask him, ignore the butterflies, he’s not your soulmate.

“I was wondering, if you’d want to go on a date with me tonight-”

Roman positively swept the emo off his feet, his beaming smile could have burned itself into Virgil’s eyes.

“YES!! YES, I’D ADORE-”

“YEP! Okay, that’s great!”, he shushed him, trying to keep things as quiet as possible, “Listen, I know you’re excited but I’m really anxious about this-”

“Nothing new there.”, Roman chuckled affectionately as he put Virgil down.

“Oh shut up,”, Virgil smirked, pushing down the sunny feeling that chuckle brought out, “Look, I’ll text you the details so can you just keep this between us? I don’t want anyone gossiping. Not that I’m ashamed of you or anything I just-”

Roman carefully halted his word vomit with a gentle caress of Virgil’s cheek, “It’s alright, I understand. After all, with such an honour, I’d do good not to betray the trust of my charming prince.”

Virgil flusteredly averted his gaze, “Hmph. What happened to your ‘dark and stormy knight’?”

“Well, if things go well, I’d hope to promote him.”

The wink Roman shot Virgil should be illegal, that thing could have killed him. The techie just gave him an attempt at an ‘oh fuck off’ smirk that came out more as a ‘fuck I have a crush’ shy smile.

No time to dwell on it, he had another stupidly handsome man to ask on a fake date. 

Virgil checked with the stagehands and made his way over to the backstage dressing room area, finding Janus sat on one of the makeup tables while their dramaturg was busy going over some directions for their next rehearsal. Upon looking up and noticing him, Janus smirked - another expression that should be outright banned for it’s lethality - and politely requested the dramaturg ‘bother him another time’. They did exactly that, leaving Virgil and Janus alone to talk,

“Virgil,”, Janus purred with a voice like sweet honey, “what brings you here?”

Don’t think about that sexy voice, don’t think about that sexy voice, don’t-

“You, actually.” Play it cool, Virge. Be suave and charming. “I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

Janus’ eyes widened slightly in surprise. Virgil felt pretty proud to have finally stunned the silver-tongued gent, though he knew it’d only be a fleeting victory. If anyone would out-smooth even the most flirty person alive, it would be Janus.

With a snake-like fluidity, Janus slunk off of the table and made his way over to Virgil; whereas Roman was only an inch or two taller than him, Janus had a whole six inches at least. Virgil found it semi-intimidating, but that just made the taller man more attractive if he was being honest. Janus softly ran a hand through Virgil’s purple-dyed hair, 

“That’s rather a bold request, Virgil. What brought this on, if I may ask? Not that I’m complaining..”

Virgil had to work extremely hard to resist the urge to nestle into the warmth of his palm. Not your soulmate! Stop it! “I uh, I figured I would take a risk for once. It’s alright if you don’t wanna-”

“No.”, Janus interjected, the hand in Virgil’s hair sliding under his chin to lock their eyes, “I’d very much like to go on a date with you. When and where?”

Virgil swallowed nervously, “The Golden Palace, tonight? I’ll um, I’ll book the table and text you the time-”

“Perfect.”, Janus smirked, gently releasing Virgil. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been subconsciously leaning into Janus’ touch until he almost felt himself sway. “I’ll be sure to wear my best suit for you. Really give you something to blush over.”

Shit.

Virgil had no rebuttal, he simply nodded and hastily headed back to his usual breakspot to work out just how he would survive tonight…

--

It turned out the answer was simple; he wouldn’t.

Thankfully Virgil had settled on an outfit that was just the right mix of fancy and casual; his black leather jacket hugged his shoulders which his dark purple button up sat under. He’d gone back and forward between his options for bottoms, but in the end, he preferred his black short pencil skirt and a pair of sheer black tights that matched his black ankle boots. It was a bold choice, but Virgil felt far more powerful in that combination. Like he could kick ass and get away with it.

Virgil needn’t have bothered, however, as the second he showed up at quarter to seven to meet Roman, any semblance of confidence in his ability to control the situation went right out the window. It should have been illegal to look that handsome. A white waistcoat and pants bearing gold trim, combined with a burgundy button up shirt with the sleeves rolled? How dare Roman look that beautiful-

Oh god, now he’s smiling at him from across the room. Too late to back out now. 

Swallowing nervously, Virgil returned the smile and headed over to the table he’d booked; far enough from the door for Roman to miss Janus arriving, and out of the way enough so that they wouldn’t see each other too soon. If he wasn’t so nervous, Virgil would have pat himself on the back for the trouble he went to securing two tables over the phone, but the last thing he wanted to focus on was the person on the phone’s sassy remarks as he did so. Instead, he focused on Roman politely getting up to pull out his chair for him.

“You look stunning, Virge! Did you change up your eye shadow too?”

Virgil gave an anxious nod, “Yeah, I thought maybe I’d try the purple instead of solid black like usual. Do you like it?”

Roman’s grin could’ve smothered him in the night and he’d have thanked it for the priveledge, “I love it!”

While keeping an eye on the time, Virgil let himself roll into conversation with Roman; he was surprised by not only how smoothly the conversation went, but how much they had in common. Sure, there was a tiiiiny heated exchange as to which Disney movie reigned supreme, but their mutual love of Nightmare Before Christmas and the artistic pursuits made for some wonderful discussion. It was a shame Virgil had to remind himself of just why he was doing this. 

He was supposed to be making his rejection of Roman easier, not more difficult.

Finally, as 8 O’clock rolled around, Janus walked in followed by a few other smartly dressed patrons. Of course, Janus very much stood out among them wearing a black dinner suit with an obsidian waist coat and golden coloured button up underneath. His usual bowler hat had been replaced for a much fancier one with a larger brim that held a marigold flower. The sight was so enticing, Virgil had to will himself to stop staring as he got up from the table,

“Excuse me, Roman, mind if I go use the bathroom?”

Roman gave a nod and Virgil made haste towards the restroom area; thankfully he’d planned ahead and knew he could use the corridor that went along behind the bar to emerge on the other side of the room without being detected. However, a new obstacle proved to be a challenge; Janus hadn’t taken his eyes off of the door since the moment he’d walked in and removed his suit jacket. 

Damn. Virgil hadn’t anticipated that. 

Luckily, one of the men who’d come in behind Janus - a man adorned in an off-black suit wearing a beanie, a pair of sunglasses, and a face mask - had just come out of the bathroom door behind him. Without the time to let his social anxiety kick in, Virgil stopped the man and asked quietly, “Hey, sorry to be a bother, but if you can distract the handsome guy at that table for a couple  minutes,“, he began, gesturing to Janus, “I’ll give you ten bucks, how’s that sound?”.

The man seemed to stare for a moment behind the shades then silently gestured with his hands in a motion of “more”.

Of course.

“Okay, uh, fifteen?”

More again. This asshole..

“Ugh, fine, twenty! That's as much as I can spare!”

The man shrugged and nodded, gladly taking the money and, to his credit, doing exactly as was asked. Virgil watched him approach Janus, asking for the time if the way Janus took his attention and turned it to his watch was an indication. It bought Virgil enough time to ‘arrive’ just as the man gave a thank you nod to Janus.

“Sorry I’m a little late,”, Virgil apologised, taking his seat, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?”

 “Not at all,”, Janus assured him, smirking delightedly in a way that made Virgil’s knees feel weak even in a sitting position, “You look beautiful, Virgil, if I’d known you’d look so good, I’d have picked out an even better suit.”

This fucking guy, oh my god. “Oh shut up, you look handsome as is.”, Virgil shot back, doing his best to remain calm even as Janus leant in close to strike up conversation.

--

“I’m telling you, babes, he’s either a cheater or he’s crazy.”

Remy aimed the stirrer he’d been using to push back his cuticles towards Virgil and Janus, then trained it on his stoic co worker, “Look, he’s got two gorgeous guys here and neither of them have noticed yet.”

The aforementioned co worker rolled his eyes, “Remy, you have once again utterly misread the situation for the sake of needless dramatics. It’s rather obvious what’s going on here if you take the time to pick up on subtle body language clues.”

“What’s this about clues, Logie Bear?”, questioned a rather eager waiter carrying a tray of glasses back behind the bar. “Are you playing Sherlock again?”

“Patton, please, refrain from the pet names during working hours, I’ve told you before-”

“While they’re perfectly suitable and welcome at home, we must remain professional at work.”, chimed in another bespectacled man who was manning the till, ��It’s fine Logan, honey, let them off the hook this once, okay?”

Patton put down the tray and wrapped their arms around the man who’d just spoken, “Emile’s right! C’mon Logan, you can’t deny it, you like the name too-”

Logan cleared his throat to throw off the peachy blush that threatened to give away his adoration for his soulmates, ”As I was saying before, it’s obvious as to what this rather anxious individual is up to. His body language isn’t that of a cheater, Remy,”, the server flipped Logan the bird, “In fact, I’d hazard a guess that the poor lad is simply attempting to work out which man is his soulmate. I read a fascinating journal that talked all about this phenomenon where some soulmates are unable to see their soulmarks and thus rely on a technique comparable to sensing one’s aura-”

“Okay so like, you think he’s trying to get a read on these two to narrow it down?”, Remy interrupted before Logan could further explore his tangent, “Well then, it’s obvious which one he’s gonna pick.”

Remy gestured lazily over his shoulder at Roman, who was currently twirling his fork between his fingers, “It’s gonna be Tall, Dark and Dumbass over there, babes.”

Logan scoffed, “Falsehood. Clearly the gentleman he’s sat with currently is a much more appropriate option.”. The server nodded his head in their direction, “All factors point to the man in black not only being the more suitable option, but his body language is far more open and receptive to our subject.”

“Subject. Christ it’s like I’m back in science one.”, Remy groaned, but continued to argue, “Besides, you’re ignoring how he’s like, totes more comfortable with my boy in white, sweetie. Look at him, he can’t wait to get away from your boy in black.“

Sure enough, Virgil had gone to switch partners again, returning to Roman with a sweetly shy apologetic gesture.

Patton piped up, “What if they’re like us, Logie Bear? Y’know, more than one soulmate?”

Logan shook his head, “Ridiculous, it’d make no sense to have such a date if that were the case.”

Remy nodded in agreement for the first time, “Yeah, either way, you’re wrong on this one, Logan. Trust me, I know what a fellow morosexual looks like.”

Emile and Logan both sighed at that one while Patton tsk’d, “Remy, come on, thats your soulmate you’re talking about! You shouldn’t be mean!”

Remy quirked an eyebrow at Patton, “Babes, have you met Remus? I love the big sap but he’s a certified dumbass with a heaping dose of cryptid.”, he opened the drinks cooler and took out a lemonade bottle, not giving a shit that the three soulmates behind him were absolutely unamused. ”Anyway, if you’re so sure over who our ‘subject’ will end up with, how about we bet on it? Loser has to work two weeks of overtime and the winner gets thirty dollars or some shit. You in?”

Patton and Emile both declined, both more focused on their work and simply enjoying the dates being had, while Logan agreed wholeheartedly, “I do hope your next two weeks are free, Remy...”

--

He couldn’t take much more of this.

The longer Virgil kept going back and forth between the two of them - using his anxiety to buy himself time without too much suspicion - the more he was getting tangled up in feelings he knew he couldn’t indulge. Every second with Roman made him smile, even when trading verbal jabs. Every second with Janus made him feel more bold, able to flirt back every once and a while. But this wasn’t right. Janus, Roman, they were made for each other. Not for him.

He wouldn’t get to curl up next to Roman on a cold night, watching Disney movies, baking together, or following along to Bob Ross tutorials only for one of them inevitably would start painting on the other until they were both paint splattered, cackling messes. 

He wouldn’t get to dance quietly in the living room with Janus while their favourite music plays, swaying softly to his favourite Jazz music, or lazily draping himself over Janus’ lap while they read their favourite books long into the night.

Virgil stared into the bathroom mirror; his ‘dates’ had been so sweet as to compliment him, but all he could focus on was how much of a mess he felt. He’s going to break their hearts beyond repair, all because he couldn’t just tell them they were soulmates. Social etiquette be damned, why had he let it go on like this?

Feeling his chest constricting, Virgil quickly grabbed his phone and texted Remus.

V: [help. Having a panic attack. Distract me]

He tried to remember his breathing exercises, chewing his free hand’s thumbnail anxiously until he got the text notification;

R: [Cool. Did u  kno rabbits eat their babies when they’re stressed?]

…. Virgil heavily regretted asking Remus to distract him.

V: [Horrifying. Thank you.]

R: [Anytime, Stitch Bitch. Now what happened?]

V: [Dates backfired.]

R: [U caught feelings didnt u]

Virgil groaned and kept typing.

V: [fuck u]

R: [fuck me urself coward.]

Well at least that got a laugh out of him. Remus followed up that text before he could reply:

R: [Just go out there and tell them the truth]

V: [nope, no way, they’ll hate me]

R: [Bitch they’re both smitten w/ u it’ll hurt but they’ll live, they’re sat there worried about u]

V: [how the fuck do you know that?]

R: [Remy’s on shift tonight, he and Logan are taking bets on how things will pan out. They’ve been texting me non stop.]

That did explain a few things. Namely the one server with the sunglasses and sassy attitude who gave him and Roman extra desserts “for like, the cutest couple in this bitch”, and the other more stoic server who brought him and Janus a bottle of champagne “to celebrate a wonderful partnership”. When would his life stop feeling like a goddamn circus?

Virgil was pulled from his thoughts as his next text sent his blood running cold,

R: [u might wanna get back to em, they’ll be worried about u by now]

Dammit. Virgil had just left the bathroom to be met with a worried Roman, “Virgil, are you alright!? You were gone so long, I thought something had happened!”

Stomp down that affection you’re feeling, Virgil. It’s just gonna hurt more.

“I’m fine, its just my nerves-”

“Virgil?”

Both men turned to spy Janus entering the hallway with an expression of shock and disgust upon seeing the two of them. He promptly strode over and with surprising gentleness moved Virgil to his side,

“It’s bad enough I can’t avoid you at work, Prince, but I’ll not have you ruining our date night.”

As Janus went to lead Virgil away, Roman held onto Virgil’s hand, “Actually, Lies and Dolls, he’s with me tonight, so kindly take your delusions and leave.”

Oh my god, why did he trust Remus’ plan in the first place?! Janus smirked dangerously, “Or what, you dramatic hack?”

Roman took exception to that, and while Janus had the height advantage, Roman still knew how to be intimidating when needed, “I’ll make you leave!”

Before either of them could come to blows, Virgil got in between them. He might as well come clean,

“BOTH OF YOU STOP!”

Janus and Roman faced him, sporting stunned but ever attentive expressions. Ugh, this was gonna hurt.

“I can’t do this anymore! Yeah, I did ask you both here, and yeah! You’re both wonderful but you’re not meant to be with me! You’re meant to be with each other! Ugh, this was a mistake! I can’t-! I can’t be here, I’m sorry-!”

Virgil wrenched himself from between them, making a beeline through the tables and just getting out of the door before the two caught up to him. In the back of his mind, Virgil assumed the serving staff that followed behind were either desperate to see this unfold or just making sure this wasn’t going to be a dine ‘n’ dash scenario.

“Virge, come on, you’re not making any sense! I’m not meant to be with Janus,”, Roman assured him, rolling his left sleeve up the whole way and revealing Virgil’s soul mark, “I’m meant to be with you! You’re my soulmate, Virgil! Surely you knew-”

“That’s,”, Janus interrupted, “That’s not possible, because Virgil is my soulmate.”

Both Roman and Virgil turned to face him, watching Janus roll up his right sleeve to reveal Virgil’s soul mark in the exact same place as Roman’s had been. 

To say Virgil was confused was an understatement, “W...Wait, no, that’s...”

Roman and Janus stared at each other’s soul mark then looked to Virgil, “You… really didn’t know that I- that we were your soulmates?”

Virgil shook his head, ”I don’t have your soulmarks though! It doesn’t make sense...”

He turned away, grasping his arms as he tried to make sense of all this. All his life, Virgil had looked in his mirror and wished - God, how he’d wished - to find just one mark. Something to prove that he was indeed someone’s soulmate. That the universe hadn’t forsaken him. And now he had two of the most wonderful men he’d ever met sporting his soul mark while he had nothing to reassure him this wasn’t some cosmic fluke?!

Janus and Roman stood in awkward silence, the latter giving the servers an apologetic look and pulling out his wallet to pay when the former noticed something about Virgil that had him squinting to get a look. “.... Virgil, do forgive me for this.”

Without hesitating, Janus whipped out his pocket knife - why he brought it on a date, Virgil had no idea - and cut a hole in the back of Virgil’s tights, careful to avoid his skin.

“What the FUCK, Janus!?”, came the obviously horrified reply, only for Janus to take a picture with his phone and hand it to Virgil, rendering him speechless.

Sure enough, there on the inside of his right knee joint was Janus’ soul mark. 

“I just happened to spot the same shade of yellow showing through and, well….”

He didn’t need to finish, Virgil was stunned to silence. All this time, how could he have missed it!? 

Well, it wasn’t in the easiest to see area, and come to think of it, his mirror was a little too high off the ground for that kind of angle, and with the marks being so small..…..

The revelation was met with a shocked gasp from Roman.

“... Virgil, may I-”

“I’ll just take them off, fucking hell!”

Both men turned away to let Virgil remove his shoes and tights in peace. When he gave them the all clear, Roman was ecstatic to note his own soul mark adorning the left knee joint. Virgil glanced towards his two soulmates, letting out a soft sigh of adoration at their delighted faces. He was feeling a whole rush of emotions, but right now? The last thing he wanted was to waste any more time.

“Gimme a second to pay these guys,”, Virgil gestured to the gaggle of servers set in various expressions of celebratory delight, “Then we can go back to my place and have a movie night.”

Roman and Janus offered sweet smiles to their soulmate; that sounded like the perfect end to a wild night.

---- Bonus (Because I got attached to this universe, fight me) ----

With the cafe clearing out aside a few stragglers, Remy sighed distantly, “Well, it’s a good thing we both won, babes, I didn’t wanna get stuck with all that overtime.”

Logan gave him a perplexed look, “Actually, we both lost, therefore we both should work overtime.”

Remy pulled down his shades to glare at Logan, “.... Are you fucking kidding me? Bitch, we WON, and we get to keep our money, babes. What part of that makes you think “nope, overtime sounds better”!?”

Logan was about to go into the technicalities when he chanced a glance back at his soulmates, watching as Patton excitedly gushed over the night’s events, stimming excitedly with their apron while Emile folded his own and put it away for the night, glad to listen to Patton’s bubbly rambling. Logan couldn’t deny, the idea of staying late while his soulmates were home without him wasn’t an appealing idea. Maybe this once he’d spare Remy a lecture.

“.... You know what, you’re right. Excuse me.”

With that, Logan went to join his soulmates while Remy stifled a fond smirk and went to go ask the last patron to leave. He wanted to just go home and collapse into Remus’ arms. Ugh, he just hoped this dude wasn’t going to make a fuss. He wasn’t sure what kind of guy combined a suit, a beanie, shades, AND a face mask, but Remy just hoped he wasn’t here to rob the place.

“Alright sweetie, you gotta go. We’re closing and I wanna get home to my loveable dumbass. Let’s go-”

The man gestured to his ear. Ah. Remy rolled his eyes and leant down to speak closer,

“I said-“

The man quickly pulled down his face mask and stole a peck from Remy, a grin spreading across his face that curled excitedly to match his moustache.

“You gotta get home to meeeee~.”

Remus took off the sunglasses and beanie, revelling in the surprise that painted itself over Remy’s face. He stood up, wrapping his arms around Remy’s waist as his soulmate tried to form a sentence, “How long have you just been sitting here?!”

“Ever since I figured it’d be funny to watch Virgil realise he was trying to set up his own soulmates-”

“You- Wait, Virgil!? That’s the guy you’re always telling me about?!”

“Yep!”, Remus grinned.

Remy wrapped his arms around Remus’ neck, unsure if he wanted to strangle him or hold him closer, “...Did you know he-”

“Had two soulmates? Yep~!”

Remus chuckled and kissed Remy’s cheek, “Virge and I used to have gym together. He kept saying he couldn’t find his soulmarks, I’m surprised he never got my hints...”

Sighing annoyedly at his soulmate, Remy pulled him in for a proper kiss before he could go on more of a tangent. Once they broke apart, Remy poked Remus’ chest, 

“You made me lose thirty bucks, y’know.” 

Remus grinned harder and pulled out twenty dollars  “Well then, I better take this generous donation from my best friend and treat you to a milkshake on the way home then...”

-----

It’s finally doooone!!

This was a long one for sure, but sue me, I got super into this one!!

I’ll be playing catch up for a while so get ready for Day 11, I ended up with a last minute change and it’s gonna be a tear jerker. @tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom

[mistymazzello]

Illicit Affairs | chapter 4

Joe Mazzello x Reader

summary-Y/N, a failing actress in New York City, is offered an internship as Joe Mazzello’s assistant on the set of a movie. Her seemingly small crush on her boss could get her into trouble, but what does she have to lose?

word count- 6.1k (i got a little carried away)

warnings- smut, unprotected sex, all that stuff. (by reading on you’re confirming that you’re 18+😳)

a/n- i promise this last week and i’m just now posting it and i’m SO SORRY. pls let me know what you think!

based on illicit affairs by taylor swift

September turned over to October, bringing cold weather and days that slowly became shorter. You were done trying to stop your feelings for Joe, there was no stopping how you tirelessly obsessed over him. It made it worse that it almost, almost felt like he was reciprocating. But still, not quite. 

Joe finally started lightening up on scheduling, giving everyone a few days off every now and then and not having extremely early call times. This meant you weren’t leaving the apartment at 6 in the morning and coming back at 8 anymore, leaving time for you to be around your roommates. Now, did you want that time? Not exactly.

Cameron had hardly spoken two words to you since everything that happened the previous month, leaving an awkward tension always hanging around the apartment. One morning, the sky completely gray, leaving the city shakingly cold, Cameron walked into the kitchen while you stood on the phone as you poured coffee.

You were talking to Julia, who had called you to ask if you had any time to do some of her busy work for her, which you weren’t necessarily sure if you did, but you agreed to anyway. The phone call ended with her making some Fleetwood Mac reference that you didn’t understand, but you laughed either way. You hung up and set your phone down as you slowly stirred your coffee, Cameron sitting on a stool on the other side of the counter.

“Was that the director?” She asked softly.

You looked up, slightly stunned. “Um, no. Producer.” You answered.

She furrowed her eyebrows. “What does he want?”

“She just has some things that she needs me to do today.” You said. It was weird that she all of the sudden was trying to talk to you.

“So you like working on the movie then?” She asked.

You blinked. Was she trying to actually talk to you? “Yeah, I love it. I think it’s great.”

She nodded. “You think the movie’s gonna be good?”

You could’ve smiled. This was the first conversation the two of you had in weeks. You had to admit, you missed your best friend. “Yeah, actually it looks really good. I’m excited for it.” 

You pulled another mug from the cupboard and poured the rest of the coffee you had made into it, sliding it across the counter to her. She accepted it, picking it up to wrap her hands around it.

“I’m sorry that I got so mad.” She said, looking into her mug. It was a little late for an apology, but still, you accepted.

“It’s okay. You were upset.” You shrugged. 

She nodded and took a long sip from her coffee, still never looking up to meet your eyes.

“So can we stop being weird now? I miss how things were.” You said, setting your own mug on the counter.

She laughed slightly. “Yes. I was hoping we could stop doing this.” She smiled.

You sighed in relief and finally, things were normal. How they were supposed to be. Things felt more in place than ever as you went to set that day. Today was supposedly going to be very easy, but you had a sneaking suspicion that you were going to be there rather late.

Just as you had suspected, before you knew it, the sky was turning dark. Joe finally called it a day at 8, much to everyone’s relief.

“Go get some sleep, kid.” He hit the back of your head with his clipboard playfully.

“First off, ow.” You laughed, holding your hand to the back of your head.

“Have a good night, Mr. Mazzello.” Beck spoke as he pulled his jacket on.

“You too, Mr. Beck.” He saluted him.

A loud sigh escaped your lips as you wistfully watched him walk away. Why did he have to be so nice to you?

Something you had noticed was how close this cast and crew was. You weren’t as involved in that closeness as you would have liked to be, but you figured it was because you were much younger than all of them, and you were just about at the bottom of the food chain in terms of power.

You saw a few cast members congregating near Joe, so you decided that you weren't going to interrupt to tell Joe goodbye, you figured you could just text him something about heading out instead.

A little ways away from you, Joe saw you waving bye to a few people and his heart sunk. Before thinking, he cut off one of the actors who was talking. “Hey, do you care if I invite Y/N?”

A few people turned around to look in your direction, luckily you had your back turned to them.

“The intern?” One of them asked.

Joe quickly realized how desperate he must have sounded asking like that. “Yeah,” He said, shrugging, “She’s nice, I think you guys would like her.”

He wasn’t lying about that. He knew everyone would like you, and you were nice. But he wanted to invite you because he desperately wanted to spend more time around you, specifically outside of work.

They all agreed, and the conversation moved forward about the bar that they were going to that night. Joe excused himself and jogged over to you, right as you were about to leave. 

You saw him coming out of the corner of your eye and you turned in his direction, smiling. “Hey, I was just about to go.”

Disregarding what you said, he asked, “Me and a few people from the cast are going out for drinks, do you wanna come?”

“Tonight?” You responded, a bit taken back. You were a little too excited to be receiving this offer, but you tried your hardest to conceal the smile that was already on your face.

“Yeah.” He said, “I think we’re just gonna uber there in like 20 minutes.”

You weren’t used to receiving invitations like this, especially since you left college. “Oh.” You said, trying not to sound like a complete spaz. 

“So if you wanna stick around, I can tell you when we’re leaving?” He said, his hands in his pockets as he rocked onto his toes.

“Yeah, sure.” You smiled, wringing your hands together. 

He nodded and looked at the ground. He could hardly believe the way he was acting right now, it reminded him of high school. He was acting like a complete idiot, all because of you. All because of that stupid smile on your face.

“Oh,” he remembered, “and don’t tell Beck. He’s not invited.” He winked before walking away. He really shouldn’t be picking favorites like this, but how could he help it when one of you was a stuck up asshole and the other one was as sweet as you were?

Regardless, you were glad he liked you. It gave you some sort of validation for your feelings, even though deep down, you knew that your crush on him was hopeless.

When you showed up to the bar, it was freezing outside, yet incredibly warm inside. By the time you were shedding your jacket, which was only seconds after sitting down, Joe had ordered shots for everyone, saying that you had to take them in honor of the 12 hour day you had just worked. There were about 11 or 12 of you, spread out between a few booths. The bar wasn’t terribly busy, taken that it was a Wednesday night, but still, this was New York City, so places were always bustling. You were sat by Julia and a few of the other girls, subconsciously clinging to Julias presence like she was your mom. You got talking with a few of them, all of them remarkably talkative. The girl across from you, Charlotte, who was probably the closest to your age out of everyone, began talking to you about the internship.

After you explained the whole situation about how you got the internship, conveniently leaving out the part about Cameron, you were about to ask her about how she had got casted, but she spoke first. “You know, everyone loves you. No offense if he’s your friend, but I think I speak for everyone when I say we prefer you over Beck.”

“Oh, god, he’s not my friend.” You laughed. “He hates me.”

“Oh my god,” Her eyes lit up “He hates me too! I’m always like, dude, you need to calm the fuck down.” She said, picking up her drink to take a sip.

“Me too! He always says I’m unprofessional.” You frowned.

“I think he has some personal issues he needs to sort out.” She said.

“Mommy issues.” Julia piped up before finishing off her glass.

The three of you laughed, the attention shifting swiftly over to the girl sitting next to Charlotte, Lola, who was whispering something in her ear. 

“Oh, god, Lola, don’t be gross.” She groaned.

Lola pulled away and grabbed her drink off the table then looked back at Charlotte. “Wish me luck.” She smiled.

You tilted your head slightly as she stood up from the table, walking slowly over to the bar. Wondering what she needed luck for, you tried not to stare as she approached the bar. You didn’t pay any mind to Joe, who was standing next to her, until she began to talk to him.

Your face flushed as you realized what she was doing. She was trying to flirt with Joe. It wasn’t until you looked back at the table until you realized that Charlotte and Julia were both looking at her, too.

Julia looked back and you exchanged a glance. “Is she...?”

“Trying to sleep with Joe? Yes.” Charlotte said, looking slightly disgusted.

You didn’t say anything as you looked into your drink, swirling the glass around as you contemplated your defeat. She was at least 7 or 8 years older than you, much closer to Joe’s age, an established actress, and much more in his league. All at once, you began to realize how stupid you were for ever thinking you and Joe had something between you. 

“She could get into big trouble for that.” Julia chided. “It’s in the contract that all of you signed. No relationships.”

“Does fucking count as a relationship?” Charlotte set her chin in her palm.

Julia chuckled. “No, I guess not, if it’s not ongoing.”

“Ah, then she has a chance.” Charlotte said, all three of you turning your attention back to the two of them.

Over at the bar, Joe's mind was scrambling. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what Lola was doing. He’d seen it a million times. He wanted to be nice, but he wanted to cut this off before it went any further and he had to reject her. He had been waiting for the right moment to approach you without making it seem like he was hitting on you. He genuinely just wanted to talk to you.

But, as the minutes passed, Lola was not taking any hints. She continued to talk, continued to touch his arm playfully, even though Joe was reciprocating none of it.

Julia ended up leaving within the next 30 minutes, saying something about how her partying days were far behind her. You and Charlotte stayed at the table, ordering drink after drink, giggling as you talked about your past relationships, it almost made you forget about what was going on across the room.

“I have you beat on the worst breakup.” She laughed. “A guy once broke up with me after I flew across the country to see him. On my birthday.”

You gasped dramatically. “No.”

“Yes.” She laughed. “Arguably the worst day of my life.”

The two of you sat, giggly and tipsy, for a few quiet moments. “Why didn’t I know you were so fun?” She asked “I feel like we’ve hardly ever talked before and we’re around each other everyday.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel like a bit of an outsider because I’m so much younger than everyone.” You opened up. If you didn’t have any alcohol in your system, you would have never said this to her.

“Aw,” She frowned “Like I said, Y/N, we all love you. Everyone always mentions how sweet you are.” 

“Really?” You smiled.

‘Yes, really. Especially Joe. He never shuts up about you.” She said. 

You looked into her dark eyes and tilted your head. “What? Really?” Your heart could’ve jumped out of your chest.

“Yeah, he’s always like ‘Oh, I’m gonna wait up for Y/N. Have you seen Y/N yet today? Y/N this, Y/N that” She imitated him, her hands waving around as she did a horrible impression of his voice.

You laughed a little, your smile never faltered. Was she telling the truth? Did he talk about you so much that she had noticed it?

You finally remembered the whole Lola thing, your eyes glancing over the bar. Now they were sitting down, she was leaning over to him, talking, as he took a drink. You sighed and looked back at Charlotte, who was downing the rest of her third or fourth drink.

“I should probably go pull her off of him.” She sighed, her eyes following yours over to the bar. “She’s drunk as fuck, she needs to go home and maybe try again when she’s not wasted.”

She gave you a pat on the head, making you smile, as she stood up. “I’ll see you on Saturday.” She said, giving your head one last pat before walking over to the bar. You watched as she came up behind Lola, resting her hand on her back and giving her a soft smile as she spoke to her. It was obvious that Lola was resisting, but Charlotte was persistent, and she eventually hopped off of her chair and followed her. The two of them waved to you as they walked out of the bar, you gave them a quick grin and waved back. You almost sighed in relief. You had finally made some friends.

Joe was now sitting by himself at the bar, and you alone at the table. As long as you didn’t try anything like Lola did, you didn’t think it would be weird if you went and sat by him. Maybe that was the alcohol talking, but you still got up and walked over to him, pulling the stool out to sit down next to him.

When he had originally heard the stool next to him move, he thought it was just another girl trying to talk to him, and he almost let out an exasperated sigh. But it wasn’t just another girl. It was you. Instead, he sighed in relief.

“Hey, kid.” He said, taking a drink from his beer.

“Hi.” You said, scooting the chair in.

“You have fun?” He asked, setting his beer down to turn to you.

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Charlotte’s so nice.”

“Good.” He gave you a closed mouth smile. “I’m glad.”

You realized that you had left your drink back at the table when you all of the sudden had nothing to do with your hands. Joe must have noticed at the same time, because just as you were about to order something, he beat you to it.

“Can we get two shots of fireball?” He asked.

“Oh god.” You set your face in your palm. 

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to drink it.” He said.

“What, you’re going to take both to try and impress me?” You giggled, setting your forearms on the counter.

He shook his head with a small laugh as the bartender handed them over. He set one in front of you and one in front of him.

“Okay.” He started. “Truth or drink.”

“Oh,” You smiled “I can do that.”

“Ladies first.” He smirked, crossing his arms as he looked at you. It almost felt like he was taunting you, his arms almost making you drool as they stretched out his shirt.

You smirked back. Only thinking for a quick moment, you knew what you wanted to ask. “When’s the last time you slept with someone?” You asked, a cocky look on your face. Even if you were crossing a line by asking that, you could hardly care. It felt hotter than it did when you had first gotten there, but that could be coming from the warm feeling in your cheeks from the alcohol. Or because you were blushing. He wasn’t going to answer something like that to you.

He tilted his head slightly, looking at the shot. “Last month?” He estimated. You were a little bit shocked that he answered, and that he didn’t hesitate to do so.

Your eyebrows must have been raised or your eyes must have been wide, because he asked, “What? Did you think I was gonna say 3 years ago?” 

“What? No,” You laughed “I just… who?” You asked, almost out of instinct. Almost out of jealousy.

“Nope. Not your turn.” He shook his head. He leaned closer to you, prompting you to lean closer to him. “If you had to have sex with one guy in this bar, right now, who would it be?” He said, his voice low, even though no one around would be able to hear anyways over the buzz of the crowd. 

You hummed in thought, turning away from him to look around you. “I think…” You started, turning back to lean forward into him “the bartender down at the other end is cute enough?” You lied.

Joe’s jaw clenched. He didn’t know what he expected, but he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Before he could respond, you cleared your throat, unbeknownst to him that you had noticed his reaction. 

“My turn.” You smiled. You went back and forth for a little while longer, desperately trying to ask a question to get the other person to drink, but nothing worked. The bar was loud, there were lots of people around, but still, you could only see each other. You could only feel the way his shoulder was rubbing against yours, you could only smell the whiskey on his breath and you could only think about how much you wanted him right now.

A few rounds later, it was Joe’s turn. He could feel the heat radiating from your face, and he thought your top was ridiculously low cut. Especially when you leaned over the bar. The way your knee would bump his was driving him crazy. It prompted him to come up with this question.

“What’s the oldest you’d be willing to sleep with?” He said, his expression straight and serious.

You reached to rub the back of your neck under your hair as you thought. Your heart began to quicken as you thought of all of the possible responses, until you finally settled on what happened to be one of the most risky answers. “Well,” You began, subconsciously leaning in so you were closer to his face, “How old are you?”

His jaw clenched again, but this time, not out of anger or jealousy. Out of lust and pent up desire.  “Oh,” He said, his hand which was already brushing your knee moved from his leg to ghost over the top of yours. “Is that how it is?” His hand came to rest on your thigh, and he slid it so it was just slightly underneath your skirt on the inside of your thigh. 

“Joe,” You breathed, closing your eyes as you clenched your thighs, trapping his fingertips. 

“Yes?” He spoke softly into your ear, his voice low and sharp.

“Please.” You pouted, still not opening your eyes. His hand was warm on your inner thigh, but not as hot as the heat radiating from under your panties, which you thought Joe could for sure feel.

Just like that, he ripped his hand away from you, earning a whine from your lips as you leaned your head back. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, your eyes watched his hands intently. He pulled out a 50 and tossed it onto the bar, then stood up. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you off your chair. “Let’s go.” He grumbled, lightening his grip on your wrist to let his hand slide into yours. He practically pulled you out of the bar, and even though it was a cool fall night outside, you were still burning up.

He hailed a cab quickly as your head spun by how quickly things had turned. Even though both of you were as horny as you had ever been before, he still opened the taxi door for you. You climbed in, settling in the seat on the opposite side of the door before Joe climbed in, telling the driver his address quickly before moving to the middle seat to immediately grab your inner thigh roughly. Your hand wrapped around his bicep, you squeezed his arm to try and distract yourself from the wetness pooling in your underwear. His grip was deathly and his breathing was harsh as the two of you sat in heated silence. You had to physically try to stop yourself from making any further moves on him, opting to rest your forehead on his shoulder. In a moment of sweetness rather than lust, Joe kissed the top of your head lighty. Although the moment did make your heart melt, you still couldn’t focus on anything other than how badly you needed him.

“How far are we from your apartment?” You lifted your head up to whisper.

“Like 2 minutes.” He said. You let out a low, short groan. 

“I know, baby.” He whispered.

You had decided that this had been the longest two minutes of your life. Between the way Joe’s legs kept twitching, to how his hand was slowly moving up your thigh, riding your skirt up, you were almost on the verge of tears by the time you pulled up to Joe’s apartment. He handed the driver some money, mumbling something about keeping the change as the two of you climbed out.

He grabbed your hand and you both tried not to sprint into the apartment building. The elevator ride was almost as excruciating as the taxi. You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other, his hand moving from the small of your back to squeeze your ass, earning a sharp breath in from you.

He fumbled with the key as he tried to unlock his door as quickly as possible. As if you could get anymore impatient, you were 2 seconds away from ripping the key out of his hands and doing it yourself when he finally opened the door, grabbing you by the fabric of your shirt and pulling you inside. It was pitch black, the only light coming from the city lights outside the windows. Using the grip he had on your shirt to turn you towards him, he pulled you into him. He kissed you messily, slowly backing you up until your back hit the door. It was a mess of clashing teeth and tongue as you desperately kissed each other, all of the pent up desire coming out all at once. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you stood on your toes to kiss him, his hands moving from your hips to your ass. He slid one of his hands down to the underside of your thigh, lifting your leg up so your knee was at his side. He growled into your mouth and you could only manage a whimper, your mind scrambling for a single coherent thought. He lifted his leg slightly to rub against your core, his jeans creating a rough texture. Instinctually, you grinded against his thigh, but your movements were limited as he had you pinned against the door.

He broke away, moving his lips to bite your earlobe. You let out an exhausted moan, dipping your head back to hit the wooden door behind you. He lifted his leg higher at this, almost lifting you off your feet by your core. 

“Joe” You sobbed, your fingers pulling at his hair. You felt him smile against your neck.

He moved his head back up to kiss you again, this time his hands on both sides of your face. This kiss was slower, but just as passionate. He pulled you to the bedroom, not bothering to turn on any lights on his way there, opting to find his way in the dark. You already noticed that he had a habit of pulling you by the fabric of your shirt. Something you could definitely get used to.

Once you did make it to the bedroom, he wasted no time pushing you backwards onto the bed. Your back bounced against the mattress and you sat up on your elbows as he crawled on top of you, meeting your lips again. He grabbed both of your hands and held them for a second, then slowly moved them so they were pinned above your head. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was enough to keep you in place. 

He pulled away to hover inches above your face, both of you panting. “I’m gonna ask you this, and I’m only going to ask you this once.” He said darkly, his voice overcome by lust. 

You nodded eagerly, yet still staying silent.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asked deeply.

You nearly moaned at the tone of his voice. 

“Need to hear you say it, baby.” He growled.

“Yes” You cried, begging him to do something.

That must have been a tipping point for him, because he let go of your wrists and tugged at the hem of your skirt, pulling it along with your underwear down and off of your legs. He tossed them to the ground and grabbed you by both of your thighs, lowering himself so his head was in between them. 

He groaned as he looked at you, his grip slightly lightening as he admired how wet you already were. He placed a kiss to your lower thigh, looking back up at you. You were splayed out on his bed, your hair hanging in your face, your chest heaving. A sight he could get used to.

From there, he wasted no time diving in between your legs, licking your clit as he wrapped his arms tightly around your thighs, moving your legs so they were over his shoulders.

Your head was spinning as you slammed it back against a pillow on the unmade bed. You were hardly processing what was going on, your vision was blurry and your thoughts all bled together, the only thing you could feel was Joe.

You writhed underneath his touch, bucking your hips. His large hands laid over your stomach, holding you down. “Sit still.” He mumbled against you, the rumble of his voice pulsing through your entire body. You tried to still your hips, unable to stop them from twitching from pleasure. 

His fingertips dug into your thighs as he began holding you tighter and tighter. He only ever touched your clit, only using his tongue, but it was more than enough for you. One of your hands was tangled in his hair, and the other was holding onto the pillow under your head. In the distance, but still at an embarrassingly fast rate, you could feel your orgasm coming on. 

He must have sensed that you were close, or took a hint from the way you swirled your hips and pulled at his hair, because he smirked against you, then immediately pulled his head away.

“Joe” You whined, your grip on his hair loosening quickly.

He shook his head lightly, climbing back on top of you. He put his hands on either side of your head, and admired you under him for a second, even though you looked slightly disappointed. He leaned down to kiss you slowly, taking the feeling in.

As much as he would love to bask in that feeling and kiss you for the rest of eternity, he didn’t know how much longer he could take not fucking you. He pulled your shirt over your head without warning, leaving you in nothing but your bra.

Deciding that the ratio of clothes-taken-off was uneven, you reached for his belt buckle, grabbing him by the back of the neck with your other hand to pull him back down to kiss you. You fumbled with his belt buckle, trying to figure it out how to get it undone with your eyes closed.

Joe sighed into your mouth, pushing your hands away from his belt to do it himself. You giggled slightly, causing him to try and suppress a grin as you kissed. He took his belt off and you heard it hit the hardwood floor, followed by the sound of his pants unzipping. The thought of what you were about to get nearly made your eyes roll back in your head, the wetness spread across your inner thighs only growing.

You pulled the hem of his shirt up, breaking away from the kiss for only a second to allow him to pull it over his head, disregarding it with the rest of your clothes on the floor. Your fingers danced along the waist of his pants for a moment, then you slipped your hand inside. Joe was an extremely smooth kisser, but his rhythm was interrupted when you cupped him over his underwear, making him stifle his movements. You smirked and held him slightly tighter, making his arms nearly buckle as he groaned into you. 

He let your little power trip last for a few more seconds before he grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand away from him. He grabbed your other wrist with the same hand and then held your hands over your head. He let go, but you held your hands where they were as he pulled his pants and boxers off.

Normally, in a situation like this, one you had been in times and times before, you would feel vulnerable. Laying naked on someone else’s bed while they undress, completely and utterly at their demand. But, for some reason, you felt safe and taken care of. You felt so secure in his touches as he set his hand on your thigh, moving himself to settle in between your legs. 

He looked at you, your hands above your head as you looked back at him expectantly. He couldn’t help but pump himself a few times before finally lining himself up to your entrance. He reached up and set a hand by your head, the other holding his shaft. He stalled for a moment, taking time to look down at your pussy, sliding his tip up and down your slit. 

You lifted your hips expecting him to push himself inside of you. “Please.” You whispered. 

He looked back up at you, then leaned over you further, so his face was inches from yours. “Please what, baby?”

You reached up to set a hand on his broad shoulder which was flexed from holding himself up. “Please fuck me.” You begged. 

He chuckled lightly. “Aw, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.” He smiled. He pushed himself into you, and months of tension suddenly came undone. 

He bottomed out, and your grip on his shoulder moved down to dig your nails into his shoulder blade. You shut your eyes and pushed your head further back into his pillow. “Oh my fucking god.” You staggered. 

Joe couldn’t find it in himself to move right away, basking in the feeling of filling you up. He had thought about this exact moment too many times to take it for granted. 

You took the liberty to move your own hips in a circle, causing him to grunt into your ear. He pulled out nearly all the way, then moved back in slowly. 

As much as he wanted to take his time with you, the girl he had been obsessed with for the last 3 months finally underneath him, he began to feel himself losing control. His pace quickened at an insane rate, making you want to cover your mouth to try and stifle the ungodly moans coming out of you. 

He lowered his head into your neck as he moved his hips against yours, making you lean your head back to expose your whole neck to him. 

You felt him bite you softly, making you yelp in surprise. Heart fluttering, your cheeks flushed as he kissed your neck harshly. He began to slam into you harder, moving your whole body with every thrust. Red marks began to form on his back where you had dug all of your nails into his lower back. 

His pace only got rougher and rougher as time went on, only making things more and more passionate. 

“Joe, oh my god, please don’t stop, please please please please.” You rambled out of bliss. The feeling of build-up from earlier made a return as he lifted himself up, his hands on either side of your head. 

He grabbed your thigh and held it up close to his hip, trying to find a better angle for you, he could tell you were close. He realized he had gotten that angle when you yelled out his name, arching your back into him, your voice broken and raspy. 

“You close baby?” He asked his tone unrecognizable from the one you normally knew. 

“Yes” You cried, grabbing into his hair unintentionally. 

He lifted your leg over his shoulder with a grunt, hitting an unimaginable spot. He grabbed your throat to force you to look at him and leaned over you, his nose nearly touching yours. “Come on, give it to me, Y/N.” He growled. 

Your vision went white as your orgasm hit you. Your jaw dropped open as he watched you come undone around him. Your whole body pulsed as you gasped for air. He let you come down from your high, riding it out roughly until your eyes fluttered open again. 

All at once, he pulled out of you and grabbed your ankle, yanking your leg off of his shoulder. He grabbed your hips and flipped you over onto your knees, then grabbed you by a fistful of your hair and pushed your head down into the mattress. He began slamming into you again, the aftershock of your orgasm not even close to being over yet. You couldn’t do anything but let the tears welling in your eyes spillover as you cried his name over and over. 

He pounded into you, his teeth gritted as he pushed your head further down into the bed. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, especially not with you like this. He yanked your hair up and pulled you close to him so he could talk into your ear. 

“Do you know,” He spat with gritted teeth “how long I’ve waited to fuck you like this?” He wrapped an arm around your body to rub circles on your clit, his other hand moving you grab you by the throat again. “Having to see you, every. Fucking. Day. And not being able to have you? I thought I was crazy, Y/N, crazy for wanting to do the things I wanted to do to you. Things like this. But now I can see,” He began losing control of his body, his rhythm slowing as he could feel himself about to come “the feeling was mutual.” 

He came inside of you as your second orgasm hit you out of nowhere, causing you to topple over as his movements slowed, your cum mixing with his. You moaned breathing in and out as he slowly came to a stop. “I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.” He sighed. 

“Fuck.” He breathed. You sniffed and let out one last sob before he pulled out, causing you to wince. The rest of your body collapsed onto the bed as you panted, trying to catch your breath. He fell onto the bed next to you, the only movement you were able to manage was moving your hands up to wipe the tears off of your face. 

Joe reached over and held you by the hip, pulling you to face him. He wrapped an arm around you to splay a hand in between your shoulder blades and moved the other to cup your cheek. His eyes moved from your eyes to your cheek. He stroked his thumb across your face to wipe the tears from your cheeks, your eyes fluttered shut under his touch. “Are you okay?” He spoke softly. 

“Mhm.” You hummed lightly. You pressed a hand against his chest and moved to set your forehead on his shoulder. He rolled onto his back and you laid your head against his chest as he wrapped his arms completely around you. 

Neither of you said anything, the room silent as your breathing slowly synced together. Joe couldn’t wipe his stupid, blissful smile off of his face as he rubbed your back lightly. 

You couldn’t think about anything other than his heartbeat under your ear. Not the contract you signed, not Lola or Beck, not how much money you had and not how Joe was your boss. You only thought about the heartbeat you heard and the boy who owned it. 

-

taglist- @im-an-adult-ish @almightygwil @draconiiian @roveyrove @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band @lizgarxo @queenmylovely @lelifesaver @ghosttofcalum @freakibanana @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @pomjompish @sadhwstudent @pomjompish @darlingyourebeingabore

[alreadyblondenow]

Too young, too soon

Mark Lee x reader // FLUFF, SMUT, ANGST  Summary: Telling your parents that you’re pregnant is never easy. But having someone beside you while you feel like your world is suddenly crashing down is a different kind of blessing that you don’t deserve. Mark was there holding your hand the whole time when you told your family about being pregnant. And he was right, your parent loves you.  Word Count: 6k Warnings: Sex, Someone will die, Mentions of other idols, depression, pregnancy, unprotected sex, cursing, drunk driving, lots of mentions of alcohol Note: DONT drink and drive please! And also use protection whatever happens

Cold Tea Bar, Kensington Canada September 2018

Jammed pack night full of students who wants to celebrate for the weekend. Mark Lee is the cutest bartender on duty tonight, well at least in your eyes. You saw him working with two other guys at the bar, Haechan and Jeno. And together they keep the people happy and loud with all the good drinks and with their charms.

The fact that there are seriously a lot of people in this small bar, you’re having a hard time getting Jeno’s attention to get some drinks. Jeno is your best friend’s boyfriend and Jeno always makes the drinks for your friends, that way you can get drinks much easier. But not tonight you guess you just have to wait patiently for Jeno instead.

Even though Mark was busy making drinks, serving and talking to people he still has time to flirt. He’s good at multitasking and talking to people was never a problem for him because its part of his job. “Hyuck, do you see that girl waiting at the corner” Mark was eyeing you and you saw Haechan glance at you. “Yeah, one of Jeno’s friends” Hyuck answered while getting two glasses at the rack. “Yo Jeno, your girl’s best friend is waiting there” Hyuck shouted, unfortunately Jeno is still busy with other customers and told the other two guys to take make you drinks.  “I think I’ll cover for you, she’s cute” Hyuck and Jeno nod their heads in disbelief.

The bar is still busy and so are the bartenders you see. There are three of them but none of them are taking orders at your side of the bar, together with other people patiently waiting. Of course you have no idea but Mark has something up his sleeves. You didn’t notice him slowly coming at the your side while serving tons of drinks. And by the time Mark is serving drinks in front of you already, you were speechless. How can someone looked so good while working under pressure with all these demanding teenagers?

“Y/n right?” his voice brought you back to reality. You were stuttering the whole time while telling him the drinks you need. “I need, uhm -“ you saw him mix something and serve the person beside you. His hands were busy but you know you got his attention, “4 tequila sunrise, and 1 vodka sprite” he smiled at you and nod. He grabs 5 glasses at the rack and made the drinks in front of you.

You noticed he’s pretty calm but quick with his moves, “the vodka sprite is for Jeno’s girlfriend. She will throw a fit if the mix is not right, thats why Jeno always makes her drinks” still stuttering with your words, you made sure you sound polite.

He let out a cute laugh, finishing the drinks but somehow you want him to move a bit slower so you could talk to him more. “I’ll tell you a secret, Jeno learned that mix from me” he told you with a slight smirk. Well that’s a relief you thought, the last thing you want is for your best friend and Jeno to fight.

“Out of these five drinks, which one is yours?” he asked with a smile, trying his best to talk loud, just enough for you to hear him.

“Uh- one of the tequila sunrise”  

He gets a tray and put all 4 drinks leaving your drink behind. “Give these to your friends, and enjoy your drink with me so we could talk more” that bold move made you smile from ear to ear. You do as you’re told and surprisingly he did talked to you the whole night while he was working. Haechan and Jeno teased him around because he was never like this with other customers at the bar. Just by talking to him while he’s working you already found out a lot of things about him. Born and raised in Canada but his parents lives in South Korea, you found out that you go to the same school, same year but different programs.

The night went on and on, laughing and talking to Mark as if you both knew each other for so long. You can’t help but notice that he was trying not to get you drunk so he could talk to you more and you were thankful for that. When its your time to go home with your friends, Mark really wanted to take you home instead but he figured it would be too much if he lets you wait for his shift to finish. “I’ll get your number from Jeno” he was making sure that this is not a one night fling. You smiled and nod leaving him to work.

On the next day, you woke up with a good morning text from Mark. A sweet and simple gesture that made you scream on your pillows.

‘Good morning y/n. I was hoping if we could continue spending time with each other? Its a Saturday and I don’t have bartender duties, I hope you’re free today.��

‘Oh by the way, this is Mark :)’

You read his message ten times already and you can’t believe you’re going out with the cutest bartender in Kensington today. To be completely honest you don’t know what to say to him everything he does makes you speechless. You were deleting and typing again and again, careful not to overdo things.

‘I hope your shift ended nicely and you got good rest. I’m free after lunch, we can meet somewhere if you want. Do you have something in mind?’

It was a beautiful day when you went out at the balcony, seeing your dad take care of his beloved plants. It is indeed a nice day to see Mark Lee again. In a mater of minutes, you received a text from Mark again. And it made you even more happier that he has actual plans on how to spend a beautiful day with each others company.

The day went on, and he looked more handsome under the sunlight and not the neon lights at the bar. He is comfortable to be with, awkward sometimes but he can save the situation and turn it into something interesting. You like how he gets so talkative and confident around you already, it makes you at ease. Even though he treated you with respect, everything feels too good to be true you can’t help but still doubt.

“Mark I didn’t mean to sound rude but, why me? I mean you serve drinks to girls prettier than me every week, talk to the hottest girls and you’re pretty handsome yourself and I’m this normal girl that’s nice enough to get drinks for her friends at the bar,and it just so happens that I caught your attention”

He chuckled and grabs your hand, “It’s a matter of choice y/n. You have everything and more, and I can prove that choosing you is a wise decision. It just so happens that this cute bartender only laid eyes on you” he kissed you on the cheek and told you go inside your house already. Like normal first dates, you never wanted the day to end. Just like how you never wanted to stop talking to him that night at the bar.

You wanted him to never forget this night so you bravely ran into him and kissed him on the lips for a hot minute. Making sure to leave enough heat on his body to keep him warm when he leaves. “I’m planning to have our first kiss on our third date actually” his voice is shaking, definitely startled. “I’m just proving you chose the right girl” you bit your lower lip, hoping you didn’t sound so cocky. To your surprise he kissed you again and again and again, enough to understand that hes yours starting tonight.

Being with Mark Lee is like a crazy roller coaster ride. Months have already passed since that fateful night and everyday since then is beautiful and full of love. Some days were slow, when you’re just watching him play and sing with his guitar while you study or do school stuff. Whenever he’s tired from work he will sweetly ask if you could stay with him so he could just lay on your chest and hug you while he enjoys playing with his hair until he sleeps. By the time you knew about Mark’s love for watermelon, sometimes you ate countless of watermelon in a day while talking about random stuff and loving each others company.

And some days were wild, when he fucks you senseless and go on for as many rounds as you want. Making out during his breaks at the bar for everyone to see that you belong to each other because to be honest you’re so sick of those girls who flirt with him. He sometimes get into fights at the bar whenever guys hit on you right in front of his eyes. He gets drunk after that so you wait for his shift to end, take him home and have make up sex and sleep at his apartment.

Even your parents thought Mark is a gem that you found in the middle of the bar, and both you and your parents think that Mark is different from the other guys you’ve been with. Juggling his studies, the relationship and his work was never a problem. He always finds time to spend with you because he is deeply and madly in love with you.

One crazy night, you were having so much fun with your friends and Mark has heart eyes on you the whole night. As usual the bar is packed and their favorite bartenders are serving drinks: Mark, Haechan and Jeno.

“Dude, you’re breaking my heart. You only have eyes on y/n now. You don’t love me anymore” Haechan whines while mixing drinks, making Mark laugh keeping himself busy again to avoid checking you out. Jeno on the other hand, spared a glance at your best friend when he saw someone familiar standing in front of you and his girl. Someone he will never forget because he was present at that time. He slowly made his way near Mark and told him maybe you’re in trouble because your ex showed up.

“Dude I’m telling you, that guy is trouble. He never treated y/n with respect. I was there when he mistreated y/n during my girlfriend’s party” but Mark Lee received his final warning from the manager, one more bar fight and his out.  

You knew that Mark is already aware of Jaehyun’s presence. You knew because you can feel Mark’s gaze from across the room. Of course you’re not insensitive, you quickly made your way to the bar so Mark can be at ease. He made his way to you, and kissed you before he serves drinks again making you your favorite tequila sunrise. Jaehyun came in out of nowhere and tickled your waist in front of Mark, Jeno was quick to hold his arm.

“Why did you went away?” Jaehyun is talking to you closely, you could smell his familiar musk making you uncomfortable. You bravely pushed him away something you wanted to do back when you were still dating, “Really? In front of my boyfriend Jaehyun? Get out of my face!” you figured if Mark cant start a fight because he’s on his final warning, you surely can and you’re not scared to be thrown out of the bar. Lucas is a nice bouncer, he wouldn’t dare throwing his friend’s girlfriend alone in the middle of the night.

Mark gave Jaehyun a shot of tequila and gestures him to go, pointing at the exit. Of course that hurt Jaehyun’s pride, “This bartender over me?” you wanted to punch Jaehyun so bad but you knew better. “Yes! A million times yes! Mark is not an asshole like you!” those words brought shame to Jaehyun, thankfully he left the bar with his friends without a word.

You were breathing heavily, your best friend came over to check up on you. The relationship you had with Jaehyun was traumatising, something you never mentioned to Mark. Your boyfriend gave you a glass of water, holding you close in his arms helping you to keep calm. “Thanks for putting up a fight for me” he cupped your face incredibly close to him. You kissed him quickly and told him to go back to work, “I’ll stay here where you can see me don’t worry” he winks at you, as if he’s telling you you’re in for a treat tonight.

The night went on peacefully and you decided to spend the night at Mark’s apartment which he thinks is a good idea. Mark got a little drunk last minute, so he’s ten times sweeter than he normally is. You noticed because he’s been kissing your cheeks every minute the whole car ride. Jeno was nice to take you and Mark home, your boyfriend was kissing and thanking Jeno for everything before he finally lets go and let him leave in peace. You and your best friend can only laugh at the scene.

Its a normal thing for the two of you to take care of each other, specially when one of you is drunk or tipsy. Good thing Mark is sober enough to change his own clothes and brush his teeth he knew you will seriously throw a fit if he goes to bed without brushing his teeth. You hand him a glass of water before you take a shower, “you sleepy already?” this time its you who gave him a kiss, he shook his head. “Not drunk anymore either” he’s quick to pull you for a tight hug, kissing your lips sweetly and taking his time with you. “I’ll shower first before everything else” you try to push him away giggling and pinching his cute butt. “aw-“

Your mind was clouded by what happened earlier that you forgot to bring your clothes with you at the bathroom. You didn’t have any choice but to walk into Mark’s room with just your towel. He whistled when you came in, telling you that he can smell you from where he’s seated. “Is this a new thing of yours? Walking into my room with only your towel?” he teased you making you both giggle and laugh.

“I will take off your clothes the moment you finished putting them on. I wont bother putting them If I were you”

Of all the many things Mark is good at, sweet talking is one of it. You tsked and walked slowly towards him, straddling him while he comfortably lays in bed. Gripping your towel tightly, careful not to let it fall. Mark let out a frustrated laugh and closed his eyes, “Y/n if I’m good at sweet talking you’re good at teasing” he knew you so well. You grind on his clothed crotch, making his thin pyjamas wet from your juices. “Please remove your towel, I want to see you” you didn’t stopped grinding on his hard crotch, slowly you let your towel fall making Mark impatient he grabbed the end of it and threw it somewhere on the floor.

He sat up meeting your lips, hands all over your body. Kissing each other hungrily like you’ve been away for a long time. You removed Mark’s shirt worshipping your boyfriend’s beautiful body and kissed his flawless abs, down to his abdomen removing his pyjamas and boxer briefs in one swift move. With no words or whatsoever, you suck him off like theres no tomorrow. His hands quick to be on top of your head, “Why do I feel like I’m getting rewarded every time you suck me off” he felt the vibration from your giggle.

You pump his cock while slowly sucking him off, playing with his head with a pool of spit in your mouth. Mark likes it filthy but he never mentions it to you because he’s a gentleman. Seeing your boyfriend’s parted lips while his eyes are closed, makes him ten times hotter always. “Oh y/n, baby - shit, you’re in trouble for making me feel so good right now” he managed to let out a threat even though he’s quivering. It’s obvious that he’s on edge already, you removed his cock from your mouth your hand played with his head, making him whine and quiver more he almost kicked you “So what? you want me to stop?”  

“No! - fucking - Im sorry please baby, put it back in your mouth” and you did, he smiled at you letting you know he’s thankful. After a few minutes, Mark is a whining mess cursing and breathing heavily under your touch while you try your best to keep his hips steady. You don’t always swallow his cum, but when you do he loses his mind and becomes a little rough in bed. Which you love.

You lay on his chest after sucking him off, listening to his heart beat feeling his fingers draw invisible lines on your back. “Your cum tastes like vodka” you both laughed at what you said. He was poking your pussy on purpose which you just let him do, “I wonder what your cum tastes like tonight?” you smiled at him, he kissed you in return. He loves seeing your hair perfectly falls to your side so he kept his eyes open the whole time you were kissing him softly.

Slowly pulling away from him you giggle at the sight of your boyfriend being needy of your kisses. “Mark Lee, tonight is your lucky night and your time to be a pillow princess” he looks at you for a second, hesitating since he wanted to make you feel good tonight. “Okay” he shifts to a better position in bed, making himself comfortable and waiting for your next move. “Hmm. Mark, I just remembered” you came closer to him, lips almost touching. “We don’t have condoms” you laughed at his reaction. Completely frustrated, groaning and massaging his forehead. “You planned this” he quickly accused you since you’re the one who keep on insisting to have sex without condoms these couple of days but he never let you win. “Oh y/n! You’re so good at teasing like - ugh! The things I want to do to you baby” you were still laughing while kissing his neck, marking him for the first time tonight.

“pullout”

“No way”

“Come on you’re Mark Lee. You can do anything” you sat in between his legs, kissing his abs slowly going down.

“Its not that I can’t do it, you know I can. And I kinda want to” he felt your kisses on his cock. Making him flinch, completely aware that your kisses are sweet traps. “Its dangerous, we don’t know what might happen” you groan in frustration, “Jeno does it all the time and she never gets pregnant. Come on, just this one time” his eyes widened by the mention of Jeno’s name, he didn’t expect that you will use Jeno in this type of situation. “I’m sorry” you knew what you did and you were guilty of it, “I shouldn’t have said that baby, I’m sorry” you stopped what you’re doing and lay on top of your boyfriend.

He hates seeing you like this. Maybe he can pullout just for tonight. You felt him tap your ass, you hum and looked at him. “I think” he gulps, he cant believe he’s actually saying yes, “Just don’t make me cum, I’ll make you cum tonight” you giggle like a little girl and quickly placed your hand on his cock making him hard again, kissing his nipples making him needy of you. He closed his eyes again savouring the pleasure.

You grind and grind on his cock, making it hard with your juices. He doesn’t say it but it makes him crazy feeling your pussy like this. “Baby It’s not even in yet” you stopped grinding because he looked like he’s about to cum. “Dont mind me, you’re hot. I can’t help it” he smiled at you completely letting go of all the worries running in his head.

When you finally lined his cock at your entrance and slowly pushing it in, the feeling was surreal. The pleasure when you grind more on his cock was addicting you can’t explain how good it is. It’s the first time both of you had sex without a condom and it made you both speechless. It felt like you’re having sex for the first time again. Only your moans and Mark’s surrounds the room. You were panting and breathing hard, hoping Mark could talk to you. But instead he switched the positions making you underneath him, his lips never left yours. You felt him slowly pullout and it made you whine, a little disappointed. “Baby why -“ but the moment you voiced out your disappointment, he came slamming in your pussy making you moan a little louder than before.

His pace was slow, enough to make you both crazy and at the same time wanting for more. Mark is completely taking control now, “Remind me to fuck you raw again next time” you gasped at what he just said leaving you in awe and making you more turned on. You switched positions again making you on top, straddling him. “You won’t give up, do you?”  he intertwines his fingers with yours, kissing both of your knuckles. “Nope. Told you I want to take control tonight” he nods in approval, he grabs your boobs while you grind on top of him. The view of you grinding slowly and then suddenly bouncing on his cock, not taking your eyes off him is something he will never forget.

He slapped your ass leaving you shocked. “Is that that the best you got, don’t make me switch positions again” you scoffed and doubled your pace making his head turn left and right, “You’re saying that as if you’re not on edge already. Mark, baby, you don’t know what you’re saying” you bite back.

“You’re right- fuck - Im gonna cum” to his surprise you switched positions again, encircling your arms around his neck kissing him like crazy.

“Pullout. Show me you can” you challenged him again.

He smirked and sucked his thumb, putting it on your clit stimulating you while he pounds your pussy. You regret putting him in charge again, you feel your high coming making your legs weak. “Oh my go- Mark!” You whine and moan making him stop when you already came. You saw him pullout, pump his cock and ruining his blue sheets, his eyes still not leaving you. Still on high from your orgasm , you cover your face with all your energy left telling him to stop looking at you.

“Mark, stop looking at me while you jerk off. You’re turning me on”

You closed your eyes still avoiding his gaze, but he went in between your legs again spreading your folds and licks your cunt. Making you quiver and gasp pushing his head away from your pussy but you feel so weak. All you can do now is give in to what he’s doing. You came again for the second time tonight, and you swear you feel so tired.

Mark felt so accomplished by making you feel good and tired tonight. He didn’t expect that fucking you raw can make him more addicted to you than he already is. You felt wet kisses all over your body, hearing him giggle and laugh from time to time. “Hmm. Im not yet tired. Want round two?” He licks your hard nipples, touching and pinching them to wake you up. You both know that saying no to round two will only make you both horny the next day.

“Give me a few minutes” you asked of him.

“Nope. Nu-uh” he’s teasing your slit again, making you sensitive and shiver under him.

Starting that night, you’ve drawn to each other even more. And having sex at least once a week without condom became a thing for the both of you. It’s not that having sex with condoms bore you, it’s just that Mark fucking you raw made the sex even more better than before.

“I’m telling you! He was completely out of his mind the moment-“ Mark quickly covers your mouth before you tell Jeno everything about the first night you two fucked raw. Jeno was laughing the whole time teasing Mark while he mixed drinks, not letting Mark get away with this.

“You’re so dead later” Mark threatened you again with a kiss on your temple.

After a few weeks, Mark insists on using condoms again because he’s scared he might not control himself anymore and cum instead you. “Is it too late for me to try taking pills?” he didn’t stopped you when you suggested it, “only if you’re comfortable with taking it, okay?” You nod.

When your final wave of exams are finished, everyone was out celebrating. That means Mark will be busy serving drinks again on a Friday night. Your best friend wants to get drunk so bad because she and Jeno had a fight. All you can do is be with her, meddling with other’s relationship is not actually your thing. You can only assure to Jeno that you’re taking care of her.

“Don’t let her drink too much” Jeno begs. You both know that your best friend is stubborn and she gets a little too alcoholic whenever they fight. “I’ll try” you said, giving him a frown and you went back to the table.

You felt sick a minute after your best friend threw up for the third time tonight. The smell of her puke made you dizzy and throw up too. You wished for this night to end soon.

Mark was quick too find you the moment you’re nowhere to be found around the area. He found you on the bathroom floor leaning on the wall. “Y/n, what on earth? I barely gave you drinks tonight” you felt so weak, your head hurts you cant speak.

The next day, you woke up on Mark’s bed wearing one of his shirts and comfortable sweatpants. You saw him on his small kitchen making pancakes, while drinking coffee. You quietly sneaked behind him giving him morning kisses and thanking him for taking care of you last night. “To make you feel  even better, Jeno made amends last night he apologised before they went home” it indeed made you feel better but not physically, you feel like throwing up again leaving Mark at the kitchen and running to the bathroom as quick as you can.

You threw up on the toilet making you feel disgusted to yourself, cursing all the alcoholic beverages you drank last night. Mark came in leaning on the door with a glass of water, worried about you and to what’s happening in your body. He didn’t want to think about it, but he suspects you’re pregnant.

“When was the last time you had your period?” That question from Mark made you completely irritated. You shrugged it off, not telling him a word. Thinking maybe he’s right.

The whole morning was quiet, something that never happens whenever you and Mark spend breakfast together. You asked him to take you home because you’re worried your parents might get mad at him.

When you got home, you checked your menstrual cycle only to find out you’re four weeks late. You were scared of course. Mark knew what exactly you were going to do so he didn’t leave yet. You saw him standing outside your room, looking at you as if he knew already what you just found out.

“I’m here. I’ll take responsibility”

You cried and cried that night while Mark holds you tight. Blaming no one but yourself. Mark is trying his best to comfort you and be with you, letting you know that he will never leave you all throughout the process. “All we have to do is be honest with the people around us. Specially to your parents, they love you. Im sure sure they help is through this. I’ll talk to my parents as well” hearing him talk like this makes you wonder what did you do deserve Mark.

Telling your parents that you’re pregnant is never easy. But having someone beside you while you feel like your world is suddenly crashing down is a different kind of blessing that you don’t deserve. Mark was there holding your hand the whole time when you told your family about being pregnant. And he was right, your parent loves you.

Nothing was easy about teenage pregnancy. It challenges you mentally and physically. You feel like a completely different person when you first saw your baby bump, but nothing compared to the feeling when the doctor told you and Mark that you’re having a baby boy.

“Okay, how about Marco? Marcus? So we could call him Marky” you laughed at the baby names your boyfriend suggests. They’re not bad, but it’s funny how he still wants to name the baby after his name.

When the day finally came, you were fighting for your life and you were sent to the hospital 2 weeks early before the estimated date of your delivery. Everyone was nervous, and patiently waiting outside the delivery room. And when the doctor finally came out, everyone burst into tears.

“Her delivery was not easy, but y/n and the baby are safe now”

Mark Wanted to scream, and tell everyone in the hospital how he’s so proud of you for fighting for your own life and for Marco’s. When he saw you and his baby for the first, he cried. Telling soft wishes beside the baby’s ear, playing with it’s small hands.

You and Mark were great parents even though you’re both young for that role. He had double shifts at the bar so he can earn more. Telling everyone that you delivered the baby safely and that he’s saving up so people will start seeing him more and serving more drinks.

You on the other hand, is completely hands on with your son, taking care of him 24/7 and not letting anyone touch your baby except Mark and your parents. You decided to leave school and return next year with Mark so the both of you can provide a great future for your baby.

The baby is now five months old and everyone is excited to meet him. But its not safe to bring him on Jeno’s birthday. So you asked for your parents to look after baby Marco for tonight. You and Mark kissed baby Marco goodbye as you went out to head to the bar.

“Do you think it’s right to make your parents take care of our baby just because it’s Jeno’s birthday?” Mark asked.

“I feel guilty too baby, but you need to work. And I promised Jeno. Besides its only for tonight and Im not drinking tonight, not a drop” he nods.

When you both arrived at the bar, Mark went straight to work, kissing you a couple of times before letting you go. As usual your best friend is already drunk, but trying her best to sober up because she’s the one driving you home tonight. You greet Jeno a happy birthday, telling him to stop giving his girlfriend alcohol and start giving her water.

“And speaking of water, heres yours my love” Mark gave you a glass of water reaching for a kiss. “Mark Im going to be drunk tonight, drunk in love” your boyfriend blushed but rolls his eyes on you.

You went back to your best friend with her glass of water, making her drink all of it. “Y/n I want to go home. I promised Jeno I wouldn’t stay late because I have early classes tomorrow” you nod and helped her gather her stuff, putting her jacket on. Mark was serving drinks at the other side of the bar, so you made Jeno tell him that you went home already.

Mark was grabbing a glass at the rack when suddenly one of it slipped through his hand, something that never happened before. “It’s okay I got it, go make drinks they want 10 rum cokes. You’re the expert” Hyuck grabs the broom and cleaned up.

Talking to people while mixing drinks is his thing, he heard Jeno called him a few times but he ignored him and kept on taking orders from people. He felt someone grabbed him from behind only to find out it was Jeno. Tears falling completely speechless.

When someone finally talked to Mark about what happened, his world stopped.

That night, you and your best friend died from car crash.

Mark was beyond heartbroken. He never talked to Jeno ever again because he’s scared he might hate him for the rest of his life. He asked for some time before he’s ready to face his best friend again. After the funeral, Mark talked to your parents and begged them to take care of Marco. Not because he’s running away from his responsibilities but because he knew he can’t take care of his son if he’s depressed. Mark never felt so lonely in his life.

He went back to Korea to his parents to seek comfort and asked them to help him stand with his own feet again. He experienced a different kind of sadness every day, crying every night because you’re alive and well in his dreams, he sometimes imagine that you’re still alive and making himself believe that you’re still here. But Mark knew better. He’s desperate to move on and be better for his son.

After a year, Mark is still experiencing the stages of grief meaning he’s still not capable of taking care of his son, which he agrees. But he realised its not right for him to miss out on in his son’s growth. Slowly with the help of his parents and your parents, he fixed himself again for his son. Although he’s still grieving, he pushes himself to go back to school and finish college. It’s something you would him to do.

5 years later

All is well and on the right track again. Marco grew well with the help of everyone who witnessed him struggle. Mark is financially stable and has a proper home for him and his son. The boy is still young to understand about death but Mark made sure you’re always present in their lives. Keeping pictures of you around the house so he’s familiar with your beautiful face, trying his best on teaching his son the way you would teach him so he would live up just like his mother.

Whenever little Marco and Mark forgets to brush their teeth Mark will always remind him that you will get mad, “Come on you little dork, if mom is here she will surely yell at us.”

Mark cried when Marco asked why he doesn’t have a mom, “No baby don’t say that. Mom is watching us from above, you don’t need to worry about a thing. Were both here with you”

By the time Marco was not so baby anymore and he finished grade school “Mom is proud of you kiddo” Mark finally brought him to your grave and explained what happened as light as possible so he wouldn’t get sad overwhelmed.

As part of moving on and forgiving, Mark and Jeno finally talked again after years and years of building their life again. Jeno and Haechan became great uncles to Marco, taking care of him with all their might because they see you in you in your son.

Mark never understood why such tragedies occur in your life, but he believes that you can take care of both him and your son from up there and that comforts him.

The end. ................................................. Masterlist Thanks for reading! If you came to this point, I hope you enjoyed it! I tried writing something longer but this is all I could manage. hehe.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas​ donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

*

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

       rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

               teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

 December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

       rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :(  :(

       rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

             teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

                     coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

 November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

    rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

         bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

               rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

 November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

 November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

     bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

           teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

     rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

          bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

*

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

*

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

*

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

        bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

              rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

     rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

    rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

[eternalgoldfish]

u got me so horny (part one) | (part two) | (part three) | (part four) | (part five) | (part six) | (part seven) | (now all on AO3)

Steve wakes in Billy’s bed.

Steve never wakes in Billy’s bed.

But the sun is shining, and Steve’s eyes are crusted with sleep, and Billy’s back is warm and solid where it’s pressed against his, their legs touching, Billy’s dorm-issued twin-sized bed hardly large enough for one full-grown man, let alone two. Steve doesn’t remember getting under the covers, or Billy wishing him goodnight.

But the sun is shining, and Steve wonders what Billy would do if Steve rolled over an tucked an arm around his waist, pressed kisses into his neck. Steve wonders what Billy would do if Steve curled them together and called him baby.

They’re wearing underwear, so at some point, they got out of bed. 

It’s not that Steve doesn’t remember anything. He remembers sitting in Billy’s car -- almost jerking off in Billy’s car. He remembers whining against Billy’s lips with Billy inside him -- Billy’s hot thighs between Steve’s legs, Billy’s fingernails digging into Steve’s hips.

He remembers falling on Billy, which. The universe couldn’t have let him get away with one bit of dignity in all that, huh? 

Up until that point, he thought he’d been doing pretty fucking well, thank you very much.

Billy’d laughed and laughed, and pulled Steve on his side, and jerked Steve off until Steve was gasping and coming, toes curling, feeling drunk, and eager, and toomuchnotenoughpleasedon’tstop.

There’s just a gap in time there, clearly, because fucking into Billy’s fist doesn’t equate to waking up in his sheets.

So, Steve stays like that, back to back with Billy, wonders how much time he has until Billy wakes up, asks him to leave. Wonders how it could go if he pressed a kiss to Billy’s shoulder, danced his fingers over Billy’s arm hair, flicked his foot a certain way. Unlikely butterfly theory shit, and all that. 

Then Billy fucking rolls over and wraps an arm around him, giving him a sleepy squeeze. “Dude, why’re you still here?” Billy asks.

And that’s a fucking mixed signal, Jesus Christ. But Steve has been thinking exactly the same thing, so, “If you didn’t want me to stay--”

“What?” Billy lets go of him and sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. His bun is a lop-sided disaster, but the pendent resting against his chest is gold. “It’s Friday,” he says. “You have economics at ten, or whatever, don’t you?”

And Steve does, but.

“Fuck,” Steve gets out of bed and scrabbles for his phone in his jeans, says, “Fuck,” because it’s nine forty-two.

“Bye?” Billy offers.

“Fuck.”

---

Steve’s skipped classes before, but the thing is, his mom has been wild lately about his grades, and he’s kind of bombing economics, so it’s kind of fucking important that he gets there on time, and that he actually fucking listens and takes notes, and behaves.

He’s five minutes late, but he gets there, which is kind of the point.

Not that his mind is on economics.

He’s too hung over, too weirdly wired. There’s something under his skin that he can’t itch, and for once it’s not his dick chubbing up in his jeans because Billy is sending him nudes before lunchtime. 

(Although his phone does keep lighting up, so.)

(He thinks it’s maybe his heart chubbing up, and that’s definitely not good for his cholesterol, or the sticky notes left on Billy’s door, or what he’s supposed to tell his parents when they ask about his love life at Christmas.)

When he checks his phone, there are no nudes, just two texts that say,

found ur thong princess

goin 2 jerk off w it

And Steve has no fucking clue what he could have even left at Billy’s, but it definitely wasn’t a thong. He actually doesn’t even think it’s anything, just another one of Billy’s weird ways of making him fuck up in class, but it still twists something in Steve’s chest, something weird-bad. Like thinking about Billy’s other guys when they fuck -- and other girls, apparently, girls who wear thongs, so.

Steve texts back, Not mine, sorry, must be your mom’s. 

Billy doesn’t text back a long while, so like, maybe he’s blown his load, or maybe he just thinks Steve is boring for not playing along. Whatever. Steve has like, actual things he needs to be doing.

But with half an hour left in class, Steve’s phone finally lights up, like, My mom left when I was ten.

And well. What? What? Steve didn’t know that, doesn’t even know how Billy feels about that, like, if he’s angry, or upset, or fucking like, anything. He tries to scroll up through their conversations looking for an answer, but he’s coming up with nothing, just raunchy one-liners and sweaty dick picks. Billy’s barbed wire and crucifix, sandy skin, golden hair.

He doesn’t know a fucking thing about Billy. 

How Billy’s dick tastes doesn’t count.

---

Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he just doesn’t. Like a fucking coward. He slinks to the library after class like maybe things’ll just work out if he lets them cook for a while. Like maybe all the weirdness from this morning will gloss over if he pretends it didn’t happen.

No cigar.

Billy flops into the chair across the table from him like this is nothing, normal, and Steve guesses it is, because they do study together, sometimes, but not together-together, so. Billy’s not even taking out his books, just tipping his head slightly and running his tongue over his teeth.

“Sorry?” Steve offers, like a moron.

Billy scrunches up his nose. “Sorry for what?”

And Steve doesn’t really know, so. 

After a pause, Billy huffs and pushes back his hair. He’s got tacky diamond studs in his ears, the kind that make Steve want to tug on them with his teeth, see what they’re really made out of. Billy crosses his arms, says, “Guess I didn’t tell you about my fucked up family, then?” and they might as well be in the fucking Twilight Zone.

“No, uh,” Steve clears his throat, winces slightly. “We haven’t really had time?” Between all fucking. Yikes.

“Well,” Billy sneers, like, “My mom flaked, my dad is an abusive asshole, my step-mom might as well be a cardboard cut-out of a human, and my step-sister is a huge fucking bitch. I don’t want to talk about it.”

The thing is, in person, Steve can’t just leave Billy on read when he doesn’t know what the fuck to say, so he’s stuck just kind of staring, mouth partly open, running through all the whats and whys and hows. Processing months knowing Billy, fucking Billy after a party, waking up in Billy’s arms, and now whatever the fuck this is.

“You know what, fuck this.”

“Wait--” Steve snaps his books shut as Billy gets to his feet. “Sorry? Just. Sorry, I guess. Fuck. I just didn’t know what to say to that earlier, you know? A thong? That text might not have even been for me.”

“Who else could it have fucking been for?”

“I don’t know? Someone else you’re--”

Billy laughs, kind of mean. “I’m not hooking up with anyone else, you idiot. What was it you said, I ‘haven’t really had time’? I could have had anyone I wanted at that party.”

And Steve knows that, even though Billy is contradicting himself. Knowing it’s not making it any fucking better. Kind of just makes Steve want to die.

“But you wanted to fuck me.”

“Yeah, I wanted to fuck you.”

They’re talking way too loud for being in the quiet study zone.

“Do you want to fuck me right now?”

“I kind of want to punch your face in.”

Steve lets out a slow breath. “Cool, so we’re just back in fucking September again.”

Billy snatches his keys from where he threw them on the table and grabs his bag from the floor. “Shut the fuck up, come on.”

But Billy doesn’t punch him when they get outside the building, like he might have in September. He crowds Steve up against the wall, pushes Steve’s shoulders until his head hits brick. With the way the stairs jut out, there is just enough space between them and the hedges that they probably won’t get seen, and Steve’s worried about no one finding his corpse for about five seconds before Billy’s lips are on his, kisses all clicking teeth and fingers digging into his sweater.

It should make him angry.

It’s kind of erotic.

(It’s kind of confusing, but Billy’s slipping his hand into his sweatpants, and they’re kind of in public, and Steve really doesn’t need a criminal history, but)

He bucks against Billy’s palm, wants his hands on Billy’s skin. Wants to think this is maybe a solution, with Billy’s teeth grazing over his neck, Billy laughing softly in his ear.

“You like to get off in public?” he asks, and Steve is pretty positive he’s shut that down about a million times, but Billy’s kissing him in earnest, playing with his cock, and well.

Steve can’t exactly hide how fucking hard he is when things are already this far gone.

“You got something to say to me, Pretty Boy?”

Steve tugs on Billy’s hair. “Like what?”

“A sorry, maybe, since I’m being so forgiving.”

“I said sorry,” but it’s shaky, kind of airy. “If the campus police--”

“Guess you better be quick, then.”

And Billy is confusing, disgusting, infuriating, gorgeous, and Steve is a complete dumbass, so he whines, “C’mon, I’ll blow you in my room--” which absolutely does not work.

“Or you could blow me here.”

Which Steve is definitely not going to do, but the idea makes his breath catch, has him moaning softly as Billy tugs on his bottom lip. Faintly, he realizes he had more resolve when he was drunk than he does now, and that’s not something he really wants to investigate, not when he’s unzipping Billy’s jeans and jerking Billy in return, heart thumping and skin tingling each time the library door opens and slams shut.

Billy’s teeth are on his cheek, breathing hot in his ear, murmuring, “Someone is going to hear you,” like Billy isn’t also making noise with every breath, fucking into Steve’s hand like they’re on a clock. Like he’s trying to get Steve’s hand fucking pregnant.

“Sorry,” Steve says, mostly a gasp. “Sorry, sorry.”

Meaningless. Billy doesn’t need it, can’t with how smug he is when Steve comes first, with how he almost breaks their cover laughing when he wipes Steve’s come on the inside of Steve’s sweatpants. He comes with his nose in Steve’s neck, hands gripping Steve’s hips, and it’s. 

Well, it’s kind of mortifying.

But Billy is laughing again, knocking away Steve’s hand so he can fix himself back in his jeans, and Steve should be angry, but.

“What was that about blowing me on your rich boy sheets?” Billy asks.

They have to change their pants now anyway.

[puckyess]

4 Times Fate Brought You Together +1 Time You Met Him on Purpose | Ryder Donovan

Thanks for being patient! What’s your favorite part/line? My fav line is in the tags.

*** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED ***

Words: 8.4k

Brewers Game

You and your group of friends were the worst at actually making plans, preferring to be spontaneous and see where the days took you. Today’s adventure included deciding to attend a Brewers game an hour before it started. Seeing as how Miller Park was a little over an hour away, there was no time to debate the idea if you wanted to make it there before the second inning. At the time, it had seemed like perfect timing, a great idea.

Now, however as you stood on the crowded patio, the only tickets left for today’s sold out game, you were rethinking the whole plan. While you were a fan of the game and an even bigger fan of Christian Yelich, the blisters on your feet from standing in flip flops were not making the experience worth it. Luckily, your friends had volunteered to scour the stadium for some neglected seats. That left you standing against the railing, nursing a beer and rolling your eyes at the very obnoxious group a couple tables over.

Glancing over your shoulder with a dirty look on your face was a mistake as you realized who that group was: a majority of the Wisconsin hockey team. Your eyes widened and you quickly turned your head back to the game, but your actions hadn’t gone unnoticed by a certain blonde.

“Guys, maybe we should cool it a bit. We’re getting looks”, he tried.

“Who’s giving us looks? I’ll fight ‘em”, Mike called a bit too loud.

Your eyes on the field, you felt your face flush as his voice easily carried over to your direction. You hated confrontation and you had a feeling you were about to get one. Hoping to avoid it and trying to look innocent, you pulled your phone from your back pocket and sent an sos text to your friend, alerting her of who else was in your presence and asking how much longer she’d be gone to find seats.

You heard a “dude!” and the sound of a smack and you couldn’t help but giggle a little as who you assumed was the boy who yelled was getting reprimanded. Mike was his name and he was apparently not as drunk as he was acting, as he spied your shoulders shaking, his eyes narrowing in on the person who had gotten him thwacked by Ryder.

“Hey!” He hollered. You froze.

“Yeah, you, Yelich shirt!” And though that could have applied to ¾ of the people there, you knew he was referring to yourself. It was time to face the music so you slowly turned toward the hollering boy with your eyebrows raised.

The shit eating grin you were met with spelled trouble and you braved yourself for whatever it was he had to say next. “My friend, here,” he says grabbing Ryder and roughing his shoulder, “says he has a major crush on you. Like big time. Won’t stop staring at ya. Isn’t that right, Dono?” The blush that took over your face surely matches Ryder’s, who’s staring at you with wide, apologetic eyes. Meanwhile the boys are snickering at Mike embarrassing their friend in front of a girl.

“Really? Why don’t you tell him to come over and tell me himself? I couldn’t hear him over your loud mouth”, you retort. And with that you turn back around, heart beating in your ears, definitely not focusing on the game anymore. The noise level in the stadium raises three decibels as the guys hoot and holler at your chirp.

--

Not too much time passes before you feel a tap on your shoulder. You begin to sigh as you turn again, can a girl not watch a baseball game in peace anymore? But you suck in a breath when you see the nervous boy in front of you. His one hand is stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing at the back of his neck and he’s shifting his weight from side to side. Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you can’t help but give him a little smirk.

“Ok you need to chill, you’re making me nervous”, you chirp, gesturing with your hands at his nervous fidgeting. He drops his hand and pauses his rocking with a grin on his face, seeming to relax a little.

“Well you see, you just completely killed my teammate back there and I’m kind of nervous you're going to roast me the same,” he says, thumb jutting back to where he came from. You peer around his tall frame and see his teammates staring at the two of you, well his back mostly, on the edges of their seats trying to gauge how the conversation is going.

“The smile on your face is teasing as you ask “are you aware we have an audience?” and the laugh he lets out is better than you could’ve imagined, especially because you had made him tip his head back with laughter.

He answers, shaking his head. “I had no doubt they’d be watching to see if I fail”.

“If you fail?”

The smirk on his face is dangerous, “Well that depends on you”.

You hum in response. “I don’t know what you’d fail at? You haven’t even told me your name, your number, what you’re doing over here in the first place...?” You trail off, proud of yourself for that spark plug move.

He’s shaking his head then with a beautiful smile on his face. “I’m here to apologize for Mike’s headassery and for my team’s lack of manners when drunk in public. Well when sober too”, he laughs, then continues, “and as for my name, I’m-“ but he doesn’t get to finish as suddenly everyone around you is shouting “kiss, kiss, kiss!” You couldn’t believe what was happening right now. Your brain was suddenly unable to concentrate on anything except kissing the boy in front of you.

The nervous look is back on his face as he leans down to you “you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to”,  though there’s something hopeful in his eyes that you might say yes. Instinct takes over, your hands gripping his shirt and pulling him the rest of the way down to meet your grinning lips. You can feel him smiling as well, the rest of your senses only responding to him. You don’t hear the roar of the crowd. You can only smell his cologne and the beer that he had obviously been sipping on before coming to talk to you. You can hear the beating of your heart because of him and when you pull back, not wanting to get any farther than PG on national television, you can see his bright smile directed at you.

“Wow” is all he says, echoing your thoughts out loud. You can’t imagine the look on your face right then. You feel like you’re just staring at him with a big, dumb smile on your face. Luckily the boys, as with much of the stadium have gone back to whatever it is they were doing before your world was just rocked. Your phone ringing breaks up the moment and though you lift it to your ear you barely hear what your friend is saying besides “ohmygod, Ryder Donovan, Jumbotron and I found seats”. Ryder is still standing close to you and can very easily hear your friend’s squeals.

When you hang up he has an accusing look in his eyes but a cocky grin spread across his lips. “Don’t know my name, huh? It sounds to me like you very much know my name”.

Cringing, mostly at the fact that your friend had literally squealed over the boy staring at you expectantly, but also at your own embarrassment.

“Hey I never lied about that. I only pointed out that you hadn’t told me your name, not that I didn’t already know it. But I do have to get going to my seat. Don’t want to have to stand here with your friends any longer. I have a game to watch!” you say with a wink, leaving Ryder’s mouth open, his number never making it past his lips. He hadn’t even gotten your name.

KK

If there was one good thing about the abrupt end to the NHL season it was that you got to watch playoff hockey in the middle of September. And it gave you an excuse to be at the bar pretty much every night that week after work. You and your roommate would order a drink or two and spend the evening yelling at the TVs in the bar. Somehow in all of your excitement for game 3 of the Toronto/CBJ matchup you’d managed to forget that every Wisconsin student goes out on Thursday nights and so KK was a bit more crowded tonight, especially with how early it was. Surprisingly, a lot of people had on gear in support of both teams and were already pregaming.

Once you had your drinks in hand, you began to weave your way back to what had become your high top table in the corner. It had the best view in the place and it was out of the way, giving you a little space to jump around if the game got too crazy without being noticed. Or so you thought anyways. You made yourself comfortable on your stool, focusing on the screen as the puck dropped, completely missing the head turn and stare of the tall blonde who had not left your mind since three weeks ago.

He gets caught staring, but not by the person he wants to. Cole nudges his arm, “So are you gonna go make your move or what?” he challenges. Shay is next to his brother leaning on the table.

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed you drooling over her since the minute she walked in”, he teases. “See, you even have a little wet spot”, he says poking his brother’s chest.

“Where?” Ryder asks, confused and suddenly looking down, pulling on his shirt to get a better look at whatever mystery stain his brother was talking about.

“Right there”, Shay says at the same time he flicks his finger upwards, hitting Ryder in the face.

“You’re such a child, Shay”

“And you’re such an idiot. You fall for that everytime”, he cackles. “But for real, bro, you haven’t stopped looking for her everywhere we go. She’s right here, just pull out those moves I know you have”.

Looking over at you grinning up at the TV, pointing at something and talking animatedly to your friend, he decides his brother is right and he moves to get out of his seat and make his way through the crowd to you. But just as his feet hit the floor the bar erupts into a mixture of cheers and boos and you’re up out of your seat, hands on your head, watching Mitch Marner dangle his way through Jackets left and right and then going backhand on Elvis for one dirty goal. The distress is clear on your face and your arms are flailing wildly as you shake your head, yelling at the screen with your friend. Even from across the bar he can tell you're mad and pouting as you sit back in your seat with your arms crossed over your chest and a scowl on your face. You look cute all worked up over a goal and he decides he’ll settle for watching you interact with the game for a bit more. He also makes a mental note that you’re a Jackets fan.

--

Towards the end of the second period, you lift your cup to your mouth to discover it empty. You eye the thick crowd and debate whether or not to get another drink, but with the final seconds on the clock winding down and the Jackets trailing by two goals, you get off your stool and elbow your way through the wall of bodies.

Standing at the bar you feel someone grab your elbow. “What’re you stalking me now?” the voice attached to it asks.

You whip around, yanking your arm free not realizing that the bewildered boy was harmless. Seeing Ryder’s face with his eyes wide and hands up in defense you let out a breath of relief. “You can’t go sneaking up on a girl in a bar like that” you reprimand him.

He sheepishly apologizes, acknowledging that that wasn’t his best move.

“But to answer your question, I could ask you the same thing. I for one, live here” you tell him and he looks pleasantly surprised.

“Oh yeah? And who is ‘I’ anyway? I never did get your name.”

You laugh, thinking back to your first encounter and he was right, you had knowingly left him without introducing yourself. “Y/N” you say, letting him in on the mystery.

“Y/N” he repeats, liking the way it sounds on his lips and you have to admit that you do too. “And where is it that you live, Y/N? Maybe I know the place?”

You shake your head, “Probably not. It’s not on campus”, he still looks intrigued so you continue, “it’s a little ways the opposite direction. Right next to Festival, well, attached to it. Really convenient actually, I end up going there almost every day because I decide I need something new for dinner after work”.

Just then you hear commotion and look up just in time to see a replay of Werenski taking a dumb penalty, sending the lethal Leafs power play into action. You groan and Ryder chuckles. “You get pretty into this don’t you?”

You give him a look. “If you think that’s ‘into it’ you should see me when they actually get scored on”

“Oh I have, you’ve been losing your shit over there in the corner since about the fifth minute of the first period” he says nodding over toward your table with a smirk. You should feel embarrassed but knowing he’s seen you worked up over hockey and he’s been watching you this whole time makes you feel something else instead, something you don’t quite want to acknowledge.

“See, so I was right. You’re the one who is stalking me” you chirp him. He laughs and puts his hands up again.

“You’ve caught me. Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?”. Normally you wouldn't accept drinks from guys, knowing there’s usually always strings attached, but Ryder isn’t normal by any means and you wouldn't even be mad if there were strings attached to this one, so you agree.

“If you can get her attention. I swear I’ve been waiting here pretty much the whole intermission”. After asking what you want he looks around for the bartender and flashes a smile. Within seconds he’s ordered both of your drinks and is looking at you with a smug look on his face, your mouth slightly ajar.

“Unbelievable”, you mutter, but you should’ve known better. You can tell he knows what you said but he still leans down, close to you and makes a big show of saying “what was that?” And if he wants to play games then so will you, so you grab a fistful of his shirt and bring him back down to your level. “I said it’s unbelievable that you can just bat your lashes and that girl rushes over to take your order. Must be nice to be a star hockey player”. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t annoyed, firstly over the fact that you had quite literally been waiting there for a good 20 minutes and she hadn’t even glanced your way, but the minute Ryder shows up he gets taken care of and secondly you didn’t like the way she was looking at him as she quickly filled his order and leaned over the bar to hand it to him, unabashedly showing off her cleavage.

You did however, enjoy the dirty look she threw your way as he handed you your drink and leaned down to your ear to ask if you were jealous. Whether he was referring to his non-existent wait time or if he had caught the pouty look on your face, you were unsure, but instead of inflating his ego too much you left his question unanswered.

You focused your attention on the mark you had left in his shirt at the center of his chest where your fist had grabbed the fabric, wrinkling it. Your hand reached out to smooth it and maybe curiously feel the muscles underneath. Ryder looked down, eyes watching your hand the whole time hoping you couldn’t feel the way his heart was pounding under your touch. Your eyes gauge his reaction and right when you thought you might lose your own self control, the crowd saved you, cheering as Josh Anderson wedged one in past Freddie. You quickly removed your hand from his chest and cheered along with the rest of the Jackets fans. You used the moment as your escape, thanking him for your drink and then turning on your heel, “I have a game to watch!” You told him just like the first time and strolled back to your table, leaving Ryder in a stupor.

Festival

“So tell me again why we had to drive all the way across the city to get donuts that were also at the convenience store right across from our building?” Shay asks from behind the wheel.

“Because he’s stalking kiss cam girl” Dylan pipes in, making kissy faces and then retreating when Ryder shoots him a glare.

“We’re going to Festival because all I know about Y/N is her name and that she lives in the building attached to it and goes to this store all the time” he says matter of factly.

“So we’re stalking her?” Mike sums up.

Ryder just rolls his eyes and huffs out a “no” in the front seat.

“Come on dude, what’s your plan here if you do end up seeing her? What’re you gonna say when she says ‘oh what’re you doing here?’ ‘Oh ya know, I just made my brother drive all the way across the city to get these donuts and oh by the way would you want to go out with me?’” Shay asks, imitating Ryder.

“Well no”, he answers defensively.

“So what’s your plan?” Mike pushes.

Ryder looks down at his hand, suddenly regretting his decision to shove his teammates into a car after practice and travel across town to your door. Well, grocery store. “I don’t know’ I haven’t gotten that far, okay? I haven’t really thought about it”.

At that Mikey dies laughing, “Don’t lie, Rydes! As if you haven’t been rehearsing in your bedroom mirror for the past four days”. Ryder twists in his seat to eye his teammate before he lunges for him through the opening to the backseat, making Shay swerve the car as he turns into the parking lot.

“Hey, hey, hey! Watch the shoulder!” He shouts, trying to shield his shoulder from his brother's aggressive movements. Putting the car in park he tugs on Ryder’s shirt, making him sit down and then popping the locks, he’s shoving him out of the car. “We should just leave him”, Dylan mumbles when the door shuts.

--

As he rounds the corner of  the donut aisle for the fourth time, he’s shaking his head at his stupidity. What was he thinking coming to this grocery store on a Monday night and expecting to see you? He’d checked the playoff schedule and there weren’t any games tonight, but that didn’t mean you’d be spending your night at the grocery store. Letting out a long sigh he frowns and grabs the box of Krispe Kreme donuts.

Having been watching him from the end of the aisle, you decide to finally speak up, “Someone having a rough day? I’ve never seen anyone have that reaction when they grab glazed donuts”.

His face lights up when he turns to face you. “You’re here”, he blurts out. His cheeks flame as he tries to recover. “I mean of course you’re here, you live right next door..I mean..” he’s clearly flustered and though you should say something to try and make him relax a little, you can’t help but chirp him just a tiny bit.

“I do. Someone has a good memory...I’m surprised no one’s called the cops on you for loitering. You’ve been pacing around the store for a good half hour now and you look nervous as hell like you’re gonna steal something”.

“Just your heart” he says automatically. His eyes widen and his hands cover his face. “Ohmygod, I can't believe I just said that '' he draws out with a groan, hand sliding down his face. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what’s wrong with me” he says with slumped shoulders and red cheeks.

Your head is thrown back with loud laughs that earn you stares from the couple entering the aisle. “That was smooth, Donovan'' you say and put a hand on his arm, scooching a little closer to him to let the couple pass by. He tries to ignore your touch but it’s increasingly harder to do, the longer you let your hand linger.

“ So what are you doing here anyway? Isn’t this like kind of out of the way from campus?” Curiosity fills your voice. Ryder inwardly cringes at his brother being right. Of course you’d want to know what he was doing here and you’d picked up on the fact that it was very much out of his way. instead of answering the question he poorly tried to deflect, unable to come up with much. It’s like his brain won’t function properly around you.

“Well I just needed the world’s best glazed donuts and figured I would go to a grocery store instead of a convenience store because they’re probably fresher?” he offers.

“Uh huh”, you nod, clearly not believing him. “They are prettyyyy gooood” you say reaching across him to grab a box of your own and add it to the basket on your arm, “But not the best.” And you begin to tell him about the little bakery back home that makes literally the world’s best glazed donuts as you walk through the store and finish crossing items off your list.

When you self checkout and all Ryder has is the box of donuts you swipe them from him, scanning them and pulling a pen out of your purse. He’s practically wrestling you in the middle of the checkout, protesting, saying that “under no circumstances will you be walking out of there without money in your hands for the world’s second best glazed donuts”. After receiving dirty looks from the lady behind you in line, you shove the box back into his hands and quickly grab your couple of bags. He holds the door for you on your way out and offers to take your bags and walk you back. You shake your head though, knowing that if he walked you back, you’d invite him in, and if you invited him in he’d be staying until the sun came up.

“Just take your donuts home and call it a win, Rydes”, you say, nodding toward the box in his hand. Your face gets warm at the use of the nickname slipping your mouth but the grin it earns from him is worth the embarrassment of the slip up.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says but phrases it in the way of a question.

A small smile finds its way onto your features, “Maybe,” you turn to walk away, “if you use what’s written on that box”. He suddenly remembers you writing something on the box when you took it from him moments ago. At the time he had been too worried about paying you back that he had forgotten to actually see what you had written. He glances down to see your number messily scrawled on the top of the box, a small smile creeping its way onto his lips. When he looks back up you’re nowhere to be seen.

Turning to walk back to where the boys are no doubt anxiously waiting for him he pops open the box and takes a big, victorious bite out of a donut. He casually slides into the car to find Shay, Mike and Dylan on the edge of their seats. Mike looks a little too smug as he says, “Coming out empty handed I see?”. With an eyebrow raised Ryder asks him if he wants a donut, extending the box toward his obnoxious teammate, nonchalantly showing off the number on the top. Dylan was about to complain that he didn’t get offered any donuts when he spies something out of place on the polka dotted box.

“What’s that on the top-ohmygod you got her number didn’t you? She was actually there? You lucky son of a bitch. This never happens to me” he says, sitting back in his seat and pouting.

Shay’s laughing from the front seat. “That’s the Donovan way. Pay up, Vorlicky. You owe me 10 bucks”.

“Let me see that'' Mike grumbles, yanking the box from Ryder’s hand to inspect. Ryder tried to play it cool, like he had planned it and had no doubts that he’d get your number, but he ends up gushing about it like a little school girl the whole way home. As he finishes the last bite of his donut he can’t help but wonder what your world's best glazed donuts taste like.

Season Ticket Holder Brunch

If you could only eat one meal a day, it would be brunch. There was just something so satisfying about starting your day around 10 or 11 o'clock, sitting down to a fulfilling meal of whatever food your heart desired. It would be perfectly acceptable to fill your stomach with fluffy pancakes and sugary syrup or you could go the cheeseburger and fries route; it was a win win. A week ago, had someone told you that you were going to brunch and there would also be hockey talk/players there, you would have been in heaven. But today you were feeling more like you were going to be in your own personal hell. Not only would you be in the same room as the guy you had kind of humiliated in front of his buddies, but you’d also have to look the one in the eye who you had given your number to and never heard from. Oh and then there was the fact that you’d be with the whole damn Wisconsin hockey team as a fan, a season ticket holder fan at that. You wouldn’t even be going, but as fate would have it, your roommate had just so happened to threaten your life when you had first refused to go, using the phrase “I will kill you myself if I have to”. So here you were, about to celebrate the beginning of a new season with brunch and the stars themselves.

--

His eyes had widened in disbelief the first time he had caught sight of you that day. What were you doing here, at a luncheon exclusively for season ticket holders? Cole looked at his teammate.

“You still haven’t reached out to her yet?” He asked incredulously.

“I didn’t think she was serious. What am I supposed to say?”

“Dude she gave you her number. What more does she need to do? Sack up bro”. Ryder knew Cole was right. You hadn’t thrown yourself at him like other girls did, but you had definitely made it clear you were interested in him. Hell, you had literally kissed him in front of thousands of people and yet, he couldn’t compose a text? He knew he had to speak to you today before you left, but as he watched you greet Coach Granato with such confidence, he lost his.That didn’t mean his eyes didn’t follow you everywhere you went, constantly aware of your presence in the room, even if you didn’t appear to be aware of his.

From a fan’s perspective, the whole setup was pretty cool, you had to admit. The guys were greeting guests as they entered and mingling throughout the room. You knew where Ryder was at every moment and though you wanted so badly to be able to go up to him, you made yourself avoid him. A task that was made very difficult with the warmth of his eyes on your every more. This little dance of yours continued until the presentations started, then the guys were lined up at the front of the room at banquet tables that were facing the rest of the room. There were a couple speeches from the coach and the new captains, and a really well put together hype video, which you watched none of because the whole time you kept locking eyes with the one and only, Ryder Donovan. You both were casting glances each other’s way, alternating whose turn it was to quickly look away, the question in your eyes present each time and the guilt in his.

--

When tables are released to go get their food from the buffet he searches for you. Spotting you in line with a plate in your hand he slides up next to you.

“I was about to offer you a ticket to the game but I guess you’ve already got that covered” he tries. You don’t even turn his way, pretending to survey the food even though your heart is beating a mile a minute just with his proximity to you.

“Oh is that so? And how were you going to do that? I’m assuming you lost my number? And if you didn’t, you really should”.

He hears snickers from behind him and he shoots his teammates a glare before turning his attention back to you. Clearly he’s messed up and he knows he’s skating on thin ice (haha) with you so he tries to choose his words carefully before just deciding to put himself out there.

“I didn’t exactly know what to say? I typed out a bunch of different options, some cheesy pickup lines, a simple hey, but I erased it every time. It didn’t seem...good enough” he admits. Now you look at him, his face confirming his words and you see him look nervous for the third time since you’ve met him, and three times more than you thought you ever would.

“How about a ’hi it’s Ryder’ you’re plenty good enough already, you didn’t need to think of some snazzy message, it’s just me”

“Yeah, but that’s exactly my point. You’re..well you’re you. You’re kind of intimidating and by kind of I mean you’re intimidating”.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that one” you say, but you’re reeling at the boy in front of you calling you intimidating, as if he didn’t know who he was.

“It’s true” he defends, calling Mike over.

“Mike, is she intimidating?”

“Oh hell yeah. I was pretty shitfaced at that game and even I knew not to mess with you after you handed me my ass” he jokes.

“See?” Ryder says, gesturing to Mike as if proving his point. “Okay you’re dismissed Mikey” Mike looks annoyed that he has to leave the conversation but shrugs and follows Ryder’s orders anyway, leaving you alone with Ryder once again.

“Well just know I don’t mean to come off as intimidating”, you tell him, wanting to break the ice and ultimately let him in.

He follows you to your table and then hesitates once he’s there, not knowing if it’s okay to sit down. You pat the chair next to you and his tall frame is collapsing into the chair next to you. Once he’s sitting you can see him visibly relax a bit, noticing for the first time how tiring these events can be for the young men that serve as the entertainment.

“Are you tired yet?” You ask. He can see the concern in your eyes and his heart swells a little at the fact that you might be worried about him.

“Don’t worry about me, today is about you guys, the fans” he teases, leaning toward you to knock your shoulder with his own.

You can tell he’s trying to keep it light, but you wanted a real answer from him.  “And I thought I was supposed to be intimidating. Clearly didn’t scare you into actually answering the question” you say with a light smile. He chuckles at your remark and gives you his honest answer, leaning forward so that he can prop his bent arm on the table and rest his head on his hand, watching you.

“Yes, these things are exhausting. I’m just kind of on display the whole time and have to say the right things all the time  And obviously I’m not very good at that” he motions between the two of you, “but don’t get me wrong I’m super grateful to be in this position and I know it comes with the territory and stuff. It really is fun too, meeting everyone and seeing all of the support and excitement for the team. It’s a really cool thing we have here at Wisconsin” the passion and gratitude leaking into his voice. The smile on your face is genuine as you listen to him open up and you can’t help but think about how easily you could get used to this, to him. Your thoughts are interrupted by another boy stopping at your table.

“Hey bud, coach said you have to fraternize with all of the fans, not just your girlfriend” he says, clapping a hand down on Ryder’s shoulder. Ryder’s cheeks turn the color of the scarlet Badger polo he’s wearing. You laugh at the older Donovan’s remark before sticking out your hand and introducing yourself. Shay gives his brother one last chirp before Ryder is excusing himself.

“I thought I’d never get rid of him” he jokes after Ryder leaves. “Look I know the kid hasn’t texted you yet, but I know for a fact he’s interested in you. I’m assuming you’re coming to our game this weekend?” He asks.

“I think I can arrange that, yes” you say as you watch Ryder work the room. As if he can sense you watching him, he sends a smile your way, a slight blush on his cheeks still.

“- and yeah, that’s the story of how Carole killed her husband and fed him to the tigers” Shay finishes and waits patiently for your reaction.

You only catch the tail end of what he’s saying and are very confused, “I’m sorry what?!”

He throws his head back laughing, earning Ryder’s attention. “You weren’t listening to a word I said, Y/N. You two have it so bad for each other” he taunts. You roll your eyes but there is a definite smile on your face.

“Yeah, says you”.

He smiles back, getting up from the table since you weren’t listening anyways. “I mean it, this weekend. You and Ryder. I’m gonna make it happen” he says pointing at you and his brother. You shake your head at him but don’t protest, continuing to watch the tall boy across the room.

--

With the event wrapping up you decide to head out, having to prepare some stuff for work the next day. You want to make it a point to say your goodbye to Ryder before you leave this time, but he beats you to it as he sees you nearing the door.

“So about that ticket..” he says grinning.

“Oh are you getting me a seat on the glass or right behind the bench?” You tease.

He’s just as quick with a response, “if that’s what you want. As long as I know where to look for you”. You look away not wanting him to see the way your face is heating up. He’s getting good at this.

“D5” you tell him, biting your lip.

“D5” he repeats as if committing it to memory. “Well then I will see you there”, he says.

“Not if I see you first, Donovan” you lightly flirt. He rolls his eyes at your cheesy response, fighting the grin that breaks out on his face.

“Get outta here, Y/N, I'm starting to rub off on you”.

+1

Since the season ticket holder event, Ryder had stepped up his initiative, even texting you for the first time later that day to make sure you had gotten home alright and again apologizing for not messaging you sooner. He made up for lost time by committing all of his free time to you, texting and FaceTiming you every chance he got, even sneaking messages in during practice where you got a text from his coach telling you that Ryder would no longer be available for the next hour as he would be bag skating. The boys let him have it for that one.

Needless to say, you two had grown closer in the span of a week, feeling like you had known each other for ages and you were very much looking forward to the next time you could see him, which would be at his game. Obviously he knew you had tickets for it, but the look on his face when he asked if you would come to his game was adorable.

The gameday experience itself and attending the game as someone’s possible significant other was new in every way and couldn’t have been more perfect from start to finish. Even getting ready for the game was exciting. The moment you walked through the doors of Kohl you were in awe. It was even bigger and better than you had imagined. You were taking so much time admiring the arena that you were a few minutes late to watch warmups. Of course you wandered down to the glass and Ryder was in front of you in an instant. He charmingly tossed a puck over the glass and then was hit by Dylan against the boards. The game itself was electric. The atmosphere was alive and you could tell the boys were feeding off the energy. It was a very tight game for all three periods, but Ryder luckily found the back of the net within the last minute, putting the Badgers up 1 and sealing the victory. He immediately crashed into the glass right in front of you, you capturing the moment with the proudest smile on your face.

--

Waiting for Ryder was nerve racking to say the least. Your eyes kept shifting from place to place and person to person and you exchanged fake smiles with the people you had made awkward eye contact with. There were small groups of family members and girls waiting for the team to make their exit and you stood off to the side by yourself. You couldn’t have felt more out of place if you tried.

Soon enough you see a blonde poke of hair through the doorway of the locker room. With his head above everyone else’s you watch his eyes scan the groups for your face. You find each other immediately and across the room his silhouette starts to make its way to you. As soon as he’s in front of you he’s wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet. Your laughter is genuine, having not expected him to be so open in front of everyone, despite having already kissed on a jumbortron. Once he sets you on your feet, the playful conversation starts. He counters all your quick remarks and the interactions feel as fun and as alive as they used to in middle school when you’d pass notes in secrecy to your crush.

“So what did ya think?”, the nervous Ryder from previous interactions gone and the goal scoring, talented hockey player Ryder taking his place.

A smile tugs at your lips as you decide whether or not you want to inflate his ego any, but after a 3 point night you think he’s earned a little compliment at least.

“It was amazing! This arena lives up to the hype for sure and that #27, damn he’s pretty good. Do you think you could hook a girl up? He was on fire tonight”.

“I might be able to work a little magic. I don’t know though, he seems pretty into this girl already” he drawls out, reaching for you again.

“Well, she’s feeling pretty lucky tonight”.

His teammates begin joining you two, each one giving him a hard time as they enter the picture. “Y/N! I’m glad you showed up, we thought Ryder was gonna have a heart attack when you didn’t show for the very beginning of warmups. I’m Cole by the way, Ryder talks all about you”, he says sticking his hand out.

You giggle at his comment and Ryder’s cheeks. He doesn’t deny any part of what his teammate had just said. “I didn’t know I had to follow the team schedule, but I won’t be late next time” you say, knocking into Ryder’s side.

“Are you coming out with us tonight? We’re just going for a few drinks. Nothing too wild since we have another one tomorrow, but we want to celebrate the first one.”

His question takes you by surprise, as Ryder had said he wanted to hang out after the game but had danced around what he actually wanted to do. But before you can answer he does for you. “We’ll be there, but we have to make a little stop first” he says and then realized that he hadn’t even asked what your opinion on the plans were, “if that’s ok with you?”

You didn’t have the chance to answer, again because Dylan pipes up in the conversation. “Hey, you said I would get next goal!” He whines.

Your brows knit in confusion at whatever Dylan’s complaint is in reference to, as Owen throws an arm over the blonde’s shoulders. “It’s okay buddy, I’ll take you. Ryder has a girlfriend now, so things are going to be different”, O delicately explains like he’s talking to a child, welcoming a new human into the family.

Ryder rolls his eyes at his teammates, but doesn’t dispute or even address the girlfriend comment. “Sorry, D. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. But we should probably get going if we want to make it an early one tonight”. The boys nod in agreement and all make the walk to their cars, dispersing. Ryder walks with you to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for you and you have to say, even though it’s a small gesture, it still makes you blush and earns him yet another brownie point.

After he gets in and starts to drive you ask, “So where is it that we’re going that Dylan’s so upset about?”

Of course he doesn’t give you a straight answer, wanting to keep it a surprise as long as he can. “You’ll see”.

It’s a short time before he’s pulling up in front of the Capitol building and telling you to “stay put” as he jogs around the front of the car to open your door for you. His hand is held out to help you out of the car and onto the sidewalk. You expect him to drop your hand once you’ve made it safely, but he keeps your hand tucked in his and pulls you along until you”re standing inside Dlux.

With an excited grin on his face he asks, “Are you ready for the best burger and shake of your life?”

--

Ryder was downright passionate, telling you about all of the different shake flavors they had and how he made it a mission last year to try every single one, “AND every month they come out with a new flavor! This month’s is red velvet”. Which one are you going to get?” You couldn’t decide but he assured you that no matter which flavor you chose, you couldn’t go wrong.

He was right on that, eventually leaving the shake decision up to him and he chose the flavor of the month, and it was delicious. The burgers were amazing too, in part due to the fact that you were starving. You’d barely eaten anything all day because of the nerves leading up to being with Ryder that night. Both of you finished your food lightning fast, but stayed to talk well past your plates having been cleared from the table. You only ended up leaving because the boys were blowing up Ryder’s phone with texts asking when you two were coming. When you looked down at your own phone you realized that you’d been there for a good two hours. Time flew when you were with him. He ended up paying for your meal, claiming it was in return for the donuts you had bought for him and though the amounts were very unbalanced, you agreed with the condition of you paying for the next time. He was overly satisfied with the promise of there being a “next time”.

“That was the perfect post-game meal. I can see why Dylan was upset he didn’t get to be your date tonight”, you said once you were back in the warmth of the car.

“Yeah I feel kind of bad, I did tell him next goal at the end of last season when he didn’t get to go”, glancing over at you he can see your eyebrow raised and further explains, “It’s kind of cheesy, but every time I get a goal, I come here for a shake and a burger. Kind of a reward I guess. A little tradition I started”. The small smile that dances across his face is endearing and almost embarrassed.

“Well thank you for letting me be a part of your tradition”, you tell him earnestly. You feel honored that he wanted to include you and share his tradition with you.

He just shrugs, “Well I figured I had to bring my good luck charm to celebrate. You’re coming to my game tomorrow too, right?” a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Your nose scrunches up at his line, but a giggle escapes you nonetheless. “That was really cheesy, Donovan. But yes, I will be there”.

“D5?”

“D5”, you confirm.

--

His hand finds yours again as he leads you to their booth in the back of KK. You can’t help but notice its view of your table in the corner that you’ve spent the majority of the playoffs at.

The boys surprisingly keep their word of only a few rounds of drinks. Ryder stays glued to your side the entire time, only leaving to retrieve you a drink. But soon he was back, an arm resting over the back of the booth, a comfortable weight over your shoulders. He used the noise level as an excuse to lean close to talk to you and you didn’t mind the close proximity one bit. Despite the bar being pretty crowded since it was a Friday night and the team being all around you, it was like you and Ryder were in your own little world.

“It’s kind of funny how things have come full circle”, he notes, ‘here we are, in KK with a Brewers and Stanley Cup game playing”.

You glance over at the TVs and sure enough, there’s a Brewers game on one and a Cup game on the other. You lean into him, a content smile playing on your lips as you think back to the first time you had met him. “I can’t believe we got kiss cammed” you reminisce.

“And I can’t believe how crazy you get watching hockey games”, he teases.

“Hey! I take my hockey very seriously, thank you very much”, you exclaim, giving his side a little jab and then settling to lean against him again. “Fate’s really got our backs, huh? First the game, then here, the grocery, and that brunch”. You revel in all of the times you had somehow ended up in the same place together, each time not knowing that you’d end up seeing the other again.

“Yeah, er, about that”, he says, taking a drink.

You can tell he’s about to tell you something that discredits something you had just said and you groan. “What is it?”

“I definitely drove to that grocery store on purpose to find you, fate had nothing to do with that”, he confesses.

“It’s true. I was the driver!” Shay interjects from beside Ryder, a gentle shove from Ryder following the interjection.

Your head tips back with laughter, “I assumed as much. Your excuse for what you were doing across town was pretty awful”

“Dude, I told you she was going to wonder why you were there and you should figure out a response before you went outside, but noooo Shay never knows what he’s talking about” the older brother butts in again.

“Yeah, exactly, you never know what you're talking about” Ryder says, quoting his brother out of context.

“Except this time”, you chirp, earning a high five from Shay.

“Yeahhh, I like this one”, he approves.

“And to think I thought this was going to work out”, Ryder jokes, gesturing between the two of you.

“Do you guys need to kiss and make up?”, Cole asks from beside you. This gets the attention of Mike and a few of the other boys, who childishly start a chant of “Kiss, kiss, kiss!” Things really had come full circle.

You’re grinning as you say, “Fate, Donovan”.

And right before his lips press against yours he says, “Must be”.

The guys cheer, almost identical to the first time, only this time the kiss is a little more heated thanks to there not being thousands of spectators and a jumbotron.

When you finally pull away from each other, Ryder says, “I’m not letting you walk away from me this time. Can I take you out on a date?”

[theycallmebeccawrites]

Chris & Ellie Series: Episode 23

Hello lovelies! Hope you guys are having a good day and if not.. I hope tomorrow is better for you. I went back and forth between posting this episode today or waiting until next week...but y’all know I can’t wait... just waiting this long has been killing me haha.

Anyway, with this episode the focus of the main episode (vs the half episodes) is switching to Chris while Ellie will be the focus of the half episodes. That will end once they’re back together again! How long will that be? You’ll just have to wait and find out. 😏

Enjoy this episode, it’s a long one (for me at least). And I’ll catch y’all next time.

xoxo Becca xoxo

Pairing: Chris Evans x Ellie Spencer (OFC)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: language

Episode Summary: Chris and his buddies in Las Vegas following the filming of Avengers two.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

This episode can also be read on AO3.

The Chris and Ellie series is primarily chronological. It begins with a flash forward to 2016 and has a few other scenes in the future. However, the majority of their story is told in chronological order starting in 2013 and going through 2017. Each episode starts with a date to help you place it within the story.

The Chris & Ellie Series Masterlist | Chris & Ellie Masterlist

Episode 22.5

Episode 23: Viva Las Vegas

September 2014

Ready for a night on the town, Chris sat on the sofa in the main living area of the penthouse that he had rented for himself and his friends in celebration of Brock and Tessa expecting their first baby.

Having come straight to Las Vegas after filming had wrapped on the second Avengers movie, Chris had been in town since last night while his friends had only arrived from LA that afternoon. He'd taken the master bedroom and had left the other four to figure out sleep arrangements for themselves. There was always a fight, but in the end, they all usually crashed on the closest bed available regardless of the decisions made earlier in the evening.

90's club music played on the penthouse sound system, making Chris feel more comfortable. It had all been too big and too quiet last night when he'd arrived. He'd planned to just go straight to bed, but that had been derailed when he'd gone into the ensuite bathroom and saw the large bathtub. His thoughts had instantly gone to Ellie and her love of taking baths; specifically, in the large soaking tub in his bathroom at home.

With his mind plagued with thoughts, he'd spent thirty minutes swimming laps in the private pool before taking a shower in the guest bathroom and going to bed, with the doors to the ensuite closed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" a voice asked from behind him.

Pulled out of his thoughts, Chris turned and saw Chucky Kellie standing in the doorway.

Not sure what to say, Chris stayed quiet, but Chucky took that as an invitation to join him.

"Tanya talked to Ellie," Chucky explained. "They invited her to the baby shower back in July. She said that you guys broke up."

"You and Ellie broke up?" another voice piped in.

"I was wondering why you looked like someone had stolen your favorite stuffed animal," a third voice said.

A grunt followed that comment and Chris didn't have to look behind him to know that Bryant had just elbowed Ray in the stomach for his remark.

"Are you guys going to go into the room or are we going to just stand here all night?" the last of his friends, Brock, asked.

Their arrival had given Chris time to think about whether or not he wanted to talk about the Ellie situation. He knew if he said he wasn't ready, they'd all go along with it and they'd go out to dinner and do a bit of gambling just like they'd planned. But even he knew it was time, past time, in fact.

Ever since that fateful day in front of his house, he'd made a point to be honest with himself even if the truth hurt. It had been easier, he supposed, thousands of miles away and busy with work. But now he was officially on a break from filming until the new year. It had seemed ideal, when he'd been planning it, to have fall and winter to relax and get back a sense of peace. But now that it had started, it seemed almost overwhelming. Especially since he had yet to decide where he was going to spend said time off.

One of the guys cleared his throat, subtly reminding Chris that they were all waiting for him to decide if he was up to talking about it or not.

Sighing, Chris said, "Ellie and I broke up."

The lack of reaction made him wonder if they'd all already known. He hadn't known Tanya to be a gossip, but he supposed she would have had to explain Ellie's absence at the baby shower to the other wives. Said wives would have then passed on the information to their husbands and then everyone would have known.

"Did she break up with you?" Ray probed, gently.

"It might have been easier if she had," Chris mused, defeatedly.

The time had come, he realized, to divulge everything that had been going on in his head and in his relationship with Ellie to someone else. As odd as it seemed, the words started coming to him easier than he thought they would. He supposed it was because, while his friends knew Ellie, they had been his best friends since before he'd been famous. They always had his back.

He knew Scott did, too. But it was different.

At the end of the day, Chris knew that his brother would choose him over anyone else that came between them. But when it came to Ellie, Chris knew she had a special bond with his brother. Scott had been with them virtually every setup of the way as they'd gone from being friends to more. And now Scott had been by Ellie's side through the aftermath of it all.

"The first time Ellie and I met," Chris found himself telling his friends. "I was completely naked." He'd never planned to share that story with anyone, but with these four, he felt like he needed to be honest and start at the beginning.

As expected, the four idiots spent a good five minutes laughing after he shared how he and Ellie had met when his mom had hired her as a housekeeper behind his back.

Once they'd calmed down, he continued the story. How he and Ellie had only spent a few weeks with each other before they'd had to share a bed not once, but twice. Then how the two of them, and Scott, had gotten close watching sports and spending time together.

"Wait, let me get something straight," Bryant interrupted. "Are you saying that the two of you hadn't even kissed when we had the kickoff party?"

"We hadn't," Chris confirmed and then followed it up with, "Did it seem like we had?"

His friends exchanged looks before Brock said, "We thought the two of you had been dating when you brought her to the wedding. Your chemistry…"

"What Brock is trying to say, is that you and Ellie seemed like you'd already known each other for a long time when we all met her," Chucky said, cutting in. "The two of you just looked so at ease."

"Even Kady and I noticed," Ray chimed in. "And we spent maybe 5 minutes with you guys."

"And then the way you two were sassing each other at the kickoff party," Bryant added.

Chris nodded as their comments brought to mind one of the fears that had plagued him; that everything had been too easy from the beginning with Ellie.

"It was easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone I've ever dated," he admitted to them. "Ellie and I spent a lot of time at home watching sports. Scott was with us most of the time, but not all the time. We just fell into an easy pattern and then I kissed her at Fenway Park after the Red Sox won the World Series."

"DUDE!" Ray exclaimed, making them all laugh. "Sorry, but that's just awesome." Considering Chris knew that Ray and Kady had met at a Dodgers game, he wasn't surprised his friend felt that way.

"Is that when you two started to officially date?" Brock asked, redirecting the conversation.

Chris shook his head and then chuckled at the memory. "She returned the kiss," he said. "But then she hid from me the next day. And then we went to a Halloween party with my brother and younger sister. I cornered her in a room and made her talk to me." Realizing how bad that sounded he quickly continued, "I mean, I waited for her to get out of the bathroom and asked her if we could talk."

Ray made kissing noises and Chris threw a pillow at him.

"Did you two kiss that night?" Chucky prompted and then smirked when Chris's face flushed.

"Fuck you all," Chris grumbled as they laughed. "Yes, fine. We made out and we might have gone farther if another couple hadn't barged into the room."

Ray let out a catcall.

"How are you married?" Brock asked him.

"Kady loves me," Ray said with a shrug. "But back to story time, Evans. Is that when you two started hooking up?"

Chris shook his head. "She went back to LA the next day and I stayed back east," he told them. "But after kissing her, I knew I wanted to kiss her again. And I really missed her. We had been spending so much time together and then suddenly we weren't. I mean, we texted a lot, but it wasn't the same."

"And when you said you wanted to kiss her again, you mean you wanted to date her right?" Bryant asked.

"Yes, definitely," Chris replied though he felt his heart twinge at the memory. He'd been so convinced last fall that he and Ellie were meant to be together. "She hadn't been so sure. She didn't want to ruin our friendship if it didn't work out."

Those words sucked the humor out of the room and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his friends straighten. Shit was getting real now.

"I told her that it would be ok," he said with a sigh. "That we owed it to ourselves to explore our feelings. Because she told me she liked me, too." He told them about Ellie's encouragement while he was directing his movie, how he'd encouraged her to submit her resume for an editing job and how she'd told him over the phone on Christmas Eve that she wanted to give them a try.

He didn't get graphic in the details of what had happened in January, but he confirmed that he had taken her up to the bed and breakfast for a romantic getaway. And that he'd helped her celebrate the Seahawks' Super Bowl victory.

"So what happened?" Brock asked him. "When we saw you guys at the Super Bowl, you could hardly keep your hands to yourself. But then at the premiere…"

"They were secretly dating," Chucky reminded him. "He couldn't have his hands all over her."

"Obviously, but Brock is right, things weren't the same that night," Bryant argued before he looked at Chris. "Did something happen?"

"Other than getting messed up in my own head, no," Chris admitted. He sighed and told them about his journal. He knew that Chucky knew about them, after all the two of them had shared a bedroom at one point, but he didn't know the full context of them.

"And you completely shut her out when you got home?" Brock said with a frown after Chris told them.

Chris nodded. "I was so stuck in my own head, I didn't know what to do," he confessed.

The joking from earlier had stopped now that he'd gotten into the serious part of his tale. They'd been through situations like this with him before and he trusted that they'd pull him back from going too far.

Taking a deep breath, he dove headfirst into the abyss that was the downfall of his and Ellie's relationship.

"I wanted to be with her," he told them. "But at the same time, my head kept telling me that it wasn't the right time to be in a real relationship. She didn't press me to get out of the house, to go out in public with her. So we were able to keep it a secret."

He should have taken her out. He realized that now. He shouldn't have kept her a secret.

"Then everyone came for the premiere and there I was, dating someone my mom really liked and I couldn't bring myself to even tell my mom about it," he continued. "My mom isn't stupid though. I'm sure she knew what was going on. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything about it. And I don't know if Ellie wanted to tell her or if she was just following my lead on the whole situation."

He should have told his mom. She would have been happy for them both.

"And the real kicker is that I had to watch my sister introduce my girlfriend to my dad," he said. "It should have been me. That should have been a special moment for the three of us. But I just… I couldn't."

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, offering him strength with his confession.

"Tara figured it out and said she approved," he told them. "Then I went on the press tour… and came home to find Ellie's older sister and her husband in town. They weren't staying at the house, but we had dinner with them. I liked them and I thought they liked me, too. But then the next night…"

He paused to gather his thoughts, because it was getting harder for him to talk about it all now. He thought he'd gotten past the pain, but it had been simmering under the surface.

"The next night, Ellie had a fight with her sister, who didn't like that she was living in my house, working for me and sleeping with me," he explained. "She offered Ellie money to help her find her own place. Ellie didn't take it well and she came home upset. She told me about it…"

"And it fed into the fears you already had in your head," Brock surmised. 

Chris nodded then explained, "I pulled away again, but not completely. It wasn't fair to Ellie. I see that now. I wasn't there for her, but I wanted her in my bed and to be there for me."

He felt a mixture of shame and relief as he admitted it out loud.

"She tried to get through to me, but I was so stuck in my head," he sighed. "Then I had a bad dream and made a huge mistake. Easily the biggest mistake of my life." He took a deep breath, trying to work up the courage to explain.

"Here," Ray said, tapping his hand with a shot glass filled with liquid. "I think you need this."

Chris accepted the shot and tossed it back. It burned, but it was almost a welcome relief.

"Do you need a break?" Brock asked him. "We can order room service."

Chris wanted to say no, wanted to continue, but he knew he needed a break.

"Get me a burger," he told Brock. "I'm going to get some air."

Getting up, Chris went outside to the private balcony. Somehow, they'd managed to create a relaxing outdoor oasis in the middle of Las Vegas and hundreds of feet in the air.

While he felt better getting stuff off his chest, he knew the worst was yet to come. He knew his friends wouldn't judge him for his actions, but he didn't know if any of them could mask their disappointment in him.

Hearing the door open behind him, Chris looked over and saw Brock. "We ordered dinner, they said it would be about forty minutes. We told them not to rush since we're nobody special."

A chuckle escaped Chris's lips. His friends were part of the reason he was who he was. They helped keep him grounded.

"You ready?" Brock asked him.

"No, but I want to get it over with," Chris replied. "Do we have beer?"

"Ray and Bryant were popping tops when I left the other room," Brock told him.

Chris followed his friend back inside and to the main living area. Sure enough, five beers were sitting on the coffee table with a bag of chips.

"Thought we might want a snack," Chucky said with a shrug.

Once they were all settled, Chris continued his story. "I had a dream that Ellie and I were together and we had a kid. But she was leaving me because I couldn't give her enough time because of my job," he told him. "And in the dream, she said she should have listened to her sister."

"Fuck," Ray breathed.

"Add the dream to my other thoughts and it was the making of a bad situation in my head," Chris said with a nod.

"So what was the mistake?" Bryant asked cautiously.

"I left," Chris told him. Then clarified. "In the middle of the night. Without saying anything to her."

"Dude…" Ray said, his voice laced with disbelief.

"And when you say you left?" Brock prompted.

"I packed my suitcase and left early for filming," Chris replied.

"Fuck," all four of his friends chorused.

"What did Ellie say when you two talked?" Brock asked him.

Chris didn't say anything as he felt his stomach churning. He focused on the beer bottle in his hand as he tried to will back the emotions that were bubbling just under the surface.

"Chris, please tell me that you and Ellie have talked," Brock said, quietly.

"I can't," he whispered as he blinked back his tears. "And now it's too late."

"What do you mean it's too late," Ray demanded.

"It's been 5 months," Chris said with a shrug. "I thought she was just mad at first. Which I understood, but I thought she'd at least make sure I was ok. And then when she didn't…" He took a shaky breath. "I texted Scott, checking on her. And that's what really ended it. I shouldn't have involved him and I did. And it's a fucking disaster now."

A part of him wanted to stop there, but he knew he couldn't. "I went to see her at the end of July when I found out she was moving out of my house," he explained. "There was a guy with her. And it was clear that she'd moved on."

"Clear how?" Bryant asked, his question immediately followed by a grunt of pain. "Fuck off! It was an honest question. I mean if he saw her making out with some guy, then yeah, she moved on. But if it was just a hug, maybe it was just innocent."

"I didn't stay long enough to see them kissing," Chris told him. "I told the driver to leave as soon as I saw them hugging."

A knock on the door of the penthouse saved him from having to answer any more questions. At least at that moment. He knew his friends wouldn't let the conversation stop there.

Once the food was rolled in, they migrated to the dining table to eat their dinner. Chris was silent as he ate, but the other four made small talk.

It wasn't until an hour later, when they were taking turns playing pool that Chucky asked, "Let's pretend Ellie hadn't moved on for a second. If you knew she was still single, what would you do?"

"I don't know," Chris admitted. "I fucked up."

"Forget that for now, too," Chucky said. "How do you feel about Ellie right now?"

"I think I'm in love with her." The words came out of Chris's mouth without a second of thought. They caught even him off guard, but as they settled, he realized that it was the truth. He'd spent the last six months listening to his head and ignoring his heart. Clearly, his heart had known what was really going on.

"Does that change anything for you?" Brock questioned.

"Yeah," Chris said with a nod. "But not in the way you think. I didn't treat Ellie like I should have. If this guy she is with now is treating her like she should be treated, what right do I have to ruin that for her?"

"But you love her," Ray retorted.

"Isn't there a saying about how sometimes you have to love someone enough to let them go?" Chris said with a small shrug. "Besides, I'm spending the fall and winter back home in Sudbury."

"You are?" Bryant asked. "Since when?"

"Just decided," Chris replied. He shook his head. "I can't go back to the house in LA. There are too many memories there that I'm not sure I'm ready to process."

He saw his friends exchange looks but in the end they all nodded.

"Just know we're here if you need us," Chucky told him.

"I know, thank you," Chris said.

A few days later, Chris went home to Massachusetts and his mom's house. It took him a few days to settle in and to fit himself into the rhythm of the household, but he knew it was the best place for him to be.

It was at the start of his second full week that his mom had gotten the email from Ellie that he had suspected was coming: her two weeks’ notice. His mom had forwarded him the email, since it concerned his house, and he hadn't planned on reading it at all. Then, he'd woken up in the middle of the night with a sudden urge to hear Ellie's voice. He knew he couldn't call her, but he knew reading the email would let him hear her in a way and maybe offer him some closure.

Dear Lisa,

I want to thank you for taking a chance on me last year. You could have hired anyone to be the housekeeper and we both know there were people more qualified than I am. Instead, you chose me and for that I am eternally grateful.

Between my hours at the bookstore and my editing jobs, I find myself running out of hours in the day and during the week. Given that Scott is living in Chris's house permanently, I feel like it is time for me to move on from my job there.

Thank you again for taking a chance on me. It was the kindness of yourself and your family that helped me get to where I am now, finally doing the job I always dreamed of.

Sincerely,

Ellie Spencer

A bittersweet feeling came over him as he closed the email app on his phone. Setting the phone back on the bedside table, he stared up at the dark ceiling. He'd hoped to find relief in reading her words, but he hadn't. Instead, he longed to actually hear her talk. To hear her laugh.

As he remembered her laughter, a small smile tugged on his lips. It wasn't one of those melodic ones that people rave about. It was a real laugh. The kind of laugher that included snorts, wheezes and a fully body response. God, he'd loved making her laugh.

Sighing, Chris rolled onto his side. While his mom thought Ellie was just too busy to go to the house, he knew the truth. Ellie was cutting all her ties to him, and after everything he had put her through, he couldn't say he blamed her.

Then his thoughts went to his brother. What would this all mean for Scott's relationship with Ellie? Would she cut him off, too? He hoped she wouldn't and not only for the selfish reason of knowing how she was doing. No, he knew that she was an important person in his brother's life and Scott deserved the best.

Episode 23.5

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