#and music isn’t the same as it was in the 80s

[killa-trav]

Sad about the cheating rumours but happy about the topic because I have sewis news… ok so seb arrives at Brazilian gp (Thursday) with bites on his lip w ‘dumb I have a secret and no one knows’ face and I immediately start thinking why is he so happy…. We know he went on the chile trip but in his table tennis interview he mentioned something about having few days free from hiking(where did he go?). On Wednesday night Lewis posts his music studio setup I think thats his code for come over… my theory they hooked up

P.S pls no moralising from other anons, if you don’t like it go read some children literature and turn off your Wi-Fi 🤫😊

P.S.S you don’t have to post this, if you don’t want too

the way i misread this massively and thought u said he had love bites and i was like huh what?? so i had to go through my brazil tag to go have a look n then got distracted by george’s win lmao but yeh ik what ur on about now

so basically what happened was seb had a few days free and instead of netflix and chilling he went lewis’ gaff n music and chilled, they made sweet love to some absolute banging tunes I LIKE IT

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[pompompompeii]

I don’t care if this is a boomer opinion anymore Im so tired. pop music is actually getting better in recent years but the top 40s and radio stations have a special talent for selecting the shittiest songs to play so nobody would be able to guess that current music is good

[begginmonty]

working with mike

(this doesn't follow the plot directly and mike works like more than just 3 shifts, also this is legit 2k words long i got so so so carried away im just so in love with mike, apologies!! its also not been proofread sorry <3)

before mike is hired alongside you, steve raglan had given you the job a week or so ago after you had lost your last job over a silly customer dispute (the customer is never right) and steve was your last hope at job, and bingo he had one. here you are 2 weeks later, waiting by your car outside the rundown pizzeria, waiting to train the new guy whose supposed to help you

a car pulls up and out comes a very pretty, but very tired/drained, looking guy, you introduce yourself with a small smile and he doesn’t return it, and is like “im mike”, you give him the benefit of the doubt that he hasn't smiled at you, new jobs are stressful.

the first shift goes fine, you tell him the basics and show him the training video tape, which alongside your commentary of making fun of some of it and nit-picking little things finally gets an amused smile from him. you can see him ease up a little. he doesn’t talk as much as you do but he seems to enjoy your ramblings. 

you show him the showtime performance after he looks confused about ‘animatronics’ . watching his reaction of the animatronics rendition of talking in your sleep by the romantics is a little amusing to you but you were the same way when vanessa had shown you originally.

“its something isn’t it?” he doesn't reply, he just stood looking in disbelief. 

when morning rolls around, you show him how to lock up and then give him his own key that steve had given you. 

“wasn’t so bad was it?” 

“it was..different” 

the second shift alongside mike is different but a good different. he’s running a little late and walks in on your blasting an 80s hot pop hits tape over the old speakers, vacuuming the main dining area. a smile, that melts his heart a little, lights up your face as you see him walk in.

“im sorry i’m late the babysi-”

“hey, dont stress it. you still made it!” 

he is not used to someone being so nice and friendly to him??  its foreign but he finally cracks you a small smile, watching you as you turn on the vacuum and continue listening to the music. (i need to hug him i stg)

he hasn't met anyone as nice as you in a long long time, it’s refreshing for him

and not in a creepy way !!!!!!!!!!! but he watches the cameras and watches as you just listen to the music as if the world isn’t there and continue to clean the area. 

“need a hand?” 

mike speaks up as you take a break leaning against a table, facing the main stage, the curtains open (as your next task is going to clean around the animatronics, it’s getting too dusty), music turned down quietly. he comes and leans against the table with you. you start small talk, saying something about the animatronics and you guys talk a little.

“so, you said something about a babysitter, do you have, like, a kid or something? sorry if im being too nosy, please tell me to shut up or something” mike cannot get over how nice you are

and then mike explains his living situation, and then the two of you get into a discussion about how families can suck and be shitty ect

and mike really likes how you don't pry or ask him lots of questions like others have done in the past, this man is really liking you and he’s only know you for two days

“this guy…must’ve been on something to make this place” and mike laughs a little !!! for the first time you got him to laugh !!

“yeah it’s something isn’t it..” both of you are sat against a table just staring at the animatronics in front of you

the two of you make small talk as you wipe down the dust covered tables but you can see how tired he is, he’s yawning a little bit.

“hey, you know, you can like sleep on the job by the way?” he looks up at you from the table, “sometimes i take a good couple hours nap in the office, no ones breaking into this place anytime soon”

he tries to protest and mentions towards the cleaning products and you brush him off, “go, you need it”

mike feels a strange warmth in his heart the hasn't felt, maybe ever? and he naps for a few hours whilst you continue to clean around. cleaning isn't in your job description but honestly you’re worried about the level of dust entering your lungs y'know

a loud thud and chair scraping noise comes from the office and you run to it and see mike on the floor, he looks confused and you help him to sit up. you ask if he’s okay but he seems out of it, “mike, whats wrong?”

sitting on the floor together, mike explains everything to you and opens up to you about a little brother he had, and tells you about his dream issues and sleep issues and you can see he’s upset and shaken by this dream. He shows you the sleeping pills and he explains the dream theory he’s been reading about.

“this is the part where somebody usually calls me crazy” 

“you aren’t crazy, mike” mike notices how kind you eyes are and how warm your voice is, “i’ve seen crazy. you are far from it” you joke a little and he has the faintest smile tug at his lips. 

finally home time woo !! as you lock up the gate, you watch as mike goes to his car, “mike wait!”

he turns around almost instantly at your voice as you run up to him, you pull something out from your hoodie a fazbear security badge and hand it to him, “you’re officially security now” he takes it from you and thanks you with that small smile. 

3rd shift passes (you could’ve sworn foxy was standing in a different spot and bonnie’s hand placement looked completely different) and vanessa comes for her weekly visit and meets mike. when you aren’t with them, vanessa brings up the fact that you’re one of the kindest and nicest people she’s ever met and mike agrees. 

next shift goes by and another and you guys have a long conversation about everything and you tell him more about yourself. hes never really been romantically involved with anyone but somebodysss got a crush (its him and well, you do too). and then you let him sleep and decide to tackle the old kitchen. (you could’ve sworn you heard someone walk down the hallway but you double check and no ones there)

mike dreams again and you swear you hear a groan and you walk to the office to see him, out of breath, breathing, clutching his arm and theres blood coming from it and he looks up at you trembling. “oh my god mike, what happened?”

you sit opposite him, patch him up and make him a hot drink, and he's explaining everything to you and you can tell he’s really getting bothered by these dreams. (you also think hes hurt himself from falling off the chair somehow..unbeknownst to you)

he’s tearing up a little and you just hold his hand in yours, and he's looking at your kind eyes and he doesn’t know how to react to being touched, he stops talking (mike is incredibly touch starved oh my god) and, carefully, you lean forward and hug him very gently.

he’s stiff at first but you can feel him relax into the hug and he wraps his non-injured arm around you and grips onto your back, “its okay mike. you’re okay” you can tell he really needs this hug and you can tell no one has really hugged him in a long time.

when the shift ends and you say goodbye for the day, your car just refuses to start. you cannot start it at all. you get out the car and look at it in a huff, but lucky for you mike hasnt driven a way yet

he gets out his car and you explain to him about your car, and he offers if you want a lift home or at least back to his house (his house is much closer than yours) and you can call someone about the car and you agree.

the drive is nice, you notice he has a great taste in music

meeting abby!! mike excuses himself for a shower whilst you're ringing the mechanics for your car, and he accidentally falls asleep on his bed after. when he wakes up (a good hour or so later, which you really don't mind) he walks into the living room to see you and abby sat on the floor colouring together with a cartoon on the tv, and you guys are really getting along and she’s wearing your security guard vest and badge. (her friends told her to trust you)

“uh abby, why dont you get ready for school?” mike speaks up, causing you both to look in his direction. 

you can't fight the fact that he looks hot with joggers and shirt on, looking sleepy as hell aHHH

“okay” abby smiles and gives you back your stuff and runs off to her room to get ready for school. 

he walks over to you and sits down on the couch, “im sorry for falling asleep-”

you sit next to him and place your hand on his arm and smile, “its fine, mike, really. your sister is lovely”

mike looks up from your hand and looks at your face. he looks sleepy and gorgeous and you look gorgeous to him and your eyes are so kind and theres a moment. some sort of magnetic force kinda pulls your faces closer together.

“im gonna be late!” says abby running into the room.

mike drops abby to school and you stay in his house, waiting for the mechanic to eventually call you back like he says he will. you feel a little awkward sitting on his couch watching tv but you have nothing better to do.

he comes back he offers you a shower and some of his clothes as he feels bad for you having to sit in work clothes. 

the way his heart feels when he see’s you walk out to the bathroom and back to the couch next to him wearing one of his sweatshirts and a pair of his joggers as well hMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm (too early for love?)

he smells good

you must both drop off to sleep, as a few hours later mike opens his eyes for a minute to the TV showing some drama show, and then he notices a heavy feeling on his chest. there you are, passed out, in his clothes, head on his chest peacefully asleep. 

this is something he’s never felt before !1!!1 

he blushes (thank god you’re asleep) and brushes a hair out of your face, staring down at your sleeping face (uh oh someones in love) before grabbing the worn blanket from behind him and throwing it over your exposed legs.

you stirr a little, your arm wrapping around his lower half and he's so flustered and sleepy and aHHHH

he wraps his arm around your shoulders gently and passes out again (PART 2??)

[loguine-linguine]

Ok hear me out!!!

Steve is a musician who sings pop music and posts on TikTok. He’s kind of a C-ish list celebrity (definitely a bit of a nepo baby) and his music is poppy and catchy. It’s the kinda stuff that you can immediately tell is coming from someone who is actively holding things back/ isn’t writing from any truth. Mall music at its purest form. Then one day with no announcement Steve drops a double sided album that is like GOOD GOOD pop music. It’s also noted very quickly that the pronouns in all the songs have definitely switched to he/him. People freak out and he starts charting for the first time in his career. Kinda Chappell Roan-esque situation where he skyrockets to being a queer pop icon very very quickly.

He starts doing interviews. He shows up to these interviews in outfits aren’t dramatically changed from what he usually wore (polos, jeans, bomber jackets, 80s jock vibes) but it’s all just much more camp. The cropped shirts are shorter, the jeans are tighter, and the colors are all suddenly pastel. He has also started wearing makeup (not heavy makeup but it’s definitely a lipgloss, eyeliner, mascara, highlight/blush on the tip of his nose type situation). He shares that he dropped his old producer (who he had been set up with by his father) and that he’s now working with his best friend Robin. He comes out as gay, talks about his struggle with comp-het, and proudly shares that he is super excited to contribute to the growing movement of music that is being written by queer people, for queer people. His TikTok also blows up.

This is when Tommy Hagan first starts showing up. Tommy is an actor who is pretty well known for doing teen drama TV shows (like Riverdale type deals). He introduces himself to Steve at some sort of industry event right after Steve gets big and pretty quickly starts showing up in his TikTok videos. It comes out that the two are dating pretty quickly after that. They date off and on for about a year and a half. Tommy is a shitty enough boyfriend that even Steve’s fans don’t like him. He stands him up for dates, embarrasses him at events, says rude and dismissive things about his music, etc. Robin (who is also kinda famous by proxy/writes her own music now similar to Billie Eilish and Finneas) absolutely hates his guts. Publicly. They finally break up officially after Tommy cheats on Steve with an actress named Carol who is on a show with him. It gets exposed by the tabloids and Steve finds out by seeing a photo of them making out on one of those celebrity drama TikTok accounts.

Eddie is also getting famous around this same time. He’s the lead for Corroded Coffin and also starts acting occasionally in horror films. He doesn’t really pay much attention to other celebrities or the drama that goes on. He was never into that kind of thing before the band took off so he doesn’t see why he should now. Eddie and the rest of the band are at an awards show of some sort and the others make fun of him the whole time. He can’t stop staring at this absolutely beautiful man sitting at a table near them. “The guy is wearing a slutty little lace shirt, the tightest pants in existence, and has skin that looks like honey and caramel had a child Gareth you really can’t blame me honestly.” Steve and Eddie don’t officially meet until the after party where they immediately hit it off.

A few months later Steve announces a new album and releases a single. It’s just Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter but gay and clearly about Tommy.

The music video comes out and people loose their minds. It’s the same sort of video as what Sabrina Carpenter just released for Please Please Please with the stunning outfits and the whole bad boy thing. Steve spends the whole video in dresses and skirts. There’s even a corset at one point. The bigger freak out is the fact that the Barry Keoghan equivalent is Eddie and its a hard launch of their relationship that fans had absolutely zero clue was even a possibility because why would horror/metal man Eddie Munson even know Steve Harrington???? Robin and the Corroded Coffin guys think the whole thing is hilarious. Eddie and Steve are so so happy :)

[fiber-optic-alligator]

For the one word prompts: caught?

For you, anon, you get Rodimus being a well-intentioned asshole! How fun!

WARNING: THIS STORY INCLUDES SAFE VORE. THIS THIS IS SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, THEN PLEASE DO NOT READ.

The night is dark, and you are alone. Sitting at the bar, voices and music mingle together and create a despondent melody which does nothing to ease your aching heart. You stare into the drink you are nursing; the amber liquid makes your lip curl with a grimace. Shaking your head, you push it away.

The bar is lively, yet lonely. You aren’t the only one here who is by themselves, yet the company of solitude isn’t one you wished for or anticipated. Gnawing resentment hollows out your gut. This is the last time you ever trust one of those stupid matchmaking apps. Stood up on the fifth date, and you don’t even know what you’ve done wrong. Is it your clothes? Does your breath smell? What about your hair? Is your personality shitty? You’ve spiraled through the panic and sadness, but now is time for the stage of dull anger. If they didn’t want to be with you, they at least could have told you properly. It’s a whole lot better than being completely left in the unknown.

Someone slides up into the stool next to you. No mind is paid on your part until they speak. “Rough night, huh?”

You lift your eyes to the man and take him in. He’s slouched forward with his arms crossed on the counter, head lowered a bit so he can see your face. His hair is held up by an orange headband, and he has a massive black flame tattoo rippling down his right arm. His eyes are curious and kind. His smile, though soft and without teeth, somehow dazzles you. He’s sort of dressed like he’s ready to go to an 80’s-themed Halloween party…but you can’t deny that he is quite handsome.

You huff and look back at your drink. “I’ll say.”

“It’s fine.” The man’s voice is smooth, practiced. You have a feeling he’s spoken to others in this exact same scenario before. “Plenty of people here are goin’ through it. But you…you seem more defeated than upset.”

You don’t appreciate this stranger butting into your private life while you’re wallowing in your misery. Shooting him a glare, you spit venom from your lips. “I didn’t ask for your pity, and I certainly don’t want it. Who even are you, and why the hell are you trying to talk to me?”

He holds up his hands placatingly. “Woah, woah. I’m not trying to start anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just…I saw you, alright? I saw you, and you looked…really down. Kinda tugged at my sparkstrings-uh, heartstrings-to see someone so sad like this. I thought…maybe I can help cheer you up.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Are you trying to hit on me by telling me you’re sad to see me alone at a bar?”

“What? No! Did you not hear a word I just said? You look like you could use some company, that’s all!”

“Well, I don’t want company. I want to be alone.” Your voice cracks a little. I feel like I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.

The man is silent, searching your features with those soulful auburn eyes. His voice is nearly a whisper. “Date chickened out on you?”

“...I guess it’s pretty apparent, isn’t it?”

“Not to be an asshole, but I kinda guess that’s the main reason why I see miserable people drinking alone at a bar.”

You laugh. It’s not a bitter sound, yet it isn’t totally happy either. It’s simply a sign of minor relief to be laughing at all. To feel your heart do that funny little jump that comes with being around someone who doesn’t make you feel totally lost. Despite only having met him a few minutes ago, this man has a charismatic aura about him that naturally pulls you in.

He grins. “Look at that. I got a laugh outta you. That’s a good start. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t tend to reveal just anything to strangers I’ve only known for less than 24 hours,” you reply.

“Touché. So why don’t we become more than strangers? I believe the term is…acquiescence?”

“Acquaintance.”

“Ah, right.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Sorry. English…isn’t my first language. Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you answer. “What’s yours?”

Panic crosses his face fleetingly. “Um…m-my friends call me…Roddy.”

“Roddy?” You raise an eyebrow. “That’s…interesting.”

“I know, I know, not ideal by people's terms. But it’s just what stuck.” He shrugs. “I like your name better. It’s pretty.”

“You think so?” you ask, unable to hide a genuine smile.

He nods. You are caught in his gaze, and there’s something distinctly captivating. His eyes make you want to believe every word he says. “Why would I lie? It’s a whole lot better than ‘Roddy.’ It’s…nice. I like saying it.”

“I’d hope you’d know better than to try and seduce someone who just got their heart broken.”

“Who says I’m trying to seduce you? Maybe I’m just trying to be your friend.” He laughs, then scoots towards you and dips his head down to peer at you through his lashes. “What, do you think I’m trying to seduce you?”

There it is. You know you’ve lost this battle. “God,” you grumble, ducking away to hide how red your cheeks are. “You are incorrigible.”

“C’mon, it’s making you feel better! You need to get your mind off what happened, right? Hanging out with a friend is exactly how to solve the problem!”

“We aren’t friends. We literally just met.”

He pauses and pouts, leaning back and crossing his arms. You think he almost looks hurt by your claim. “Don’t be like that. We could be friends. This is how humans get to know each other, right? Talking and laughing and bonding?”

You wrinkle your nose in a short chuckle. This guy has the weirdest ways of talking, but you don’t really mind it. You find it endearing. “All of that takes time. I’m not going to trust you instantly. Relationships always need to grow, platonic or not.”

He’s listening with a serious expression. He goes along with what you say, and you genuinely think he’s listening to you. When you’re done, he nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so forwardly, if I did. I…I’d like to be your friend. You seem like you could use one right now. And…I’m here to find one, too.”

“Finding friends in a bar? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you ask.

He smiles. “I found you, didn’t I? You fit the bill. I can tell you’re kind…sweet. I think we’d be really good friends.” He reaches forward and brushes his fingers against the top of your hand. Something strange happens; there’s a jolt of static that makes your skin tingle, and a shiver goes down your spine. For a moment, your vision seems to swim, and you think you see flashes of red and orange and Roddy’s eyes turning a bright, alien blue. You blink, disoriented, shaking your head in a vain attempt to clear the sudden fog clouding your mind.

“So, what do you think?” Roddy asks, silky smooth. “Will you let me keep you?”

“Keep me…?” you echo.

“Keep as in…befriend. I want to show you there’s more to this universe than the sadness you’re experiencing. This world…Earth…is so small. Wonderful, but…tiny compared to what else is out there. So much to see, so much to do. So much to find. And guess what? I’m gonna find it all. You wanna come with me?”

“You’re confusing me,” you whisper. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. “Let me show you.”

He leads you out the back door into the bar’s parking lot. You feel like you are walking through a daze. You don’t know what’s happening to you, but you want to put your trust in this man. The way he looks back and gives you such a radiant grin, like the sun itself shining upon you, melts your heart.

In the back of the lot, a car awaits. It looks…retro, like him. Sleek, yet exceedingly loud, it’s some sort of muscle car with a host of red, orange, and yellow. Flame decals are painted across the hood. As the two of you draw closer, the lights turn on and the engine rumbles, growling with a pulse that runs through your bones and makes your heart stutter.

Something feels wrong.

It didn’t before. Roddy exudes no sense of danger. Yet this car…it’s off. Not normal. Alarm bells begin going off in your brain. Your feet drag you to a halt.

Roddy gives you an inquisitive look. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t take your eyes off of the car. “I…I don’t want to go near that thing.”

He winces, worrying at his bottom lip as he glances at the car with a concerning amount of confliction. He squeezes your hand.

“It’ll be okay,” he says. And then, his entire body ripples with a burst of static, and he disappears.

You don’t know what’s happened. Staring at your hand, you blink in shock. You can still feel the warmth of the man’s fingers pressed between yours. Was…was he even there at all? Did you imagine it? No, you couldn’t have. The car is still there. What the hell is going on?!

The car moves.

An alien sound emits from it as you watch it begin to shift in on itself before your very eyes. The mass of metal expands and grows, forming a pair of arms and legs, a torso twisting and snapping into place, massive shoulder blades heaving upward with a head rising up with sharp finials extending like dragon horns. Twin pairs of bright cyan optics open and immediately focus on you. You feel your heart drop straight into the pit of your stomach. It’s a robot. A car-turned-robot. You think you might have ingested too much alcohol, but the way the robot’s body whirs with the smooth sound of machinery as it takes a step towards you, the way you can feel the vibration of its feet hitting the pavement is so, so real, you know this is happening. This isn’t a hallucination.

You still don’t know where Roddy went.

The robot makes a purring noise, squatting down and extending a hand. Panic rips through you, and you stumble back, avoiding the reaching fingers. “No!” you shriek. “Stop! Don’t!”

It pauses and frowns, making a low whining noise. It shuffles closer and gestures for you to get closer. You wish to do no such thing; you want to get as far away from this monster as possible. What does it want with you? To kill you? Eat you? No, robots can’t eat. Is it going to abduct you?

Letting out a huff of exhaust, the robot’s eyes narrow resolvingly. It inches closer, and you continue to move back. There is nowhere to go. You can’t make a run for it. It’s faster. You can tell. There is no chance of escaping.

Your eyes flash to the bar’s back door. Not thinking about the possible consequences, you act only upon pure, desperate instinct. Like a deer bolting from a wolf, you whirl and pelt for the door, pushing every ounce of strength into your legs to propel yourself as quickly as possible. Get away. You need to get away.

You aren’t fast enough.

The robot slams its hand down on top of you. The breath is knocked from your lungs as metal presses you into the pavement. Fingers tightly cage you in, pinning your arms to your sides. Everything spins when you are lifted into the air, slowly, gradually. You cry out and struggle with all of your might, screaming bloody murder at the thing. “No! No! Stop! Stop it! Put me down!”

The robot warbles loudly. Is…Is this fucking thing laughing at you?

Well, all of your bravado goes out the door when it brings you close to its face. Bright optics study you with unsubdued excitement while huge metallic lips part. It grins triumphantly, making a multitude of loud purrs and hums while it turns you side to side like you’re some sort of exotic creature. Fear grips you; there’s so much terror in your soul, you can barely breathe. Too much. This is too much for one night. It’s been tumultuous, and now there’s a giant robot holding you and you might die, you might be-

The robot’s mouth opens wider. There’s a blue pulse deep within it that is the same color as its eyes. You see teeth bigger than your head loom closer as it draws you near, segmented tongue reaching to meet you.

Ah. So you’re going to be eaten, then.

Your scream is cut off when the robot carefully tosses you in. Jaws slam shut and artificial saliva soaks you as you are turned over and tasted again and again and again. Your mind reels with the overstimulation. Everything is happening at once and your brain isn’t keeping up with it. And when you feel the robot tilt its head back and begin pushing you backwards towards its awaiting throat, you can only think of one thing: doom.

Your fingers dig into the plush tongue, searching for any hold that will prevent you from going down. But it is to no avail; the robot simply raises the unbelievable muscle and gives you one last coaxing nudge. With a shriek, you are caught. The throat bobs and gives out a squelching glk. Blue light completely envelops you as you are squeezed and kneaded at all angles. It’s a long journey, one you are hardly conscious of since you nearly pass out from your terror. And when you make it to your final destination, there is no letting up in the embrace. Walls of muscle made out of strange, squishy cables filled with pumping pink liquid force you to sink into their warmth. By god, you are so warm. The robot’s stomach gurgles happily, giving you long repetitive squeezes. You aren’t in any pain. But you are exhausted from the mental and physical strain being eaten alive has exposed you to.

Lying on your stomach, you try to push yourself up in order to fight. The stomach senses this and hugs you even tighter. Your arms shake with fatigue, and you fall back down into the puddle of saliva you landed in. There’s no use fighting. You can’t get out.

Somewhere above you, the robot is purring. A steady hand presses against you from the outside and begins lightly massaging your little form. You let out a weak groan that is meant to be words; perhaps a plea for mercy, or maybe a string of curses. Whatever the intention might be, you don’t have the energy to properly form it. Right now, all you want to do is sleep.

So you do. You are out like a light, pink being the last thing you see. All the while, Roddy’s words repeat themselves to you, over and over and over again. “Will you let me keep you?”

It seems he’s decided not to give you a choice.

[corroded-hellfire]

AYW!Eddie and Steve debauchery--I cannot get enough of those idiots. What was their friendship like before they each got married and had kids?

You are all in for a wild ride with this one. All humor is courtesy of @munson-blurbs as usual. Please enjoy the chaos that has sprung from our minds!

Warnings: alcohol consumption, stripping, dumb boys

Words: 2.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie had originally never thought he’d have more than one bachelor party in his life because he hadn’t planned on ever getting married more than once. But when the first wife was Brittany, it’s no surprise that marriage didn’t last.

This second bachelor party he’s having is already way more fun and is with people he loves—not that he doesn’t love his high school friends with all his heart. But nothing could beat palling around with his sons. 

Wayne sits next to Eddie in the passenger’s seat of the car, while Steve is in the back, squished between Ryan and Luke. The steakhouse they’re going to isn’t far from the apartment and then they’ll be headed to the bowling alley for some friendly competition amongst them. 

“This is nice,” Luke says, folding his hands and relaxing them behind his head, “just us guys.”

Eddie chuckles to himself as he pulls into the restaurant’s parking lot. As insane as his first bachelor party had been, it didn’t have the humor that Luke would undoubtedly inject into this evening. 

“I would like to order the chicken fingers. Not the ones on the kid’s menu, the ones on the adult menu,” Eddie’s youngest son informs the waitress when she comes to take their orders. Eddie half expects the precocious child to wink at the waitress or call her “doll.”

Eddie can’t stop smiling. Being out with his kids, uncle, and best friend for a nice evening to celebrate his upcoming marriage. To you. The girl of his dreams, the love of his life. How could he not be ecstatic?��

Even his bowling game gets off to a good start until Wayne begins to wipe the floor with him. For an old man with arthritis, he’s impressively skilled at bowling. 

After Luke’s third gutterball in a row, he huffs a sigh of annoyance and eyes the arcade in the back corner of the bowling alley with interest. Lights flash and whistles blow from the small room, calling like a siren to any child within its grasp. After his big brother has his turn and only manages to knock down two pins, Luke recruits him in asking their dad if they can go into the arcade. 

“Sure,” Eddie says. He pulls a twenty out of his wallet and raises his eyebrows at the boys. “This is for you two to share. Evenly. I don’t want any arguing. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” the brothers agree in unison. Ryan takes the twenty from his father and the two kids make their way towards a basketball arcade game, their bowling shoes squeaking on the polished floor beneath them. 

Steve eyes the bowling alley around them, his hands on his hips as Eddie bowls a frame behind him. It’s fairly empty, save for a bowling team at the other end of the lanes. Some old 80’s pop is playing dully over the speakers and the scent of beer and French fries stains the air. 

“This sure looks a whole lot different than your first bachelor party,” Steve remarks. 

Wayne raises an eyebrow at Eddie as he comes back over towards the ball return, keeping an eye out for the twelve-pound blue marbled ball he’s been using. 

“Was that the time this knucklehead—” the older man starts to ask, mirth lighting his face.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says with a bark of laughter. “It sure was.”

November 1988

The Hideout is the same as it always is: dimly lit, every surface sticky with spilled beer, music crackling through ancient speakers. Tonight, however, there’s a liveliness that isn’t usually present. 

“Another shot, Harrington?” Jeff calls out, raising two tiny glasses filled with tequila. “Or are you pussing out on us?”

Steve grins and accepts the drink, though he’s already a bit wobbly on his feet. “You wish.” He jabs a playful finger towards the guitarist. “Shot for shot? Winner gets to be the best man.”

“You’re on, man!”

Dustin rolls his eyes, the beer in his hand giving him a false sense of maturity. That, and the wispy mustache he’d been trying to grow out to avoid being carded at the bar. No one had the heart to tell him that The Hideout would probably serve bourbon to a baby.

He leans over and whispers to Eddie. “They don’t know that you already asked me to be the best man?”

“Nah, but don’t say anything. This is entertaining.” Eddie watches as the two men throw back shot after shot, taking a sip of his own rum and Coke. 

Steve is ultimately the winner, throwing a fist up in victory. “Looks like I’m the best man,” he gloats, cackling as he practically falls into the booth. 

Jeff just shakes his head, balancing on the bartop and silently chastising himself for the loss. 

None of the men pay attention when the door swings open. It’s only when the person speaks that their ears perk up. 

“Is there an Eddie Munson here?”

Eddie swivels around to see a police officer standing there with her arms crossed. She looks serious, determined, and he combs through any recent activities that would land him in the slammer. 

He tries to keep his composure, clearing his throat before saying, “I’m Eddie Munson.”

The officer smiles, sauntering over to him with a stride that Eddie had never seen from a cop before. It isn’t until she’s standing in front of him that he notices the way her cleavage spills out of her low-cut top and the high heels that would render her unable to chase after a real criminal. 

Oh, hell yeah. 

“I’m afraid you’ve been a bad boy, Eddie,” she coos, tilting his chin up with the pad of her forefinger. “And bad boys get arrested.” She whips out a pair of black fuzzy handcuffs and gestures for him to drag his chair to the center of the room, to which he immediately obliges. 

“Okay, which one of you bastards did this?” He says with a giant smirk, only to be met with a disapproving tut from the dancer. 

“Eyes on Vanilla, big boy.” She presses a button on her portable CD player and a sensual beat fills the room. 

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on her, just as she ordered. He watches as she slowly unbuttons her tiny uniform, her bare breasts spilling out once the final button is opened. 

“I think I’m in love,” Steve says from his seat, but Eddie barely registers it. Not when he has a pair of tits in front of him. The Russians could drop an A-bomb and he wouldn’t even notice. 

Dustin’s eyes widen as Vanilla reveals her lacy black thong. “Eddie should marry her instead of Brittany,” he muses. 

“Not if I marry her first,” Steve quips back. 

Vanilla’s bare ass grinds over Eddie’s lap, and he smiles through the arousal kicking up in his pants. He never wants it to end—the dance and the attention. It vaguely occurs to him that his own fiancée doesn’t care this much about his pleasure. 

This woman is paid to care, he reminds himself. That’s why. 

With one final roll of her hips, the song ends, and Vanilla stands up. She’s flushed from all of the movement, her lipstick slightly smudged from where she’d kissed Eddie’s collarbone. 

Steve glides over to her as best as he can in his inebriated state, holding out his hand. “Hi. Steve Harrington. Former Hawkins High swim team co-captain and Keg Stand King.” He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it. “Can I interest you in a shot?”

Enamored by his attempted chivalry, Vanilla blushes and accepts, buttoning herself back into her costume. 

“Leave it to Harrington to charm the goddamn stripper,” Eddie mumbles, but he grins as he rejoins the party. 

It only takes a few moments before Steve and Vanilla are making out in the corner, just a blur of limbs and tongues. He’s grabbing her ass so tightly that it’ll probably leave bruises, but she certainly isn’t complaining. 

“Hey, you guys!” Gareth says, flinging one arm around Eddie and the other around Jeff. “What if we do a little trial run before the big day?”

“The hell are you talking about?” Jeff asks. 

Gareth rolls his eyes as though the answer is obvious. “I’m talking about using my new ordination skills on those two lovebirds.” He gestures towards Steve and Vanilla. “That way I’m not as nervous for Eddie’s wedding.”

Too drunk to argue, Eddie shrugs. “S’okay with me if it’s okay with them.”

“Harrington! Vanilla!” Gareth yells far too loudly. “Do you two wanna get hitched?”

Steve pulls away for a second. “Hell yeah!” He calls back, and Vanilla nods emphatically. 

“Looks like we’re having a wedding!” Will chimes in. “Okay, let’s make this legit. Everyone needs a role. I’m the wedding planner, of course.” He assigns Eddie the role of Best Man and makes Mike the Maid of Honor. Frank is the ring bearer, and Lucas volunteers to be the flower girl. 

“Erica got to do it when we were kids. Now it’s my turn,” he explains. 

Dustin starts walking Vanilla down the aisle, as Jeff plays Here Comes the Bride using the painfully out-of-tune guitar he’d snagged from the bar’s tiny green room. Steve and Gareth wait for Vanilla to join them on the Hideout stage. 

“Dearly Beloved,” Gareth begins, “we gather here to wed this man and this bombshell exotic dancer in holy matrimony…shit, we don’t have rings!”

Steve leans back to Eddie. “Is he allowed to say ‘shit?’” He mumbles. 

“Guess so. He’s not a priest.”

Gareth shakes off the snafu and continues. “It’s fine; we’ll skip that part.” He turns to Steve. “Do you, King Steve Harrington, take Vanilla to be your wife? In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do you part—Jesus, that’s dark.”

“I so fuckin’ do.”

“And Vanilla,” Gareth continues, “do you take Steve to be your husband? In sickness and health and all that other bullshit I said before?”

Vanilla smiles drunkenly. “Hell yeah, I do.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” Gareth announces. “You may continue dry humping in the corner. Oh, but first,” he digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out an official looking piece of paper, “I picked up this bad boy today. Let me make sure I get this right. Just need a pen…”

Dustin procures one from the bartender, and Gareth shows the newlyweds where to sign. “Oh, and we need a witness, too. Eddie, c’mere.”

Eddie shuffles over, grinning as he writes his name in sloppy cursive. He’ll have to remind Gareth to get a new license before the actual wedding, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. 

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie giggles, “your wife gave me a lap dance.”

“Shut up, Munson. I’m gonna get one later.”

“Thank God for annulments,” Steve says with a sigh. 

Eddie grabs his Styrofoam cup of Pepsi resting on the chair next to him. He holds it in the air as he says, “To ending marriages and finding actual love.”

“Hear, hear,” Steve agrees, knocking his own Styrofoam cup against his buddy’s.

Wayne takes a sip from his can of beer, shaking his head in amusement at the pair of them. 

“You weren’t with Nancy at the time, were ya?” Wayne asks.

“God, no,” Steve says, shaking his head vehemently. “Was pretty damn funny when she first found out about it though and learned that her brother was the maid of honor.”

“How the hell you got Nancy to marry you is still a mystery to me,” Eddie says with a laugh before lifting his cup up to his lips. 

Before Steve can open his mouth to defend his honor (or say the same about Eddie with you), the boys come skipping over, a few skimpy prizes in their hands that they won. The yellow slinky was sure to get lost by tomorrow and the little hot dog shaped whistle was something Eddie was already planning to “misplace.”

“Can we get ice cream?” Ryan asks as the boys switch from their bowling shoes to the sneakers they arrived in.

“That sounds all right to me,” Eddie says. 

The rental shoes all get returned at the counter and Luke takes his father’s hand as the gang walks out into the parking lot.

“What flavors are you guys gonna get?” Luke asks.

“Well,” Eddie says, a hint of a smirk on his lips, “I know Uncle Steve will go for Vanilla.”

Steve silently shoots daggers at his friend before replying, “And your dad won’t decide until he gets there because he likes the newest flavors.”

Two soft thuds have Ryan turning around. He sees both his father and uncle holding the back of their heads while his grandfather walks past them, shaking his head. 

“Ow,” Eddie complains, but Wayne just ignores him and keeps walking towards the car.

“I’m sitting in the backseat with you two,” Wayne tells the boys. “Probably more mature than these two knuckleheads—Ed, if you grab that man’s nipple one more time, I swear to God, I’ll leave you both here.”

[dallasgallant]

Time period post- Greaser subtypes

This one was asked of me a little while back, as I mentioned briefly the types of Greaser and someone wanted to know the difference. (Also have some posts on terminology!) and it sent me down a bit of a rabbit hole, this one is a little more researched that my more rambly general knowledge ones.

Going to put this before the cut as it’s a important aspect and was fascinating to me at least,

“The Greaser” has been a costume and a character longer than it ever had been a clearly defined demographic or subculture. A lot of what we understand today is from pop culture and rockabilly revivals of the 80s and the whatever the fuck was happening in 2010 (which is more a tumblr aesthetic than it ever was reality). What unites and makes an ‘actual’ greaser is without a doubt class status, certain behavior and dress more so than the affiliation with Rock n’ roll.

Another thing to consider is “Greaser” is a derogatory term! Pony talks about it briefly in the book how they don’t like other people calling them it, only themselves. It’s not a group invented term, more something they’re called/reclaimed.

Same goes for Hood, JD, Con, Punk, white trash, Redneck, Hick, Okie etc.

Some have come on to be used more commonly, or nicer meaning such as redneck but half the time it’s self used by people with a slight accent and would not actually— different conversation.

Another thing to be aware of (that I have a post on) is inter-lapping terms like all Greasers are punks but not all punks are greasers. (Original connotation not the music based subculture)

Motorcycle v. Hot rod-

Now to what this post was sparked about the distinction between “Type” of greasers. This is sort of what it says on the tin.

Motorcycle greasers are the types to ride bikes and be in that sort of gang.

Hot rod greasers are those who are into car customization (making a hot rod by suping it up) and drag races that sort of thing.

Both of these can be named gangs, matching jackets with the name and everything. However that’s more larger city and pop culture than true across the board (Pony mentioned there’s a few named gangs in Tulsa; types like this also tend to run over)

But again! It’s important to understand not every motorcycle gang or car club are greasers! It’s complicated in a strange way as there’s simultaneously no difference and a lot of difference.

Not all greasers are a “type!” Either. Some are just grease. Like the Curtis outfit leans towards the car side but are not a car club/gang or centered around their cars. They’re a run of the mill unnamed friend group type gang.

Varying term-

Interesting is, some stereotypes and pop culture examples of greasers are relatively true to life… though they tend to run softer or harsher depending on if they’re the bad or good guys (typically bad.) Some are upset over this… mainly because a childhood bully was a greaser and they have a demonized depiction in their head which was wild to come across while looking into this.

It’s actually one of the instances where people’s recollection as a bit better of a source then looking it up. As google gives you mainly “Ayyyyy” or “tell me more tell me more” (which don’t get me wrong we love the Fonz and the T-birds in this house)

What seems to be the true uniting factor of making a Greaser is Levi’s and being a “Working class bully” which has become a whole other stereotype within itself but, greaser’s never really went away they just changed their haircut. Allow me to explain,

The kid who’s rough because he has to be. Life isn’t so great at home, dad beats him, poor, mom strips etc there’s a thousand variations. To the point again there’s an entire trope. Besides being lower class they were also the kids to frequent the shop and remedial classes- get in trouble, speak their mind get into fights and so on. Looking into antidotes sometimes what they were called changed or the music they listened to but- hair grease, jeans, rough etc are all a common factor.

This also ties back to the book. There’s something about everyone either thinking you’re mean and a criminal or immediately pitying you because your life must be so horrible you poor thing you—- has got to suck! It’s understandable that Pony would flip out on Cherry the way he did about pity and charity.

The thing about Greasers that gets me is that they’re either doomed to Demonization or romanization. (As let’s be real crime, being rude etc were also an active part. Not always but there) Both in memory and pop culture. Don’t get me wrong there has always been some nuanced depictions and conversations about Greasers or JD’s (the outsiders is one of them) but that just isn’t the case for the dominant public memory. They’re stuck as a costume or a bully…

[heartsforvin]

NSFW ALPHABET - VINNIE HACKER

y’all already knowwwww 🤭🤭

been wanting to do one of these so here it is (:

A - aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

vinnie is very big on aftercare. always making sure you’re taken care of first before him, even if you tell him you can wait a minute. if he was a lil rough on you, he’ll run you a bath and help you relax. whispering praises in your ear as he kisses you softly.

B - body part (favorite body part of theirs/ their partners?)

vinnie’s favorite body part of his is his arms. he loves the way they hold you in an embrace and just have a protective hold around you at times that you need.

his favorite on you however is definitely your ass. (i know you all saw that one story he posted a few days ago. i’ll add it at the end). he loves your tits too, but he’s definitely an ass man.

C - cum (anything to do with cum)

vinnie lovesssss to cum on your tits and watch it drip in between them. he’ll take some of it on his fingers and make you lick it off and that drives him fucking crazy.

D - dirty secret (what’s their dirty secret?)

vinnie loves, loves, loves when you take control, although he definitely would not admit it. (he’s like 80% sure you know he loves to be submissive).

E - experience (how experienced are they? do they know what their doing?)

vinnie isn’t the most experienced but he definitely knows what he’s doing, enough to know what he likes and dislikes.

F - favorite position (what’s their favorite position?)

I JUST KNOW HE LOVES WHEN YOU RIDE HIM so, cowgirl. he lovesssss watching your tits bounce in his face and groping your ass every second he gets.

G - goofy (are they more goofy or serious during sex?)

during your guys’ first time together it was more goofy, he had done this before but you haven’t, so he tried to make you feel as comfortable as possible while making a few jokes. it depends on his mood though, now that you two have been together so long.

H - hair (how well groomed are they?)

vinnie is well groomed, always makes sure he takes care of himself down there. although if he does forget to shave, he knows you wouldn’t mind. it’s more of a personal preference for him.

I - intimacy (how romantic are they during sex?)

depends on his mood. if he’s angry or irritated, he’ll take it out on you and be rough. if it’s an anniversary he’ll get the room all ready for you with candles and soft music for your guys’ special night.

J - jack off (how often do they masturbate?)

vinnie does it pretty often, when he has time alone at least. since he has a busy schedule he can’t always see you and please you, so he has to do it himself. usually to some polaroids he has if you in his nightstand drawer.

K - kink (what are their kinks?)

praise (giving)

dom & sub dynamics (more dom than sub)

dirty talk (giving and receiving)

somnophillia (giving and receiving — CONSENTED OF COURSE)

mommy kink (very slightly though)

L - location (what are their favorite places to have sex?)

mainly the bedroom since he likes to take his time with you most days. occasionally he does enjoy the quickies in a public bathroom though.

M - motivation (what turns them on?)

ANYTHING YOU DO TURNS THIS MAN ON I SWEARRRR ,, when you wear his tshirts and boxers around the house? turned on. big t-shirt no pants? turn on. he loves the way you get when you’re concentrated, he thinks it’s adorable but also so hot at the same time. you could literally be walking across his room and his dick will be hard. (he’s a freak we all know this 🙄).

N - no (what won’t they do in the bedroom?)

honestly vinnie is open to anything as long as you’re completely comfortable with it. if he asks you if you wanna try something new but you seem weary about it, he’ll shut it down and reassure you that if you aren’t comfortable, you don’t have to do it.

O - oral (do they prefer to give or receive? how good are they?)

vinnie lovesssss eating you out and you know it. mans is a FREAK. so he def prefers to give but loves when you give him head as well.

P - pace (are they fast or slow? are they rough or gentle?)

like i said before, definitely depends on his mood / how he’s feeling that day. most days though, he’s slow and gentle, wanting to feel every part of you. on the days he’s frustrated by work/ someone or something pissed him off, he’s rough and fast, taking his anger out on you.

Q - quickie (what is their opinion on quickies? how often do they have them?)

vinnie is the quickie king LMAOO , but due to his ongoing busy schedule that’s all you two have time for sometimes. he’ll take you anywhere he can if he’s feeling extremely needy. kitchen counter? public bathroom? in his car? anywhere really.

R - risk (are they willing to take risks?)

vinnie is very open to risk taking, and loves experimenting/ exploring with you. this goes hand in hand with the quickie, he’ll do anything anywhere if he’s desperate for you.

S - stamina (how long can they last? how many rounds?)

since vinnie is physically fit i’d say his stamina is a good amount, he can last a pretty long time before finally finishing. he usually goes for 2-3 rounds, keeping you in mind and making sure you’re still in tact.

T - toys (do they own any toys? do they use them on their partner?)

vinnie has a vibrator in his dresser that he loves to use on you. other than that, he doesn’t have any other ones.

U - unfair (do they like to tease?)

VINNIE LOVESSSSS TO TEASE YOU , whether it’s whispering things he wants to do to you in your ear while your with friends, or actually physically teasing you. he loves it.

V - vocal (how loud are they?)

i just know this mf is vocal as fuck. especially when he’s the submissive one. he’ll be in your ear moaning and whining for hours. but when he’s dominant, it’s mainly grunts and muffled moans.

W - wild card (a random headcanon for them)

wholeheartedly believe this man is very submissive when he wants to be. as i’ve been saying. also def think he has a bit of a mommy kink but that could just be me.

X - x ray (what’s under their clothing?)

definitely about 7-8 inches MAX , and he takes pride in it too. always being so cocky around you about it too, and making jokes.

Y - yearning (how often do they want sex?)

WE ALL KNOW THIS MAN IS HORNY ASF (same tho) but, he’s got a relatively high sex drive. he tries to get in one round a day at least. but if he can’t, he’ll take it to the imagination at the end of the night and do it himself.

Z - zzz (how easily/quickly do they fall asleep after sex?)

vinnie is very good about not falling asleep before you. he’ll make sure you’re completely taken care of first before worrying about himself. he usually doesn’t fall asleep until 20-25 minutes after you, he just loves laying by you and stroking your hair as he looks at you with pure love.

swear on everything this took me two hours 😭 it deleted all my writing at first so now it’s 1am while i’m writing this and i’m TIRED

imma take my horny ass to bed, i hope you all enjoy this ! been wanting to do it for awhile (:

TAGS SINCE I KEEP FORGETTING ; @forevergirlposts @slvthrs @bernelflo @leqonsluv3r

ALSO here’s that pic of vin i said i’d add 🤗

[deedeeznoots]

Let’s Stop Time For a Bit

➺ Characters: Suguru Geto, GN!Reader 

➺ Word Count: 1.5k

➺ Genre: Fluff 

➺ Content: American 80s!AU, Established Relationship, Burgers and Milkshakes (sorry to any vegan readers 🥲), Geto Smoking (kind of), Lots of Kisses, Swearing

➺ A/N: I really enjoyed writing this story so I hope people enjoy reading ❤️

➺ Synopsis: Dates at the local Diner with your loving partner Suguru Geto are always a hit! But what happens when your boyfriend, always eager to try new things, finds his eyes attatched to a small little speaker with microphones attached to each end?

The loud slurp from your milkshake as you take a sip fills your ears and distracts you from the various sounds of the Diner. The loud music playing on the jukebox, waiters taking orders, and people laughing and talking together. Sure, all together it was a little overwhelming and chaotic, but otherwise the place was perfect. 

Not only that, but the food was amazing as well. The flavor of the cold milkshake hitting your warm tongue as you took a sip brought nothing but absolute bliss to you. The burger in front of you that was nearly the size of your head right next to the large bucket of fries was no laughing matter either. Whenever you order from this Diner, you find yourself shocked by the sheer proportions. Still, you always end up finishing all your food anyways, so these thoughts are short lived.

“This Diner never misses. Don’t you agree, love?”

Plus… you always had a great partner who helped you just in case you couldn’t finish all the food on your own.

You looked at your boyfriend across from you. A bright smile plastered on his face as he looked back at you with heart eyes. Your gorgeous partner and high school sweetheart, Suguru Geto. It has been a few years now since graduation, and while you both have evolved since then, inside he’s still the same Suguru that you always knew. His kindness, his gorgeous eyes, and of course– his luscious long black hair. 

While lots of things drew you to Suguru, in hindsight it was probably his hair that stood out the most. During a time when hairspray is essentially injected into people’s veins, seeing Suguru opt for a simple bun in his teens to now allowing his hair to fall completely down, is one of the things that constantly hook you to him even through the present day.

“...Darling? Are you okay?” Suguru asks, his smile fading slightly and his features now painted with worry. 

“Huh? Oh– Sorry, haha,” you reply, swirling your milkshake around with your straw, “I was just lost in thought”. 

“Oh? About what?” Suguru asks, curious about what made you lose your focus so intensely. 

“Hmm… just about how much I love you” you say with a giggle. Suguru was taken aback by your answer, he had assumed the worst when you said you were lost in thought, but your soft smile fully convinced him otherwise. So he simply laughed back at your comment, “God, you’re so corny…” he chuckled. “Yeah but you love it” you reply, feeding him a fry that he readily accepts. 

Loud music filled up the entire Diner as you both laughed together and ate. No matter how big the crowd, when you and Suguru are together it truly feels like you two are the only ones in the room. Time feels fast, with hours feeling like seconds, but at the same time it feels like time decides to not move at all and simply stops. Still, in what feels like no time at all, you two are completely finished with your meal.

“Man, that was good” you sigh, a bit disappointed that the day has come to a close already, yet satisfied that you were able to have this day with your boyfriend nonetheless. Though, when you look at Suguru, you notice that he isn’t looking back at you. Instead, he’s looking behind you. You turn around and see it, a small radio with two microphones connected to each end, and a book of song lyrics right next to it.

“Absolutely not” you say abruptly, which catches your boyfriend’s attention. 

He pouts in disappointment “But…why?” his eyes grow bigger, pleading with you to at least consider singing on the karaoke machine with him. 

“B-Because there’s so many people here!” you cross your arms at him, shy at the idea of singing in front of so many eyes. It’s a Saturday night, meaning that the Diner was as crowded as ever. The thought of having to sing with such a full house made you shiver in your seat. 

“Come on…no one will even look at us” Suguru leaves his side of the table and kneels next to where you sat “...please?” he asks, grabbing your hand. To the average observer, it probably looked like he was about to propose. Shit…if he did, you would have probably said yes with how convincing he was as he looked up at you, his pleading eyes sparkling, like he’d give you the world if you just accepted it. God… you could never truly say no to him, even if you tried. So you begrudgingly took his hand and allowed him to lead you toward the machine. 

“You’ll love it, I promise!” he says with glee as he stands up, practically dragging you toward the mics. You keep his hand intertwined with yours as you take baby steps on the tile floor. You both walk past the bright out of place disco ball in the middle of the restaurant and the red couches filled to the brim with people. As you look at the crowds, they serve simply as a reminder of what you’re about to do. In the end though, you both make your way to the machine.

Suguru, ever the gentleman, hands you the mic and goes “Okay…what song should we do? It should be a love song, of course” he chuckles, but you remain distracted. Suguru frowns, “Hey, I’m sorry… we don’t have to do this if you really don’t want–”. 

“No! It’s not that it’s just…” you laugh nervously “Suguru…people are staring” you blush and scratch the back of your head as you look toward the crowd of people. You aren’t completely sure if they’re looking at you, but it sure feels like it.

Suguru cups your face, and as your eyes meet his own he makes sure to caress your cheeks gently. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Shh… that’s just your pesky nerves getting in the way. Plus, if they are staring they’re about to witness the greatest show of their lives”. 

You laugh and touch his lips with yours, completely forgetting about how nervous you were just a few seconds ago. You pick a song from the book and giggle as it starts on the radio. 

Now… neither you nor Suguru were singers by any means. In fact, you both likely leaned more toward the opposite end of the spectrum. Still, this was a performance just for the two of you, the off-key singing, silly dances, and voice cracks doing nothing but accentuating how much fun you both were having with each other throughout the whole song. To your glee and to the rest of the Diner’s dismay, you and Suguru spent a good hour singing various songs together on the machine before you were forced out by the restaurant staff. They say it was to give others a shot, but there didn’t seem to be many people waiting their turn, though there were most likely people just begging inside for the two of you to finally stop. 

“Whew!” you spin around in glee as you both exit the Diner, the bright light of the 24-hour sign casting your shadow during the dark night. Despite you both essentially getting kicked out, you had absolutely no shame, only looking at Suguru’s happy face. 

Suguru simply hummed as he took out a cigarette from his pocket. Just as he was about to light it though, he looked at you as your face dropped in sadness. You froze and looked at him, before looking away awkwardly. 

“Sorry, sorry…” he spat out the white stick, letting it fall to the ground. “I know I need to quit” he tucks the lighter in his pocket and wraps his arms around your body from behind you and kisses your neck, bringing your mood up once again. “Mmm… thank you for today” Suguru mumbles into your neck. “Aw… of course, baby” you turn around to face him and give him a passionate kiss that he gladly leans into. “I love you” you mumble into his lips, and he hums back at you. 

As you both pull back, Suguru quickly goes “I love you too!”, and as he finishes the phrase he suddenly lifts you up and spins you around the parking lot, causing you to let out a short scream in shock. “Suguru! What–”.

He laughs, cutting you off, “Sorry! Sorry! Did I scare you?”. He bounces your body around, his strong arms keeping you secure. 

You laugh “No, it’s fine but give me a warning sometimes!” you playfully slap his chest and smile, kissing his lips for the nth time today. “Sorry, sorry, sorry” he says again, if he could lift his arms up to the air as an act of peace, he would. “Let me carry you home though… to make it up to you, yeah?” he smiles. 

You roll your eyes sarcastically but go “Okay… let’s go” as you lean into his chest. 

Wrapping your arms around him, you think about the man carrying you. The man who constantly has you do crazy things like karaoke at the Diner until they’re forced to kick you both out, the man who always gets you out of your comfort zone, and the man who always makes sure to tell you how much he loves you during and after the fact. Yeah… that man… the man you’re in love with, and the man you’ll stay in love with for decades to come. 

[paper-crab]

3 times

summary: 3 times Matt helped you, and 1 time you helped Matt

warnings: exhausted college students, lots of crying, sleep deprivation, mentions of not eating, basically the college experience.

wc: 2291

for a chris girl i sure can’t seem to write anything about him

If you were to go back to the beginning, it’d make this an incredibly long story. In your sophomore year of college, you had decided living in an off-campus apartment would be a good idea; financially speaking. You were determined to get out of your parents basement and live your life for the most minimal price possible.

That’s how you ended up with Matt, in a homey 2 room apartment.

Matt was an environmental science major whose brothers had dropped out of college, leading him to finding a new place with one less room and with a new roommate to cut down on costs: you. It was convenient, and out of the candidates he’d interviewed, him and his brothers liked you the most.

He was a quiet roommate, and that made it easy to study without getting overwhelmed with your surroundings. The only time he made noise was when he invited his brothers over, and he was always sure to ask.

In turn, he expected the same of you. Environmental science isn’t an easy route to take, so calm work conditions were appreciated.

Despite your best efforts at improving each other's study time, things happen. You’re human; sometimes you get overwhelmed.

Three times Matt helped you, and one time that you helped him.

One

It was a random Tuesday evening of your first semester. You were stacked with homework for a music class; a required elective credit that was far too demanding. You were juggling an essay on the history of jazz, a report on a classical concert the college orchestra had done, and a small quiz on musical notation.

To put it simply, you felt fucked.

You were itching to take a break, feeling the tears flood your eyes, but you just opened the next tab- opting to finish your jazz essay rather than prioritize your well being. It’s funny how college does that to you.

You start typing, the clacking of the keys feeling entirely too loud. They were sticking in odd places, and the words just wouldn’t flow smoothly.

When you reread what you’d typed, it just felt wrong; like when you trip over a tiny pebble instead of smoothly kicking it to the side.

You switch tabs, to the concert report. A minimum of 3 pages accepted, and you have half of a page. Seriously, what are you even supposed to say? You only have so many ways to describe the resonance of the string section before it becomes entirely too repetitive and meaningless to your report. Now it’s not just the keys that are wrong, the brightness of the screen is beginning to bother you, but if you turn it down you can’t seem to see well enough.

It felt wrong; like when you see a perfect pile of leaves and go to step on them, but rather than hearing the satisfying crunch of leaves, you’re left with some wet mush stuck to the bottom of your boots.

You switch tabs, the tears threatening to spill out. Your vision blurs slightly as you open the quiz and begin reading the questions.

What the hell does this even mean?

Still, you trudge through, clicking random answers and praying to some god that you get about 80%.

When you finish with only 10 of the 15 questions being right, you’re a push away from breaking down.

“Can I come in?” Matt knocks. You want to nod, not trusting your voice to carry your words, but he can’t see you. “Yeah.” You say, voice slightly cracking. He opens the door, not expecting what he sees; you, sitting at your desk, an abundance of tears about to tip over.

Surprised, he hesitates, then asks, “What’s wrong?” in the softest voice you’ve ever heard. That’s all it takes for the sobs to begin, while you choke out some form of an explanation.

“Everything’s just… not right. I’m overwhelmed, I don’t understand my assignments; I’m lost.”

He listens attentively, stepping closer to you as you pour out your feelings, offering a comforting presence. “I’m sorry,” You say, too upset to be embarrassed to be seen in this state.

“It’s okay,” He says soothingly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We can figure this out together. What class is it for?”

When you tell him, his eyes light up. “I think Chris took that one before he dropped out! Let me ask him to send over some of the work.”

“You don’t have to do that,” You start to say, but when he sees the tears get a little lighter, he decides it’s worth it. “I want to help.” His expression softens more, as if that’s possible. “Now relax a bit, we can do this.”

Two

The second time he helps you, you’re cramming a week before midterms. Realistically, you know you have time before it becomes a critical do or die situation, but that doesn’t do much to quell the panic rising in your chest.

You’ve done the required work, you know, so you should pass your midterms without a hitch. You reflect on the work you’ve done, hoping it’d help you gain some confidence, but it manages to do the opposite.

‘Maybe I should have done more?’ You think, self doubt and anxiety begin to creep into your head. Your hands start to feel clammy, and the pages of the textbook stick together a bit; it makes it that much more difficult to read.

You just feel stuck, like a jammed zipper in your favorite hoodie.

“Hey,” Matt walks in, not looking up. “We’re ordering Wingstop, you want something?”

“No.” You sniffle, expecting him to turn around and leave.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” He says, sweetly, pocketing his phone. You wipe away a little tear, trying your best to chuckle and lighten the mood. “Stressed over midterms. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I get it. You’ve got time for a break though, right? Choose your favorite flavor, my treat, and come watch a movie with us, okay?”

You stand up from your squeaky desk chair and shoot him a smile. “That sounds nice. I could use a break, thanks Matt.”

“Of course.” He tells you, outstretching his arms. “Any time.”

The gesture makes your heart melt, and you feel overwhelming gratitude. “I appreciate it. Let’s make it a movie night then.”

Three

The third time Matt helps you is the one you hold closest to your heart.

You’re struggling with a group project for a business class you took; regrettably. You’ve messaged the group chat you made at least three times to no avail.

“There’s a frat party tonight, can’t make it” or “I’m not feeling well today, won’t be there.”

All you’re trying to do is get the group together so you don’t have to assign work to them like a kindergarten teacher. So, on top of your regular coursework, you’re stuck dealing with 3 other adults acting like 5 year olds.

You’re ready to rip out your hair.

Making one last ditch effort to save your sanity, you send out another, more pushy, text to the group this time. When you’re left on read by all 3 members, you groan loudly. You check over the assignment and do the work of putting it into parts, allocating each member of your group a task.

You give yourself the hardest part, because obviously, these people are incompetent. You shake your head, drafting a second message to the group chat that informs them of their role.

Suddenly, the two week deadline doesn’t feel like it’s closing in as quickly. You allow yourself to relax, receiving some thumbs up from your group members.

A week and a half later, you feel ready to assemble each part into a final project. It could be postponed, but if everyone was done, why not turn it in early? You send a message asking for everyone’s part of the assignment, and only one person responds, sending her part of the assignment.

You try not to stress about it, reasoning that there are 3 more days until it’s due. Maybe they’re just a little behind; so, you ask the next day, and the next, with no replies.

The night before it’s due, you realize you’re going to have to do the 2 slackers parts yourself. You text the other girl who did her part, asking if she can do an extra one. When she tells you she doesn’t have time, you want to explode.

“I don’t have time either jackass!” You say out loud, resisting the urge to type out a strongly worded text.

Your professor is known for being ruthless, especially when it comes to group projects, and you can’t afford anything lower than a C+ on it without your overall grade being tanked.

You break out in a cold sweat, opening several tabs on your computer as you begin to work on the missing pieces of your homework. There’s a reason you were given 3 weeks and not just one day to finish the work, and that was as a group.

You can’t help but begin bawling, still trying to see through the screen. The words were all fuzzy through the hazy mist of tears veiled over your eyes.

Your sobs aren’t even choked at this point, the familiar feeling of being overburdened taking over again.

Matt can hear, and feel, your frustration from his spot on the living room couch. He immediately stands up, concernedly making his way to your room.

He offers three quick knocks. “It’s me,”

“Come in.” You tell him, your voice quiet and strained.

Matt enters with a tender look. “How can I help?” He asks, not even questioning your distressed state.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t need to make your life harder too.” You try to sound confident in your decision, but your voice falters.

“Just tell me what’s going on, I’m positive that I can help you. That’s what friends are for,” He offers a gentle smile, stepping closer to you. When you explain the situation, he feels angry for you. “That’s dicked,”

“Tell me about it. Now I’m stuck doing it all, and it’s so much work.”

“Let me do half of it.”

“Matt, I really can’t ask you to do that. I’m sure you’ve got something better to do.”

“Nothing better to do than help you.” He says, grabbing one of your hands. “Let’s get comfy and finish this shit.”

Matt stayed up with you until 3 in the morning to finish that god forsaken assignment. When you were done with the work, you turned it in and cuddled into Matt, falling asleep quickly.

“Thank you,” You whispered

“Of course.”

One

To put it lightly, Matt was stressed. He was juggling his regular coursework, along with the added pressure of finding applicable internships. His dark circles were getting worse, making his lack of sleep apparent. His hair was messier than usual, and he was sure his clothes were beginning to stink. He had been glued to his bed, several textbooks scattered on the surface.

His laptop was open, overflowing with tabs containing internship applications, and the smell of coffee and abundance of energy drink cans was not helping to clear his mind.

You didn’t know what to do to help him.

“Hey, I’m going out. Can I bring you anything back?” You ask, eyes roaming his face and body.

“No, I’m good.” He says, not even stopping to look up at you. You frown.

“Okay…” You say skeptically, dragging out the ‘y’. You leave the house, still struggling to get Matt’s pitiful appearance out of your mind. Your friends can tell you’re far off, in another world. You’re distracted, thinking of what you can do to help alleviate some of the weight on Matt’s shoulders; like he always does for you.

“I’m gonna head out,” You tell your friend, offering her a sympathetic look. Normally, she’d stop to argue with you, but you’ve been off. On your way home, you stop by Matt’s favorite restaurant, taking extra care to order his meal exactly the way he likes it.

When you get back, he’s in the exact same position as he was earlier, give or take a few new energy drink cans. He looks miserable, and you’re willing to bet he feels even worse.

“I got you some food,” You say in a sing-song tone, trying to get him to acknowledge you.

“Great.” He says, nose still buried in one of his many text books. He still doesn’t look up.

You place the food on his nightstand, leaving the room to grab a trash bag so you can pick up his litter. He doesn’t even notice that you entered the room.

“Matt, you need to eat. It’s going to get cold.”

“Can’t.” He mumbles, voice weak with exhaustion.

You throw the trash bag out of the room, turning back to face Matt.

“Matt, please? When was the last time you ate, or slept, or moved from this spot.” You ask, concern shining through. When he finally looks up, you notice how bloodshot his eyes are, as they begin to fill with tears. “I don’t know,”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” You say, crawling over to him, careful not to mess up his organized chaos. He buries his head in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist as he audibly begins to cry.

“It’s okay, Matt. Take a break, you need to eat and drink some water, and take a nap.” You tell him, “You’re not a failure for needing to pause and take care of yourself.”

“I don’t have time,” He tells you, lifting his heavy head from your neck. “I can’t.”

“You do have time, Matt. Let me help you like you help me.”

[rock-and-roll-hell]

July 25, 1980

Unmasked Tour

Palladium - New York City, NY

Eric Carr’s live debut with KIϟϟ wearing the first version of his “Fox” makeup. While heavily featuring the 1979 and 1980 studio albums, it is somewhat strange to consider that the set included three covers: “2,000 Man,” originally recorded by the Rolling Stones; “New York Groove,” originally recorded by Hello; and “King of the Night Time World,” originally performed by the Hollywood Stars (though never commercially released). “Is That You?” while not written by the band had also not been commercially released by the writer or other artists. The only United States “Unmasked” era concert and contemporary performance of material from that album. This show marked the live debut of three songs from “Unmasked” including “Is That You?,” “Talk To Me,” and “You’re All That I Want.”The Palladium was the renamed Academy of Music, where KIϟϟ had made their industry debut in December 1973. KIϟϟ spun their appearance at a smaller venue: “It was a night of nostalgia for Ace, Paul and Gene. And a dream come true for Eric Carr. KIϟϟ planned a special performance at the Palladium in New York to introduce Eric to its staunchest home town fans. There was very little publicity. The one-night-only show was mostly a word of mouth affair. Although small for KIϟϟ today, the hall was chosen for sentimental reasons. Most of the fans, as well as the band, were remembering the historic night KIϟϟ played its first important New York performance on that very stage… the show was a resounding success”.

From local press: “KIϟϟ performed at the Palladium on Friday night, which was unusual; the group usually plays venues the size of Madison Square Garden. Slipping popularity may account for the Palladium date to some extent, but KIϟϟ could certainly have filled the theater several nights running and chose not to do so. The show’s primary purpose seems to have been the introduction of Eric Carr, the new drummer, to the band’s hard-core fans. A few diehards yelled for the departed Peter Criss, but not for long. This listener kept trying to remember what Mr. Criss used to sound like, but the effort proved fruitless. Before long, he became accustomed to Mr. Carr, who played a somewhat elaborate drum kit and was sometimes a little floppy but kicked the music along nicely. The band had installed its flashy stage set and resorted to a number of its tried and true visual gimmicks, but with the scale of the event reduced, one tended to focus more on the music. It wasn’t bad. It was heavy-handed, macho to an almost comical degree, rife with bombast and excess, everything one expects heavy metal to be, but the playing was tight – much tighter than the last time the reviewer heard KIϟϟ, at the Garden – and most of the songs weren’t padded with unnecessary solo noodling. Whether KIϟϟ fans will take to Mr. Carr remains to be seen; one would think they’d be satisfied with Gene Simmons’s tongue-wagging and fire-breathing and Ace Frehley’s flaming guitar. In any event, and for what it’s worth, Mr. Carr’s addition to the band seems to have been a positive step, though it isn’t likely to make KIϟϟ’ music ‘genuinely important to life’” (New York Times, 7/27/80).

Another: “Carr proved to be a capable drummer but no Peter Criss. The show wasn’t quite the visual extravaganza I’d anticipated, nor was it the Sodom and Gomorrah meets 'The Night of the Living Dead’ I’d feared. Instead, it seemed like the 'Wizard of Oz’ gone awry” (Aquarian).

From a mainstream review: “It was apparent from the appearance and playing of Carr that KIϟϟ one of the most successful rock acts of all times, was not taking any chances with the music or the formula now that original drummer Peter Criss has departed for a solo career… So it was almost the typical KIϟϟ show. But with the new drummer now more in the background, the focus was more on the front three… And although performing on a smaller stage than usual, the show was basically the same” (Billboard, 8/9/80).

From a regional review: “KIϟϟ concerts are a little like Christmas. The anticipation is half the fun, and everyone was up for this one… KIϟϟ crashed through their 20-song set with the delicacy of a chain gang” (London, CT, The Day, 8/1/80).

[alaskan-wallflower]

Do have curtis parents headcanons

BOY DO I!!

Mrs. Curtis

Trying to decide whether she’s be named Cynthia or Carolina

She was born and raised Jewish (religiously)

Shes about 25% Jewish ethnically (from her mom’s side-her mom was half Jewish half Irish)

She’s half Scottish on her dad’s side (her dad was like FROM Scotland)

She grew up on a farm with a lot of pets and such

She was always a bit of a tree hugger/hippie kind of person

She was never the richest person in the world-but she knew how to be resourceful

She has a twin sister actually (either named Cynthia or Carolina, whichever one Mrs Curtis isn’t named)

Her and her twin sister had a really complicated relationship because Mrs Curtis was the brighter more outgoing of the two while her twin wasn’t-so that obviously made for tension (which is why it hurt so bad to see Soda and Darry beefing when they were little because Darry’s as seen as smarter and Soda wasn’t)

She was a gardener and really wanted to go to cullinady school or music school or something but she just couldn’t afford it

She was an incredible cook though. Thanksgiving at the Curtises was always incredible

Food was also her love language-Mr Curtis definitely gained some weight lol

Shes smol (5’3’’ or so)

Mr Curtis

Darrel was always kind of…”different”

Not in a bad way! But he was raised alongside 8 other boys and their dad was this super strict man who wanted his kids to be “manly”

He was ethnically Iabkut 80% Irish and 20% English

But Mr Curtis wasn’t like that-he liked joking around and just being a boy, not being confined

He was in the middle-fifth born. Smack dab right in the middle.

One of his brothers was definitely the asshole uncle who always harassed Pony, Soda and Darry

I also headcanon Mr. Curtis had ADHD and dyslexia (which makes him a demigod in percy jackson standards)

He was the one who passed his appetite down to his boys (and would make sure to tell them that all the time 😭)

He went into the military fresh out of high school (he fought in WWII and would’ve graduated HS in 1943 if my math is right-)

He came back for small periods of time (which was when Darry was conceived) and he felt absolutely horrible that he wasn’t there for his wife during her pregnancy

But he ended up with really terrible PTSD (his kids have walked in on him having panic attacks on multiple occasions)

He tried to hide it but it was kind of hard to

He was the neighborhood dad if i’m being honest

He’s the one who nicknamed Two Bit Two Bit. He did the same to Cherry and both names just stuck (he’d see her cheering at the football games-she’s only two years younger than Darry I think?)

Whenever he got serious he got SERIOUS

Like when Darry got arrested (side bc) but he was absolutely just heartbroken

Hes BIG too—like 6’7’’

Hope these are good!

[fictionalcharactergraveyard]

this isn’t a hc of my own bc i can’t find my list of outsiders headcanons & can’t think of any right now 😭 but what music do you think the characters would listen to if they lived today?

oooo cool question!

Ok first off Sodapop and Two have a massive liked playlist and thats it and it is so scary it has everything (itll go from Lady Gaga to Hozier to Weezer in the span of 10 mins)

Pony's fs an indie lover, a hint of alt rock in there

Same with Johnny, but he also loves blues and jazz

Steve likes country and indie songs, Pony fears that man

Dally is a fan of rock and acts like he hates country but he vibs to some songs

Darry likes popish stuff and like older 80s and 90s

[amywritesthings]

SEEING YOU, SEEING ME (3/7)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: After handling a life-or-death favor for Tess, you're in deep shit. Until she can make things right, she suggests you lay low at her place for the week. The issue? It's also Joel Miller's place, and you're pretty sure he hates you.

Warnings: PRE-TLOU, Mentions of death and violence, Age gap/difference, Slow burn, Angry!Joel, Eventual Smut, Semi-Enemies to Fuckers, Sexual tension, Alcoholism, Drinking/Drinking Games, Suggestive Language, One Bed Trope

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter | Masterlist

CHAPTER 3: THEY ARE TWO ALONE

For most of the day, Joel Miller is nowhere to be found.

Neither is Tess, which is a concerning thought nipping at the back of your mind. In this decaying world, a means of communication starts and ends with radio, letters, or simply showing up. You have to trust the other woman knows what she’s doing and leave it at that.

A few days.

You can handle a studio apartment prison on your own for a few days.

While Joel explicitly said not to touch anything, he never said about looking. The apartment is equal parts busy and barren. Quaint and simple yet full of meaningless trinkets scavenged from another person’s trash around the makeshift city. No photographs, though those are impossible to come by anymore. No personal items, though you wouldn’t even know what’s considered sacred to Joel even with a gun to your head.

It’s all acquired junk for places, spaces, meant to fill up a void.

And without touching anything beyond the pans and plates in the sink, there’s not much else to do.

Circling for what feels like the tenth time around the small space, what catches your eye every wrap around is the Top 100 book sitting right next to the FM radio. Its bright white face and pop-art font is sinfully inviting, begging to be opened and read.

On the fourteenth walk-around, your hand reaches for it and hovers.

You shouldn’t.

On the twentieth-seventh, however, you gently peel back a page. Then another.

Soon you find yourself picking up the damn thing to carefully flip through it, but the brick of a book quickly opens and settles to a hardened section: one divided by a notepad disguised as a bookmark. 

It takes a second to realize it’s the same notepad as last night, and your eye gravitates to the title of the page: Top Billboard Hits of 1974.

(Wasn’t it a Barry Manilow song playing when you walked in last night?)

Out of what little respect you can give in the midst of breaking your promise to Joel, you keep flipping, choosing not to pry on the contents inside said notepad.

(He doesn't want to be known, just like you.)

Three hours pass with a ferocious quickness as you stand by the radio, reading annual time capsules of music history soon to be forgotten in the coming years.

(Most of it already has.)

Once you hit a section defining the trends of the 80’s, you decide not to push your luck. You set the chunky white book exactly where Joel left it — a hope that, while you broke what little trust he had in you, the action will go unnoticed.

Circles upon circles you walk to the couch, the bedroom, the kitchenette, hovering over other items of interest as you do. You have to admit: this place has more than what you do at the piece of shit studio space Fedra gave to you in this town, but it will have—

The door creaks.

Stopping in your tracks, you turn swiftly from the cupboards with a dreadful wave of guilt.

Joel shuffles in with a pack slung over his shoulder and an arm full of packaged items. He looks worse for wear, tired, but curfew isn’t for another two hours. There’s still some daylight to be had.

When you lock eyes, you can feel your stomach plummet to the floor.

Joel’s scowl returns, a once-smooth brow now knit with distrust.

“Did you—”

“Nope,” you lie, shaking your head. “Didn’t touch anything. Just… looked around, being nosey.”

“Well, stop,” Joel warns, low and graveled, as he drops the items to the dining table. “Ain’t your place to be nosey about.”

“Right. Sorry.”

The older man begins removing the small pack of chicken eggs, a canteen of goat’s milk, and another bottle full of that amber liquid similar to the one left out last night.

More liquor.

(How does he afford this shit?)

“Is Tess coming back tonight?” you ask from the kitchenette, resting your hips against the counter. You mirror his stance from the morning, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Joel tells you, head bowed as he zips up the emptied pack.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?”

“Just worried.”

“Why?” Joel asks, tone laced with boredom. “Does it have something to do about why the fuck she’s stuck me with you?”

Your jaw sets, following with your eyes as he drops down at the dining table unceremoniously. Knees spread apart, the man drops one hand to the crotch of his jeans while the other drags the newly acquired liquor bottle closer.

“Staying out two nights in a row past curfew is dangerous.”

“It is,” he agrees. “And she’s doing it for you, so it must be worth something.”

Are you worth anything, is the question you feel souring the pit of your stomach.

Fuck this.

Joel Miller’s a boogeyman, sure, but he can’t do anything to you.

(Can he?)

Pushing yourself from the kitchen cabinet, you walk ten steps to meet him at the dining table. Joel’s minding his own business, too busy checking if the glass from last night is doable for tonight. He doesn’t look up until the scrape of the second chair echoes through the apartment.

Before he can protest, you drop to sit across from him.

“If you give me some of that whiskey, I’ll tell you a little about it.”

Joel’s brow furrows further, scruffy chin tilting with mild curiosity. “You bribing me?”

“I’m suggesting a drinking game, if you stop acting like I’m out to get you.”

It’s a choice, but you stick by it. Feigned confidence, sure, but you lean back into the chair and watch him with your best attempt at nonchalance.

Joel takes a moment to compute the suggestion, visibly confused. “A drinking game.”

“Yeah.”

He chuckles humorlessly. “No.”

“What?”

"Fuck no.”

You can’t stop yourself from gawking, eyes widening. “Why not?”

“Because,” he begins, uncorking the bottle and pouring a glass for himself, “I’m old and know what happens with one of them innocent drinking games.”

“And what happens?”

“People get too comfortable.” Matter of fact. Bitter. Joel stares you in the eye at his first sip. “That ain’t what this is gonna be.”

“What the fuck else do you wanna do while I’m maybe two, three days away from Tess getting herself out of this mess?”

There.

Just enough of an information slip where Joel reconsiders.

“Tess said it was your mess,” he says. 

You straighten your back, chin lifted in defiance. Eye to eye.

For a split-second you blink down at the bottle, then back up to him, waiting.

A game of chicken.

(If you want to know, then play.)

And by some miracle, a groan emits from Joel’s throat. He slaps his hands down on his denim thighs, standing from his chair to grab a clean glass lying around the apartment.

“Un-fucking-real.”

It takes everything you have not to smile, satisfied with the win.

He drops the glass in front of you, pushing the bottle to you to pour your own drink. You take a little less than him, sipping for good measure and grimacing immediately after.

It’s awful.

Fucking terrible, but it’ll do.

“Tess was running a job against Robert,” you admit, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "So was I. Kind of. She asked for a hand."

Joel sits back down, wincing from sore joints and aching muscles. “You know that piece of shit?”

“Unfortunately. Rations are tight. His supply isn’t.” You gesture to his glass. “Where’re you from?”

“Not answering that.”

“It’s the game, Miller.”

Joel glares, taking a large gulp. “Texas. Continue.”

The drawl now makes sense. You settle in, taking a braver sip. “She might have gotten a little snippy with one of his goons when they implied we owed papers. And... I might have gotten a little overconfident when they tried intimidating her.”

“In what way?”

“That’s two questions,” you say. “What kind of work did you do before all this?”

Joel huffs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I asked.”

He gives you a look — a warning — before reaching for your glass. He fills the glass higher with the well-water whiskey. “You need to pour better drinks if you’re gonna ask shit like that.”

“Fine,” you agree, airy and unfazed. “What did you do?”

“Carpentry,” he relents. “What d’you mean, you got a little overconfident? A fight?”

“You think Tess would have to run interference for a ceasefire if it was just a punch to the face?”

The rhetorical question hangs between you, uncomfortably so, and all he does is stare. Study. Trying to figure out you, to assess if you’re capable of what you’re laying claim to.

(Are you capable of hurting — really hurting — someone?)

"So you saved her life."

"He won't be attacking her again, if that's what you're asking," you answer with a bluntness learned from the man across the table. "Which would technically be two questions if you were."

After a minute, you take a Joel-approved gulp of the acidic whiskey.

To up the stakes, you finish the glass and push it back to him: pour. He relents, filling the cup to the same amount but not without looking at you with a difference.

“So that's what that string bean of an asshole came talking to you about during that sweep job.”

Your chin tilts ever so slightly. You’re no detective, but you can read between lines. Your lips part, not quite taking the lip of the glass back to your mouth just yet.

“You said you didn’t watch me.”

He takes the gulp you won’t, filling his glass for a third time when he answers.

“I didn’t,” he argues. “Just kept my eye on you.”

I saw you.

"Why?" you ask.

"Is that your question for this round?" Joel mocks.

You narrow your eyes. "Sure."

Joel shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I'unno, looked heated. I know Robert's goons, as much as don't want to."

"They're pieces of shit."

"That's the generous way of putting it," Joel replies. "Like I said, just kept my eye on you to make sure he wasn't starting shit where it wasn't wanted."

“Well that’s a relief, because I kept my eye on you, too, when they came sniffing around job sites to avoid you.” Joel straightens his posture in his chair, followed by a hum of intrigue. Your mouth opens with an excuse, but the liquor makes you fumble an otherwise smooth night. “I’m— No, not like that. I wasn’t watching you or anything, but just… watching.”

There is a ghostly presence of amusement in his eyes.

“You said watchin’ twice.”

Your nose scrunches with bubbling embarrassment. “...this shit is really strong on an empty stomach. Whatever I say is not on me.”

His chin tilts. “You ain’t had anything to eat yet?”

“You said not to touch anything,” you tell him, sing-song and mocking as you finish off your second. “I listen.”

“Like hell you listen. No one does. Not even Tess,” he chuckles, but shuffles through a brown bag to toss you a premade sandwich from the south mart. You mouth a hasty thank you, scrambling to pick it up. While you devour the plain cheese sandwich, Joel almost makes you choke on the bread. “Thought maybe that piece of shit was a boyfriend or something.”

“A boy—” You stop yourself in a gawk and drop the sandwich, mouth opening with a curving smile. “Joel Miller, are you all of a sudden interested in my love life?”

He coughs into his drink, recovering with a throwaway dismissal. “Too fucking old to care about anyone’s love life, kid, but you’re young. Lot of people would say you still got your whole life ahead of you. Still can… date and do whatever the fuck it is people do anymore.”

“Oh, sure I do,” you slur, happy about the swirling feeling in your forehead. “My whole life. My whole… quarantine zone life. I’m just an apocalyptic Gibson Girl, snatching up Robert’s brain-dead dumbasses and seducing them long enough to drop their guard so I can beat them until they’re a breath away from being a vegetable.”

The obscure reference lost within the rant actually makes him almost laugh, chortled from swallowing the whiskey. “A what now?” 

“A Gibson Girl,” you tell him, unable to stop the smile from breaking on your lips. “You never heard of her? Evelyn Nesbit, the Victorian woman who set the… impossibly high standard for every single woman she came into contact with. The woman that people desired and wanted. Her life was some really morbid shit.”

Joel snorts. “So s’that what you are? Boston’s most desirable?”

“I don’t know,” you modestly respond before you can stop yourself. “You see me, so you tell me.”

That brings an air to a room, thick and somewhere in a fog at your knees. Joel’s eyes wander, dropping lower and settling there or a moment too long before he clears his throat. 

Rather than answering, he pours himself a fourth drink.

You should stop while you’re ahead.

In this lighting — Joel, tinged with a blush from the alcohol that peppers his sullen face, lips plush and parted, free hand resting on the dining table while the other remains in his lap — you feel a familiar heartbeat in your lower belly begging you not to.

The setting sun is long gone. It’s just the two of you, in the dark, in the night, without moving to turn on a light.

“What about Tess?” you ask after a pause, tone softer. “Is she your… girlfriend, or whatever?”

“Tess? I’m—” The forward question seems to sober him up. “Huh. No, no we ain’t. We… take care of each other, but not like that.”

“And what is that?”

“We’re both adults. You know what I mean.” He finishes the rest of his third drink. “So no, not like that. You?”

The feeling in your belly only tightens, scared and curious all the same. “Me?”

“Yeah. Besides the lumped up vegetable, you got anyone?”

You shake your head a little too fast. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone. There's no point, but I get the appeal. Having someone. I just wanna… feel something, even if it hurts a little, if that makes any sense at all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see it: the hand resting on the dining table curls into a fist. Your breath catches in your throat, pausing your second rant of the night.

(Did you say too much?)

“You should catch some shut eye,” he says.

The sudden change in conversation forces you to look up, uncertain. 

(Apparently so.)

“But it’s still early.”

“And the sun comes up earlier this time of year, too.”

It’s a horrible excuse, but it’s the only one he has in the chamber. Joel pushes his chair out to stand, rubbing his nose with the side of his hand. He stumbles over to the couch behind you, flopping onto it with his forearm over his eyes.

You stay sitting at the table, bewildered by the sudden shut out.

“Maybe you should take the bed tonight,” you quietly offer.

Under his arm, Joel’s head shakes. “You get the bed.”

“If you keep sleeping on the couch, then your back’ll hurt more than it probably already does.”

Something otherworldly happens.

Joel laughs, from his belly to his chest.

“Ain’t no amount of sleep or softness that’s gonna save this back.” Then his own voice softens, unlike anything you’ve ever heard from the older man. “Get your beauty sleep, Gibson Girl.”

Slowly you stand — Jesus, it’s worse when you stand — and eventually stumble your way towards the bed propped on cement. Rather than being careful like last night, you flop onto it and are met with a nose full of musk and cheap cleaning solution.

You grab a fistful of sheets, dragging the rest of your numbed body into bed.

“Goodnight,” he calls from the couch on the other side of the wall, and you smile.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

Author's Note: Things are kicking up a notch in this apartment! You know me... I love my slow burns. The outpour of support and excitement has been unreal. Thank you for your reblogs & comments. You have seriously made my past week wonderful.

[the-nado-hunter]

Random Hetalia character head cannons/hc histories and characterizations that float in my brain but I’ve never written down - starting with England, America and Germany since I’ve thought about them the most lol:

England:

- Was the reverse of Alfred where he actually physically and emotionally aged much slower than most nations. He was barely not a teenager when he first took in Alfred (and his other “kids” by extension) when he was not at all ready/had even fully matured himself.

- I have a hc that nations who “get too big” (meaning the territory under their name grows) they kind of lose themselves and get less distinct and coherent in their motivations and sometimes don’t feel themselves at all, too many voices in their head so to speak. Unfortunately Arthur “lost it” during a pivotal part of his relationship with his family, hence all his strained relationships.

- Once he took on those responsibilities he suddenly jumped in physical age a bit. So while Alfred sees him as being SO much older (calling him an old man) his time in the nation equivalence of life stages was uneven and all over the place.

- it wouldn’t be until the 60s/70s/80s that Arthur had the time and ability to “make up for lost time” hence his musical and punk phases. He finds himself in some ways.., also likely dissolves into addiction problems at the same time.

- In the modern era he still has many anger issues but he’s a lot more calm and sure of himself, however he’s got a built up emotional wall and a whole lot of hidden self hatred that’s going to take a long long time to resolve, and he isn’t quite there yet and tends to lash out and push people away rather than deal with things.

America:

- He was very sheltered by Arthur at first, he was kept out of almost everything for most of his early life. If Arthur wasn’t present (which he often wasn’t due to the two having vastly different understandings of the passing of time) there were people hired and cycled out to take care of him. He can’t help himself though, even if he’s being treated like a sheltered little prince he wants to go run free in the fields and get into shit. He’s basically a Disney princess in his early life is what I’m saying lol.

- reality hits him like a ton of bricks when he’s roughly looking/acting about 14-15. He realizes likely through being exposed to other nations starting to come in and managing to slip out to talk to people just how much has been hidden from him and the resentment grows. And he starts REALLY growing even faster.

- Despite all that he went full on into a “fight” coping mechanism and never stopped. He put on a “mask” at one point in his life and it hasn’t come off. He’s never really deeply dealt with anything so he progressively seems more and more obtuse and seemingly arrogant to overcompensate for not wanting to face any sort of pain.

- He’s deeply deeply lonely and desperately wants closeness and to open up- yet at the same time the idea of seeming “weak” or “vulnerable” is terrifying to him. Him and Arthur are more similar than they would like to admit with how they mask and push people away despite really REALLY needing love and closeness.

Germany:

- it depends on if you accept the “Germany is HRE” theory or not, but either way I tend to think they at least have the same body but might be different entities or ‘spirits’ so to speak. That being said I imagine Ludwig specifically not only was “born” into a body that was preexisting and therefore already past a decent part of childhood, I imagine that his body was at first incredibly weak, frail, and he was very sickly for quite some time.

- I’ve written a fic about this, but I personally hc Ludwig from about 6-15 years old in appearance being almost completely unable to walk and needing braces and assistance to get around. His brother obviously loves and cares about him, but Ludwig couldn’t help but feel frustrated and like a burden. He really does look up to his big brother and is worried about being weak and reliant on others for the rest of his life.

- Ludwig GETS his strength, and as soon as he’s able to walk on his on he becomes obsessed with being as strong and capable as he possibly can be. He wants to never have to rely on anyone again, feeling an odd sense of guilt for needing so much help.

- he’s, in the end… kind of socially inept. Gilbert isn’t exactly the pinnacle of a socialized man himself - So despite being mostly independent and capable he doesn’t really understand social situations, or how to understand himself and others. Feliciano is both jarring and someone I think he becomes interested in him because Feli is capable in something he never has been and really is teaching him a lot.

- Unfortunately Ludwig had in face overcompensated for his past feelings of being a burden he’s taken so much on and has become such a protector that he’s almost unable to set boundaries and say no to requests to take on extra work- malicious or not.

- we already know Ludwig tends to explode and bark directions at people, to me it’s always been a clear sign of how much stress he’s under- but he winds up just appearing scary and he once again takes on more responsibilities and feelings of “something must be wrong with me”.

- i think many in the fandom have joked about it but Ludwig to me is SO repressed and SO gay it’s not even funny

-I would expect poor Ludwig to hit a breaking point and have a nervous breakdown eventually, which I do want to write at some point, just gotta not procrastinate lol