#but at least by then you're (probably) out of college and in the real world

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Please try to give reasons in the tags or reblogs as well.

[itneverendshere]

we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you needed to stop taking other people shift’s. 

it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.

all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.

you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it. 

fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa. 

today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.

nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.

“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”

wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?

don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”

yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.

it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."

you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.

at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.

but these brats?

half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard. 

painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.

“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.

he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.

“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.

but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”

jesus christ. here we go.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head. 

“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.

they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.

who do you think you are, pitbull? 

he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”

fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.

you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.

“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.

you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.

“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”

best thing?

the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.

you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.

“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”

that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.

his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.

“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”

ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.

you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.

you're not impressed.

you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”

they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.

finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way. 

oh, wow, big spender. 

you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”

you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.

you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.

something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.

one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.

for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.

a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:

“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first. 

one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.

“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”

legend? you almost laugh.

the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.

the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.

you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.

wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has. 

yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.

“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.

you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.

the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.

“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”

yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.

rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.

you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.

“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?

“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”

you never cringed so hard in your life.

rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”

you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you. 

everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.

“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”

here we go. 

you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.

the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.

and then, like clockwork, it happens.

“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”

oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.

you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.

there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.

“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”

my girl? my fucking girl?

one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”

you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.

still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.

he's only saying it to mess with you.

one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.

rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”

you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.

rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.

“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.

you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.

“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”

you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.

the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.

“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”

one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”

you don't let him finish. “one. minute.” 

they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.

like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.

the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.

“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.

they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

finally, a moment of peace.

except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there. 

as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.

"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”

he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”

“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"

“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"

he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”

“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”

rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”

you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.

“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”

he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.

everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.

finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”

you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”

he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”

"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.

“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”

rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration. 

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”

you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.

“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”

he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.

“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”

rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.

his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”

you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”

“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”

you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”

“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.

“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”

rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it. 

“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”

his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.

“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.

“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”

you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.

“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.

“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”

just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.

that’s when he takes his chance.

with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.

it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.

he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.

his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.

logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.

his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.

and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.

rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.

“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.

but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.

you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.

his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.

especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.

and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”

god, maybe you did.

the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.

within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.

“we miss anything?”

“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.

you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”

no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed. 

real, scary, big girl feelings. 

no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.

 “better than ever.”

eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.

“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”

his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.

he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to. 

you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.

[seungkw1]

one last chance — bsk

♡ pairing: boo seungkwan x afab!reader ♡ theme: college au, smut [18+ MDNI] ♡ wc: 4.3k ♡ warnings: drinking, size kink, masturbation (m.), oral (m. & f. receiving), head pushing, face sitting (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (don’t do this), reader is down bad, sk is also down bad, quite a bit of whimpering from both parties oop ♡ a/n: back from my hiatus!! hope u guys enjoy this one <3

You’ve accepted that you’re never going to see your college crush again after graduation - but an unexpected invitation to a pool party might just change everything.

Boo Seungkwan is many things: charming, witty, intelligent, athletic, and incredibly good-looking. There’s not one particular thing that stands out when you think about how in love you are with him - he is simply the most attractive person you’ve ever met.

You first met him freshman year of college, at a house party just before the school year started, when you drunkenly kissed him. To be fair, you kissed a few people that night, but you don't remember the others - only the cute guy on the volleyball team made a lasting impression. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you distinctly remember him being a very good kisser. 

You had a few classes together over the years. You quickly developed a habit of sitting at the very front of the classroom - if you sat anywhere you could see him, you would simply get lost in a daydream. And you really didn't want to fail your classes over some silly fantasies. 

But at a certain point, you accepted that the fantasies were, in fact, quite serious. You wouldn't consider Boo Seungkwan to be a friend, per se - but your social circles overlapped just enough to keep him on the perimeter of acquaintanceship. Though seemingly one-sided, you came to know him well, as if he was a longtime companion rather than a friend of a friend at best. You tried telling yourself that he just had that effect on people, being so gregarious and outgoing that everyone loved him by default. Which was true to a degree. But something about him - rather, everything about him simply captivated you

And that was enough for you to fall in love. 

You always felt a little insane about it. How could you be so in love with someone without having talked to them more than a handful of times in your life? You dated around here and there, a couple relationships serious, most not. But Boo Seungkwan was always in the back of your mind. Try as you might, you simply could not get over him.

Four years came and went. The ups and downs of college life are nearly behind you now. Everyone is about to get a big adult job, perhaps move cities, enter the real world. Aside from your closest friends, you probably will never see most of these people ever again outside of social media. They’ll walk the stage, and then walk out of your life for good. 

And so, disheartened, you accept that your chances with Boo Seungkwan will once and for all become zero. But purely by luck, the next day on your coffee run you bump into a friend of a friend who invites you to a pool party on the weekend. It’s a graduation party out in the suburbs, at a huge house owned by the parents of a well-known, popular student who happens to be in the same fraternity as Seungkwan. Normally, you would've declined - you've always found pool parties a bit awkward, especially when you likely wouldn't know many people there. But there was a pretty damn good chance that Seungkwan would be there - and you would be remiss if you didn't take one last chance to at least talk to him. So with cautious optimism, you agreed to go. 

You spend the next couple days before the party massively overthinking what you're going to wear. After much deliberation you land on a bright blue swimsuit with an oversized sheer coverup on top. Good enough, anyway. 

You intentionally arrive to the party fashionably late - no need to get there too early and get roped into small talk with people you hardly know. Fortunately, you spot your roommate from sophomore year - you're not close, but you still consider them a good friend. They wave you over and you join the group; the conversation is fine, but eventually a few of them get deep into a discussion on some indie film you've never seen. You zone out, eyes wandering around the party scene. Not many people are in the pool - still too early, apparently; one frat guy you vaguely recognize is busy at the grill making slightly-burnt hot dogs, but the rest haven't seemed to arrive yet. As if summoned by your thoughts, a group of guys enters the backyard, hooting and hollering with several giant cases of beer in tow. The party attendees cheer at the sight of alcohol. 

Then, a few moments after the arriving party has entered, you see him. 

Like a goddamn scene from a movie, Seungkwan walks through the gate - his warm brown hair flowing gently in the breeze, his skin shining in the golden hour sun. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and simple navy swim shorts, but somehow still looks ethereal. 

Someone in the group you've been chatting with waves him over. 

“Heyyyyy, now the party’s here!” the guy shouts at him. Seungkwan waves back to him, his eyes scanning the group, when he makes eye contact with you. After a few seconds you realize you've been holding your breath. You exhale. 

Relax, you tell yourself. He probably doesn't even remember you. 

Seungkwan joins your group. The frat bro who waved him over hands him a beer. He opens it and chugs a bit, the can looking particularly small in his large hands. You try to be normal and not just stare at him hopelessly, but it's easier said than done. 

A few minutes pass. Some of his fellow volleyball players were amidst the group, so they started talking about the sport. You’ve only been to a few volleyball games in your life (all of them being college games that you attended with the idea of watching Seungkwan in shorts in mind), so you do your best to follow along with the conversation, but it's not going too well for you. So you mostly just remain silent. 

After a while, you start thinking of excuses to get you out of this conversation. Not that you don't want to be around him anymore - but you're feeling too awkward for your liking at this point. You decide that you can probably just slip away without anyone noticing, so you turn to leave. 

“Hey y/n! Want a beer?”

You freeze in your tracks. Turning back around, you see Seungkwan in front of you, extending a Bud Light to you. 

“Oh, sure,” you say, smiling to conceal your nerves. “Thanks!”

“Of course,” he says with a soft grin. “So,” he continues, “I heard you were-”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence. 

Three of his fellow frat bros emerged out of thin air, cheering and shouting, grabbing Seungkwan and hauling him away. With a big SPLASH they throw him into the pool. 

As he surfaces he begins yelling at his friends. 

“What the hell!!!”

They all laugh at him - he pretends to be mad, but he can't help but laugh along with them. 

“Help me out, dipshit,” he says to the nearest friend. The guy reaches down to help him out of the pool, but Seungkwan pulls him into the water instead. The rest of them let out a loud OOOOOOOOH before jumping into the pool after them. 

You scoff at their stupidity, but you can't help but laugh too. 

“Wanna go inside, y/n?” your old roommate asks you. “I heard there's an air hockey table in there.”

“I’m terrible at air hockey,” you inform them, but you agree. As you step through the door to the house, you take one look back. Seungkwan and his buddies are now playing chicken in the pool. You swear you see him looking at you from atop his buddy’s shoulders, but moments later he gets whacked with a pool noodle and falls into the water. You roll your eyes as you go in the house. Idiots. 

But you secretly still hope you can talk to him again later. 

—

Your wish comes true - sort of. 

The sun is long set, and pretty much everybody is in the hot tub. You were chilling with a few others, but more and more people started joining in. It’s getting a bit crowded, but Seungkwan happens to be two people over from you. You’ve ended up between two different conversations, participating in neither, but listening along as he talks about the new music he’s been listening to lately. 

Suddenly, a massive uproar arises from indoors. 

“SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!...”

In an instant nearly everybody leaps out of the hot tub, whooping and cheering as they follow the drunken chanting into the house. 

Everybody but Seungkwan. 

He fixes his eyes on you - his eyelids slightly heavy from numerous beers, his red-tinted cheeks illuminated in the dim glow of the backyard string lights, his lips seemingly extra plush, soft, kissable… 

He has never looked more stunning than he does right now. 

A lazy smile spreads across his face. “No shots for you, then?”

You shake your head. “Nah, I'm okay.”

“Me too.”

A few moments of silence pass. He gazes at you as if he has something he wants to say, but he hesitates. Despite the lack of conversation, it feels… comfortable. Like you could sit in silence all night with him and not get bored - his presence is more than enough. 

“Can I ask you a dumb question?” he finally asks, the look on his face slightly sheepish. 

“Sure,” you respond, working overtime to maintain your calm exterior despite your heart rate rising. “Though - I'm sure it's not dumb,” you add affirmatively.  

He reclines, lifting his elbows and placing his arms casually along the edge of the hot tub. He looks up at the moonlit night sky, as if reminiscing. 

“Do you remember when we kissed that one time?”

You feel as if you've suddenly been electrocuted. You don't know what you expected him to ask, but it certainly wasn't that. 

He continues. “It was at the very beginning of college - before classes had even started. At a house party. We were both drunk, you probably don't even remember-”

“No I remember,” you blurt out. He turns his head to you again, a look of genuine surprise upon his face. 

“You do?” he responds, momentarily forgetting to contain his elation. 

“Of course,” you reply with a nod. 

“You must have a really good memory, then,” he says nonchalantly - but you can tell he hopes there's something more to it. 

“Not really,” you admit. His eyes remain locked on yours. He turns slightly, facing you. 

“I've thought about it often over the years. Thought about you.” 

Your stomach drops. 

He drifts a bit closer through the softly bubbling water, his eyes locked on you. “Sometimes I wonder what things would be like if I’d ever had the courage to ask you out.”

You stare back at him, too stunned to respond. His lips curl into a smile. 

“What's that look for?” he asks. His big brown eyes are practically sparkling.

“I…” you start, but your mind goes blank. You're still trying to process his words. 

“I had no idea you felt that way,” you eventually manage to say. “Honestly, I didn't even know if you remembered who I was.”

“You're kinda hard to forget.”

“Oh,” is what manages to come out of your mouth. You feel dizzy.

“What do you mean, courage?” you ask him. 

“Hm? Oh, I mean you’re just so… out of my league.”

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. It’s Seungkwan’s turn to look confused. 

“It's true!” he proclaims. 

You gawk back at him. He laughs. 

“You look flabbergasted.”

“I am flabbergasted,” you concur. “You're the one who's way out of my league!”

He shakes his head. “You're crazy. But that's why I like you.” He drifts toward you even further, fully sitting beside you now. His shoulder brushes against yours. A rush of adrenaline pulses through your body. 

“That,” he continues, “and the fact that you're one of the smartest people I know. And kind. And funny. And…”

Gently, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up toward his. 

“So beautiful.”

Without a further thought, you kiss him. 

He kisses you back, with such passion that can only be achieved by a prolonged period of yearning. He cradles your face in his hand, the other reaching for your waist under the water. You grasp his shirt in your fist, melting into the kiss you've been dreaming of for years. You slide your other hand underneath the drenched fabric of his tee, wrapping around to the small of his back, drawing him in even closer. He wraps both arms around you, pulling you onto his lap, squeezing your body tightly against his as his lips hungrily lock into yours. Your mind is completely devoid of any thoughts unrelated to Seungkwan - you only think of him, of his words to you, of the sensations of his figure touching yours, of the hardening form beneath his trousers pressing against your core. 

After what feels like a blissful eternity, your lips delicately part, your mouths lingering next to one another. You’re fully sat upon him now, straddling his thighs as he holds you tight in his arms. You slide your arms over his shoulders, shifting yourself upwards - ostensibly to position yourself more comfortably, but also conveniently grinding against the bulge in his swim trunks. He groans at the sensation.  

“Fuckkkkk.”

He looks up at you, longingly. You're both still somewhat inebriated, but sobered up enough from the adrenaline rush of physical touch. 

“What if we…,” you start, pausing to plant several kisses onto his soft cheeks. 

“...got out of here?”

His eyes light up with excitement. 

“We could head to my place-”

“Nuh-uh,” he interjects. “That'll take too long,” he  mumbles as he presses his mouth against your neck. You let out an involuntary noise. 

“I've waited long enough. I want you now.”

His voice grumbling in your ear makes your pussy ache. 

“I happen to be staying the night in the guest bedroom,” he tells you as he runs his fingers gently up and down your back. “Upstairs - third door on the left at the end of the halfway.”

You draw your face back, pressing your forehead against his. 

“Well that's convenient.”

He grins. “You go first. I’ll join you in a couple minutes.”

You quickly dry off, don your coverup, and enter the buzzing house. You worry that someone is going to see you heading upstairs and ask you what you're doing - but nobody even seems to realize you're there. They're all too drunk to notice or give a shit. 

Acting as if you belong there, you head up the large staircase. Upstairs you find a ridiculously long hallway - you approach the third door on the left, giving a soft knock in case anyone else has decided to use the room for similar purposes. Hearing nothing from the other side, you enter. The guest room is fairly large, equipped with the usual furnishings, with Seungkwan’s bag and things tidily placed in their appropriate spots. A king size bed with expensive-looking sheets and a plethora of pillows awaits. 

Before you can even start to overthink everything, the room is flooded with light from the door opening abruptly. Startled, you turn around to see the light extinguished as quickly as it appeared as Seungkwan shuts the door behind him and turns the lock. He arrived shirtless - which makes sense considering that his t-shirt would've been sopping wet due to him wearing it in the pool, but his unexpected half-nakedness certainly makes your insides jolt. Even in the dimness of the room, even with damp strands of hastily towel-dried hair laying disheveled across his forehead, he is strikingly hot. 

“That was fas-”

“Couldn't wait,” he says as he grabs your face, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. You grasp onto the bulge in his shorts, squeezing lightly. He moans into your mouth as he kisses you still. You grab ahold of your coverup, starting to remove it, but his hands snap up to your wrists, stopping you. 

“Hold on,” he mutters, his lips barely separated from yours. 

His fingers delicately trace the swimsuit’s thin straps though the sheer outer fabric. He lifts his hand and cups your face in his palm, stroking your cheek softly with his thumb. 

“I wanna watch.”

He pulls the desk chair out and sits down, his supple thighs spreading apart to accommodate what appears to be a thick fucking cock, still growing in size. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I mean, I’m only wearing a swimsuit, it's not gonna take long.”

“Take your time, baby.”

And so you make a show out of it. 

You caress your breasts through the sheer top, squeezing them gently. You run your fingertips over your nipples, causing them to harden and visibly poke through the swimsuit. Seungkwan moans at the sight of them, reaching his hand down to his cock and stroking it slowly through his shorts. 

You peel your outer garment off your body in slow motion, discarding it to the floor. You run your hands back down your body, hugging every curve; one hand returns to your breast, pinching your nipple, while the other keeps sliding down, finding your clit and massaging it lightly over the fabric. 

“God that's fucking hot.”

He reaches his hand into his shorts, letting out a pathetic whine as he touches himself. You feel your cunt throb beneath your fingers. 

“Take those off,” you plead.  

He gives a few more slow pumps before sliding his trousers off, tossing them aside. Your eyes widen as his length springs free, brushing against his stomach. He’s even bigger than you expected, not only long but fat. Genuinely, you're not sure how he could even possibly fit inside you - but that makes you crave it even more. 

Slowly you slide your swim top to the side, your erect nipple growing even harder in the cool air of the room. You run your hand over your bare tit, reaching across to expose the other. Seungkwan’s hand falls into a steady rhythm as he strokes his cock. He leans his head back, sinking into the chair, his eyes glazed over as they pore over your body. You continue, sliding the reminder of your swimsuit off and discarding it on the floor. He groans as his grip tightens, his pace increasing. 

You step forward. 

“Can I…”

You drop to your knees, sliding your hands onto his thighs, positioning your face in front of his cock. 

“Oh god, please,” he begs, nodding his head fervorously. 

You grab onto his cock, running your tongue from his balls to his tip. He moans, the sounds turning whinier as you begin to swirl your tongue around the head. By the time you take his entire length into your throat, he is full on whimpering. 

He places his hand upon your head, pushing down lightly. You slide your mouth up and down his cock, swallowing him so deep it makes you gag - but that only makes you wetter. He pushes your head down harder, pressure increasing more and more as his body writhes beneath you. 

“Oh my god baby,” he moans. “Fuckkkk y/n, ‘m gonna cum.”

His thighs begin to shake as he thrusts into your mouth, holding your head in place as he releases. Your eyes flood with tears as you choke on his size, hot spurts of cum deliciously hitting the back of your throat. His moans taper off as he comes down, his hand gently stroking your hair. You pull your mouth off his cock, looking up at him as you swallow all of his cum. 

“Jesus christ, you're so hot,” he praises as he catches his breath. After several silent moments of deep breathing, he rises, pulling you to your feet with him. His hands grasp your hips, pushing you toward the bed as he kisses you, his tongue slipping into your mouth to taste himself on you. You reach the side of the bed, the back of your legs bumping against the mattress; he swings you around, swapping places with you as he sits down. He plants a series of kisses on your stomach before gazing up at you, still high off his orgasm as revealed by his warm, glowing pink cheeks. 

“Will you sit on my face?”

You hesitate. You run your hands through his hair as you ask, “Are you sur-”

“Yes. Please.”

He lays down, resting upon the bed's many pillows. 

“You don't even know how many times I’ve dreamed of this.”

He pulls you onto the bed, on top of him. You crawl up toward his face, your pussy lingering in front of his lips. He grabs your hips again, pulling you onto his mouth. You cry out as he buries his face in your cunt, his lips and tongue traversing your soaked folds. 

“Fuck you're so wet,” he mumbles, refusing to remove his mouth from you any further. He begins to fuck you with his tongue, his nose pressing against your clit in a way that drives you fucking crazy. You grind your hips, the friction against your sensitive spot sending waves of pleasure through your body. You ride his face, hips bucking lightly as he eats you out like there’s no tomorrow. 

He drags his tongue up your slit, locking his lips around your clit, making you let out ungodly noises as he sucks on the throbbing bud. His arms wrap around your thighs, squeezing tightly as he holds you firmly against his face. He alternates between flattening his tongue against your clit, swirling his tongue around it, sucking on it - the combination of sensations driving you over the edge. 

You grip onto the headboard, white-knuckled, as your legs begin to shake. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry, looking down at the man whose face is buried in your cunt. He gazes at you, his eyes drunk with lust, taking in the sight of you moaning and losing your mind to his touch. “Seungkwan…”

Your orgasm takes over, riding out your climax upon his tongue. You clutch onto your breast, whimpering shamelessly, seeing stars as you cum all over his face. Time seems to stop as pleasure explodes through your whole being. 

His tongue slows as you come down, licking you softly as you brush your fingers through his tousled locks. With heavy breaths you climb off of his face, clinging to him as you lay next to him. Seungkwan quickly rolls over on top of you, his huge cock fully erect again - clearly extremely turned on by making you cum. 

You open your legs, aligning your soaked cunt with its head. 

“Fuck me,” you plead breathily. 

He slowly pushes his cock into you. As wet and ready as you are, nothing could have prepared you for his size. The stretch is instant, your walls forming around his thickness. You've never felt more full in your life. 

You let out a groan as he bottoms out, filling up your whole cunt. He begins fucking you, rhythmically pounding into you as his breath heaves with each thrust. You shift your hips, allowing him to go even deeper. He kisses you, pressing his lips against yours desperately, your moans unceasing but muffled against his mouth. Soon, he's fucking you hard - and it feels heavenly. 

“Harder,” you beg. 

His eyes devour you, his reddened cheeks glistening with sweat as he gives you every inch of his cock. His eyes close, his face scrunching up as his breathing grows heavy. 

“Gonna make me cum again, oh fuck…” he barely manages to get out before his moaning rises in pitch. He gets only a few more thrusts in before he pulls out; he grabs his cock and gives it several powerful strokes before he cums a second time, white ropes painting your dripping pussy and your stomach. 

With a deep exhale, he plops onto the bed right beside you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. His fingers graze over your body as he reaches for your breasts, squeezing them softly as he recovers, his chest rising and falling against you with heavy but slowing breaths. 

“That was…” he says as he strokes his hands softly against your cheek, turning your head to face him. 

“Wow.”

You let out a giggle, your head still spinning from getting dicked the fuck down. 

“Soooo…” he starts, shifting his body to lay comfortably on his side. “I promise I wasn't stalking you or anything, but I did hear that you got a job in the same city as me.”

You stare back at him, confused. 

“But I thought you were moving back to your hometown?” 

He smiles. “I was planning to, but at the last minute I decided to take this offer. I wanted to be closer to most of my friends. But - I happened to hear you'd be moving there too. And I’d be lying if I said that wasn't at least a little bit of a factor in my decision.”

Your eyes light up as you process his words. 

“Honestly, I only came to this party because I thought I’d never see you again,” you admit. 

He gives you a cheeky grin. “So you came here intending on hooking up with me.”

“No!!” you balk at him, but a smile spreads across your face too. “Well… maybe a little. I figured I had only one more chance to shoot my shot. And I knew I'd regret it if I didn't at least try.” 

He beams at you softly. “Well, I sure am glad you did.”

“Me too,” you beam back. 

“Though,” you add, “Now that you've rearranged my guts I think you should at least take me out to dinner.”

Seungkwan bursts out laughing. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he tells you, but he leans in for another kiss. 

“But I’d absolutely love to.”

—

taglist: @juyeonshour @bath1lda @miniseokminnies @myhimbomingi

[annwrites]

⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part five. ⸻

· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: tragedy strikes when a plane crashes. john insists upon your relationship taking the next step. · tags: mothering kink, lactation kink · tw: possessiveness, codependency, attachment issues · word count: 3,742

One hundred and eighteen people are dead. In an instant. Just…gone. Fallen from the sky. Innocent people just trying to get from one place to another. Including a mother and her little girl. Teachers, families, couples…

It’s been everywhere today: on the news, social media, and on the lips of every person you pass in the halls at your college.

And you feel sick every time you think of the terror they must’ve felt. How…helpless they were as they probably clung to each other in those final moments, praying for someone—something—to save them…

You try to push it out of your mind, to the best of your ability, so you might make it through the rest of the day without bursting into a puddle of tears.

That evening, you pick idly at your dinner as you watch John on your flat screen.

Three minutes. If he’d been three minutes sooner, there at least would’ve been a chance at saving them.

And then you watch as he actually gets choked up—as tears stream from his bloodshot eyes—and your own chin wobbles in response.

Please, God, don’t let him blame himself.

He got there as quickly as he could.

While part of you hates him—is terrified of him—for the way he’s been treating you since first meeting a handful of days ago, you're sure he would’ve practically carried that plane to safety if it’d still been in the air when he arrived. He has every right to be angry. To be upset. Because countless lives have now been destroyed, and over a hundred taken through an act of evil—of terrorism.

At least they’re dead now, too.

You hope that if there is a hell—from whatever religion is it that they prescribed to—that they’re suffering in it.

You glance down to your barely-touched dinner, then rise to put it away.

Once you’ve brushed your teeth and are ready to lie down for the night, you glance to your balcony doors, and, most unexpectedly, fill with disappointment when you find the space to be empty.

Then, you quickly fill with guilt immediately after. How could you expect him to show up here after the day he’s had? You are the furthest thing from his metaphorical plate—from his mind.

The real world is calling now, and your time of being a distraction to him is over.

He’s gone, and he’s not—

Just as you step toward the doors to close your curtains is when he lands outside them, causing you to jump from fright.

And then tears quickly gather in your eyes as you turn the handle.

John turns around slowly, and he gently rests his hands on his hips while shrugging slightly. “I—”

He shakes his head and glances to his feet. “I tried. I really—if I’d gotten there sooner—”

You throw yourself against his chest and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you choke out between sobs.

You run your fingertips through his hair and bury your face in his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper. “There is nothing you could’ve done. This is not your fault.”

He slips an arm beneath your legs, and he carries you back inside.

John currently has one of your nipples in his mouth, and is gently sucking on it for comfort while you rub his head and keep blankets tucked tightly around him.

You turned quiet white noise on awhile ago to try and lull him to sleep, but every time you think he might be close to drifting off, he begins sucking again.

Such a strange arrangement this is tonight. And in general, really.

But you won’t tell him no in anything he needs to soothe himself. He’s been through utter hell today, and he came to you of all people to make it better. To hold and console him.

“Do you think they’ll do it?” You whisper.

He hums in curiosity.

“Let supes into the military,” you explain while resting a palm against the warm skin of his back.

He releases your breast from his mouth and swallows before replying, wishing you could lactate. He’d like that tonight. But he instead has to make do with what you have to offer.

At least he has the rest of you to do with as he pleases. Whether you like it or not.

And you’re even stupid enough to buy his sob story about being filled with immeasurable guilt over not being able to save the day. When, in reality, he doesn’t feel an ounce of it.

Because, really, it may just work out in the long-run for Vought, and get them exactly what Madelyn has been wanting for months on-end.

He smiles at the thought of her being pleased with him this time. She should’ve been for the last plane he brought down, but he set things right with those words he fed VNN just a handful of hours ago.

And now here he lies in your arms, while you coo over him like a loving mother.

He snuggles closer to you, feeling completely content for once.

He could get used to this. But only when he needs it—rather, wants it—of course. He can’t keep coming over here every night like he has been. Can’t come off as needy.

Even if he feels like he does need it: you, your attention, affection, and maternal comfort and love.

Finally, he replies. “It’d be ignorant as shit for them not to after what happened today, don’t you think? I mean, for the military to say that they’d rather have ordinary soldiers on the frontlines, as opposed to those who can survive a bullet or bombs…”

He shakes his head in indignation. “No different than today. Every day this country fails its people—people the government is supposed to be working for. Instead, they’re getting them killed needlessly. So, if us entering the military can save innocent lives, then I’m all for it.”

Your eyes flit between his while you gingerly cup his cheek, and he nuzzles into your touch. “I know that physically, you can’t be hurt.”

You trail your fingertips up to his temple. “But what about in here?”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “Sweetheart, you have already been through so much pain because of these people. Going to war…the things you’d see—”

“I can handle it,” he says, cutting you short.

You grow silent for a moment.

“Is this something you want, or something you’ve been told will happen to you if the people at Vought get their way? Meaning you have no true say.”

He’s not used to this: someone looking out for him. He’s not so stupid as to think that when Madelyn tells him that all she does is to protect him that she actually means it. She’s just…telling him what he wants to hear. But, because he’s so desperate for the attention…he’s willing to pathetically play along.

But with you, it isn’t a sick game. It’s honest. You are.

You ghost your fingertips over his lips, waiting for a response.

Until he decides that he doesn’t much feel up to trying at giving one.

So, instead, he takes your nipple into his mouth again, and he begins to suck.

You sigh quietly, but don’t push the subject. Instead, you gingerly cup the back of his head and begin to hum a nursery rhyme, so as to lull him, hopefully, to sleep.

When John wakes in the morning, it’s not in your arms, but he’s immediately comforted by the smell of eggs cooking and the sound of bacon sizzling on the stovetop across the room. And you hum along quietly to pop music, which plays softly on your little vintage countertop radio.

Sunlight streams through sheer gossamer curtains a few feet from the bed, and he’s practically swaddled in blankets, with plenty of soft pillows to keep him comfortable.

He really likes it here with you. It feels like…home. A home he’s never, in all his life—over forty years—had a chance to have. But this place is just that.

It’s well-decorated, cozy, clean, and warm. Charming. Idyllic, even. Honestly? You deserve an entire house, he thinks. He’d love to see what you’d come up with in turning it, gradually, into a home. Maybe into one for the both of you.

You playing the role of his perfect, dutiful little housewife…? He loves the idea. Fucking adores it. And it’s not like you could ever hope for better, anyway. What woman wouldn’t want such a life given to her by him of all men? Only an imbecile would refuse it.

Now, he has something to truly think about and consider. Given you continue behaving yourself for him—continue doing as he says, and being his well-behaved young lady…and playing mommy to him, which he needs most of all.

“This is nice,” John says after taking a bite of buttered toast, with a smile on his lips.

A smile that you return while gently brushing your foot against his beneath the table.

You’re still wary of him. You’re not so stupid not to be. To be wholly trusting and adoring toward him when you know what he’s capable of would just make you careless toward your own safety and well-being.

Maybe you are anyway.

But what choice do you have but to continue entertaining him like this? To continue…mothering him.

“I’m glad,” you say quietly before taking a drink of orange juice.

He leans back then, and you watch as he looks around your apartment, carefully taking in every feature and facet.

You shift nervously in your seat, wondering what he’s thinking—why he’s studying the space so intently all of a sudden.

And then his eyes meet yours again, and you merely look at him shyly from beneath your lashes while swallowing a forkful of cheesy scrambled eggs.

“I like it here,” he remarks. “It’s so…homey. You’re a good little homemaker.”

You flash him a toothy smile, and he genuinely returns it, enjoying the sight of you so happy.

You like being praised, he notes. You probably have no one to give you regular encouragement and approval. No one to give you attention.

He likes that you seemingly like having his. And certainly likes that his is the only that you have.

He doesn’t need to worry about someone else standing in his way—between the two of you. Between him and what now belongs to him. But, even if such a person existed…it wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Thank you,” you say while actually blushing. “I’ve worked really hard on it. It’s not much, but I’ve done my best with what little space and money that I have.”

He takes a sip of milk, then licks his lips. “I can tell. I do wonder, though…”

Your brows furrow when he begins to trail off. “What, baby?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. God, he really fucking loves when you call him that. He likes when you call him any pet name, in truth. Baby, sweetheart, sweetie… He wishes you’d call him more. Like, perhaps, your sweet baby boy—or your perfect little boy. Maybe, in time, you will.

He shrugs, then waves his hand, as if he’s trying to be nonchalant. When, in reality, he wants you to push him to tell you. Wants you to show interest in what is it that he has to say. Wants to know that what he thinks matters to you more than anything. Well, that he matters to you more than anything—not just what he thinks.

You gently set your fork down on your plate, then rest your hands in your lap. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

He glances to his right, to where your balcony doors lie. “Just wondering what you might think about my place at Seven Tower.”

You blanch momentarily as he looks back to you.

He’s about to segue into asking you to come see it, isn’t he? His apartment, that is. You wouldn’t be surprised if he offers to give you a tour of the entire building, just as an opportunity to show off. Not just how he, most likely, knows the whole of the place like the back of his hand, but also so you can witness how everyone there probably bows and scrapes before him: the face of the Seven. The face of Vought. The face…of the entire country—of America.

You know he’s waiting for a specific response. An agreeable one. One that will please him.

“What’s it like?” You ask, feigning mild curiosity, even if you couldn’t care less.

It’s probably like every other corporate skyscraper: soulless and without character. Just a giant advertisement for their brand. A monument to their greed.

He takes a bite of his bacon and chews thoughtfully for a moment before answering. “Guess you’ll just have to come and see for yourself to find out.”

You proceed to stare at him in response to his, admittedly, predictable answer.

You refrain from shifting in your seat, so as to prevent him from bearing witness one of your ‘tells’ for when you feel uncomfortable.

“Oh. W-when?”

You grab your glass of orange juice and hold it between your hands to try and keep them steady—to prevent them from shaking from nerves.

“How about today?” He replies, taking another bite of his eggs.

You grip the glass more tightly. “How? I mean—”

“I can fly you up. We’ll just go in through the roof. No need to bother with metal detectors and what-not.”

You nod slowly.

At least you won’t have to worry, then, about crowds and people snapping pictures of you on their cellphones. That is the very last thing you desire: obnoxious notoriety, and to have yourself splashed across the cover of a supermarket tabloid with a question in bold print asking who Homelander’s new girl is.

And there’s still Emma.

Emma, who you’ve been…somewhat avoiding as of late, strictly from guilt. Guilt that you’re lying to her by omission. Omitting the fact that you’re carrying on with Homelander, for lack of a better term, that is.

If she ever finds out, her heart will break in two. You’re dealing with enough right now, such as the man who sits before you. Adding the loss of your best friend to the list of stressors upon you might just be more than you can handle.

“Okay,” you finally say in reply.

John watches and trails along behind you as you walk slowly around his apartment, looking it over.

He suddenly feels like all his nerve endings have been exposed. It’s a similar—if not near-identical feeling—to how he felt that first night he laid in your arms without a stitch of clothing on, minus his briefs.  But he’s gotten used to it; likes it even: the warmth of your body against his own in the middle of the night, when it feels like the two of you are all that’s left in the world.

“So, what do you think?” He asks, eager for your thoughts.

You turn around and ease your head back as you gaze up at him and into irises of blue.

“It…” You trail off.

You don’t want to anger him with your answer, but are also growing tired of lying to spare his overly-sensitive feelings. It’s exhausting walking this dangerous tightrope every time you’re together.

If he doesn’t want an unpleasant answer, then maybe he shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place, and furthermore shouldn’t be asking your opinion on his personal living space.

You nearly flinch when he reaches up and cups your cheek.

You truly detest his suit, including his gloves.

So, you reach up, take his hand in yours, and pull gently against the fingertips of the soft red material.

He stays quiet as you remove it, and then his other one, before tossing them both onto a nearby table.

You blink innocently up at him and he smiles.

You fill with relief that he didn’t take offense to the gesture.

God, he is truly exhausting.

He cups your cheek again and brushes his thumb along your soft, flushed skin. “You can be honest.”

You mentally raise a brow at that. “Did you decorate it, or—”

He purses his lips and shakes his head. “No. Not something I’d ever waste my time with.”

He smirks. “That’s women’s work.”

You do raise a brow then and frown slightly as well, so he grins at your response.

He turns you around and pulls you back against his chest before wrapping his arms around your neck. “So?”

“Well, it’s very clean, which I like,” you say while resting your hands on his arms.

He snorts. Of course you’d reply with that.

“And?” He pushes, wanting for more.

You sigh. “I hate it. It’s very…empty. Impersonal. It feels like we’re in an American History museum instead of what’s supposed to be your home. There’s no…personal touches. It feels far more like Homelander’s living space, and less like my John’s.”

He stills, which you take immediate note of, and you grow cold all over.

You fucked up. Said too much. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Your John,” he whispers.

With your back against his chest, you can’t see the tears shimmering in his eyes at the sweet sentiment.

Your body loosens and relaxes, and you lean further back against him—your legs now a bit wobbly-feeling from the sudden onslaught of adrenaline.

“I mean, do you like the way it’s decorated and arranged?”

His mouth tugs into a frown and he shrugs. “I don’t spend much time here, to tell you the truth.”

You turn around and slide your hands up his chest and into his hair while standing on tiptoes. “You could always have it redone, sweetie. Hire a decorator, pick some things out and—”

He smiles widely and you shut your mouth while your brows furrow.

“What…?” You ask hesitantly while cocking your head slightly to the side.

He rests his hands against the small of your back, holding you close.

“I could just have you do it for me,” he states while sliding his hands higher, beneath the soft feminine top you have on.

Your eyes flit between his, waiting for explanation.

“You could come live here,” he explains. “We hire a decorator, like you said, or I just give you my credit card and let you do as you please to turn this place into a proper home. I foot the bill while you…y’know, go nuts.”

He…wants to live together?

Oh, no. No, no, no. That is way too big of a step to take, and far too soon.

His attachment issues know no bounds.

There’s a specific word for this level of it, isn’t there? Co…something. Codependency, yes! And now he’s made you the subject of his sick version of it. You wonder how many have come before you—have failed and disappointed him—then disappeared, per Vought, so he can inevitably find another to take their place.

Or, maybe you’re the first.

Who knows?

But if you are…why?

He never did answer that question, did he? Why you, that is.

You don’t think you should force that answer out of him right now, though.

“Baby, that is…a huge step. And I don’t think that…after only knowing each other for little over a week, for us to…take that leap—”

The light slowly drains from his eyes, and his smile disappears.

You swallow thickly while your heart jumps into your throat.

“What? You don’t want to be here? Don’t want me around?”

You jump into damage-control mode. “Of course I do, baby. But… I have less than two months left in school before I get my diploma. I’m about to be loaded down with finals. And there’s work, too. Just…to move in the middle of it all…”

You cup the back of his head and smile warmly, desperate to keep him from getting angry. Terrified of what will happen to you if you don’t succeed.

“How about this, sweetheart: we can compromise, maybe, if you like? You could pack a bag: clothes, toiletries, books and movies—I’ll even help you. Just…whatever you like. And you bring it all back to my apartment. I’ll clean out one of the drawers in my dresser for you, and some space in my closet, a spot in my bathroom—whatever you need—and you can continue staying there, just like you’ve been. But this way, it’ll feel more like your home, too. I mean, you like it better there, right? You said that you do.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek, then gaze warmly into his eyes as you wait for—you desperately fucking hope—a positive response.

He considers for a moment—you note how he grinds his jaw while in thought—and then he exhales while nodding. “Alright. Fine. But only until you’ve graduated. Right?”

You ignore the feeling of fear that overtakes you at his insistence. “Of course. I’ll just have a lot less on my plate then, sweetie. And it’ll be good to wait. Because it’ll give us more time to get to know one another. And you to have an opportunity to make sure that that’s what you truly want: me living here. Because I’d hate to…to just move in, and you decide a week or two later that you’ve made a huge mistake, and I have no apartment to go back to because I gave it up, you know?”

He nods his head from side to side in understanding. “Okay. I’ll pack a bag or two, and I’ll just continue coming to you every night.”

He smirks while leaning down and cupping your face between his hands—the image of him crushing your head between them flits briefly through your mind—and he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Besides, I love seeing you comfortable and in your element, anyway. And it’s nice having home-cooked meals so often.”

He grabs one of your ass cheeks, and your eyes widen in surprise. “And we don’t have to worry about the lemmings here at Vought up both our asses when we’re being intimate and when you’re…y’know, looking after me.”

You nod. “That’s all I want: privacy. And for me to have you all to myself.”

You hope he likes that last bit… You only tacked it on for his benefit.

When you feel his erection suddenly pressing against your stomach—hard and firm—you have confirmation that he does.

And then he presses his lips to yours once more.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon @chaimshelii @sacha1slytherin

[purplephantomwolf]

Love in Motion

Chapter One

Synopsis: You're a normal college student until you get a wrong number text.

Note: This is not an accurate portrayal of how the real people in this act. I do not know them personally, so I will not be portraying them accurately.

Warnings: None

Masterlist

I AM REWRITING THIS FROM AN OC STORY. IF I MISS ANYTHING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO I CAN FIX IT! THIS IS CHAPTER 1 OF 5 OF ALREADY WRITTEN CHAPTERS.

April 4, 2022 12:30pm

     You sigh, turning your attention away from your software engineering professor to your laptop screen. You watch as the 20 best drivers in the world complete the last lap of the first race of the 2021 Formula 1 season. You just recently got into Formula 1, so you’re watching the 2021 season to get a feel for the sport. Someone told you the 2021 season is a great season to watch because of the fights between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton. You silently cheer as your favorite driver, Lando Norris, finishes P4. You look up at the clock and see that it’s only 12:30. Still 35 minutes left of class, you think. You let out a small sigh, turning back to your laptop. You move on to watching qualifying for the first Italy grand prix of the 2021 season. You have just clicked play when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You grab it and see a text message from an unknown number. 

Unknown Number: Did you make it home from the club okay?

You: *One Image Attached* Considering I’m currently in a programming lecture, I think you may have been given the wrong number. I’m sorry.

     I send a picture of my view of my professor, laptop, and notes to the unknown number. 

Unknown number: Oh, thank you! I’m sorry for bothering you!

Unknown number: Hang on, are you watching Formula 1 while in lecture?

You: It’s okay! Also, yes I am watching Formula 1 while in lecture. I’d rather be learning about Formula 1 than boring C++. Also, why are you texting someone about getting home from the club okay? It’s 12:30 pm?

Unknown number: It’s currently 2:30 am for me. I was attempting to text a girl I was talking to at the club, but it looks like she gave me the wrong number. 

You: Oh, that makes sense. Wait, where are you that’s 14 hours ahead of me? Also, I’m sorry about the whole wrong number thing. That really sucks. Unless she gave you the wrong number cause you’re a creep. Then you deserve it. 

Unknown number: I’m currently in Melbourne, Australia. And I wasn’t being a creep! At least, I don’t think so. I hope not at least; I try my best to not be a creep. 

You: Alright, that’s good. I doubt you were being a creep. And Australia? Jeez, that’s so far from me. I’m in the United States.

Unknown number: That's only a small stretch from Australia. 

You: Yeah, it’s going to be not fun to watch the F1 race this weekend, but staying up is so worth it to see the race live.

Unknown number: Big fan of the sport? 

You: Yeah, I am. I just recently got into it, so I’m watching the 2021 season to learn everything I can. I’m also attempting to watch all the qualifying and races live.

Unknown number: Oh cool. That’s got to be tiring because most of the races are in Europe. Waking up early every day of the weekend must suck. 

You: I mean, yeah. It kinda sucks, but it’s not too bad. I’m not waking up super early unless it’s races in places like Japan and Australia. The earliest I have to wake up is like 6 for other races. That’s not too bad though. 

Unknown number: Oh, that’s not too bad then! Which team do you support?

You: Well, there’s not a specific team I really support. If I have to choose one, it would be McLaren, probably followed by Red Bull. I support drivers more than I support teams really. 

Unknown number: Okay, then who are your top three drivers?

You: That is a hard decision to make for 2 and 3. Lando Norris is for sure my number one driver, but I have like 5 drivers tied for second and then 5 tied for third. 

Unknown number: Oh interesting. Any drivers you dislike then?

You: No, I don’t dislike any drivers. Unless you count past drivers *cough* Mazespin *cough* 

Unknown number: That’s a funny nickname for Mazepin. But why don’t you like him?

You: I’m not sure. I just get a weird vibe from him. 

Unknown number: Interesting. But I get what you’re saying. Can I ask why Lando is your favourite? 

You: Sure! Lando is my favorite because of his personality, humor, and how he speaks out about mental health. I really struggle with depression and anxiety, so having such a public figure speak out about it is amazing. Also helps that he’s got the boy next door charm. That’s definitely my type lol

Unknown number: Ahh, okay! Those are good reasons to like him! Now, I feel weird talking to a nameless person. Can I ask you what your name is?

You: My name is Y/n. Can I ask what your name is?

Unknown number: Y/n, that’s a pretty name. My name is Luke. 

You: Nice to meet you, Luke. 

     You look up when you hear a commotion around you. You see that your classmates are packing their things and leaving. Wow, time really flew by talking to this stranger. You put your phone down and quickly pack your things. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and head out. You feel your phone vibrate with a text again. You see that it’s Luke again. 

Luke: Nice to meet you too, Y/n. 

9 pm

     You groan, leaning back in your chair. You glare at the lab manual you’ve been trying to make sense of for the past two hours. You glance over at your phone as it lights up with a message from your mom, and you pick it up to respond to the message. You are distracted from responding to her though because you see a message from Luke from 10 minutes ago. Your eyebrows rise in surprise. 

Luke: Good morning!

You: Uh, hi. Good morning! Did you sleep well?

Luke: I did! Has the rest of your day gone well? 

You: The rest of my day has gone okay. I’ve been staring at some stupid code that’s not working. The assignment is due in three days, so I need to get this code fixed.  

Luke: That sounds awful. I’m so thankful I’m no longer in school.

You: Yeah, I’m jealous. I’m searching for jobs in my dream field, but I haven’t found any that allows me to do what I want yet. 

Luke: Oh? What’s your dream job then?

You: My ultimate dream job is working as a photographer in the motorsport world, preferably F1, but I’d take any motorsport. My next dream job is just anything that allows me to travel the world taking photos. 

Luke: That would be an awesome job. I recently got into photography as a hobby. Do you have any photos you’d be willing to share with me? 

You: Sure! 

     You send him five of your favorite photos I’ve taken. Two are of cars on the move, one is a still life of a bunch of cars from a car show, the fourth is a sunset, and the last is of a group of people playing soccer. 

Luke: Holy shit! Those are amazing! 

You: Thanks! I’m really proud of these photos. They’re some of my favorite ones I’ve taken. 

Luke: They’re beautiful. 

You: Thank you! So, you mentioned that you’re no longer in school. Can I ask what exactly you do?

     You wait for a minute, but get no response. You decide to mess around on your phone for a bit while waiting for a response. After 5 minutes of not getting a response, you set my phone down. Right as you set your phone down, a notification for your chat with Luke pops up and you quickly click it. 

Luke: I am an event manager for McLaren F1 team. 

You: Really? That is so cool! I wanted to do event management in sports before I was in software engineering, though I was wanting to get into baseball. If I was still event management, I’d want to do motorsports now. Do you enjoy it? What does that entail? 

Luke: I plan events for the fans mainly. 

You: That sounds like a fun job. 

Luke: Why did you switch?

You: My parents thought I wouldn’t find a job that would make as much money as they do, so they made me switch to software engineering because it has higher paying jobs. 

Luke: Well, that’s stupid. Were you happy in event management?

You: Yeah, I was. But my parents are paying for my college, so I have to do what they want.

Luke: That’s very stupid. I take it you aren’t happy with software engineering?

You: No, I’m not. But I’ve only got two years left, so it’ll be all good!

Luke: Alright, well good luck. 

You: Thanks! Do you have a hangover?

Luke: I actually didn’t drink that much, so no hangover for me!

You: That’s very nice. I’ve never been hungover. I don’t drink a lot when I do drink. Can’t stand the taste of alcohol lol

Luke: Oh yeah, I get that. Do you want to play a game?

You: What game?

Luke: 21 Questions? To get to know each other?

You: That sounds like a good idea. I can start. What is your favorite thing to do in your off time?

Luke: I like to play video games. What is your favourite tv show?

You: Doctor Who. I could go on about that show forever. Who is your real life hero?

Luke: Valentino Rossi. What’s your favourite season of the year?

You: Fall. The colors are beautiful, the temperature is beautiful. I love it. What is your favorite song?

Luke: Right now it’s Last Last. What is your favourite city?

You: Of all the cities I’ve been to, London or Barcelona. If you had to guess what people appreciate the most about you, what would you say? 

Luke: My humour for sure. You’ve been to London and Barcelona?

You: Yeah, I went when I was a lot younger with my family. My family went on a three week trip to four different countries in Europe. We went to London, Paris, Zurich, and Barcelona. I loved London the most. It was right before the 2012 Olympics, so the city is probably different from what I remember now, though. Are you more of an introvert or an extrovert?

Luke: I would say I’m in the middle. What are your top three items on your bucket list? 

You: Going to an F1 race, start going to the gym, develop my skills in photography even more. Do you like to go to the movies or prefer watching them at home? Do you talk during movies?

Luke: I would prefer watching them home because it’s more comfortable. Plus it’s not expensive. I do not talk during movies if it’s the first time someone is watching it. If it’s not the first time, I’ll discuss the movie with others while watching it. If you could choose any F1 race to go to, which one would it be?

You: I’m torn between Austin and Great Britain. I know Monaco is like the go to cause of the history and prestige of it all, but I think Austin or Great Britain would be more fun with the atmosphere. Are you into podcasts or do you only listen to music?

Luke: I only listen to music. Podcasts need more attention than what I'm willing to give than music. What is your favourite ice cream flavour?

You: Probably chocolate. What’s one thing that can instantly make your day better?

Luke: Talking to my friends. What is the phone app you use the most?

You: TikTok or Discord. How would you spend your birthday, ideally?

Luke: Spend the day casually with my friends and family, and then have a party with them at night. You said you use discord, do you play video games?

You: Yes, I do. It’s one of my favorite things to do in my free time. What video games do you play? Do you usually play single player or multiplayer?

Luke: I usually play CS:GO and F1. What video games do you play?

You: If I play multiplayer games, it’ll be Valorant. But I mainly play single player games, like Assassin’s Creed. Assassin’s Creed Odyssey is one of my favorite games ever.

Luke: Which one is that one? I know they take place throughout time. 

You: That one is the Greek history one. I’m super into Greek history/mythology, so I absolutely love it. 

Luke: Oh that sounds cool!

     You glance over at the time. “Shit, it’s already midnight,” you groan. Now that you’re not focused on responding to Luke, you realize you are struggling to keep your eyes open. 

You: As much as I’d love to continue this, I just realized it’s midnight here, and I need to sleep. 

Luke: Okay, sounds good! Have a good night! 

You: Thank you! Have a good day! 

Luke: Good night!

You: Good night!

     You plug in your phone, shut off your pc, and change for bed. You crawl into bed, falling asleep quickly.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Permanent taglist:

@sol3chu

@faithshouseofchaos

Story taglist:

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[zooliminology]

Update/What's in the Future

[Hey guys, you probably have noticed that this is going to be likely the longest dry spell of real Zoolim content in a while. I apologize for this. Life has gotten in the way of a lot of things.

-I'm an art student in college, and last semester I didn't take any art classes so I was basically free to do whatever, but this semester I've taken three studio art classes, which are all very intensive and in honesty I would not recommend it! If you're a studio art student stick to 1-2 studio art classes a semester so you don't go insane please! I'm currently absolutely SWAMPED with work right now. -The Golbo video and the video that is imminently due this Tuesday (that i am writing this post about instead of working on) are the results of my New Media class. Considering the ten thousand million fucking art assets I have to draw for these it's been very time consuming (still want to do it though.) -A lot of life things have happened to me recently, not to be super personal but a family member of mine is sick and my living conditions are not the absolute Best, so it's been taking a heavy toll on my health.

All of these combined, especially the studio classes part because I've been bled dry of creativity energy relating to zoolim basically, has caused this dry spell basically. My hopes are that after the semester ends (which is soon) I'll be able to work on things more. I feel bad about not working on it more but I have to draw things other than zoolim to literally stay sane because it's a lot.

So I guess that leaves us with one question: what's in the future?

Well, a lot of things... maybe? I'm a little dry on entity ideas right now but i have a few, and I'd like to revisit some entities more and expand on them. And while I enjoy the videos and the non-entry ideas I have for material, I would also like to continue the 'traditional' paintings and entries. So I hope I can work on that alongside other things! I also have more ideas for videos, but considering how I have to do nearly all of the work, aside from the narration (thanks Darvinos) any video production will likely slow down dramatically after the semester is over. Until my next New Media class at least, but IDK if it will let me make the same shit.

I also have some deeper lore and a story semi-figured out, along with characters (you ever wonder who's taking the pictures? not the same person who's writing the captions!!!) but they would be hard to implement in this tumblr blog organically, so maybe they'll show up in some videos. I've thought of asking more people for help for this purpose, though I'd need to work out completely how that would work, and the moment that zoolim becomes more than some backrooms world i work on mostly by myself will become scary.

Sorry that this post is a big ramble, I hope yall understand and I swear the Longlegs video will come out pretty soon, it will be worked on again right after I post this lol. But please take care, and thank you for all the support you've shown me so far. It truly does mean a lot to me. I've said it several times but I'll say it again, I never imagined this shitty little art project about weird goobers in the backrooms would get so much attention lol.

ok end of post]

[alicerosejensen]

Can we see a headcanon of Leon’s girlfriend getting hit in by a guy(could be her guy friend) and they make her uncomfortable, then out of nowhere they just slap her on the butt. How would Leon react?

Minus one debt. Well, I'm glad I can write a little.

So, it's not even headcanons or text, but something in between. Like my thoughts.

There is a small smut, but not critical; Aggressive Leon; the reader shamelessly groped; Mention of physical violence (does not apply to the reader); Reader is a college girl (because I can, uh-huh); References to sexual violence.

I made the question a little worse, but the meaning would still be the same: Leon would fucking kill. Anyway.

- It could have happened at a party where you were hanging out with your friends.

- You have warned Leon that you will arrive late, but be sure to call him if there are any difficulties.

- You didn't really think you'd be late until 2am, but the booze and music convinced you to stay with your friends until early morning.

- No drugs! But you can't tell your college friend not to take them. In fact, you only drink and dance a lot, without even hearing that your phone is bursting with calls.

- Someday Leon will kill you for constantly playing on his nerves like a musical instrument (I'm not serious) but he's really worried that you're not answering texts or your calls, so it's time for things to track your phone.

- Leon can't stand some of your friends, considering he knows some of them are real junkies. He probably doesn't like that when they're high, they don't hesitate to make obscene compliments about how they would fuck you.

- When Leon first heard about it, you told him to just ignore it.

- But it was hard for Leon to control himself, if he heard it a second time, he would break this asshole's nose.

- Therefore, he is VERY concerned about your long absence and silence. Because he doesn't trust your friends.

- You realize that you have drunk more than your norm, because your feet no longer keep you on the ground. The whole world is spinning, but this does not mean that you could cheat on your boyfriend while drunk. Your brain knows who it is devoted to and who it loves.

- However, in this mess you absolutely can't find your phone to call him.

- I needed to at least get myself cleaned up. You started to feel sick, so you wandered to the toilet, then to catch a taxi and go home.

- With a swinging gait, you somehow reached your cherished goal when your friend's hand grabbed your wrist and pressed you against the wall with a brisk movement.

- The club is full of drunken kissing couples, so no one pays attention to you.

- Your brain didn't even immediately understand what was going on when someone godlessly started groping your ass.

- The back of your head hit the wall painfully, causing your brains to shake and turn into mush.

- And then someone's lips brazenly began to kiss your neck, despite the resistance.

- Someone's tongue is trying to get into your mouth with a disgusting kiss that tastes like cheap liquor.

- But weak attempts at resistance are perceived as flirting and teasing, despite the fact that you demand in a whimpering voice to stop.

- The only thing you know is that it's not Leon.

- "sh, hush, Sweetie, or are you just so submissive with your old man?" - Your friend's voice made you freeze in place in fear. - Like this! Be a pretty girl and let me touch you.

- Your (already former) friend allowed himself unforgivably much. You found the strength to push him in the chest and he staggered back a few steps away from you, mocking maliciously.

- "What? Do you only like old assholes, whore?"

- You try to pass by, ignoring his narcotic fumes mixed with alcohol, but again they grab you by the arm, dragging you somewhere to a secluded place.

- Your legs fail you and you stumble all the time trying to wrest your hands from a strong grip.

- Now you're not just uncomfortable. You are afraid.

- You scream to be let go otherwise there will be serious problems, hoping that this will somehow help you.

- But in return, you hear only disgusting insults.

- "Dumb slut! Your old man can even lift his ass off the couch to fuck you well! Tell me, Y/N, what did he do to you? money? Do you really want to live with a rich sugar daddy? You let him fuck you so he buys you all those tight skirts and blouses?"

- You are truly scared. Your friend is out of his mind and drags you into some back room, practically dragging you along. Even when you cry and fall trying to run back, he grabs your hair and continues on his way.

- It's not real! you try to convince yourself that this is a cruel joke of your friends, but it's all for real.

- You get pawed again trying to take away your tight dress, and even some of the self-defense techniques that Leon taught you do not work on him. You cry, begging not to do anything to you, that you will just leave and not tell anyone anything.

- Mascara dripped down your cheeks as you cried loudly, trying to somehow cover the bare parts of your body.

- Obscenities were whispered in your ear, and if it was Leon, some part of them could make you tremble, but now you just want to close your eyes and die.

- Salvation is nowhere to be found. However, you do not want to submit to your fate and bite your friend (I remind you of the former) painfully on the fingers when he put them in your mouth.

- Another attempt to escape in one inch. And it didn't succeed when they knocked you to the floor, preventing you from escaping.

- You may have time to shout "Help" several times before you are gagged and all you hear is the sound of jeans being unzipped.

- You had already closed your eyes, preparing for the worst, when you heard the sound of the door being thrown open.

- And then the relief when no one else presses you down with their body to the icy floor.

- Not understanding the madness around, part of your brain tells you to run while you can, but you understand your eyes only see an angry Leon beating up your rapist.

- How much chance does an ordinary civilian asshole have against a specially trained agent? Leon slams the bastard's head on the floor and you crawl back into the corner in horror, watching his bloodstained face stare at you.

- Maybe it seemed to you... But the beating to never end. In this chaos, you couldn't make out Leon's words, except for the expressions "Son of a bitch" and "Fucking scum" it seems there was something about your untouchability. However, you could no longer endure this spectacle of endless beatings. Is it possible that Leon tried to kill him like that?

- No gunshots, no squelching sounds like a knife stabbing in the throat. You just screamed in horror mixed with fear when you saw what this asshole had turned into. Although he could still speak, it made sure that he was still alive.

- Leon lost control of himself. He looked at him like a vile worm and headed towards you, immediately softening in his eyes.

- Without saying anything, he just wrapped you in his jacket before quickly making sure that what was planned was not done and picked you up like a feather in his arms, taking you away from this place.

- Lastly, "I'm not done with you, son of a bitch"

- Leon put you gently in the car and fastened your seat belt, and you spent the whole way home in silence and tears, afraid to look at him. He didn't say or do anything either.

- You returned home the same in his arms. Leon sat you down on the couch, tossed keys on the coffee table, and then kicked the chair that caught his eye first.

- The situation was heating up.

- Leon took a deep breath, licking his lips, clearly wanting to say something as he looked in your direction. You sat in the same place without moving.

- His aggression was overflowing and he had to make a huge effort not to yell at you, instead ordering you to take off your jacket (he was really trying to say it calmly)

- You obediently complied with his request, putting the leather jacket aside, hugging your shoulders.

- Still sobbing.

- Leon came back to you with a first aid kit to make sure there weren't any major injuries or scratches.

- But he couldn't contain his anger.

- "Why am I always pulling your ass out of all the shit?!"- Perhaps the sight of someone else's hickey on your neck made him scream. - "Is it so difficult not to look for problems? Why the hell should I look for you in a fucking drug club where your drug addict friend almost raped you?! Why the hell didn't you get home on time? How much of your fucking quirks do I have to put up with? until they kill you?"

- The hysteria grew, but there were absolutely no words. Leon threw something fragile at the wall, and it shattered into pieces, making you cry even more in fright.

- You prayed for only one thing: for this to end.

- Leon took a deep breath trying to control his anger. Without saying anything, he went into the bath where you heard the sound of running water.

- After 10 minutes, everything was quiet and Leon went into the kitchen pouring some whiskey into a glass, but instead of drinking it himself, he sat down in front of you, forcing you to drink it yourself.

- "Come on, let's get you cleaned up and then you can go to bed."

- Leon helped take off your torn dress and underwear and soaked your shaking body in warm water, turning away to find your facial sponge to wash off the smudged make-up.

- You were trembling despite the surrounding heat and apparently drunk alcohol makes itself felt.

- Leon tidied you up carefully, looking at your bruises. Didn't bother for a long time. Wrapped it up in a towel and took it to the bedroom where he pulled out your underwear from the drawer, which he put on you and his shirt.

- You knew he wouldn't hurt you, so maybe that's why you were still looking for protection from him? Leon laid pillows on you, covering you with a thick blanket, preparing himself for a sleepless night.

- In the morning you will feel bad. Both physically and mentally, of course, he will take care of you and he does not believe that you are to blame for what happened. It's just that if you really want to be with him, you'll have to cut your circle of fucking friends and not get on his nerves.

- He loves you to death, so you love him.

[tbzhub]

Just Go Fuck Him

Pairing: photographer!Lee Hyunjae x afab!reader

Summary: Hyunjae moves back into his childhood home and old feelings and memories come up.

Warnings: MDNI, reader has scars, brief mention of childhood trauma, brief mention of surgeries, flashbacks, a smidge negative self-talk, hyunjae is the rizzler, smut... creampie, pet names, yada yada

Rating / Genre: M, neighbor au, childhood crush au, fluff?, slight angst (it’s really not THAT bad), lots of pining

WC: 8K (2K+ words for the smut scenes)

Artist Note: @everynewiee Enjoy! Special thank you to @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this and giving me the best fucking commentary. You're a gem and I probably would not have posted this if you hadn't stroked my ego. Love youuuuuu. If there's a typo I'll get to it eventually

m.list tag list

The living room was quiet in its typical offputting fashion as you sat around with your parents; no one saying anything as there were no conversations to be had and nothing playing on the television since no one would pay attention anyway, a phone captivating its user as everyone sat in their respective places. Any interaction at this point would feel almost disrespectful and annoying, disrupting the usual routine of your and your parent’s day. 

Your favorite place to cocoon was on the right side of the sofa, wrapped in a plush blanket while you doom-scrolled until you eventually needed to walk the dogs. This is how your days were spent since your college graduation, making your parents the only ones on the block who weren’t empty nesters. Maybe that explained why you never went out—  there was no one to go out with. Everyone else seemed to blossom rapidly, moving away and starting lives too hectic to return to their childhood homes on a regular basis while you sat at home, wrapped in blankets, feeling left behind.

Feeling left behind wasn’t inherently a negative thing, though— and it wasn’t really a feeling either. Acknowledgment: that’s what you’d describe this part of your life as— the acknowledgment of being a late bloomer, the acceptance of being the last flower waiting to bloom. The last person to leave the nest, as some would say, and that fact was totally okay with you because, in truth, it was okay for you to spend your days the way you pleased. There was no reason to run out and chase after what everyone else was doing just to keep up, to avoid loneliness at the risk of getting hurt. 

Maybe it wasn’t just an acknowledgment; perhaps being a flower that’s yet to bloom guaranteed safety from a world so wide with new people who didn’t know you and old people who’d changed so much that you didn’t know them at all. You certainly weren’t close with anyone that you’d grown up with, and when you’d run into them at the odd holiday party that you were forced to attend, that fact was always highlighted awkwardly and sometimes painfully. There’s something to be said about standing silently in a circle full of adults that you used to run around outside with as a child, as wild stories are passed around, and accomplishments are one upped by additional accomplishments. You’ve watched enough cliques coalesce in real time, cliques that you were a part of as a child but somehow couldn’t squeeze into as an adult… and to say the least, it gets old. Thus, you cocooned, you doom-scrolled, and you became content with the silent life you’d curated with your parents.

So the living room is as quiet as it always was, and the day would drone on as it always did, and you’d be just fine not rocking the boat until it was time to go to bed and do it all over again tomorrow.

But sometimes the boat needs to be rocked, and the loud knock that’s heard does the trick in making your mom flinch in her seat, and your father crane his neck to the rather unexpected sound.

You, on the other hand, do not react because a knock at the door— regardless of how foreign, is never for you. The shifting of your parents getting out of their seats and the creaking of the floorboards underneath their feet does nothing to pull you away from your phone because, again, no one is knocking on the door for you, and you’d never entirely inherited your nan's natural curiosity.

It’s not until your mom comes back into the living room with her head peeking out from behind the foyer wall as she calls out your name that you finally get up from your favorite spot on the couch. The action is done begrudgingly, but your mom swears someone is here to visit you, and her smile is vast, so at the very least, you would appease your mom and be polite.

-

The thing about people-pleasing was that you never knew where you’d end up. You could set out to be polite to some unexpected guest to appease your mother and end up staring face-to-face with your childhood fucking crush. This wasn’t hypothetical; this was actually happening, and you were currently wearing drab black sweatpants.

He says hi first, hugging you at the front door as your parents invite him in for tea, and you stand there looking like a fucking idiot troll whose soul has just left their body. Specifically, you were internally screaming as you said hello and tried not to look like you were combing through your hair with your fingers.

“It’s been so long, Hyunjae. How’s your mom?” Your mom asks as she heads into the kitchen to start the kettle, and you look down at your hands as he responds to her. 

He’s still just as polite as he used to be when you were kids, and that pisses you off.

“It’s so lovely of you to visit,” you hear your dad chime in, and you want to scowl because you felt quite the opposite. Who visits someone they haven’t spoken to in well over half a decade out of the blue without even a single warning? How were you the only person put off by this rogue visitation?

“I thought you were a travel photographer. What are you doing back here?” You ask, and really, you wish you could tell him to leave because this was too much, and you could feel the memories starting to stew inside your brain. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you looked up at his ever-charming smile, and all you wanted to do was flee to your room.

“I moved back. I missed home.” 

-

Hyunjae’s return meant your parents weren’t the only non-empty nesters anymore, which should make you feel better about yourself, but it doesn’t. It makes you feel like a child again and not in a way that should feel safe or warm and fuzzy. It makes you remember your childhood with him as your next-door neighbor. It makes you remember your childhood in general, and it makes you remember all the shenanigans that the two of you got up to together. All the silly poems and doodles you’d write about him in your journal growing up start to whisper around in your mind. All the conversations you’d have in your backyards pull to the forefront of your brain. Core memories flash like you’re watching a synopsis of your life thus far when you close your eyes after turning in for the night. 

You slowly began to remember just how easy it was for you to grow attached to the boy that lived next door…

Hyunjae was a few years older than you, but he was always sweet, unlike the boys his age who lived in the neighborhood. Even in your younger years, it was his kindness that really set him apart in your mind. He was one of the few older kids who played nicely with the younger kids instead of ditching or excluding them or stealing their toys. 

When you fell and scraped your knee trying to ride a bike for the very first time without any training wheels, he was quick to run inside his house to get a bandaid and a small bag of ice. He had kissed your bandaid-covered knee in hopes that it would get you to stop crying, and at the time, you thought the gesture was ludicrous; he wasn’t a mom, so there was no way that he could have the ability to wipe away someone’s pain with the simple press of his lips. 

That was the day that you learned it wasn’t just mothers who held such a magical power

-

So you were putting effort into your looks to walk the dogs now... Nothing crazy— just making sure your hair wasn’t frizzy and that your clothes weren’t wrinkled before you left the house. You hadn’t run into Hyunjae yet, but it was bound to happen, and you wouldn’t be caught off guard when it did.

The dogs were slower than usual to round the block this afternoon, but you didn’t mind, enjoying the album you were listening to as you admired the cotton candy-like clouds dashed across the beautiful pale blue sky. For someone who spent such a massive chunk of their time indoors, you really did appreciate being outside.

Apparently Hyunjae felt the same way. You saw him outside for the first time since he came back, sitting on his front porch with a camera in his hands as he presumably took shots of the sky above. This was perfect actually. You could skitter by unnoticed. With your headphones over your ears and a fancy digital camera concealing most of his face, there should be this shared agreement that deterred one from interrupting the other for the sake of exchanging pleasantries. 

As you move closer, your house getting more prominent in your field of view, you’re reminded that dogs don’t give a fuck about made-up social contracts. Yours pull on their leashes to get to Hyunjae, one barking, and that’s enough to steal the man’s attention away from snapping the shutter. 

Damn. Your streak of avoidance shattered.

He smiles when he sees it’s you and waves with the most earnest expression on his face, and for a brief moment, you forget how to walk like an able-bodied person, legs feeling like mush and mind going blank as his inviting eyes settle on you and your dogs. 

“One foot in front of the other. Smile like a sane person. Don’t let him sense his sheer power over you.”

You repeat the mantra in your mind as you let your dogs pull you closer to him, nearing his front porch with bated breath and a weak smile. It's those wooden steps at the entrance of his house that get you, the ones that harbored far too many sweet core memories. As you sit beside him on the landing, you can’t help but think of every single time that you’ve sat here in the past.

“Hey,” He says, wrapping his arm around you briefly in a friendly, one-armed hug before he sets his fancy digital camera far away from the dogs’ reach.

Your hello is soft and shy, but you didn’t stutter at the physical touch, so you’d consider that a small win.

“So you came home just to take pictures of the sky?”

He snorts at your question, “I already told you why…

“I got tired of the world at large. Plus, there’s more than enough beauty around here. The familiar things deserve to be photographed, too.” He admits simply– as if the sentiment is genuine common knowledge. He’s smiling down at you, and for a second, maybe it was a delusion, but you honestly felt like he was talking about you specifically.

“Watch. I’ll show you what I mean.”

He reaches out for his camera and begins to snap pictures of your dogs, petting them and scratching behind their ears. One of your dogs must secretly be a Hyunjae simp because he can capture her dopey smile perfectly.

You silently watch as he goes through the pictures, his smile widening, and he leans close to show you the one that must have tugged at his heartstrings. It’s a picture of your dog, face cradled in Hyunjae’s large hand, her eyes practically shining with glee, and she has the cutest doggy smile to match.

You giggle, face breaking into perhaps its first genuine smile in such a long time. “This is perfect. I have to show Mom. I’d love a copy if you don’t mind?” 

When you look up from the camera, you notice just how close you are, invading his personal space unwittingly, and a blush rises in your cheeks as you quickly lean away to create some tangible distance.

He only hums in agreement before shutting his camera off again and making eye contact with you. “I’ll send you a copy later tonight. Has your number changed?”

-

When you finally get home, your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, and the spring in your step is undeniable. You let the dogs off their leashes and put away your headphones before practically skipping to your bedroom.

You flop on your bed, feeling weightless and energized from the crumb of interaction... This could become a problem, an addiction— could a person become addicted to another person? Regardless of the answer, you squealed in bed, covering your face in your hands as you let every single positive emotion flood through your body. Your legs kick in the air, and you feel giddy, high on the love and infatuation of a crush a decade in the making.

Oh, you were so fucking doomed. Hyunjae needed to either move away or express his intent to marry you as soon as possible because every feeling you’d shoved down had come back in full force, plus interest.

A knock on your bedroom door makes you freeze mid-tizzy, and as the door creaks open, it's your mom’s head that peeks into your room, and the smile that graces her lips looks nearly childlike. She wanted to gossip, you could tell.

“I saw you sitting over at the Lee’s. It’s been so long since I've seen you two sit outside on his porch steps like that.” She says, and immediately, your face goes blank. Any traces of giddiness is sucked right out of you in exchange for bashfulness. 

Vibe ruined. You felt so exposed.

“What? I’m happy. You two used to be so close growing up, and he was such a sweet kid. It’s just nice to see…” she trails off before finally taking the hint and leaving you alone to writhe in your newfound angst and embarrassment.

Your mom was right, though. You spent ample time on the Lee’s front porch growing up.

When everyone had gotten old enough to where the playing field was level, and the neighborhood kids could all get off the school bus together, it was common to hang out in a large group after school. Sometimes, this entailed sitting around and talking. Still, most of the time, this led to adventuring around the block and getting into what could only be labeled as dumb, child-appropriate shenanigans.

It didn’t take long for you to bow out of these afternoon activities in exchange for seclusion, sat at your front door doing your homework, reading a book, or maybe drawing. You didn’t want to partake in what everyone else was doing.

Hyunjae had been the one to start the unspoken tradition by randomly sitting on his porch one day instead of running out to play with everyone else. You noticed him outside, but your head is inside a book about horses, and frankly, what someone else did on their porch was none of your adolescent business.

But that day, he called you over, asking if you wanted to sit with him, and when you explained that you were reading a book, he was quick to respond, saying the same thing.

“We don’t have to talk. Just sit next to me.” That was his persuasive pitch, and it worked.

That day, you sat side by side on his front porch steps, one reading a picture book about horses and the other reading a Spiderman comic book. When he noticed you struggling to sound out an unfamiliar word, he broke the comfortable silence to help you.

That's how it started, the many sessions of keeping each other company on his wooden steps. That’s probably the true catalyst of your friendship, him calling you over and you obliging his request, sitting side by side on wooden steps instead of running around with the other neighborhood kids.

Gradually, this evolved from a mini reading club to you bringing art supplies over to paint together, him helping you with your math homework when it got tough, or even him simply reading a chapter of his library books to you with your head laid against his shoulder, eyes closed as you pictured the fictitious world that Hyunjae was describing to you.

The Lee’s front porch steps slowly became a second home to you, and as you both grew up, experiencing life in new and complicated ways, sometimes the only thing that helped you get by was sitting on those steps with Hyunjae by your side.

-

The coming days felt slow; your typical routine of couch cocooning left you unsatisfied, and you found yourself counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could walk your dogs outside. Which was silly because you were a grown adult; you didn't need to find an excuse to go out… but you did want an excuse to run into Hyunjae again.

Which again— you were a grown adult, and you could take life by the balls and knock on his front door, say hi, and invite yourself in. You weren't going to do that, but at the very least, you acknowledged that plan as a viable option: baby steps and all that.

In your defense, though, you didn't want to make a fool of yourself, and you were scared. So much has changed over the years since you’d last appropriately spoken. You had so many unanswered questions, and you felt like the elephant in the room, the elephant that you’d birthed, still hadn't been addressed… You didn’t think that you’d earned the right to rogue, unannounced visitations in the same way that Hyunjae did.

As of right now, you are settling on the waiting game. Hyunjae sent you the picture of your dog, just as he’d promised, but you haven't seen him outside since. At this point, the ball was in the universe’s court, and you hoped to be favored kindly.

Today, you decided to bring your pinning to a different location, settling on cleaning your bedroom instead of wistfully thinking about Hyunjae as you stared out your living room windows. You would give your room a real deal deep clean; organize and clean out your closet, vacuum, feather dust, wipe down your bedroom windows, and toss out anything that hadn’t been used in three years— the works.

You were moving through these tasks with music on blast, shimmying and singing along while you harbored a spray bottle in one hand and a cloth in the other. No area was safe for dirt or dust in your room. You were intent on cleaning until your room was interior design magazine-level spotless, and the next inanimate victim was your window. You pushed back the curtains and drew the blinds to reveal the dusty glass pane.

Wow, this should get done more often.

You attacked the window pane with cleaning spray and started wiping, swaying to the beat of the bass-heavy song that played through your speakers, and soon you're doing more dancing than wiping. You get lost in the song, singing into the window as if you were in a music video as you run the cleaning cloth over the glass like it was a prop.

Then you notice Hyunjae standing in his bedroom window, and you halt. How long had he stood there? How much of your theatrics had he witnessed? You remove your hand from the glass, and your face twists up in humiliation. 

He crosses his arms, eyebrows arching upwards, but the rest of his expression seems impassive before he finally bursts into a fit of laughter, causing you to do the same. Your embarrassment dissipates as he claps his hands to applaud you for such a lovely showcase, and you playfully bow. 

This moment wasn’t the first time that one of you has gotten caught being weird in the recesses of your bedrooms by the other, but it’s been so long that you can’t help but giggle. Some things really don’t change, and you’re glad that, at this point, getting caught by Hyujnae feels the same way as it did when you were younger. No judgment, just a short shock of embarrassment followed by playfulness and laughter shared between good friends. 

-

Hyunjae’s been back home for over a month now, and you were still… dragging your feet when it came to acknowledging the obvious. You were being stubborn, and you were starting to annoy your mother. She, so badly, wanted to play matchmaker. Yet, you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, insisting for the nth time that you did not like Hyunjae and that he did not like you. She’d roll her eyes and drop the matter, but she always muttered something under her breath. Then you’d act like you didn't hear, just like she’d act like you hadn’t spewed such a bald-faced lie.

You did like him, though. You more than liked him, and that’s what startled you most. To want someone in so many ways... The concept was so new to you, and Hyunjae made pining over him refreshing. 

There were parts of it that were innocent and parts that felt like carnal desire. You wanted to talk to Hyunjae every day like you used to— to spend time with him every day, just like when you were kids. There was this familiarity in his presence that was soothing, and yet most days, he left you feeling drunk off the feelings and needs that you’d developed for him. 

He was sweet, and he made you laugh, but at his baseline? Hyunjae was a flirt that left you flustered all the time. 

It’s the looks he gives you, the curve at the corner of his lips when he’d notice you short-circuit from one of his sly compliments, or the intense eye contact he’d give you while you spoke. It was the way he’d playfully nudge you as you sat beside him on his porch steps, and it was most definitely the cheeky smile he'd flash at you when he was jogging around the block with his shirt off. With all of that, you were starting to look at him differently, and you found yourself appreciating him in ways that you’d never paid attention to before.

When had he gotten so irresistibly attractive? Has he always been this undeniably sexy?

He’d gotten stronger, bulkier. It only took a few shameless glances in his direction while he was outside, gearing up for a run, to notice just how toned he was. His back muscles were lean. His arms looked so firm… like he could protect you with them or wrap them around you as he drilled nothing but raw pleasure into your body. The thought alone made you shiver, and it was becoming damn near impossible to look at him in a friendly way. Exceptionally not with his lips so perfectly crafted. He had lips that could easily hypnotize you— and they did often. You’d try your hardest to focus on his words just to fantasize about how sweet and kissable his lips were. 

Right now, you were stuck between reality and a daydream as you stood outside listening to Hyunjae speak. You’d crossed paths as he was coming in from a late evening jog, and you were heading out to walk the dogs. You watched the way his tongue ran along his bottom lip slowly, and then your eyes began to trail down past his bare chest. Before you could fall deeper into your thoughts, heat spread across your chin, and your face got tilted upward for you to meet Hyunjae’s gaze.

“Like what you see?” He guesses, calling you out playfully, and your reaction time is slow to it all. 

You barely register getting caught as you focus on the sudden physical contact, the way his hand cups your chin firmly, and the warmth that his fingers provide to your skin. His touch lingers as you stare up at him with a facial expression displaying nothing but need. How could such a simple gesture cause you to buckle so intensely? If you tried to speak right away, you might let out a moan. 

You have to take a step back to regain your composure, and your hand tightens around the leash that you're holding. 

Fuck. 

For a moment, you’d even forgotten all about your dogs. They needed a walk, and here you were eye fucking Hyunjae outside his childhood home. Your words are mumbled and short as you try to slink away, stepping to the side to get around him on the sidewalk.

“My bad.”

That’s all you could say. It was the lamest thing to come out of your mouth in a while, but your dogs could be your escape from such an awkward situation. 

His hand grabs your wrist, though, stopping you from completing one of your little vanishing acts. You can barely hear him over your rapidly beating heart. All you can make out is that he’ll text you when to come over, and there's something else about going for a drive.

-

Hyunjae kept taking casual side glances your way while you sat together in his car. No one was talking, and you could tell he was gearing up to say something ridiculous. The smirk that graced his mouth was your leading indicator, and the suspense killed you. The lull in your conversation only heightened your anticipation as you tried to relax into the passenger seat, sitting silently and with thick tension.

“You never answered my question, you know.” His words come out so nonchalant that you nearly misunderstand him.

But you could play coy, too, so you take a long sip from your drink to keep him waiting.

 “Hm?” 

The eye roll he gives you is comical and dramatic, and he feigns offense as his hand covers his heart.

“You forgot that fast? Wow, dude. Check me out, and then forget all about it. I feel used.” Even as the words pass his lips, he’s smiling, his eyes creasing, and the rise of his cheekbones are very telling. Hyunjae just loved to see you squirm in the hot seat.

“I don’t know what— did you just call me dude?” His phrasing finally registers, and you scoff. Was this a date, or did you just get painfully friendzoned?

His eyebrows quirk upward, and the smirk along his lips turns devilish momentarily as he hums, eyes intently on your own.

“I’m sorry. Would you prefer something more forward? I could call you baby… there's also babe, angel, sunshine. Buttercup if we’re feeling frisky. Darling is a favorite of mine, but anything’s on the table, really.” 

Your nose scrunches up at his blatant teasing. The man was straight up toying with your emotions. “Just f-forget about it.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart.” 

His words bounce around the car before striking straight through you. The cup in your hand clatters clumsily into its holder as you drop it.

So much for keeping it cool.

“Ooooh, so that’s the one. I’ll remember that.” He says through a chuckle and a smug grin as he reclines further in his seat.

“You know you didn’t have to bring me all the way out here to tease me. You were doing a pretty good job from the comfort of your own home.” 

You tried to sound dry and aloof, but you started to buzz with anticipation. The feelings that you’d kept hidden, albeit poorly, would be pushed and prodded to the surface, thanks to Hyunjae and his charming smile.

“That’s not why I brought you out here. I actually wanted to talk. I’ve missed you.” He admits, reaching out to touch your shoulder tenderly. 

“Hyunjae. We’re neighbors. You see me every day.” You assert, facial expression going deadpan as you stare back at his unwavering flirtatious gaze.

He sighs at that, mind seeming to go to a faraway place before he speaks up again.

“It’s more than that. I miss how close we used to be. We haven’t hung out alone like this since the summer before my senior year of high school. It feels like decades have passed and…

“It felt like it happened out of nowhere. It was like one day, we were close. I’d say we were best friends, and then the next day, you woke up and decided that wasn’t the case anymore. Why? What did I do?”

There was a gleam of hurt in his eyes that caused your bottom lip to jut out as guilt struck you. Hyunjae was right. You were close. He was your favorite person, and you were his. He was ever-present throughout much of your life, and then you ghosted him. You could pinpoint the exact moment when things changed, and you’d decided to stop being his friend. 

You were a teenager riddled with insecurities, and instead of talking to him about it— or talking to anyone for that matter, you’d made the conscious decision to become reclusive. You thought that you needed to detach from someone that you, for the longest time, considered was your one and only gift from the universe growing up.

You purse your lips together before opening your mouth to speak, but doubt settles and seeps into your bones. “I don’t know how to explain this without sounding dumb.” 

Hyunjae shrugs, “Just say it. Dumb or not. We’ll piece everything together as a team.”

His eyes were soft, and his hand went to rest on your knee, giving you all the comfort and safety that you needed to explain yourself.

“Um… obviously, I have a crush on you, right? Like, let’s move past that fact fast.” You pause to read Hyunjae’s reaction, but he only gives you a small smile while his hand reaches for yours, lacing his fingers through your own.

“A-and… I guess I knew that even back then. I mean, yeah. I had a huge fucking crush on you back then. Oh god, it was bad. It's just as bad as it is now, honestly. But when we were in high school, I started developing all these insecurities. I started noticing that other girls looked different from me. They didn’t grow up getting used to the hospital like I did. They didn’t have these long surgical scars on their legs like mine. You remember that part of my life, right? Your mom let you visit me after my first surgery when I was super young.”

Somewhere along the way, you shifted in your seat to stare out the window as you spoke, unable to hold eye contact and show vulnerability simultaneously.

“I didn’t realize it then because I was so young… I just wanted to feel better, but my body was branded with all this trauma. The scars on my thighs documented it all. It was hard going to gym class. The locker room was awful; I’d feel so insecure, and then I’d have to think about you constantly. All the girls knew you, and they’d talk about how hot you were. All. The. Time. And because I was your best friend, they’d ask me about you all the time. I was ‘popular’ but only because they wanted something from me. I couldn’t deal with it. All these beautiful girls with perfect, flawless skin constantly asked me about the guy that I’d liked for so long.

“I could not deal with another school year being seen only as the gateway to Hyunjae. I spent that summer in my room crying and wishing that things were different. That I was different, that I'd wake up and these scars would be gone. That I could finally get the guy that I’d wanted for so long… Obviously, that never happened. So I thought that if I put you and our friendship behind me, maybe I could, at the very least, move on because why would a guy like you want someone so far from perfect.”

You did it. Hyunjae is finally caught up and no longer left in the dark. All that was left to do now was listen to his response. You feel firm hands grab at your waist, and you're awkwardly pulled out of your seat until you're straddling Hyunjae’s lap.

“Thank you for sharing all of this with me, but… is that what you really think? That I wouldn’t want you because of something like that?” He’s looking up at you with tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and all you can do is nod meekly.

“I hate that, you know. I hate knowing that you spent an entire summer crying, and I was right next door, and I didn’t know.” His hands fall to your thighs, squishing them in his hold gently as he processes all of this information.

“I can’t even joke about how down bad we’ve been for each other because right now I’m shocked.” He goes on, sighing heavily before chewing on his bottom lip.

“My mom raised me right. I can reassure you that I would never care about something like that. I know, all too well, how to appreciate and treat a good woman. You’ve always been beautiful to me, and you’ll continue to be. Always. No matter what. Those parts of you are gorgeous, too, because they’re a part of the bigger, breathtaking picture.

“I don’t want to miss out on any more time, okay?”

Before you can grace him with a response, his lips are on yours, and his hand is pressed against your back as he pushes your body closer to his.

It was the kind of kiss that made you realize just how lonely you’d been. Urgency and desire ran straight through your veins to pool at your center, and you felt like you were melting into the man below you. You could stay like this forever, straddling Hyunjae’s hips while your tongue collided beautifully with his. He kissed you like a thirsty man dying for a drink. Faint gasps leave your chest whenever he pulls away to breathe to dive back in and fuse his mouth with yours again. 

So this is how Hyunjae’s lips feel. This is how it feels to be kissed by him.

You both become lost in the kiss, and his hands begin to roam. Warmth spreads across your lower back as one of Hyunjae’s hands snakes its way underneath your shirt to caress your skin, and a shiver flows up your spine. Your fingers tangle into his hair, anchoring yourself to this moment as your hips roll. That’s when you feel it.

“Oh.” You breathe out.

The tent in his pants nudges against you perfectly as you're coaxed into a steady grind by the firm hand pressed along your back.

“Feel good?” He asks, pulling away to look up at you with glossy lips and messy hair. Your nod is an eager one as you try to lean down, eyes closing as you search for his lips again while Hyunjae leans into you, pressing kisses to your neck instead. 

You feel his free hand creep up to your thighs as you continue to chase after the friction his crotch provides. Your skirt slowly becomes bunched up, cool air hitting your thighs, and you freeze, shyness and insecurity washing over you.

“J-jae…” You stutter out in a whisper, grabbing his face in your hand to stop him from looking down.

There’s a look of understanding on his face, but you also see a glint of something else in his eyes. “Wanna come back to my place, Sweetheart? I can think of some ways to help you get comfortable.”

-

As promised, Hyunjae made you feel safe and comfortable. He asked for permission before peeling a new article of clothing away from your body each time. He litters soothing touches and gentle kisses to any freshly exposed skin as he gets you undressed fully. When you’re completely bare, he’s keen to comfort you, making a point of looking you in the eyes before sneaking a glance down to your chest briefly.

“Just focus on me, okay?” He says, voice as soft as cotton while his hand comes up to stroke the side of your face sweetly.

He leans back to take off his shirt, and even though you’ve seen him shirtless more than a handful of times, you can’t help the whine that leaves you. Your eyes trail down his toned torso and settle expectantly on his hands that fiddle with his jeans. You were about to learn something new about Hyunjae, and you were paying very close attention.

He was big, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip to stop the moan that tries to punch out of you. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest as you stare blatantly at every part of him before your wide eyes finally lift to meet his gaze.

“It’ll fit.” He reassures smugly, and you roll your eyes at that.

“When did you get so cocky?” You sass through a tease as you're pushed backward onto his bedsheets.

“Don’t be jealous, Sweetheart. You’ll be full of cock soon.” He tosses back, causing you to shudder. 

He hovers above you for a moment, caging your body in between his strong arms as he looks down at you with fondness in his gaze while he admires your beauty. He leans down to kiss you on the lips before moving down your body.

His lips press against every part of your body on his trek down your chest and past your stomach. When he gets to your thighs, he takes his time, closing his eyes as he kisses every spot, running his tongue along the blemishes that make you doubt yourself. He alternates his love and affection as he slots himself between your legs, nipping at one thigh before pressing a wet kiss to the other.

You feel weightless already. There's not an ounce of nervousness in your body as Hyunjae worships the parts of you that you thought you disliked the most. You felt cared for, cherished, and like you were the most enticing person in the world. The tingling sensations travel closer and closer to the apex between your thighs until you let out a gasp that quickly morphs into a whimper.

“Jae— 

You're cut off by a moan as Hyunjae’s tongue swipes up your wetness in one languid motion, causing a jolt of pleasure to dash through your body. He hums into your pussy as he runs his tongue from side to side, parting your folds and tasting you hungrily before he slots your clit between his lips. You lurch forward, and he reaches one arm up to press you back into the bed, resting his hand on your stomach. He pushes your thighs farther apart with his free hand; his grip is tight around your thigh while he buries his face further into your pussy, tongue unrelenting as he sucks on your clit in tandem with the flicks of the wet muscle.

You didn’t know how to move through life after experiencing something life-altering like this. Hyunjae’s mouth made you feel unreal. His tongue could easily be labeled the 8th wonder of the world. All you could do was softly moan his name like you were reciting a prayer as he worked you over. 

The bed dips as he shifts his positioning, stopping his ministrations for a minute, and when you look down, you notice just how drenched his chin is because of you, and you shyly close your legs.

“Y-you don’t have to contin—

He cuts you off by forcing your legs apart and looking up at you purposely while he settles between your thighs again. 

“Why would you deny yourself something we both know you want?” He challenges, tongue sticking out to ghost over your glistening pussy, and the delicate warmth that the barely-there touch provides is enough to have you whining in need. You push his head back down, hoping he’ll just shut up and go back to town. He does, but not without having the last word. 

“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teases, words slurred as he tries to talk between sloppy licks. His tongue remains flat as he laps at your pussy to make you fall apart. 

When you seem close, with moans flowing out of you ceaselessly, he sinks into you, tongue massaging your spasming walls as he fucks you with his mouth, and that’s all you need. Your face grows hot, and you start to quiver; your thighs begin to falter, and Hyunjae has to hold them steady with his large hands as your orgasm swallows you whole.

“Oh FUCK.”

You will never be the same. Your body throbs with pleasure, and you shake through the most powerful feeling that you’ve ever encountered in your life. You’re speaking only in incoherent babbles as Hyunjae continues to tongue fuck you until the sensation is far too much for your pussy, and you have to push him away. You look up at him breathlessly, eyes unable to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time as you come down from such an intense finish.

“God bless you, Hyunjae.” You finally say, still twitching from your nerves getting lit on fire.

“I take it I did pretty good, hm?” He points out with the cockiest grin while he wipes his chin, coating the back of his hand in your essence. His eyes drift away from your face to check you out, and his face melts into a genuine smile.

“Your body is perfect to me, by the way. Every single part of it. Every minor detail.” He reassures, voice coated in sincerity as he trails his hand along your thigh, thumb running across a faded scar.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as you turn your face away from him, with a blush peppering your cheeks. “It’s your turn…” You add, letting your legs fall open for him.

“Our turn,” He corrects as he turns your face to look up at him. 

“You ready, Sweetheart?” He asks while he hovers above you, and you can feel how warm and heavy he is against you, prompting you to nod your head yes.

Hyunjae sheathes himself inside you slowly, causing you to groan blissfully as your eyes fall closed. He feels so good. The stretch is just right, and as he buries himself deep inside you, it’s like you’re being split open, but in the best way. Your hands rest on his shoulders as you adjust to his girth and length. When you finally open your eyes, you're met with the sight of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen trying his hardest to hold himself together.

“You okay, Darling?” You ask in a teasing whisper while you take in Hyunjae’s state. He looks tense, his teeth are abusing his bottom lip, and for shits and giggles, you clench around him and he hisses.

“You’re incredibly tight.” He says through gritted teeth before he exhales. He rears back, his eyes flutter closed for a moment, and you hear him curse under his breath.

“I-it’s like your pussy is choking my cock…” He mumbles before he leans down to kiss your neck and tries to press forward again. You hear him whimper softly, and it’s the most alluring sound you’ve ever heard, and it's all because of you.

“I feel good?”

“You feel so. Fucking. Good.” He praises through a pant. 

His hips start to roll against yours as he finds a steady pace to fuck you with, and soon his bedroom is filled with a mixture of moans and skin slapping against skin. His body weight presses you further into the bedsheets, and you feel like you’re being surrounded by love and warmth as every fantasy that you’ve ever had comes true. 

Hyunjae’s strong body lays flush on top of yours, and his fingers lace through yours while he rocks into you harder with precise movements. His other arm goes under your body to tilt your pelvis upward as he begins hitting you at a new angle that pulls a cry out of you. Your legs tighten around his waist, needing him closer and deeper as you’re fucked into oblivion. Each powerful thrust has you sliding up the sheets, and your pussy clamps down on him whenever his cock drags out of you. You felt stuffed, filled to the brim, and you missed him when he reared back, leaving you nearly empty for half a second at a time.

Praises were mumbled against your skin while he plunged into you. You had the best pussy. You were doing a good job; you’re taking him so well. You felt incredible. Hyunjae’s words sent you to the edge, and all you could do was gasp and moan as you came undone. Your walls flutter and spasm as you arch your back, screaming his name out for the neighborhood to hear.

“J-Jae,” you whimper, lip trembling as Hyunjae molds your body to his fat cock.

“I know, Sweetheart… Relax and enjoy it.” He coos softly, coaching you through your second orgasm.

His hips don’t slacken; they do the opposite, speeding up as he hammers the sweet spot deep inside you repeatedly until something inside you snaps. You writhe underneath him, and your fingers tighten around his own as you fall into bliss. Hyunjae’s eyes are glued to your face as your mouth drops open, and a long, drawn-out groan leaves your body.

“That’s right, baby. Keep going.” He says through a grunt as he starts to chase his high.

He shifts, lifting you into his arms while his cock stays buried inside you. You're positioned upright, body going limp against his muscular thighs as he continues to drill into you, massaging your walls at a merciless pace. One large bicep stays wrapped around your waist, and his free hand snakes between you both to rub against your clit as if he could get you to cum a third time. You’re just a brainless lump of whimpers at this point as your head rests against his sweaty chest.

“I’m close, Sweetheart. I know you can do it again, come on, baby.” He pleaded, voice ragged as his thrusts turned desperate. 

His moans get more prominent, and when you look up to meet his gaze, Hyunjae looks fucked out beyond belief, lips parted, and hair a disaster on top of his head. You muster up enough energy to kiss him on the lips, swallowing all his pretty noises and whimpering against his plush lips. You feel his hips stutter. Then heat spreads inside you, and you shake as he fills you with cum while you experience another earth-shattering orgasm.

You're both tired and sticky. The bed sheets are hardly halfway on the bed, twisted onto one side, but neither of you seems to care. You collapse onto the bare mattress with Hyunjae’s cock still hidden inside you. When he finally pulls out, your dripping pussy adds to the mess on his bed. He lays down beside you, immediately pulling you in for a cuddle.

“You’re going to stay here, right?” He asks, looking down at you with a hopeful gleam.

“Of course. Even if I wanted to go home, I couldn’t deal with a walk of shame right now. My legs don’t work. I’ll leave tomorrow afternoon when I have to walk the dogs.” You answer through a giggle.

NOTE: There is a part two that can be found: here.

[amethysia]

alright, I'm caving because my brain won't stop thinking about it. Even though I know so little about Gravity Falls and I've lived vicariously through others since five-ever.

This is a long one, so buckle up.

So with the book of bill, some folks have said that bill can get reincarnated. My brain was like, "well, how about a back in time/different universe reincarnation au?" And this reincarnation makes Bill born as the older brother of Fiddleford (either as a fraternal twin or just by a year). Let's say Bill's real name is Williford Cyrus McGucket, because yknow, why not. He's definitely the sassier, charismatic brother, with some playful bickering. He's a bit heftier with black hair, and has a weird passion for bowties. He and Fiddleford are close and decide to go to the same college together. Bill goes to become an astronomer and astro physicist. He meets Stanford when he visits his brother's dorm room.

The three of them become close and after graduation, work together.

At some point, Bill catches the feels for Ford. However, he notices at one point, Fiddleford also has feelings for Stanford. Fidds doesn't outright say anything, but Bill can tell, because he knows his brother. Now, in this world, he actually loves others more, albeit he still has a rather arrogant attitude. So he has a moment to think about it, writes some letters, and 'quits' working with his brother and Ford. He packs his things and heads westward.

Fidds and Ford are shocked that he left, but reads his letters. Essentially, it says to them that he loves them both, wants to try something new with his life, and who knows from there. PS, you two make a cute couple. They both get nervous and embarrassed that Bill would say that, but in a cute turn of events, they wind up confessing to each other anyhow.

Bill is pretending to not be sad, trying to be happy for his brother and Ford, but can't help but throw himself a pity party when he stays in another state, still trying to figure out what to do with his life (we find out Bill is a wine snob thanks to this moment in his life). At some point a certain door to door salesman comes along who looks an awful lot like Ford. Confused, Bill thinks something weird happened to Ford, but the salesman is obviously Stanley. Bill befriends him and realizes that he could help him out in his business endeavors, due to his 'genius' and giving him the opportunity to figure out his own future if this goes well.

They hatch up a scheme of making an oddities tourist attraction ala Ripley's, in a place that is affordable, has "gullible" locals, and is something they can run with minimum effort and can make the most profit. (Btw, because of this, our boy Stanley dodges jail time)

Stanley and Bill create the Mystery Shack. Because Stanley has been on adventures with Ford and Bill has knowledge of weird things, they are able to take the time to explore Gravity Falls and catch cryptids and other curiosities there. It becomes an odd place where there's fake dead fairies, but a real mummy corpse. Fake cursed gold, but a probably very real cursed spear. They are both charismatic swindlers, but amazing business partners. Because of their similarities, they become great friends over time. "Mr. Decipher" likes to wear a top hat and a gold colored sport coat (Stan: "that jacket makes your hips stand out, like you're triangular shaped."). "Mr. Mystery" wears a fez and a nice suit. (Bill: "At least I don't look like a Shriner...")

Many years later, with a fairly successful, somewhat shadely run, business, Dipper and Mabel arrive. Stan is nervous and does everything to prepare, even asking Bill to shape up a bit too. Bill agrees, because Stan has been a great friend to him and it's amusing to see him so excited.

They have a wild summer. (Bill is a bad influence for Mabel in the party hard sense, but he also becomes a bit of a mentor to Dipper, due to his scientific background.)

At one point, Ford and Fiddleford stop by to visit. They all catch up. Bill is kind of awkward, even though he's written to them, called, 'made peace with being single', but still a little sad over missing out on a potential relationship. Ford thanks Bill for helping him and Fiddleford get together all those years ago and Bill gives him a sober and solemn "you're welcome, Sixer". The visit is pleasant and the rest of summer runs its course.

A day after Fidds and Ford leave, Stan sits down with Bill. He knows the story about why he stopped working with them and how putting distance between them made their bond with him grow. He also thanks him for their business, their friendship, and for helping with the twins. Bill is also grateful and thanks Stan for putting up with him all these years.

Mabel at some point asks Stan how he got such a weird boyfriend. Stan obviously gets all, "What are you talking about?!" At another point, Mabel asks Bill how he landed her grunkle Stan. Bill just stares at her and asks, "Little too much candy today, ey Shooting Star?"

Later that day, Stan is the first to relay Mabel's question and Bill laughs, "you too, huh?"

Stan asks if Bill wants to go out at sea some day on the Stan-of-War and enthusiastically Bill agrees.

Hope you enjoyed my nonsense. Sorry if a lot of it is rather inaccurate, but I guess that's what AUs are for? Lol. Cheers!

[mattmurdock-wife24]

what hopeless romantic do.

Author's note: hi lovely soul!✨️ I am so excited to come back to this world of writing fanfics, have a while now and, because of that I apologize for any mistakes, and I would truly appreciate any advice‐ S

warnings: fem reader, college!matt, soft, kisses

You always wanted to have someone to talk since you've been lonely on the new city,and our darling Matty would be glad do help.

Four months ago you moved to New York, and even though it was a dream come true, you were always faced with that same feeling stuck in your chest: loneliness. It's even funny to think about the fact that you feel so alone even though you're around hundreds of people every day. You've tried to make friends, but let's face it, most New Yorkers aren't the friendliest of creatures, so it was easier to feel the cold of the coming winter alone. Every time you went out, you watched the people, the smiles, the relationships, the words and the looks, you hoped that, just like in a movie, you would meet someone, a person who would listen and understand, someone who would make your eyes sparkle and give you a sincere smile, just like a hopeless romantic, you hoped, not knowing what to do, but pretending to know.

You continue with your notes, the music from your headphones too loud for you to pay attention to anything other than the words on the white page in front of you. You shake your head slowly to the rhythm of the music as you write. You were in your own world and that was you. No walls to protect you. Just you, and that caught Matthew Murdock's attention.

Who has been thinking about you for a while now, he notices the way you answer all the questions the teachers ask, and even when you get it wrong, you ask them nicely with a smile to explain it again. The way you threw a surprise farewell party for your teacher before she left to retire. The way you help your classmates without them even needing to ask, once he pretended he didn't know an obvious question about the philosophy of law and you explained all the concepts to him and even lent him your notes. (He also loved your handwriting, delicate and gentle as you, he also probably spent too much time staring at the paper.)

Now he's sitting next to Foggy, who laughs at him and his lack of courage. "Go talk to her!" He said and Matt went towards him but you remained inert in your world. He was standing next to you, hoping you would see him, but you didn't. When the situation started to get awkward, he called out to her and gave her a little wave, regretting it later.You finally realize he's there and take off your headphones. "I'm sorry, did you call me? I didn't really hear you, pardon me," you say in an anxious tone. "It's okay, no problem, I'm Matthew but you can call me Matt" you smile, then say your name.

He asked you something about what you were studying and that's how it started. After that you were inseparable.

"So I've been thinking and I think it would be really cool - you know, fun me and you - do you want to go out with me?" he says, nerves taking over and the palms of his hands sweating."But of course Matt," his heart races and he smiles, "is Foggy going too? " you say, with a trace of disappointment in your voice "No, it's just you and me." He saw his heart beating even harder and his cheeks reddening

.This will be your first date with Matt, a real one at least. You put on your best dress, do your hair and wait for the doorbell to ring. And when Matt shows up, he hands you a small bouquet of red roses.

The restaurant was full, so you sat in a far corner, trying to have more privacy, which made you a bit nervous. The thought of kissing Matt takes your breath away.

The conversation is easy; it's always like that with him, you can be yourself and in the end the loneliness that had been heavy on your chest gradually went away, and he came into your life and into your heart.

At the end of the night, you're walking along the sidewalk, Matt's arm around your waist, wrapping you up and protecting you from the cold of the night.

When you reach the door of your building, you turn to him with only one thought in mind. Your hands go to Matt's face and neck, and your voice comes out whispery, like a secret being shared between lovers. "Can I kiss you?" "Hey, that's my line. But of course you can sweetheart" And then, finally, their lips connect in a loving kiss; full of hope and desire. Two hopeless romantics doing romantic stuff.

I hope you liked it dear reader! Since English is not my first language please forgive me if I made any mistake in the writing process. Also I would love to receive advice for getting better at this, have years I don't make it and it's a bit different than I remembered haha 😊✨️-S

[munsonsreputation]

I Wish You Would

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: [2.7K] I did my best to proof read

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, miscommunication, reader and eddie have been broken up, missing each other, stupid teenagers too scared to act upon their emotions, a lot of remembering, mirrored emotions, fluff at end. REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED &lt;3

summary: when you're back in your hometown for winter break, you anticipated crossing paths with your ex-boyfriend eddie, but you just never expected it to be from seeing his headlights in your window and him seeing your bedroom lights on. there was so many things you and eddie wished you'd done differently...so now here you two were at 2am...would stop wishing and finally do it?

_

He drove through this neighborhood on a daily basis, frequently to pick up and drop off the little twerps of Hellfire that lived on this street and other times to do deals with Steve, who lived on the next street over. But Eddie used to drive down here for another reason…

The girl who he had fallen for living just a few houses down from Dustin Henderson. Her bedroom window facing the street where she’d always be on the lookout waiting for her favorite metal head to come skirting down the street and parking in the driveway before making his dramatic entrance by climbing up the roof like her real life Romeo and laying a tender kiss on her lips. 

But that was the past. The last time he had been down this side of town to see you was last summer before you headed off to college, and that was before he lost you. Now the only thing that connected Eddie and you were the roads traveled, but paths never crossed again. 

Tonight, however, was the first time in the last year that the light in your bedroom had been on. He had driven down this street countless amount of times since the two of you had broken up, but that light always stayed off because of your absence due to school. Still, he always turned his head as he passed by, just to check if you’d be there. 

Half of your body out of the widow, arm waving excitedly, shouting his name like it was the first time all over again. 

But you weren’t. 

He knew you were back home for winter break not only because Nancy and Jonathan were back in town also, but because Dustin and Lucas had told him the second they let themselves into Eddie’s trailer. The kids were always rooting for the two of you to get back together, but Eddie knew better. 

You hated him. Or at least that what he would feel if he were in your shoes. 

It was a stupid argument over the phone that caused it all. He was trying to rip the bandaid off before you had the chance to, knowing it would probably add to your stress of traveling to a new state, leaving behind your family, friends, and especially him. Eddie just didn’t want to be a burden to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to worry about him while you two were in different time zones with only a call connecting keeping you together. Maybe he could’ve gone about it differently, like talking in person instead of resorting to a five-minute phone call that ended a year's relationship. 

However, a good chunk of him couldn’t bear saying it to your face because, in reality, he didn’t want you and him to go your separate ways at all. It was the absolute last thing that he wanted. The love he had for you was out of this world and if anything, he pictured you two together against the universe, leaving Hawkins in the rearview and starting a life of your own together somewhere in the city like you guys always wanted. 

The broken cries that echoed through his receiver was the tune that replayed in his mind over and over again. You were puzzled, trying to piece together what Eddie was saying, let alone thinking. He tried telling you, explaining to you his stupid selfish reasons, but you kept sobbing the same phrases that had his heart ripped up into little pieces.

“What are you saying?”, “Do you not love me anymore?”, “I don’t understand.” 

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. It was far too late to change what happened a year ago, so he drove past your house, with his window down, trying to shake the memories that were starting to play in his head. His knuckles were stiffening against the steering wheel and he clenched his jaw, keeping his sights set ahead where he would ride off into the night alone. A part of him wishing you were in his passenger seat or him in your bedroom. 

But most of all, wishing he never made that call. 

Being back in your childhood bedroom shouldn’t have felt so strange. After all, you grew up here and created a good deal of memories within these four walls. There was something in the air this time of year that made it feel lonelier—it was too quiet and the full-sized bed felt smaller than usual. The holidays should’ve made you feel a sort of nostalgia that had you yearning to be home with your family and friends, yet you felt like a never ending pit of hopelessness.

You had tried to distract yourself from this overwhelming feeling, going through your closet to get rid of old things, but that only seemed to make you feel worse than before.

Old band tees, oversized pullovers, and club t-shirts that didn’t belong to you filled a corner of your wardrobe, the same pile which you used to find yourself grabbing from on a daily basis. Now they all just sat untouched, with the memories embedded in every fiber and thread as its rightful owner and favorite borrower lived different lives now. 

For the last three nights since you’ve been home, you’d slept in the living room, falling asleep to reruns of sitcoms until your mother would wake you, offering help to walk you up to your room. You just couldn’t handle the loneliness in there, surrounding you like some sort of punishment, but it was about time you faced reality and gave your parents their couch back. 

You laid awake on your side, watching the curtain pull in and out with the wind while the moon played peek-a-boo. At this hour, you should’ve been hopping out of bed, flinging your curtains wide open and staring down at the metal head parking in the driveway and make his way up the side of your house and clumsily into your bedroom without trying to cause a ruckus but failing miserably. 

But that was the past. There were no more comical Romeo and Juliet reenactments in the middle of the night, just you halfway across the states with your nose buried in a textbook and the memories of Eddie buried in the back of your mind. 

However, tonight, the familiar yellow glow of brightness that cascaded your room through the thin drapes passed by for the first time since your return. You knew who it was driving that beat-up van at a speed that should’ve gotten him pulled over, but never did. No matter how much time you had spent away from your hometown, you’d always recognize his lights and the way he drove. So you waited, watching to see if he’d turn in with those high beams before finally shutting them off. 

The jingle of his keys and chains hanging from his jeans while he shut the car door, cursing at himself for wearing the wrong shoes to get up the siding, and taking an overdramatic deep breath once he finally made his way up to his Juliet like the first time. 

But he didn’t. 

You imagined that you’d run into Eddie, eventually. After all, you two did share the same small town, but you didn’t expect it to be from the confines of your home without even seeing his face or hearing his voice. Maybe you had expected to see him at Steve’s annual Christmas party or maybe at the Wheelers for New Year’s Eve, but even then you wouldn’t know what to say or even how to feel. 

You didn’t hate him. You never could. 

There were so many things left unsaid between the both of you, which always led you to wonder what would’ve happened if either of you picked back up the phone that day and called one another back. But Eddie’s actions came out of nowhere, just days before you were leaving for college and you were in a complete state of shock. There were so many thoughts running through your mind once you realized what Eddie was trying to say without actually saying it.

You didn’t understand where all of this was coming from because in your mind, you and Eddie were happily in love and he was accepting of the fact that you would be away from home a couple of months out of the year. He even made proposals to take his first plane ride ever just to come spend a week or two out of the semester at your dorm and explore the city. 

Clearly, Eddie was having a challenging time over the phone, trying to piece together his words in a way that didn’t seem too harsh or sad, because this never was supposed to end like this. If anything, it was more like a suggestion to you, asking if you were going to be ok while in school and dorming. That he didn’t want to invade this new chapter in your life and that he would understand if you wanted to branch out and saw what was out there. 

“I know you’ll probably be busy—studying and making new friends are gonna take up a lot of your time. I just…I don’t want you to feel like I’m holding you back or feel like you need to miss out on opportunities for me. I—I understand if you want to end things.” 

You were a mess, utterly beside yourself as you sobbed into the phone, asking him why this was happening and if you had done something wrong for him to say something like this. This wasn’t the turn you were expecting to face right before your first day of college, and if anything he was the person you wanted to call the morning of initial instruction, to give you the encouraging words you needed to get through the day. And tonight a part of you wished he was climbing through your bedroom window and filling the empty space beside you. 

But most of all, wishing you never hung up the phone like you did.

Eddie didn’t know why he was stalling at the stop sign when he should’ve been turning right, exiting the neighborhood, and making his way back to his trailer. But his eyes were glued to his side mirror, the window to your room just a few houses behind with that annoying flickering light from your ceiling fan pushing past the cream draperies that he always wanted you to replace because they were so thin. 

He should’ve just hightailed it out of there without giving it a second thought, but he just took a deep breath, drawing a moment to shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to shake the everlasting image of that familiar bedroom window where his favorite girl would be waiting. 

It was a crooked love now—simply winding in two different directions. 

How you found yourself up out of bed and standing directly in front of the window was beyond your every thought. You don’t know why you were here, pushing aside the flimsy curtain and sticking your head out to the other side of the street where his van was stopped longer than legally required. Eddie had a thing for driving off, but not when it came to parting ways with you. Every time he had to leave your parents’ house, he’d stall at this stop sign, turning his head back with a whistle as he hollered an “I love you!” before finally driving off because the car behind him honked noisily. 

Your feet should’ve been taking you back to bed where you’d find solace under the covers and pretend none of this was even happening, but yet you lingered in place. Imagining the scenario in your head, as you shouted back out an, “I love you, too!” with one hand clasping over your butterfly swarmed heart and the other hysterically waving see you later, while you watched him drive off with his left arm flipping off the impatient car behind him. 

But the love was never broken—there was still a straight line down from here. 

When Eddie opened his eyes, fully prepared to run and hide without a second thought, his breath caught in his throat as if he was winded. His insides felt like they were tangling themselves together. And his heartbeat felt like it was echoing in his ears. The loud “thudthudthudthud” getting stronger with every second he spent gawking at your figure watching his car. 

Your legs were trembling beneath you as a bated breath left your mouth in urgency. His eyes were set on you now, and you could feel them practically boring into you, the same way you were doing it to him. The sweat began beading across your forehead and forming among the palms of your hands while the antagonizing seconds ticked by like torture. 

He wanted to turn right back around. 

His fingers convulsed violently as they maneuvered themselves over and under the wheel, turning it like it was the last thing he’d ever do while his foot pushed the gas, thinking he’d be too late. 

You wanted him to hear what you never said. 

Your fingers abandoned the drape, feet thudding vociferously against the floorboards as soon as you pulled your bedroom door open and sprinted down the stairs like he’d get away. 

Both of you wanted to remember what you were fighting for. 

He was hyperventilating, trying to stabilize his breath when he shoved the car in park, grasping that he had found his way to the acquainted driveway in a sudden blur. 

Both of you missed each other too much to be mad anymore. 

You were trying to hold back tears, with your jaw wobbling uncontrollably, hands just barely twisting the knob of the front door. 

There he was. 

The man who gave you everything. All the love you could’ve asked for and the whole world if he could give it to you. Then again, he was the same man who gave you nothing…no phone call back, no further explanation, no communication. 

There you were. 

The girl who gave him everything. Every ounce of your love and all the dreams that he never would’ve imagined for himself. But you were the same girl who gave him nothing…no phone call back, no further explanation, no communication. 

Each of you knowing how to push each other’s buttons, but that time the wrong ones. 

There was a reason why you two stood where you were right now, because at the end of the day, there was more to you and Eddie. It wasn’t about who was right or wrong anymore. There were no such things as sides in this situation because it was nothing but a losing game when the two of you were apart. This love was rushing with electricity too strong for any of you to fight and history too rich for you to forget. 

You saw his face before you heard his voice.

The head of unruly hair still bouncing from his footsteps and his chest rising up and down rapidly. He still wore the leather jacket you gifted him for his birthday. The patch of your initials in an arrow heart remained stitched across the chest. And the shiny silver ring that was a promise still adorned on his finger. 

“H-hi…”

He heard your voice for the first time in a year, staying still in the dark.

“Hey…” 

Tears swelled down your cheeks the second you two made eye contact and whimpers left your lips. You were wearing his favorite band tee, the one he had bought at his first metal concert and forever let you keep the first time you stayed overnight at his trailer. And the matching silver ring dangled down your chest with his red guitar pick strung onto the beaded chain.

Right now everything was all good…no other words needed to be spoken in this moment where the both of you just stared. Taking in the sight of one another after being deprived of stolen glances and adorning eyes for way too long. That is before you and Eddie walked into each other’s arms, holding each other with a touch and feeling that neither of you would be able to forget, as long as you lived.  

The both of you wished you could back in time to change the past, but there was no more room for blame, just promising that you and Eddie would do it differently now. 

A/N: I had this idea come to me in the middle of the night while listening to 1989…. I think this song beautifully encapsulates what it would feel like if Eddie and the reader went through something like this. There’s the painstakingly obvious idea that they should’ve communicated better before reader went off to college, but we can all admit that sometimes in the heat of the moment there are things we regret saying and regrets of things left unsaid. I wanted this little fic to focus on the idea that Eddie and reader still love and care for each other despite their time away, but neither of them had the guts to make that phone call back because they were both terrified of what was going to happen. Each of them feeling different yet similar emotions to one another until finally something just as simple as seeing his headlights through your window pane and him driving past your street and seeing your bedroom light on sets something off in the both of you. Now there’s no more wishing, just doing things the way you always wanted to.

I HOPE YOU LIKED MY INTERPRETATION OF THIS SONG AND ALL CREDITS TO TAYLOR SWIFT FOR BEING THE ABSOLUTE SONGWRITING AND MUSICAL GENIUS THAT SHE IS!!!!

[winterwriterstudios]

Cringe alert! Cringe alert! This is my OC made for fun. If you think she's cringe, okay, but you've been warned.

"Say hello to Ramshackle's only member!! Grim!! Oh, wait. Right. The...um...strange ghost lady that follows him with a camera, too, I guess. Always with an expression that tells us nothing going on in her mind, except when studying or playing a few pranks on people (she's truly earned the nickname Mademoiselle Trickster from Rook). The first ghost to attend Night Raven College as a student and probably the first to have pranked 90% of the student body, too. She truly means no serious harm, though. Avoiding fights and arguments are her go to reaction and she's often the peacemaker amongst students. If you need a quick laugh, cry, rant or anything in-between, she's always there to lend a shoulder or ear. The therapist friend everyone asked for but we never expected to actually exist."

Interviews With A Few Students She Interacts With

Riddle: "Oh, Prefect? It's shocking how she can go from being a studious student to pranking anyone she can in a matter of seconds. But, at least she knows how to pick her battles and study. She's yet to miss a single study session, unbirthday party or even get collared, so it shows she just needs some...positive reinforcement."

Trey: "If she had actual magic, I can only ever think of her going to Heartslaybul. She fits right in and even the upperclassmen respect her. And she also helps me around, trying to dissolve fights or trying to help me in the kitchen. She's nice, but sometimes, it's like she has a different personality for every situation."

Cater: "Ghost Girl Prefect is super cool! Laughing, smiling, being a good friend, ya know, just typical popular girl stuff. Sometimes, we have...talks. She's real good with those, ya know."

Ace: "She's a laugh, alright! She can be a nerd when she's with Deuce, though, but I guess I've got to have other competition, despite Deuce. Ugh, but it's so embarrassing to see her cheering for me at Basketball games. And NO, I'm not the one always looking for her, SHE's the one always looking for ME."

Deuce: "Prefect is a very supportive friend, which is sort of refreshing to have when you're around Ace and Grim, all the time. She also says that she was an honor student back in her old world. Judging by her grades, she's probably telling the truth. We both study a lot together and we both meet all the teachers we can to explain things to us. Ace calls us nerds, but Prefect just laughs him off."

Leona: "She's a bother. Can't even make for a good pillow. But she keeps Rook away, so she's not all that annoying."

Ruggie: "Shishishi! Free labor AND laughs. What's not to like?"

Jack: "She can be very passionate when she wants to. At all the track meets we've had, she's always cheered for Deuce. After Leona-senpai's Overblot, she's been cheering for me, too. Well, she cheers for Ace, Epel and Sebek, too. Even though she WILL scream anytime a horse touches her."

Azul: "Heh. Don't let her smile fool you, Prefect is quite the formidable foe, but an even greater ally."

Jade: "Prefect joins the Mountain Lovers Club, sometimes. When I'm hiking, that is. She's also quite the photographer, always taking absolutely beautiful photos of mushrooms. Oftentimes, she writes down my description of them behind the photo and for some that are especially beautiful, she gives them to me. She's also a great source of information. Huh? Did I say something? No, I don't believe I did."

Floyd: "I wish Shrimpy couldn't just fly off or go through walls, she'd be a lot easier to squeeze. It's kinda unfair how she's always talking to Jade and not me. But her pranks are funny!"

Kalim: "Prefect is so much fun! She's not exactly always up for a party, but she tries to help plan it out! I don't really get why she's shy around Jamil, though, he's not that scary! People say she's a ghost, but that's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Jamil: "We don't talk much, so why are you asking me? She even avoids me, sometimes, and other times, she's just really quiet around me. All I know is that she's on good terms with everyone."

Vil: "She is relatively the most normal and respectful member of my fanclub on Campus. But her hoodie is atrocious, she looked much better wearing Pomefiore Housewear. If only that Potato was in Pomefiore, then she'd really shine."

Rook: "I am ashamed to admit that I was unable to notice Mademoiselle Trickster's beauty until VDC. It is my greatest embarrassment as a hunter to be unable to notice when I, myself, is also being hunted. But, no more! I shall not let this opportunity slip through my fingers, again! I plan on observing her beauty as much as possible to accumulate for lost time!"

Epel: "When I first met her, I thought she was a freakishly tall giant who couldn't fight to save her life. Now...well, she's the same, but I guess I understand her a lot more. Plus, I kinda get an ego boost, when she cheers for me at a Spelldrive Game. Sometimes she drags the others to cheer, too. And can you imagine? The giant hides behind ME when she sees a horse! ME!"

Idia: "We play video games and trash talk anime we don't like. That's about it, tbh."

Ortho: "I don't think anyone else quite notices or acknowledges how much of an older sister she acts to the first years. The first time I called her 'sis', she was so happy that she started calling me 'bro'! Sometimes she calls Idia that, when they're gaming, but I think she means it in the more friend-like way, still, I'm glad they get along!"

Malleus: "The Prefect is quite an enigma, honestly, quite a complicated puzzle mixed with riddles and jokes, but she's always entertaining me and, as she likes to call it, 'keeping me on my toes'. I hope it stays that way for as long as possible."

Lilia: "My dear partner in crime! Why are you asking of her? Has she committed another prank without me? Oh, she wounds me, sometimes. People say we are quite alike, although I believe they could never be more wrong."

Silver: "Prefect? She's always waking me up, whenever she can. Sometimes, while I'm sleeping, she carries me back to the dorm. Once, Sebek berated me for not keeping up in a sword fight I don't recall having with him and she defended me. Sebek then suddenly switched to her about using her 'powers' and started calling her a 'Ghost'? Their relationship confuses me, sometimes, but that never stops Prefect from greeting me with a sugary snack or two."

Sebek: "That stupid ghost is absolutely HORRIBLE at sword fighting. But she still insists on picking up a sword and swinging it around like a child! She's lucky that I'm usually around when she does it, or she might poke her eye out! She's also quite the impersonator, fooling all but me, of course! Why do you even care? If you want to befriend her so badly, go ahead! Just don't force her to touch the horses in the Equestrian Club, she gets frightened by them. ... I MEAN THEY GET FRIGHTENED BY HER!!!"

[coyotescribbles]

The Next 100 Years

The day was clear and bright, and dappled summer sunlight shone through the leaves as they rustled gently in the breeze. Billy whistled a cheerful tune as he made his way down the sidewalk, arms laden with bags filled with various lunch orders.

Finally, he ducked through a tall wrought-iron gate, nodding to the groundskeeper before following the well-worn path to his destination.

"Afternoon, ladies!" He called out in greeting. "Bet you thought I forgot about today, huh? Well, you know I could never let you guys down."

Maybe his knees creaked a little, but he ignored that as he settled himself in front of the stone monument that marked the grave of the other Cunning Hares.

...The closest thing to an actual family that he'd ever had...

"Aaaand here you go..."

A burger for Anby.

Nicole's favorite noodle bowl.

Fried mackerel for Nekomiya.

And three cans of cola, though he hoped that Nicole didn't mind the fact that it wasn't her preferred brand. That company had gone under fifty years ago, after all.

Then, sitting back on his heels. Billy vented a sigh and shuttered his optics for a moment, imagining that he was literally anywhere else, and that his girls were there with him. Maybe they were at the park, relaxing under a tree. Or maybe it was Lumina Square, weaving through the hustle and bustle.

Or maybe they were at home, sprawled across that old broken-down couch in a comfortable heap while someone's favorite movie played on the TV.

But he couldn't hide in those memories forever.

"...I miss you guys. But you probably already know that, huh?" A sad smile colored his voice as he reached out to brush some dust from the monument. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that so much time has passed since I last got to talk to any of you. It's been, what? Sixty years, this year? And sometimes I still feel like you're all gonna be there when I get home at night..."

He vented another soft sigh, resting his hands on his knees.

"I wonder if you can see it - how New Eridu gets bigger and brighter every year. With no more Hollows, there's not much left to keep it from growing. To keep the whole world from growing..."

And we did that. Or, well, we helped, at least.

"I wish I could say that there was much to talk about this year, but... it's actually been pretty quiet. I think you all would enjoy it, honestly. Business has been great - bet that makes you happy, huh, Nicole? I thought it might. Oh! That new shopping mall Belabog was building last year finally opened last week. There's a new Random Play there - the biggest one yet! Heh... Wise would probably hate it, it looks all slick and high-tech, nothing like the original store... but I think it's pretty cool. And you'll never guess who's got one of the prime spots in the food court! That place is gonna put all the little Chops through college..."

He let out a weak little laugh.

"...There's a mural, too. Man, I wish you guys could see it, it's a lot cooler than the one they made for the Centennial celebration. We're in it! And we - we look like real heroes..."

Lifting one hand, he pressed his palm to his faceplate, and let his shoulders tremble quietly for a minute.

Maybe next year would be the year someone would finally come out with a mod that would let him cry.

Eventually, though...

"...I really wish I could stay longer, but I've still gotta swing by and say hi to a few more people before I head in for my tune-up. You girls enjoy your lunch, okay? If things aren't too busy, I'll try to swing by again soon..."

Once more ignoring the creaking in his knees, Billy rose to his feet, and brushed his fingertips fondly across the top of the monument with a smile, before continuing on his rounds.

~~~

The years were merciless, each one more so than the last.

Even with Belabog running support, there was only so far his component parts could be pushed before they gave out. Only so many times pieces of him could be repaired before they needed to be replaced.

Only so many times he could watch another piece of himself be disconnected and swapped out for something newer.

He couldn't hide it any longer - for the first time in his very.

Very.

Very long life...

Billy was tired.

Not the tired that came from staying up late to watch his favorite soap operas. Not even the kind of tired that came from chasing a kid through a Hollow until he thought his air filters might blow and his knees might give out.

No, he was tired-tired. The kind of tired that came from burying everyone he'd ever loved, one by one by one, while he somehow remained.

And remained.

And remained.

Theoretically, with consistent tech support, he could have lived long enough to see the Hollows pass from living memory and into ancient history. Theoretically, he could have kept going indefinitely, if he just kept replacing himself over and over again.

Every last bit of him had been replaced at least half a dozen times over by now... except for one part: his brain module. The part of him that was the most "him." The part that held every program, every memory file, everything he'd ever experienced was in there, and... he was afraid to replace it. Afraid that, even if he downloaded everything to a shiny new unit, he would still lose something, maybe something important.

Like the weight of Anby's head resting on his shoulder, whenever she fell asleep mid-movie night.

The way Nicole's eyes sparkled when she was excited, or flashed when she was angry.

The way Nekomiya's ears twitched at the sound of a bird singing.

Belle's laugh. Wise's smile. Lycaon's measured footsteps. Corin's anxious little stammers.

Rina. Ellen Joe. Koleda. Anton. Grace. Ben. Everyone.

He couldn't bear the thought of losing even a single nanosecond of any of it.

So he just... never risked it.

"Man, when was the last time you updated your CPU?" The maintenance tech handling his tune-up asked. "This hardware in ancient."

"Eh... it's been a while," he half-shrugged in response. "It's no big deal, it still works just fine."

The tech didn't seem convinced. "How's your boot time?"

"Same as it's been for the past hundred years... maaaaybe a little bit slower? I don't really pay too much attention anymore."

"Do you wanna schedule a replacement? Or maybe I could just see about fine-tuning it a little, maybe squeezing a few more months out of it so you can weigh your options...?"

Billy paused, and thought it over.

"...Nah, it's all right. I mean, it's lasted me this long, right?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He smiled. "Whatever happens, happens. It's okay."

"Well, if you change your mind, just gimme a call and I'll get you in ASAP."

"Thanks."

The drive home seemed extra lonely that night, and his apartment felt extra empty when he pushed the door open.

~~~

Slowly, bit by bit, byte by byte, everything slowed to a crawl.

Days bled into weeks into months and soon...

[Hey, Fairy?]

[Yes, Billy Kid?]

He vented a sigh. Tried to, at least, out of habit if nothing else.

[I keep telling you, it's just - ahh, I guess it doesn't really matter. Can I ask a favor?]

[Of course.]

[I know it's a lot to ask, but... when I finally shut down, can you make sure my brain module is mulched and interred with the other Hares? I don't care about the rest of me, I just...]

[...I understand. Yes, I can do this for you, Billy.]

[...Thanks.]

[You are welcome.]

He let his head fall back against the couch cushions, resting his arm across his midsection. There was a show playing on the television, but he wasn't paying enough attention to have said what it was. It was just pleasant background noise, something to drown out the sounds of his body struggling harder with each passing week.

Billy shuttered his optics and let himself go slack, feeling the tension drain from his limbs.

His whole body, which had previously felt indescribably heavy, suddenly felt so much lighter, like passing out of a Hollow and into the open air beyond.

A sudden pounding on his door had him jerking awake to liquid golden sunlight pouring in through the window and the sound of voices down the hall.

"Billy, come on already! Wake up! We've been waiting on you forever!"

"!!!" Suddenly wide awake, he lurched up out of bed, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he scrambled to the door; he didn't even think to grab his jacket before flinging the door open and scooping Nicole up into a tight hug. "Boss-!!!"

"Hey-!" She squeaked indignantly, squirming and smacking at his side; "you are cold! Did you seriously sleep without a blanket again?! Put me down and go put on a shirt or something!"

"Ah, sorry, boss!" With a sheepish laugh, he set her back on her feet and reached up to run his fingers through his hair. "Guess I got a little wound up, huh? I had this weird dream..."

"Well you can tell everyone about it later. Hurry up and get dressed, it's time for our yearly lunch meetup and I don't want to be late!"

"Right, right, sorry! I almost forgot...!"

Snagging his jacket off the back of his gaming chair, he shrugged into it as he slipped on his sneakers.

Then, after taking a moment to make sure his hair was neat, he hurried after her, to where the rest of his family was waiting.

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

4 + boyfs :)

Boyf Riends + 4. things you said over the phone

September 1, 2015, 7:12pm

"Hey, I got my stuff from my hookup. Where are you right now? I've been looking around the food court for like ten minutes and you're just, gone. Uh, I guess I'll check Hot Topic until you get back to me. See ya."

September 1, 2015, 7:47pm

"Jeremy, why did I have to learn from the cashier at Forever 21 that Brooke and Chloe offered you a ride home?? And that you ended up just walking out instead?? I can't find you in the parking lot, man, like... Did you just-... walk home? Some warning would've been nice, ya know? Anyway. Text me so that I know you didn't die or whatever. Later."

September 2, 2015, 12:25pm

"Oh fuck off, don't pretend you don't know I'm calling you. I can see you sitting next to Rich! Your phone is right there next to your lunch tray! Good job taming him I guess, but can you stop ignoring me? For like, a minute?? Ditching me at the mall was one thing, but this is just... weird. You're being weird. And not the good kind. The like, got-replaced-by-a-changeling kind. Look- can you just look at me, Jeremy?!"

September 2, 2015, 3:43pm

"'Optic Nerve Block-' dude, what are you doing?? Is this a bit?? Haha, very funny. Jeremy's hot shit now and is too good for Michael. Great. Cool. Just-... actually ya know what, it's not cool. I'm not laughing. I mean, congrats on snatching Brooke up. That's... I mean I thought Christine was... you've just been gushing about her since... I- something about this is... *sigh* Never mind. Let me know when you decide to stop doing... this, whatever it is you're doing."

September 6, 2015, 12:56pm

"I hope you know I'm just gonna keep blowing up your phone with texts until you acknowledge me. I'm not asking for much, man! Just... an explanation? Maybe? Just something so that I know we're still cool or whatever. I know you're probably busy with rehearsal and all, but it's... weird that we haven't had a sleepover this weekend. I... can't really remember the last weekend where... *huff* Ok, so your SQUIP clearly doesn't like me. Fine. It can join the club. But... you still like me, right? Can I... can I get that much?"

September 12, 2015, 2:36pm

"Hey, since you and Rich are like, buddies now or whatever, you think you could call him off? He's still pulling his bullshit on me. And normally I wouldn't care that much, but... I dunno, it was different when it was both of us. And now you're just letting him go off on me?? Where's the Jeremy that broke his finger on a homophobic dickhead's nose two years ago? Where's the kid that became a little ball of rage that I had to restrain when guys gave me shit? I know freshman year was like, a really angsty spell for you, but... fucker- what do you want from me?! Can we just talk? Please??"

September 28, 2015, 2:03am

"Look, if you never wanna see me again, can you at least just say that?! Just tell me so that I don't have to question if you've actually decided to look in my direction or not? You haven't blocked my number, so you obviously... You're just-! Ugh! This isn't like you! Even if you do give me the silent treatment, it's never for this fucking long! If I fucked up somewhere just-! Tell me!! As much as we joke about it, I can't read your fucking mind! Fucking- text me! Pass a note! Flip me off! Something! This is fucking stupid!"

October 14, 2015, 4:47pm

"Have I mentioned how weird it is to hear other people actually name-drop you in the hall? Like, I'm still Antisocial Headphones Kid and probably will be until graduation. It's not like I care. Shit's not gonna matter in college. And even if it does, it's not gonna matter in the real world. In jobs or whatever. ...I don't... *sigh* I can't just keep calling you to yell about how you left. It just- it's old. And annoying. For me. I don't care if it's annoying for you. You're probably not even listening to these. Just... ugh, whatever. I'll see ya. Gonna go out on a limb and say you won't see me though."

October 27, 2015, 10:56pm

"Look, I- ...something about this whole SQUIP thing is really fucking shady. I just... it-it's creepy, ya know? You had to buy it at the back of a Payless, the dude selling it was sketchy as hell, and there's fuck-all on the internet about it. It's... and this isn't just because I'm salty! I mean fuck you still, but this isn't about that! Like I'm genuinely... this- it just- it's weird. I shoulda- fuck, I shoulda picked up on it sooner. I should've-! Ugh, I wouldn't have to leave you all these stupid voicemails if I'd just used my brain for two seconds! I'll... *sigh* tonight's been exhausting. I'll pick this up later. If you decide ya wanna clue me in after all this time, be my fucking guest."

October 30, 2015, 10:32pm

"Shit- ok, I get you're still doing your dumb little ignoring me thing but- fuck, you gotta get that thing outta your head. It's- I-I have this online friend, his brother had a SQUIP and- I'm looking at the videos and-... Y-you just- it's bad. It's really, really bad. I wanna come to you about this in person, but you're like, never home when I go there. And your dad doesn't know where you are either?? He just assumed you were with me! Which, I don't blame him after all these years, but... Jer, it's so fucking bad. I'm... I'm getting you to listen one way or another, so fucking help me."

October 31, 2015, 11:47pm

(There's no sound for several seconds, besides slight shifts in movement. It's all very muffled. Any words spoken are too quiet to distinguish, if they even are words at all. There might be the slightest inkling of a song in the distant background, though it's anyone's guess which song it is.)

*knock knock knock knock*

"*sniff* Shit-"

(There's some indistinct sound on the other end akin to one clambering about in a confined space. Metal rings clatter on the curtain rod as the plastic sheet is swept back.)

*knock knock knock knock*

"Just a fucking minute, man!"

*ssssshhhhhhhhhh*

(The sink is turned on, water rushing out of the faucet and hissing against the pearly white bowl that it's confined to. Its flow is interrupted by the flesh of cupped hands collecting it every few seconds, followed by the splatter of it falling back down in a scattered arc rather than a focused stream.)

*knock knock knock knock*

(It's not long before the handles squeak and the water is shut off, leaving the indistinct thrumming bass of a song that's been turned up far too loud.)

"...Hello?"

(Besides the underlying hum, silence. A lonely, lonely lack of sound, before a long sigh.)

"Figures..."

(There's nothing more than this quiet, rhythmic thumping for a long time. There's very little to break the monotony of it beyond the occasional sniffle of swallowing of phlegm.)

"Is that really how you see me? Or were you just reaching for the pettiest fucking word you could've used?"

(The scream of glass echos chillingly in the small room. Sparkling crystals twinkle and sing against smooth porcelain, a prickly harmony to go with the melody of ragged sobs.)

"God-! Dammit!"

(There's a soft thud, and then a long dragging sound akin to one sliding down to sit against a wall.)

"Fuck..."

(An eternity of smothered weeping seems to pass, though in reality it's barely more than a full minute, before a blood-curdling scream is heard, disturbingly loud for how distant it sounds.)

"FIRE!"

"Shit- what the hell??"

November 1, 2015, 2:14am

"I'm guessing you don't know this, since you didn't run out of the house screaming or get dragged into an ambulance, but Jake's house burned down. Yeah, that place where that party was happening where you-... I'm fine, by the way, because you obviously cared. Paramedics got all the glass out of my knuckles. I just... wanna confirm you're fine too. Because... still fuckin' care about you and shit. Yeah, thanks for waiting up, by the way. There's no indication you were ever fucking here, so I can only assume you bailed before anyone even smelled smoke. Glad you're safe, dickwad. Hope you can extend the same relief to me."

November 12, 2015, 5:49pm

"Hey. I'm... coming to your performance. Your dad kinda... If he's suddenly wearing pants the next time you see him, you're welcome. Guess you can thank him for me coming to see your show too... I won't have any flowers for you, but... hopefully I'll have something just as good."

November 12, 2015, 6:52pm

"--- entire stu--nt bod- -- do it!"

"Wh- Jeremy?"

"Mich- GAH!"

"Shit! Where are you?"

"-- ---- ---- ---- -- ---! -- --- -- ------ --- ---!"

November 16, 2015, 11:47am

"Hey, um... it'll probably take you a while to listen to this, if you... choose to listen to it at all. Um... it was nice seeing you at The Play, all things considered. It... it was almost like things were normal again. I... I missed it. A lot. Maybe uh... maybe once you wake up, once things settle down, we could... talk? Just... at all? Doesn't have to be a call back. Could be a text, in person, note passed in class-"

"Carrier pigeon."

"Rich says carrier pigeon. He's your roommate. You'll see that soon enough if- ...when you wake up. You've been pretty determined to stay asleep though. Four days... heh, you tryna make us jealous? I just... hope you wake up soon. Before New Year's would be nice. No pressure, obviously, just... I... *sigh* 'I miss you' would be an understatement."

November 23, 2015, 4:13am

"Hey, Michael, um... I... listened to your voicemails a couple... couple hours ago. I was going to call back when I finished them, but it was late and I figured you were asleep. Um... I guess it's even weirder that I'm calling at 4am than it would've been if I called at 1:30, but... *sigh* I'm sorry. For everything. I know I said it at The Play, but I didn't... I couldn't really... I-I'm sorry. For bailing on you at the mall. For the optic nerve blocking. For the... the shit I said on Halloween- just- refusing to believe that you were trying to help, and- Fuck- the fire. I know I didn't have anything to do with it but... I'm sorry... for making you think I didn't care about your safety. I'm so glad you got out ok, really, and... I'm... sorry for making you punch a mirror. I don't... think you meant to call me in the bathroom, but... I heard... some stuff. I don't know if it was everything."

(There's an audible swallow.)

"I just... I don't... understand, why you still helped me in the end. After... after everything. I'm grateful, and thank you, but... I was so afraid I'd burned that bridge on Halloween. No- no pun intended. I thought you wouldn't-... I-I was so sure- the SQUIP was so-"

(There's a long pause. One would think that the message had abruptly cut off if not for the shaky breathing on the other end. There's a tightness in his voice when it eventually comes back.)

"'He won't come back to you. No one is coming for you.' That's what it said. And I was convinced that I'd fucked everything up and you'd never-... but you did. And-and I'm sorry we haven't done anything together since the hospital. I've just been really... it-it's an adjustment, not having a computer telling me what to do, and balancing hormones and chemicals and- fuck, I've gotten like, no sleep this weekend. I toss and turn all night and if I don't toss and turn, it's... it's nightmares, about... *sigh* Sorry, I shouldn't dump my shit on you. Not-not like this, not after..."

(His voice crumbles, like it's taking every ounce of strength he has to keep it audible without devolvng into indecipherable cry-speak. It's all but a raspy whisper.)

"I... I do wanna see you again. I do... still care about you. A lot. So much. Not seeing you for so long, it... it's caught up to me, and... I just wanna fall asleep next to you again. Which sounds clingy as fuck, and maybe it is, but I... You're the only one that..."

(He can't hold the sobs back anymore, but he does his best to muffle them. Keep them quiet. Avoid waking his dad. Hide the pain because he doesn't want this to be about him. It shouldn't be about him. Why is he making it about him?)

"*sniff* Fuck, how long've I been talking? Sorry, I'll- just- cut this off now. Ok, um... night. I... I love you. I just... wanna make sure you know that."

November 28, 2015, 1:12pm

Send you my love on a wire~

Lift you up every time

Jeremy startles awake at the sound of Michael’s ringtone, something he hasn't heard since before the start of the school year when Michael absolutely had to tell him about the dream he'd just woken up from. He tries to shake the remnants of sleep fog from his head as he pats around for his vibrating phone, thankfully finding it before the chorus ends.

"Mmg, h-" Jeremy's voice is scratchy from being woken up, so he clears his throat and tries again. "Hello?"

"Hey, bud." Michael's voice is quiet and soft through the receiver. He sounds tired as well, but in a constant, passive way instead of a groggy way. Jeremy wonders how long he's been awake.

"Hey, um..." Jeremy sits up and loosely hugs his knees, unsure of what to say next. Not wanting to leave Michael with nothing, he circles back to, "hey."

A weak chuckle flows through the speaker, colored with a fondness Jeremy's not sure he's heard since the last time they got high together. "Are you always this articulate?"

It's sweet, knowing that Michael's first reaction is banter instead of what Jeremy would consider much-deserved exasperation. He doesn't understand it, but it tugs his mouth into a small smile. "I uh... didn't fall asleep until like 6am, so..."

"Right, yeah. You did mention trouble sleeping, didn't you."

That smile crumbles as dread pools into his chest. He can't help but hide his face despite Michael not being able to see it in the first place. "Oh gods, you listened to that voicemail?"

"Couple times, yeah," Michael confesses, and it makes Jeremy cringe in embarrassment."I wanted to come see you earlier this week, but there was school stuff, and then Thanksgiving happened and..." he trails off a bit."Yeah, um... sorry."

Jeremy shakes his head fantically. "Nono, you're fine!" he insists. He doesn't want to lose this chance, but in the moment, his scrambled brain doesn't quite know what to do with it. "It's... I- do we wanna, I dunno, um..."

"Yes," Michael says immediately. "We- I do, yeah. Totally unrelated, but you should look out your window."

Jeremy blinks as he crawls off the bed toward the window. "Is it all snowy or are you waiting out there like you're in some kind of movie?"

He pulls the curtain back to see Michael standing on the sidewalk, a bright red swatch on a brilliantly white canvas, his hoodie lightly dusted with snow. It reminds Jeremy of powdered sugar on a lemon square. Michael waves his free hand, the other one still holding his phone to his ear.

"Yes."

Jeremy tentatively waves back, though it feels more like his hand trembles against the cool glass than it feels like a proper greeting. He feels his body shaking not from the winter weather creeping its way in, but from the nerves that come from seeing his best friend again after... well, admittedly not very long, but it's different this time. "Hi. I'll uh, I'll meet you downstairs, yeah?"

"Cool, see you in a second."

"See ya." Jeremy hangs up and pulls on some soft pajama pants before hurrying down the steps. He doesn't even check the downstairs window to confirm Michael's location before opening the front door.

Sure enough, there he is, a vibrant red light in the dull white fog behind him. Jeremy holds back on his urges just long enough to let Michael inside and shut the door before throwing his arms around him. Michael catches him easily, the cold from white flakes melting into red fabric doing little to negate the warmth of his embrace.

He remains sturdy as Jeremy quivers against him, silently refusing to let go of him any time soon. Jeremy attempts to blink back the tears threatening to spill out, but only really succeeds in disguising his sob a shaky sigh. As long as he can release the tension in his throat without being too loud about it, he'll take the win.

"I love you too," Michael whispers into Jeremy's hair, squeezing him snugly. "I hope you know that."

[clonerightsagenda]

hi! I found your answer to the anon who asked about library school super interesting and helpful.

I recently finished an anthropology/archaeology phd but am transitioning out of traditional academia and have been thinking about trying to get library work instead (among a slew of other options). I absolutely do not have a library degree though and and am wondering if you have any thoughts or advice about breaking into the library world if you have a different type of higher degree?

(feel free to ignore if you don't feel like answering though!)

For sure! I hope you don't mind me answering this publicly in case other people might find it helpful.

First of all, a higher non-library degree can be very helpful or even required for some library jobs. Many larger colleges and universities have subject liaison librarians, whose job involves developing the collection and working with students and faculty in a specific department or group of departments. Subject specialists often are required to have a masters (or higher) in that subject alongside their MLIS. Similarly, law librarians are often required to have a law degree. (This gives librarians with non-humanities backgrounds a real competitive edge. One guy I knew was always getting contacted by headhunters because his undergrad was in biology.) So if you're ok with staying in academia, that's an option, although those jobs are going to ask for an MLIS as well. Again, you might be able to start at a lower level and work up to the MLIS, or some places (probably smaller ones) might hire you as long as you've started the program.

Now with an anthro/archaeology background... you might consider some of libraries' cousins in the GLAM world - galleries, archives, museums, and historical societies. In archives and museums you often see people with MLISs rubbing shoulders with people who came into the career from a history background or something else connected to that institution's focus. These positions often involve a lot of research, writing, grant proposals, and networking, which can make a PhD skillset a good fit. I will warn you that many of these positions may be a bit ephemeral. Often museum and archives positions are grant-based or low paid. There are exceptions, but competition is likely to be fierce.

A last thing that comes to mind based on your background would be a professional researcher. Back when I interned at my local branch of the National Archives, there were often paid researchers coming in to go through records on behalf of their clients. (We had BIA records, and one guy was there trying to help a tribe make their case against the government.) I don't know what frequency of demand there is for that work, and I imagine it involves all the troubles of freelancing (marketing yourself, living off gigs, figuring out your own taxes, etc.) but your PhD would set you up for the research portion, at least! Speaking of which - congrats on finishing it! That is no small accomplishment.