#and some people really think he doesn’t know what he’s doing

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[delugyu]

hii ! i definitely need a part 4 of the beomgyu drabble please 😭

hehe glad to see people are still enjoying this

one / two / three / four

(wc: 4.3k / warnings: gyu being kind of a bad friend 😭, dry humping, spit kink sorry, fingering, masturbation, virgin!reader, a bit of nipple play, cum eating, jealousy, some possessiveness)

it feels a little weird when beomgyu hangs out with you again. everything was fine until your mutual friends decided to leave together, leaving him alone with you at the bar. beomgyu had no problem being normal and cool a minute ago, but that all leaves him in an instant.

a month ago, this would have been the easiest thing ever. he would have been able to continue the night laughing and chatting with you like friends. how was he to know that teaching you how to give a handjob was going to lead to all this? that it would make it impossible to even look at you a little too long?

“i’m shocked yeonjun left before you did,” you say. he wonders how you can still talk to him so normally, as if nothing had happened between you two at all.

he tries his best to not make himself a fool in front of you. “yeah,” he says. he doesn’t know what more to say. he can hardly stand to look at you for more than a couple seconds at a time.

“you plan on leaving alone?” you ask. beomgyu’s body tenses for a second. a hopeful part of him thinks you might be flirting, but he also knows hope is synonymous with delusion when it comes to how much he wants you.

“not sure yet. are you?” he asks.

you shrug. “taehyun said he might come by, so i’ll”—the rest of whatever you say gets tuned out by beomgyu. he wants to listen and smile and root for you, and he feels like the worst friend ever for not being able to do so, but it’s so impossible to hear you talk about taehyun when beomgyu’s struggling with these weird feelings for you. he doesn’t even know what he’d call it. it’s not like he’s in love with you, but he feels sick whenever he thinks about you with anyone besides him.

he’s never caught feelings for anyone just from hooking up, so it can’t be that. he’s sure that whatever he feels for you is purely physical. he’s a man, after all; it only makes sense that lust would blind him this badly. he chooses to ignore all the signs that would lead him to any other conclusions.

beomgyu misses when you didn’t care about boys; he didn’t have to deal with all these confusing emotions back then. you and beomgyu were never super close, but being part of the same friend group meant that you at least hung out often. it was always fun and easy, at least until now.

“are you and taehyun really serious now?” he asks. maybe he should’ve bit his tongue, but he trusts that the question is innocent enough at face value.

you seem like you don’t know how to answer that, taking a moment to think of a response. “define serious,” you end up saying.

nothing that comes to beomgyu’s mind would be appropriate to ask you. do you let him touch you? do you go on dates as more than just friends? do you treat him like he’s your boyfriend? and, god forbid, do you have feelings for him?

“are you exclusive with him?”

you blink at beomgyu. “i mean… i guess not.”

“what do you mean you guess not?” beomgyu wants a straight up answer, cause if you’re not exclusive, he’s taking you home tonight, and if you are exclusive… well, taehyun will just have to hate beomgyu’s guts tomorrow.

“we never really talked about it,” you say.

“then you’re not. taehyun would make you his girlfriend if he wanted to badly enough,” beomgyu says, and it comes out much harsher than he intended. he only realizes it when he sees a bit of offense on your face. he quickly tries to recover, “i mean, i’m sure he really likes you, and he’d be super lucky to have you as his girlfriend.”

you just look more confused, brows slightly furrowed, head tilting just a bit. god, beomgyu wants to punch himself. what the fuck is wrong with him?

“what’s the point of this?” you ask.

beomgyu sighs and looks off into the crowd, trying to find his answer. instead, he finds taehyun walking into the bar, scanning the room until his eyes land on you. this is such a joke.

in an ideal world, in which reputation doesn’t matter and beomgyu doesn’t have to be mindful of his actions, he would have taken your hand and ran out of this place with you. he’d kiss you in the parking lot and make sure taehyun was the last thing on your mind. this is not an ideal world, though, and instead beomgyu has to smile at taehyun when he sits next to you.

beomgyu might literally throw up. why are you smiling at taehyun like that? you’ve never smiled at beomgyu with such adoration. taehyun’s whole demeanor is just sunshine and rainbows, and beomgyu’s sure it must feel so swell to have all your attention and affection at his whim.

whatever. “i’m gonna grab a drink,” beomgyu says, excusing himself from the table.

the bartender eyes beomgyu up and down like he knows exactly what’s up. beomgyu’s not exactly trying to act all happy, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s in a bit of a mood.

“just give me something strong and cheap,” beomgyu says. he needs something that will make the sight of you and taehyun being lovebirds semi-tolerable.

he heads back to the table after finishing his drink, and taehyun’s laugh is a lot more grating than he remembers. you look happy to see beomgyu come back, which at least feels like some kind of win. beomgyu’s not drunk, but he’s buzzed enough to sit here without feeling miserable.

some amount of time passes by before taehyun finally seems to be leaving. if you ask beomgyu, he’d say it was about five hours—the clock shows it was more like one.

“oh, come on, you’re not even gonna have one drink?” you laugh, grabbing taehyun’s hand when he gets out of his seat.

“he’s not much of a drinker,” beomgyu answers for him. taehyun laughs and agrees.

“i’ll see you tomorrow though,” taehyun says, squeezing your hand and smiling at you before stepping away. “and we gotta hang out soon too, bro.” taehyun slaps a brotherly hand onto beomgyu’s shoulder, patting it in parting.

“for sure,” beomgyu says, hoping he sells the excitement that he does not feel. he’s such a bad friend, and he feels like shit for not being able to act normal.

you look all set to go a few minutes after taehyun heads out. it’s late into the night, so beomgyu can’t blame you. but he also can’t let you walk home alone like this.

“can i bring you to your place? or at least get you a ride?” beomgyu offers, rising from his seat when you do.

“you can come to mine and just stay over. it’s late and i live closer anyway,” you say. a smile finds its way onto beomgyu’s face before he even realizes it. he’s surprised to see your lips curl up into a sweet smile back at him.

when beomgyu gets to your apartment, he takes his time analyzing your room. you have a lot of decor that he gets to look at while you change into more comfortable clothes in your bathroom. he’s already sitting on your bed when you come back, and his heart does this weird jumpy thing when you’re in his sight again.

“do you want the bed and i’ll just sleep on the couch?” you ask, standing in your doorway. beomgyu laughs at how cautious you are. you act as if you haven’t shared a bed with beomgyu before.

“just come here,” he says, patting the spot on the mattress next to him. you look so shy and sweet when you walk over, taking tiny steps and getting onto the bed like a dainty little thing. “you’re so cute,” he laughs, not bothering to hold back his words. he’s glad he didn’t, cause the way you smile and look away at the compliment makes his heart race.

beomgyu’s got this terrible thing where he just can’t keep his hands off you when you’re alone in a room. he rests a hand on your thigh, innocently enough to just be friendly. he thinks you look so adorable in your pajamas, meanwhile he’s still dressed in the same outfit he went to the bar in. the contrast between that gorgeous dress you wore earlier and the sleep set you wear now is so funny and endearing.

“beomgyu, can i ask you something?” your voice holds some sort of seriousness to it, and it hits beomgyu like ice cold water. his hand stiffens on your thigh.

“anything,” he says.

your hand lands on top of his, just lightly resting over it. your eyes are on your hands instead of beomgyu’s face. he runs his thumb over your skin to soothe you, trying to get you to relax, even if he’s a little scared to hear your question.

“do you not like taehyun?”

beomgyu halts all his movements. he doesn’t even breathe. it lasts just for a second before his facade comes back. “taehyun’s my friend. why are you asking this?”

you pick up beomgyu’s hand and lace your fingers between his. beomgyu thinks it might be the alcohol in your system that’s getting you to act so clingy and brave.

“you just seemed weird about him tonight,” you say.

beomgyu hums and nods slowly. “don’t worry about it,” he reassures, coming in to place a kiss on your cheek. maybe the alcohol’s got him acting brave too.

you turn your head and give him a smile that seems like you’re just begging him to kiss you. beomgyu’s not a strong-willed man—he sees you batting your eyelashes at him and it’s game over. with a hand on your chin, he leans in to give you a sweet kiss, and for the first time, he doesn’t think he has sexual motives behind it.

well, until you moan in his mouth. then he has a bit of a change in plans.

he brings you carefully down to the bed, not disconnecting from your lips once. his hands hold your face still, keeping you nice and pliant for him to lick into your mouth and keep making you mewl.

“we should make a new rule,” beomgyu says, face hovering just an inch from yours. you hum in question. “no more talking about taehyun when we’re alone.” the suggestion is accompanied by a laugh, but beomgyu’s only half-kidding.

“you’re crazy,” you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss. he thinks you’re the best kisser on earth. nothing feels as good as kissing you does, besides maybe making you cum.

“can i touch you?” beomgyu asks, breathing hotly against your lips, hungrily pecking you just for a moment so as to not stop you from answering.

you turn your face to the side then, and the slightest frown tugs at your lips. something about it makes beomgyu’s chest tighten.

“what?” beomgyu asks, coaxing your attention back to him with his gentle fingers on your jaw. he pouts as he observes your hesitance. “do you just want to kiss tonight?” he won’t push you farther than you’re willing to go. he’ll always prioritize your pleasure, and with that comes your comfort.

“gyu, tell me this isn’t wrong,” you say, running a hand through his hair.

“why would it be wrong?” he would hope that everything you do with him feels nothing but right. that’s how it feels to him.

“cause taehyun doesn’t know,” you whisper.

beomgyu’s quiet for a second, then he brushes your hair back soothingly. “he doesn’t need to,” he whispers back. his hand goes beneath your shirt to rest on your waist. the feel of your skin never fails to send electricity down his spine.

“what if he asks me out soon?” beomgyu hates the way your eyes shine when you say that.

“i thought we agreed not to talk about taehyun anymore,” beomgyu laughs, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. taehyun’s name becomes a bitter weight on his tongue.

what will it take for you to forget about him? does beomgyu need to imprint himself into your head? beomgyu’s lips tingle with a need to kiss you again, to burn his taste inside your mouth. he wants you to be full of him in every way you could be.

he leans in to capture your lips slowly, deeply. it’s a mess of saliva and needy moans, but when he feels your hands gripping onto his arms, he feels like a winner. he wants more of that—more of you being desperate for him, less of you thinking about other men. fuck, is kissing you stupid all it takes? because that’s not too bad of a price.

your hips cant up into beomgyu’s, and he can’t stop the laugh he huffs out at your eagerness. he’s normally the one pleading to get you off, so to feel you seeking out pleasure without beomgyu having to beg for it seems like a miracle. he presses his hips into yours, more than willing to give you the relief you’re looking for. you whine as he grinds against you, and he eats up your every noise like it’s what he was made for.

he pulls away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watches your face contort with pleasure. god, he could watch you like this all day. he can’t believe no one else has ever seen this before. he leans down to your neck, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruises. he wants you more than words could let you know; he turns to marking you to show you just how bad he craves you.

you yelp when he starts grinding against you a little harder, and he bites down a smirk at the satisfaction he feels. he holds your hips down, keeping you in place so he can give it to you just how he wants, just how he knows you’d like. you have no clue how good he wants to make you feel; he’d love to see you overwhelmed and trembling, shaking nonstop and begging with tears in your eyes for more and more. he bets you don’t even know how much you could take. he wants to push you to your limits and find out.

his body’s buzzing with the need to get you off, to have you creaming in those cute little pajama shorts. he laughs when you whimper out his name, clawing at his shirt like this is already too much. he wants to go a lot further than this, though.

“we’ll have to stop when taehyun asks me out,” you whisper, breaking beomgyu’s fantasy. he almost runs a hand down his face from the exhaustion and irritation, but he holds back. instead, he levels you with a stare, one that seems to make you shrink back a bit.

his eyes flit to your lips. “open up,” he commands, patting your cheek lightly. your wide, confused eyes dart across his face for a moment, then you oblige. your mouth parts slowly, pretty pink tongue just barely visible. “wider,” he says, and you do.

he needs to show you what happens when you don’t listen to him. he lets a glob of his saliva fall from his lips, watching it slowly drip towards yours. your legs clamp around his waist, and he could almost laugh at the whole ordeal. you’re getting even needier cause he spit in your mouth? or is it because he’s being a little more strict with you? do you like being put in place?

he watches his saliva land on your tongue, dark eyes finding yours. “now swallow,” he says, and he rubs his hand over your clothed cunt as he says it. he feels your body tremble a little. you keep eye contact with him as you close your mouth and do as he says. beomgyu nearly cums in his pants on the spot.

“don’t bring up taehyun again.” he grinds his palm against you a little harder to get his point across.

“i’m sorry,” you say, and you sound so docile that beomgyu feels a little bad.

“it’s okay, baby. you didn’t know better. i just have to get this pretty head to stop thinking, right?” he kisses your forehead, and he feels you nod. you’re so needy right now that beomgyu thinks this might be a wet dream—he’s been dying to see you like this again. “will you let me inside you? just my fingers?” he asks.

you gasp as his fingers circle your clit, and he’s starting to feel how wet you are even through the layers of clothes. he imagines sinking his finger into you, something no man has done to you before. he gets to have all your firsts, he’ll make sure of it. no one else deserves it. no one else could make you feel like he can.

“j-just go slow,” you say. beomgyu can’t take your clothes off fast enough, throwing your shorts and panties to the floor in seconds. he has to stop to admire your pussy, rubbing your slit and gathering your arousal on his fingers.

“you’re the prettiest,” he praises, bringing your hand to his lips so he can kiss the back of it. you smile shyly, then gasp as he glides his fingers across your clit. he continues just playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretches you out.

he circles his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirm. he feels the ultimate power rush right now—he’s going to change your life, going to make sure you come crying back to him every night asking for his touch.

“are you ready?” he asks.

“yes, please.” you’re so sweet. he’d kiss you if he wasn’t so focused on watching your cunt as he starts pushing his finger in.

his eyes almost roll back at how much you're clamping down on him. he pushes in until his finger’s halfway in and gives you a moment to adjust to the feeling. he gives a couple shallow thrusts, listening to your breath catch, before he pushes in the rest of the way.

“look at you, doing so good,” he coos, letting his free hand caress your thigh.

“i-i can take more,” you say, clenching around his finger.

“are you sure?” you nod vigorously, and who is he to deny you? he pulls out, circling your entrance with two fingers now. “tell me if it hurts,” he says.

he pauses when you cry out as he pushes in, looking at you in worry. “no, keep going,” you insist, rolling your hips eagerly. he continues, getting his fingers in you the rest of the way and stopping to let you adjust. you already look so fucked out, body twitching and hands grasping at the sheets.

“can i move?” he asks.

“yes, please!” your voice is so whiny and breathy, and it makes beomgyu feel fucking crazy. he has to control himself and not jackhammer his fingers into you, even though he’s love to see you take it. you bring a hand to his arm, holding onto him like he’s keeping you anchored. he’s reminded of the greatest feeling in the world: the feeling that you need him.

“i’ll give it to you, baby,” he promises, slowly fucking his fingers into you. you’re insanely tight, and beomgyu doesn’t know if you’d even be able to fit his dick with such a tiny cunt. his cock sits hot and heavy in his pants, but he barely pays it any attention. he’s much more focused on working you up to the greatest orgasm ever.

you sob out his name, and he thinks it’s so cute that you’re already such a mess. he almost wants to put a third finger into you and watch you struggle to take it, but he thinks that might be too cruel. your walls are getting adjusted to his fingers now, and the slide becomes easier, fucking into you a little faster.

“oh my god,” you moan, arching your back and digging your nails into him. he can’t wipe the grin off his face, more than satisfied at your reactions. “feels so good,” you pant.

“yeah?” beomgyu asks, breathless as he increases his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. it takes him a minute to find what he’s looking for, but he knows he’s got it when you cry and your leg kicks out helplessly. he keeps pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

“beomgyu, i’m gonna”—you’re cut off by your own gasp, whining and arching further into the feeling. you look like a mess, and beomgyu’s never felt more attracted to you than right now. he’s dying for you to lose control, to spill your juices into his hand and become a brainless thing for him to play with.

he feels you tightening around his fingers, so much he can barely move, stuck pressing into you relentlessly to get you to your peak. you’re such a dream when you’re mewling and panting like this.

“fuck, that’s it, just let go for me, give it all to me,” he says, bringing his palm to your clit to aid in your orgasm. you look breakable, and beomgyu would do anything just to tear you apart and rewire your brain to only think about his cock. you lying so prettily beneath him, looking all vulnerable and sweet, makes him feel like the biggest creep in the world. the things he imagines doing with you right now are driving him insane.

he wants to flip you over and pull your hips up in the air, put your cunt on full display for him to ravage and do whatever he wants with. he wants to ram his dick into you while you gasp and whine under him, not even knowing what to do with all your pleasure. he’d make you all his one way or another, fuck you nice every day, make sure you never get the chance to want for another man.

he pulls his fingers out of you when it looks like you’ve had enough, and his slick hand immediately goes to his dick, pulling it from his pants and jerking himself off over your body. he doesn’t care how much of a horny dog he looks like—he’d hump your leg like a bitch in heat if that’s all you’d let him do. he’s just aching to relieve himself, beyond worked up after seeing and feeling you fall apart for him.

“pull up your shirt, babe,” beomgyu breathes out as he fucks his fist. you obey so nicely, exposing your tits for him to spill all over. he can’t even be embarrassed that you just watched him jerk off for less than a minute before cumming. he fucking needed that.

he groans as he milks out the last of his orgasm, watching the white substance land onto your tits and stomach. he collects what landed on your stomach onto his fingers, then brings them up to your mouth. he doesn’t even have to tell you to open, you just do. you’re so well-trained for him already, it makes his heart skip a beat.

your tongue laps at his cum, keeping your eyes on him as you clean him off. he pops his fingers out and leans down to lick the rest of his cum off your tits. you bring a hand to his hair as his tongue licks a stripe up the valley of your breasts. beomgyu thinks he was made for this—to ruin your body, to fix it, to please it, to worship it. he feels like this is the right place in the world for him as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud.

you sigh out, tugging harder at his hair as he gives your other breast the same treatment. he releases your nipple with a pop, then flicks his tongue over it just to watch you jump a little. he soothes your tits with eager hands, fondling the flesh as he sits back between your legs, looking down at you with a proud smirk.

“i should shower,” you say, fixing your shirt back down. you sit up and stretch, and something about this moment feels so domestic.

“let me join you,” beomgyu suggests, pulling you in by the hips to sit you on his lap. you laugh a little as he does so, then try (and fail) to push away his face as he delivers a million kisses to your cheeks.

“stop,” you giggle, leaning away to escape him. he probably should stop; he’s going a lot further than just simple hook ups. he relents, choosing to just look at you instead. you’re so cute, just staring back at him and holding back a smile. you stay like that for a minute before you look away.

“go shower,” beomgyu says, patting your thigh. you get up and he follows behind you eagerly. you turn to him in the doorway of your bathroom, poking a finger against his chest.

“i didn’t say you could come with,” you say, but you don’t sound like you’re totally against it.

he pouts. “don’t make me wait out here all alone.” your eyes trail down his face, and beomgyu realizes that this smile of yours is quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the world.

you step aside. “fine, but keep your hands to yourself,” you say.

“i will,” he agrees with a wolfish grin. safe to say, beomgyu breaks that promise the second you’re both beneath the water.

[taegimood]

— nudes?! (h.k) ♡

pairing: huening kai x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.7k warnings: mention/description of reader's nudes, mention of reader in lingerie, brief mention of masturbation, implication of sexy time at the end, kai gets a hard-on, everybody’s horny synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

| yeonjun ver. | soobin ver. | beomgyu ver. | taehyun ver. |

masterlist

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huening kai likes to think of himself as something of a y/n connoisseur.

as your best friend, he knows all your likes, and all your dislikes; he knows what gets your jaw ticking, and what exactly makes you blush.

(he especially knows how to get you to do both.)

huening kai prides himself on knowing nearly all the ins and outs of you, but one thing that he doesn't know, that drives him straight up the wall and keeps him up late at night when he can't seem to sleep...

is whether you feel the same way about him.

to everyone else but you, apparently, it's no secret that kai has quite the crush. but what is he supposed to say? how is he supposed to tell you that he wishes it were you he could wrap his arms around instead of the mound of plushies scattered over his bed, or that every time he touches himself, it's only the thought of you that brings him over the edge?

how is he supposed to tell you that you're not just a friend to him? that he wants to be more?

this is what he finds himself pondering yet again as he sits at the drum set in his university band’s practice room, mindlessly tapping the stick in his left hand against the snare, his wandering thoughts leading to half-assed vigor as his bandmate eyes him in mild annoyance from where he sits across the room tuning his guitar.

kai glances at the clock.

she should’ve texted by now… she said 3, right?

his best friend taehyun always jokes that anyone would know huening kai is down bad when he actually checks his phone for someone, and kai has to admit that he’s right.

you’ve got him hooked; how else does he explain the fact that you actually get responses out of him — and much quicker than he’d rather acknowledge — while the guys only get to hear from him, if they’re lucky, about every 3-5 business years? (beomgyu’s exaggeration, not his.)

and yet the only one who doesn’t see it is you.

today he waits for you to show him your haul from the japan trip you just got back from with his sisters — “are you sure i can’t come with you?” “it’s a girl’s trip, kai, and i don’t know how good you’d look in a dress.” — and after how excited you’d sounded over the phone to show him the whole array of plushies and snacks and anime trinkets you’d bought, including some gifts for him, he can’t help but watch wistfully as the minute hand ticks onwards towards 3:27pm.

why is she late..? she didn’t forget, did she?

now, kai is a very patient person; he has no problem with giving people their space.

and with anyone else, he wouldn’t really mind too much if it’s been a while since he’s seen them.

but with you…

he sighs.

you... you’re different.

about 10 more minutes pass and he’s resorted to banging out his thoughts on the drums, almost finally focused on what he came here to be doing in the first place, until he feels his phone buzz in his pocket and he’s quick to halt his practice run and fish it out.

he smiles to himself at the sight of your name on his screen;

— y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : hyuka, i’m sorry i’m late!! i got caught up with something.. ㅠㅠ here are the main pics for now, and i can show you everything in full when you come over later hehe <3

god, how does she make everything sound so cute…

he clicks on the first picture, a small laugh immediately bubbling past his lips at the sight of your barely visible form squished behind the giant plushie you’d seemingly wrestled into the taxi coming back from the airport — he keeps scrolling, seeing some more pictures from the trip but mainly the ones he figures you’d just now taken: your little haul spread across your bed, displaying all the various items you’d bought and couldn’t wait to show him.

“man, how much did she buy?” he murmurs to himself as he glances at the picture count at the top of the screen and sees that there’s still 8 left.

22/30.

“i thought that was everythi—“

CRASH.

the drumsticks in his free hand slip to the ground with a loud clatter, meeting the hi-hat cymbals on the way down in a jarring cacophony akin to the way his brain feels right now as his thoughts stutter, nearly choking on his own spit, fumbling to maintain a steady grip on his phone and ignoring his bandmate’s question of “dude, are you good?” as he stares with comically wide eyes down at the sight on the screen in front of him.

y-you- s-she- what do i-

kai’s mouth runs dry.

so this is what you were “caught up with”.

the heat that travels down to his unsuspecting cock moves in record time as he takes in the 23rd photo: a selfie angled from slightly above, of you perched on the edge of your bed in a cute frilly set of LINGERIE that leaves hardly anything to the imagination, like something out of a playboy lolita magazine of his dreams — the circuits in his brain are working overtime to keep from shorting as his eyes rove intensely over your dizzying figure.

your accentuated cleavage, the plushness of your thighs, how soft the material looks against your skin…

fuck, his own skin is burning.

he can’t even believe that this is real life when he scrolls through a few more and lands on the image that will hereby without a single doubt be burned into his brain forever — you’d let the straps of the flimsy top slip down your shoulders, and now your boobs are out, a real life anime nosebleed moment about to happen for kai as he gapes and flushes at the visualization of his own wet dreams come to life.

zooming in on your thighs (for science), he then notices the tag still attached to your sheer little panties — so you got this lingerie in japan too, and oh my god —

wait, wait, wait—

he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, forcing himself to calm down a little as he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath.

did she actually mean to send these pictures? should i even be looking? did she really want to show me this too? did she... did she buy it for….

he can’t finish the thought.

kai’s rock-hard cock just somehow got harder.

he doesn’t have to battle through his moral musings for much longer, though, because suddenly his phone starts buzzing with a rapid slew of notifications; he nearly jumps as he sees that they’re all from you, and he swallows hard, feeling like he just got caught doing something bad as he hesitates before sliding back to the chat.

— y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : KAI WAIT DON’T OPEN THOSE STOP — y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : WAIT WAIT WAIT PLEASE — y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : KAI JUST DELETE THEM DON’T EVEN LOOK OKAY

he stares frozen at your messages. he knows that you can see he’s read them; he knows he needs to say something.

but now all kinds of new thoughts are circulating through his head.

so it was just an accident? should i try to lie for her sake? do i just say that i didn’t open them yet?

…and if they weren’t meant for me… then who were they meant for?

the irksome twist in his gut is foreign, and he doesn’t like it, not one bit.

but then you keep going... and quickly he realizes that the hole you’ve now begun digging yourself into is finally his ticket to heaven.

— y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : you’re not saying anything fuck fuck fuck okay — y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : okay look — y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : you probably think i’m a psycho pervert — y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : i probably just fucked up our entire friendship and i’m so sorry — y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : i just saw the set and thought it was cute and it made me think of you and i kinda just bought it spontaneously you know and i was just kinda in my feelings so i took the pictures with the rest of the haul but i didn’t mean to send those ones i swear so just pretend this whole thing never happened and we can just be normal okay pls — y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : WAIT NO I DIDN’T MEAN IT MADE ME THINK OF YOU LIKE, YOU KNOW LIKE *THAT* THAT’S NOT WJAT I MEANT — y/n/n (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) : FUCK I DON’T KNLW WHAT I MEANT

kai’s heartbeat roars in his ears (and his cock) as he processes your admission.

she bought it because of me.

he can’t help but grin.

she feels the same way.

huening kai has never been the best at expressing himself, but he knows this is an opportunity that he’d rather die than not take as he takes a deep breath, giddily lowers his thumbs to the screen, and begins to type.

you pace around your room with your lip caught nervously between your teeth and nothing but dread looming over you as the minutes tick by with no response —

fuck, i’ve ruined everything. i’ve ruined it all.

and when your phone finally buzzes with a text, you almost don’t even want to read it.

but steeling yourself, you take a peek —

a sharp inhale. tingles like fire across your skin.

his calm response:

— hyuka! <3 : can i still come over?

your fingers stall dumbly over the keyboard.

is he… going along with it? pretending nothing happened? or… or is he… does he mean….?!

you gulp.

— you : i mean.. of course, if you still want to.. — hyuka! <3 : okay! :)

o…okay..? what is he-

your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at the next messages that come through, the flood of warmth that shoots immediately down between your thighs leaving you teetering as you stumble back down into a sitting position on the edge of your bed.

— hyuka! <3 : oh, and you should keep the set on — hyuka! <3 : you said you’d show me everything in full, after all.

huening kai has never moved with such determination than the way he does right now as he rises from the drum set and grabs his things, beelining for the door with his jacket held in front of him to hide the raging hard-on in his pants as he calls to his bewildered bandmate, “sorry, gotta head out!” and leaves the practice room in a heady rush.

he knows how you feel now — and he can’t wait to show you face-to-face exactly how much he returns the sentiment.

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— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken, @hyukascampfire, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13, @cha3sonly

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

[cacoetheswriting]

girl you have that really angsty Eddie fic where he gets hooked on things he shouldn't and it ruins his relationship with reader - please please please write some more Eddie angst, BEGGING

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader [modern day au] word count: 5k

summary: a weekend gateway to with your old high school friends? sounds like a dream! only it’s not really as it’s been three years since you last saw them. three years since you left hawkins without so much as a goodbye, and certain people tend to hold grudges.

content warnings: heavily unedited (sorry): angsty angst, mature themes & adult language, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, anxiety / panic attacks, emotional hurt / no comfort, unrequited (sorta) love, some mutual pining, love triangle?, eddie is a bit of an asshole, also touches on topics of: divorce, death, grief — pls let me know if i missed any!

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities. 

It’s cold. Cold enough to make anyone's atoms shiver. Dark grey clouds cover every inch of the sky above, hiding the beautiful autumn sun. The air is brisk. It’s harsh against your skin as you eventually get out of the red Jeep and the unwelcoming breeze that follows makes you wish that you had packed warmer clothes for this weekend.

Jesus, you think, as if this trip wasn’t going to be hard enough.

When your feet hit the gravel below, you exhale, wondering whether it’s too late to change your mind about agreeing to come. Since the weather was seemingly against you, what’s to say the universe wasn’t going to continue ruining this weekend? But before you get a chance to decide what your next move is going to be, the door of the lake house swings open and Nancy runs out, arms spread wide as she squeals with excitement.

“I can’t believe you actually came!”

The hug she gives you is strong, almost full force. It takes you a second to register that one second she was running out of the house, and the next, her arms are wrapped tightly around you as if no time has passed between now and when you last saw her. Therefore, it takes you a second to hug her back, but when you do, a small smile circles your lips. Familiarity. Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

“Of course I came,” you say as she draws back, “You know me, Nance, always down for a good time.”

Nancy laughs. “Oh, I remember.”

Then her smile falters just as fast as it appears and you know exactly which memory crosses her mind because your own thoughts wander back to that moment too, along with the people involved.

“Sorry, my joke was in poor taste. If you can even call that a joke.” You admit with a lighthearted huff.

“No, no.” Nancy shakes her head, but even with the years that have passed since you last saw each other in person, you know the look in her eye is one of concern.

You think to try and ease at least some of her worry since she did go through all the trouble to organise this weekend for your high school group to get together and the last thing you’d want is for her to second-guess ever inviting you.

“I- uh… I actually don’t really drink anymore.”

Her facial expression shifts to one of surprise, though she doesn’t say anything which would demonstrate that. Instead, she smiles again.

“Good for you,” the tone of her voice conveys pride and you’re grateful.

“Thanks, Nance.”

One day you’ll tell her about the road that led you to sobriety, but today’s not that day.

Today is about reintroducing yourself to the friends that have helped you get through four hellish years that were called ‘high school’. The people that were there for you through the good and the ugly; which got real fucking ugly sometimes. The group that most often than not was your literal lifeline. 

Nancy, your best friend. Robin, your sidekick. Jonathan, your unlicensed therapist. Steve, your partner in crime. And Eddie…

You haven’t seen any of them since graduation.

Three years of virtually no contact.

Sure, it made you wonder why you were even invited to this weekend getaway in the first place, but Nancy was always like a sister so you knew her motives were definitely not malicious.

“Let me help you with your bags,” the brunette girl offers and before you get a chance to decline, say you’ve got them on your own since you really didn’t bring much with you, she’s at the boot of your car.

While Nancy fills you in on the plans she’s made for everyone, the various activities she’s organised for the days ahead, the two of you gather your belongings before making your way towards the big house. 

Apparently everyone is already here.

Nancy, Jonathan, and someone called Argyle (a new addition to the group, undoubtedly a breath of fresh air following your departure), got here last night. Steve, Robin, and Eddie arrived this morning.

“But the boys went to the shop to get all the groceries we need for this weekend, so right now it’s just me and Robin.” Nancy explains, fingers wrapping around the door handle. It’s her way of saying not to be nervous, he wasn’t here right now, and with that your shoulders relax in relief.

The inside of the house is even more impressive than its exterior. High ceilings, all wooden floors, and decor that undoubtedly cost more than anything you own or could actually afford. In the living area, there’s paintings on the walls that depict the home during construction, then in its full glory, as it stands now. Various knick-knacks fill the shelving, and the bookcase at the back of the room is filled top to bottom with stories you’ve never even heard of.

You allow yourself to continue into the kitchen, which looks like a piece out of Architectural Digest. Modern touches to the original design, upgraded appliances that look like they’ve never been used. There’s a large dining table in the back of the space, already set for dinner. The windows behind it offer a perfect view of the lake and as you look at the water; peace. For a split-second, you let yourself really think that coming wasn’t a bad idea after all.

“Jesus, Nance, how the hell did you find this place?” You ask in awe once the girl stands beside you.

“Argyle has this aunt who’s an avid Airbnb user. Honestly, when he first showed me the pictures, I thought he was out of it, like he usually is, but here we are...”

You don’t get to tell her how beautiful you think it is ‘cause there’s a high-pitch screech that startles you, and within seconds, someone’s arms wrap around your frame, swaying you from side to side.

“When Wheeler told me you agreed to come, I swear I thought she was bluffing!”

Robin drops her arms, allowing you to turn in your spot and face her. The grin on her face is wide, complimenting her new haircut, which is about the only thing that’s changed in her physical appearance over the last three years.

She playfully smacks your arm. You do the same to her. It’s reminiscent of a handshake, an acknowledgment that despite the years of only sending and receiving generic birthday texts, you guys were still as close as ever.

“Long time no see, Buckley. Loving the new look.” You point to her long bleached locks.

“Yeah? I was going for that badass lesbian vibe. What Daenerys should’ve been.”

You chuckle. “Well, I’d say mission accomplished.”

“Thanks,” Robin smirks then takes the duffle out of your grasp and turns to Nancy, asking to lead the way to the room that’s been assigned to you.

Up the stairs and down the long hallway, the girls point to the shared bathroom, but Nancy says your room actually has an en-suite. Then she outlines which door leads to whose bedroom — Eddie’s is first up the stairs and you wonder whose choice it was to deliberately keep you two away — before stopping at the last door and pushing it open to reveal your safe space for this weekend.

First thought that crosses your mind is how this one bedroom is bigger than your entire apartment. The bed alone would probably not fit in your current home. Second thought is how you have the same view as in the kitchen, only higher up, and you thank Nancy for assigning you this room for that reason alone.

“It’s no big deal,” she replies with a shrug, “You had the longest trip out here, only fair you get the best room, so you can properly rewind.” 

“As the organiser, you should have the nicest room,” you counter, but Nance just waves her hand, dismissing what was going to be an offer to swap.

She proceeds to place the bag she was holding at the foot of the bed.

“Get settled in and we’ll start on food once the guys return.”

“You should have enough time to shower, if you want,” Robin chimes in, also dropping the duffel she carried up for you, “Knowing the four of them, they’re still trying to locate the gluten free sticker on the pasta Nance asked for.”

“Rob,” Nancy snorts.

The blonde shrugs. “You know it’s true! Those idiots can’t fucking read.”

They leave you shortly after, telling you to take your time to clean up and change into something more comfortable. 

When the door shuts with a soft thud, you exhale a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. It’s all okay, it’s all okay, it’s all okay, you repeat to yourself silently, and although you feel a little calmer than when you first arrived, there is still tension in your neck. There’s only one reason for that. One that isn’t here right now, but is bound to arrive at any point in the next hour.

‘arrived safe & sound. still feeling a little nauseous about this whole thing, but I’m taking your advice.. keep positive.’ - The text to your mom sends with a whooshing sound as you throw your phone on the large bed.

You glance around the room again, taking in the decor as a distraction to the anxiety bubbling in your chest. The furnishings are similar to the rest of the house, classy with a modern twist. Peaceful colours that perfectly compliment the wooden fixtures, and the birds chirping melodically outside the open window only add to the serenity. It’s really one of the nicest places you’ve ever stayed in and you take a mental note to send Nancy a bouquet of flowers when you get home, as a thank you.

When you step under the shower, you’re even more grateful. 

Back in your own apartment, you’re not guaranteed warm water, having to often make a choice between rinsing off the hectic day or cleaning the dishes so there’s something to eat off. It’s the life you chose, so you really can’t complain, but standing here in silence as the hot droplets wash over your skin, you think maybe you chose wrong. Then you think how fucking selfish that is of you since there’s a clear list of reasons why, aside from the comfort of a scolding shower, the choices you made three years ago where far from good.

Leaving without saying goodbye to everyone, for one. No explanations, no notes.

Only Nancy knew of your plan. After all, she was the one that talked you into leaving. 

The final nail in the coffin — so to speak — was her opinion on the literal shitshow that the final months of your high school career had become. And when she sat you down, the afternoon before graduation, she made it clear how she was worried about you and perhaps it was for the best to get away from Hawkins. Leave everything and everyone behind, allowing yourself time to heal and get your head straight.

You had only planned to be gone that one summer. But things never go to plan, especially for you.

Three months turned into four, then six, and before you knew it, a year had passed since your departure. Some of the group had tried to reach out at various points during that time, but you didn’t engage — only replied to Nancy the odd time, and texted Robin the mentioned before birthday wishes. 

The one person you really wished checked in on you, was the only person that didn’t. Not like you could blame him. You broke his fucking heart.

It wasn’t entirely a secret that Eddie Munson had a big fat crush on you.

He wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but it was pretty damn close — as you later found out from Robin. Later. Too late. She then went on to say, when the rocker first laid eyes on you, standing at Nancy’s locker and laughing at something she’d said moments prior, Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. Then two. The metalhead thought you were perhaps the most gorgeous girl to ever walk down the halls of Hawkins High, although he never said it out loud. 

(Not to you anyway.)

Things changed however, when you started dating Billy Hargrove. 

That boy was a bad influence for sure, even more than Eddie’s wild antics, but at that point in your life, you saw the world through rose-coloured glasses and turned a blind eye to Billy’s shitty behaviour.

Your first drink was provided to you by the scruffy blonde.

The first time you blacked out was after his funeral.

Earth shattering, his sudden death. Having lost the first love you’ve ever had, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t know how to cope. By the time your senior year came around, and Eddie’s third attempt at graduation, your life only continued to spiral out of control.

Your parents announced their divorce. It was apparently no one’s fault — irreconcilable differences — but their break up meant the house you’d grown up in was being put up for sale and you suddenly had to choose who you wanted to live with. 

Being an only child never brought with it any pressures, until now. Your father was moving cross country. Relocating with his job, who no longer needed him at their Indianapolis location, preferred he run the new branch in Las Vegas. Your mother was also venturing outside Hawkins, just not as far. She apparently found this cute place in Fort Wayne and was already in talks with a local school there for a part-time teaching position.

The Wheelers took you in following a conversation between Karen and your mom about how you shouldn’t be finishing your high school education someplace new, so this solved one problem.

But being away from your support system unfortunately made you feel increasingly isolated. Your parents had this “open door” policy that you didn’t realise you needed until it was no longer readily available. Phone calls and texts just weren’t the same.

This time in your life proved how difficult it was to pretend you were genuinely happy.

Eddie was the first to notice the subtle change in your attitude. He’d often ask what was bothering you, but you’d always tell him nothing, so he eventually learned to stop and simply tried to distract you with his usual antics.

You hated him for it. You hated how he just knew how you were feeling. How he could sense those deep and inner thoughts you were trying to hide. And you hated now he would try to make you feel better when all you really wanted was for the sad feelings to swallow you whole.

Without proper supervision, your after school activities also shifted into ones that would fill the emptiness you were constantly feeling. You were always quite outgoing, always the first one to say yes when someone mentioned a party, but the months between December and April unlocked a new version of you. One not many people in your friend group were particularly a fan of, though all too afraid of saying something.

It all came crashing down the night of Chrissy Cunningham’s farewell party. A few days before graduation, she invited the entire senior year to her parents’ lavish home for a get together that her dickhead boyfriend called: Project X 2.0. 

You asked Steve to come with you — much to Eddie’s dismay.

In the end, Carver got his wish. The party was indeed memorable for all the wrong reasons and the endless list of mistakes you made that night, in your inebriated state, was precisely why you left Hawkins in a hurry.

Las Vegas turned out to not be so bad.

There were a few bumps in the road upon your first arrival. A few too many drunken nights, drunken fights, and drunken one night stands. But once your dad acknowledged your reckless behaviour was becoming a serious problem, things got a little easier. Therapy helped. 

A year and a half later, there was only one thing that made you want to reach for a drink to flush the hard work down the drain: Eddie Munson and how you treated him at that party, what you put him through that night.

In retrospect, you should’ve been the one to reach out to him. At least a call to say I’m sorry for the things I did and said. No time just felt like the right time and then, when Chrissy posted a picture of herself sitting happily in Eddie’s lap, it seemed a little too late.

Did it hurt to see him move on from the crush he had on you? Yes. 

Again, you couldn’t blame him for doing so.

-

“How was your shower?” Nancy asks when you come back downstairs.

She’s sitting on one of the sofas, a cotton blanket covering her legs. Robin is next to her, fingers working the keyboard of her phone, and looks up following Nancy’s question.

“No offence, but you look a lot better than when you first arrived.” 

The comment earns Buckley a good nudge to the rib cage by the brunette beside her. 

“Ow! Jesus Christ, Nance—”

“We talked about this,” Nancy interrupts, narrowing her eyes at the girl.

“It was a simple observation,” Robin defends, “I’m sure she’s fucking nervous to be here, rightfully so—”

“Robin!”

“It’s okay,” you chime in and the girls simultaneously turn to look at you once again. “Buckley’s right. I am nervous.”

Both their expressions simultaneously turn to one of sympathy. You plaster on the best smile you can muster before making yourself comfortable in an armchair by the open window, feeling their gaze follow your every move. You want to tell them to stop, tell them that the nerves will pass so it’s no big deal, but they’d see right through you. The topic of you, Eddie, and that horrendous high school party will haunt this group like a ghost, lingering in the background even if it’s addressed — which you’re going to have to do very soon. That’s why you came.

“He asks about you all the time,” Nancy says after a long pause, “What’s she doing? Is she working, studying?”

“Is she seeing anyone?” Robin adds.

“Is she happy…”

The ache in your chest increases with every spoken word, fueled by the guilt you carried every single day for the last three years. Somehow knowing now that Eddie asked about you was worse than thinking he’s moved on because, selfishly, if he was happy, then it wasn’t all bad. If he was happy, then the harsh truths you drunkenly sputtered in his direction weren’t a cruel thing to do, they weren’t as vile as you remembered them to be. If he was happy, then what you did after wasn’t a complete betrayal.

“I-I never meant to hurt him,” you finally whisper, forcing down the tears that threaten to break. “I never meant to hurt any of you.”

The girls both offer you a smile.

“We know,” Nancy reassures, “That’s why we thought it’d be a good idea to invite you this weekend. What happened three years ago is so minor in terms of the rest of our lives, it’s time we all move past it.”

Nancy, the peacemaker.

“Plus I’m planning a trip to Vegas for my birthday and I need your help with organising,” Robin chips in, her smile shifting into a grin. “You wouldn’t have answered my call, but now there’s no escape.”

Robin, the girl that can always get you to laugh.

The chuckle that escapes your lips is genuine. For a split second, your nerves are eased and you’re transported back to the basement of your childhood home where the three of you spent hours planning your futures while flicking through trashy magazines in accompaniment to old hits blaring through the docking station your dad’s iPod was connected to. 

Back then, turning twenty-one seemed like a distant dream. 

So you proceed to reassure the blonde you are going to get her name on the list of some of the best clubs Vegas has and she squeals, jumping up to squeeze you with excitement, and telling you how Vickie, her girlfriend, was going to lose her shit over this, then she disappears into the kitchen, presumably to call Vickie with the news.

“You just made her day,” Nancy says, smiling kindly.

“I’m glad I could do at least that,” you reply, then add, “I’m happy to be here. Thank you for thinking of me, Nance.”

Whatever Nancy is about to say next is interrupted by the sound of tires on gravel. The engine is shut shortly after your head snaps in the direction of the entryway, a large gulp forming in the back of your throat.

The next few minutes pass at an agonisingly slow pace. You think you hear Nancy call out your name, but your focus is on the door alone, waiting for it to open, waiting for him to come inside. You’re anticipating his reaction to seeing you after all this time, wondering if he’d even acknowledge your presence or skip straight to the kitchen with the acquired groceries.

From a recent post on Instagram, you know what he looks like. Really good, if anybody asked. You were careful not to like it despite your finger hovering over the image for a few seconds too long. Then you were careful not to like any other picture as you scrolled through his profile until you reached the very end: a post of the two of you at a Halloween party your junior year, the night you finally talked him into creating an account. 

Thanks to the light stalking, you also know him and Chrissy broke up a few weeks ago. He seemingly deleted any trace of the preppy blonde from his profile, she did the same with him, and you couldn’t deny the stinge of satisfaction that cursed through your veins upon that revelation.

When the doorknob rattles, you hop on your feet.

There’s no going back now. You prepared yourself for this moment ever since you accepted Nancy’s invitation. Time to face the music.

Jonathan walks in first. He greets Nancy with a kiss before offloading the twelve-pack of beers onto the floor and turning his attention to you. His smile is big and you’re feeling a little less nervous when he pulls you into a silent hug. When he pulls back, he pats you on the shoulder, then picks up the box he’s after placing on the floor and walks in the direction of the kitchen.

The guy that introduces himself as Argyle is next. Heavy lidded, he’s holding an open bag of Doritos and jokes about how he’d also give you a hug but he doesn’t trust himself with the orange residue on his fingers.

“White t-shirts are the devil, man,” he draws out the last syllable and flops onto the couch next to Nancy, offering her a corn triangle. When she politely declines, he just shrugs and throws it in the air, only to not catch it with his mouth, the piece falling onto the wooden floor.

With your gaze now focused on the chip, a single step away from you, Nancy scolds Argyle to not do that again. In the midst of this small ordeal, you don’t hear your name being said. Only when a white Nike sneaker appears in your field of vision, stepping on the Dorito and smashing it to pieces, you look up at the person addressing you.

Steve’s expression is full of emotion, but he doesn’t move from the spot he’s found himself in. He doesn’t attempt to hug you or reach out for you like the others did, only staring into your eyes as if he was mesmerised by the fact you were actually here.

“Shit– I mean…”

“Yeah…”

That’s all that you can say right now because it’s not yet the time to address what also went down between the two of you at the infamous party. Steve seems to be on the same page as you, opting instead to finally take that step forward and hesitantly wrap his strong arms around your frame.

The hug is awkward at first, but when you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck as if no time has passed, exhaling softly when your hands make home on his back, the boy relaxes and his grip on you tightens ever so slightly. He whispers, “I missed you, sweetheart.”, into your ear and you instantly return the sentiment because it’s true, you missed him terribly. More than you cared to admit to yourself before this very moment.

For a few seconds, you forget where you are. Inhaling the scent of Steve’s aftershave and revelling in the way his arms perfectly folded around you, making you feel safe. For a few seconds, you feel at peace. For a few simple seconds, you forget about the person you’re still to see. The person that most likely wouldn’t be as open to seeing you again, especially now that you were in Steve’s arms.

The door shuts with a tame bang, a distinctive sound of runners tapping against the wooden floor, Nancy says your name as Robin calls out for Steve, you think you hear Argyle murmuring “Ohhh shit, dude”, then someone clears their throat and you finally open your eyes, which seemingly have closed moments prior.

Your throat dries.

There, leaning against the archway with his hands hidden in the pockets of his dark denim jeans is the boy who was once your friend, if not more.

Unlike Steve, Eddie stares at you with a blank look in his eyes, devoid of any real emotion. The emptiness behind the mahogany sends a shiver down your spine and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the position he has once again found you in.

Freeing yourself from Steve’s grasp, you hold your arms close to your chest for protection. He places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, before motioning for Argyle to follow him out of the room, where Nancy and the rest of the group just disappeared — leaving you alone with Eddie.

Neither of you says anything for what feels like an eternity.

You’re afraid to blink, just in case he disappears during the brief second your eyes close. Truthfully, he has every right to do so. Rush upstairs and slam his bedroom door shut as you remain right where he left you, forever haunted by the choices you made three years ago.

No, no. 

There’s a reason you came and that’s to say you’re sorry.

Before you get a chance to break the silence, Eddie scoffs under his breath, dipping his head while running a hand through his brown locks. His hand remains at the back of his neck when he looks up at you again, a stupid smirk now plastered across his face.

“So, you and Harrington seem close as ever.”

Not the first words you expected to come out of his mouth, but given the situation he’s just encountered, they’re not surprising.

You nervously clear your throat, hugging yourself tighter.

“Uhm… No, we were just—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts, his words cold yet the tone of his voice deceives him just a little. Also, if he actually didn’t care, then why make a sly comment in the first place?

But you don’t get to point that out, firstly ‘cause you’re still building up the courage to speak, and secondly because he’s quicker to continue with making his opinion known.

“Obviously you’ve always done whatever the fuck you wanted. Whoever you wanted.”

Ouch.

“Eddie, I-I…” you sigh quietly,  “We were just hugging. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Eddie scoffs. “Cute.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t be condescending.” You shake your head. “I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“‘Cause I missed all of you, plus Nancy invited me and I-I wanted to take this trip to apologise. Explain myself.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Well as far as I’m concerned, you can keep your apology,” he states sternly, standing up straight and taking a step in your direction. “Clearly the rest of them are right back to licking your ass, just like they did in high school. Entertaining your shitty behaviour, but I’m not interested.”

His words hurt. It feels like tiny nails are being hammered into your heart and you’re helpless to stop it.

“I don’t care for you and I don’t want to be around you. Since we’re stuck here, just refrain from jumping on Harrington at every chance you get. It’s fucking desperate behaviour.”

Tears burn down your cheeks slowly. They blur your vision and make you look like a giant fucking fool, even bigger than you already are. Eddie doesn’t owe you anything, you know that. Yet here you stand, silently crying over his animosity.

Nancy's words ring in your ears, “he asks about you, he asks if you’re happy.”. What a load of bullshit. He clearly doesn’t give a shit.

“I’ll make sure to stay out of your way then,” is all you manage to blurt out, wiping the wet droplets with the back of your hand.

Pushing past him, making a point to shove his shoulder with a little force, you hurry upstairs and into the confines of your bedroom. You make sure not to let the door shut with a bang, steering away from the dramatics Eddie undoubtedly wanted to provoke. Yes, he hurt your feelings, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let him ruin this weeknd for you and the rest of your mutual friends.

His reaction didn’t surprise you. In fact, you expected it. 

That doesn’t mean it’s any easier to digest.

Taking a few minutes to collect yourself, you check your phone and begin to open unseen notifications from various social media sites in an attempt to think about anything else than Eddie’s words.

“Deseperate fucking behaviour,” he’s said that to you before. The deja-vu hits harder than anticipated, making the nausea you thought you surpassed earlier spring right back up, stronger.

Yup. As you regain control of your breathing, you think for sure that coming here was definitely a mistake.

thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

[s-lorelei]

Men killing themselves has nothing to do with religion. It has to do with the fact that men don't know how to communicate with other men or have normal friendships with people, mainly women. And when they're rejected they decide that the entire world hates them because they just can't grasp the reason why they were rejected. Not to mention, we're forcing men to conform to absurd societal norms that absolutely do not work now, such as being "breadwinners." Men shouldn't need to work 3 jobs or an 80 - 100 hour work week to get by. And if he's married, then his wife should be working too, especially if they have kids. Your own ideologies are killing men. You think that men have to be manly and masculine and insensitive and sturdy and whatever the hell else you think makes a man a man, but that isn't true.

And your claim that "men usually hire a maid or get another family member to take care of *his* kid because he just doesn’t have time." I believe you’re the one who's wrong here. What if he doesn't have a family member to hand his kid off to? What if he doesn't have the money to hire a maid. Not everyone has money and lives in California or New York or literally any big city and can just "hire a nanny." A good single dad who works away from home usually sends his kid to daycare (if there's no family involved), which is far less expensive than hiring a maid, which, like I said, is not something a normal person has the luxury of doing so idk what planet you're on. I also cannot believe you said caring for a child is low-effort, now I really want to know what planet you're actually from.

To address your family dynamics: my father is a single dad to my two half sisters and he's constantly chasing a woman around because he can't do anything on his own. He pulled my sisters out of school because he was too lazy to get them up in the morning and complained when they brought him homework. He "homeschooled" them because he wanted an excuse to not be responsible for them.

90% of all the men I know are lazy ass bums who need a woman to wipe their asses for them. My father, the first time I had actually met him when I was 15 and my grandma was sick with covid, asked me as soon as I stepped in the doorway, "do you cook and clean?" He was speaking to his fucking daughter (that he had denied for years) like this. I had just been passed around from house to house by CPS, I could barely stand up because I was so exhausted, and this douchebag excuse of a man had the audacity to ask the daughter he barely knew if she would cook and clean for him, just because I was a girl. That's shameful.

It also sounds to me like you're only speaking about America. You surely didn't mention all of the child and sex trafficking in India and Nepal when you said, "some animals think rape is okay, but humans don't." Have you ever seen literally any middle eastern country? Marital rape doesn't exist in places like that. Men think, "well, we're married so it isn't rape." And you’re actually condoning this by saying that we, as humans, don't think rape is okay. Men do. Not every man since there are 8 billion people on this planet, but plenty of Arab men do and that's disgusting enough knowing that just one person thinks rape is okay. And where there is one, there are plenty more.

You should read a book called "Sold" by Patricia McCormick. It depicts a young Nepali girl who is immediately sold into the sex-slave trade by her step-father just because she started her menstrual cycle. He sold her for a little under 10usd.

Men are the reason behind acts such as this, and they wonder why women hate them.

(As pertaining to your mention of dolphins being patriarchal, I don't know if you meant that they're a mixed hierarchy or that they're purely patriarchal. Just saying that dolphins are a predominantly matriarchal society.)

Now, lastly, the Viking bit — the knowledge we have about Vikings and their raids is little to none. Of course the eyewitness accounts would speak of them like brutal monsters and savages. White men spoke the same about Native Americans, did that mean they were all rapists and murderers? Nope. It's the same with Vikings. We do, however, have proof of women who were given a warrior's burial. These women were Shieldmaidens, and they weren't a myth or an old wives' tale. Viking women in the 800s - 1000s had more equality and rights than women do now. But yes, please do try to argue against it.

Things women created and discovered!

All men

Francium (elemental)

Torpedoe radio guidance/navigation systems

Dishwasher

GPS

Wi-fi

Structure of the Milky Way

Kevlar

The Earth's inner core

Aciclovir - an antiviral drug used for the treatment of herpes simplex virus infections, chickenpox, and shingles

Azathioprine - an Immunosuppressive drug used in rheumatoid arthritis, Crohn's disease, ulcerative colitis, and in kidney transplants to prevent rejection

Flossie Wong-Staal was the first scientist to clone HIV and map its genes.

Pyrimethamine was initially developed by Nobel Prize winning scientist Gertrude Elion as a treatment for malaria.

Disposable diapers

Child carriers

Vaccine for whooping cough

The galaxy rotation problem - important to the discovery of dark matter

Radio astronomy - Type I and Type III solar radio bursts

That stars are primarily composed of hydrogen and helium

The new outer arm of the Milky Way - In 2004, astrophysicist and radio astronomer Naomi McClure-Griffiths identified a new spiral arm of the Milky Way galaxy

Radiation

Radon (elemental)

Kinetic energy

Heavy elements in cosmic radiation

Beta particles are electrons

Nuclear shell

Astatine (elemental)

Nuclear fission - helped in the creation of nuclear weapons

Rhenium (elemental)

Seaborgium (elemental)

Polonium and radium (elemental)

Scotchgard

Structure of vitamin B12

Carbon Dioxide

Bioorthogonal chemistry - the concept of the bioorthogonal reaction has enabled the study of biomolecules such as glycans, proteins, and lipids.

Central heating

Square-bottomed paper bag

Correction fluid (white-out)

House solar heating

Wrinkle-free fiber

Windshield wipers

Car heater

Airplane mufflers

Underwater telescopes for warships

Written computer program

Written (programming) language

Chocolate chip cookies

Pizza saver

Mint chocolate chip ice cream

DNA structure

Sex chromosomes

Lactic acid cycle

Transporsable elements

Gap genes

Myers - Briggs Type Indicator

[rosy-hollow]

｡ﾟ•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꒰ა ʚɞ ໒꒱ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈• ｡ﾟ╰┈➤ @lillycore ⦂ Hey! Can I request something else with Sukuna? Maybe collage au , where Sukuna is in college for engineering, but reader doesn’t go to university and instead focuses on being a freelance artist , but sometimes she sneaks into some of Sukuna’s courses with him? 》 ✐ᝰ YIPPEE MORE SUKUNA!! (sorry i cut out all the parenthesis for space purposes 😭) ｡ﾟ•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꒰ა ʚɞ ໒꒱ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈• ｡ﾟ

No one’s really sure when you started showing up to Sukuna’s engineering lectures.

As far as most people were concerned, you’d always been there—like you materialized out of thin air and effortlessly became part of the atmosphere.

But honestly, no one minded.

You arrived alongside your pink-haired boyfriend, and the two of you had an interesting dynamic. The two of you being highschool sweethearts, he had mellowed out over the years - most likely because of you. However, you working as a freelance artist gave you both endless time... and absolutely none at all.

While Sukuna was out at university, you’d spend hours sitting in your apartment, sketching on your tablet—a gift from him, of course. You loved it. But, no matter how much you adored your work, being alone in your apartment without quickly grew... depressing.

So, one day, wordlessly, Sukuna dragged you to one of his lectures. Without asking, he pulled out the chair beside him, muttering under his breath that you should “Behave.”

You shrugged, popped in one earbud, and settled in, drawing quietly next to him. Sukuna listened to the lecture and took notes diligently; you? You lost yourself in your art.

It didn’t take long for the professor to notice a new face in his class, though it took even longer for him to realize you were, in fact, not a student. It was when Sukuna casually asked a question about compression ratios that the professor caught sight of you humming softly, your stylus moving fluidly on your tablet.

The professor didn’t know what to do with you. But, honestly, you weren’t a distraction, so he decided it wasn’t a huge deal.

And that was how you became the honorary student in Sukuna’s Solid Mechanics class — despite not having the faintest idea what half of it meant.

It didn’t make you stupid, though.

“And so you see, as per this graph—”

Your hand shot up, and the professor paused, glancing over at you in mild surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to speak up.

“Yes?” he addressed you calmly.

You frowned a little, twirling your stylus between your fingers. “I think there’s a part of the graph missing in the key... the green squiggly bit? It’s kind of vague about what the graph’s actually trying to show... If I’m out of place, just let me know, but would something like this be better?”

You held up your tablet, showing your version of the graph—redrawn in a clearer, more digestible way.

The professor blinked, clearly taken aback as he read over the graph. He let out a short, impressed huff. “This is quite impressive—did you draw this yourself?”

You nodded sheepishly, and the professor’s expression softened, a genuine smile crossing his face. He tapped Sukuna’s notebook, already prepared to speak to him.

“You get this sent to me, yeah? And Sukuna—” He glanced over at your boyfriend, who was now watching you with that familiar pride in his eyes. “You found yourself a good one.”

Sukuna met your gaze, his lips curling into a small but proud smirk as he leaned in to kiss your temple.

“That’s m’girl.”

A/N: is it obvious i know next to nothing about engineering

[mythtakens]

you know what while I’m at it the headcanon that Eddie is riddled with horrible internalized homophobia and would be supposedly so tortured by realizing he’s in love with Buck but Buck not being a woman.. um that shit SUCKS!!! people have been saying stuff like this for years for some reason ummm that guy literally is not real. like none of this is real obviously it is tv but sorry he is not doing that. Eddie-who-cannot-escape-replicating-toxic-masculinity is genuinely just the opposite of the character we have been watching for 7 seasons. his relationship with religion has always been portrayed as agnostic at best and he is regularly a figure of vocal support when it comes to validating other people’s feelings. he does not need some torturous agonizing sexuality arc and half a season of therapy about it. his problem explicitly in the text for years was that he has a hard time feeling like he deserves to express things on his own behalf?? putting what he wants first has too often put him in a place where doing so has felt like failing the people he loves, largely in part because he was told to put his childhood aside and start taking care of other people at age 10. like his main root problem is not internalized homophobia or toxic masculinity it’s always been parentification and a lifelong lack of support from his parents causing self worth issues. and considering his arc this season has been headed to continue to resolve that as much as possible and put him on a path to self love I really and truly do not think he is gonna give that much of a fuck if Buck is a man and that makes him queer. like yeah it’s a perspective he clearly hasn’t thought about in depth yet but I think it would be the opposite really?? I think it will make the rest of it easier. it’s Buck, and loving Buck couldn’t possibly be a bad thing, so reaching for other good things doesn’t have to be either.

[dismalflo]

notes in the margins

Remus lupin x reader who are strangers until they're not ✩ 5.8k words

summary: You meet Remus at a party you'd rather not be at, and you think that's the end of it... until he manages to make his way into your life properly.

cw: strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, reader is quite lonely and a lil socially inept.

The house is packed with people, most of whom you’re unsure whether you care to know. The air reeks of smoke and cheap booze, and it feels like everyone is watching you. They can see it—the way you stand in the corner of the kitchen, awkward and alone, like you don’t belong. It doesn’t help that you’re staring at the liquid in your plastic cup as though it holds the answers to the universe.

As you study it, lost in thought, you come to the conclusion that you should leave. Go home. Back to your bed, where it’s safe. Keep your life the size of a box. Just as you're about to pull out your phone to text Maddison that you're heading out, a voice from your right startles you.

“The drinks are awful, aren’t they?”

You think he’s talking to someone else nearby, until the toes of a pair of converse step into view, and you look up—mostly because you’re worried you’re the punchline of some joke.

He’s smiling, but it’s not a mocking smile. It’s like he’s in on something you’re not.

“Want something better?” he asks, his gaze playful as he tilts his head, studying you like you’re some kind of puzzle.

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” you mutter, looking down at your hands as they nervously twist the cup. A quiet confusion settles in—you have no idea why he’s talking to you.

There’s a pause. A long one. You almost expect him to walk away, but instead, he shifts on his feet and seems to settle in. You look up, hoping he’s leaving because that means you can go home. But his smile has softened, and he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, an uncertainty creeping into his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I feel like I know you from somewhere,” he says, voice low, as though he’s trying to piece something together.

You shrug, trying to play it off with a small, apologetic smile. “I think I just have one of those faces.”

“I’d disagree,” he says, a small quirk of his eyebrow.

There’s something in his voice that leaves you uncertain. Your life feels like it’s a never-ending loop of work and home, and you’d definitely remember meeting someone like him. Tall, nice, warm smile—it’s hard to forget. The uncertainty gnaws at you, and you start picking at the skin around your nails. But when you look up, you see his cheeks flush slightly, a shy, almost bashful look creeping in.

It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one keeping this conversation stalled. But it’s hard, harder than it should be. You don’t know what to say, how to say it, without feeling like a socially awkward mess. And now that you're lost in your head, the words feel stuck.

“So, who do you know here?” His voice is soft, genuine, and he leans down just a little to make sure you can hear him.

“Huh?” It takes a moment for you to catch up, then you blink, trying to pull your thoughts back together. “Oh—nobody, really. Just a friend of a friend kind of thing.”

He nods, like he understands, and you do the same without thinking.

“That makes sense,” he says, his tone light but with a touch of exasperation. “Sirius invites everyone he knows. Every time.”

The way he says it, the affection in his voice, it’s clear he and Sirius are close. And for a split second, you feel a pang of envy. You don’t know them, but just the way he speaks about him, how it sounds, makes you long for something similar. Sure, you have Maddison, but she’s more of a sporadic presence, a friend you catch up with once every few months. The one time she invites you somewhere that's not a cafe, she ditches you before the night even starts. You can’t blame her. She’s always been like that.

Another awkward silence falls, but this time, you rush to fill it. You don’t want him to feel like you’re just standing there in silence.

“I came with Maddison,” you say, almost too quickly.

His smile widens. “Oh, I’ve met her. She’s nice.”

You let out a dry laugh. “She was. Until she left me two minutes after we got here.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and he bursts into a loud laugh, his eyes lighting up. You freeze, worried he thinks you’re serious and mean, but before you can correct yourself, you scramble. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, voice a little too quick. “I mean, she didn’t—well, you know. She had her reasons.”

“It’s okay,” he’s still chuckling like your bluntness really tickled him. But you have the distinct feeling that you’ve somehow made a fool of yourself. It's that exact moment you decide you have to leave.

“I—uh, I need to get going,” you mutter, watching his expression falter just slightly before he nods. “I’ll see you around…” 

“Remus,” he adds, offering his name.

You give him yours in return, and then, without another word, you’re gone.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The next day is another loop of the same dull routine that drags on in an endless, gray haze. Home, bus, work. Last night was out of the ordinary. The hours blur, blending together like the monotony of an old, well-worn song. You drag yourself through it all, each step like trudging through mud. But at least, you’re away from the suffocating quiet of your apartment. At least you don’t have to stare at the same walls, the same empty corners, with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You wait at the bus stop, shifting from one foot to the other. The sky is heavy with dark clouds that seem to threaten an impending downpour. The air is thick with the tension of rain that hasn’t quite arrived yet, and the chill seeps through your jacket. Eyes flicking up to the horizon, praying for some excitement, anything. Maybe the rain will come. At least that would be something.

But still, no bus.

The minutes stretch on in silence. You shuffle your feet, watching up and down the street. You can feel the weight of the sky above you, pressing down like it’s waiting for something to give.

“I knew I recognised you from somewhere.”

You freeze, heart catching in your throat. It takes a second to register the words, and you blink, turning toward the sound of the voice.

Remus.

The same guy from the party last night. His figure is tall and familiar as he walks casually down the path toward you, cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. The soft glow of the ember flickers as he takes a drag, his eyes fixed on you with an expression of recognition, but also something else—something more curious than you'd expected.

“Remus?” you ask, not quite sure whether you're still dreaming or if the world really does work this way, where you run into people you barely know on the most random of days.

He grins at you, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I didn’t think I’d run into you again so soon. Lovely to see you.”

Your stomach tightens at his words. You shift uncomfortably, looking anywhere but directly at him. The awkwardness from last night floods back, the way you were so sure he was going to walk away, leaving you alone in your own little corner of the world. And yet, here he is again, standing in front of you.

“I’m surprised you recognise me,” you admit, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as a gust of wind picks up. “I wasn’t exactly the life of the party last night.” It feels a bit easier speaking to him in a place that you know. 

He chuckles softly, almost as if your self-deprecation amuses him. "Well, you were hard to miss, you know? There’s something about you," he trails off, his voice almost hesitant. Then, like he’s remembering something, he adds, “I wasn’t expecting to find you here, though.”

You can’t help but smile, even if his eyes locked on you feels exposing. "Yeah, me neither. I—uh, I take the bus home after work, so..."

“Ah,” Remus cuts you off, the look on his face suddenly shifting to something a little more serious. “The bus won’t be coming for a while. There’s been an accident up the road, a big one. You’re gonna be waiting here for ages.” he sounds apologetic, like he's really sorry he's the one telling you.

You sigh, processing the information, but your mind is too caught up in the reality of being stuck here longer than you wanted. The bus is never reliable, but this is a new level of inconvenience. You feel the familiar unease creep up your spine, the thought of the endless wait stretching before you like a dark tunnel with no light at the end.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath, staring at the pavement beneath your shoes. "Just what I need."

Remus watches you, his expression thoughtful. You feel his eyes on you for a moment too long, and it makes you shift again, the silence hanging heavy in the air between you. Your brain goes into autopilot, spiraling through scenarios—what if the bus never comes? What if you’re stuck here for hours? The thought of waiting outside, in the cold, with nothing but your thoughts for company, fills you with a strange mix of frustration and exhaustion.

Just as the anxiety begins to swell, Remus interrupts the chaos of your spiraling thoughts.

“You hungry?”

You blink up at him, thrown off guard by the sudden question. Hunger. Right. You hadn’t really thought about food until now, but when you do, it’s like your stomach growls on cue. You’re always hungry, but especially now, when your brain feels like it might short-circuit from the sheer amount of time you’ve spent just...waiting.

“Yeah,” you admit, a little embarrassed by how eager the word slips out. "I’m starving, actually."

He gives a simple nod, gesturing for you to follow him. Without thinking twice, you do.

And that’s how you end up across from Remus in a cramped booth, your knees brushing beneath the table as you dig into a burger and fries, the world outside the booth fading into the background.

As you bite into your burger, the warm grease and salt doing wonders for your hunger, you notice how easy it feels to sit across from Remus. The bus stop seems like a distant memory, replaced by the low hum of the diner and his easy going nature. It’s a strange thing, how someone can just slide into your world like that, without any pretence or pressure.

“You know,” Remus says between bites, his voice a little quieter than before, “I come here pretty often. The owner’s been giving me free refills on the coffee since I was sixteen.” He gives a shy, almost embarrassed smile, but there’s a glint of pride in his eyes.

“Free coffee, huh?” you joke, grinning, “So you’re basically royalty around here.”

He laughs, but there’s a trace of humility behind it. “I don’t know about that. I think I was probably quite annoying back then, or at least James and Sirius were. Most of the time I’m reading and writing here.” He looks down at his burger for a second, as though the words aren’t quite meant to leave his lips.

“Oh, you write?” you ask, leaning in slightly, curiosity piqued. You can’t help but wonder what kind of stories this guy has locked away.

He nods, still not meeting your gaze. “I, uh, yeah. It’s nothing serious though,” he quickly adds, as if he’s embarrassed by the idea of someone knowing. “Just something I’ve been working on for a while.”

You tilt your head, eyeing him with interest. “What do you write about? I feel like I'm always reading different stuff.” you remember yourself after, looking down as you add, “You don't have to tell me.”

Remus squirms a little in his seat, and his gaze flickers away. You can tell he’s hesitating, like he’s unsure whether he wants to share or not. It makes you even more curious.

“It’s, um, kind of a mix of fantasy and... I don’t know... life stuff. Nothing too exciting,” he says quickly, sounding almost apologetic, but there’s a subtle spark of passion in his voice when he talks about it. "I just... I guess I like to write things that feel real, even if they’re set in a world that isn’t. Does that make sense?"

You smile, the feeling of him letting you in on a piece of his world not lost on you. “It makes perfect sense,” you say, your voice soft, appreciative. “That sounds amazing. You should be proud of it.”

Remus looks a little taken aback, but a small, shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well... I’m still working on it. Not ready to share it with anyone just yet.”

You nod, understanding. There’s something vulnerable about sharing your work, even with the people you trust most. “I get that,” you say. 

For a while, you both sit in comfortable silence, your shared laughter from earlier still hanging in the air. It’s strange, but for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re not just passing time. You’re actually existing in the moment, and Remus is there with you, filling the space with his easy charm and the subtle way he listens to you without judgment.

“So, what about you?” he asks after a beat, his voice steady, as though the shift in conversation is natural. “What’s your story? What do you do?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but somehow, it feels heavier than it should. You feel a little vulnerable suddenly, how do you compare to him? But instead of feeling pressure, you find yourself wanting to answer, to let him see more of you. You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Not much. I work in retail—pretty boring stuff, honestly.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Retail, huh? That doesn’t sound boring.”

You laugh softly, then take a sip of your drink. “Well, I guess it’s not boring so much as it is... repetitive? But, yeah, nothing as exciting as writing a book.”

His smile widens a bit at that, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’ve managed to take down some of the walls between you. But just as quickly, the conversation stalls, and you both find yourselves lost in the simplicity of each other’s company.

“I’m glad we ran into each other today,” you say suddenly, the thought slipping out before you can filter it. “It’s nice, you know, having someone to talk to for a change… and i'm sorry for being weird at that party last night.”

Remus looks at you as he nudges your knee under the table, his expression softer now, more open. “It’s alright, it was all a bit overwhelming.”

After a pause, Remus picks up his phone, glancing at it before looking back at you. “Hey, uh, I was thinking... Since we both end up here a lot, maybe we could hang out sometime? Like, outside of weird bus stop encounters.” His voice is tentative, like he’s worried you might decline, but the way his eyes meet yours, hopeful but unsure, makes your heart do a small flip.

You’re caught off guard by the suggestion. Hang out? With him? You hadn’t even realised how much you wanted something like that until now.

“Yeah, sure,” you say before you even really process the words. You can’t help but smile a little at the thought. “That sounds nice.”

A look of relief passes over his face, and he pulls his phone out, his fingers tapping quickly as he hands it over. “Great. Here, give me your number, and we’ll figure something out.”

You type your number in quickly, your fingers moving almost on their own. When you hand the phone back to him, there’s a flicker of something between you.

Remus grins, his eyes warm as he tucks the phone away. “I’ll text you soon. It’ll be nice to actually get to know you, you know? Be more...comfortable.”

You laugh, feeling some weight lift from your chest. “Yeah. I think we can manage that.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

When Remus said he’d text you soon, you expected it to be about a week—or, honestly, you figured he might never reach out at all. So when you woke up the next day to a text from him asking if you wanted to grab coffee, shocked didn’t even begin to cover it. But of course, you said yes, and now you’ve been meeting up a couple of times a week, sipping coffee and slowly getting to know each other.

There’s a simplicity in talking to Remus that you’ve never quite experienced before. He’s always checking in to make sure you’re comfortable, that you’re enjoying yourself. It feels effortless. He feels effortless. The only moment that’s thrown you off was one evening when he asked what kind of books you liked to read over the phone. You told him, and his response was just, "Okay, great. Talk to you later," before hanging up. It left you with more questions than answers still looking forward to the next time you get to see him.

The coffee shop smells of roasted beans and fresh pastries, the comforting hum of conversation blending with the soft clink of ceramic cups. You slide into the booth, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the walk over, your fingers curling around the warm cup in front of you. It’s a Saturday morning, and the light filtering through the windows has a gentle quality to it that makes everything feel calm and still.

Remus arrives just moments later, a little breathless, but with that familiar easy smile that you’ve grown to look forward to. He orders his usual—black coffee, nothing fancy—and slides into the seat across from you. There’s a small, almost shy smile playing at the corners of his lips as he sets down a small, worn book on the table between you.

You blink at it, glancing up at him. “What’s this?” you ask, your eyebrows knitting together in curiosity.

Remus looks down at the book, then up at you, his cheeks flushing slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. It’s not like him to be this nervous, but the way he avoids your gaze for a moment makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing himself. He clears his throat, still looking at the book with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

“It’s... a book I thought you might like,” he says quietly, his voice hesitant, as if he’s unsure of your reaction. “That's why I- uh, why I asked the other night.”

Your fingers hover over the book’s cover, the title printed in elegant, curling letters. A title that immediately pulls you in, the kind of thing you’d never pick out on your own but might really enjoy. You glance back up at Remus, noting the soft blush on his cheeks. The vulnerability in his actions surprises you.

“I—thank you,” you say softly, your heart squeezing in a way you hadn’t expected. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you now, his eyes shy but hopeful, like this small gesture means so much to him. “I’ll definitely read it.”

He relaxes a little, his smile widening. “I’m glad. I thought... Well, it’s not exactly the most popular book or anything, but I figured it might speak to you. And if you don’t like it, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, already flipping the book over in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the smoothness of the cover. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

The conversation moves on from there, the usual topics filling the gaps—work, the weather, the books you’ve been reading—but it feels different this time. There’s a new layer to the connection between you two, something unspoken, something that feels important but can’t quite be named yet. The coffee passes in a haze of easy conversation and laughter, and by the time you both get up to leave, you feel a strange sense of contentment—like the world is, for a moment, just right.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Later that evening, you’re curled up in your favourite armchair, the soft light of your reading lamp illuminating the pages. The book feels comforting, a little like a friend you didn’t know you needed. You make it through the first pages chapters, quickly absorbed in the world it creates, and then, as your eyes scan the margins, you pause.

In the very first chapter, there’s a note scrawled in neat handwriting:

“This reminds me of you. You get lost in your thoughts the same way she does.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you’re already turning to the next page, not thinking much of it. But as you keep reading, the notes continue, each one more personal than the last.

He's put a box around a passage that talks about someone new becoming sunshine in one of the characters lives. Next to it he's written: you.

You pause, fingers trembling slightly as you turn to the next page. And then there’s another one:

“This part just made me think of you, that you’d like it.”

It clicks suddenly like an epiphany that you really, really like him.

The tears catch you by surprise. You hadn’t expected to feel this... moved. This seen. It’s like Remus has captured pieces of you in these notes—things you never said, things you didn’t even realize were there. He’s taken something as simple as a book and turned it into a way for you to see yourself through his eyes, as if he’s been quietly paying attention, noticing things about you you hadn’t even noticed in yourself.

Before you can stop it, your tears spill over, and you grab your phone, feeling the need to reach out to him. You hit his contact, your fingers shaking as you press the call button. It rings twice before he picks up.

“Hello?” His voice sounds a little surprised, but it’s warm, comforting.

“I—Remus, I just—” You can’t even finish the sentence, the tears turning into a full-on sob.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” he questions gently but there’s a tinge of panic in his voice. “Do you need me to come get you?”

You wipe your eyes, trying to regain some composure, but the emotion is too raw. “I’m fine. It’s just... I don’t know. I didn’t realize how much it would mean to me, and now... I just wanted to say thank you. For the book. For everything.”

He lets out a big sigh of relief. “That's okay, you’re welcome, dove.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper, barely able to say the words without breaking down again. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m really glad you liked it,” he replies softly, his voice warm with sincerity. “Really.”

You hesitate, wondering if this is the right moment. Part of you is almost certain that he feels the same way you do, especially after what’s just happened. But another part of you worries—what if you’re reading him wrong? What if you’ve misinterpreted everything?

“Would you…” you begin, unsure, “Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night? We could get takeaway, or... anything you want?”

There’s a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “Yeah,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “I’d love that.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

You pace around your flat, your eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It’s almost time for Remus to arrive, and you’re certain your stomach is doing somersaults. Why does this feel so much more important than it probably is? It’s just dinner, right? Yet, everything feels magnified. The messiness of your living room seems somehow ten times worse, and the familiar clutter of books, mismatched furniture, and the remnants of your life in its chaos feels more glaring than usual. You straighten up a few things, putting cushions back in place on the couch, smoothing down the edges of the blanket. You pick up a few dishes that you’d left out earlier, trying to make the place look somewhat presentable, even though you know Remus won’t care.

You glance in the mirror, adjusting your hair for the hundredth time, frowning as you tug at the collar of your jumper. It’s nothing fancy. A comfortable knit, a bit oversized, something you know you feel good in. But suddenly, you feel self-conscious, like it’s not enough. What if he doesn’t think you’re pretty? What if you don’t look good enough? You shake the thoughts away. This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Remus isn’t like that. He’s told you many times that you look pretty even when you’ve just been in your uniform straight out of work.

You make a mental note to stop overthinking, but your nerves don’t seem to want to cooperate. A quick glance at the clock tells you that he’ll be here any minute, and you’re still unsure whether you’re prepared for what might happen tonight. You know you’re about to open up, to tell him something that has been building inside you for weeks now. You can’t stop thinking about the way he makes you feel, how effortlessly he fits into your life. You’re nervous, terrified, but also strangely excited. You want to know if he feels the same way, even if the answer might hurt.

Your phone buzzes, startling you. You pick it up to see a message from Remus: On my way! Can’t wait to see you.

You smile at the text, feeling a wave of warmth settle over your nerves. You try to calm your breath, reminding yourself that this is just Remus—someone who’s become a friend. Someone who’s been kind and patient, and who might just be more than that.

A knock on the door jolts you from your thoughts. You take a deep breath, mentally bracing yourself, and open it to find Remus standing there, looking exactly like himself—tall, with a soft smile that sends a flutter to your chest. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers, which he quickly extends toward you.

“For you,” he says, his voice low and warm, his smile a little shy.

You feel your cheeks flush at the gesture, the simple thoughtfulness of it. “Thank you,” you say, taking the flowers and feeling an odd sense of gratitude fill you. They’re beautiful. You’re not sure if this is just Remus being Remus or if it means something more, but the sincerity in his eyes makes you feel seen.

“They’re lovely,” you add, feeling a little shy as you take them to put in a vase on the kitchen counter.

“You look lovely too, by the way,” Remus says, his voice just a bit too quiet. He clears his throat and looks at you a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it weird. I just—yeah. You look great.”

You blink, feeling the heat of his compliment spread through you. “Thanks, Remus. You look... nice too,” you stutter, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole for being so awkward.

He laughs softly, clearly understanding how the moment is making you feel, but there's no mockery in his tone—just affection. "Thank you."

The two of you settle into the couch, the awkwardness slowly dissipating as you begin ordering food. The simple act of choosing what to eat feels grounding, like it’s a small step toward normalcy. You both decide on pizza—something familiar, easy, and comforting. As you wait for it to arrive, you talk about the usual things. But your mind keeps drifting to the real reason why you invited him here.

You can feel it now, the weight of the conversation you need to have hanging in the air between you two. You feel restless, like there’s something inside you just waiting to burst free.

The pizza arrives, the conversation shifts, and you sit together, eating in the cozy comfort of your living room. Yet, even as you laugh and share stories, your heart is pounding. You know it’s coming. You know you have to say it.

“Remus,” you begin hesitantly, your voice catching in your throat as you look at him. “I... I wanted to tell you something.”

He glances up from his slice of pizza, a curious, open expression on his face. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You swallow hard, trying to calm the nervous flutters in your stomach. Your fingers trace the edge of your pizza box, too aware of the weight of the moment. “I... I think I like you, Remus.” The words rush out before you can stop them, and you quickly add, “I mean, I like you more than just as a friend. And... I don’t know. I just thought I should tell you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I just... thought I should say it.”

You rush the last part out, your face flushing deeply, your heart hammering in your chest as you stare at your hands. You can’t even look him in the eye, afraid of what you might see—or worse, what he might not say.

The silence that follows feels endless. Your mind races through worst-case scenarios: What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if you just ruined everything? What if he laughs, or worse, gets awkward?

But then you hear him clear his throat. When you finally dare to look at him, Remus is watching you with wide, warm eyes. His lips curl into a soft, genuine smile, and for a second, the anxiety that had been gripping your chest eases just a little.

“I feel the same way.” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"you- you do?"

He nods, his smile growing just a little. “Yeah, I do. I’ve been... kind of terrified to say it, honestly. But... I like you, too. More than just a friend.”

Relief floods through you, and before you can stop it, a giddy smile spreads across your face. "Oh my god," you breathe, unable to keep the laugh from escaping. "I thought I was going to die just now."

Remus chuckles softly, a quiet, knowing sound that makes your heart race a little faster. He leans in a bit closer, his expression softening, and you feel an electric pulse between you two. The air around you seems to shift, becoming thick with everything unsaid, everything you both now understand.

"You don’t have to be nervous," he says, his voice low but warm. "I promise I’m not going anywhere."

You smile shyly, the tension in your body easing, but the words don’t quite come out right. Instead, you take a deep breath, your eyes locked with his. You’ve already told him how you feel, and the vulnerability is still there, but now it’s accompanied by a quiet kind of hope

Remus reaches out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if he’s testing the waters. His fingers brush against yours lightly, sending a wave of warmth through your skin. You glance at his hand, then back up at him. His gaze is tender, searching yours for permission. There’s a slight hesitation, but it’s not strange—just... careful.

"Can I?" he asks, his voice just barely audible.

Your heart skips a beat. You nod, almost imperceptibly, too caught up in the moment to speak. The room feels smaller now, the space between you two shrinking with every passing second. Remus' hand moves a little closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, before he gently pulls your hand into his.

The warmth of his hand in yours feels like everything you’ve been waiting for, and you can’t help but smile softly. And then, without thinking, your thumb traces the edge of his hand, a quiet way of saying you're okay, you're safe. You can feel him relax in response, the tension in his shoulders melting as he inches even closer.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation growing as you both lean in, inch by tentative inch. The moment feels suspended in time. You close your eyes, a soft laugh bubbling up from you as you let out a nervous sigh.

"Remus," you whisper, barely a breath.

He stops, his face inches from yours, his eyes searching yours with that same softness, that same quiet intensity. The world outside seems to disappear. The sound of your breath and the beating of your hearts are all you can focus on.

Then, it happens. He leans in, his lips barely brushing against yours at first. It’s tentative, soft, like a question. Your breath hitches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re sure time has stopped. His lips are warm, gentle, and the kiss feels like the answer to everything you’ve been waiting for. You feel lightheaded with it—like everything in the world has finally made sense, like this is right, and maybe it always was.

A small giggle escapes you both, just a tiny, nervous sound, and Remus pulls back a fraction, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I’ve wanted to do that for a while," he admits, his voice hushed.

You smile, feeling the warmth of the moment flooding through you. "Me too."

And then, without another word, you close the small gap between you again. This time, the kiss is deeper, more certain, though still gentle. His lips press against yours with a sweet intensity, like he's savoring it, savoring you. Your fingers move instinctively to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as his hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. Everything feels soft, tender—a slow, steady rhythm between you that’s almost perfect in its simplicity.

The kiss deepens, just enough to make your pulse race, but it still carries that same sweet, careful energy, like you're both savoring each second of it. It’s a slow kind of magic, the kind that makes your heart feel full and light all at once.

When you finally pull away, breathless and a little dazed, you rest your forehead against his, your noses brushing lightly. The laughter that had been bubbling inside you finally spills out, soft and giddy, and Remus chuckles with you, his fingers still gently brushing through your hair.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

You nod, smiling wider than you ever thought possible. “Yeah. More than okay.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 12!

apologies for the delay, everyone! here's a slightly longer list than usual to make up for it <3

while you're here, if you could check out this ask and this one to see if you can help find the requested fics, that would be lovely <3

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all of my life, it's been all for you | staticsilencee | 10.7k | T

Occasionally, people’s names wouldn’t match up. It wasn’t common, and the only cases Buck had ever personally heard of had involved literal criminals, but it did happen. The other option– well. Either Buck was secretly a killer without knowing about it, or Eddie had taken one look at him and decided he wanted nothing to do with him. i love a good soulmate fic, and this is a great soulmate fic, so imagine how happy i was reading this!! i also really loved the bobby buck dynamic <3

city lights, without you (they don’t even shine like they used to) | farfromthstars/@doeeyeseddie | 1.5k | T

buck is not in love with eddie. definitely not. if there's one thing last week's episode is bringing us, it's delightful episode codas like this one <3 loved buck's narration here!!

don’t think about it too much, too much, too much, too much | fruitsdoesnotknow/@fruitsdontknow | 6.1k | M

Eddie and Chris finally come back to Los Angeles. Buck has some realizations, and confessions, to make. Good thing Eddie's got some of his own to share, too. i love how buck keeps thinking about home in this one and jude seems like the most wonderful grandma <3 so good!!

even with the lights off | lilacbarnes | 6.2k | E

Buck tries to make friends, ends up sleeping with them, and may or may not see Eddie each time he does it. such a gorgeous fic!! i love how this captures buck so much <3

goodbye to what you thought you'd be | coldbam/@coldbam | 7.5k | T

Buck confesses. It gives Eddie a lot to think about. i love this fic's eddie so much <3 and joe!! this really is the week of wonderful ocs in buddie fic and i'm so here for it

if you don't leave your mark on me, i'll take it | facewithoutheart/@facewithoutheart | 2.5k | T

Five times Buck gets a breakup tattoo and one time he doesn’t. the tattoos!! i love the tattoos!! they 100% feel like tattoos buck would get and i love that so much <3

i'll take your chaos and your crooked in a heartbeat | heartbeatdiaz/@lonelychicago | 6.2k | T

Eddie leaves a very important box behind and Buck spirals. my this is so sweet and kind of heartbreaking and also funny and so basically it's everything all at once and i love that so much <3

(it's probably not surprising) that you're burning through the days | atlasblue85/@atlasblue85 | 12.9k | T

Buck takes a breath like he’s steeling himself, and sets his beer down on the coffee table. “What if– Eddie, what if I get myself stuck in here with you?” TIME LOOP FIC. oh my god i love a time loop fic. i love eddie and chim and i love buck and i love everything <3

kind eyes, it's all good | cavevulpis/@cavevulpis | 6.3k | GA

Buck has never been lucky in love. He has enough break-ups under his belt to prove it. this is so stunningly written!! i especially adored the taylor section, i think this might just be my favourite taylor in fic ever... so so good!!

my best friend (my best guess) | idiotsinkdaisies/@idiotsinkdaisies | 1.5k | T

Eddie gets a series of text messages from Tommy, despite not hearing from him for the last few months. He ignores most of them, until Tommy implies he could have made things weird for Buck and Eddie. oh this has some really stunning romantic lines that i won't quote bc spoilers but i am quoting them in my mind. so good!!

ours | Tizniz/@tizniz | 1.4k | GA

“Home sweet home.” Buck mumbles, stumbling as he tries to kick his shoes off. Eddie doesn’t correct him, tell him that it’s not his yet, because that’d be a lie. This place has been Buck’s home for nearly as long as it’s been Eddie’s. this is the loveliest fic <3 one of the tags is the diaz house is buck's home and i love that so so much. it's so true <3

perfectly made | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 6.8k | E

In which Eddie needs to unsubscribe to a gay porn site, and the only way to do so is to make a phone call. Buck answers that call. this is such a fun au!! it's so cute and i loved the silly porno names hehe

rage is a quiet thing | oceanofchaos/@islandoforder | 33.3k | GA

Philip Buckley has a heart attack, and Buck, Eddie, and Chris all fly to Hershey. What else are best friends for? this is so so good!! i love how this captures buck and eddie and chris and their respective relationships so so much. also chimney!! so good <3

said i couldn't stay, but it's different now | hattalove/@hattalove | 14.7k | T

the one with the four weddings (feat. a drunk karen wilson, shania twain, a single cheerio, and some confessions over cubed fruit. this was a reread of of one of my favourite fics ever <3 it's so soft and sweet and there's such lovely pining and also hamsters. literally what more could you possibly need to know!!

shouting under my breath | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 2.3k | T

The one where a guy hits on Buck in a bar and Eddie gets jealous. Turns out, Buck really likes it when Eddie is jealous. same buck, i also like it when eddie is jealous. this is so fun and so good and so very them <3

where i walk alone | kermytheefrog | 19.4k | T

Everyone knows that when you touch someone who's going to be important to you for the first time, you'll leave a mark on them. It's not just romantic love; parents and children, siblings, close friends all share marks too. At least, they do in theory. Maddie's the only person who's ever touched Buck and left anything behind. i've been devouring each chapter of this fic as it was posted and i'm already feeling like it's time for a reread, that's how good this is!! this has lovely buddie but also such fantastic platonic relationships, i love it so so much <3

you're home (when you're alone) | pairofraggedclaws/@pairofraggedclaws | 5.7k | T

Eddie's feelings in a box, and the people who taught him to put them there. this is so beautifully written!! i especially loved eddie and chris together <3 so good!!

yours & mine | marviless/@marviless | 6.6k | T

after months of sleeping in Eddie’s bed alone, Buck finally gets to share. soft and lovely and so perfect <3 one of my favourite bed sharing fics!!

[issues4him]

What would blue collar rafe think/do when other men AND women flirt with reader cuz let’s be real everyone wants her ;)

ohhh rafe notices lol. men, women—doesn’t matter. people flirt with you all the time. you’re gorgeous, sweet, that soft stay-at-home glow? yeah, you’ve got folks wrapped around your finger without even trying.

rafe’s smug as hell about it. he never gets jealous—not really—because he knows who you go home with. but if some guy gets too bold? or some girl gets too handsy? he steps in real calm, real close, and just says something like, “she’s married, bud. but i don’t blame you for tryin’. ” and then throws his arm around your waist, kisses the side of your head, and stares that poor soul down like, mine.

because he’s not insecure—he’s possessive. and when people flirt with you, it just reminds him how damn lucky he is. and how badly he’s gonna remind you of that the second you get home.

[tovibeornottovibe]

Do You Trust Me?

Eris Vanserra x Healer!Fem!OC

Eris catches Cleo just at the wrong moment; she's on her cycle and she's in agony. For some inexplicable reason, he feels this intense urge to help her, so he does. He struggles to deal with his own vulnerability, and to reconcile how he feels about her with what he expects from himself. [3.9k words]

warnings: menstruation, misogyny, mentioned sexual assault (in Eris' own internal monologue), toxic masculinity (sorta), it's a bit of a heavy one

Prefer to read on Ao3?

read the first part of this series here! (it's much fluffier than this one, i promise)

Cleo is picking pieces of ashwood out of his abdomen as though they aren't bothering her. Each one she plucks out and sets down in a bowl beside her fills him with such relief that he’s struggling to keep his breathing steady. Dart, as repulsed by the wood as he is, has curled himself in his bed on the other side of the living room, keeping a careful eye on the two of them as she kneels at his side, so close he can feel her breath against his too-hot skin. Her focus is almost absolute, her movements so precise that she has not once nicked his skin or poked the slowly healing wound. 

But Eris has been trying to figure out what’s wrong with her for the past ten minutes. 

When she opened the door for him, her eyes were heavy, like she was somehow exhausted in the early evening, and she afforded him only weak smiles and lazy responses. She hasn’t even asked him how he got stabbed (it was some prick with too much time on his hands and a penchant for spilling secrets. Unfortunately, Eris had underestimated his swordsmanship and thus, here he is). The usual warmth in her eyes is significantly dulled. She wears loose, faded clothes which are clearly too big for her. Every now and then, her jaw clenches and her hands falter slightly. And she’s washed out. Like she’s sick. 

Fae don’t get ill. Ill fae die or else live in misery for the rest of their existence. That would be… unfortunate, and just his luck. He supposes slowly and excruciatingly killing one of the few people he actually likes spending time with is the Mother’s revenge for his lack of piety.

Petty, old cow.

He feels the tweezers grip the last splinter left and he lets out a sigh as she pulls it out. Delicately, she brushes her thumb over the skin near the wound, which stings but it’s not nearly as agonising as having ash in his body, checking to see if she got them all. Judging by the fact that he can relax his muscles, even with the bowl of splinters nearby, she did.

“I think you’re good,” she says quietly, her voice rough, as she withdraws her hand and sits back on her calves. “Can you—?” Swallowing thickly, she nods her head toward the bowl, briefly managing to meet his eyes before she looks away again.

Somehow, he’d rather stick all of those splinters back in his body one-by-one than have her endure whatever is happening to her.

With an easy flick of his wrist, he burns the contents of the bowl and the last, fleeting feelings of physical discomfort vanish. Immediately, Dart pads over and, after sniffing at the bowl, as though to check that the ash really is gone, pushes Cleo’s hand up and sits by her side. She pats him tenderly, her kind eyes so achingly tired that the sight makes Eris’ heart clench—he despises that. 

When he sits forward, he instinctively clutches at his side and her head snaps towards him. “Can I heal this one?” she asks, already moving towards him, ready to over-exert herself more by using her magic, but, and he has no idea what comes over him to make him think this is in any way acceptable, Eris catches her hands before she can reach his wound.

Immediately, he regrets it.

Cleo has the textured hands of someone who works for a living. It isn’t like he doesn’t know this already, but this is different. It’s deliberate, unadulterated contact which is short, quick, and he releases her as soon as he possibly can. Almost flinches away from it. Even dealing with her hands on his skin when she’s healing him has started to get unbearable and it’s stupid, like he’s never been touched by a female before.

He chalks it up to stress, to needing just this one thing, place, person, where he doesn’t have to restrict. Restraint loses him so often these days. As the Autumn Equinox gets closer and closer, the power boiling in his bones gets hotter and hotter. Something has to slip sometime, and he guesses it’s now.

He doesn’t care that it sounds like she matters to him. She does. Cleo is important to him and truthfully, if it turns out that she is, in fact, sick, he’s going to move heaven and earth to find some kind of a cure. Bribe whoever he needs to bribe and kill whoever tries to get in his way. 

“Leave it,” he says, earning him a frown. “What’s wrong with you?”

Cleo cannot die. He won’t allow it, Mother be damned. He’ll take Her out too if he has to.

She blinks like he’s asked her something impertinent then waves him off. “I’m fine,” she says. “Are you sure you don’t want me to—?” 

He stops her bluntly. “You aren’t fine. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

At that, she scoffs, and the sound almost thrills him. “Thanks, might as well have told me I look like shit.” She doesn’t. Eris isn’t sure she’s even capable of that. “You’ll have to make sure you keep that clean…”

Okay, he sounds a little panicked. Is he panicking? Or maybe just worried? Yes, that’s it. Just a healthy amount of concern for someone he cares about. Not utter, crippling anxiety at the idea of her dying. Not at all.

“Stop it,” he snaps and she flinches, but he’s so worked up that he continues. “Are you ill? Is that what it is?”

Her face visibly softens. “No,” she says gently, “no, I’m not ill, Eris.”

Dart shifts with her when she untucks her legs from underneath her, stretching them out as she leans against the arm of the sofa, and it hits him. The faintest, barest scent of blood. Not his own. Hers.

The pieces slot together very, very quickly. The tiredness. The paleness. Her discomfort and inconsistent mood. Panic drains out of him almost as quickly as it came and he grimaces, more at himself than anything else. 

“It’s your cycle,” he murmurs, bracing his forearms on his knees and rubbing the worry off his face. His wound hardly hurts him as he moves. “Oh, of course it is.”

Cleo lets out a hum of confirmation. “You know,” she says, looking at him, half-smile on her lips, “for a clever male, you are interminably stupid sometimes.”

Probably. He can’t even feel insulted, the overwhelming sense of relief is too strong to get anything else. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” he asks. What little he knows about cycles is informed by the unintentional glimpses of what his mother’s are like, and she practically knocks herself out for a week so she can get through the pain. For the whole day, every day, a handmaiden looks after her and soothes her if she wakes up. Yet, here Cleo is, seemingly not in indescribable agony?

“Yep,” she replies, popping the p, as she turns so her back is against the sofa and a shaky breath escapes her. Increasingly, her voice becomes strained. “But you were an excellent distraction. You don’t think you could get stabbed again, do you?” 

In any other circumstance, he would laugh, maybe throw out a snide comment, but he’s quite suddenly gripped by the urge to comfort her. No, to look after her. That knocks him so completely from all his pain and all the rest of the things on his mind and replaces them with this intense need to do something.

She catches him staring at her and, with Dart lying across her lap, barks a low laugh. “It’s just blood, Eris,” she says.

“It’s not that,” he replies quickly. Too quickly. 

It’s that he doesn’t know what to do. He always knows what to do. Eris always has some kind of plan, or else he can respond to anything and everything which gets thrown at him, but now, he’s at a total loss. This is not something he had ever considered; cycles are female business, and he figured it would stay that way. He’s never had a long-term lover, certainly not one which would expect him to be available to her for any sort of emotional comfort and if he ever had to get married, it would be to some viper who he could rid himself of as soon as he was High Lord. He would simply take a contraceptive tonic (illegal but useful in Autumn) so he would never have a child, let alone a daughter. So, to say he’s clueless is an understatement.

Cleo lets out a regulated, slow breath, tipping her head back against the sofa cushions and closing her eyes. “Do enlighten me then,” she says weakly. 

It’s instinct that makes him move, which is strange, because Eris ignores almost every instinct that occurs to him. Instincts make him do things like flinch and gag and make him feel things such as desire and fear which are plainly useless to him. His instincts threaten the carefully crafted aloofness which protects him from all things.

But Cleo’s house is the place where he can’t afford to do that. Here, their relationship, that protection, is based on instinct, and it is her who provides it for him. She sees how he reacts, and if it’s wrong, she corrects it. He barely appears on her doorstep if he’s of sound mind, only in the direst of circumstances where he has no other option. Being here is a calculated risk that only makes sense to him when he follows those irritating, natural instincts of his.

He pulls himself off the sofa and crouches next to her. He doesn’t dare touch her again; he might find himself incapable of stopping. 

“Tell me how to help,” he says quietly, like perhaps if she doesn’t hear him, he might not feel such a compulsion to stay.

She eyes him. “I’m fine. Really,” she says, the way she shifts her legs betraying her discomfort. “I’m a big girl. I’ve been doing this every six months for a couple of centuries now.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look after yourself.”

For that, she shoots him a look. That’s the line she always uses with him when he feels guilty for accepting her aid. Not that he’s ever explicitly told her he does, she just tends to know these things. Annoyingly.

He says, “Let me help you,” and he doesn’t know why. 

Maybe it’s because he feels indebted to her. Maybe it’s because he can’t stand the sight of her suffering. Maybe she’s actually been tricking him this whole time and he’ll find out that his brothers are right behind the front door, ready to haul him in front of his father. If that’s the case then she’s done such an excellent job of making a fool out of him that he might even be impressed.

Or maybe it’s just because he’s remembered something.

He’d been wracking his brain for anything he could think of to soothe her and he caught it in the corner of his memories. Sometimes, the handmaidens bring his mother warm towels for the pains. He knows it relaxes the muscles. It isn’t often he uses that knowledge for noble purposes, but he is uniquely talented when it comes to producing heat. He has his uses beyond politicking and plotting, you know.

But Cleo shakes her head. “You don’t need to, Eris.”

“I want to.”

Half-bemused, half-pained, she hits him square in the chest with one single word: “Why?”

His response comes immediately, but it doesn’t feel true. “You heal me all the time. It’s only fair—”

“I don’t help you because I want something in return.” Why do you help me then, Cleo? Because, to this day, he cannot work it out. It’s unfathomable to him. He reasons that he would never, ever do the same, and that’s why Cleo will always be a better person than he is. “You don’t owe me shit.”

“Fine,” he says firmly, “I don’t owe you anything. Let me help anyway.”

It’s exasperation she gives him next. “You can’t do anything. It’s not like pain tonics—why are you looking at me like that?”

Ignoring how his heart stutters in his chest, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

A moment’s hesitation, then, “Cauldron, Eris, you really don’t understan—”

“Not what I asked, Cleo.”

“Gods. Yes, I trust you,” she says sharply, “but it doesn’t matter because nothing will help. I have tried everything! I just have to wait it out. There’s no magic…” Eris lets her trail off while he continues to look at her, totally unimpressed. There’s something to be said for being the most patient male in the world. 

“Are you finished?” She tuts at him and he takes that as a yes. “Good. Now stop arguing and tell me where you’re in pain.”

Begrudgingly relenting, Cleo mumbles something that distinctly sounds like fucking asshole, saying through gritted teeth, “It’s here—” she runs her hand delicately across her lower abdomen before going to pet Dart once again, her movements rhythmic, repetitive, “—but I’m serious. You can’t do anything. I wish you could.”

Eris doesn’t think, he just does, or else he’ll stop himself and let her suffer. A muscle ticks in her jaw when he gets closer, but she doesn’t stop him, not even when he pushes the hem of her shirt up with a warmed hand and presses gently against her skin exactly where she showed him. Immediately, she shifts under his touch, lets out a breathy sigh and closes her eyes. Dart moves out of the way as Eris sits beside her.

“Better?” he asks lowly, just a hint of smugness creeping into his tone, because he was right and she doubted him. Instead of glaring at him for it, she just nods and places her hand over his, moving it ever so slightly downward so that his little finger brushes against the waistband of her trousers. Then she keeps her hand there like it’s nothing, like it’s normal, and compulsively strokes up and down the back of his with the pad of her thumb.

After a few, quiet minutes, she seems to relax, but he doesn’t move. He lets her use his heat however she likes, waits it out with her until she tenses again and her grip on him becomes ironclad. The pain comes in waves, sometimes with long gaps, other times with prolonged periods of what seems like total agony. He doesn’t know what he can say to calm her, so he keeps his mouth shut and watches her work through it with a furrowed brow.

This is worse, he decides, than almost everything his father has ever done to him. He hates it, hates that all he can do is sit with her, provide her with only the smallest amount of relief, when she can quite literally bring him back from the brink in a matter of minutes. It looks exhausting. Every time her breath hitches, his heart lurches.

“Cleo,” he says, hoping she might have the strength to look at him. That’s the other thing that gets him. Cleo is disproportionately strong, she can endure hours and hours of using her magic, can manoeuvre him without difficulty. He’s not certain she can even lift her head right now. “Is it getting easier?”

Her eyes stay closed as she shakes her head. The next time she gets a rest, she asks so very quietly, her voice rough, “Do you—Could you—I… my back?”

Again, he doesn’t think. Trusting that she can go without his hand just for a moment, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her towards him into his lap with her knees either side of his hips. He shuffles so his back is against the coffee table and his legs are against the sofa, a more relaxed position so he can hold her better. She offers no resistance when he presses her against his chest, his hand un-demandingly firm on the small of her back while his body heats the rest of her.

She sags against him, her forehead planted on his shoulder while she curls her hands into his shirt, pulling so much that she’ll probably stretch the fabric.

“Comfortable?” Eris asks practically into the shell of her ear. All she does is hum confirmation, so he says, “Okay,” and goes back to waiting with her.

He stays very, very still. Torn between this horrid need to soothe her and all the things he has been taught to think, Eris knows he needs to remind himself why he can never, ever do this again. Knows he needs to get it all out. So, instead of letting himself rest against her too, instead of allowing himself this moment where it is just him and Cleo in intimate selflessness, something within him snaps; he makes himself think the kind of vile thoughts which make his father proud.

Cleo’s so weak that it occurs to him he can do anything to her. The most stubborn female he’s ever met trusts him so much that he can move her however he likes, touch her wherever he wants and she wouldn’t be able to push him away. Might not even want to. He wonders if she is so desperate to be touched that she’d just take whatever he gives her, whine and beg him to keep going like a bitch.

It would be so easy. She’s already on top of him, already pressing her chest against him. He can tell, she’s not wearing a bra, and even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. She can’t stop him, can’t stop his hand from dipping below her waistband just to see how she would react, if she would object. 

He can take and take and take. He already does. He drains the energy from her when she heals him. She makes herself so vulnerable in front of him that he can remind her why she should never, ever allow someone like him access to her like this. If he wanted to take his pleasure from her, use her in the way she unwittingly offers herself to him, he could. He could prove why she shouldn’t trust him at all like everyone expects him to.

But the thought disgusts him so thoroughly that he feels unclean just for considering the possibility. 

A choked sob bubbles up from her throat and she fists the fabric of his shirt to the point where she’s pulling it off his shoulder. He can feel her spiking panic as the pain starts again. Eris just tightens his grip, shushes her gently and says, “You’re doing so well. It’ll pass soon. Breathe.” The tenderness in his voice surprises him, but it comes naturally. 

The idea of her attempting to go through this alone makes him so upset that he forces himself to think of almost anything else, and his mind takes him back to the worst place it can.

Eris can ruin Cleo’s life if he feels like it. He knows so much about her: he can use her brother against her; blackmail the both of them for information; can turn them against each other. He can paint her as a spy and get her fired. He can plant evidence which will have Thesan arrest her. He can let it slip that he knows her and let rumours run wild. Perhaps even her friends will think she’s a whore for letting him into her house in the middle of the night. No one would be able to dispute him. It’s his word against hers, and he has the prestige to discredit her.

It terrifies him that she has given him such power over her and it’s worse that he can formulate a plan for exactly how he would do it. Step-by-step, he can see it unfolding right before his eyes. He wonders if she has ever thought the same, if she has contemplated using what little he has told her against him, but he knows that she hasn’t. That isn’t the kind of intelligence she has. The Autumn Court would drown her. The Autumn Court will drown her.

Despite himself, even as he recoils inside, Eris pulls her impossibly closer and rests his chin atop her head. Instinct once again grips him and he wants to press a kiss against her hair. He wants to inhale her scent and have it cling to his clothes.

At the same time, he absolutely, unwaveringly wants to get as far away from her as possible. He wants to hurt her and leave her and then come crawling back when he needs help. He wants her to view him just as pathetic as he would feel doing that, and he wants her to help him anyway, for her to prove to him that she needs him just as much as he needs her. Eris wants Cleo to struggle with it like he burns when he allows himself to think of her. 

Desires like these are the ones he ignores.

For the better part of an hour—an hour he doesn’t have but gives willingly—they’re locked together. When he whispers soft words to her, she relaxes and lets the pain wash over her, just moves through it like water, and slowly, slowly, it subsides. She doesn’t tell him but he can see just by how she rests against him that she wants to sleep, that the sheer effort of breathing and dealing with it has stolen what little energy she had left.

Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter to him; he’s making the decision for her. He waits for five minutes, listening for a hitch in her breath or for her to tense, but she doesn’t. Cleo’s eyes are closed and she’s halfway to sleep already. 

Wordlessly, he hikes her up and stands. She just clings to him and mumbles something unintelligible. Dart follows him as he rounds the coffee table and carefully carries her up the stairs. There are three doors leading from the landing and he guesses which one is for her bedroom first-time. 

Usually, Eris would take in every detail, note which books are on the shelves and what fabric the bed sheets are made from, but he has only one concern, and that’s making sure Cleo is asleep before he leaves. He lays her down gently atop the covers—pulling them over her feels far too familiar an act for him to do—and stops Dart jumping up on the bed and jostling her.

When her eyes flutter open, he almost sighs in frustration. “Sorry…” she breathes out. As she talks, a piece of her dark hair falls across her face.

He shakes his head, pushes her hair back behind her ear and says, “Just rest, Cleo.” She nods and closes her eyes again.

By her side, he waits until he sees her breathing even out, then he leaves her door ajar behind him so Dart can get back out. He makes sure Dart has food and water before he winnows back to Autumn.

In his private quarters, he sits and counts. 

One. 

Two. 

Three… all the way to ten.

Then he hauls himself back up, strides to the kennels and sneers at any and every guard who has the audacity to look at him. He takes all twelve of his smokehounds out, heads to a place far enough away from the Forest House, and he has them kill something for him.

a/n: somewhat of a little character study into Eris? not too sure how to feel about it at the moment, but here it is

taglist for the series (let me know if you wanna be added!): @rcarbo1 @corvusmorte

[moonstruckme]

Hiya love, I’ve got a little Carmy idea? If it makes it out the gulag, then brilliant. If not, then at least it’s a nice little thought for us, eh? So I was thinking, maybe it’s set in season one and the reader worked at the bear back when it was the beef. So when Carmy joins, the reader could be on holiday leave or time off to grieve Mikey or something, and when Carmy’s changing everything up Richie can be all ‘big dog won’t like this’ and everyone, even Tina keeps making comments about big dog (the reader). Then! Like a week later or something, the reader comes back to work and she’s all meek and mellow and lovely, and Carmy’s just petrified of her because she’s ’the big dog’ but it turns out everyone just calls her that because she quite literally just has a big dog? Feel absolutely free to ignore the ramble, but if it sparks any creative flow at all, I’d be barking like dog for ya (pun intended this time lol). Hope you’re well, love you lots, have a great day :)

Thank you angel, hope you have a great day too! <3

cw: mention of past death, grief kinda skimmed over but there

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ��� 932 words

Carmy is ready for a fight. He’s had to be ready every day since he started running The Beef, really, a fight always crops up whether he’s ready or not, but today he’s extra prepared. He hears the back door open as he’s doing inventory, and he gets all geared up. 

This is his restaurant now. His shitshow. Carmy can run it into the ground if he wants to—and he doesn’t want to, but he could, that’s basically what was happening anyway, and the point is that now it’s his. No matter what anybody fucking says, no matter how the back of the house rags on him, he’s—

“Oh. Hi.” 

You look surprised to see him. And Carmy thought he was ready for you, but he’s surprised too. You don’t…maybe he’s about to eat his words, but you don’t look like a Big Dog. You’re not what he was expecting. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“You must be Carmy.” He can see your eyes roving his face, looking for Mikey. A lot of people have been doing that lately. 

Carmy never thought they looked much like brothers. Some people said it was in their mouths, though Mikey’s smiled more. Some people said they sounded the exact same, but only when they were angry. Whatever you find, you offer a faint smile at the end. It’s confusing. 

“Yeah,” Carmy says awkwardly. “You’re early.” 

“I like to come in a little early,” you say by way of explanation. Feet taking you to your station as if by muscle memory, your eyes still on Carmy’s. “Used to be the only one. Is there anything I can help with?” 

“Uh, sure. Four cups of cheese.” 

“Oh it, chef.” You salute, heading towards the pantry. 

Carmy eyes you as you walk back to your station and start shredding. He was ready for a fight, but he doesn’t know what he’s getting into now. Is this some kind of fucking psychological warfare? 

All week, it’s been ooh, Big Dog won’t like that. Just wait ‘til Big Dog gets back. You really wanna fuck with Big Dog’s system? Digging your own grave, Jeff. Big Dog, Big Dog, Big Dog. Carmy doesn’t know exactly what he was anticipating, but it wasn’t you. He guesses appearances don’t mean everything. Tina can be fucking terrifying when she wants to, too. 

“So,” you say, shredding calmly, “how are you?” 

Carmy frowns. “Huh?” 

You look up. Something in his expression puts a worried pinch between your brows. “Sorry, was that too personal?” you ask, and though Carmy waits for the mocking tone he doesn’t hear it. “I just mean, with everything with your brother, and then taking on this place, and the total restructuring, it has to be a lot. I’m sure…” You look at him again, biting your tongue. “But, sorry, we don’t even know each other. I don’t mean to pry.” 

“It’s fine,” he finds himself saying. Which, it’s not really, but you keep fucking apologizing. It’s making him squirm. “Yeah, it’s…it’s been a fucking trip.” 

You nod compassionately. “I’m sure. Listen, I know it’s not the same, but Mikey was like family to a lot of us.” It’s something Carmy’s heard a lot recently. Sometimes in accusatory tones, usually making jealousy rise like bile in his throat, but something about the way you say it sounds different. It’s sincere, like an offering. Like company. 

“If there’s anything you need,” you go on, “you can let me know. I mean, it seems like you’ve already got this place running better than it ever did.” You look around the room appreciatively. Admiring the clean kitchen, which used to be spotted everywhere with rust stains and globs of old food. “But I’m always happy to take on more if you’ve got stuff.” 

Carmy looks at you. Your lips are curved in a faint smile, eyes soft and warm. He can’t find one thing about you that looks insincere. 

He’s about to say sure, the s a breath on his tongue, when the door bangs open. 

“Big Dog!” Richie shouts. 

“Hey!” Your grin widens. You allow yourself to be pulled roughly into a side hug. “Good to see you, Rich. How’re you holding up?” 

“Eh.” Richie shrugs, false insouciance twisting his expression. But his eyes are tender for you. “You know.” 

“Yeah.” You bump his shoulder lightly, careful to keep your hands clean. “I get it.” 

“Why Big Dog?” Carmy blurts. 

You and Richie both look at him in confusion. 

“What?” Richie asks. 

“Why…” Carmy shakes his head, baffled. “Why does everyone call you Big Dog?” 

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s maybe the best thing Carmy’s heard all week, which is just fucking disorienting. “You mean because of Gladys?” 

“Gladys?” Carmy echoes. 

“Fucking rottweiler, cousin,” says Richie. “Big fucking dog.” 

“I know what a rottweiler is,” Carmy nearly snaps. His gaze whips to you. It’s a common enough tone for him—Richie always brings it out—but he finds he doesn’t want to raise his voice so much with you around to hear. If you notice, though, you don’t seem to think much of it. “You aren’t a rottweiler.” 

“But she has a rottweiler, man.” Richie slaps him on the shoulder, scoffing. “Get over it. It’s a nickname!” 

“It’s a fucking stupid nickname.” Carmy does snap this time, regretting it when your eyebrows raise. 

He’s about to backtrack—you’re not stupid, obviously you’re not stupid, but Richie is the stupidest motherfucker Carmy ever had the misfortune of meeting—when he sees the smile playing on your lips. 

You shrug, light as anything. “Guess you’ll have to give me a new one then.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Guess who's back?

Written for the Get Lucky bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Pinch

Rated: T

Tags: Comes back wrong; Kas!Eddie; Monster!Eddie; Except he's just mildly disgruntled about it and otherwise normal; Crack; Eddie Munson is a little shit

“Okay, whatever you do, don't scream.” 

Steve doesn’t scream. He screeches. 

Which he'd be embarrassed to admit under any other circumstances, except there's a black, hulking figure with red coals for eyes standing in his dark bedroom, so he thinks it can be excused. 

The second thing he does is try to roll over and grab the nail bat from under the bed, but the figure is too fast. Quicker than he can blink, it is on top of him. His back hits the mattress and the air wheezes from his lungs, needle-sharp claws digging into his shoulders. A hot gust of air tickles his neck as the creature leans in. Steve screws his eyes shut.

“Goddamnit, what part of don't scream didn't you get? Do you want your neighbours to call the cops or what?” 

“Hold on a second,” he says. The creature does not hold on. 

“-not like my history with law enforcement was sunshine and rainbows to begin with,” it rambles, evidently having gone off on a tangent while Steve was busy processing. “But I'd really prefer it if we could keep the number of people who see me like this to a minimum. I’d love to not end up in a zoo or lab, or-” 

“Eddie? Is that you?” 

The creature rolls its eyes. No, Eddie’s eyes - large and round and just as stupidly expressive as Steve remembers - except they're the wrong color. Not brown but red, and glowing with what looks like all the fires of hell burning from within. 

“Well, duh. What does it look like?” it says. The giant fucking bat wings on its back twitch in irritation.

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it again. He doesn't fucking know what it looks like. Except that isn’t right. He knows very well what it looks like, it's just that what it looks like can't possibly be true. 

Because what it looks like is Eddie fucking Munson fused with some monster out of a cheap horror movie, straddling his lap in the middle of the night. He’s still in the clothes that he died in - ripped Hellfire tee, bandana and all. Steve thinks he may have to call his doctor about another MRT. 

What he says is, “This isn't real. You're dead. You've been dead for three years.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” says the thing that's wearing Eddie’s face. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to track you down? I tried your house, but you weren't there, and the girl who was sleeping in your bedroom wouldn't stop shrieking for long enough to get two words in, and then the dad came after me with a fucking shotgun? Whatever happened to small town hospitality?” 

“Dunno,” Steve stammers. “I sold the house after- … What did you do to those people? I swear to God, if you hurt them-” 

“Of course I didn't,” the monster claims. “I'm not a monster. Still wouldn't have killed you to at least leave me a number or something, would it? I can't exactly take a stroll around town and ask about your whereabouts like this, now can- will you put this down, I'm not gonna hurt you.” 

Steve lowers the lamp he just grabbed from the nightstand, but he doesn’t drop it. 

“How do I know that's true?” he hisses. “How do I know you're really Eddie and not some Upside Down creature wearing him like a suit? Oh, or maybe you're Vecna himself, huh? Fuck, this is probably it, right? This isn't real at all, it's all in my- Ouch, what the fuck are you doing?” 

The creature wiggles its clawed fingers in front of his face. 

“I pinched you. It's what you do to prove that something’s real, right? Or is that another thing that randomly changed while I was gone?”

“You could've just pinched my arm, dude,” Steve squawks, rubbing his stinging nipple through the fabric of his pajama shirt. “Why would you-” 

Those glowing eyes crinkle at the corners. When the creature’s lips tug into a fanged grin, a familiar dimple appears at the corner of its mouth. 

Eddie’s grin goes pleased. 

“Oh my God,” Steve groans. “It’s really you.”

“Glad we’ve got that sorted out,” he rumbles. Something brushes Steve’s thigh - something long and slender with a pointed tip that twitches happily. Steve never thought he’d think those words in this specific order, but he really, really hopes it’s a tail. “Now, could you spare a change of clothes? I’ve been wearing these for three years.” 

More Steddie Bingo

[snail-day]

Inked: Daddy's Girl

Tattoo Artist! Sukuna x Reader

Previous // part 3 // masterlist

WC: 3k

TW: Yandere Behaviors (possessive & manipulation), Very Toxic Established Relationship, Mean/Jealous Sukuna, Dubcon/Noncon themes, Big Age Gap (Reader is twenties, Sukuna is pushing forty) , Oral m!receiving, Rough sex, use of piercings. Use of Daddy.

A/n: Was going to do Toji instead but...I don't think Toji would like to be called daddy gives him like ptsd

Tattoo Artist Boyfriend!Sukuna who’s rough around the edges - hell, he's nothing but rough edges. Sharp tongue, inked hands, always smells like cigarette smoke and motor oil. He’s the kind of man people glance at twice: once in curiosity, and once in warning. Definitely not the kind they expect to see with someone like you.

You, with your young pretty voice and starry eyes. Barely in your twenties, still figuring yourself out - meanwhile, Sukuna’s pushing forty and already decided you’re his, even if your parents kicked your sweet ass out the house.

He doesn't know how he managed to get you wrapped around his finger. Some nights, he looks at you curled against his chest and thinks you should know better. Thinks you’ll wise up one day.

But not today. Not when you're clinging to his arm like he's gravity. Not when you sit pretty beside him at late-night yakuza dinners, decked out in silk, lip-gloss, and shy little smiles. The Zenin boys tease him for it.

“Robbing the cradle, huh, Ryo?” Teasing him in-betwen sips of beer, if they weren't clients he'd be knocking their eyes out for gawking at your chest. They just love watching what's his. What keeps his bed warm at night. Watching the way you lean into him like you don’t hear a word. He just grins in response - sharp and cocky -tightening his burley-inked arm around your waist.

“Jealous?” he fires back, and lets his hand rest just a little too low. Palm hitching up the hem of your mini dress, enjoying the way you hide your warm cheeks, muttering to stop. It's cute really. Like a little bunny.

Sometimes - rarely - he thinks about how he’s your first for almost everything. Your first boyfriend. First kiss. The first man to touch you like that. That he probably shouldn’t have taken so much from someone so soft, so new.

But then he always remembers the way your body folds for him, soft pliant skin for his roughened hands, how your voice breaks when you moan his name, how you cry when you come - clinging to him like he’s the only thing that makes you feel real. Any hint of guilt burns away. You were too young to know what you needed.

Lucky for you, he did.

Yeah, you’re young. Sweet. Barely know what the hell you’re doing.

But you’re his.

Can’t just be letting go of a perfect little cunt that milks his cock every night. It does something to him, makes him think, just for a second, that maybe he actually loves you.

So it’s not exactly something he plans on fixing anytime soon.

He likes being your first for most things.

Except your first tattoo.

You weren’t stepping foot into his shop. Sukuna’s old school - heavy lines, bold color, blackwork sleeves and dragon back pieces that take twenty hours. Not some dainty little butterfly above the hip. That’s not his style, and he told you flat-out: “I ain’t doing none of that delicate princess shit.”

Besides, he knows you. Knows how you squirm and pout, whine and wriggle at the slightest sting. The brat in you would turn a two-hour session into four, just for attention. (Not that he doesn’t enjoy putting you in your place, but not with gloves on and a machine buzzing in his hand.)

So he didn’t care where you went. Really. As long as the work was clean and they didn’t leave a mess on your skin, he wasn’t gonna throw a fit.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

But then you came home. Face glowing, bandage peeking out from under your cute little top, practically bouncing as you beamed, “Look! It’s done!”

Of course he was gonna have a look. Had to make sure they didn’t botch it. Had to check the lines, the shading, the healing wrap. Make sure you weren’t upcharged just for being sweet-faced and clueless.

But when you peeled back the wrap, soft skin shining, ink still fresh - his red eyes narrowed. It was pretty. Clean. Finer than he expected. What kind of prissy-ass artist did you go to for this kind of work?

Then he looked closer. And his lip curled. Hidden in the curve of a line. Subtle. Too subtle for you to notice. But he noticed. Of course he did. Only an experienced artist would catch it.

Someone marked their fucking claim.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed over it like he was double-checking. Like maybe he imagined it.

He didn’t.

G.S. Right there swirled into the shading.

His stare went flat.

Geto.

The Gojo clan’s favored pretty boy. Well besides the yakuza clan head. Though Geto, the soft-spoken, smirky bastard with his fancy upscale studio and staged Instagram shots. The one blowing up online with dotwork and minimalist florals like tattooing was some kind of aesthetic lifestyle brand instead of a craft.

Who the fuck puts plants in a tattoo studio and cares about natural lighting?

Geto’s only been featured twice. Meanwhile, Sukuna has been praised, published, and respected for years. He told you that. Told you which artists were safe. Gave you a list. Vetted portfolios. Studios run by pastel-haired girls with gentle hands and sterile tools.

He expected you to go to one of them.

Not to Geto fucking Suguru.

And now that signature’s engraved into your skin.

Of course, Sukuna wasn’t going to throw a fit - not to you, no, no. You’re just his sweet little babe who wanted to look all cool for her older boyfriend that clearly all your friends hate. Catching onto how you're babbling on and on about how Utahime has been friends with Geto. He gets it. Wanted to surprise him, maybe impress him a little. That pretty head of yours wasn’t thinking about hidden signatures or rival artists marking their claim. You were just excited.

And besides, he didn’t have the time to deal with it. He had a full backpiece to draw up for some cocky kid in the Zenin clan, and frankly? He had better things to focus on.

Like the way you look when you’re under his desk, mouth stretched and drooling around his cock while he sketches between grunts and praise. You always find the perfect way to “help” him work.

So, no, he didn’t bring it up. Didn’t mention the initials, or how Suguru must’ve known exactly who you belonged to when he etched those tiny letters into your skin.

But when Sukuna came home from his three-day trip? He wasn’t exactly expecting you to be bashful.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You’re not lounging on the leather couch of his apartment, not curled up in his bed, not running into his arms like you usually do the second he comes back from a trip. You’re in the hallway - half-hidden behind the doorframe like a guilty little bunny, wrapped up in the sheer silk robe he bought you for Valentine’s. The one that barely covers anything. The one he told you was “just for Daddy’s eyes.”

Thin as mist, the sheer fabric clinging to your body, doing nothing to hide the swell of your breasts or the slight stiffness of your nipples pressing through the fabric.

His red eyes narrow into slits.

“You gonna come greet Daddy properly or what?” he drawls, voice low and rough from travel, tinged with irritation, but there's that dangerous gleam in his red eyes. The kind that always means he knows something’s up.

You step out slowly. Bare feet soft against the floor. Fingers nervously tangled in the belt of your robe.

“I… I have a surprise for you, Kuna.”

Sukuna raises a pink brow, drops his duffel on the couch with a heavy thud.

“Yeah?” he says, stepping toward you. “Better be worth the fuckin’ wait.”

You nod, eyes wide and shimmering with anticipation. Then, with trembling fingers, you untie the robe.

It slips from your shoulders and slides down your arms, pooling at your feet.

His gaze drags over your body like smoke, slow and burning with lust.

And then he sees them.

Two silver barbells pierced neatly through your nipples, still pink from the needle, skin taut and freshly marked. They're healing. They're new.

They're not from him.

Sukuna goes completely still.

He steps forward. Then again. Close enough for you to smell the leather and cigarette smoke on his jacket, that manly scent that always makes your head spin. You try to speak - try to explain, defend yourself, maybe soften whatever expression has just settled across his face - but he silences you with nothing more than a sharp grin.

“Well, well…” he mutters, voice dropping low as his hand lifts. “Look at you. Princess is getting a little bold now.”

He cups one breast, rough palm warm over your soft skin. His thumb brushes lightly over the metal, and you flinch, just enough to make his grin widen.

“Still sore?” he asks, all faux sweetness.

You nod quickly, lip trembling. His palm tightens. His other hand lifts too, thumb and forefinger teasing the other barbell, rolling it with ease. Just enough pressure to sting. Just enough to make you gasp, one of his favorite little sounds.

“And who did it?” he asks, even though he already knows. He remembers that offhand little story you told him before he left, how Geto had mentioned piercings. How you’d laughed about it, brushing it off like nothing.

The question isn’t for confirmation.

It’s for you.

For a sweet little thing who should know better.

“Geto,” you whisper, like maybe saying it quietly will make it sting less.

Sukuna laughs. A quiet, mean sound that transforms to an amused hum, stepping closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Geto’s real fuckin’ bold, huh? Touching my girl’s tits. Thought he could leave his little signature and poke you full of steel?”

His tongue clicks. “Tch. Should’ve come to me, princess. You know I would’ve done it for you.”

You shiver, lashes fluttering, bottom lip caught in your teeth. He leans in, his mouth dragging over your jaw, hot breath curling against your skin.

“You let him touch you here?” His thumb presses down - hard - on the piercing, and a whimper escapes. “Let him roll these sweet little tits around in his hands? Let him make you flinch? Cry a little?”

You try to shake your head, but your voice is stuck somewhere between shame and arousal.

“Don’t worry,” he croons, fingers now rolling both piercings between calloused fingertips. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t know any better.”

His voice drops to a whisper, soft and vile.

“Didn’t know Daddy would’ve loved to watch your eyes go glassy from the sting. Bet Geto was real gentle, huh? Took his time. Spoke to you nice. What a good little professional.”

You make a small, wounded sound clearly embarrassed, overwhelmed and it only makes him grin grow wider. His hand slides behind your neck, firmly, guiding you to look up at him.

“But now I gotta clean up his mess.” Pressing his forehead to yours, eyes locked on yours, the air thick and hot and possessive. “Now I gotta remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

His hand slips to the back of your hair, rough fingers curling tight, guiding you through the hallway, you’re something he owns and he expects you to understand that. You follow without resistance, robe forgotten on the floor, the cool air brushing your bare skin, making your new piercings ache.

He leads you to the full-length mirror in the bedroom - the one he usually watches you through when he’s got you bent over the edge of the bed, when he wants you to see what you do to him.

But this time? He positions you in front of it. Chest bare. Legs trembling. Face flushed.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, settling behind you, one hand on your hip, the other sliding slowly up your stomach. “Real proud of yourself, huh?”

You try to shake your head, stammer something soft and along the lines of that it was a gift of sorts, but he shushes you with a low hum, nose brushing the side of your neck.

His hand moves higher.

Fingers ghost over one of the barbells, tugging just enough to make you gasp, watching your reflection as your eyes flutter and your lips part.

“Pretty little things,” he murmurs, rolling the piercing between thumb and forefinger. “Too delicate for my style, but you do wear them well.”

He pinches, just a bit harder, and your breath catches. His voice is right against your ear now.

“You let him touch you here? Mark you up while you squirmed on his table?” A small chuckle. “Bet you made those same little sounds too. Didn’t you, sweetheart?”

Your throat tightens.

“Say it,” he presses, watching you in the mirror. “Tell me what he did.”

You blink up at your reflection, lips trembling. “He… he touched me.”

“Where?”

“M-my chest.”

“Like this?” Sukuna’s palm covers your breast completely now, fingers digging in, his thumb brushing over the piercing again, gentler this time - a rare softness. “Was it like this, baby?”

“N-no,” you breathe, eyes glassy. “Not like that. It wasn’t like this.”

That pleases him. You feel it in the way his mouth presses against your neck, the low grunt that rumbles from his chest.

“No,” he agrees, “’Cause he’s not the one you fuck at night.” His other hand comes up, cupping your other breast now, both pierced nipples under his control, sore and swollen and so, so sensitive. He massages slowly, never breaking eye contact with your reflection.

“You know who they belong to now, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

“They’re yours,” you whisper, barely audible. Tears clinging to your lashes as you force yourself to look at his red eyes that seem to be holding you in place.

A low growl escapes his throat, satisfied. “Damn right they are.” And then he’s guiding you down to your knees - still in front of the mirror - because he wants you to see exactly what happens to bad little girls who let another man mark their body.

He doesn’t even have to say it - you sink to your knees for him like it’s instinct. Like your body already knows what to do when he gets like this. Your knees press into the hardwood floor, cold against bare skin, as Sukuna stands behind you, gaze fixed on your reflection. His fingers thread through your hair, slow and firm, guiding your face toward his belt.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror,” he mutters, voice rough, thumb dragging across your cheek. “You’re gonna watch yourself while I fuck your mouth - see what it looks like when someone who owns you uses what’s his.”

Your fingers tremble as you reach up to undo his belt, and he lets you, watching the way your hands shake with anticipation. When you pull him out, thick and hard, already leaking for you, he even got a special tattoo just for you. A black thick line at the base of his cock. So that way your pretty little mind knows where to stop everytime.

“Open,” he commands, and you do, lips parted, tongue flat, eyes wide, flickering to the mirror and up at that toothy grin of his.

He slides in slow at first, letting you feel the heavy weight of him on your tongue, but the second your eyes flick up in the mirror - watery, pleading, already so full of him down the column of your throat, his control cracks.

His grip tightens in your hair.

“You’re gonna choke a little,” he chuckles, voice a rasp as his grip tightens around your hair, roughly shoving the full length down, ignoring your choking gags as you tap his thigh for air, nails digging into the skin. “But you’ll take it. You let another man touch what’s mine, so now you’re gonna earn me back.”

He starts moving - hips rolling slow but deep, the kind of pace meant to leave a bruise in your throat. You gag, whimper, spit starting to drip down your chin, but your eyes stay locked on the mirror like a good girl, watching yourself get undone.

“Look at that,” he snarls, fucking deeper. “Suguru ever see you like this? With tears in your eyes and cock in your throat?”

You make a wet, broken sound around him, and he grins.

“That’s right. He didn’t. And he won’t.”

He pulls out with a wet pop, letting you gasp for air, tears streaking your cheeks, spit clinging to your chin. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s hauling you to your feet and bending you over the vanity - hands pressed to yet another mirror, cheek against the glass.

“See those piercings?” he murmurs, grinding his cock against your ass. “They’re cute. Real cute. But you know what they’re missing?”

You sob out a weak “W-what?”

“My fucking bite marks.”

And when he pushes in, rough, hard, and possessive, it knocks the air right out of your lungs. Your pierced nipples brush the cold mirror, sending sharp little zings through your chest, while his hands anchor hard around your waist, pulling you back to meet every punishing thrust.

“Keep your eyes up,” he growls when your head starts to drop, hands reaching for some form of stability, silent looks into his gaze to slow down because the words refuse to escape your throat. “Wanna see your face while you cry for me.”

But he doesn’t let up. Why would he? Not even when you’re shaking. Not even when you’re babbling his name, your voice cracking between broken gasps. He fucks you until your legs give out, until the mirror is fogged with your breath, until your thighs are sticky, your skin bruised, and your pretty new piercings ache under the press of his chest.

You’re a mess, hair all tangled, makeup smeared, barely able to hold yourself up as he stays buried inside you, one large hand stroking over your hip like he’s trying to soothe you. As his cum threatens to spill out of your pulsing walls. His forehead rests against the back of your neck, breath hot, voice low and full of gravel when he finally whispers:

“Next time you want something pierced… you come to me. Got it?”

A weak nod in response, a soft, fucked-out “yes” falling from your lips. Before he's picking you up in his arms.

Neither of you hear the soft chime of your phone from where it sits charging on the nightstand, screen lighting up with a new message.

💜 Geto 💜: How are the new piercings? Did your boyfriend like them? 😊 I remember you mentioned needing a job while you’re in school - turns out I have an opening. Just desk work lol :) Message me if you’re interested.

Taglist: @the-proper-possum

[joeldjarin]

TOO CLICHÉ

| boss! harry castillo x female reader

Summary: You work for your boss Harry Castillo for 3 years who you have secretly fallen for. the relationship between you changes as he starts dating a beautiful girl, Lucy, who is his buddy's match maker.

Warning: ANGST, PINING, jealous!reader, no description of the reader's body, insecured reader, LUCY, jealous! harry , special character appearance , allusions to smut, happy ending, 2nd person pov, 18+, smut, Harry in his mid 40s and reader late 20s or early 30s but really it's up to you.

5-6k words

Author's note: I've been in this fandom for almost for half a decade but this is my FIRST FIC so be kind y'all pleaseee. English isn't my first language so sorry in advance for mistakes.

TOO CLICHÉ

Work is hard but working under someone you have massive big fat crush on? Now that’s a real challenge and you’re convinced that you are god’s toughest warrior because you’re not sure how you are able to hide your infatuation with this insanely hot, millionaire gentleman Harry Castillo under the disguise of professionalism.  

It’s been almost three years you are working for him as his personal assistant. It’s a job that pays well and your boss is pretty friendly and generous. Plus you get to look at him so that’s a bonus.

Harry Castillo is a dream man, he had it all, money, looks, personality  yet he was still lacking in his romantic life. He used to date few people over the years but they used him as a money machine and discarded him when they got their fair share. You couldn’t understand how they are able to just let HIM down.

Only if he was mine you sighed, but you know it was impossible. He was way out of your league. First of all you were way younger than him. Secondly he dated women who were also posh and knew what they were doing with their life. You on the other hand……. Okay enough. Back to work!

You typically worked in your office room which was in his big fancy apartment. You knew what he liked, what he wore, what he ate, basically everything. You also pretty much knew all the clients like the back of your hand and harry often repaid with gifts for your over timing but really you don’t mind working for him. Your family didn’t live in the city so you went to empty home. Harry was also protective. Whenever you needed help you knew you could ask him for a hand.

The relation between you two were pretty close, having worked under him for now more that couple of years have really let you see the side of him that most people didn’t. He trusted you for both his official works as well as his personal life affairs. He confided about his life in you so you cherish the friendship you have built. You don’t want to ever jeopardize it because of some silly crush.

You were listing this week’s meetings when you got your call from Mr. Castillo to go to him.

You knock on his door.

“Hey come in!”

 You enter to see him already holding two suits to show you. Today is his buddy’s wedding and you know what this means.

You show him the black one in his right hand, “This fits you better”.

“You sure?” he cocks his eyebrows.

“99%” you smile.

“Where’s the 1%?” he is clearly amused.

“Depends on whether you believe it or not while wearing it” you smirk. And huffs at that.

“Okay then this is it. We’re leaving at sharp 10.”

“Yes sir!” you say and he smiles.

“You think I’ll find someone there?” he winks and you roll your eyes,

“Sure.” and you smile too praying to god he doesn’t.

Ugh stop being selfish!

Lately you’ve been kinda relieved because he is single. That doesn’t mean you think you have a chance with him but last time he was with Anna you were sure you were very jealous. You could clearly see she was more into his money than him and eventually she left and you let out the heaviest sigh like it was weighing you down the whole time they dated. After everything Harry has done for you, you felt guilty for being happy when he was going through break up but you knew she wasn’t good for him ultimately he’d be better off without her.

You arrive at the party at 10:30 and the wedding ceremony began and it was successful. Everyone drinking, cheering and happy and you couldn’t help but smile.

It has been one year since and Harry’s dating life hasn’t turned up. Low-key you were happy. One less thing to be bothered about.

_____________________________________________________________

You were drinking and enjoying the party while harry was with the groom. The party went on and at one moment Harry called you.

“You look beautiful.” he complimented and you couldn’t stop the shy smile that took over your face.

“Thank you”, you replied.

“Wanna dance?” he pointed his thumb towards the floor.

“There’s something I wanted to say” You were still dancing when he said and you were confused.

“Umm….Sure” you said ,now butterflies in your stomach.

Then he took you and danced and you laughed and you didn’t know how easily time slipped by while you were holding him dancing. This might be one of the happiest memory of your life you thought.

“Yes?”, you said nervously.

“Do you see her? Lucy! I’ve talked to her. She’s the match maker. Do you think she’ll dance with me?” Your stomach dropped.

“Oh… I mean you should ask her” you said trying to hide your disappointment.

“Well.. thought so” he smiled and he looked at Lucy with heart eyes and you wanted vomit right there. You had no right to feel that way but jealousy is a disease.

“You go ask her”, you give the best smile you can as you say so and he thanks you and leaves. There goes that dream.

You are drinking and seeing him smiling and dancing with…. Lucy. She is drop dead gorgeous and you get why Harry likes her. They look beautiful together and she looks like she is someone who can handle herself. Confident and pretty. Fuck!

The party was over and you were with harry as his car is dropping you at your house. Harry couldn't stop talking about Lucy and you learn they exchanged number and he’s already planning the next date. You hum and response, simply sad and don’t have energy to make conversation.

“You okay?” Harry looks concerned, You turned your head at him “No no I’m totally fine just tired”, you try to put on your facade.

“Okay but let me know if you feel off” he adds, and you nod in reply.

One week later

It’s been two months now.The dates are going smooth between Harry and Lucy. She frequents to the apartment so you give them space and stay away at your office. She’s a nice girl who is funny too. Great!

You were booking  a  table at a fancy restaurant for your boss, for his date. You tried to process this whole week and now you’re kind of back to normalcy even though jealousy is gnawing at you whenever he mentions Lucy. But you realize you can’t be bitter and you do need to accept and move on. But damn was it hard. All you thought about, was him. even in the privacy of your bedroom when your fingers were between your thighs you only came thinking about him. This is the reason you’ve been single and hasn’t invested your time in romantic life. This invisible loyalty you had for Harry was holding you back and he doesn’t even have feelings for you. Bummer!

______________________________________________________________

You limit your conversations with Harry only to work too because you know you should have a boundary since he now has a girlfriend. And if Harry has noticed he doesn’t say so yet. To be honest he misses spending time with you. You no longer went near him unless called and also became aloof. But he also is grateful for the personal space you have given to him since Lucy is in the picture. Lucy is great and he couldn’t be happier. He really wanted to make it work.

______________________________________________________________

They look perfect together. You hum to yourself as you see them laughing yet on another party. This has become your almost daily routine. You have to see them together almost everyday and you can’t stop feeling the sadness and god knows how you cry like a foolish little girl in your pillows at night.

You are drinking when a guy slids next to your sit.

“Mind if I Sit?” the guy asks with big brown puppy eyes and curls and a charming smile.

“Sure”, you smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the guy gives sweet grin and only then you notice, this is a handsome man and you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“Sure” you say amused.

“Name’s Tommy. Tommy Miller. What’s your name sweetheart?” and you give him your name. You don’t know how long and easily this conversation is flowing and Tommy is really charming, funny. You learn he is from Texas.

You were laughing with Tommy when you heard your name getting called. It’s Harry. You excused yourself and went to stand next to Harry. Lucy probably went to washroom.

“How are you holding up?” He eyes Tommy and you give him assurance that you are okay and introduce him to Tommy.

“Tommy, this is Harry Castillo, My boss.” you smile and they shake hands. But something felt off with Harry you didn’t know why. He seemed like something bothered him but maybe he was just tired.

“ I’m going back home with Lucy. Do you want the lift?” and something in you triggered,

“No I think I will take Uber tonight thanks, you two enjoy.” You tried to give smile.

“Are you sure?You can come with us.” Harry insisted.

“I can give her lift”, Tommy announced, “Only if she agrees.” Harry looked at him with unreadable impression and you were thinking about the proposal and something in you clicked and you said, “Okay.”

Tommy grinned and Harry couldn’t hide his dissatisfaction and you clearly knew harry enough to know he was bothered. But you assumed it’s his protective side so you gave assurance that you’ll be okay.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” harry is worried as he should be because how did you just agree to go with a stranger you just met ten minutes ago and it’s pissing him off. You never go with someone else when he is there and he is the one usually giving you lift. So yeah harry wasn’t feeling okay but you were adult. If you chose someone he can’t change your mind.

“No, I think I’ll take the ride with Tommy.” you reply.

“Okay then take care. Text me when you get home” Harry left.

______________________________________________________________

“So how about tomorrow night at Tipsy Bison?” Tommy asks.

It’s been a month now that you’ve met Tommy. He’s hardworking guy and lovely. Also good in bed so you went along pretty nice and you were spending a lot of time with him but you felt guilty. You still haven’t been able to move on from Harry. Part of you thought dipping into dating will help you finally be over him. Wrong! It doesn’t help that you still see him everyday although the relationship between you and harry is rocky right now.

Lately he’s been snapping and scolding you and you swear you never saw him like that with you. He was always calm and collected. He’s also losing his tempers occasionally with clients and if you noticed all this you don’t say anything. He seems do be doing well with Lucy so you really don’t know what happened.

“Yeah sure, sounds nice. I’m in!”

“ Be ready at 6 then!God I miss you!”

“We just met yesterday Tommy” you giggled and he is sweet you gotta give him that.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss my girl”, you hear him before you heard your name and look up to your office door. Harry is standing clearly pissed, you don’t know why but you end the conversation with Tommy saying you’ll get back later.

“Hey! Do you needed anything?” You ask.

“Have you sent the mail to Martell enterprise about the meeting tomorrow?” he’s leaning at the door frame.

“Yes I think I did..”

“Are you sure? Because they say they didn’t receive anything”He cocks his eyebrows at you.

You quickly check the mail and it suddenly hit you that you totally forgot to do it yesterday. You wrote the mail and didn’t click send, Somehow you missed it and how could you fuck up something so big? SHIT!

“O shit I’m so so sorry Harry, I thought I sent it , I wrote the mail but…”

Harry raised his hand signaling you to stop so you stop.

“You don’t forget call you boyfriend now do you?” you eyes went wide not understanding what he’s trying to imply. He continues.

“Lately you’ve been irresponsible. I wonder why I pay you when there are more skilled people that’s fawning for your position.” It’s true that you did some fuck ups but it’s nothing irredeemable and although  yesterday's one really was big mistake, there’s no way this is the Harry you knew. You feel your stomach drop at his insults.

“What do you mean?” you don’t like how teary you’ve become and on the verge of crying.

“ You know what I mean. It’s time you start to focus on your job rather than chit chats with your boyfriend.” There was a venom mixed with his word and you felt sick. You maybe were his employee and maybe you thought he’s your friend but there’s a limit. He’s hurt your ego and this is clearly disrespectful of him. You’ve done nothing but serve him for years and this is how he treat you?

You gather your belongings and that startles Harry’s, “What are you doing?”

You get up from your desk and stand in front of harry despite the tears in your eyes, you don’t care what he sees but you feel like he broke your heart and there’s no going back

“I quit.”

“What do you mean?” harry confused.

“If you think you can find better okay, I’m leaving.I Quit and fuck you Harry Castillo!” you say with tears streaming your face and you storm past him not looking back.

You’re not going to take this from him. He’s an asshole you thought. And maybe it was time to start over.

______________________________________________________________

Harry’s POV

Harry feels restless. He doesn’t know why. He clearly got the lottery in life. He’s got wealth, a good life and a pretty girlfriend he loves. Then why does he feel empty. His mind often wonders to you, how are you doing, where you were. Have you eaten enough? Are you taking care of yourself? Are you with him? how  did you feel like….Okay stop! He knows you were off limits, so younger than him and his trusted friend. But sometimes his mind betrayed him and he feels guilty about that right after he comes in his hands at the thought of you. He has a beautiful  women beside him then why does his mind wonder towards you. He hates himself. This is not fair to neither you or Lucy.

Ever since that Tommy guy came in the picture he’s losing you. Not that he owned you, but there was a bitter feeling that he feels.

It started the first night you encountered. You were laughing and he missed it. He missed your laugh. You weren’t close anymore and didn’t have heart to heart conversation after he started dating. You stayed away and he understood that it’s you being mindful to give him privacy and he was thankful for that and he needed that to nurture his new relationship. He’s been working less time to give more time to Lucy. And everything is working out but he couldn’t help but hate himself for how he treated you recently. Especially that day. He clearly saw the hurt in your eyes. He never saw you this sad and defeated. He then realized what he did.

He fucked up and there’s no going back. And you quit. You fucking quit. He should’ve known better.

He called you that night so many times and you blocked him number. He could just drive to your home but that would be too invasive. He needed to give you space. It’s been a week since and he tried to message you on social media hoping that you’d listen just once, that he was sorry but you just kept him on seen. So he gave you space that you asked for.

One week later he got your resignation letter via mail.

So you wouldn’t even meet him? Lucy was told that night that you quit but harry didn’t share with her what happened.

“She just needs her time. I’m sure she has her reason. Just give her space. I hope whatever happened, she’ll come around.You are good friends. That won’t go away.” Lucy says brushing his head while she was sitting on his lap after learning that you quit.

But Harry knew better. You won’t.

One month after you left he thought about dropping by your place because you were still ignoring him and there was no social media updates from you but he found you moved out of your apartment. FUCK!

______________________________________________________________

8 months later

You often recount your last encounter and think what happened and you don’t regret your decision. You clearly needed to get out of a life where Harry Castillo wasn’t near and your mental health has improved. But at the middle of the night when you aren’t busy,  you remember him.

You broke up with Tommy. As much as he was sweet, you didn’t think you had it in you to continue. Even after everything happened you couldn’t get over Harry fucking Castillo. You thought it wasn’t fair to Tommy. So you ended things amicably a month after your resignation. You took that time to self reflect and made a shift in your career. You joined a tax firm as an administrative officer and your new work life is going well.

You moved to a different part of the city in a small apartment. So it was a fresh start for you. Even though you missed your old job, and your new job didn’t pay as much as harry did, but it’s decent enough that you could live with content. you remind yourself how bitterly your last job ended. That memory is enough for you to cringe.

How is he? Is he still as hot as he was? Is he still dating Lucy? Is he happy?

She was perfect for him. They looked good together, as much as you hate to admit, that’s the truth.

And when you come, it’s him in your thoughts. Still a foolish little girl.

“Hey! There’s new place that opened on the next street. Heard they have great sushi. It’s fancy. Wanna try this weekend?” Natasha, your work bestie asked.

“Mmmm…. sounds yum. Let’s go!” Your mouth watered.

“Dress well. Might find a price there.” she winks at you.

You roll your eyes. She knows about your last job and your ex boss that you pined after. She is like a big sister to you, nearly at her fifties. Occasionally you crash at her place when you are drunk , you spill teas. She makes your work place bearable. She has one girl who’s in college.

“Fuck that rich asshole” one day she said when he heard you mention Harry and you get why she is protective. You love her for that. She knows you more than most people. How crazy, in this short span how you found someone so lovely. Part of you is grateful that you met her because you left the old job. She’s someone who can listen to you without judging and she gives great advice. Both personally and professionally, as she’s been in this field nearly for two decades.

______________________________________________________________

You wear a black ankle length sweetheart neck dress that night. And you put in extra effort to look good, intending to have fun. You didn’t mind meeting someone new either. Let’s try again you thought.

It was 6 when you arrived and found Natasha sitting at a table. The place is indeed very fancy and there was a cocktail lounge too, including a VIP area. This was a big place.

Natasha waved at you when she saw you and you went to her immediately.

“Hey you look so beautiful love!” Natasha exclaims.

“Look who’s talking.” you smile big . She’s wearing a beautiful shade of red that’s complimenting her curves.

She rolls her eyes and mutters thank you.

You enjoy your meal and sip your drink while you yap away your time. You were laughing at one of her jokes when you heard your name being called and you freeze.

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s him. You snap your head to the direction the voice came from.

There he is , standing in all his glory in that navy blue jacket he wore, as handsome as ever. He had a soft smile and you hated how your heart still somersaults when you look at him.

“Harry…” you couldn’t stop the gasp that leaves you and your smile that spread across your face. Although things ended bitterly, you didn’t hate him, couldn’t hate him. After all he was your one of the closest friend who stuck through thick and thin, well maybe not always otherwise you wouldn’t be here.

You stand from your sit, Natasha looks between you, clearly knowing what’s happening the moment his name left your mouth like she heard countless time through your rants.

He surprised you with a hug when you go near him. And you hug him back. Despite it all you missed him, too damn much.

“Hey! I missed you.” he said softly after loosening from your hold.

“Yeah?”

“Of course! How are you by the way? What a pleasant surprise to find you?”

You suddenly remember Natasha is sitting,

“Harry this is Natasha. Nat it’s Harry.”

“heard a lot about you” Natasha said while he took her hand and he kissed it. Ever the gentleman.

“Nice to meet you mam. Heard only good things I hope.”

You gesture with your eye to Natasha like you’re about to kill her and she gets you. She smiles and nods positively.

“May I take her for few minutes if that’s okay with you?” Harry asks Natasha while looking at you and you get surprised not knowing how the conversation will go after your last meeting took place. She says, “Of course. She’s all yours.” and you roll your eyes. Now’s not the time for this, you eye her. She smiles and you two communicate in a language only you get while Harry’s clueless, waiting for your response.

“Okay,” let’s seat there”, you show him the cocktail bar.

______________________________________________________________

“You look beautiful.”

You smile at his words.

“Thanks Mr. Castillo.”

He rolls his eyes, “ Thought I’d never see you.”

“Me too.” you smile

“How are you doing?”

“I’m doing great. How about you?”

You two then catch up with each other’s life. He came here with his friends. You heard he broke up with Lucy, and you sigh. You really thought they’d be the endgame. You don’t ask why. You don’t talk about Tommy yet. You are sensing he’s going to ask about him. You talk about your new job , new place and time goes by. You look at Natasha and she gives you a wink. She’s having drink and you’re thankful that she’s here.

“ You don’t answer my calls” Harry says and there it is. The conversation you’ve been avoiding.

“I thought I made it clear I wanted to be left alone.”you reply nonchalantly.

“I know what I did was really shitty and I deserve this from you but please will you just give me a chance to explain myself? Just please hear me just this once.”

You scoff. “ what else is there to listen? You belittled me and I bet you found someone the next day for my position. So I don’t see any problem for you. You’re doing just fine.”

“No one can replace you. No one.You were one of my closest friend. It was wrong of me to say that but I was angry and I didn’t know what I was doing. I was messing up for weeks and that day I really crossed the line. So I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve never been more ashamed at the way I treated you.”  harry is pleading with his puppy eyes.

You consider his words and think for minutes as you say your next words.

“I forgave you a long time ago. That’s not the issue harry. It’s the forgetting. I don’t think I can get over that easily. You really hurt me.” A single tear ran through your cheek. But it had to be out of your chest. And Harry wanted nothing but to hug you. He hated himself everyday for what he did, how he made you feel.

“I’m so fucking sorry and I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that we ruined our friendship. I will make it up to you however long it takes. Please just don’t cut me off. I need you. And to be honest I was going crazy and didn’t know back then but I felt like I was losing you and my anger pushed me to edge.”

“What ?Losing me?” you look at him confused.

“You were staying away from me and felt like we were becoming stranger, on top that, That Tommy………”

“Wait wait wait , I wanted to give you space because you were dating Lucy and  you can’t put it on Tommy and why was Tommy a problem anyway?” you sound defensive.

“He… he stole you from me. I didn’t understand how I felt back then but all of this made me realize, what I felt for you.”

“I…I don’t understand” you look at him confused.

“I love you and I only want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know it’s too late for me to say. I know you’re with Tommy and I lost the chance that day but I need to let this out or I won’t be able to sleep knowing that I didn’t try. And I thought about talking about my feelings but I wasn’t sure I was ready to say.” You absorb everything he says with tears in your eyes, you can’t believe what he’s saying so you let him continue, “ I was scared you’ll get more angry with me if I just sent these in messages since that’s the only way I could reach you. But you are here and I can’t lose this chance. I love you. Been loving you since when I don’t even know.”  You could tell by his expression that he was being genuine.

“Harry… are you serious?” You were baffled hearing all this from him. After years of pining after him, it feels too surreal.

“Lucy and I, when we broke up months ago and she is the one who made me realize when I told her everything. I owed that to her.But I respect whatever you do knowing you’re with Tommy. I just needed to tell you”

“I’m not Not with Tommy. We broke up month after I quit.” You say with your head in your hand. Clearly all he said is too much to process. Is it irony of fate or what?  Harry’s eye widened, “What?”

“Harry I… I wanted you,” taking harry again by surprise,  you think it’s time you let it out,”I always liked you but I didn’t think you felt the same way and all of this is too much to take in. I need some space to think about it.” You are so used to heartbreak that you want to keep your walls up, after everything, you can’t let it crumble.

Harry took the information and stayed silent for minute and looked at you with pleading eyes. He doesn’t know how to react. You were in front of him all this time and he couldn’t see what you two obviously had. He felt sad but he understood and respected your wishes.

“I think I should go.” you bit your lips. You didn’t want to leave but you needed time to think. You need to get away from here.

“Will I see you again?” you hear him say when you start to leave.

“I don’t know,” You give him hug with a sad smile. “Goodbye Harry.”

“Good bye.” harry looks at you with with puppy eyes.

When you get back, Natasha is on her feet, ready to leave, there’s a clear understanding between you two.

You know you were gonna spend the night at Natasha’s.

______________________________________________________________

It’s been two days since that night, since the confessions and you took your time to think. Natasha was screaming you to call back harry. She was supposed to be your side? But she’s a Harry fan now.

“He’s so handsome. If you aren’t taking him I will,” and you give her a push playfully.

“You know what happened” you sigh

“And he apologized. Not everything is fairy tale but you should give him a chance. That man is clearly head over heels for you. The way he was looking at you…..”

“I’m…I’m just so scared,” you say.

She shifts to hug you, “I know but live a little. Give him one chance. Just one.”

“What if that doesn’t work?” you argue.

“Then you’ll have peace knowing you tried with the person you wanted the most.”

You smile at this. She has a point.

“hey harry!”

“Hey. How are you?”

“fine. can i call you?”

The seconds after you send this question you see a call coming from Harry. You pick it up quickly, “Hi” you squeak out.

“I didn’t think I’d hear from you. Are you okay?”

Classic harry, always protective, “yes I’m,” you smile. And there’s a silence. It’s like harry was waiting for you to speak up so you do

“Listen….. I thought about what you said and I want to talk to you, face to face.”

“Jesus! Really?” you could hear the happiness in his voice, “Let’s meet tomorrow, at Beverly’s. Send me your address so I could pick you up.” he says excitedly “Only if you want” he adds.

So you give him the address and talk for an hour before ending the call even if you didn’t want to, because you have work , besides you will have the talk tomorrow. But the whole night butterflies were erupting in your stomach.

______________________________________________________________

Tomorrow arrives and Harry picks you up from your apartment.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you Harry. You look handsome too.” You say almost shyly. This wasn’t something new. You always complimented each other before so why are you suddenly shy?

You arrive at the restaurant and place orders.

“So,” you try to start the conversation “ I thought about what you said and I think I’m willing to give you the chance”

Harry’s face light up at your words, “Thank you a lot. I promise I will make it up to you.” and you nod with a smile.

The night continues. You two chat away and have your meal together. Harry drops you at home when you invite him in.

You make him coffee after entering your house and catch up more, laughing , the time with him feels natural.

You were sitting next to him in sofa while watching something , when you felt his arm around you. You turn to find him already looking at you with soft eyes. Your eyes fell on his full pretty lips and your licked yours. Then the dam breaks. He kisses you and you kiss him back.

The kiss becomes hungry and you two find yourselves naked, you under him, after few minutes. He kisses you as he makes loves to you, slowing pulling orgasms out of you.

“I love you “ harry says. “I love you too harry.” and you feel your orgasm hit again. This is the third one.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum. Where?”

“Inside…please harry inside.”

“Fuck! Are you sure?”

“I’m on the pill. Please harry” you moan

Harry gives a couple deep frantic strokes before falling apart, spilling his seeds inside you. He captures your lip again and you stay like that for minutes before he cleans you and slips inside the blanket beside you. He hugs you that night in his sleep and you never slept so good.

______________________________________________________________

Five years later

This is your third marriage anniversary and it still feels like a dream, straight out of a rom-com movie, a too cliché movie.

“Happy anniversary my love!” Harry hugs you from behind while you were making coffee.

”Happy anniversary and good morning handsome” you kiss his lip.

But you’re happy and content in the arms of the man you love.

______________________________________________________________

THE END

Thanks for reading <3

This was my first ever fic. IDK what came over me to do this. I hope you enjoyed as much as I enjoyed writing this. Harry Castillo, the man that you are.

Taglist: @callmecath1, @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi, @sarah145 , @liciafonseca, @satokane0714, @greta-norrland

[pinkiemachine]

I'm sorry in advance if this question sounds dumb, but what does the JL Trinity think of Bruce getting older and most likely being replaced (Damian is the most likely candidate)?

Like, they KNOW it's a normal thing that happens to all humans but this is Bruce, their friend.

Oh, I’m nixing the idea of Kryptonians being borderline immortal. It’s silly. Sure, due to genetic augmentation, the Kryptonians of my AU can live longer than humans, but only by a number of decades. The average lifespan being 140-170 years, with the longest ever recorded lifespan among their species being 201 years. (Local legend states, however, that the Old Kryptonians from the beginning of their civilisation could live for thousands of years, and it was often said that a few of these Old Kryptonians still walked the face of Krypton, keeping their identities a secret, and watching over the younger generations.)

That being said, at this point Diana has gotten very used to people she loves dying. She’s had to say goodbye to a lot of friends over the years, including her husband Steve Trevor. She knows that one day she’ll say goodbye to both Clark and Bruce, but she’s made her peace with it, and intends to make the most of their time together. Clark eventually learns that he’s likely to outlive all of his friends at some point, either from the records Jor-El left behind or from Kara. He’s had to come to terms with losing his family, his friends, and even Lois (unless something kills him first) so he’s doing his best to try and work through it, but he doesn’t really make progress until he loses his first friend, so that’s kinda sad. However, you KNOW Clark and Diana like teasing Bruce once he starts showing his age. Bruce strains his back just a little while getting up after a meeting, and Clark’s like, “woah, now, old timer, don’t hurt yourself!” Bruce is grumbling about something—the kids, work, whatever—and Diana says, “yes, yes, I know. Back in OUR day things were so much simpler. Don’t you just miss when people would write telegrams and everyone walked everywhere? Back before they invented penicillin?” and he just looks at her, unamused. Then one day Bruce is struggling to read something and he pulls out a pair of glasses and the WHOLE Justice League turns and looks at him in stunned silence. Lol.