#but I have to sit here and write about the fourth of July

[walking-existential-crisis]

Me realising I have to actually write my whole fic and not just little paragraphs in between with no context: Fuck

[caramelkoo]

before we shatter — jjk [one]

genre : established relationship, idol!jungkook

word count : 6k

summary : dating an idol is fun, they said. having a family with one is fun, they said. Until you're falling face forward because of your reality. A reality where Jungkook dreams of a future and a reality where your own future is collapsed.

chapter warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature content, fluff, so much angst, smut, talks of infertility, clit sucking, fingering, Jungkook worships her, dirty talk, doggy style, reader is in so much pain i love her sm, fall vibes <33, gift giving as a love language, pussy slapping with his d, big dick energy, jungkook is desperate. that's about it please mention if i missed anything.

read part two here

a/n : based on this ask so thank you anon for coming forward and giving me a chance to write this. i also wanna mention that im no doctor so please forgive me if i didn't do the topic of infertility justice. the second part gives more clarity in their case so please be kind to wait. enjoy and im v v grateful for you. you're so loved.

When you were a child, barely five, an orange butterfly came flying outside your front door. Your mom told you about it since she saw it first causing your entire face to instantly light up like the fourth of july.

An inexplicable joy filled your whole body making your day ten times better, not that you were having a bad one. A five year old can’t have a bad day whatsoever.

After you were done chasing it around, secretly hoping that it would land on your nose just the way they show on television, you had to let it go and head back inside. 

Oddly enough the next morning you saw it again, this time it was not flapping its wings like it had last night, instead it was sitting on the window beside the door. Quiet and still. 

You, ever so curious, had to ask your mom about it. “It might find comfort there,” she said. 

Up until you met your boyfriend you had spent the majority of your time wondering where your comfort place is, what is that one place where you can just be yourself and not pretend to be some stoic woman. A place which lets you cry whenever you want but also replaces those tears with wide smiles and loud giggles. 

Turns out, it’s your boyfriend’s arms. 

It’s true. Jungkook with his kind, sparkly bambi eyes and bunny smile stole your damn heart a few years ago and is not willing to give it back. Although you can’t complain, in a world where people can’t seem to find the one for themselves, the angels up there granted you a guy every inch a gentleman. Safe to say it’s not one like one of those titular relationships you've come across. 

He’s your solace, a roof where you can safely just about exist. 

He heals you.

Dating an Idol comes with several perks, the biggest one of those being dealing with the huge amount of selective criticism. You feel hurt, of course, but when you’re with Jungkook, they are nothing but words behind a pixel. A pain that only lasts momentarily. 

This pain though, is not as mundane. This one is making your stomach twist in apprehension. You���ve lost the count of how many deep breaths you’ve taken.

“I’m afraid this is a case of infertility miss _____” the doctor says, earning your attention.

You’re not able to form a word, however that does nothing to stop your subconscious mind from screaming, I knew it.

Being stupid enough to think you were well prepared to hear her say this, you mustered up the courage to enter the four walled white space which, at that time, didn’t feel as narrow as it does now. It’s almost as if it’s closing up on you.

Only after you sat before the woman in white coat and bad news, did you realize how gut wrenching this actually feels.

You face her with a weak smile, one that doesn’t actually reach your eyes, “Are- are you sure you’re not mistaken?” 

Dr. Ana leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. The move itself tells you more than you need to. “Miss _____, I know it’ll be hard for you to come to terms with this but I suggest you try. I would also like to tell you, and I hope I’m not overstepping, but you can always go with adoption. The options are endless.” 

Your throat feels awfully dry and you gulp. “Thank you uh, can I ask you for a favor?” 

“Anything”

“If you happen to cross paths with Jungkook, please don’t mention anything about this to him.” 

Dr. Ana flashes you a kind smile, “Of course not ____. It’s your personal matter. I wouldn’t dare.” 

“Thanks a lot.” 

With one last nod you excuse yourself from her office. Your phone buzzes inside your pocket and you take it out, seeing Jungkook’s number stare up at you. 

“Hey” 

“Hey, my love. Are you busy?” His voice nearly brings tears to your eyes. It also brings up a question. Will he act the same towards you after you tell him where you are and what you just heard? Will his voice be filled with the same amount of excitement and affection for you? 

“No, honey. I’m actually at my sister’s place. She was craving some alone time with her husband and asked me to babysit Coco”

You can visualise him awing already. Jungkook has grown attached to your sister’s daughter a little too much. His bond with Coco is just so bright it makes you wonder if they happened to be an actual father and daughter duo in the past life. They’re both full of beans and it’s a delight to see them both together. 

He chimes, “Ah my little Coco bean. Is she near? Let me hear my angel.” 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to come up with any transitory excuse that doesn’t make you run for the hills. “She’s sleeping right now. Made me work for it but I managed to settle her down” 

Jungkook moans from the other side of the line and you mentally curse yourself. Not only are you lying through your teeth but also using your innocent niece as a pawn. From the day you began dating Jungkook, you’ve not looked at any other man. For the first time now, you have this nagging feeling as though you’re cheating on him. 

“Well, alright next time then. When are you coming back home?” 

“As soon as they do. Do you miss me already?” I tease.

“Pfft me and miss you? Impossible” 

You gasp, the audacity of this boy. “How rude!!”

Your goofy boyfriend dares to chuckle, “I carry you with me everywhere I go, love. It’s hard to miss someone who’s this close to you every time of the day.” 

It doesn’t take you long to grasp what he is referring to. The heart shaped bracelet rests proudly on his wrists and the man had refused to take it off ever since you gifted it to him. A sense of longing already creeps up in your heart, twisting it until you run out of breath. 

Your chest expands as you fill it with much needed air, “Listen, honey I’ll give you a call soon yeah? I think Coco has woken up and I must go check if she needs something,” you fake a chuckle, “You know how she gets when she’s irritated” 

“Oh yes of course. Promise to give me a call soon?” 

This time the smile on your face is genuine, “I promise” 

“Give Coco a kiss for me. I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

There’s a heavy weight on your chest as soon as you hang up the call. Maybe it has always been there. So, for a couple of minutes you just stand there in the hallway of the hospital taking in the sterile smell and worrisome patients, praying that the highest power up there gives you one last chance so you could try and fix what’s been ruined.

The commotion around you does nothing to overtake the voices in your head and sadness fires through you as you feel like you’re burning your boats. Despite all of that, you pray for one last time, this time for again being strong enough to let go. 

Let go of your happiness.

Let go of your salvation.

Let go of your comfort.

Let go of Jungkook.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

You click the door shut behind you, hanging the coat on the rack. You’re not even done turning around when a muscular arm wraps around your abdomen and you’re pulled back against a taut chest. 

“I missed you” his voice is muffled against your jumper.

You run your palms over Jungkook’s forearm, stopping to interlace your fingers with his.The way his hands fit with yours is adorable to you as if they were made to do so. The bracelet on his wrist is cool against your skin and you smile. “You know what’s funny? This guy I talked to earlier said it’s impossible for him to miss me” 

He rests his chin on top of your shoulders, cheeks warm against yours. He has grown out a stubble which makes him look manlier for some reason and you can’t stop caressing it with your fingers whenever you cup his face.

“You’re talking to other guys?” If you hadn’t known Jungkook better than himself, you would have missed the pout of his lips when he said that. 

You turn your face and place a sloppy kiss on his cheekbones, “Only my favourite guy in the whole world.” 

He breaks out in a toothy grin and holds your gaze. “You’re my favourite girl too but I think you already know that.” 

You nod but the pang of guilt is still lingering in your heart. “Still love hearing it.” 

Jungkook releases you from his embrace and walks back, rounding the kitchen counter until he’s holding up a large bowl. “Ready for our fall ritual?” 

Jungkook and you have been using your mum’s recipe to bake chocolate chip cookies every fall and while you enjoy baking with him, the thing that you take the most pleasure from is his face when he munches on the first cookie.

It’s one of your favorite sights ever. It takes quite a bit of effort to bake them but hell if you wouldn’t do it all over again just to see him close his eyes and moan like it is the best thing since sliced bread. 

You join him behind the counter and look around. From the way the batter has already been prepared you suppose he’s been at it for a while. There are some chocochips in a small bowl across from you with some cranberries next to them because he knows you like them in your cookies. 

“You don’t ever forget about the cranberries, do you?” 

“Nope. They’re your favourite plus if you eat well, I can eat you well– ouch,” he jumps, “What was that for?” 

You offer him a glare which does nothing to stop the smile threatening to break out of your lips, “Behave” 

His face inches closer to yours, “Now honey don’t be acting like I didn’t give you the best orgasm this morning” 

Oh well, how can you forget about that? Ninety nine percent of the time you love waking up in his arms while he’s the big spoon but there’s that one percent where he wakes you up with his head between your legs, sometimes with his face under your shirt sucking on your nipples. Indissoluble passion within him. His ability to satisfy you with his mouth alone needs to be studied because god if you don’t crave more and more. 

You blink, once twice thrice, “You’re incorrigible” 

He lets out a cackle at your flustered face as you wonder when you will stop blushing like a fool around him. It’s been years and he still makes you feel like you’re wrapped up in a ball of jitters. Jungkook leans back and straightens up. He plucks the apron from the counter before coming up behind you. “Hold your hair up for me” He demands. 

You grab a fistful of your hair and lift them up as he settles it on your neck before tying the knot at your back. With one last kiss on the back of your neck he joins you. 

“How long has it been since you began making this?” 

“Not long ago. Thought I’d wait for you to come back home and then continue”

You watch him add the chocochips into the dough. His tattoos are barely visible behind the cozy sweater he’s wearing. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, Jungkook with his perfect physique and gorgeous face looks good in everything, more so naked, but nothing triggers your cuteness aggression more than him wearing a fluffy knitted sweater, believe it or not. One which you knitted at that.

He pulls your attention away pausing your little drooling session, “How’s Coco bean doing?” 

A sudden urge of getting close to him creeps up and you sneak between the counter and him, hugging him as you nuzzle your face in his chest. He smells like cinnamon. He places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head before resting his chin there. 

“You smell so good” 

“Thanks and she’s as chaotic as ever. Nailea bought the cutest pair of pyjamas for her,” you look up at him,  “She looked like a loaf of bread when they made her wear it.” 

“No way. Should we buy her another one of those?” he pulls back, barely able to hide the excitement on his face.

“You’re gonna spoil her” 

“Damn right I will and if you call this spoiling, wait till I get one of those made by me.” 

There it is. 

If Jungkook wasn’t so fond of children, would it have been easier for you to cope? You do realize that you’re a stone’s throw away from losing him for once and for all. In the old days you heard somewhere that it takes a strong man to save to save himself and a great man to save another.

You want to be that brave person who saves him from lifelong loathing and regret towards you.

This turning point in your life gives you two options, one where you can hang by a thread and bite your tongue while you continue your life with him, another where you set him free. The latter one wins and you, however, lose. 

“Hey you went silent there. You okay?” He cups your cheek with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheekbones so gently you try not to cry. 

You nod and flash him a smile. Or at least you try to smile and detach yourself from him. “Perfect. Let’s get those cookies baking shall we?” 

Jungkook keeps looking at you with an expression which tells you he’s trying to search for something, but you try not to give anything away. Yet.

He gives you a look, his eyes sparkling under the low light in the room,

“Wait here for a second i’ll be right back” 

“Where are you goi-”

“Just a second. Don’t move” His voice trails off as he goes further into the bedroom. A minute later when he comes back, there’s nothing different about him except the sneaky smile on his face. He walks towards you and grabs you by the waist as he sits you on the counter. Your hands instantly clutch his shoulders for support. 

“What is happening, baby?” You mumble, clearly in a fog. 

He says nothing as he gets down on his knees. Taking a hold of your right leg, he places it on his thigh. You swallow.

He looks up, clashing his eyes with yours, “You ask too many questions, do you know that?” 

Seconds later he’s taking something out of his jogger pocket and a cool sensation brushes your skin. You peek down, curiosity finally killing the cat as you see a silver anklet adorned by a pink stone in the middle of it embraced around your ankles. 

His name is a whisper on your lips, “Jungkook”  

He gets up, facing you as he stands. But not before pecking the anklet as well as your skin. His face which earlier was eerie, now entirely soft. 

“Mom sent this for you.” 

You don’t hold back tears this time, letting them run free. You glance at the jewellery again as it shines under the light of the kitchen lamp. The pink stone glares at you as if it knows you’re not worthy of such a valuable item. 

“It’s beautiful”

He gently wipes the tears away,

“It’s just the beginning, love. I’m not gonna stop until I see a band wrapped around your finger. I feel too lonely being the only one there.” 

You playfully smack him on the chest, a giggle slipping free. With a tired shake of your head you admit, “This is overwhelming” 

“What is?” he asks,

“All of this,” you keep your gaze on him, sniffing as you continue,“Your little acts of service, your love, your presence and now this gift. I feel like I’m taking too much not giving enough” 

Your throat feels too tight, as if someone is just cutting off your air supply when you should be feeling free in his arms. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows tense as he reaches for you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear he tries to reassure you, “Don’t say that. I hate when you question your worth,” he pecks the back of your hands, “These hands feed me, hold me when I need them to, give me warmth, gentle touches”,

His lips find both of your eyes next as you close them, feeling his soft lips on them,

“These eyes tear up with happiness every time you listen to me in the studio”,

Your ears follow next, “These ears tolerate my snoring”,

Then your lips, “And this mouth, my favourite, whispers ‘i love you’ to me every morning, leaves kisses on my skin, screams my name and most importantly, forms the loveliest smile when I make you happy.” His eyes are oh so gentle as he says this. 

You’re about to respond when his phone buzzes on the counter next to you. Your heart stops. Fuck is it Dr. Ana?

To your surprise, it’s Jimin’s number on the screen.

“Pick it up, honey. It might be important.” 

His thumb presses on the red button as he declines the call, “I’ll talk to him later. My girlfriend comes first.” 

Neither of you say a word as the room gets filled with a comfortable silence. The cookies are long forgotten, your eyes doing all the talking. Even if you try your hardest you’re not sure you can say anything which is remotely justifiable of what he just said to you.

Jungkook is so much more than meets the eye, he’s vulnerable, he’s empathetic, he’s loving. His eyes shine the brightest when he’s happy about something and you’re so full of contempt about the fact that eventually you will be the one to snatch away that shine. This hornet’s nest is going to ruin me, ruin him. 

“I wanna kiss you so bad” He whispers, leaning closer but you stop him with your palms on his chest.

“Wait, I-I want to talk about something” 

His voice is downright pleading when he says, “Later baby. I’m fucking gonna die if I don’t take that mouth right now. Please?” his breath touches your bare lips. 

Feeling a flutter in your chest you nod and he leans towards you, hand cupping your lower jaw as he touches his lips to yours. Softly at first, then his pace quickens. Your hands grab his sweater as you pull him even closer, deepening the kiss. His moan echoes followed by your own as you both lose yourselves in each other. You let go of every menacing thought and just focus on the taste of his lips. 

He pulls back slightly, taking a deep breath as he fills his chest with air. Those beautiful lips are pink and swollen from the heated kiss you just shared with him. Getting rid of the sweater, he tosses it aside as his eyes sparkle with amusement.

Without wasting any time he begins nibbling at your neck, slightly biting onto it as your hands run over his back. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away. Not to toot your own horn but you have the most gorgeous boyfriend and you’re not ashamed to show him off. 

His lips ghost over your nipples from over your high neck top and you groan.

“Jungkook, please” 

He pulls back with a smug look on his face, “Please what ____?” 

“Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad.” 

“Yeah? Is that what my girl wants?” 

At this point your body is thrumming with anticipation and desire as you watch him move his hands closer to the waistband of your pants. His hands pause when they meet the lace material, his pupils dilate. 

He smiles, “It’s the one I gifted you. Were you hoping for this huh?” 

Your lips stretch into a smile. You hadn’t particularly hoped for this, no, because your relationship with him is not just based on physical pleasures. You guys have sex of course, but it’s not the prominent part of the bond you share. It’s more than that. The lace lingerie set was gifted to you by Jungkook on a random day. It was one of those quote unquote just because gifts. 

“What do you think?” you ask, giving him a quick kiss. 

He grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you there for a moment before leaning back and looking straight into your eyes. “I think you should lose it or else I’ll ruin it” 

You gasp, swatting him on the bicep. “Don’t you dare. It’s my favourite pair”  

Without preamble he picks you off the counter making you wrap your legs around his waist. You both are so close it takes your breath away. Chest to chest, groin to groin, face to face with lips inches away from each other’s as you share a breath. 

He walks into your shared bedroom as you clash your lips against his, pulling his lower one between yours, earning a groan out of him. You both are downright feral, letting your hands run over every area of each other’s body. Jungkook’s hands grabbing your ass, yours pulling on his hair lightly before trailing down his chest, pausing on his pecs. 

When you reach your bedroom, he sits himself down with you on top of his lap. Your hips move forward and you hiss as your still jean clad pussy brushes his cock. He’s so hard you wonder if he’s close to coming already. 

Rough hands scrape over your back, hips, down your thigh before they finally settle on either side of your waist, gipping them tightly but also with a hint of gentleness. One thing you admire about your man is that he doesn’t treat you like a fragile woman, he knows you’re strong and you’ll not break if he’s rough with you. 

Jungkook pulls back from your lips.“Fuck honey, you’re such a goddess. Look at this body. I still can’t believe I get to call you mine” 

You shake your head, totally under his spell. “I’m the lucky one here, baby. You have no idea how lucky I am.” 

His hand brushes over your ass before he dips it inside your pants, reaching your already soaked pussy as he pushes a finger inside you. This earns a whimper from you as you tip your head back. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, ____. Want me to show you how lucky I am?” He takes the finger out before pumping it back again. You moan as his other hand gips the nape of your neck and he brings his mouth to your neck, biting on it. 

“Oh my god” you cry, seeing him suck the finger clean and face forming an expression filled with the deepest level of satisfaction as he closes his eyes. 

Setting his eyes back on you, he sighs, “This isn’t my first time tasting you, honey. But it gets better every fucking time and I find myself craving you an unhealthy amount, you know that? Do you know how crazy I am for you? Could eat you out everyday and wouldn’t need anything else to feel full.” His words send a shiver down your spine. “You’re my favorite meal.” 

He pushes three fingers back inside with a slight force and you let out a scream, arching your back. He takes one nipple into his mouth and gives it a long suck, letting it go with a loud pop. 

“Oh yes, just like that. Suck it again, baby” You beg and he does exactly that as he takes the other sensitive bud into his mouth. 

You’re not sure if you have been this vocal about your needs with anyone before him. Not that you dated a lot, for a person who’s a hopeless romantic to the core you’ve always found yourself waiting for the right one. Additionally, you believed your body to be as sacred as a temple. Surely there had to be a guy somewhere who would treat it as such.

Then, enters Jungkook who not only was out of your league metaphorically but literally. He lived miles away from your place so there was not a chance you could have let anything take place between the both of you. But as they always say, the heart wants what it wants. To put it briefly, there was chemistry, a connection you didn’t want to lose.

Strong fingers pump into you. In and out, in and out. “You’re so wet. What do you say? Should I lick you clean?” 

“Yes, ah oh my goodness that’s sooo good” you toss your head back, slowly grinding against his hands. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, lifts you off his lap and tosses you back on the bed. Keeping his eyes still locked with yours he gets rid of his jogger, letting his cock spring free.

It bobs and you lick your lips, already wanting to take it into your mouth but you know for a fact that he wouldn’t let you do that, not because he doesn’t want you to but because he wants to give you the highest amount of pleasure first. As he always does. 

Jungkook lets out a shaky sigh as gives his cock a pull, his eyes running over your whole body. Up and down then back at your face again. You’re still not fully bare in front of him while he’s standing there, all in his glory. 

“Lose the pants” he commands. 

You immediately slide out of them and toss them on the floor somewhere. He grabs you by the hips, jerking you to the edge of the bed as he sinks down on his knees. Spreading your legs wider he releases a breath. Warmth touches your wet pussy and you prop yourself up by the elbows to look at him. 

You need to look at him if you want to stay sane, have to feel him with you here. Shivers run through you even by the thought of not being able to feel him and this ever again. This might as well be your last day on this god awful planet from the way the ache in your chest keeps on increasing. It makes a home there, not letting you entirely forget about the eventualities. 

“God you’re dripping, honey” 

“For you” you admit.

Hot and wet kisses are left to the inside of your thigh and your hands find the back of his head as you grip it lightly. 

His head lifts up, his eyes finding yours, “Don’t hold back,____. Grip it as tightly as you want to. I don’t want any hesitations because when I fuck you, I’m not going to be holding back. You hear me?” 

A desperate moan leaves you, and he rewards you by kissing your pussy. Keeping his eyes on you, he doesn’t give you a chance to whine out your needs before his tongue is licking a single line up your clit.

He moans and gently tugs on your clit. “Such a perfect cunt” 

You push his head against your pussy and rock forward, chasing your orgasm. 

“Feels so good, feels so perfect, baby” you murmur.

Just when you’re starting to feel the climax incoming, when Jungkook suddenly grabs you by the waist and flips you, so he’s lying down and you’re on top. Then, he grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you for a heated kiss. 

He pulls back, “Sit on my face, my queen” 

Your eyes widen and you hesitate, but you don’t want to. You wanna let go, knowing you’re lucky enough to get something like this in this lifetime, so you give in. He hoists you up by the hips, positions you over his face and pulls you down. His warm breath feels like a soft whisper against your pussy. 

You cry out in pleasure as soon as his tongue dives deep inside you, squeezing your tits in your hands. Grinding against his face, you close your eyes and just… feel. Feel the heat, feel the emotions, feel the intimacy, feel the ache in your chest.

A thought crosses your head and you wonder if you’re doing something wrong, something selfish. Touching him like this and getting consumed by him feels like you’re doing nothing but ruining him. 

He sucks on your clit with sheer eagerness and desire, pulling you further down so you’re putting your weight on his face. Concern perks up and you look down, trying not to crush him but it seems like he couldn’t care less. 

“Let go, honey. Just focus on my mouth.” 

Let go. God, how bad you hate those words. They feel like acid in your ears. 

“Keep going, Jungkook. Don’t you dare stop” you cry out. 

Soon enough you’re aching your back, cunt pulsing against his lips as you come. He swallows every single drop as if he’d die if he doesn’t and leaves you in awe. You slump, letting your body relax.

Much to your amusement, he doesn’t give you enough time to relax before he’s turning you over until you’re on your knees. Hot passionate kisses are placed on your sweaty back, pulling a gasp from you. 

“What a fucking sight. I wish you could see how stunning you look right now and it’s all because of me, isn’t it? This glistening back, this wet cunt,” he strokes a finger down your pussy, “It’s all because of me and you dare to call yourself lucky?” 

You catch a sight of him stroking himself over your shoulders and your breath quickens. 

His abs are glistening with sweat and his chin still has your cum on it. 

He smirks, “Like what you see, honey” 

“You’re beautiful” 

His eyes soften, letting his hands drop from his angry and already leaking with precum cock, he grabs either side of your hips and lines himself against your needy pussy. You let your head drop on the mattress and clench your fist, preparing yourself for him. He gives your cunt a slight slap with his cock before filling you in, groaning as he goes deeper.

You moan, “Fuck baby. That’s so deep.” 

“You’re so warm, honey. You feel like home” he thrusts again. 

His hands grip yours, and he covers your body with his own, still thrusting inside with rough movements. His chest feels warm and safe against your back as it fills you with a deep sense of safety, protection and love.

You match every thrust of his with your own, moving your hips backwards. Your tits are getting equal attention from him as he pinches the two sensitive buds between his fingers. 

You both chase your high with you screaming out his name and him whispering yours like a prayer. He gives in one last thrust before he’s coming inside you, his teeth biting on your shoulder. You’re following him soon as you grip the bed sheet tighter in your fist, moaning as you come. 

Before you collapse, he pulls you upright and lets his cock slide out of you. His fingers push his cum inside your throbbing cunt, making your stomach twist in pain.

You murmur. “I love you” 

His lips stretch into one of those lazy smiles you love so much. “I love you too, my precious girl. Now, do you wanna sleep or go make those cookies?” a sloppy kiss is pressed on your forehead. 

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you pull him on top of you, “Should we save those for later? I really wanna cuddle” 

He presses a soft kiss on the tip of your button nose, “Sure. Let me clean you up first. You don’t have to move an inch, just relax.” 

Minutes later he’s coming back with a bottle of water and a bowl of marshmallows. You bite back a chuckle when you look at his face. There’s such a deep crease between his eyebrows you’d think he’s trying to win a game of uno or something. 

But it’s short lived when he places the items on the nightstand and gazes at you, his eyes having the same funny look they had earlier in the kitchen.You try to summon your most unbothered and good natured grin but it doesn’t do shit to stop the electricity from running through your blood. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, biting your lip.

An uncertain laugh slips out of him, “I don’t know. I’m- God, I really don’t know but I have this weird feeling that something is not right.” He begins cleaning you up but you can’t shake the feeling of nervousness and anxiety away. 

You know for a fact that he’s right. Something is not right, in fact nothing is right. 

He peeks at you from between your legs, “Hey, what is it that you wanted to talk about?” 

The air whooshes out of your lungs. Should you come clean? Is it the right time? 

You huff a tight laugh. “It’s nothing actually. Can we talk about it later?” 

When he’s done cleaning you up he places a small kiss on both your knees and stands up. Offering you a nod, he says, “Whenever you feel like it. I’m not going anywhere” 

Yet. He’s not going anywhere yet. 

You grin, “I wouldn’t let you” 

He lets a laugh slip out as he walks inside the bathroom. Then, he comes back, settles himself beside you and brings you closer by wrapping his arm around your waist. His feet find yours as he touches the anklet with them. 

“Let’s sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up” he promises. 

Morning comes quickly as the sun casts its glow on your sleepy yet excited eyes. Holding out a hand, you try searching for your boyfriend next to you, but a slight sting arises in your heart when he’s not there. You open your eyes, adjusting to the sunlight. 

Although, you hoped you did not wake up, you hoped death consumed you in your sleep because the person across from you is a total stranger. A stranger whose eyes are misty and mouth is pulled down in deep frown, a sunflower bouquet in one hand and the other one holding a blue file so tightly you can see his knuckles turning white.

Jungkook holds out the file to you, “How long were you planning to hide this from me,____?” 

For the first time in your life, you hate your name. You hate how bitter it sounds coming from his mouth like this.It has always been “____, you’re my everything,” “I love you,____”, “_____, you mean the world to me”.

Acid bubbles in your stomach at his words, and you can’t help but sob. You wonder if the butterfly was preparing you for this day. If she could talk, what would she have said to you? 

The words that leave him next might as well be daggers in your chest, "Tell me, honey. Is it the important thing you wanted to talk about but held back just to get a good fuck out of me?"

@fluttershy-vanilla @theyysam37 love you pookies. enjoy <3

[puckinghischier]

Choices

Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary: jack proves that he will always choose reader, no matter what anyone has to say

notes: so, the first part of this is literally my favorite thing i’ve ever written. the ending? meh. i don’t hate it, but i definitely think it could have been done better, i just struggle so hard with endings 😭. i also lowkey don’t like the title, but literally couldn’t think of a different one. anyways, i hope you enjoy!! happy reading! 🫶🏼

can be read as a part 2 to this fic, but can also be read by itself

request: Could you write something with Jack getting defensive/choosing her? Maybe he gets cornered by an ex flame or someone about what makes reader so special to get him to commit to a serious relationship when he didn't with her

[6.7k]

“Are you sure I don’t need to dress up tonight? I know you said they’re just some old family friends, but I want to make a good impression,” you question Jack, standing in front of the full-length mirror propped against the wall.

You’re wearing a pale, yellow sundress with daisies imprinted all across the fabric. Jack insisted the Lawsons were just old friends of the family, having owned the house down the street since he was just a kid.

Since meeting Jack’s family last year, you’ve been his plus one to every single trip he’s made home. At thanksgiving he brought you home for a quick, two day trip to meet his grandparents and a few pairs of aunts and uncles, before having to fly out again because of his game schedule. Around Christmas the two of you split your time, spending the actual holiday with your family, then flying to meet Jack’s family for New Year’s activities, where you met several cousins and old school friends of Jack’s.

This year, you’re celebrating the Fourth of July in Michigan, finally getting to experience the infamous Hughes lake house. Jack was able to convince you to spend an entire month here at the large house, telling you the trip was for the Fourth festivities, but suggesting you leave a few weeks beforehand, wanting you to get the full lake house experience.

You had spent your days switching between joining his family on the large pontoon boat sitting at the end of their dock and going out on adventures with Jack alone on the pair of Jet skis Quinn had bought after his first paycheck came in during his rookie year. A few nights a week, Jack would tell you to put on something nice, showing you around the small town a few miles away from the house, taking you to each of his favorite childhood spots for dinner.

One night he had told you to put on the nicest dress you brought, then proceeded to take you to an old, beach themed bar. He sat across from you at the high top table in a collared shirt and khakis, the rest of the patrons around you in their bathing suit cover ups or shorts and t-shirts.

You scolded him, telling him you two looked like fools in there, all dressed up to eat fried seafood. He laughed, telling you the only fool in the room was him, because he was “foolishly and wholly in love with you.” You rolled your eyes at his mushy-ness, a blush making its way to your cheeks at the same time.

That memory, however, is the reason you no longer trust Jack when he tells you to either dress up or dress down for dinners. Including tonight.

“I promise, you don’t have to dress up. You could wear your bathing suit for all I care,” he calls out from the bathroom where he’s ‘fixing’ his hair, which usually means brushing it and then ruffling it around with his hands. “I mean, mom might not be too happy if you’re sitting at the dinner table in just a bikini, but I’d sure enjoy the show.”

You scoff at his words, turning to go and stand in the doorway of the ensuite, crossing your arms.

“I’m being serious, J. I want to make a good impression on these people. They’re really good friends of your parents. Your mom was telling me how you all used to spend almost the entire summer together, constantly over at one another’s houses for dinner and fire talks,” you remember how excited Ellen was to be having her friends over for dinner tonight, claiming she hadn’t seen them in years because of how busy their lives had gotten.

Ellen also mentioned they had a daughter around your and Jack’s age who was in with her parents for the summer. Her name is Sarah and she’s a department director of some big advertisement company in New York. She stopped coming around as often around the same time Jack got drafted to the Devils, according to Ellen. Her job being too demanding for her to make the trip every summer.

You were excited to meet yet another person that knew Jack as a kid. You were hoping to rope a few stories out of her over the course of dinner, wanting to know as much as you can about Jack’s childhood from those around him. Sometimes you really hate the fact that you haven’t known Jack his whole life. You count yourself one of the luckiest people alive to be able to share his life with him now, but you’re always picturing him growing up, wanting to know every detail of what makes Jack, Jack.

Quinn and Luke are always eager to tell you anything you want to know about Jack, from the time he wanted to be “TP man” for Halloween and proceeded to wrap his entire body in toilet paper, wearing the empty rolls on his hands, to the time he wanted to ask his eighth-grade crush out on a date, but instead blurted out that he had to go home to massage their dad’s feet.

You always enjoyed hearing stories about him from people that weren’t his mischievous brothers, though. Like when his grandma told you about the time she got home to see that Jack had rearranged her kitchen cabinets, placing everything he saw her use on a regular basis closer to where she could reach it after watching her drop her favorite mug while trying to put it away on the second highest shelf that morning. Or when his best friend from high school told you about the time Jack gave him a ride home from practice, stopping in to say hello to his parents when Jack heard his little sister crying in her room because she couldn’t figure out her math homework. Jack stayed over for nearly two hours to help the little girl with her multiplication table and gave her words of encouragement the entire time.

You knew Jack was someone special, his calming energy easing your nerves from the first time you ever spoke to him. Hearing the stories that confirm he’s been this way his whole life, from the people that have known him far longer than you, though, makes you burst with so much love for the man you think your heart might actually explode one day.

“And I’m being serious, Sunshine, what you’re wearing is fine and won’t change the fact that they’re going to absolutely love you, just like everyone else does,” Jack walks over to stand in front of you.

You uncross your arms, letting them fall to your sides. Jack reaches down and takes each one of your hands into his, stepping forward slightly.

“I just…I care about how the people that know you view me. It’s important to me that the people important to you know that I love you, not that I’m just trying to ride on the back of some hot shot hockey player,” you whisper, referencing a blog post you were sent by one of your coworkers back in Jersey, asking if the girl in the picture was, in fact, you sitting on Jack’s lap in a crowded bar you went to for a post-game celebration.

The post talked about how you had been seen with Jack at a few games and were seen leaving several bars with him over the course of a few weeks early into your relationship. The blog site was a silly, hockey gossip blog, more concerned about who the players were sleeping with than any of the games themselves, but the accusation made your heart sink nonetheless. You knew you were with Jack for no reason other than you love him and he makes you feel safe, comfortable, and loved. Jack knows you’re not with him for his money, and anyone close to him knows you’re not with him for his money or fame.

He could quit hockey tomorrow and it wouldn’t change even an ounce of your feelings towards him. With or without hockey, he’s still your Jack. The Jack that makes you honey lavender tea every night because he knows it helps you sleep. The Jack that somehow manages to bring you flowers after every home game, no matter how late it is. The Jack that insisted you move in with him after your lease ended because his apartment is closer to your new job, but really because he was tired of not coming home to you every night. The Jack that showed up to your graduation this spring, bringing nearly his whole team and his family, the group cheering so loud when you walked across the stage everyone in attendance laughed, the person handing you your diploma commenting “sounds like you have a few fans out there.”

Even though you know that Jack knows, and his family knows, each time you meet someone new from his life, you feel the need to prove yourself. It’s part of the reason you were so anxious to meet his parents all those months ago. You worry that each person you meet has seen or read an article like the one you were sent. You worry they’ll think you’re not right for Jack, or that you’re only with him to get a taste of the popularity and lifestyle that comes along with his job. All you want is to show them how much you love him for him, and how you never want to leave his side.

Jack looks down at you, bringing your joined hands up to his mouth, pulling them together and kissing your knuckles.

“I promise you, no one here thinks that,” he starts, his words oozing with sincerity. “There is not a single person that matters to me in my life more than you. And absolutely no one’s opinion of you matters to me other than your own. Do you think you’re with me for the wrong reasons?” He asks you, waiting for you to answer him.

You shake your head no, breaking his eye contact.

“Hey, look at me,” he squeezes your hands that are still resting near his mouth, bringing your eyes back to his. “Then absolutely nothing else matters, okay? I know who you are, and you know who you are. Last time I checked, we’re the only two in this relationship, so that’s the only two people I’ll ever be looking to for opinions concerning my choices in this relationship, got it?”

You nod, a little embarrassed you were ever worried in the first place after his small speech, but still needing the hear his words nonetheless.

You’re still looking up at him, opening your mouth to tell him how much you love him when your stomach growls between the two of you, loud enough you nearly jump back.

Jack’s eyes flicker down to your stomach and back up to your eyes, the amusement in them making the blue shade shine even brighter.

“On that note, let’s go get you something to eat,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead before dropping one of your hands, the other still intwined with yours, pulling you out of the room behind him.

Jack led you down to the kitchen, digging around in the fridge to sneak you a snack before everyone sat down for dinner, knowing the meal wouldn’t be ready for at least another hour.

After he was satisfied that you weren’t going to starve, thanks to the small bowl of fruit he found, the two of you walked out to the back deck, joining everyone else.

The Lawsons had already arrived, Jim and Ellen standing on the other side of the large deck, conversing with Mr. and Mrs. Lawson separately.

Mrs. Lawson is a short, slim woman. Her hair is flawlessly styled into a ‘looks lazy but really took an hour’ up do, wearing a light purple, short sleeve pleated dress that fell just above her ankles, a simple pair of sandals on her feet.

Her husband is a tall man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a matching polo shirt and khaki shorts, a pair of Hey Dude brand shoes on his feet.

As soon as the two of you walked out onto the porch, Ellen was immediately halting her conversation to introduce you to the guests.

“Oh! There they are! Aren’t they just dolls? Look at them!” she gushed, walking over to greet the two of you.

You smile warmly at her, your relationship with Jack’s mom almost as dear to you as your relationship with your own. The two of you were able to sit and talk with one another during the hockey game her and Jim had come into town for the first time you met them. You both were invested in the game itself, considering all three Hughes boys were on the ice that night, but the intermissions were full of conversations and stories. You left the rink that night feeling like you had gained another mother, exchanging numbers with Ellen and promising to keep in touch. You now have weekly phone calls with Ellen, her interest in your life and well being matching that of her interest in her son’s.

“Mom, we literally saw you an hour ago on the boat, calm down,” Jack tells her, earning soft smack to his chest from you.

“Don’t be a grump, Jack. She’s telling us how good we look and you choose now to suddenly act like you don’t love being told you look pretty,” you scold.

Jack looks down at you with his mouth slightly open, putting on his best fake offended face.

“See, I told you she keeps him in check for me. Now I don’t have to carry the burden all by myself anymore,” Ellen tells Mrs. Lawson, earning a laugh from the woman standing just behind her.

You and Jack continue to have a small stare down until he conceded, choosing to flash a smile at you instead, sticking his tongue out like a child and earning a small giggle from you.

“Y/N, this is Deborah, but we all call her Deb. Deb, this is Y/N, my new baby girl,” Ellen breaks up yours and Jack’s moment, introducing you to Mrs. Lawson.

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you Mrs. Lawson,” you say, removing your hand from Jack’s so you could step forward and give a small, greeting hug to the woman in front of you.

“Oh honey, Mrs. Lawson was my mother-in-law, please, call me Deb,” she tells you as she pulls back from the hug.

“Okay, Deb is it,” you laugh, stepping back beside Jack.

“C’mere, I need a hug from you too, Jack,” she motions Jack over to her, your boyfriend walking over to give her a slightly longer hug than you shared with her. “My, you’ve grown up, haven’t you? Last time I saw you, you were just getting ready to declare yourself draft eligible. Now look at you, the real deal.”

Jack blushes as he steps back towards you, knowing how shy he gets when complimented.

He may be cocky on the ice and in interviews, but you’ve learned that when it comes to the people that are close to him, Jack is extremely humble. He turns a light shade of pink any time you compliment how well he played after a game, or when his mom calls to tell him she watched his game on tv and cheered so loud she woke their cat up anytime he scored a goal.

“Just enjoy playing the game, is all,” he slips his hand back into yours. You give it a light squeeze.

“Ron, quit talking golf and get over here! Come say hi to Jack and his girlfriend!” Deb turns and shouts to her husband behind her. Both Mr. Lawson and Jim leave their spot by the heating grill and walk over to join your small group.

“Jack, how are ya, boy?” Mr. Lawson walks up, pulling Jack from your hold, bringing him in by his arm for what you call a ‘guy’ hug, each having one arm slug over the other’s shoulders, their clasped hands trapped between their chests.

“Getting by alright. Happy to have a bit of a break. Couldn’t wait to show Y/N here the ways of the lake house,” Jack motions to where you stand slightly behind him.

“Oh gosh, where are my manners. Hi, sweetheart, I’m Ron,” Mr. Lawson sticks his hand out towards you, shaking it softly.

“Hi, Jack’s told me a lot about you two. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lawson” you reference both of the Lawsons, repeating part of your greeting to Deb.

“Oh, no, Mr. Lawson is my father, I’m just Ron, dear,” he mirrors his wife’s earlier statement, stepping over to place his arm around her waist.

You chat with the couple a bit longer, noticing after a few minutes that Quinn and Luke are nowhere to be found. Neither was their daughter Ellen had mentioned earlier.

“Not to interrupt, but where are Quinn and Luke?” you ask just as Ellen finishes telling Ron and Deb about a recent cruise her and Jim had been on.

“Oh, they took Sarah out for a spin on the boat before dinner. She said she missed the water, so away they went,” Deb explains, looking over to Jack. “She’s so excited to see you again, Jack. She always talks about wanting to get across the bridge to see a game, but you know her, a workaholic and all.”

You sense a slight rigidness in Jack’s body language at the mention of Sarah. He responds with a simple “Yeah, that’s a shame,” not offering any other words about the mystery girl.

You were confused. You had thought Ellen said the boys were friends with Sarah growing up. Why did Jack tense up when she was mentioned? Had there been some sort of falling out? Was he not excited to see her? He hadn’t mentioned anything when you brought her up earlier, causing you to assume he just didn’t know much about her, having lost contact after they both were busy and didn’t have as much time to spend at the lake anymore.

As soon as Jack had finished speaking, you heard loud laughter coming from the long deck at the end of the house’s yard, seeing three figures quickly approaching the porch you were standing on.

“See, told you I could still beat you, just like when I was a kid!” you hear an unfamiliar voice call out, footsteps coming up the wooden stairs leading to the porch.

“Not fair, you didn’t tell me it was a race until you were already at the end of the deck,” you recognize the voice this time, Luke uttering his words between fast breaths.

As you look towards the stairs, you see one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen in your life step onto the porch.

She had jet black hair that fell to her mid back, perfectly pin straight. She had the greenest eyes you think you’d ever seen, and her tan skin was a shade that people usually had to be photoshopped to achieve. She was wearing a sundress similar to yours, but hers was a baby blue color, complementing her skin tone and hair perfectly. It fell right at her mid-thigh, and had a floral print running across the fabric.

“Hey, everyone. Hope we didn’t miss dinner,” she said, waltzing over to the wet bar to grab a bottle of water as Luke and Quinn make their way up the stairs, coming to stand a few feet from you and Jack.

“Oh, not even close, honey. You’re just in time. Your dad and Jim were just about to put the chicken on the grill,” Deb tells her daughter, beaming at her.

She walks over to join everyone, not stopping until she’s stood right in front of Jack.

“Oh, Jacky! I’ve missed you so much! It’s been so long!” she wraps him in a hug. His arms stay pinned to his sides, his body going rigid with discomfort. You notice the looks from Quinn and Luke, confused at their wide eyes.

He coughs, causing her to detach herself from his body, but not removing her hand from his shoulders.

“Well, that hockey training sure has been good to you, hasn’t it Jacky,” she continues, squeezing his biceps with a smirk before dropping her hands, completely ignoring you.

The second her hands leave his body, Jack is stepping back over to you, placing his hand on your waist.

“Uhh, Sarah, this is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, Sarah,” Jack says, squeezing you to his side.

“Oh! You’re the new girlfriend my mom was telling me about. How sweet!” she coos, placing her hand on her chest. “Jack, she’s so pretty. But, what happened to Macey? You know, the one with the pretty blonde hair? Oh, and the absolute insane body. Seriously, I need her personal trainer’s number,” she asks, looking around at everyone.

You think about your brunette hair and know exactly what she’s trying to do.

“Not in the picture anymore. Didn’t really like the fact that she kept sticking her tongue down some Philly player’s throat when she came to visit me during an away game,” Jack spat out, grinding his teeth.

“What a shame. I liked her,” Sarah waved it off, making a small pout with her lips. “But, I’m sure you’re great too!” she added as an after thought, flashing the fakest smile you’ve ever seen.

You feel a presence step up behind you, Quinn slyly whispering “ex-girlfriend” in your ear, suddenly making Jack’s body language and her backhanded warmth towards you make sense.

“Okay, well, time to go get the food on the grill. Food will be ready in around thirty,” Jim claps his hands together, sensing the need to break up the awkward moment.

“Oh great, I’m absolutely starving,” Sarah exaggerates her last word, turning and walking towards the sliding glass door leading to the kitchen.

You stand there, not knowing how to process what just happened, Jack’s grip on you as tight as ever. You look over to Ellen, who gives you a sympathetic look.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Deb sighs and shakes her head in amusement, completely oblivious to her daughter’s fake niceness and obvious flirting with Jack. “She’s something else, isn’t she? Such a little firecracker,” she reflects, nothing but adoration in her tone and on her face.

“Yeah, one that backfires into the innocent bystanders,” Quinn mumbles under his breath, earning a snort from Luke. Ellen shoots them a glare, darting her eyes towards Deb to see if she heard, but the older woman was still staring adoringly at her daughter in the kitchen through the glass doors.

Thirty minutes later, just like Jim announced, everyone was sat at the large outdoor table, food covering the large surface.

The food was amazing, the bowl of fruit from earlier long gone as you sat down to fill your plate, wanting seconds of almost everything.

“Jack, will you hand me the potato salad, I swear, I can’t get enough of it,” you ask your boyfriend who’s sitting to your right.

He reaches over and grabs the bowl, scooping a spoonful on to your plate for you. “That good? Or you want more?”

“No, that’s good. Gotta save room for dessert,” you tell him, picking up your fork to dig in.

Jack places his hand on your thigh, smiling over at the little happy dance you do when you scoop the potato salad into your mouth.

“Oh, I’m so full,” you hear Sarah say, raising her voice to make sure the whole table hears her. “I wish I could be like you, Y/N, I’d love to have seconds, but I just cannot hold another bite, I’m already so bloated as it is,” she places her hands over her stomach to emphasize. “You’re so lucky you’ve already snagged a man and don’t have to worry about watching what you eat anymore.”

You stop mid-chew, her words sinking in.

You look around the table, everyone looking at you. Deb and Ron are smiling at you, not at all reacting to their daughter’s words, likely not even understanding the connotation of what she just said. Ellen and Jim are looking at Sarah, their eyebrows raised in shock. Quinn is glaring at her while Luke’s mouth is dropped open.

Jack’s hand is digging into your thigh, his other hand closed, clenches in a tight fist on the tablet next to his glass of water.

You finish chewing your food and swallow thickly, placing your fork down and sliding your plate away from you.

“Oh, no, don’t stop on my account. I’d kill to be able to be as comfortable as you are. Not having to worry about impressing anyone anymore, just being able to know you’re loved, no matter what you look like,” she continues, taking a sip of her water to hide her smirk.

You bow your head, your face a shade of red you can physically feel, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.

Luke coughs, a faint “bitch” heard by your ears.

“Okay, I think it’s time we clear the table for dessert, shall we,” Ellen pipes up, her own smile strained.

“Great idea, let me help you,” Deb, either still oblivious or intentionally ignoring the hurtful nature of her daughter’s words, starts to stand.

“No, I got it,” Jack surprises you by standing, taking everyone’s plates and quickly stomping off of the porch.

You could feel the anger radiating off of him when Sarah was talking, probably choosing to leave the area before he said something he would regret.

“Here, let me help, too,” Sarah stands, taking a few food dishes in her hands and stepping inside behind Jack before anyone could protest.

The table is silent after she leaves. You sit there, debating on just sliding out of your seat and under the table, wanting to hide. Luke, who was sitting next to you, brings his hand over to rest on your shoulder, trying to provide some comfort.

You look over at him to see a concerned look as he mouths a silent “You okay?”, nodding your head yes, despite the heavy feeling in your stomach.

You look up again, straight at Sarah’s parents, wondering how they can be so ignorant about their daughter’s malicious words.

You meet Ellen’s eye, seeing a sad, pleading look, begging you to forgive her with her expression. You give her a small smile, shaking your head to tell her it’s alright.

Ron is the one to finally break the silence, looking around at everyone with a genuine smile, once again proving your suspicion they’re unaware of the shift in atmosphere.

“Ellen, please tell me you made your famous cheesecake. It’s been too long since I’ve had a slice,” he speaks, unable to read the room.

Ellen partakes in empty small talk with Deb and Ron about how she makes her cheesecake when you decided you need to go check on Jack.

“I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go help Jack,” you say flatly, standing from your seat and all but running inside, the urge to walk over and shake the Lawsons while shouting “your daughter’s a bitch!” in their face your cue to leave the table.

You enter the kitchen, seeing the dishes both Sarah and Jack brought in littering the counter, but neither one of them was to be found in the spacious area.

You walk through the house, calling out Jack’s name softly as you pass the stairs, making your way to the small sitting room at the front of the house.

“Jack, I don’t get it. What does she have that I don’t? What about her makes her any better than me?” you hear the sound of Sarah’s voice coming from the foyer.

“What the hell do you mean? Everything! She has everything you don’t!” you hear Jack exclaim, stopping in your tracks.

Were they talking about you?

“Jack, we were good together! We had fun. I don’t understand why you ended things between us. Hell, I took a job in New York because you said you were probably going to New Jersey to play. We could have been the new it couple of New Jersey!” it was Sarah’s turn to raise her voice.

Jack shakes his head, a dry laugh making its way out of his mouth. “What part of I didn’t want to don’t you understand?” Jack spits out. “You had fun. You chose to move to New York. You thought were good together. There was never any we in any of that.”

You can practically see the veins popping out on Jack’s forehead through his tone, even though they were out of view.

“All you ever cared about when we were together was the fact that I was about to play professional hockey. You didn’t care about me, you just cared about what I could offer you!” he shouts again. “The fact you just admitted you cared more about being the “it” couple more than you cared about wanting to be with me proves it.”

“Well, sue me for wanting to live the life of the rich and famous,” Sarah says, scoffing.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Jack huffs out. “Y/N doesn’t care about living the life of the rich and famous. She just wants me. She wants Jack, not ‘Jack Hughes, star forward, number one overall draft pick’,” he puts on his announcer voice.

“All my life, people have only ever cared about how well I played hockey. Every coach, every teammate, every girl. They all saw me as a hockey player. They wanted me on their team, or in their bed, because they wanted what came with me: attention and popularity,” Your heart breaks at Jack’s voice, never having heard him sound so deflated before.

“Hell, you introduced me to people as a future professional hockey player before you ever introduced me to them as your boyfriend,” he continues. “With Y/N, that’s far from the most interesting thing about me. When she first introduced me to her family, she told them I was her best friend’s brother,” he refers back to the first time you took him home to meet your family, the subject of hockey not coming up until your dad asked if he liked sports, only to berate him for not being a football player. Later that night he asked him how hockey worked. Your dad has never missed a Devils game since, either in person or on tv.

“Her favorite fun fact to tell people about me isn’t a stat, or how many hat tricks I’ve scored,” he keeps going. “It’s that I love to sing Shakira when I’m in the shower. Or that I’m the only other person other than her dad that has ever made her laugh so hard water has come out of her nose,” Jack lightly laughs.

“Hey, Y/N, everything okay-“ you hear Quinn’s voice rounding the corner.

Cutting him off with a “shhh” you place your finger on your mouth to tell him, and Luke who trails behind him, to be quiet, pointing to the sitting room where Jack and Sarah are arguing.

“So, yeah, I would say I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted out of me, but I’m not. I’m not sorry that I broke things off with you. I’m not sorry that I found someone that actually loves me for who I am. And I’m not sorry that I brought the woman that I plan on marrying here with me, and you just so happened to be here too,” Jack tells her, his voice still holding a slight trace of anger.

“I am sorry that I never told my parents what really went down between us, telling them we just agreed it would be too hard and we needed to go back to being friends, because maybe they wouldn’t have invited you over tonight. I am sorry that I didn’t take Y/N out for dinner, trying to avoid what’s happening right now. I am sorry that you can’t begin to fathom someone can see through your forced smiles and backhanded comments, seeing how cold and rotten you really are on the inside. And I am sorry that your poor, sweet parents were given such a malicious bitch as a daughter,” He finishes.

“You know, my mom said Ellen told her you showed her a ring, but I thought it was just a gift. You’re really going to propose to her?” Sarah asks, annoyance clear in her voice, spitting out her last word with unmistakeable disgust.

“Of course it’s true. Bought the ring months ago, been carrying it around with me every since. Showed mom the night she met her, told her I was serious about her and that she’s the one. I think part of me knew that from the moment I met her,” you hear Jack say, hearing the tenderness in his voice when the subject turns to you.

Your head whips over to Luke and Quinn, your eyes wide and your mouth handing open. The panicked look on their faces is all the confirmation you need to know that you heard Jack right. He bought you a ring. He bought you a ring and showed his mom. He bought you a ring and showed his mom and was going to propose to you.

Before you know what you’re doing, your body is leading you to the entryway where your boyfriend is arguing with his ex-girlfriend.

“Y/N, no, wait,” Quinn tries to stop you, but it’s too late.

“You bought me a ring?” you ask as you enter the room, seeing Jack and Sarah standing several feet apart from each other.

“Oh, great, the woman of the hour,” Sarah rolls her eyes at you, throwing her arms up and letting them fall to her side.

You shoot her a glare, not at all concerned about her comments from earlier anymore.

You turn your head to Jack, who’s face looked as panicked at Luke and Quinn’s.

“Jack, you said you bought me a ring. Is that true?” you ask him, begging him to answer you.

Jack gulps, nodding his head yes.

“Right…” is all you can say, trying to digest what’s happening.

You look back and forth between Jack and Sarah, your gaze finally landing on the unimpressed one of Sarah.

“Listen, I don’t care what happened between you and Jack however many years ago, but I don’t appreciate you coming to his family’s house and acting like a nasty bitch to me because you got dumped and I’m the one getting the ring,” you tell her, earning a shocked scoff from her. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you took your nasty attitude and sad insecurities out of this house and elsewhere. I have something I need to discuss with the man that chose me .”

You hear the faint snorts of Quinn and Luke behind you, while Jack’s face moves from panicked to shocked as he looks between the two of you.

“God, you don’t have to ask me twice. All of this melodrama is giving me a headache. You’re not worth this. I can get any guy from the Knicks roster, I don’t need to waste my time on hockey players anymore,” Sarah says before she storms out of the room.

You watch her go, giving her a sweet smile and a wave on her way out.

“That was…the hottest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Jack tells you, walking over to where you stood.

You roll your eyes at him, hitting him in the chest once he gets close enough to you.

“Ow! What was that for?” Jack asks you, rubbing where you thumped him

“For not telling me that Sarah was your ex-girlfriend when I was telling you how excited I was to meet her earlier” you exclaim while looking up at him, poking him in the chest with each word

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had anything to be worried about and get even more in your head about this dinner,” he tells you, grabbing your finger and pushing your hand down to your side.

“Yeah, well a lot of good that did,” you roll your eyes, bringing your hand up to softly smack his chest again.

“God, woman, stop hitting me!” Jack yelps again. “What the hell was that one for?”

“For buying me a ring only a few months into our relationship! And then for not telling me you were going to propose, you idiot!” you exclaim, throwing your arms around.

“Well, I don’t know if you know this or not, but most proposals are usually a surprise,” he tells you, grabbing your arms and holding them apart, preventing you from hitting him again.

“Still. Why would you buy it so soon into us dating, Jack? What if you ended up hating me once we hit six months, or you found out I snored and decided you didn’t want to share a bed with me for the rest of your life?” you ask him, earning a laugh from your boyfriend.

“I knew that you were it from the moment I met you. There’s absolutely no chance of me ever getting sick of you, or hating you,” Jack tells you honestly, the intensity behind his eyes causing you to believe his words. “Also, you do snore, and I think it’s cute, don’t worry.”

You try to hit his chest again, but your arms are still being held by his hands.

“So, is this a good time for me to say I never really liked Sarah,” Luke chimes in, reminding you that him and Quinn are standing in the entrance of the room.

“Luke, you’re such an idiot,” Quinn tells him, flicking him on the back of his curly head.

“What? It’s true. I liked Y/N the second I met her, but Sarah was always just a bitch,” Luke rubs the back of his head as he speaks. “Why do you think Quinn and I took one for the team and took the wicked witch out on the boat so we could keep her out of your hair for as long as possible?”

“Thanks, Luke,” you chuckle, shaking your head.

“Well, I guess it’s time to tell mom that she knows you’re proposing,” Quinn says, looking towards Jack.

“Oh, no, no one is going to know that she knows. I had this whole thing planned out, and I’m not letting Y/N ruin her own proposal,” Jack says, finally letting go of your hands.

“Do I at least get to see the ring?” you ask him, hopeful.

“Nope,” Jack shakes his head, popping the ‘p’.

You huff, crossing your arms and looking at him with a pout, until you remember his words from a few minutes before.

“Wait, you told Sarah you carry the ring with you everywhere, does that mean it’s here? In this house?” Jack’s face falls, eyes looking anywhere but your own.

“No…”

Your face lights up, looking towards the stairs before back at Jack, turning and making a run for your room.

“Oh no, you don’t!” he runs after you, catching up to you in no time.

He grabs you by your torso and swings you around, sitting you back at the bottom of the stairs as he guards them.

“Not fair, your stupid hockey speed and reflexes can shove it,” you pout again.

As you stand at the bottom of the stairs, Quinn and Luke watch the two of you, admiring how perfect the two of you are for each other.

Luke thinks back to when he decided to introduce you to his older brother, knowing he made the right decision, the two of you bringing out the best versions of the other.

And when he stands, hidden with his family as he watches his brother get down on one knee, proposing to the girl that stood at the bottom of the stairs, demanding to see her ring, he knew sneaking into Jack’s room and moving the ring to his own room was the right move, the shock on your face worth the two week long silent treatment you gave him when you found out what he had done.

[clawsdevour]

hii can i have a kuroo x fem reader who is sick pls??

in kuroo's care

wc: 0.7k content warning: fluff, kuroo x reader who's sick, not proofread, my shitty writing

note: YOU FREAKING GET ME. SICK READER X KUROO WHO TAKES CARE OF YOU UGGHHHHH HE'S SO HUSBAND. HOPEFULLY U ENJOYYYY THIS SHORT SCENARIO !!!!

୭ ˚○,.

Waking up later than usual, your mind was so hazed and scrambled. Your forehead felt like a hot firework about to be released in the sky in the smelting humid air on the Fourth of July. Mustering all your strength to shuffle your head to turn to your left. Kuroo wasn’t at your side in bed with you, he’d already left for work as he usually leaves earlier than you. You groan, feeling horribly cold as you quiver under your warm covers. 

Occupied with promoting volleyball across the nation, Kuroo gets a phonecall from your workplace. He’s been informed as your emergency contact, and learns that you didn’t show up to work today. Kuroo furrows his brows in suspicion from hearing your work tell him about your unexplained absence. Ending the call, getting up from where he sat. Kuroo hurriedly grabs his blazer that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and calls off the rest of his day for work to see you.

You’re laying in bed eyes shut, soundly snoozing until you heard your bedroom door open with a slight clunk. Holding his blazer over his right shoulder, his heart sinks at the sight of you laying in bed with the covers wrapped around you. You’re overheating and struggling to breathe through your stuffed nosed. Rushing towards your side, Kuroo’s hand is feeling the warm temperature all over your face. 

“Kuroo… is that you?” Shifting your heavy head your hoarse low voice muttered out. Through your eyelashes you see Kuroo with an expression of worry spread across his face. You’re trying your best to keep your gaze on him as he’s feeling the heat emit from your face.

“Yes, I’m here. Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?” Looking into your eyes, whispering to prevent your head from throbbing. “Hold on, let me get you a wet washcloth really quick.”

Nodding your head before he heads to the bathroom. Your eyes droop, letting your drowsiness consume you. Hearing his steps grow louder in your direction, you feel a cool dampness press against your forehead and a large hand caress your furiously warm cheek. Seeing him in the corner of your vision you avert your gaze to see what he has to say.

“I’m gonna head out to get you some medical rememdies to make you feel better, m’kay? Don’t move, I’ll be back.” He’s stepping back, grabbing his wallet out from his pants pocket. Kuroo slips on his blazer, making adjustments as he swiftly strides out of the bedroom.

At the corner of your house, Kuroo’s looking at the medicine and health aisle. He picks up what he believes would be the best remedies to fight back against your cold. Reading all the colored labels that say things that best fits the description of the state you’re currently bedridden in. Scanning and paying for the items, Kuroo dashes back home knowing your sickness wouldn’t get any better if he walked.

Back in your bedroom, he switched out your current washcloth for a cooler one, freshly dipped and wrang out for your warm forehead. Pulling a chair to sit next to you, he’s put all of the remedies on your side table.

Spoon in hand, pouring the thick liquid that takes shape of the utensil. In your deep slumber, you feel a cold metal prob against the opening of your mouth. You fight back against your eyes, peeking at him through your heavy eyelids, Kuroo’s spoonfeeding you some bright blue cough syrup that tasted like mint.

“Say, ‘Ahh’ and take this medicine will you? You won’t get any better if you don’t open up.” Kuroo’s soft silky voice cooes at you. Parting open your lips, the minty syrup enters your mouth which you swallow down feeling the cool mint drip down your throat. Putting the spoon down, he’s observing you with his mouth curved into a gentle smile. “Rest up, before dinner. I’m gonna cook you a nice warm soup to eat.” Kuroo fluffs your pillow at the sides and tucks you into bed, one last glance at you before turning off the lights to let you recover.

masterlist here

[nehi-soda]

Once More to See You - DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader No Outbreak AU

Explicit; Minors DNI 18+ only.

Summary: Joel knew exactly how to drive you wild, make you forget everything but the sensation of him; make you forget he was breaking your heart.

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: POSSIBLY DUBCON as reader has been drinking (also tagged), P in V sex, ANGST, smut, secret relationship, praise kink, dirty talk, cream pie, heartbreak, Joel is kind of a dick, dbf!joel, au!joel, no outbreak!joel. Legal age gap (reader is early 20s, and Joel is 56). No use of Y/N. Mood board for aesthetics only; reader's features aren't specified other than Joel can pick them up.

A/N: Posting this a day late as I literally only started writing it yesterday out of nowhere. Enjoy!

Joel's annual fourth of July party was in full swing. Children were running around with sparklers, families were gathered around picnic tables laden with food, and the air was filled with music. Tommy was in control of the music, so of course, AC/DC and Lynard Skynrd had been playing all day. The smell of grilling burgers and hot dogs wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of freshly mowed grass and the tang of chlorine from the pool.

You spotted Joel near the grill, expertly flipping burgers and chatting animatedly with your dad. You felt a flutter of excitement, eager to see him after your last…hangout. As you approached, he glanced your way but quickly looked away, focusing intently on the food.

"Hey, Joel," you called out, trying to sound casual despite the nervous anticipation in your voice.

"Hey," he replied, not meeting your eyes, his tone brisk. He immediately turned to your dad, asking about the game they were planning to watch tomorrow.

You hovered nearby, hoping for a chance to talk, but every time you tried to engage him, he found a way to sidestep your attempts. First, he asked another guest to grab more buns from the kitchen. Then, he excused himself to check on the drinks. Each time you approached, he either walked away or started a conversation with someone else.

Determined not to give up, you followed him to the drinks table, where he was refilling the coolers with ice and beverages. "Joel, can we talk for a minute?" you asked, keeping your voice low.

"I'm busy right now," he said curtly, not even glancing up. He continued to work, his movements tense and hurried.

Your frustration grew as the party continued. You watched him from across the yard, perched on a bench gripping your solo cup tightly as he laughed and chatted with everyone else while avoiding you like the plague. You noticed the way he stiffened whenever you were nearby, how he seemed to find any excuse to move away from you.

“Hey, loner,” your friend Kayleigh slid in next to you, nudging your side. You didn’t answer.

“Um… you…oka-.”

“Not right now, Kay,” you answer abruptly, standing up to get yourself another drink. You downed it in one to try and quell the unease sitting in your stomach. Although it just made you feel even more sick. Something was up.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow and someone had started setting up fireworks for later. Joel had just left the grill, heading toward the house with a tray of empty dishes. This was your chance. With a few more drinks in your system, you'd found the courage to quickly follow him, catching up as he reached the back door.

"Joel, we need to talk. Now," you said firmly, grabbing his arm to stop him.

He looked around, clearly uncomfortable, his eyes darting to make sure no one was watching. "Not here," he muttered.

You tailed him into the kitchen.

He began absent-mindedly washing up some dishes with his back to you.

"Alright, what’s going on? Why have you been ignoring me all day?" you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest trying to sound confident.

“How much have you had to drink?” He said, ignoring your question.

“Not a lot,” you retorted, heat rising up your body.

“That’s a fuckin’ lie,” he scoffed in his southern drawl.

“Oh, so I'm the bad person now, huh?” You replied a little too loudly. “I’m just some silly little girl who doesn’t know anything, running around after you, wondering when you might fuck me next!”

Joel threw a dish into the sink with a loud clatter, making you jump. He turned to face you, his eyes flashing. "You think this is easy for me?" he hissed, keeping his voice low but intense.

Before you could respond, the kitchen door swung open.

"Hey, you two!" Tommy greeted cheerfully, oblivious to the tension. "Just grabbing another drink. Everything okay in here?"

"Yeah, just fine," Joel replied dryly, turning away from you to look out at the yard.

Tommy lingered momentarily, grabbing a drink from the fridge and chatting casually about the party. “We’re settin’ the fireworks off soon,” he said smugly with a toothy grin.

“Oh, great.” You feigned excitement, trying to act normal, but your heart pounded.

The moment he was gone, Joel turned to you, his eyes fixed. "We can't do this here," he said through gritted teeth.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "Then where? When? You can't just avoid me forever, Joel."

Joel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. Upstairs. Now." Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed toward the stairs, tugging you along by your arm.

You struggled to keep up with him as his heavy boots marched up the stairs; the drink made coordinating your feet very difficult.

Joel turned to face you once you were in his all-to-familiar bedroom with the door closed behind you.

“This needs to stop,” he said sternly.

Your heart dropped at his words. "Stop what? Us?"

"Yes. Us. It’s wrong, and it’s only goin’ to end badly. For both of us." He placed his hands on his hips.

"But we make each other happy. Isn’t that enough?" You said franticly.

"It’s not that simple," his voice strained. "Your dad… if he ever found out… it would be such a mess.”

You shook your head, tears pricking at your eyes. "But he doesn’t have to find out. We’ve been so careful. Please, Joel…I love you,” you sobbed as he pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you tightly as your fingers twisted in his plaid shirt. The warmth radiating from his body seeped into your bones like a cruel comfort.

"Shhh, I know, baby, it’s okay." Joel hushed, stroking your hair. “It's just so complicated.”

“I don’t care” you pulled back, searching his eyes for any sign that he might change his mind. But all you saw was resignation.

"Please," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Don't do this."

He cupped your face in his hands. “You deserve better than this. Better than sneakin’ around and hidin’. You deserve someone who can give you everything.”

"But I don't want anyone else," you cried, tears streaming down your face. God, you probably looked like a blabbering mess. "I want you."

Joel closed his eyes, pain etched into his features. "And I want you, too. More than you know. But this... it ain't right, darlin’,” and there is was; his velvet drawl reeling you in again. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, and something inside you snapped. The finality of his touch felt like a betrayal. You shoved him back with all your strength, your hands shaking with anger and hurt.

"Don't you dare!" You shouted, your voice trembling with rage. "Don't you fucking dare tell me what's right for me. You don't get to decide that."

Joel just stood there and took it.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you muttered.

You pushed him again, harder this time. "I wish I never fucking met you!” You repeated.

Joel's expression hardened, and in an instant, he grabbed your arms, backing you up against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of you. Your eyes were wide as his burned into you, and for a moment, you were actually scared of him. But before you could protest, he was unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. He roughly hiked up your sundress and lifted you up by the backs of your thighs.

"This is what you want?" Joel growled, his voice low and intense. "One last time, huh?"

"Joel, please...", you gasped.

Your heart raced as his lips sloppily crashed against yours. It was intoxicating; you could smell his cologne and the beer on his breath as you wrapped yourself around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to lose yourself in him. One last time.

The room spun around you, the noise from the party outside fading into oblivion as he slipped your panties to the side and entered you all at once. You took a sharp breath at the sudden stretch you were unprepared for. His movements were driven by a desperate need, forcing himself into you with a mixture of pain and pleasure as you clung to him like your life depended on it. The boom of fireworks outside was the only momentary glitter of light as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs and ass; you’d hoped to find bruises there in the morning. A flash of red, then white, then blue lit up the right side of his face."You drive me fuckin’ crazy," he leaned in to mutter against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. "I can't stop thinkin’ ‘bout you."

"Th-then… d-don't," you struggled to get your words out as he knocked the air out of you. “J-just b-be with me..."

“Aaah, fuck, who’s got good pussy baby?” Joel growled, his voice low and rough.

"I... I do," you gasped, barely able to breathe as he thrust brutally against your cervix, each movement sending shockwaves through your body.

"Say it again," he demanded, his pace relentless. "Say it again, baby. I need to hear it."

"I do! " You screamed, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. "I-I’ve got good pussy, Joel. It’s all y-yours!”

"Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he spat. "Screwing your daddy's best friend." He whispered, raw and guttural, sending shivers through you. You could see the intensity in his eyes, his primal need for you. You started to be able to take him more easily as you became wet with arousal. You arched your back, meeting his thrusts with equal fervour, every part of you alight with pleasure. Joel’s hands gripped you tighter, holding you in place as he pounded into you."Ugh…yes, Joel,” you moaned, nails clawing at his salt-and-pepper locks to pull his lips to yours. “l love it w-when you f-fuck me.”

“Hmm, always feel so good, baby,” he pants, as his cock relentlessly slides in and out of your puffy lips. Each thrust hit that sweet spot deep within you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Joel knew exactly how to drive you wild, make you forget everything but the sensation of him; make you forget he was breaking your heart.

“That’s it, baby, it’s okay, just cum for me, cum all over this cock.”

Your body trembled as you cried out his name, your pleasure shattering through you in waves. You closed your eyes tight, feeling yourself gripping every inch of him as you dug your fingers into his shoulders. Joel held you through it, his strong arms keeping you secured against him and the wall as you came apart.

He followed soon after, his release a powerful, shuddering thing that left him collapsing onto you. He emptied every last bit of him into you with a growl.  You pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead before he buried his face into the crook of your neck, panting for breath. He pulled out of you with a groan, releasing your legs and letting your feet find the ground again. You shuffled awkwardly, rearranging your underwear and smoothing out your dress. Joel looked away, avoiding your eyes as he did his jeans and belt back up. The silence between you was thick and heavy.

"Is this really it, then?" you asked quietly, your voice trembling as you struggled to keep your composure.

Joel sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "It has to be. We can't keep doin’ this."

You felt a surge of anger rise in your chest. "So that's it? You just use me one last time and then throw me away?"

He finally met your gaze. "It’s not like that. I never wanted it to end this way.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face.

"But we can’t keep playin’ childish fuckin’ games, and you’re too naive to see the damage this could cause.”

"Don’t you dare put this all on me," you snapped, your voice rising. "You’re the one who started this.”

Joel took a step back. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I can’t see you again,” he said coldly.

You turned away, your heart shattering with every word he said. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. "Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, storming toward the door. You yanked it open and stepped into the hallway.

Downstairs, the sounds of the party continued but it all sounded like you were underwater.

You moved quickly to the front door and stepped out into the night, the cool air hitting your tear-streaked face. You hugged your arms and walked quickly. The air smelt like sulphur as fireworks illuminated the sky. You didn’t stop until you reached home.

The house was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Your heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise, each breath harder to draw than the last. You could barely see through the blur of tears as you climbed the stairs, having to use your hands to steady yourself.

You reached your room and slammed the door shut, leaning against it for support. Your legs trembled, and you slid down until you was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. You clenched your fists, trying to push down the sobs, threatening to break free. You had known the risks, known how wrong it was, but you hadn't been able to help yourself.

Fucking your dad’s best friend, what did you expect; thought you’d live happily ever after with a white picket fence?

Maybe Joel was right. Maybe you were too naïve. You were fucking crazy to think this could have ended any other way.

But no one made you feel like Joel did. No one felt like Joel did. It was electric. The way he touched you, the way he made you feel alive, cherished, and understood, no one had ever come close. Joel was everything you had ever wanted and more. But now, it was all over.

A soft knock on your door. "Sweetie, can we talk?" Your dad’s voice was gentle, but you couldn't face him.

"Go away," you choked out, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Wondered where you were. You’re missing the fireworks, honey.”

"Please, just leave me alone."

“Hm, Joel did say you weren't feelin’ well, had too much to drink?”

How so desperately you wanted to tell your dad everything just to relieve some of the weight off of your shoulders, but how could you? How could you tell him, oh, by the way, I've been fucking your best friend behind your back for months, buts he’s just ended things and torn my heart into a million pieces? I know exactly just how many kisses fit between his eyes? I know the face he makes when he cums, and I think I can actually feel his cum leaking out of me right now?

divider credit to @kthice

*title inspired by "Once More to See You" by Mitski

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 22

Warnings: none. mostly fluff. slight jealousy.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader , Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: The summer days get hotter and your feelings confuse you more and more. A day at the lake might make things better.. or worse.

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: So, I really really struggled with this chapter and spent more time rewriting it than actually writing it. I'm sorry if it seems a little scattered and rushed, I promise the next one will be better. @hellfire--cult thank you as always, you were such a big help, you always are but especially with this chapter so thank you, love

series masterlist

-

Steve never thought that he would end up here. Working at some ice cream shop with a girl who despised him for the first few weeks. He couldn’t blame her. Robin is your friend, she knows what he did to you and it’s not just that. Up until this spring, he didn’t even really know who she was, she was just someone he passed by in school and didn’t even bother to glance at or even acknowledge.

Now that he got to know her a little, he couldn’t help but take a liking towards her. She may be snappy at times but she is.. cool. He likes her. Not in the way he liked Nancy or you. But, in a way he should’ve liked Nancy – just as a friend. 

He calls her friend. Robin refuses to call him that. 

She likes to pretend that they are enemies but really, they finally get along after weeks of bickering at Scoops Ahoy. After a little incident that got them locked up in the storage room for a whole night, they got even closer – who knew that weed and a little heart to heart would get them to like each other?

Robin looks at Steve differently now, her looks aren’t filled with hate or annoyance anymore – well, she still rolls her eyes and makes fun of him but it’s not the same anymore. 

Sometimes when you’re around, she gives him pitiful looks. He can’t stand it. He doesn’t want or even deserve pity, not from her, not from anyone.

She is looking at him with that look right now. 

He sighs, trying to give her somewhat of a smile before he looks down at the red solo cup in his hand. Your giggles make his heart flutter and hurt at the same time. You are sitting on one of the logs around the fire, with Eddie. His jacket is wrapped around your shoulders, your legs are thrown over his thigh, you are practically sitting on his lap. You are nodding along to something he’s saying. 

You two are in your own little world, ignoring the rest of the people around you. It’s hard to tell what the two of you are. Every day, he wonders if you have made that move yet. The one he made with you back when you went from friends to something more. 

People are celebrating the fourth of July with a bonfire party at Lovers Lake, just like every year. In all the previous years before this one, you were by his side, giggling at something he would say, wearing his jacket, sitting on his lap. 

Now you sit there with Eddie. 

And it all feels so wrong, you shouldn’t be there with Eddie. 

You belong with him. 

“Are you okay?” 

Robin’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, he looks at her, nodding. 

She tilts her head, giving him another pitiful look. 

“You’re not drunk, are you?” 

He shakes his head, chuckling softly, “no, whenever I get drunk or high I end up doing or saying something stupid.” 

She chuckles, though, it’s more of a sad chuckle. When they got stuck in the storage room, Steve opened up about a lot of things – things that he would have never talked about had he been sober. 

He let her have a look inside. 

Robin didn’t think that she would ever understand Steve and why he left you. But, she understands him now, a little. 

He was scared of how much he loved you. 

“Do you wanna go home?” 

“Nah, I’m your ride, remember?” 

She pats his back, giving him a smile, “that’s right, dude. You should go and have some fun.”

He snorts, shaking his head. He glances at you, not expecting to see you looking at him – staring at him. He can’t read the look in your eyes but he can see the smile that tugs at your lips. You raise your hand, waving at him, shyly.  

His eyes light up, his lips twitch. 

Robin notices the look on his face, the happiness that takes over in an instant. She follows his gaze. 

“Do you wanna go talk to her?” Robin asks, nudging his shoulder.

He looks at you with softened eyes. His shoulders fall when you break eye contact, turning away from him to face Eddie again. 

“No,” he whispers. 

“Why not?” Robin asks, knowing that he wants to talk to you.

“She’s with Eddie.”

“So? You talk to her every time they come to Scoops together.”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

Steve nudges his chin towards you, “look at them.”

Robin sighs, looking over at you and Eddie. His arm is now wrapped around your shoulder, he is smiling as you whisper something in his ear. 

“I won’t interrupt that.”

She knows how Steve feels about you, she knows how Eddie feels about you but, what she doesn’t know is how you feel about them or how you feel in general. You don’t talk about your feelings, you don’t know how to, every time you did try to talk about them with her, you fell into a ramble, mixing up words, stringing together sentences that would make no sense, confusing both her and yourself. 

It wasn’t always like this. 

You used to be able to talk about your feelings. You never rambled or broke down in the middle of a sentence and she felt like you were getting better after each conversation you had. 

Then, you went on that date with Ray and everything went downhill after that. 

You spent so much time trying to get over the pain that Steve had caused you. You got stronger and more confident. And it seemed as though you got – or, started to get over him. It took months to get up and all it took was a night to fall back down. 

She sighs. 

“I get it, Steve.”

-

“Careful.”

“I am careful!” 

“No, you’re not! You’ve been on this ladder unsupervised.” 

“So?”

“So? You’re a clutz!” 

You roll your eyes, snorting at his words. 

“No, I’m not, Eddie.” 

You finish taping the new Metallica poster to the wall, glancing down at him, “alright, give me the next one, please?” 

Eddie chuckles, he lets go of the ladder and leans down, reaching for the last poster in the box. He unrolls it and his eyes widen. 

“Holy shit, that’s a new Iron Maiden poster!” He gasps, staring up at you with big eyes. 

You giggle, nodding, “I ‘accidentally’ ordered two.”

He furrows his brows. 

“Got one extra for you.”

His eyes light up and a smile appears on his face.

“No fucking way!”

You laugh at his little outburst. 

“It’s in the breakroom, I’ll get it after I put this one up,” you say, pointing to the poster in his hand. 

“You’re the best, did I ever tell you that? In case I haven’t, you’re the best, sweetheart!” 

He holds it out for you, grinning at you as your eyes meet. 

You shake your head in amusement, giggling, “I think you are the best but thanks.”

He grabs the ladder again, eying you with a smile on his face. 

To know that you thought of him while making orders for the store, to know that you got something for him, something that he didn’t even ask for, makes him so happy. 

“So, what are we doing tonight?” You ask. 

He watches the way you furrow your brows as you tape the poster right next to the Metallica one. You bite your lip, focusing on getting it even. 

“Uh, I’m not sure, what do you feel like doing?” 

“Dinner and a movie night?” You suggest, “Heather is throwing a party but I don’t feel like going.” 

“Me neither.” 

“So, dinner and movies it is.” 

“Sounds perfect to me, bab– s-sweetheart,” he clears his throat. 

Baby. He wanted to call you baby. 

Your cheeks heat up. You dare to glance at him, finding him looking completely flustered. His eyes are closed, his brows are knit together and his cheeks glow red. Cute. You have to suppress a giggle. 

“Alright, all done!” You clap your hands together after finishing hanging up the last poster. You grab the tape and the scissors, handing them to Eddie before you make your way down the ladder. 

“Careful,” he teases you. 

You only roll your eyes in response. You jump on the ground, looking up at him with a proud smile, “see? Not a clutz.” 

You shouldn’t have spoken too soon. The moment you take a step forward, you trip over the open box on the ground, stumbling forward. His hands land on your waist.

Your hands fall to his chest, your knee buckles but you don’t fall, he holds you tightly. 

“Not a clutz, huh?” He chuckles as he looks down at you. 

“That was an accident,” you pout, looking up into his eyes. 

You furrow your brows, his racing heart that you feel beneath your touch pulls your attention to his chest and for the first time, you notice how much bigger he actually is, how much taller he is. 

How did you not notice before?

“Hey guys!” 

Robin’s panicked voice causes the both of you to flinch. You both turn to look at her, frowning in confusion when you see the way she looks between you both. 

You slowly step away from Eddie. 

Why is she looking at you like that? Nothing happened.

“Hey,” you smile as you lean down, picking up the empty box. 

Eddie gives Robin a questioning look, tilting his head to the side. 

Her eyes are wide and she’s smiling, nervously. 

What the hell is she so nervous about?

A moment later, Steve walks into the store. Oh, right. Her new best friend, the one who gets jealous at every interaction he sees between you and him. Eddie rolls his eyes, not at him but at Robin and how protective she is of his feelings.

“Oh hey,” Steve mumbles, turning to look at Robin in surprise, “you come here on your day off?” 

She nods, stepping further into the store, “yep.”

“Buying new records for the car you don’t have?” He teases, smirking. 

“Ha ha,” she rolls her eyes. 

He chuckles and finally turns to face you. 

“Hey.”

You smile at him, “hi.”

Steve glances at Eddie who turns away, pretending to look around.

“So uh, what are you two doing here?” You ask, chuckling. 

Robin raises her brows, pointing at Eddie, “what’s he doing here?”

You walk behind the counter, putting the box down. You reach for the drink on the counter, lifting it up, “he brought me coffee and lunch.”

Robin nods, tilting her head, she smiles at Eddie, “you’re such a sweet friend, Eddie.”

He rolls his eyes at her, mumbling something under his breath before he turns away again. 

“I uh– I wanted to ask if you wanted to spend lunch break with me but, I see you got something already,” Steve mumbles, running his fingers through his hair as he looks down. 

“Oh, maybe next time?” You ask, trying to give him a smile.

‘Maybe next time’ sounds like a nicer version of ‘no, thank you.’

Steve knew that it was a mistake to come here and ask you to spend time with him, alone. But, he wanted to try. 

“W-We can go out for lunch together… on Monday?” You offer. 

His eyes light up and he looks up from the counter, he nods with a smile on his face. 

“I’d love to.”

He smiles at you and you smile at him. Neither of you notice the annoyed look on Eddie’s face. 

“And I wanted to ask if you wanna go to the lake tomorrow? You, me, Chrissy,” Robin smiles, “and your two uh–” she stops herself from saying what she actually wants to say as she gestures to Steve and Eddie, “buddies.” 

Steve squints his eyes at her, “buddies?” He whispers. 

“It’s supposed to get super hot tomorrow,” Robin says, ignoring Steve and Eddie’s glare. 

“Uh– sure, why not,” you shrug, “Eddie, do you wanna go?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You lift your brows, giving her a smile, “great.”

She lifts her hands, giving you two thumbs up, “great,” she grins, nudging Steve’s shoulder.

-

You should have known that Robin and Chrissy wouldn’t be here on time – poor Steve is probably in his car waiting for them. A part of you is relieved that Eddie didn’t have to pick them up though, you would still be waiting for them. 

You and Eddie are sitting on a large picnic blanket, looking at the water as you both snack on the grapes you brought. You are still in your sundress but the longer you sit out in the sun, the more you feel like ripping it off and jumping into the cold water. 

There aren’t many people around, a few kids with their parents, some teenagers you recognize from school but you and Eddie chose to sit away from everyone else. 

You are both quiet, enjoying each other’s company in silence as you wait for the others.

“They are taking so long,” you whine.

“I know,” Eddie chuckles. 

You glance at him, he stretches his legs out and leans back, looking at you with a smile on his face. 

“Do you wanna go swimming?”

You bite your lip, looking him up and down. You take your sunglasses off and put them on your bag. 

“If you come with me,�� you say, giving him a sweet smile. 

“Do you think I’ll let you swim alone? There could be monsters and shit, I gotta protect you.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. 

“Monsters in Lovers Lake? The only monsters I see are those teenage boys – hold on, is that Carver?” You ask, scrunching your face up in disgust as you point at the blond who just jumped into the water, “you might be right, there are monsters.”

Eddie chuckles, “yeah, that’s a real monster.” 

You start to unbutton your dress. 

Eddie gets up, reaching for the hem of his shirt, he pulls it over his head, throwing it on the ground, it lands with a soft thud beside you. You look at the shirt as you push the dress down to your waist, looking up at Eddie. 

You have seen him shirtless before, countless times, actually. He is actually one of the only men you had seen shirtless – one was Steve, another one was Billy, but only because he walks around shirtless whenever he gets the chance to. Besides, he was never one that you had been attracted to. So, Billy doesn’t count. 

But you look at Eddie.

His body, his skin, his scent, different from the one you already know, the skin you traced. The freckles that are not on his skin, yet it is covered in tattoos. No sun kissed skin, yet still beautiful in its paleness. No brown luscious hair, but a messy mop of dark curls that still fall beautifully on his shoulders. Both beautiful, both different. But why are you even comparing?

“Ready to go?” 

You snap out of your thoughts, nodding. 

Sighing, you look down and finish taking your dress off. You press your lips together as you adjust your top. 

You hear the sharp breath he takes, the curse word that fell from his lips, the one he tried to cover with a cough. 

“I-Is t-that a new one?” He stutters, trying to rip his gaze away from your chest as he points to your swimsuit. 

You feel amused by the stutter, by the blush on his cheeks and the shakiness in his voice. 

“Yes,” you giggle. 

Eddie stares at you, at your body, at your soft skin that he is dying to touch. Your eyes that shine beneath the sunlight, the cherry red swimsuit that is hugging your body so perfectly. The way you look up at him with big eyes, parted and glossy lips. You look so gorgeous. 

“I love it.”

Your eyes widen and you are once again blushing. 

“Thank you, Eddie.”

He looks at you, not hungrily, not in a way others have wanted you before. He looks at you like you are the most precious thing in the world.

You push yourself up, leaning closer to him, you give him a teasing smile. 

“I’ll race you to the water.” And with that, you run off, giggling when you hear him cursing. 

“Hey! That’s not fair!” 

You squeal in surprise when he catches up with you quickly, he wraps his arms around your waist, picking you up and running into the water with you. He laughs at the squeal that falls from your lips again when the cold water touches your skin. 

“Got you,” he whispers in your ear as he holds you tightly, sinking in the water with you. 

“It’s so cold!” You gasp, holding his forearm tightly. 

“Wanna dive, sweetheart?” He teases. 

“No!” You squeal as he takes you deeper into the water. 

He chuckles when you push his hands off, putting some distance between you before you turn around to face him. 

“You wanna fight me?” You splash water his way. 

“Oh,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “you wanna play that game?” He asks, splashing water back at you. 

You nod as you walk back, suddenly feeling nervous when an evil smirk appears on his face. 

“How about you play the helpless victim?” 

“And you play the big bad monster?” 

He suddenly jumps forward, reaching for you but you quickly pull back, trying to run in the water.

“No!” 

You hear his dark chuckle behind you, “we didn’t even get started!” 

“You’re an evil water monater!” You giggle as you take a look at him, watching the way the few wet strands of his cling to his cheeks. 

His eyes light up with amusement, “the evil water monster is gonna get the pretty human.” 

Your giggle makes his heart flutter and his smile widens when you squeal again as his fingers brush against your wrist. 

“I almost got you!” 

“Leave me alone!” You laugh, making the mistake of running into the other direction, giving him the chance to grab you. His hands grab your waist and he pulls you against him, your back is now flush against his bare chest. His fingers digging into your sides as he starts to tickle you. 

“H-Hey!” You laugh, throwing your head back, “t-that’s not f-fair,” you giggle, gripping his wrists but he is stronger than you. “E-Eddie!” 

“Eddie!” He mocks, laughing. 

You push him back, hard enough for him to lose balance and as he falls, he takes you with him, wrapping his arms around you, you both fall into the water, laughing together as you fall against his chest.

The water sloshes around you. You are both giggling as you help each other up, holding each other's hands. He pulls you into him causing you to stumble forward a little. Your free hand falls against his wet chest as his falls to your waist. 

“Hi,” you chuckle. 

“Hey,” he smiles, moving his hand up to tuck the wet strands of your hair behind your ear.  

You look at his chest, eyeing his tattoos for a moment and then, you look up, eyes drifting to his lips. 

His brows knit together. He watches the way you look at him. His breathing stutters when your eyes continue to stare at his lips. But you are confused and completely lost. Why? What are you thinking about?

You pull away from him when you catch yourself thinking of something that shouldn’t even cross your mind. 

Why did you even think about it? 

Why did you have to get so close to him?

Wasn’t the kiss with Steve enough? 

Why are you trying to ruin another friendship?

You already lost Steve, you don’t want to lose Eddie too.

“Hey guys!” 

Both you and Eddie look up to find Robin running into the water, grinning at the both of you. 

“Hey!” 

The smile on your face is fake, Eddie can see it. 

“Took you long enough, Buckley,” Eddie chuckles. 

“Yeah, I uh– we stopped by the store, got some snacks,” she says with a shaky voice as she gets into the cold water. 

“Hey guys!” Chrissy yells from the spot you and Eddie picked, waving at the two of you. She sits down on the pink towel she just put on the grass next to yours. 

“Hi!” You smile, waving back at her. 

Judging by the tanning oil in her hand, you already know that she won’t be joining you in the water. 

Finally, you look at Steve, who seems unaware of what just almost happened. He takes his shirt off and runs his hand through his hair as he stands there in just his swim trunks, looking like some model that just walked out of a magazine. Your eyes widen as you stare at his chest. 

Since when does he have chest hair? 

He used to hate it and always shaved it when you were still together. 

You stare at it without meaning to, your eyes roam his body. He changed a little, his arms are more muscular than before, his shoulders are a little broader. His hair is longer too. 

When he looks up, you turn away, not wanting to be caught staring. 

“Robin, can I talk to you for a moment?” Eddie asks with pleading eyes. 

“Yeah sure.”

You watch as they both step away, leaving you standing by yourself for a moment. Good, you need it. You look around, deciding to go swimming without them. You take a deep breath and walk deeper into the water, letting the coldness envelope your body. You close your eyes and you start swimming. 

As you swim further away from the shore, the voices and the laughter from the people get lost in the distance. You hear the water sloshing, your breathing and your beating heart. 

You stop swimming and tilt your head back, stretching your arms out as you lay on your back, letting your body float. 

You try to not think. You try to not feel. You try to just be here and enjoy this. You enjoy the cold feeling on your skin beneath the water, the warm feeling of the sun shining down on your face. 

For a moment, it’s so quiet out here, it’s almost eerie.

You think about the joke Eddie made. Monsters in Lovers Lake. Now that you’re out here by yourself, you can’t help but think about it. Maybe there is something in the deep end.

Something could just snatch you up and pull you down. You definitely watch too many horror movies. 

“You’re too far out.”

Your heart leaps to your throat and you open your eyes, gasping as you clutch your chest.

“You scared me!” 

Steve’s lips part, his brows furrow. You place your hand on your chest, trying to calm your breathing. He can’t help but laugh as he takes in the terrified look on your face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, swimming closer to you, “did you think about that weird lake monster that you were so afraid of when you were a kid?” 

“Huh – oh! O-Oh, you remember that?” You laugh. 

He nods, “yeah, you only talked about it like every day.” 

You snort, rolling your eyes. 

“I wasn’t thinking about that monster.” 

“A different one then?” 

“Maybe.” 

He laughs, “still scared of monsters that don’t exist, I see.” 

“Hey, you never know, something could just emerge from the water.” You swim towards him, getting closer and closer. His cheeks are a little red, water drips down from his hair, single droplets rolling down his cheeks and his lips. 

“And what, snatch me up?” He chuckles, licking his lips. 

“Mhmm, maybe monsters love guys with uh that,” you giggle, pointing to his chest, “I thought you hated chest hair, Stevie.”

You always told him to stop shaving it, you always wanted to see what it would look like on him.

His cheeks heat up and he doesn’t know whether it’s because of your words, the nickname or the closeness of your body. 

“I’m trying new things,” he shrugs. 

New things. He is trying new things. He tried new things when he dated girls before you, new hairstyles, new clothes, new music. He only ever tried new things when he was interested in someone and thought that he had to change – be better, look better. 

“L-Like what?”

Your eyes flash with something that he struggles to read.  

“For girls you mean?” You ask before he can even respond to your first question. You remember what Robin told you the first time you visited them at Scoops Ahoy. “A-Are you– do you have someone?” You ask before you can even stop those words from spilling. 

“What?” He asks, shaking his head at you. 

“Nothing,” you mumble, “forget it.” Why do you even care? 

This is none of your business. He can do whatever he wants. He can flirt as much as he wants. He can go on dates. He can have flings. He can have girlfriends. 

You tear your eyes away from him, desperately wanting to get away when you feel your cheeks heating up but just as you’re about to swim back, you notice how loose your bikini top is suddenly feeling. You raise your hand, placing it on your chest, “shit,” you mumble when you realize that the knot came undone. 

“W-What’s wrong?” Steve asks as he snaps out of his thoughts. 

“M-My stupid bikini – the knot–”

He realizes what happened when he notices your hand on your chest as you keep your other arm stretched out so you stay afloat. 

“Can you help me?” You ask with big eyes. 

His heart melts at the tone in your voice and the look in your eyes. 

“Of course,” he whispers, swimming towards you.

This isn’t ideal but, he touched you before, he had seen you naked before, it won’t be weird or foreign for him to do it. 

He swims behind you and he stares at your bare back for a moment, swallowing nervously. He takes in a shaky breath and reaches out to gather your wet hair, he brushes it to the side. 

A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his touch for the first time again. His calloused fingers touching your bare skin. You press your lips together, and close your eyes. 

He moves closer than he has to, he can’t help it. He reaches for the strings of your top and he starts tying the knot, slowly. He can feel the goosebumps on your skin and he can’t help but wonder if it’s because of the cold water or if it’s because of his touch – he hopes that it’s because of his touch. 

He looks at your soft skin, wondering what it would be like to feel it on his again. He wonders what it would feel like to touch you, to have your body pressed against his. He looks at your shoulder, wishing that he could lean down and press his lips against it, pressing kisses up to your neck. His heart flutters just at the thought of it. 

He is close, so close. 

His fingers brush against your spine and your breath hitches in your throat. He heard it. 

His touch feels so different from the way it used to feel. It’s soft, gentle. Something that it never used to be. He is careful with you, he never was, not when you were still his. 

You wonder if he ever thought that you looked beautiful. 

You wonder if he ever craved you the way you craved him after he left. 

Your heart starts racing the longer you feel his hands on your skin. Hands that used to be so rough on your body are now so light and caring, it makes you nervous. His hands feel familiar yet so strange and foreign. 

Is he touching someone else with those hands now?

“There’s no one else.” He says as though he could read your mind.

For a moment, you stop breathing.

“There’s only one girl for me,” he whispers as he puts his hand on your shoulder, turning you around carefully so he can see you, so he can look into your eyes. 

He felt the way you reacted to his touch. He heard the sadness and the jealousy in your voice when you had asked him those questions. He can see the look in your eyes. 

There is still a chance. 

There is still a chance, right?

next chapter

-

tagging friends and mutuals

@mysticmunson @taintedcigs @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @corrodedseraphine @succubusmunson @trashmouth-richie @take-everything-you-can @xxhellfirebunnyxx @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @nemesis729 @chrissymjstan

[sansaorgana]

Hi! Please take your time with everything's that's going on for you at the moment and if you don't want to write this that's absolutely fine!!

Today marks the 1 year anniversary of me getting out of an abusive relationship that lasted 6 years so it's been ups and downs today with celebrating and grief. If it's okay, can you maybe write a Buck fic where he's there for the reader (his girlfriend) whose in a similar situation? I've spent the day binge watching MOTA and I just want a cuddle from Buck aha

I completely get it if you don't want to write this because I know its pretty heavy stuff and I hope everything gets better for you soon! Enjoy that bottle of wine!!!

hi, darling! thank you for your request and I'm terribly sorry you had to wait so long because I have just checked and you sent it to me in the beginning of April 🤧 it is a quite heavy topic indeed and I hope I did it justice... Buck and Reader are married here but she had a husband before – I thought this sort of situation would suit this time period the most 💝

my requests are currently closed 🙅🏻‍♀️

Buck’s day started as usual – getting ready for work in the morning as he shaved his face, combed his hair and put the clothes on that you had ironed for him on the evening before. He walked downstairs to have breakfast and spotted a plate of scrambled eggs with bacon and a toast already waiting for him with a cup of coffee. He smiled to himself and approached you standing by the window to give you a kiss on the cheek before sitting down by the table to eat. From the corner of his eye he noticed that you were quite nostalgic and sad this morning but he didn’t want to push you into telling him what was wrong because perhaps the answer was “nothing” and you were just tired.

However, you were unusually quiet, staring out of the window with a cup of your own coffee in your hand as you watched the birds outside on the tree’s benches but the beverage was long forgotten in your hand. Buck hadn’t seen you sipping on it at all and he was sure it was cold now.

“Is everything alright, love?” He asked as he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded your head with a shy smile but the look you gave him was brief and unusually unfocused as if you were trying to avoid his gaze.

Buck decided not to push you, especially now when he was before work. He decided to ask you more in the evening if your mood would still be so odd. However, when he was finishing his scrambled eggs, you suddenly opened your mouth again.

“You know, today’s the day… It’s the anniversary of my divorce with… With him,” you sighed and finally took a sip of your cold coffee.

Buck’s shoulders stiffened at those words. He had no idea about the anniversary taking place today out of all days and every mention of your ex-husband felt like a punch in the guts. Not because he was jealous or something – he had no reasons to be and he knew that – but because he was aware what that man had been like and how he had been treating you.

You had been already divorced when you had met Buck and some people had been warning him about getting into a relationship with a woman “with the past” but Buck had known better. He had known you and he had known “your past” from you. He couldn’t blame you for falling in love and he couldn’t blame you for leaving a man like that son of a bitch. He hadn’t known how to appreciate a woman like you, he had been taking advantage of your love and devotion.

Buck was not like that. He was patient with you, he was understanding, he was protective. He had promised to take care of you, to help you heal as you were helping him to heal after the war. It was a peaceful and cosy marriage that had lasted about a year now but he knew that the demons of your past would sometimes show up. Just like his did – they liked to come back in sudden anxiety attacks or unreasonable fear of loud things like the fireworks on the Fourth of July. They liked to come back in dreams, too – nightmares, actually.

You always knew how to comfort him, how to calm him down, to make him feel safe again. But now he felt awkward and helpless when it was his time to do the same for you. He didn’t know how to react properly. Should he congratulate you? Or tell you to forget about it? Both options seemed kind of wrong.

“I see,” he only cleared his throat awkwardly before taking the last sip of coffee and standing up to approach you. He kissed your cheek again and rubbed your shoulder in a comforting manner. “I gotta go now… Do you want to go out somewhere nice in the evening?” He furrowed his brow. “Like a restaurant? You wouldn’t have to cook today.”

“I…” You hesitated. “I don’t know. It would feel like celebrating and even though I have reasons to… I don’t want to think of him at all. I want this day to be normal,” you looked at him and he nodded before pecking your lips and wishing you a good day as he left for work.

However, he knew that it was easier said than done. You would still think of your ex-husband all day long. It was inevitable and only natural. Buck felt bad for you and on his way back from work he stopped by the store and contemplated on getting you flowers. Once again he had a dilemma because it would be a nice gesture that would make you smile but on the other hand it would feel like a symbol of congratulations and a celebration. You wanted this day to be usual but you were unusually sad and quiet so he wanted to bring a smile to your face…

Walking back to the store’s entrance door, frustrated, he walked past the alley with the toys and then he stopped at the sight of an adorable teddy bear as he suddenly got an idea. He bought it and took it home, a little nervous of how you would react.

In the meantime, you were growing impatient because he was late and the dinner was getting cold. Staring out of the window, you finally spotted your husband’s car and you went to the hall to greet him.

“You’re late!” You pointed out and Buck smiled at you.

“I’m sorry. I stopped by the store,” he leaned in to kiss your cheek and handed you a teddy bear.

“What is it?” You furrowed your brows at the soft toy in your hands. “It’s adorable but… Why?”

“I was thinking… I mean, it reminded me of you because it’s adorable, let’s start with that,” Buck chuckled. “But also, I thought… I want you to have it so he’s watching over you when I’m out at work or something, you know. And when you’re sad, you can look at him and smile, yeah?” He scratched himself behind his neck awkwardly.

Your heart swelled in your chest at his words as the corners of your eyes pricked with tears. Despite your words from the morning that you didn’t want to think of your abusive ex-husband, he had been occupying your thoughts all day long. And you wished you had asked Buck to call his work and tell them he was sick, just to stay with you. But you would feel guilty if you did that. So, you spent most of the day dwelling on the past and trying to fight back the bad memories. And now, your husband’s sweet gesture meant the world to you.

You wiped your wet cheeks and threw your arms around his neck to hold him close.

“Thank you…” You whispered. “Thank you so much, I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart. The most in the whole world,” Buck rubbed your back and kissed your temple.

“Go wash your hands and eat dinner now because it’s getting cold,” you took a step back and caressed his hair to fix the reckless hair strand.

You went to the kitchen, too and you sat the teddy bear on the window sill by the kitchen sink. He would watch over you every day as you cooked, baked or washed the dishes. You couldn’t stop smiling widely at it and Buck’s heart was growing in his chest out of happiness at the sight.

Sometimes he fantasised about finding your ex-husband – wherever he was now – and teaching him a lesson or two. Not even about killing him, no; dying would be too easy for that bastard. But he knew it was not worth it. He knew you wanted to let go of the past and your ex-husband was not worth going to jail for either. But seeing you, Buck couldn’t believe that someone had wanted to hurt something so lovely and pure. He just couldn’t comprehend how anyone could want to cause pain to his wife.

When he was done with his dinner, he washed the dishes in silence, not even letting you know that he had already finished because you’d insist on cleaning since he was “tired after work”. He didn’t want to interrupt you reading a magazine in the living room, so he washed the dishes himself and only then he joined you on the sofa.

“You’re done now, baby?” You looked up at him and put the magazine away to stand up.

“Stay,” Buck put his hand on your thigh. “I’ve already washed the dishes.”

“Oh, baby, you shouldn’t have! You’re so tired after work,” you pointed out with a pout.

“I’m completely fine,” he chuckled. “Come here,” he invited you to sit on his lap, so you happily did as you crossed your hands behind his neck and he pulled you closer. “Are you happy, darling?” He asked, more seriously now.

The question left you speechless for a moment but you knew where he was coming from. The bittersweet anniversary of your divorce had been occupying his mind as well for the whole day – not only yours.

“I am,” you nodded your head and bit on your lower lip. “The happiest,” you assured him. “Being your wife makes me feel happy, safe, proud and fulfilled. And I would tell you if something was wrong. Like we have promised each other to be honest and open,” you caressed his hair and leaned in to rub your nose with his. “And one day I’m going to have more wedding anniversaries with you than I have ever had with him and I’m going to forget his face and his voice completely and I can’t wait for that day. But perhaps I had to survive him to be able to meet you,” you shrugged your arms. “And just because of that, I can’t regret anything from my past because everything has been leading me to you.”

Buck only nodded at that before joining your lips together in a sweet kiss. He knew what you were talking about because he would go to ten more wars and survive ten more captive camps if it meant that he would end up as your husband.

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[maxiemclaren]

hiii!! i love your writing, and do you think you could do one where american!reader and logan gang up on reader, but then logan "accidentally" reveals reader's crush on oscar? tysmmm <33

The Backfire

Pairing - Best Friend Logan x American!Reader x Crush!Oscar

Warnings - Fluff

Summary - Logan and y/n play pranks on their friend Oscar all the time, until one prank backfires and secrets get spilled…

a/n - Let’s get it. Also don’t ask questions about the half-assed pranks.

The three of you have been best friends for years, it’s no surprise really, after all you’ve been racing against each other since F4, growing up in a racing community surrounded by teens; pranks are not a rarity. From small things like changing the color of someone's shampoo to making a sponge look like a brownie and giving it to Oscar after a race win.

Fast forward to the present day where you are all in F1. You couldn’t really understand why it upset you so much when Oscar started to ignore you after played a harmless little prank on him, like you’ve been doing for years. So what does any rational person do? They go to their best friend and bombarded them with questions. Barging your way into Logan’s driver’s room, you bang on the door until he finally answers. “Yes y/n? To what do I owe the pleasure?” he says in a posh voice. “Cut the crap Logan, I need to figure something out and I need your help” you say voice teetering on edge. He moves aside and lets you in the room, where you both sit on the couch and try to figure out what’s going on.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me Logan, it’s like all of a sudden after the prank he started being dry and blunt towards me. And normally I’d just brush it off but this time it just feels different? Like my heart hurts.” You breathe out. Logan just sits there like your own personal therapist, listening to you basically confess that you have different feelings towards Oscar now. “I get like tingles when he walks by or looks at me” you state as you notice Logan starting to drift off, “LOGAN WAKE UP!” you yell. He just looks over to you and says “I know what’s wrong y/n” desperate for an answer you gesture with your hands for him to get on with it.

“You my dearest friend, have a crush on Oscar” He lightly teases. “I most certainly do-my god maybe I do, please don’t tell him!” you begged Logan. He pretended to zip his lips shut and threw you the imaginary key, like he previously just did with Oscar moments before you came in.

Oscar and Logan

“Mate I can’t even talk to her anymore, it’s like I’m scared I’ll say something stupid and she’ll want nothing to do with me. You have to promise me you won’t say anything” Oscar begged his best friend. “Oscar, would I honestly do that to you? Hell the two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for years. You have my word, lips are sealed” Logan stated simply.

The both of you were trying to figure out a way of getting Oscar to talk to you again, you decide that maybe Logan needs to pull a prank on Oscar in hopes that he will complain to you about the shared American. Which all leads up to this master prank that you two Americans were up to, something you and Logan both missed about home was the firework shows that would be on display for the Fourth of July. Since you can’t just set off fireworks because you were pretty sure that it was illegal, you decided on a glitter box. The whole idea of the box was that you would disguise it like a gift from Logan, and put it in his driver’s room and wait for him to open it after the race, then poof glitter everywhere.

In hindsight sending in Logan was probably not the best idea, seeing as the two of them were still on good terms and can get distracted and lose track of time. So here you were, waiting for Logan and hopefully Oscar in your driver’s room. You start to grow bored and decide to shut your eyes. Unbeknownst to you, something major was just shared to someone special.

Logan placed the glitter box in Oscar’s driver’s room, and attempted to sneak out but was unsuccessful. “What are you doing here?” Oscar says with his hands on his hips. Logan whipped his head around so fast he thought he had given himself whiplash. Stuttering out some lame excuse about leaving a gift for his best friend. Oscar not believing it for one second gave him two options, the first one being tell him what he was really doing here or open the box to prove that it indeed is just a gift and not a prank.

Logan knowing what would happen if he opened the box, and knowing what would potentially happen if he told the truth, he decided to do the right thing. “Ok ok I confess, y/n and I decided to pull a prank on you with a glitter box, because she wants you to talk to her and she’s sad that you are ignoring her” he manages to spill out. “There’s more to that Logan, you and I both know it, she wouldn’t just be upset if I didn’t text her because we are busy” Oscar said knowingly. “Uh, I, god, she’s going to murder me” Oscar just looked at him to continue. “She might, maybe, most definitely has a crush on you. She told me like 10 mins after you left the other day”. Oscar, too stunned to speak, just left and practically sprinted to your driver’s room. 

You wake up to someone calling your phone, and someone banging at your door? Seeing you have 10 missed calls and 7 texts from Logan, you immediately open the door thinking Logan would be standing there. Instead, you were met with a face you knew and missed all too well, “Osc- Oscar, what are you doing here?” you say shocked. “Is it true y/n? Please tell me what Logan said is true’’ he panted out because he ran all the way from McLaren to Williams. “What’s true? What are you on about?” you say seriously confused. “That you like me too, and like more than just a friend. Because let me tell you, it’s been killing me for years to not be able to say anything to you about it” Oscar pleaded. Torn between what you feel from wanting to strangle your fellow American, to wanting to just kiss Oscar, you decide to grab Oscar’s hands and hold them while you tell him the truth “Yes, it’s true Oscar”. Happy with the confession he picks you up in a hug and says “Well I guess I need to take this pretty girl out on a date hm?” You blush at the compliment. “I suppose so Piastri” you giggle. “About damn time, you two,” says Logan from behind Oscar. You shoot daggers at him and then he backs off, “So tomorrow at 7pm?” Oscar asks you, to which you nod “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you say and then peck his cheek.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 4: The House Of Glass]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, koi fish, smoking, drinking, drugs, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, impractical architecture, angst, Adventures With Aegon, historical topics including war and discrimination, let's all give a nice warm welcome to Christabel! 🥳

Word Count: 7.4k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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It’s dawn, but you’ve already been up for hours. The sky turns from indigo to embers to flames to a cool, cloudless blue; mourning doves coo, goldfinches chirp, swamp rabbits gnaw on blades of grass glittering with dewdrops like diamonds. As the vanilla bean cake bakes in the oven, you go to Cadi’s room, sit on the edge of her bed, lay a hand lightly on the indistinct knoll that is your daughter curled up beneath her Rambo-themed blanket.

You murmur as she stirs awake: “Bonjour, ma cherie.”

Cadi rolls over, blinking groggily. You don’t call her this often. It’s something you picked up from Willis when you were married. You have a vision—sudden, jarring, though not entirely unwelcome—of him pacing back and forth with Cadi in his arms, one month old, 1 a.m., Willis humming some Cajun folk song to lull her to sleep. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I called Cascade Stables, there’s a spot reserved for you.”

“What? Really?!” Her face glows, Christmas lights, the Fourth of July. “But you said…how…?”

You can’t take the credit. You won’t give it to Willis if it’s unearned. “Actually, Aemond offered to pay. So you don’t need to worry about anything. The house is fine, the car is fine. No need to sacrifice your birthday presents.”

Cadi sits upright and ponders you, enigmatic childish confusion. “Mom…is Aemond your boyfriend?”

Well, honey, at first he was just some stranger from a kinky personal ad and then he was a delicious distraction and now I fear I might be starting to want more from him, something not so temporary, something forbidden. But I don’t know who he is. “I don’t think it’s quite that serious yet,” you say instead. “Would you like for him to be around more?”

She shrugs, and you recognize it not as true reluctance but rather as feigned, self-preserving indifference. “Yeah. I mean, I guess so. He’s okay.” Then she adds: “What happened to his face?”

“I honestly don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Maybe he was in a war,” Cadi says, glancing down at her Rambo blanket, Sylvester Stallone armed and stern and shirtless.

“Um, yeah, maybe.”

“Can I have cake for breakfast?”

“No, you cannot,” you say, smiling. “But you can have some of Amir’s leftover jambalaya that’s still in the fridge.”

“Fine.”

“Get up. Get ready. Amir should be here soon, once he can watch the cakes I’ll drive you to school.”

“If you let me stay home, I could help you bake.”

“You definitely wouldn’t help. You’d just spend eight hours playing that Nintendo.”

Cadi grins. “Probably.” Then she rolls out of bed and shuffles towards the kitchen over the creaking, sinking floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, what the fuck,” you hiss to yourself as you park behind Willis’ sheriff’s vehicle—a Plymouth Gran Fury—which just so happens to be towing a 20-foot jon boat. You step outside into glaring 90-degree sunshine, slam the door of your Chevy Celebrity, and jog into the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office. You are carrying a white bakery box full of cherry cobbler muffins.

“Hey sugar,” Willis drawls when he sees you. The holding cells are empty; the electric fans are whirring. Heather Locklear is simpering from where her poster is taped to the wall.

You throw the bakery box down onto his paper-strewn desk. “What the hell is that outside?”

“My new boat,” Willis says proudly. “Picked it up first thing this morning.”

“So you can get a new boat, but Cadi can’t go to horse camp?”

He throws his arms wide, exasperated. Men love to make a habit out of being exasperated by things that should be obvious. “She’s gonna get way more outta that boat than from spendin’ a week brushin’ horses! We’ll be fishin’ in it together ‘til she starts poppin’ out her own babies. If Lake Verret ain’t a puddle of oil by then. You know I’ve had three deputies resign in the past ten days? Three! I’m bleeding manpower. I can’t compete. With overtime, they can make twice as much workin’ security on the rigs.”

“I thought you voted for Reagan and his energy independence.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want them drillin’ in my neighborhood.” He flips open the box, grabs a muffin, and takes a huge, messy bite. Crumbs go flying everywhere.

“Well, Cadi is going to get to brush those horses after all,” you tell Willis. “She’ll be gone from June 24th to July 1st. Just so you know.”

His forehead crinkles as he chews. “Where’d you dig up a spare $300?”

He gave me $400, actually. “A friend offered to pay. Kind of embarrassing that they stepped up instead of you.”

Willis ignores this jab. It is uncharacteristically combative of you; but you’re hot, you’re exhausted, you have a splitting headache, you still have four cakes to finish before noon tomorrow. Sweat rolls in beads down the slope of your neck, the curve of your back. It will evaporate once you’re back outside again, once the sun bakes it off you like nightmares fade in daylight. “A friend, huh?” Willis is more fascinated than annoyed. He gnaws on his muffin, contemplating you. “The only friend I know of is Amir the Queer, and he ain’t got nothin’.”

He does; he’s just squirreling it all away for San Franscisco. “Don’t call him that. Don’t be a neanderthal.”

Willis’ thoughts are elsewhere. If not Amir, then who? Who? He asks, smirking: “You got a petit ami, sugar?”

A boyfriend, he means, a beau, a lover, a partner, a suitor. Do I? “No,” you decide. “No, he’s just a regular friend. Really.”

Willis chomps on his cherry cobbler muffin. His smirk stretches into a grin. “Sure he is.”

“Okay. You called and asked for muffins, and the muffins have been delivered. Now I gotta go. I have a hell of an order to finish for tomorrow. Which reminds me…” You take the folded piece of yellow legal pad paper out of your shorts pocket and open it to read the address of the Targaryen residence. “Where is 1066 Loch Raven Terrace? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, that’s in a brand new development, real highfalutin, mansions and all. That’s where the Jade Dragon folks are livin’. You gotta go way down 401 towards Lake Verret. Turn onto Owlet, then Egret, then Loch Raven.”

You snatch a blue pen out of the mug on his desk—World’s Best Cop, it says—to scribble the directions down on your paper. “Great. Thanks. Why’d they name it that? We don’t even have ravens in Louisiana.”

“Maybe they got ‘em back in England and the Rockefellers want to feel right at home.”

You nod. This makes sense; this is a sufficiently egotistical explanation. You check the clock on the wall; it’s almost time to get Cadi from school. “You’re picking up Cadi tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. ‘Round 8:00, as usual.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Willis asks longingly, looking nowhere in particular: “Remember when we were gonna go to Mexico for our anniversary?”

“Yeah. And I remember when we didn’t.”

He shrugs, perhaps regretful, mourning some hypothetical versions of yourselves. “I got busy. I got lazy.”

“We would have ended up in the same place, Willis. It just might have taken longer.”

“Sure,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it. He’s reaching for his second muffin as you push through the glass door and step out into the sweltering afternoon sunlight.

Twenty minutes later, you’re rolling into your driveway: windows down, cicadas screeching, a flock of pelicans flapping by overhead, Cadi singing along to Jump by Van Halen. But when you cut the engine, you catch a glimpse of something strange in your rearview mirror. You have a visitor. He’s coasting down the driveway in his red Audi Quattro, displacing a grey wave of gravel. You and Cadi climb out of your Celebrity to greet him.

“Aemond?” you say, hands on your hips, a growing involuntary smile. You weren’t supposed to see him until Saturday night, until your talk about the future, a future you both disavowed before starting to get a taste for it. “What are you doing here?!”

“I only have a minute.” When he emerges from the Quattro, he’s dragging his neon teal duffle bag.

Cadi gasps. “More Nintendo games?!”

Aemond chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, not quite.”

Cadi groans dramatically and sprints off into the house, probably to devour an ungodly amount of baked goods.

“Don’t eat the Cap’n Crunch Treats!” you shout after her. “They’re for a customer!”

Aemond strolls over to you, wearing jeans, a white tank top, and his Adidas sneakers. His ever-present Marlboro jacket has been forgotten. His hair is a mess, he’s touching his chin restlessly; he really does look like he’s in a rush. “Hey,” he says softly, returning your smile.

You point to his duffle bag. “So you’re not here to tie me up.”

“Regrettably, no.”

“Cadi was really, really happy this morning to learn that you paid for horse camp.”

“I’m glad. Please don’t mention it again.” Aemond glances to his right and spies the alligator sunbathing a few yards away, a deep swampy green and fast asleep. “Oh, fuck!” He grabs your arm, pulls you to him, walks with you briskly towards the house. “You need to get that thing turned into a purse or shoes or something.”

You laugh. “She won’t go after you. She knows you’re bigger than she is.”

“I’m not going to take your word for it.”

In the living room, Aemond tosses his duffle bag on the couch, unzips it, and lifts out a Nikon F3 digital camera. Amir peeks out of the kitchen, flour and powdered sugar dusting his palms, his forearms, his cheeks. “What the…?”

“I need a white wall,” Aemond says distractedly, peering around. The living room walls are pink, the kitchen is mint green, Cadi’s room is yellow, the bathroom is a pale blue. Cadi watches as he darts around the small house, sitting at the kitchen counter and chomping on a ginger molasses cookie. Then Aemond snaps his fingers, remembering. He turns to you. “Your bedroom has white walls.”

“And of course he knows all about your bedroom,” Amir says.

“Come with me,” Aemond orders you.

“Okay…?”

“Cadi too.”

You and Cadi follow Aemond into the bedroom, Amir trotting close behind to satisfy his curiosity. Aemond shows Cadi where to stand against the wall, in a spot where the lighting is good, no shadows, no cracks in the paint, no paintings or photographs. He raises the Nikon and gazes through the viewfinder with his right eye.

“Alright, here we go…just from the shoulders up…yeah, look at me straight-on, just like that…big smile, one two three!” He takes a picture; you can hear the click. “Beautiful! You’re Cindy Crawford! Naomi Campbell! Linda Evangelista! Let’s go again…”

Cadi giggles as she poses: a few respectable smiles, a few silly faces, a few where Aemond asks her to act serious. Cadi says, with an exaggerated grimace: “Look, I’m Mom when Daddy tries to talk to her.” Amir guffaws from the doorway.

“Your turn,” Aemond tells you, waving you over. Aemond directs you like he’s looking for excuses to touch your shoulders, your waist, your face, making minute adjustments that can’t really matter. You’re good at the serious faces, but he’s not satisfied with your smile. “No, a real one. A real smile!”

“I am really smiling!” you protest.

Aemond lowers the camera and raises an eyebrow at you. “You can do better. I’ve seen it.”

And suddenly, effortlessly, you’re beaming.

“There you go,” Aemond says in approval, and snaps a few frames. “Done.”

“What do you need pictures of us for?”

“Just a little project I’m working on,” Aemond says, evasive. He ventures back to the living room without further explanation.

As Aemond zips the Nikon into his duffle bag, you go to the kitchen to see how far Amir has gotten with the Targaryens’ engagement party order. In a dozen different icing colors, he’s painted wildflowers—your favorite since you were Cadi’s age—all over the white buttercream frosting of the vanilla bean cake. You wrap an arm around his waist, rest your head against his chest. “You’re Picasso.”

“I’m a sad, single, four-eyes twink who lives with his Grandma.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

He laughs and smacks a noisy kiss onto your cheek. Aemond watches, amused, thoughtful. He has that same look he had when he walked in on Cadi and Amir dancing to Kyrie, like someone studying a work of art in a museum, something beautiful but arcane, crafted by a foreign stranger who’s been dead for centuries. You start chopping pecans for the hummingbird cake.

“Okay,” Aemond announces with a heavy sigh. “I gotta run.”

“Already?” Cadi says, more disappointed than she’s trying to let on.

“He’s a very busy man,” you tell her. “He’s an engineer. And a historian, too.”

“Just an engineer,” Aemond says, startled.

“Only a historian would think to quiz me about Napoleon to see if I was worthy of his time.”

“You should know something about the man your town was named after.” Aemond leans in close—smoke and cologne, sun and salt—and growls into your ear: “Bye, Cupcake. Taste you later.”

“Bye.” And you watch him leave with his neon teal duffle bag slung over one shoulder, so preoccupied you completely forget about the pecans. Your knife rests on the cutting board, your thoughts are tangled up in what you and Aemond need to talk about tomorrow. I want more than something casual. I do, I really do.

Amir whips you with a dishtowel. “Ho, we’ve got cakes to bake! Let’s go, let’s go!” And then he asks more sympathetically as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose: “How’s your headache?”

“Oh,” you say, only realizing it when he asked. “It’s gone now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The driveway is long and meandering, brand new but meant to look old, cobblestones lined with meticulously manicured hedges and beasts carved out of marble: bears, dolphins, horses, dragons. On the shores of Lake Verret, out of sight of the rigs and surrounded by towering gnarled southern live oaks older than the United States, you find the Targaryen family residence—manor? estate? chateau?—and park your Chevy Celebrity amidst a sea of Lexuses, Audis, Porsches, Cadillacs, and Alfa Romeos. There are willowy whooping cranes tiptoeing their way across the lawn. A blue merle Great Dane, gigantic and glaring menacingly, lurks behind the white columns of the wraparound front porch.

“That is not a house,” Amir says, gazing up at it through the windshield. “That is a castle.”

“That is where we’re going to make a lot of money if we can impress the Rockefellers.”

“Whoo hoo!” he cheers, climbing out of the car. “San Fran, I hope you’re ready for me!”

You’re dragging the coolers out of the back seat when you are descended upon by a herd of servants, dressed in black so as not to distract from the festivities, so they can fade into the backdrop, so they can become invisible. You and Amir have missed the memo. Your sundress is from Kmart: white with pink zinnias, a cheap and unextraordinary flower for an undistinguished woman from an anonymous town in one of the most impoverished states in the nation. Amir is wearing neon orange shorts and a (very tight) t-shirt from Queen’s Magic Tour that he found at a yard sale.

“These are the cakes?” the head butler asks impatiently, a grim-faced man with salt and pepper hair and spotless white gloves.

“Yeah, that box has the coconut cake, and that one has the key lime, and there are the Cap’n Crunch Treats, and…hey! Wait!” You watch helplessly as the fleet of servants ferry the boxes up the porch steps and into the house. You and Amir stare at each other as you stand abandoned on the cobblestones. “What do we do now?”

“Do we just…leave…?!”

“You made it!” Alicent cries, sailing out of the doorway and swathed in a flowing cream-colored gown. Her large dark eyes are bright and ever-shifting, almost manic; sunlight shimmers on her auburn hair. There is music pouring out behind her, thudding but indistinct, rumbling bass, heady guitar strums. “Come inside. You simply must come in.”

“Oh, we couldn’t impose!” Amir says, already inching towards the house.

“I’ll hear no more of that. You rescued me in my hour of need and I shall not forget it.” Alicent beckons you closer. Her smile is broad and radiant but tight, like she’s having to remember to keep it that way, like her muscles are beginning to ache. “Enjoy some hors d’oeuvres, at least. We have shrimp cocktail, miniature quiches, vol-au-vents, clams casino, Swedish meatballs, little smokies, deviled eggs with paprika, and lots of champagne! Quickly now. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

Amir glances back at you as you follow him up the porch steps. “People, huh?”

The Great Dane stalks over to you, sniffs, growls deep and low. You freeze, not wanting to provoke it. Its eyes—muddy greenish-brown and swimming with a cunning hostility—remind you of an alligator’s, not the five-footer that idles on your lawn but one of the true monsters of the bayou, old and grizzled and always hungry.

“Vhagar, no!” Alicent scolds, pushing the beast’s massive muzzle away. You imagine it chomping on her hand until it’s gone: one bite, two bites, nothing left but gristle and blood. “No! Bad dog! Go away, go!” The Great Dane reluctantly retreats, glowering from behind a column. “I’m so sorry about that. I’m utterly mortified. She’s terribly unfriendly, but she doesn’t bite. Usually.”

“It’s fine!” you say, heart still racing.

“She belongs to my son. My children…their obsessions confound me. But as mothers, we’re powerless to stop them, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so,” you reply, thinking of Cadi’s wildness, willfulness; though trying to change her would feel wrong.

“Now I certainly owe you a glass of champagne,” Alicent says, billowing like a cloud into the house, her gold heels clicking on the marble floor.

You pass through the doorway and into a vast, crowded foyer, all white and gold: a massive crystalline chandelier, oriental vases and sculptures of men you don’t recognize, paintings on the wall, servants flitting around with trays of hors d’oeuvres. On one table is a tower of champagne glasses, each with a single red cherry marooned inside. Guests mingle in their sport coats and suits and taffeta and sequins, and oddly, none of them are talking about the couple whose engagement is being celebrated. They talk instead about ski trips, polo matches, oil futures, the Soviets, the Saudis, the godawful humidity in this misfortunate corner of the world that they can’t wait to leave. There are stained glass windows everywhere, scenes of suns, stars, sunflowers, dragonflies, lemon trees, sand on beaches. It’s cold, extremely cold, frigid drafts gushing from the air conditioning vents. A Dire Straits song pours not from a Panasonic boombox but from a stereo system with a pair of speakers as tall as you are, Sultans Of Swing. There is a baffling dual chorus clanging around in your skull: Nobody needs this. I’ll never be able to give my daughter anything like this.

Amir whistles as he peers around, eyes wide behind his tortoiseshell glasses. “This place must cost a fortune to cool.”

“I Teleftaia Epithymia.” Alicent struggles with the pronunciation; she speaks slowly, effortfully. “It’s what my husband named the house. What we named the house, I mean. It’s Greek for The Last Desire. As in, no one could possibly want anything more than what this home can offer. Isn’t that poetic? I’ve fallen quite in love with it.” Still, there is that slight nervousness to everything she does, that over-eagerness to please, that restless rushing fidgeting. She wears large gold teardrop earrings that she keeps touching. “We knew we’d have to build something here for the new project on the lake. My son is overseeing it, and he’ll have to spend the next year here, at least. It’s a big step for him. It’s the first drilling operation he’s been given command of. And he—”

“Alicent!” A man comes striding through the crowd. He has shoulder-length pale blonde hair and is wearing a black pinstripe suit, a business suit, authoritative but not joyful. He doesn’t notice you or Amir. You don’t exist to him yet. “Where the hell is the ice sculpture? You said there would be an ice sculpture.”

“It’s on its way, darling. I already called.”

“It should be here now!”

“Viserys, please.” Alicent’s voice is low, embarrassed. “The driver got lost, you know our address is new. They stopped at a payphone and rang us and I straightened it out. They’ll arrive any minute.”

“They better,” the man grumbles. “It’s her family’s crest, for Christ’s sake. We need that ice dragon.”

“This is my husband,” Alicent tells you and Amir, forced smile, pleading eyes, trying to pivot. “Viserys, do you remember the wonderful people I told you about? From Hummingbird Bakery?”

“Bakery?” He seems to have only a vague recollection and even less interest. His gaze is already wandering to other guests. He flashes a grin and waves at a few middle-aged men in grey suits.

“They saved me. They were able to bake us six beautiful cakes with only two days’ notice.”

“And Cap’n Crunch Treats,” Amir adds.

Now Viserys Targaryen does turn his attention to you, and his forehead knits into perturbed wrinkles. His cool blue eyes skate over your Kmart dress, your forearms still dotted with flour and frosting, your cheap pink flats with bows on the front. “It’s a pleasure.” Then he looks to Amir—orange shorts, too-tight shirt that stops at his navel, dogwood flower in his hair—and seems to startle a little. “Alicent, you didn’t mention…uh…he’s…oh well. Too late now. It can’t be helped.”

You and Amir share a glance, polite smiles pasted on your faces. Alicent is abjectly horrified. “Viserys, he’s extremely professional.”

“There are the Lannisters. I must be off.” And the Targaryen family patriarch unceremoniously departs. You and Amir pretend to admire the stained glass windows. Alicent picks at the beds of her fingernails, her rings jangling against each other, her eyes misty.

Criston appears out of nowhere, wearing a white suit with a zebra print shirt underneath. Today his single earring is silver to match. He glides a hand around Alicent’s waist and leans in so close that his nose brushes her fiery hair. “What? What do you need?”

“The ice sculpture people—”

“I’ll wait outside for them,” Criston says, and departs as swiftly as he arrived.

“Please allow me to give you a quick tour of the house,” Alicent says, recovering somewhat. “I’m so grateful for your help. And things keep happening that only make me feel more indebted.” Then she hands each of you a flute of champagne, spins on her heels, and leads you out of the foyer.

Each room is a different color. The living room is red, furniture of lush velvet and Italian leather, bookshelves tall enough to need ladders, a brick fireplace that they’ll never use. Through a pair of French doors you can glimpse a garden and a pool with a water slide. The dining room is a cheerful butter yellow. The kitchen is teal, and like all the rest of the house has stained glass windows to match; these are shaped like a cathedral’s and run all the way up to the ceiling. Servants have arrayed your cakes on the counter, each with a label handwritten in cursive and a set of knives to cut it with. A plate of Cap’n Crunch Treats has been tucked away back by the stove like something they’re a little ashamed of.

Everywhere she goes, Alicent introduces you and Amir to the guests she crosses paths with. “Have you met these heavenly people from Hummingbird Bakery yet? Yes, they’re local, true Louisianans! I see you’ve already helped yourself to a slice of the key lime cake. Isn’t it just fantastic?! And a gorgeous shade of green! It’s so peculiar, you won’t believe what this sweetheart has living in her yard, a real-life alligator…”

You whisper to Amir: “Are we her pet poor people?”

“You might be. I’m proudly undomesticated.”

“Christabel!” Alicent shouts jubilantly as the girl scrolls into the kitchen. “There you are, dear! Come see your cakes.”

Christabel complies, shy but agreeable, peeking out from under a shock of feathery blonde bangs. She wears gleaming diamond earrings and a very bridal white one-shoulder dress, showing quite a bit of skin; you notice that some of the other guests milling about the kitchen cast her judgmental smirks. Christabel asks Alicent, as if she’s afraid of the answer: “He’s not here yet?”

“You know how busy he’s been,” Alicent says, apologetic. You think, remembering the drunk man from the holding cell: Yeah, busy committing misdemeanors. “Those rigs…the S&P 500…anyway, he’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, let me get you a piece of cake. You’re disappearing, love.”

Christabel skims a palm down the front of her dress self-consciously. “Alright. Just a tiny one.” Then she acknowledges you and Amir. “You must be the masterminds then. Alicent told me all about you.”

Amir says: “About our excellent service and reasonable prices?”

“Yes.” Christabel isn’t skittish like Alicent, but there’s a sort of pensiveness to her, an impression that she is eternally woolgathering. Now she looks at you in particular with a small, warm smile. “And about how beautiful you are.”

Amir laughs at your stunned expression. Me? Beautiful? And the only other person to call you that in years has been Aemond, tangled up with you on your bed in your falling-down house, and you aren’t sure if that counts. “Oh, um, thank you,” you manage. “I really like your dress.”

“Really? I fear people think it’s too…revealing. I liked it fine this morning when I put it on. I didn’t have any notion it might not be suitable. Now I’m feeling like an idiot.”

“No, it’s so nice!” you say, pained for her, one misfit recognizing another. “I never would have thought there was anything wrong with it.”

Alicent gets a plate from the pile on the counter. “What flavor would you like, Christabel?”

“Whatever this one is.” She points to the vanilla bean cake, adorned with Amir’s frosting flowers. “Isn’t it stunning, with all the colors?”

“Amir is the artist,” you say. “I love wildflowers.”

Alicent asks: “Did you have them at your wedding?”

No one bothered. No one remembered. “I wanted to.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely, Christabel?” Alicent passes her a slice of vanilla bean cake. “Wildflowers? It would be different. Everyone has roses or lilies or something. But wildflowers? I can’t recall ever going to a wedding with wildflowers. Especially if you’re going to get married here. It would fit with the scenery. This place is so exotic, so untamed!”

Christabel nods, taking nibbles of her cake. “Wow, this is delicious! Yes, wildflowers. We could use them for the bouquet, and the corsages…”

“Now we just need a venue.” Alicent sighs. “We’ve had such a terrible time trying to find a good place. Somewhere historic, but not rundown or unsavory. I mean, you can’t get married on an old plantation or something. Bloody hell. How tone-deaf would that be?”

“Very tone-deaf,” Amir concurs.

“There’s a church across the lake in Belle River that you might like,” you say. “The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens. It’s a historic site, I believe. It’s not very big, but it would make for nice pictures.”

“There’s an idea!” Alicent chirps, then she is stricken as a woman walks into the kitchen. Her fair hair is tied up in a messy bun. She wears a white t-shirt stained with dirt, denim overalls, and Converse Chucks. There is a bluish-green chameleon perched on her shoulder, goggling at everyone with its rotating, conical eyes. “Helaena, put your dress on.”

“Dreamfyre doesn’t like the silk. She won’t sit on my shoulder if I’m wearing it.”

“Helaena, it’s a lizard.” Alicent is exasperated. “Go upstairs, stick it back in its cage, and put your dress on, now.”

“Fine,” Helaena mumbles before wandering off.

“Oh, is that the ice sculpture?!” Alicent cries, peeking out into the foyer through the kitchen doorway. “At last! If you’ll excuse me…” She scurries off to attend to it, Christabel trailing her like a shadow.

You put your empty champagne flute in the sink. “I need to go find a bathroom.”

“I need some shrimp cocktail,” Amir replies. “Do you think I should try to explain the evils of gentrification to people?”

You giggle. “Yeah, definitely. Start with Viserys.” You part ways, Amir headed towards the foyer, you journeying down a mysterious hallway that adjoins the kitchen. The walls are flame orange and decorated with portraits of grave blonde people, each with an outlandish name etched into the plaque beneath its likeness: Baelon, Alyssa, Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Aenys, another Alyssa, Aegon, Rhaenys, Visenya. “This family is so fucking weird,” you mutter to yourself as you continue down the hall.

You find a bathroom, but there’s already a hoard of glamorous, ornamented women waiting outside of it. They’re chattering about which is the superior place to take a holiday, the Canary Islands or the south of France. They stare at you like you’re vermin, a nutria or a raccoon. You keep moving.

At the top of a spiral staircase, you find another hallway. The first door you try is a home movie theater complete with a popcorn machine, neon signage, several rows of seating and a plethora of bean bag chairs. Behind the second door is a bedroom, but it’s not unoccupied. You are greeted by the sight of the man who must be the groom. He looks much like he did when he was detained in a holding cell of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office: slicked-back hair, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, flushed cheeks, tiny shorts, flip flops. He’s hunched over a desk with three lines of white powder on it. There’s an HP computer—something you’ve never seen in person before—in one corner of the room, a television and collection of hundreds of VHS tapes in the other. His walls are black and cluttered with posters of punk rock bands, the Ramones, the Clash, the Misfits, Minor Threat, Social Distortion, Bad Religion. His Akai stereo is blaring Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys.

“What?” the man says agitatedly. There’s powder on his fingers and his nose. “What? What? Who are you? What do you want?”

“Um, sorry, I was just…uh…” There’s some kind of rodent running around on his unmade bed. Its fur is a sandy yellow color, its body freakishly long and four legs stumpy. What the fuck. “I was looking for a bathroom.”

He blinks, muddled recollection. “You’re the cake lady.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Delivering cakes.”

“Oh. Right.” He points directly across the hall. “There’s a bathroom.”

���Okay, great, thanks.” He starts snorting another line before you’ve even shut the door.

You spend a minute or two in the Targaryens’ lilac-colored bathroom, paintings of the night sky hung on the walls—comets, moons, stars, galaxies—and amethyst geodes on the sink, a stained glass window with a scene of a lavender field. By the time you navigate back down to the kitchen, the man is there. He’s eating a Cap’n Crunch Treat, cocaine still streaked across his pink face and caught in his wisp of a mustache.

“You did this,” he says. “I know you did. It’s too good to be anyone but you.”

With his hand that’s not holding the Cap’n Crunch Treat, he’s cradling the lean rodent against his bare chest like an infant. “What is that? A weasel?”

“It’s a ferret. His name is Sunfyre.” The man nods to a photograph pinned to the refrigerator with magnets shaped like miniature oil rigs. There are two people in the frame, a woman and a girl, their cheeks squished together as they laugh on a pink sand beach of some topical island you’ll never visit. “That’s my dad’s first wife.”

“He’s divorced?”

“Widowed. She died in a car accident.” He taps on the girl in the picture, perhaps Cadi’s age. “That’s my half-sister Rhaenyra. She’s an Olympic fencer. She lives in the Lake District and fucks our uncle.”

You shake your head. You must have misheard him. “She what?”

“Yeah, I know how it sounds. I’m not kidding. She lives in a castle and fucks our uncle and has kids with him. Fucking sick, man. And I’m the screwup? Because I like coke and strippers? I’m supposed to feel bad about that? Bite me, Viserys.” He grabs a second Cap’n Crunch Treat and gestures for you to follow him into the foyer. “Come on. You need some champagne.”

You chuckle. Mental or not, there’s something likeable about him…though you can’t say you envy Christabel. To be married to someone like this man must be hellish. Now, to be married to someone like Aemond… “I’ve already had a glass.”

“Okay, well I need some champagne, and I don’t want to go out there alone.” His flip flops slap noisily against the marble floor as he plods out of the kitchen. He looks back to see if you’re following, and then you hurry after him. The heir to the Jade Dragon fortune weaves through the crowd, ignoring everyone and being ignored in return. In the packed foyer, he plucks a flute of champagne from the tower and chugs it. He eats the cherry and holds up the stem. “You know how to tie these with your tongue?”

“No, I definitely do not.”

“I do,” he announces proudly. He shoves the stem in his mouth, wiggles it around for a while, accidentally swallows it and has to hack it back up. He spits the cherry stem onto the pristine white floor, attracting a few grimaces. “Wait. Wait. Let me try again.” He reaches for another glass of champagne. The opening notes of Asia’s Heat Of The Moment boom from the speakers.

You give him a sympathetic smile. “Pre-wedding jitters?”

He snorts. “I’m not the one getting married.”

“Wait, you’re not?”

He cackles, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I already have a wife. Stephanie, she’s a princess from Monaco. Right now she’s in Ibiza or something. I haven’t seen her since New Year’s. This New Year’s? Last New Year’s? I’m not sure. Maybe it was the Grand Prix. I remember a lot of confetti.”

You gape at him. “So who’s getting married?”

“My brother Aemond.”

“Who?!”

He points with his Cap’n Crunch Treat. Across the foyer by the front door, Aemond is grinning and accepting congratulations from a gaggle of men in suits: black, grey, navy, tan. Aemond himself is wearing emerald green, dark and luxurious and striking and expensive, because he’s a Targaryen who’s marrying a noblewoman and he’s an oil tycoon and a millionaire and he is most certainly not single and not looking to change that.

“You fucking liar,” you hiss.

The man with the coke in his mustache peers over at you. “Huh?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from Aemond. You feel scarlet rage soaking into you drip by drip, you feel the blood turning hot beneath your skin. You shouldn’t be this upset over a man you barely know, you don’t understand why you are. Except part of you does, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s humiliating beyond words. Of course he’s marrying someone like Christabel. Of course he’d never choose me.

Aemond bids farewell to his well-wishers, and as he turns away from them his right eye catches on you. From across the room, his face shifts from disbelief to astonishment to horror. His jaw drops open. The flute of champagne he’d been clasping shatters against the marble floor. Immediately, a flock of servants materialize to clean up the mess. You flee from the foyer to the living room, through the French doors, into the garden. It’s midday and hot as hell, humid, swampy, suffocating to the British aristocrats that fill the house. You don’t see anyone else outside. You run past the swimming pool and through cobblestone trails bordered by blue cardinal flowers, orange coneflowers, coral honeysuckle, resurrection ferns, maypops, white sage, firewheels, magnolias, cinnamon ferns. You stop at the edge of a fish pond larger than your kitchen and glare down into the water, trying not to let tears blur your vision as glimmers of scales—red, orange, black, white, gold—dart beneath the transparent rippling water.

I have to go back inside. I can’t leave without Amir. I can’t leave without formally saying goodbye to Alicent and thanking her for her hospitality and licking the boots of these people so they’ll throw just enough cash at me to keep a roof over my daughter’s head.

You hear hurried footsteps; Aemond appears on the cobblestones. He’s found you, but that’s as far ahead as he’s planned. He holds his hands open, not knowing what to say.

“You told me you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s your fiancée, that’s worse, don’t you get how that’s worse?!”

“Okay, this looks bad, but it’s not what you think—”

“You’re marrying her, right?” you demand, and he hesitates. “Right?!”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, and it feels like knuckles to your stomach.

“Then you’re a liar and a cheater.”

“It’s not…it’s…” He gestures frantically, not knowing how to explain, how to translate it into words you’ll understand. “There’s not an expectation of fidelity.”

“Does Christabel know that?”

“That’s the thing, that’s what you don’t get, it’s not like that between us. We don’t discuss it, we’re not…” More vague, frenzied gestures. “We’re not…um…” He groans, rubbing his scarred forehead. “We’re not fucking. At all. Nothing close to it. It’s not a physical relationship yet.”

“But she doesn’t know about me.”

“No, God no, of course not.”

“So she thinks you’re…abstinent…?”

He sighs, defeated. “I don’t know. I don’t really care, honestly.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping with her?”

“Because we can’t until we’re married.”

“I’m sorry, are you Pilgrims?! Are you time travelers from the 1400s?!”

“It’s her family’s standards,” Aemond says. “It’s not uncommon for women of her…status.”

“Girl,” you pitch at him. “She’s a girl. How old is she? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen.”

You’re furious that she exists; you’re furious on her behalf. “And she’s planning her fairytale wedding while you collect local women to act out your kinky fantasies with.”

“One woman,” Aemond says softly.

“What?”

“There’s one woman currently. Just you.”

You shake your head, swiping enraged tears from your cheeks. “Why are you marrying her?”

“It’s sort of an…arranged thing.”

You stare at him. “Someone set you up?”

“My father knows her father. They think it’s a good match. Her family needs money, my father wants ties to the nobility. She’s one of probably five people on this planet that he would approve of. And she seems enthusiastic about it, so it’s happening.”

“Aemond, that is an insanely bad idea.”

“I have to do it.”

“You’re marrying her because your dad told you to?!” You explode. “Are you serious?! Everyone with the sole exception of Amir told me to stay with Willis, my friends, my family, my neighbors, my bakery customers, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly, my goddamn mailman, my father was in the hospital dying of lung cancer saying that his last wish was for me to never get divorced, and I still went through with it because I knew it was the right thing to do and no one was going to stop me!”

“I don’t want to talk about Willis,” Aemond snaps.

“Well, he’s kind of an inescapable aspect of my existence, so if I can get over it I’m sure you can too.”

“I hate that guy,” Aemond seethes, and you have no idea how to respond. You gaze down into the pond and watch scales and fins and tails fly like bullets beneath the surface.

“Those are the biggest goldfish I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“They’re koi,” Aemond scoffs.

“Oh, is that what they teach people about at Imperial College in London? Fancy fucking fish?”

“Don’t be a bitch to me, just…just give me a second, I didn’t think I was going to have this conversation until tonight, this is not how I wanted it to go.”

You say quietly, betrayed: “You’re a robber baron.”

“What? Like Vanderbilt or Rockefeller, that kind of robber baron, that’s who you think I am?!”

“That’s who you are! You hoard and exploit and use and pollute and destroy! I don’t destroy things, I create them!”

“You bake cupcakes!”

“And I don’t hurt anyone by doing it!”

“You are so goddamn delusional, you are completely insane—”

You start counting out crimes on your fingers. “I don’t kill people, I don’t endanger the Earth, I didn’t irrevocably screw up Ketchikan, Alaska—”

“So I’m terrible because I want to bring jobs to your pathetic, dead-end town?! Because I want there to be a few less pregnant teenagers and more high school diplomas? That makes me a war criminal, that puts me right up there with Jaruzelski or Pinochet?!” He realizes what he’s said when he sees the wounded fury unfold on your face. “Oh fuck. Come on, I didn’t mean you.”

“No, you just meant people who are exactly like me in every way.”

“You know what? I take it back,” Aemond says, knife-sharp, wrathful. “I did mean you. Because you are wasting your life here, and you’re too stubborn or too scared or too much of both to recognize an opportunity to have something more. Don’t you think you deserve better? Don’t you think your kid deserves better?”

“I built something here, I made a future for myself and my daughter here, and you’re going to work our people to death and poison the lake and then pack up and leave when it all goes wrong because that’s what oil tycoons do! The opportunity is for you, not us! More mansions, more champagne, more coke, more demented pets!”

“Then leave! Get in your car and drive back to your sad, structurally unsound house and live happily ever after with whatever braindead barbarian you marry next.”

“I will,” you pitch back. “Enjoy being married to your marquess.”

“She’s not a marquess. Her dad is the marquess. She won’t inherit the title until he dies.”

“Enjoy being married to your future marquess, you pretentious prick.”

“Women can’t be marquesses. They can only be marchionesses.”

“Yeah, you’re so smart. I’m really impressed. At least I don’t have to tie people to beds to delude myself into thinking I have some semblance of control over my life.”

You storm through the garden and back into the house as Aemond watches you, violently disappointed. You yank open one of the French doors and slip into the midst of the festivities. Illustrious guests are still mingling, toasting, boasting, scrutinizing you skeptically when they notice you at all. In the archway between the living room and the foyer, Amir joins you, sipping a flute of champagne.

“Hey, ho! Did you get lost? Did you find the cellar where they keep the bodies of their political enemies?” He has eaten so many hors d’oeuvres he’s basically waddling. “You look stressed. How about a nice shrimp cocktail?” He follows your eyeline to where Aemond is trying to sneak covertly into the living room through the French doors. Christabel intercepts him, relieved that he’s finally arrived, beaming, sparkling, entirely unaware of any conflict. Aemond conjures up a smile, fond yet guarded. She doesn’t touch him, and he doesn’t touch her either. He clasps his hands behind his back instead. “Is that…?!”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s…?!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Amir says. “Oh.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes wide and shellshocked. “We should have made him buy all of us Nintendos and a week at horse camp.”

“I want to go home.”

“You got it, let me just grab a few more of those Swedish meatballs—”

���Amir,” you say, tears brimming in your eyes. “I really want to go home.”

“Okay, okay.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, smacks a kiss against your temple, walks with you towards the front door. “Then let’s go home.”

[daysofyellowroses]

training season

kerry von erich x afab!reader | 3.4k | 18+ minors dni | honestly zero plot to be found, just smut because why not!

i don't think it's an overstatement to say this is incredibly overdue 🤦🏻‍♀️ i started writing it in..march i want to say, and then hit a bit of a mental health slump but here we are in july, surviving if not thriving ✨️ this story is based on this request from the most patient angel in the universe, love of my life, @thecapricunt1616 do yourself a favour and scoot on over to discover the best blog in existence 🫶🏻💗🌼 enjoy!

🥇

“He's here again.”

“Who?”

“Your not-so-secret admirer.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, not looking across the room. It was the third or fourth time that week that some of your fellow team USA athletes just happened to be in the same gymnasium as you. Sure, their disciplines were based outdoors, but you were all happy to keep up the charade that they were there for moral support. Not to watch you and the other gymnasts walk around in flimsy practice leotards, absolutely not. Like you and the girls never went to watch the guys strut around in their flimsy vests, you were just there for moral support.  

When it was your turn on the mat, you took your time unzipping your hoodie, carefully folding it and setting it aside as you felt eyes on you. When you walked over to the corner of the mat, you gave a slight glance across the room, checking who was sitting in the stands. Of course Kerry was there, you would have been disappointed if he wasn't. 

You always pushed yourself to be the best, but knowing he was watching you always pushed you harder, made you add a little extra flair to your routine as you moved across the floor with ease, throwing yourself into your practice. 

After you'd finished and had rejoined the girls, you found Kerry still watching you when the next girl went to practice, looking away after giving him a smile and trying not to feel too smug to have his attention. 

It wasn't like he didn't have yours, you supposed. You just enjoyed keeping him on a hook. 

Of course, you and the girls just happened to be going for a walk around the training grounds later that afternoon when Kerry and his teammates were out for practice. It was a beautiful afternoon and you were just enjoying the weather while you had some free time.

While some of the girls stopped to properly watch the guys training, you linked arms with your bestie on the team and kept walking, giving the occasional glance over your shoulder before looking away and bursting into a fit of laughter about how teenage it all was. 

Still, teenage or not..it worked.

As you were rounding a lap of the training grounds, you spotted Kerry walking over to you and had your bestie giving you some excuse or the other before she went to join the other girls/spectators. You didn't mind having an audience, after all it was girls you'd known for along time and you'd been in the group watching on enough times.

“Hey,” Kerry grinned as he approached you, his hoodie draped over his shoulder. “what brings you out here?”

“This weather, obviously,” You grinned, unzipping your hoodie a little. “It felt criminal to be inside any longer.”

“Fair enough,” Kerry nodded, smirking a little as he glanced over to the girls, huddled together and giggling as they all pretended the grass was suddenly fascinating. 

“How are you feeling about next week?”

“Like the gold is already around my neck,” You shrugged with a smile, folding your arms as Kerry looked back at you. “what about you? Feeling confident?”

“Absolutely,” He grinned, gesturing to himself. “You saw me out there, I got this.”

“Who says I saw you?” You rolled your eyes with a grin. “I was taking a walk, I don't have time to watch you.”

“Right, that walk all around here..where I just happen to be,” Kerry raised a brow. “There's no shame checking me out, I'll take the support.”

You laughed and shook your head,adjusting your arms to sit tighter under your chest. “Can I borrow some of that confidence for my routine?”

“Like you need it,” Kerry rolled his eyes playfully. “You were great out there. Couldn't keep my eyes off you.”

“You're welcome,” You grinned, taking a step closer. “Happy to provide you with some free entertainment.”

“Oh yeah?” Kerry stepped closer too, the distance between you now minimal. “Maybe I can repay the favor.”

“How do you plan to do that?” You asked, looking up at Kerry under your lashes with a grin. “I'm not easily impressed.”

“Then let me try,” Kerry winked, taking a slight step back. “Come by tonight. We're having a party. You can show me some of those moves of yours up close.”

“I'll think about it,” You shrugged, unable to stop the smile on your face. 

“I know you will,” Kerry grinned. “Just try and think about the party too. Be great to see you.”

You did think about it, and you knew you and the girls would absolutely end up at the party but you weren't going to make that known. It was the same with all the Olympic village parties, you and the girls would show up fashionably late, looking drop dead gorgeous and have the best time. 

Kerry's party wouldn't be any exception. Music blasted while you and the girls got ready, drinks flowing as you all perfected yourselves. Technically the athletes weren't supposed to have parties, to drink or smoke or eat burgers or in some people's cases work their way through the countries of the world person by person. But once you all brought home medals, the coaches were willing to look the other way now and then.

You were feeling pretty buzzed when you got to the party, which had spilled out from the apartments onto the grounds. Music was blasting, drinks were flowing, a cup being handed to you as soon as you arrived. You took your besties hand and twirled her around before doing a lap of the party. You waved to some of your fellow team USA athletes, keeping an eye out for Kerry. When you spotted him, you and your bestie kept yourselves within his eyeline, dancing to the music.

It didn't take long until you felt a hand on your back, giving your bestie a grin as you rolled your eyes playfully. You turned around and smiled as you spotted Kerry, resting your hand on your hip.

“Found me then?”

“You're hard to miss when you're looking like this,” Kerry grinned, eyeing you up and down. “Got all eyes on you when you're looking so good.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, raising a brow before looking back to your bestie. She took your empty cup before telling you she'd get you another drink, giving you a wink before walking away.

“Seems weird,” You looked back at Kerry, touching the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Seeing you so covered up. I'm used to you in your vests.”

Kerry laughed before taking a sip of his drink, his eyes focused on you. You knew the black mini wrap dress you'd thrown in your suitcase at the last minute was a good idea. 

“Is that your way of saying you prefer me half naked?” Kerry teased.

“Absolutely not,” You raised a brow with a grin. “Why would I prefer half naked to the whole thing?”

Before he could respond, you held out your hand with a grin, tilting your head slightly.

“Come dance with me.”

“Yes ma'am.”

You turned once Kerry's hand was on yours, leading him further into the crowd before turning back and wrapping his arm around you as you swayed against him. He moved his free hand to grip your waist, holding you flush against him. The music felt louder, pounding in your ears as you moved your body to the rhythm. 

Kerry leaned down to kiss your neck, your head falling back against his shoulder as your hands moved over his, your heart racing as warmth flooded you. For all your teasing and flirtations, you'd never gotten so close to him before, felt all of him pressed against you. Really you cursed yourself for not doing it earlier.

 “Didn't know you knew how to dance,” You grinned, slowly stepping forward before turning in Kerry's arms and wrapping your arms around his neck. “You got any other hidden talents?”

“Plenty,” Kerry smirked, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. “Though they ain't gotta stay hidden.”

You gently trailed your fingers through Kerry's hair, smirking slightly as you leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“I hope not. Show me what you got.”

As you felt Kerry's hands move down your body to grab your ass and pick you up, you let out a squeak of excitement as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“No time like the present hm?” Kerry smirked, taking a step forward as you held onto him, giving him directions as best as you could, distracted by the feel of him against your already soaked panties.

You were feeling desperate by the time you reached Kerry's bedroom, weaving through the heated crowd who in a few days wouldn't be smoking, drinking and dry humping on couches, the world watching respectable athletes at the peak of their prowess.

The feeling of a solid door behind your back snapped you from your thoughts, you met Kerry's eyes and moved your hands to touch his neck.

“Come on then,” You murmured with a grin. “whip out your talents.”

Kerry laughed before he leaned in to kiss you, to your unexpected surprise. You had often thought about how it might feel, knowing it was inevitable. It turned out to be better than you could have ever imagined. He tasted like beer and a hint of cigarettes, his lips soft against yours. His hands were still gripping your ass, and you didn't object to it when his fingers found the waistband of your panties. 

“Put me down, I'll take them off,” You groaned into the kiss, your hands moving to grip Kerry's curls. “ruined anyway.”

After a moment, Kerry slowly set you down, and you broke the kiss just long enough to reach under your dress before Kerry's arm touched yours.

“No,” He met your eyes before glancing down, his hand moving down your arm to slip under your dress and touch your wrist. “Let me.”

You managed a nod, watching Kerry sink to his knees before you. He slowly reached under your dress, fingers digging into the waistband of your panties. He tugged them down slowly, his eyes held on yours. 

“Fuck,” You murmured softly as you noticed the size of the wet spot on your panties, now pooled at your feet.

“Not a bad start,” Kerry grinned as he looked down and reached for the hem of your dress. “But you can do better. Get this off for me, will you?”

You took a breath as you reached for the hem of your dress, your fingers brushing against Kerry's. It took some serious self control to slowly peel your dress up over your head and not just rip it away. When you were left standing in just your bra, your heart raced as you met Kerry's eyes, a smirk on his face.

“Good girl,” He murmured softly, his hands moving along your thighs. “So obedient, ain't you?”

As much as you wanted to give a sassy little retort, you found yourself distracted by some primal part of your mind for a moment, lifting your leg up slowly and draping it over Kerry's shoulder. You smirked slightly as you noticed he was caught off guard, tilting your head slightly. 

“Waiting for someone to wave you in?” You teased, reaching for your bra strap and slowly tugging it down your shoulder.

“Don't be a brat,” Kerry grinned, hooking his arm around your leg as he leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your wet center. You closed your eyes as he slowly locked a stripe up to your clit, your heart racing. Your hand moved to grip his hair, a gasp escaping you as you felt Kerry's hand grip your thigh.

As he slowly licked along your wet folds, you tried to steady your breathing, opening your eyes and glancing down. The sight of Kerry buried between your legs had you weak, gripping his hair tighter as he moved his free hand between your legs. The pads of his fingers brushed over your entrance, the teasing getting to you. 

“Gotta be patient, darlin’” Kerry murmured against you, lapping at your clit as you let out a moan. You wished you hadn't waited so damn long to get him between your legs, but you were determined to make up for lost time.

Kerry's fingers sweeping over your entrance drew back your attention, your high feeling closer as he slowly pushed a digit into you.

“Fuck,” You groaned, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. You gripped Kerry's hair as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, your heart racing as you felt the high closing in on you. 

You weren't sure if you screamed or if the sound caught in your throat when you came, the feeling of it hit you harder than you expected and had you seeing stars. It took a moment to register Kerry standing up and holding your waist, your body slowly coming back down to earth.

You took a breath as you met his eyes, knowing he'd give you anything in the world in that moment if you asked.

“Kiss me,” You murmured softly, reaching for the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer until his lips were against yours. You could taste yourself on his lips, addicted to it immediately. You grabbed at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and letting out a gasp when he pulled back. His shirt was on the floor in a flash, and you watched as he began removing the rest of his clothes. When he was down to his boxers, he reached for the waistband before pausing and looking at you with a smirk. 

“Not gonna be the only naked one,” He grinned, gesturing to your bra, just about still on you. “Fair is fair.”

“Then come even the playing field,” You teased, toying with the strap of your bra and letting out an excited shriek when Kerry was on you in a heartbeat. He kissed your neck as his arms weapon around you, his fingers making swift work of ridding you of your bra. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting out a soft breath as he pulled back to look at you.

“Feeling okay?” He asked, eyes searching yours.

“Better than okay,” You grinned, leaning in to kiss him. His arms wrapped around your waist before he picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. “As long as you keep doing what you're doing.”

“Oh yeah?” Kerry murmured against your lips, smirking as he walked over to the neatly made bed and promptly tossed you down on it. “You mean something like that?”

“I suppose so,” You rolled your eyes with a grin as you propped yourself up on your elbows and glanced at the bed.

“Wow..I guess these things are a little sturdier than they wanted us to think.”

“I'm happy to test them out,” Kerry grinned, standing at the end of the bed and watching you keenly.

“See what they're made of.”

You sat up a little, eyeing Kerry with a smirk.

“We can do that..if you ever take off those damn shorts. Are they glued to you or something?”

“Not necessarily,” Kerry grinned, snapping  waistband. “Just like making you wait.”

“Kerry Von Erich,” You raised a brow, giving him a pseudo serious look. “you can either take those shorts off or get the hell out.”

“You gonna kick me outta my own bedroom?” Kerry teased, stepping closer to the bed. “doesn't seem fair to me.”

You laid back down on the bed, stretching your arms up for a moment. 

“Doesn't have to be fair. Your choice, I can always do this without you.”

“Well as much as I would love to see that,” Kerry grinned, his hands moving to his waistband. “It ain't gonna be necessary. Get on your knees for me like a good girl.”

“Yes sir,” You grinned, rolling onto your stomach and slowly drawing your knees up to expose yourself to Kerry. A thrill shot down your spine as you felt the mattress dip, taking a breath as you felt Kerry's hand gently stroke the back of your thigh.

“You gonna spread these for me?” 

You were pretty sure your arousal was dripping onto the bed as you spread your legs wider, your heart racing. What you expected was to feel Kerry's hand grip your waist, feel his throbbing dick tease your entrance, what you didn't expect was to feel his tongue lapping at your wet folds once again. 

“Kerry,” You moaned, clutching at the tightly tucked sheets. “I..”

“What's the matter?” Kerry murmured behind you, his hand moving slowly across your thigh, fingers brushing against your hot core. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Very funny,” You scoffed, taking a breath as you felt Kerry's hand move between your legs, fingers replacing his tongue. “I'm just wondering if you're going to fuck me or if I need to do it myself.”

“Would you prefer that?” Kerry asked softly, placing a soft kiss to your back as his fingers slowly spread you open.

“I..I'll take what I can get,” You murmured in response, heat riding in your abdomen. “But I suppose you're the preferable option.”

“Lucky me,” Kerry chuckled, slowly easing his fingers from you and patting your raised ass.

“What are we waiting for?”

“You tell me,” You grinned, looking over your shoulder and moving your ass back towards Kerry. “I'm running out of patience here.”

Kerry shook his head with a grin, gently touching your hip as he met your eyes.

“Turn over then. I wanna see your face.”

You felt your heart race at the comment but tried not to let it show, instead giving Kerry a nod before you moved onto your back, taking a breath. 

“Is this okay?” Kerry asked, the sincerity in his eyes making you smile. 

“It could be even better,” You grinned, your arms moving around Kerry's neck. “But yes, it's okay.”

Kerry grinned at your answer, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that felt like it should have taken place on a beach at sunset and not on a flimsy cardboard bed in the Olympic village but you weren't going to complain.

For all your bravado and teasing, you felt like you and Kerry were teenagers again. You had known each other since you were teenagers, of course. Always had an eye on each other, thought about what it could be like.

And now that it was happening, you felt like it was just as exhilarating and passionate and fun as you imagined it would be. Your legs wrapped around Kerry's waist as he gently moved in you, his lips kissing a trail along your neck.

As much as you would never admit it, you were pleasantly surprised that Kerry took it a little slow at first, getting you used to the feeling. And when you let him know he could take it a little further he didn't hesitate, pushing your legs apart and burying himself deeper, but keeping a slow pace that had you melting into the bed.

When you felt like you were falling closer to the edge, you pushed Kerry onto his back, climbing on top of him and letting out a moan as you let yourself sink down onto him, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling, to feel his hands on your waist, his eyes burning onto you.

You weren't sure how you managed to go so long without giving in when it felt so good, your nails digging into Kerry's chest as you rode him towards your high, the sounds of his moans and cries of your name drawing you closer and closer, you leaned to down to kiss him as you felt the wave build, the most wonderful sensation taking over you before you let a shriek.

Not due to your (impending) orgasm, but rather due to the bed proving itself to be as unstable as intended. 

You clung to Kerry as the bed crumpled underneath you both, the blankets curling around you. There was silence for a moment before you both erupted into laughter.

“Guess they really are trying to stop us this year,” Kerry grinned, gently stroking your back. “too little too late though.”

“Oh we're not done yet,” You grinned, carefully getting up before walking over to the wardrobe and leaning against it, giving a light knock on the wood.

“Reckon we could break this too?”

“I think we could certainly try,” Kerry grinned, getting up and walking over to you, his arms pulling you close. “what have we got to lose?”

[estrellami-1]

January prompt: hole

Word count: 404

No warnings apply

Rated G

@steddiemicrofic

Ok YES I’ve done 2 others BUT in my defense. Mickala asked for childhood-friends-to-lovers and I had an Idea, what was I supposed to do? Not write?

“There’s a hole in your pants.” Eddie looks up at those words to find a boy staring down at him, brows furrowed in concern. “Did you fall?”

He looks back down to the stick in his hand, the scratch marks in the dirt. “Nah. Just a hole.”

The boy sits in front of him. “My mom says holes are unsightly,” he says, carefully pronouncing the last word. “She always buys me new pants when my old ones are finally comfortable.”

Eddie cocks his head at the boy. “I’ve never had new pants.”

“Oh.” He sits with that for a minute. “Where do you get your pants from?”

Eddie shrugs. “My momma buys ‘em. But most of the time they’ve already got holes in ‘em.”

Suddenly the boy grins. “It would be kinda funny if my mom sold my pants to your mom, huh?”

That gets Eddie to smile. “It would,” he agrees, and extends an olive branch. “I’m Eddie. What’s your name?”

“Steve. What’re you doing with the stick?”

Eddie grins at him. “Nothing. But that’s just ‘cause I didn’t have anyone to play with. You wanna play with me, Steve?”

“Sure!” He sits up onto his knees, excited. “What’re we playing?”

Eddie grins. “Whatever we want. You ever heard of dragons?”

“Dragons aren’t real.”

“Are too. I’ll show you.”

They play until the end-of-recess bell rings. They find each other the next day, and the day after that, and even the week after that, until summer came and they drifted apart.

Ten years later, after unimaginable horrors and shitty fourth of Julys and getting the crap beat out of him, Steve finds Eddie in a boat shed. “There’s a hole in your pants,” he says, even though there’s always a hole in Eddie’s pants. It’s not so much about lack as it is his personal style. “Did you fall?”

Eddie manages a shaky smile up at Steve. “Nah,” he says softly. “Just a hole.” He suddenly smiles bigger. “Looks like you’ve got a hole in your own pants, too.”

Steve grins back. “My mom always said they were unsightly,” he agrees. “I don’t think so.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, accepting the help up just to stand in Steve’s space.

“You okay?”

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh. “Better with you here.”

“Flirt.” Steve rolls his eyes, ignores the pink racing up his cheeks. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Lead the way.”

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

i'd like to know how bi (bisexual or biromantic) paul barras could be said to be.

The best evidence of Barras being attracted to men I’ve found in the hostile pamphlet Les Brigands démasqués, ou Mémoires pour servir à l'histoire du temps présent, etc (1796) by Auguste Danican. On page 103 of said pamphlet we can read the following:

[Before the revolution] Barras, finding himself without resources, joined all the Greeks, and was himself an excellent Greek (although he understood neither Homer nor Lucian). He was seen a lot at the Hôtel d'Anglais, the usual meeting place for a crowd of swindlers; he lived modestly on a fourth floor, rue Champ-Fleury; went from time to time to core two imperial écus, and found himself in terrible distress.

The work Sodome à Paris: protohistoire de l’homosexualité masculine fin XVIIIe - milieu XIXe siècle (2009) by Thierry Pastorello, besides bringing up Danican, also mentions that ”Talleyrand tells the story of the drowning of Raymond Valz on July 15 1797, Raymond was Barras’ young lover. Raymond drowned himself under the eyes of Barras who would have shown signs of pain so big that one said he had just lost his mistress.” However, checking what Talleyrand actually writes about this incident in his memoirs, at least I have a hard time reading this as evidence Barras was romantically attracted to Valz, nor can I find the exact formulation that Barras mourned him like a mistress:

Whilst I was engaged in reading I don’t recollect what work, two young men came in to ascertain the time by the drawing-room clock, and seeing that it was only half-past three, they said to each other: ”We have to go for a swim.” They had not been gone twenty minutes, when one of them returned asking for help; I ran, with all the persons of the house, to the riverside. Facing the garden, between the high road and the island, the Seine forms a kind of whirlpool in which one of the young men had disappeared. The watermen of the neighbourhood soon rowed to the spot, and two of them most courageously dived to the bottom. However, with all the efforts they made to save the unfortunate fellow proved vain. I went back to the house. The corpse of the young man was only found the next day caught in weeds, at a spot distant more than six hundred yards from the place where he disappeared. The drowned was named Raymond, Lodève was his birthplace. Barras was very fond of him; he had brought him up and, since he had been appointed a Director, he had made him his aide-de-champ. I was alone in the drawing-room, not knowing exactly what to do. Who was to tell Barras the misfortune that had just befallen him? I had never seen the Director. My position was really unpleasant. A carriage drove up. On opening the door, the gardener said: ”M. Raymond has just been drowned, yes Citizen Director, he has just been drowned.” Barras crossed the front yard, and rushed upstairs to his room, crying out aloud. After waiting some little time, one of his servants told him I was in the drawing-room. He sent word to excuse his not coming down, and requesting me to sit down to dinner at once. The secretary who accompanied him remained upstairs. Thus, I was alone at Barras’ table. A quarter of an hour having elapsed, a servant came to request me to go up to the Director’s room. I felt thankful for his supposing that, under the circumstances, the dinner served to me could have no attraction. I felt quite upset. As I entered his room, he took hold of both my hands and embraced me; he was weeping.

Pastorello’s work also brings up historian Oliver Blanc, who in L’amour à Paris au temps de Louis XVI(2002) apparently notes ”that in 1793, Barras, finding himself in Draguignan, meets a young barber that he finds to his liking, Victor Grand.” Here we can again return to the original source, which is Barras’ memoirs (though do enlighten me if there’s more info on Grand and Valz) and see what he writes about, as he calls him, his aide-de-camp. This is the only interaction described between them that I’ve been able to find:

[After escaping from prison] Victor Grand came in haste to throw his arms about me; it was with pleasure that I once more beheld this young man, who had already won my entire confidence, and was one of the few who never ceased to be worthy of it. 

Other than that, Pastorello only cites more historians that claim Barras was attracted to men — Michel Larivière who in Homosexuels et bisexuels célèbres (1997) ”notes that Barras has the reputation of loving boys,” Michel Missofile who in Le cœur secret de Talleyrand (1956) notes ”that Barras lived in absence of any female presence with his man of trust François Roland, his piqueur Louis Copillon and his aide-de-camp Raymond Valz” and claims he was ”this seducer without a mistress, this husband without a home.” On Barras’ wikipedia we can also read that historian Jacques-Olivier Boudon apparently qualifies Barras as ”one of the best-known homosexuals of the time” whose “interest in young men was common knowledge at the time” in his Le sexe sous l'Empire (2019). I don’t have access to any of these books, so I unfortunately can’t check if these people use any more primary sources to argue their case.

In this post @tierseta does however bring attention to a part in Fouché’s memoirs, where he writes Barras had both ”courtiers (a masculine word) and mistresses”:

The exaggerated disparagement of his behavior and moral principles was precisely what attracted to him a court of swarming schemers (intrigants et intrigantes) and vampires. He was then in rivalry with Carnot, and maintained a favorable public opinion only by the idea that, if need be, he would be seen on horseback, defying, as on the 13th of Vendémiaire, any hostile attempt; as a matter of fact, he contrasted with [his image of] the Prince of the Republic, occasionally going hunting, having trained dog packs, courtiers and mistresses.

Finally, according to this anon, Barras had sex with and raped both women and men but only felt affection towards the latter group, and also got raped by his father on several occasions as a child. As the best source for this is given Barras’ biographer Henry Monteagle, whose work unfortunately has never gotten published and is extremely hard to obtain, but Barras apparently also talks about his attraction to men and abuse committed by his father in his memoirs. I have to admit I failed to find anything when searching for the word ”father” in the version of the memoirs linked within the post, and I don’t have time to read the entire memoirs to check if he says anything about his relation to other men in them (and I’m probably not the best person to do either since I’m pretty bad at reading subtext), but there might be something in there…

[lisafrnkenstein]

Steve is thirteen when they send him off to summer camp for the first time. It’s not really a summer camp though, it’s a study camp; a glorified summer school — and in Steve’s mind, a punishment specifically for all the kids who get bad grades.

He drags his suitcase into the door of his cabin, and peeks curiously into the other bed there to see who he’s going to be bunking with for the next two months.

What he’s greeted with is a head of long, curly hair, and a set of big, brown eyes perched over a freckled nose.

Steve swallows thickly in shock. The rooms are co-ed?!

Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair, a habit as much as it is an effort to smooth back his humidity-frazzled do, and he straightens his shoulders.

“Hi,” He says, extending an open palm. “I’m Steve. And you’re…cute.”

Those eyes grow even wider in surprise, but the kid takes his hand and shakes it.

“I really like your hair,” Steve says. “It’s pretty.”

“I, uh - um,” The kid says, throat clearing. “I’m Eddie.”

Steve blinks.

“You’re -“

Eddie takes in his dumbfounded expression, and he throws his head back in a barking laugh.

“Dude! Did you think I was a girl?!”

Steve can feel his cheeks grow warm, and he looks down at his feet, too embarrassed to even make eye contact.

Eddie peers up at him, his mouth still twitching.

“Fine, let’s make it even then. I think you’re cute too.”

That gets Steve to look up, and he catches the playful expression on Eddie’s face, unable to help himself from matching it with a hesitant smile.

“So what are you in here for?” Eddie asks, flopping back on his bed and patting it in signal for Steve to join him.

“Ugh,” Steve pouts, his nose wrinkling as he sits down. “English. Writing and spelling sucks, and I hate reading. How about you?”

“Math,” Eddie sighs. “I’d gladly take writing and spelling and reading over numbers that just get all jumbled up and make no sense.”

“What!” Steve squawks. “But math is the easiest! It always stays the same and you follow the same rules for every problem!”

“Say,” Eddie says, mouth quirking up. “Sounds like we could help each other out.”

Steve looks down where Eddie has jutted his hand out, a mirror to his own earlier greeting.

“Alright,” Steve agrees, shaking it.

Hand in hand, pack made, seals the fate of two boys stuck in camp that summer. They spend their free time from then on bonding, hard and fast.

Skinned knees and swimming lessons. Shared homework, and Eddie reading aloud from all the books he’d brought with him. Sneaking into the kitchens, when all the counselors are turned in, to steal snacks — sweet and salty treats alike, that they giggle over while they construct pillow forts between their sides of the room.

Eddie shows Steve how to strum a few chords on a beat up acoustic that one of the adults brought with them to play around the campfire, and Steve teaches Eddie how to avoid getting tagged in capture the flag.

They swap clothes when they run out of clean things and don’t feel like washing just yet, Steve in Eddie’s flannel one week, and Eddie in Steve’s t-shirts the next.

Steve shows Eddie the best way to capture bugs without hurting them, from butterflies to ants to larger beetles. Eddie shows him the best way to set them loose in other cabins during prank wars.

They take showers at the same time, occupying stalls on opposite sides, both competing to see who can sing the loudest at the top of their lungs while they lather up their hair.

They take canoe trips, with talks of things like birthdays:

“Mine’s on the fourth!”

“No way! Mine is the twenty sixth!”

“That officially makes July the best month.”

And late night conversations, shared after lights out, two boys tucked into the same bed:

“My dad doesn’t care whether or not I pass next year and get into high school,” Eddie whispers. “I think he’s hoping I drop out so I have to come help him run jobs.”

“Mine cares way too much how I do,” Steve whispers back. “Even though he doesn’t really care about anything else. I think I could be dying and he would just ask me how my grades are.”

“Dads are assholes.” Eddie proclaims, and Steve feels a rush of deja-vu out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” he agrees, quietly, his hand slipping into Eddie’s where it rests between their heads. “But who needs ‘em? We got each other now.”

“Forever,” Eddie says back, squeezing his fingers.

Forever, as it turns out, only lasts the duration of camp. They send each other off with tearful goodbyes, promising they’ll see each other in school, their last year together before Eddie graduates up.

But Steve doesn’t see Eddie that year. He tries, again and again, posting himself right beside Eddie’s locker, but the boy never shows himself. If Steve didn’t know any better, he would think it’s because he’s avoiding him.

He asks around, and the teachers all confirm he’s in attendance, at least most of the time. They don’t share any classes though, so it’s hard to catch him when he appears to be taking no extra-curriculars, doesn’t ride the bus, and avoids his locker at all costs. Even lunch he apparently eats in his “secret spot,” which nobody can really tell him the location of, only that it exists.

But Steve’s not one to ever give up on people, so he tries a different approach. He starts writing notes, scribbles of thoughts on scrap pieces of paper that he shoves between the slats of Eddie’s locker. Notes soon graduate to letters, and Steve flexes all the tips Eddie ever gave him on writing; expressing how much he misses him, and still wants to be his friend.

“I’ve never had a friend like you,” He writes. “The only other friend I have is Tommy H. and mostly I’m nice to him because sometimes I think if I didn’t pretend to be his friend, he might get real mean and nasty. But I miss talking to you. I miss telling you secrets. I miss when it was just the two of us in our cabin. I miss you letting me play with your hair, cause honestly it still is the prettiest.”

Steve doesn’t get a reply. He has no way of knowing if Eddie ever got a single thing he wrote, not before the year is up and Eddie is presumably graduated.

The year after Steve spends in a countdown, waiting for the day he gets to the high school. Waiting for a chance to see his friend again, to see if he’s over whatever made him avoid him.

The day rolls around, and Steve sets foot into Hawkins High for the first time, fifteen and just barely grown into his broader shoulders and newly acquired height.

Eddie, on the other hand, is sixteen and still gangly as a newborn colt; all long, skinny legs and knobbly joints, towering over most of the other kids, so Steve spots him easily.

His ears stick off his head like they don’t belong there, no longer hidden by a mass of bushy curls. His hair is shorn short, worse even than a military buzz.

“Eddie!” Steve calls, excited at the sight of him.

Eddie freezes at the sound of his voice, his head turning slowly until he catches Steve down the other end of the hall.

He runs. Books it to the nearest bathroom at a ridiculous speed, and Steve feels his stomach sink as he follows after him, glancing beneath the stall doors until he spies a pair of worn, red sneakers beneath one.

The bell rings and then it’s just them there, late for class.

“Eddie,” Steve says, fighting the hot prick of tears in his eyes. “Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?”

There’s a pause, and then the stall swings open slowly.

“It’s not you, Stevie,” Eddie’s voice croaks. “Never you.”

“Then what?”

“I didn’t,” Eddie trails off, choked up. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Steve doesn’t know how to translate that for a solid twenty seconds, an awkward silence as he tries to make sense of it. And then it clicks.

“Eddie,” He says softly, “It’s just hair.”

Eddie’s face pinches, and then he crumbles.

It’s not pretty; it’s loud and it’s snotty, and there are a few sobbed “missed you”s smeared into Steve’s shirt as Eddie collapses forward, but he doesn’t care; not with Eddie in his arms.

“No one has ever looked at me like you did before,” Eddie heaves between heavy breaths, clutching either sleeve of Steve’s polo. “You said - my hair - you thought I was pretty. I didn’t want that to change. Dad cut it right after I got back and I thought…I don’t know. I didn’t want you to see.”

Steve takes a steadying breath and pulls back, just enough that he can take Eddie’s face between both of his hands.

He’s lost the freckles mostly, but his eyes are just as big as ever, framed with long, dark eyelashes, tears clinging to them.

“Do you think I spent a year cramming notes in your locker because of your hair?” Steve asks.

“Uh -“ Eddie manages, a little stunned.

“I think,” Steve says, clearing his throat and trying not to sound half as awkward as he feels, “That your hair doesn’t matter, because you’re still pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes refill with fresh tears.

“Really?”

Steve carefully swipes under his eyes with his thumbs.

“Mhm. I think - well, maybe not right now, because you’re a little bit gross, but -“ He breaks off into a bit of watery laughter, “But you’re definitely still the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen. You’ve got the cutest eyes in the whole school, and your dad is a fucking asshole for what he did, but it doesn’t change that you’re my best friend.”

Eddie hugs him tight, burying his face into the now soaked material of Steve’s shirt, like he’s afraid to ever let go of him again. And maybe Steve cries a little too, over spending the last two years thinking his best friend hated him.

They work together that year to help Eddie get on his own feet making money — dealing — and Eddie makes enough to get out from his father’s roof so he can grow his hair out again. His uncle is more than happy to make space for Lila’s kid, and doubly so just to keep him away from Al.

Steve is there to see every stage of growth, from messy curls to a chin length bob, and just as pleased to tell him that he still likes it every step of the way, no matter how it looks.

~~~~~~~~~

Steve opens his eyes to the sun streaming in, and just like that, the dream is gone. Torn away by the light permeating behind his eyelids, even as he groans and tries to go back to sleep, to chase the world where he and Eddie…

Steve pops up, sitting ramrod straight.

Where they had been…what? Best friends? Steve doesn’t think sending a year’s worth of locker notes and calling your friend “pretty” looks so strictly platonic, which only serves to make this new dream even weirder.

Eddie is…is his dead friend who was barely even a friend. His fists clench in his bedspread, and he fights against the lump that lodges in his throat as he tries to convince himself of that fact.

But their closeness, the way they had been with each other…it felt so real. It lingers, in a way that leaves Steve short of breath as it collides with reality, this world where Eddie is gone and was never his.

He lays back down, arm extending over the empty space in his bed. His fingers trace the absence of a body that was never there, the phantom feeling of another hand in his wrenching a tight gasp from his lungs.

He wonders what it was he must have done to earn this, that his brain invents new ways to wallow in a misery he should have never known. It’s the second one now that he's remembered, and he feels daunted by the prospect of what that could mean.

read the fic on ao3

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part five

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

and then it all comes crashing down.

a/n: outbreak day! plus the time leading up. I couldn’t bring myself to write joel’s side of the tragedy, but here we are. the start of “during”. potentially a little bit of canon-divergence from here until the “after”, but I’m trying to stick with that information we have, while filling in the gaps for reader’s story. (“after” will be when they leave boston with ellie)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, fluff, a super brief mention of 9/11, this is definitely not as sad as part four but it’s also involves outbreak day so there’s that, canon-typical violence, death, yes I am turning reader into a badass and I will not apologize.

✨follow @friskito-library and turn on notifications for updates on new works/chapters✨

You never really stop thinking about him. And he never really stops being apart of your life, not truly.

He’s the first person you call, when the Towers fall in New York, not a week after you’ve started your internship. You see it on television, standing in line to get your boss his daily latte, and you pull out your cell phone without a second thought, dialling Joel’s number. “Have you seen the news?”

A freak snowstorm stops you from getting home for Christmas that year; the airport is a disaster to get through after everything that’s happened, so you take a few days off to drive it instead, but you can’t even get out of the state, let alone across the country. So your holidays that year are spent with local friends you’ve made at work, calling your family on Christmas Day and New Year’s.

You try to call Joel on New Year’s, to wish him a good year as the clock strikes twelve, but the call goes to voicemail, and your friends are counting down the ball drop as you ramble into the phone.

Hey, it’s me! Just calling to say Happy New Year, hope you’re having a good night. And hope I get to see more of you in 2002. That year sounds so funny, doesn’t it? Talk to you soon, Joel Miller. Bye.

You almost say it, the words creeping up the back of your throat. The missing him hasn’t abated, even with the time and the distance. You sleep in one of the flannel shirts you’d stolen every night, and you’ll admit that you cried a little when you had to wash them, realizing that it would wash the scent of him away almost completely.

The phone calls get more sporadic, and you don’t blame him. There’s only an hour time difference between Texas and Massachusetts, but it feels like much more. You’re off-kilter from one another, always seeming to catch each other’s voicemail instead of the real person.

You manage to make it home for the Fourth of July the following summer, your internship having turned into a real job, but a real job that’s kept you busier than ever for the first half of the year. Your boss is, blessedly, understanding, and lets you take two weeks to go back to Austin.

He meets you at the airport, your name scrawled on a piece of paper, a bouquet of daisies in his grip, and you nearly burst into tears right there in the terminal. Your entire two weeks is filled with him, though you try to split your time between the Miller’s house and your own, letting your sister talk your ear off more than she already does on the phone, taking a few afternoons to help your dad around the hardware store. But almost every night finds you in Joel’s bed.

You all go to the park for fireworks on the Fourth. Your parents are re-introduced to Joel, though you’re both adamantly just calling each other “good friends” — which earns you an eye roll from your sister. Sarah runs around the field with the other kids, waving sparklers and giggling like mad. You stick close to Joel, the three of you sitting on a blanket in the grass, and you watch the firework together, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm swung around your waist. Sarah’s too preoccupied with the firework display to notice.

When you get home the next morning, your sister hands you a polaroid, the words July 4th 2002 written in sharpie along the border. It’s you and Joel, backlit, your head on his shoulder as a gigantic white firework explodes in the night sky. You don’t know what to say.

“I know you never wanted to leave him,” she says, and you nearly burst into tears as you hug her.

It’s another tearful goodbye when your two weeks are up, and you’re a fool to think it’d be any easier than the first time. You say goodbye to your parents first, and Joel picks you up in his truck, taking you to the airport. He kisses you deeply outside, burying his hands in your hair and squeezing you tight before letting you go.

And always the same farewell, the same thing he said when you first left, the same thing he’s said at the end of every phone call.

“Take care of yourself, baby.”

+

You meet Dean through a friend of a friend.

It’s almost Christmas, 2002, and you haven’t been home since July. Your phone calls with Joel have dwindled to almost non-existent; you just don’t have the time. Work is busy, to the point where you find yourself still sat at your desk until nearly midnight some nights. And you’re still missing each other, voicemails left occasionally, the missed calls stacking up through the week until it’s the weekend and you feel too tired to put yourself through the heartbreak of hearing his voice.

Hey, darlin’, it’s me. I keep missin’ ya, I guess. Hope you’re doin’ okay. Don’t work too hard, yeah? Been thinking about you a lot and I just…Take care of yourself.

It felt like a goodbye. Standing in your kitchen, takeout spread out on your counter, chopsticks in hand. He hadn’t said it, not specifically. There was no I can’t do this anymore, no this hurts too much, doesn’t it hurt you too? But it still felt like a finality, of sorts.

You took the takeout to bed with a bottle of wine.

That weekend, your friends drag you out to some party. A housewarming thing for someone you don’t know, a fancy loft on the other side of the city. It’s as good a reason as any to get out of your head, throwing on a new dress and a bit of makeup. You do shots in your apartment before piling into a cab, tipsy by the time you get to the party. There’s lots of faces you don’t know, your friends pulling you through the crowds, one of them grinning at you.

“You have to meet Dean.”

He’s tall. Sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes and he’s a lawyer. He laughs at your jokes and gets you another drink when you finish your first. He’s from Boston; a pure-bred, he tells you, and chuckles when you ask to see his pedigree.

You wake up in his bed the next day, your dress and shoes scattered on the floor of his stupidly nice apartment, head throbbing with a hangover, guilt bubbling up on your tongue like bile. Dean makes you coffee and calls you a cab, gives you a business card with his number on it. “God, this feels like a business deal,” he says, shaking his head, nearly taking the card back. “I can find a takeout menu or something, write my number on that instead.”

“No, this is good,” you laugh, and the guilt mixes with something strangely giddy when he kisses you goodbye.

When you get home, you wrap yourself in the flannel you’d taken from Joel, and weep. Part of you whispers that you shouldn’t feel guilty, that Joel’s all the way across the country, that you two aren’t technically together to begin with, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest.

Your friend calls in the early afternoon, and when she hears the crack in your voice, she’s on your doorstep not thirty minutes later. You spill your guts — recount the story of you and Joel, show her the polaroid from the Fourth of July, tell her everything, until you’re crying on your couch again.

“Honey, maybe you should talk to him,” she tells you, and you know she’s right, but the idea of talking to Joel just makes your chest hurt more. “This isn’t good for either of you, holding on like this when you can’t be together. Talk to him.”

Joel beats you to the punch, calling you shortly after your friend has left. “Hey, finally got you instead of your voicemail.”

“Hah, yeah,” you reply, sinking a little deeper into the couch. “Sorry I keep missing you.”

“S’okay,” he mumbles, and it only hurts more when you can almost see him in your head, sitting on his couch or at the edge of his bed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” you lie, wiping the wet from your cheeks. “Just busy lately, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, then pauses. “You sure you’re okay?”

You inhale deeply, feeling the air rattle its way through your lungs. “Joel, I met someone.”

It’s a long moment, before he says anything, so long you think you’ve lost him for a second, that he hung up. But then, “That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“No,” he says instantly, and you both let out watery laughs. “No, but it…It is good. You’re all the way out there and I’m here and…Missin’ you, not havin’ you around, it hurts, y’know?”

“I do,” you agree, biting into your lower lip when it wobbles. “I miss you too, Joel, it’s just—”

“I know, baby,” he replies, and the tone in his voice makes your eyes slip shut, tears pouring down your cheeks. “I gotta go, I promised Sarah movie night. We’ll….we’ll talk soon, alright?” A pause. “Take care of yourself.”

The line goes dead for real then, and you launch your phone across the room, groaning when it lands on the carpet and doesn’t smash to pieces. You bury yourself in the pillows on the couch, and just cry.

Dean calls the following week, and asks you out to dinner. Dinner evolves into more than that, more dates and more conversation. He works two blocks down from you, and brings you coffee every morning on his way to his office. He takes you to museums and art galleries and introduces you to his friends. It’s easy to fall for him, and you let yourself do it. He kisses you at midnight on New Year’s, whispers that 2003 is going to be the best year of your lives.

You have no idea how wrong he will turn out to be.

+

It’s September 26th, 2003. It’s your twenty-fifth birthday.

It starts out like a normal day; as normal as it can be, lately. You’ve made a point to ignore the news as best you can, letting Dean recap it for you when he gets home each day, filling you in on the water cooler talk that you only half listen to.

Dean’s up and gone when you wake up, but there’s a birthday card beside your pillow, a cartoon cake with a silly face. You’re another year older… And the inside reads: and other year cuter! Happy Birthday! It’s cheesy and you scoff out a laugh, getting up and going about your morning routine. A fire truck screams down the road when you walk out of the building, cop cars trailing after it, but you think nothing of it; sirens are a common occurrence in the city.

It’s a short walk from your apartment — the apartment you now share with Dean, the pair of you having relocated somewhere that was closer to both your jobs — to work, and you stop by your favourite coffee shop, only slightly disappointed when they don’t have the raspberry scones you like. “It’s a supply chain thing,” the girl behind the counter tells you with a shrug. “They haven’t been able to get ingredients in for weeks. I’m just glad we have coffee.”

“That makes two of us,” you agree, taking your cup with a nod. “Have a good day!”

“You, too!”

There’s a big bouquet of roses waiting on your desk, the card signed with Dean’s name, and the other girls ooh and ahh at the arrangement. One of them asks you if you think he’ll propose, and you have to resist the urge to sprint in the opposite direction.

Dean calls on your lunch break, tells you he’s already pre-ordered from your favourite Thai place, and it’ll be waiting for you when you get home from your post-work drinks with your friends. When he tells you he loves you, it still makes your chest ache, just a touch.

You still think about Joel. It’s hard not to. After that last call, when you told him you’d met Dean, you called back a few days later, unable to stop yourself. There were apologies, from both him and you, and the conversation ended with a promise that you’d still stay in touch, that it would still be friendly between you, and that maybe someday could be an option, if the time was right, but you wouldn’t stand in each other’s way.

So you’ve stayed in touch. The phone calls are still more sporadic than anything, but it’s always nice to hear his voice, and he always has a joke to crack. And, consistent Joel Miller, at the end of every phone call: “Take care of yourself, darlin’.”

You get a surprising amount of work done that day, your friends appearing at five o’clock on the dot and dragging you away from your computer. You let them buy you happy hour drinks and put a Birthday Princess tiara on your head, laugh your way through the evening until it’s almost nine. You thank you friends and leave the bar, and think as you walk past one of the little corner store grocery shops that you could really use a chocolate bar.

You’re walking down the toiletries aisle, the basket hanging from your elbow filled with not just chocolate, but a few other things you couldn’t resist, when your phone rings, an Austin area code flashing on the screen.

“I didn’t know today was your birthday,” Joel says by way of hello, and you giggle. “How have I known you this long and not known that you and I have the same birthday?”

“You never asked,” you answer, reaching for a tissue box with a fun pattern, “and it never came up, really. Wait, today’s your birthday too?”

“Thirty-six and still breathin’,” he confirms, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “I stopped by the hardware store today for a few things, your dad told me.”

“Ahh.” Your parents had called you just before you’d left for work. “That store must be so boring without me in it.”

“It really is,” Joel agrees, and then his voice drops. “No one around to make out with in the aisles.” A beat, and then. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say quickly, shaking your head even though you know he can’t see it, the memory of being pressed between the shelves of paint cans and Joel Miller making your face heat. “It’s a good memory.”

“It is,” he agrees, making a little humming noise. “So, boyfriend got big plans for you tonight?”

“Thai food and a movie,” you tell him, grabbing a bottle of toilet cleaner. “Just left the bar, had some drinks with my work friends. Never really been a big birthday person, y’know?”

“You’re preaching to the choir, darlin’.”

“What about you, Joel Miller?” you ask, heading down the next aisle. A lot of the shelves are empty, and it makes your brow furrow. “What big birthday plans do you have this evening?”

“Hah, none,” he replies. “Working a double with Tommy, just took a break now. Told Sarah I’d be home by nine, but I don’t know if that’ll work out. They gave us the wrong size for the headers and…” He trails off. “That doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

“I’d listen to you read the phone book,” you joke. “At least get yourself a cake? Something like that? If I’d known we shared the same birthday I would have had my sister bring something over for you.”

“Sarah made me breakfast, got me out of bed on time. That’s all I need, really.”

“Is it?”

You don’t mean the question to sound as heavy as it does, and silence hangs between you for a long moment before you stutter out an apology. Joel’s quick to change the subject.

“Boyfriend is still your boyfriend, right? No ring on your finger yet?”

“You know, you’re the second person to bring that up today,” you say, heading down the next aisle. It’s just as empty as the one before, and your confusion deepens. “You want the truth?”

“Generally.”

“If he asked, I don’t think I’d say yes.” Heat rises in your face, and you stutter again. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“You can tell me anything,” he replies, and there’s a softness in his tone that you recognize, making warmth spread through your chest. “I’m always here for you, darlin’. I know things are different now, but I’m still here.”

“I appreciate that.”

You hear Tommy’s voice in the background, and Joel curses under his breath. “I gotta go. Enjoy your night. Happy Birthday.”

“You, too. Happy Birthday, Joel,” you reply, a smile in your voice, and then the line clicks off.

You loop through the rest of the aisles, sliding your phone back into your pocket. When you ask the cashier about the empty shelves, you get the same answer you’d gotten at the coffee shop. “Supply chain issues.”

The apartment is quiet when you get inside, tossing your keys into the bowl beside the door. The Thai food is sitting on the counter, as promised, and you set your grocery bags down beside it, stealing a few noodles before calling for Dean. “Honey, I’m home!”

There’s no response, and you assume he must be in the shower, so you pad down the hall. The bedroom light is off, moonlight flooding through the window, and as you step into the doorway, you see him, standing there, facing the window. His hands are at his sides, and as you watch, his hand twitches, the movement making your brow furrow.

“Dean?” you call, taking a half-step forward. In an instant, something feels wrong, and worry rises in your chest, makes your heart racket against your ribs. “Babe, what’s going on?”

He turns then, so fast you can’t even blink before it happens. And he just…stares. There’s no light in his eyes, just a dead look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You say his name again, the worry seeping into your voice, and then he snarls.

“Fuck.”

You don’t understand what’s happening, but your body seems to react of it’s own accord. Dean lunges toward you, an inhuman sound falling out of him, and your eyes skirt around, looking for something to protect yourself with as he scrambles over the bed, limbs flailing, those dead eyes boring into you. Your hand flashes out, curling around the leather-wrapped handle of the baseball bat, and as you’re knocked to the ground, you use it as a barrier, shoving the metal against his chest.

His face is all wrong. It’s not just the dead eyes; his teeth are yellowed and his gums blackened as he snaps at you, trying to claw at you. White marks have risen all over his face, spreading out like a map beneath his skin.

What the fuck is going on?

You manage to plant your foot on his chest, and shove with all your might, yelling as the movement makes your knees twinge. He doesn’t go far, but it’s enough to get him off of you, and you scramble backwards, throwing the door shut as you run for the kitchen, the bat held tightly in your grasp. Heart racing, you find the biggest knife you can in the kitchen, sucking down hurried breaths. You’re in shock.

There’s a flash of red outside the balcony door, and you turn to see flames explode from the building across from yours. On the streets below, cars start to crash into each other, the sound of sirens twice as loud. You can hear people screaming, even through the glass.

A loud bang pulls you back into the apartment, and you turn just as Dean comes sprinting down the hall, losing his balance and skidding across the carpet. You throw the kitchen knife as he lunges for you, but it misses, the blade bouncing off his chest and sliding beneath the coffee table. A guttural growl echoes through the apartment, and when he leaps at you, you swing.

Your first hit smacks his shoulder. It doesn’t do much, but he lets out a pained yowl and when you swing again, there’s a sickening crack. He swipes at you, lunging again as you stumble backwards through the living room, the couch toppling over as you both fall onto it. His fingers dig into your shoulder and you scream, pain radiating through your arm, but you tighten your grip on the bat and ram the end of it into his face.

Another growl, another swing. You manage to get to your feet, blood pouring down your arm, painting your blouse crimson, and you put the kitchen island between you and him, moving quickly, keeping the bat held high.

When he jumps again, you swing. Hard. The bat connects with his temple, his neck cracking loudly as his head snaps to the side, and he slumps to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth. The metal rings as you drop the bat, collapsing onto the kitchen floor a moment later, blinding grabbing for one of the dishrags hanging from the stove, covering your shoulder with it and clamping your hand over the wound.

Why is this happening?

You’re not quite sure how long you’re sat there, curled against the cabinets. The bleeding on your shoulder slows, but doesn’t stop completely, and you’re starting to feel lightheaded. Not just the blood loss, you know, but the shock. Dean’s body has stopped twitching, but there’s something seeping out of his mouth, curling across the tile. When you spot the movement, you’re on your feet in a second, blinking past the momentary wooziness, grabbing the bat again.

When you click on the television, a loud beep echoes, nothing but a black screen, and you try to change the channel, but it’s the same on every one. Finally, the beep ends, and a robotic voice takes its place.

…indoors. Law enforcement and emergency services are in the area and will be in contact with further instructions. Stay indoors…

Over and over again.

Your arm is pulsing, the rag on your shoulder wet with blood. You need to clean it, you think. You need some water, you need to—

The phone starts ringing. Your phone. Cell phone. Where you left it, in your purse. Your purse is by the door, across the apartment. You have to walk around Dean to get there, and you go slow, your eyes glued to his unmoving form. The bat is still in your hand, the end of it dragging over the carpet as you walk towards the door. Another metallic noise when it hits hardwood.

Your eyes are still on Dean as you dig in your purse, on the thing still coming out of his mouth, crawling along the grout lines in the tile. Out, out, out, you need to get out, you need to get away, you need to—

Your fingers close around your cell. Hit the button, bring it to your ear.

“Are you safe?” Joel barks, and you nearly drop the phone, the sound of his voice slamming you back into your head, your breath hitching so hard you almost choke. “Baby, where are you?”

“Home,” you cry, leaning against the wall, gripping the bat so hard your knuckles hurt. “I-I got home and Dean, he just…he…I…” You wheeze, your breath not enough, your head feeling lighter, your vision spotting with black. “He’s dead. I’m bleeding.”

“It’s everywhere,” he says, his voice low, and he keeps talking, but you don’t think he’s talking to you. You space out, your gaze glued to the body on your floor, until Joel says your name. “Why are you bleeding? What happened?”

“He…” you trail off, your eyes focusing on Dean’s bloody knuckles, limp on the kitchen floor. “He grabbed me, he…he was trying to bite me.”

“Did he?”

“No,” you say, your voice sounding a bit more sure. You shake your head, pressing your palm against your shoulder. The pain spikes, but it helps, clears your head a bit. “It’s a scratch. Deep.”

“You need to clean it, you hear me?” Joel says. “Patch yourself up, baby, all right? You have a first aid kit?”

You drop the bat, pressing the back of your hand against your forehead. You’re shaking. “In the bathroom.”

“Good, go, do it now. I’m not hanging up until you do.”

You reach for the bat again, use it as a prop to get back to your feet. You cast Dean’s still form one more glance before retreating down the hallway. He’d burst through the bedroom door, and wood splinters cover the floor, the door still half on its hinge, split down the middle.

“Joel, why is this happening?” you ask, your voice climbing, fear taking over. You get into the bathroom, momentarily shaken by your appearance in the mirror. Your hair wild, the blood smeared along your chest and neck, your stained and torn blouse. “What is happening?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, and the thread of fear in his voice makes tears spring in your eyes. “But I want you to listen to me, okay? You patch yourself up, you grab what you can, and you run. You understand? Get in your car and get out of the city, as fast as you can. You don’t wait, you don’t stop for anyone, and you just keep going.”

You nod for a moment before you realize he can’t see you. “Okay. What do I…?”

“I’ll find you, baby,” he says, and the surety in his voice makes everything in you ache. “I’m gonna find you, you hear me? Just get out of Boston and I swear to you, I’m—”

Static. Dead air. Gone.

“Joel? No, come back, Joel, please—” You stare at the phone, try to redial the number, hit the button over and over and over and over. No signal, the screen informs you.

Nothing. Nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat, the rapid pulse against your ribs, the breaths that seem to rattle through your lungs. Outside of that, silence.

You slam the phone down, slam your hands against the bathroom sink.

“Joel!”

PREV | NEXT

[zoeykallus]

Hey! Happy Fourth of July! I’m not sure if you’re accepting requests so ignore this if you’re not lmao but because of my PTSD-fireworks are… tough lmao. Can you write a little something of the bad batch comforting their S/O while neighbors are lighting fireworks?

Aloha!

Wow! This one slipped through the cracks! I'm so sorry you had to wait so long for this one! 😱😱😱

The Bad Batch x Reader HCs - PTSD And Fireworks

Mostly Fluff/Mention Of PTSD And Audio Triggers

_______________

You know that it is coming. You are already uneasy inside, basically you are prepared for it, but you know the sounds will still worry and unsettle you. Fortunately, you are not alone tonight.

_______________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_______________

>Master List<

_______________

Hunter

He already knows you're uncomfortable before it's really obvious.

"Are you okay?"

You blink at him, puzzled, but then you remember how fine Hunter's senses are. Of course, he can sense that you're tense, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

"Sure, everything's fine. It's just the fireworks, they'll probably go off any minute."

He nods in understanding. Hunter already knows about your PTSD, you feel comfortable and safe with him, that's why you confided in him a while ago.

He suggests turning on some music, sitting by the window together, and watching the fireworks from inside. The music is supposed to muffle the noise from outside a bit, and Hunter thinks maybe if you see what's going on, it will calm you down a bit.

You sit down on the windowsill with some hot chocolate, Hunter holds your hand and squeezes it gently each time you flinch, smiling at you to let you know he's with you, and you have nothing to worry about. He talks to you gently, asks you a few questions, distracts you a little until the whole thing is over.

He's still very attentive later, when the worst is over, you're in bed, and people are still setting off fireworks sporadically. Hunter gently has an arm around you and murmurs soothing words to you every time you tense up again. You're in good hands with Hunter.

Echo

He himself doesn't like fireworks very much. Like you, Echo is a little tense tonight. As a soldier, especially one who has experienced things like Echo, such noises can also be very nerve-wracking. Echo has cooked for both of you, you've eaten before the sun goes down, in peace, but you both keep looking, automatically already nervous to the window. "You're thinking about the same thing I am, aren't you?" you ask quietly. Echo nods slowly and answers, "The fireworks." You ask him a little uncertainly, "You're staying over tonight, right?" He looks at you urgently and says, "Of course! I would never leave you alone on a night like this." You smile in relief, and Echo returns the smile gently. "Don't worry, Love" he says encouragingly, "We'll get through this together". You make yourselves comfortable on the sofa that evening. Snuggled together, your legs over his lap, your torso leaning against his, your arms around his middle, his arm around your shoulders. There's a movie on the television. You've closed all the shutters, windows and doors to muffle the noise from outside as best you can.

You both wince now and then when it booms a little louder outside, and calm each other down with short touches and glances. Now and then you talk a little, but for both of you the evening is really exhausting. Nevertheless, of course, you survive the night, tired, but happy to have had each other that night.

Wrecker

He loves the fireworks, but he knows how nervous they make you. And even though you insisted he go watch the fireworks, he shows up at your door just before sundown.

"Wrecker? What are you doing here?"

He beams at you, holds up a bag of goodies, and says, "I thought we were having a movie night."

Baffled and with your heart dancing with joy, you ask him, "But you love fireworks so much. Didn't you want to watch them?"

He waves it off like it's nonsense. But you know he's only here to watch you, and your heart literally leaps out at him in gratitude.

"I'd rather look at you," he says perkily, and comes inside.

The evening is much more relaxed than you expected. Even though you get scared and nervous for a moment occasionally, Wrecker is always near you, gently holding you close and talking to you to distract you while you watch some movies.

Of course, he feeds you snacks in between and steals a few gentle kisses.

Tech

He has already calculated statistics and probabilities for you; at the moment, numbers are floating in front of your inner eye. "It's very unlikely that you'll get hurt if you stay in the house," Tech says matter-of-factly, his famous index finger raised. You sigh softly and look at him. He blinks, your sigh not lost on him. "What's the matter?" he says softly, eyeing you carefully. "That may all be true, but fear is rarely rational, nor can it be always controlled by rational thought"

His eyes wander back and forth for a moment, thoughtful, then he says, "I see. So this fear probably stems from some trauma or disorder." You nod and shrug your shoulders at the same time, as if to acknowledge it and yet not admit it. Tech smiles and offers, "Do you want me to stay with you tonight? We could play cards or watch a movie. I can hold your hand, distract you." You smirk at him and say, "It would be great if you could stay over tonight. But I won't play cards with you" Tech beams, "I'd love to stay," but then his expression turns questioning, "Why won't you play cards with me?" "I've seen you play against all your brothers," you note, shaking your head. "So?" You laugh and reply, "No one can win against you. I've seen you play against yourself, and when I asked why you were doing that, you said the only way to make this game a challenge was to play against yourself."

Tech grins and finally nods. "All right, that's true, of course. So it's going to be a movie night." Tech keeps his promise, of course, staying the night and holding your hand. When, at a particularly loud boom, you automatically push yourself closer to him, he puts an arm around you and says softly, "It's okay, you're safe here with me"

Crosshair

He doesn't know anything about it. You haven't had a chance to talk about your fear. He is all the more confused that you don't want to watch the fireworks outside, and it's baffling to see how tense and jumpy you are. You were playing cards, and a particularly loud noise startled you so much that you jumped up and half hopped across the table onto his lap. He sighs softly, puts his arms around you and asks quietly, "Do you want to tell me what's wrong with you? Is it the fireworks? Is that why you didn't want to go out to watch them?" Your fingers are clawed at his clothing as you quietly reply, "Is it that obvious?" He laughs softly, "Just a little." You are about to let go of him again when several firecrackers go off in a row, and you clutch right back at him.

"Hmm," he softly utters, "How about we sit on the sofa, turn on some music or the holoprojector, and you just stay clinging to me, Kitten?" You look at him apologetically and smile lopsidedly. "That would be great," you finally say meekly. Crosshair nods, gets up with you, and heads for the sofa along with you. Even though he can be a grumbler, at heart he's very attentive and has a gentle side as well. He stays all night, of course, to watch over you.

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[a-canceled-stamp]

What is the Cake Misunderstanding?

What kind of cake? Who is doing the misunderstanding? Will Tim & Jason get to have the cake and eat it too???

I have so many questions.

Ok so this is what the WIP looks like atm. Plz note that this all takes place in a 'Tim gets adopted early' AU.

Tim's been part of the family for a few months now. He isn't walking on eggshells anymore as things finally seems to be settling down. It's still strange to find the Manor so alive whenever he comes home from school. He likes it though. It makes him feel...welcome. A simple misunderstanding almost throws a wrench into this. One day in the middle of July, Jason tells Tim he's busy when asked if he wants to hang out. He's lying. Tim can tell he's lying, which is weird, but he tries not to linger on it - being sort-of brothers doesn't mean they have to hang out all the time. Tim gets it. But when Jason makes yet another half-assed excuse for the fourth time in the same week, Tim comes to a horrible conclusion. Jason doesn't want to hang out with him. Calling Jason out on this is not something Tim wants to do. This behavior is so unlike Jason that it makes him feel like the rug has been pulled out from under him. And forcing Jason to hang out with him would just be cruel. So Tim hides the confusion behind a tight smile and makes himself scarce. Later that same day, Tim heads to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. His heart plummets to his stomach when the sound of laughter reaches his ears. He rounds the corner, and find the kitchen in complete disarray - flour strewn everywhere, empty bowls stacked in the kitchen sink. Jason and Dick are standing around the table, still laughing. The moment Jason's eyes land on Tim, his smile drops. He immediately rushes toward him, waving his arms wildly, as if chasing away an animal. Get out! he yells, eyes wide. Get out, you can't be here! Tim, confused and startled, listens. He retreats to his room, his head spinning. Maybe he did something wrong earlier this week. Did he say something that hurt Jason's feelings? But if that were the case, Jason would've said something, right? Sitting down by his writing desk, he angrily fights the tears burning in his eyes. He thought he was done with the feeling of guilt and confusion and hurt swirling in his gut. He thought- He thought this place would be different. He thought they were different. What doesn't cross Tim's mind during all of this is one small yet crucial detail. Tim's birthday is in a few days.

So technically you are correct - Tim & Jason will get to have the cake and eat it too. Just with some hurt/comfort on the side lmao.

Thank you for the ask Rae Bae! \\^w^//💞💞💞

Ask me about my WIPs!