#but even then the worst part about it was how long it would take to sleep and reset each quest

[moonmaiden1996]

If you're not a couple... How would Sanji react to you catching him masturbating and vice versa? 😏

Catching Sanji Masturbating 💛🔥

You weren’t expecting to walk in on him like this. Maybe you were looking for him in the kitchen, expecting to find him making a late-night snack, but instead, you find yourself standing frozen at the threshold of his dimly lit quarters.

And what you see?

Sanji sprawled out on his bed, half-undressed, shirt unbuttoned and barely hanging from his shoulders. Golden strands of his hair cling to his damp forehead, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His fingers clutch desperately at the sheets beneath him, knuckles white from the strain, but it’s his other hand that really steals your attention.

He’s stroking himself—long, slow, deep strokes—hips bucking slightly, thighs trembling. And the worst (or best?) part?

"Nngh—ahhhh..."

He’s moaning your name.

A broken, needy sound that punches the air from your lungs.

The moment he realizes he’s not alone, everything stops. His entire body tenses, muscles locking up as his dazed, pleasure-clouded eyes flicker open. He meets your gaze, and the realization hits—his breath catches, face burning a deep shade of red, his mouth opening and closing like he’s scrambling for something—anything—to say.

"I-It’s not what it looks like!"

Oh, but it is.

Frantic, he tries to cover himself, grabbing the nearest object—which, unfortunately for him, is a thin pillow that does absolutely nothing to hide his straining, twitching arousal. His fingers tremble against the fabric, his chest still heaving as he struggles to regain any semblance of composure.

If you tease him? He might die on the spot. Stammering, apologizing, maybe even begging you to forget what you saw. But if you don’t leave—if you take even one slow, measured step closer—his breath hitches.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, muscles visibly tensing beneath his flushed, sweat-slicked skin. His hand twitches—like he wants to keep touching himself but doesn’t know if he can with you watching.

"D-Don’t just stand there looking at me like that…" his voice is barely more than a shaky whisper, hoarse and desperate. "You’re making it worse."

You own him now.

Because every time after this? Every single time he’s alone, needy and restless, his hand clamping around his aching cock his thoughts are going to go right back to this moment. To you standing there, watching him, teasing him, maybe even joining him.

Sanji was already down bad for you—this? This just sealed his fate, you are the one for him.

Sanji Catching You Masturbating—And Screaming His Name 🔥💛

You thought you were alone.

The ship was quiet, the night air cool, and everyone else had either retired or gone about their own business. It was safe. No one would walk in.

Or so you thought.

Your back arched off the mattress, fingers working over your heated skin, teasing yourself, chasing that sweet, blissful edge. Your breathy moans filled the room, growing louder, needier—until finally, the pleasure overwhelmed you, and the name on your lips spilled out in a sharp, helpless cry.

"S-Sanji—ahh—Sanji!"

And that was the moment the door slammed open.

"Merde—!"

A sharp, strangled inhale, followed by the thunk of something hitting the floor.

Your eyes fly open, panic spiking through your veins, and there he is—Sanji, standing in the doorway like he just walked into heaven and hell at the same time.

His breath is caught in his throat, his entire body locked up. His eyes, dark and wild, flicker from your flushed face to where your fingers are still buried between your thighs, glistening and trembling.

His cigarette slips from his lips. He doesn’t even notice.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

Then—

"Oh my god."

His voice is wrecked, deep, hoarse, and shaking as he grips the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him standing. His face is redder than his damn suit, and his chest heaves like he just sprinted across the entire ship.

*"I—I didn’t—I mean, I heard—*mon dieu—I thought you were in danger—" his voice breaks slightly, physically trembling now. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the wood.

And then? His knees buckle.

He drops to the floor like his legs have completely given out.

His gaze is glued to you, pupils blown wide with a mixture of shock, arousal, and something darker. He’s still trying—trying to be a gentleman, trying to look away, to respect you, but his hands twitch against his thighs, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, and—oh, he’s struggling.

"I—do you—" he swallows hard, voice dangerously low, "Do you need help?"

And if you nod? If you so much as whisper his name again?

He whimpers.

And if you order him to stay....To watch? To help?

Sanji—sweet, hopelessly lovesick, would be in heaven because he will die from the most powerful nose bleed to ever overtake him.

Eitherway Sanji is in trouble. He is screwed both literally and figuratively.

[miniscapes333]

What Would Happen in a Secret Hookup? (18+)

PICK A PILE READING LOVES ;) 👇 [PILE - 1] 👇[PILE - 2]

👆 [PILE - 3]

Disclaimer: The images featured are not mine. All credit and rights belong to their original creators.

PILE 1

There’s a tension in the air long before it happens, an unspoken understanding that this is something neither of you should be indulging in, yet neither of you can resist. It’s the kind of connection that simmers beneath the surface, unacknowledged in daylight but undeniable in the quiet pull of stolen glances, in the way your body reacts when they stand just a little too close. Maybe it’s the secrecy that makes it more intoxicating, the knowledge that the moment you give in, there’s no going back. And when it finally happens when lips find their way to skin, when hands grip a little harder than they should, when your breath hitches in the silence of a dimly lit room it feels forbidden in the best way possible. This isn’t just desire; it’s a slow unraveling, a surrender to something neither of you can put into words but both feel deep in your bones.

Every touch is deliberate, teasing, testing, pushing just enough to drive you insane before pulling back again. There’s a game being played here, one of control and restraint, of teasing glances and fleeting touches that leave behind a trail of heat. They want you to want it to need it and the worst part? You do. The way their fingertips barely ghost over your skin, the way their lips linger at your ear before pulling away it’s maddening. But they know exactly what they’re doing. They know how to make you chase, how to make you beg without saying a word. And when they finally give in? When the teasing shifts into something deeper, more desperate, more consuming? It’s slow and deliberate, drawing every moment out like they want to memorize the way your body reacts, like they want to stretch this secret pleasure for as long as possible.

But the moment never truly belongs to you. No matter how intoxicating it feels, no matter how much you lose yourself in their touch, there’s always something lingering beneath the surface a knowing that this moment is fleeting, that it exists in the space between what’s real and what’s hidden. Maybe that’s what makes it so irresistible. It’s the kind of secret that lingers on your skin long after they’re gone, the kind that leaves you wondering if it was ever meant to be more. And yet, even as you pull away, breathless and wrecked, you know deep down: this isn’t the last time. The way they look at you before they go the way their fingers graze yours just a second longer than necessary it’s a silent promise. A secret never stays buried for long. And this? This is far from over.

PILE 2

There’s something inevitable about this, something magnetic and unstoppable, like the moment before a storm breaks heavy, charged, humming with tension that neither of you can ignore. You both feel it long before you act on it, that slow, smoldering buildup that stretches through glances held too long, through the way their touch lingers just a little longer than necessary, through the unspoken understanding that this whatever this is was never meant to be harmless. It starts in the way they look at you, in the way their body moves toward yours without hesitation, as if the universe itself is pushing you together. And once that last thread of restraint snaps? There’s no stopping it. Their hands are firm, possessive, tracing the shape of your body like they’ve been waiting for this, like they want to memorize every single inch of you.

Every movement is purposeful, each touch sending a slow burn through your skin, as if they’re savoring the moment relishing the way your body reacts to them, the way your breath shudders when their lips graze over your pulse, the way your fingers clutch at them when they press in just the right way. They take their time with you, teasing, tasting, mapping every sensation like they’re determined to master it, to draw out every sigh, every sharp inhale. But there’s also an urgency here, an unrestrained hunger simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any second. And when it does when control finally shatters and desire takes overit’s nothing short of devastating. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s rough, desperate, consuming. The way they pull you closer, the way their grip tightens, the way their breath fans hot against your skin it’s a collision, a force of nature neither of you can resist.

But the aftermath? That’s where it lingers. The air is thick with the scent of heat and want, skin flushed, breath still ragged. And yet, even as you lay there, fingers tracing absent patterns against each other’s skin, there’s a knowing between yousomething deeper than just lust, something neither of you are willing to put into words. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this was exactly what you both needed. But one thing is certain: no matter how much you try to convince yourselves otherwise, this won’t be the last time. The way they look at you, the way your body still burns from their touch? Some things were never meant to be a one-time thing.

PILE 3

It starts with restraint, but it’s the kind that only makes the tension even more unbearable the kind that coils deep, winding tighter with every passing second. There’s something unreadable in their eyes as they watch you, something dark and knowing, like they’ve already played this out in their mind a hundred times before actually reaching for you. And when they do when their fingers finally skim your skin, tracing, testing, tempting you feel it down to your bones. There’s patience here, but it’s the wicked kind. The kind that makes you wait, that teases with whispered words, with lips that barely touch, with the heat of their body just close enough to drive you mad. It’s a game, one they play well, and they enjoy watching you unravel under their touch, under their deliberate pace.

But the second you push back, the second you let them know you’re not just going to take this passively that’s when the fire ignites. The restraint shatters, giving way to raw, unfiltered hunger. Their hands are on you like they can’t help themselves, gripping, pulling, claiming. Everything about this is deep and all-consuming the way their breath mingles with yours, the way their touch turns urgent, the way your bodies fit together like they were always meant to. The need is relentless, a desperate, fevered craving neither of you want to fight anymore. It’s fast, it’s heated, it’s pure, unadulterated passion like the kind you don’t just feel, but the kind that lingers, that seeps into your skin, that leaves you breathless and aching long after it’s over.

And when the fire finally dies down, when the tension finally gives way to the slow, satisfied stillness after, there’s something else that remains. It’s not just lust, not just desire it’s something sweeter, something softer, something dangerous in its own right. Because this wasn’t just physical, and you both know it. The way they touch you now gentler, lingering, almost reverentn tells you that this was more than just a secret hookup. It was a release, yes, but it was also a connection, an unspoken admission that neither of you can take back. And maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all. Because if this was supposed to be a one-time thing, then why does it feel like you’ll both be finding excuses to do it again?

Paid readings availabe - check them out here 🫶🏾

[setmeatopthepyre]

mystery monday (more phosphorescence fic) part 1 | part 2 <- follows directly after this

-

“No, come on, listen. You saw him on that call, you-- you must have noticed. He wasn't okay. How was he suddenly just... fine, just a few weeks later? It was like he'd-- he'd forgotten about me, Chim.”

“Look, Buck...” Chimney is looking at him kindly, and Buck hates it. Chim jokes and doesn't take him too seriously, that's what he does, that's what Buck's used to from his brother-in-law. But this isn't joking. This is just the... the not-taking-him-seriously part. “I know this has been a really tough situation for you...”

“It-It's not because he broke my heart, alright?” Buck says, suddenly angry, frustrated, getting to his feet. “It's not. There's something wrong with him. Can't-- Can't you just, talk to him? See for yourself?”

Chimney's gotten to his feet now, too. Maybe in an attempt to even the playing field, keep Buck from towering over him, not that standing up does him much good in that regard. Buck feels a little guilty, but he can't-- he can't sit down, can't sit still right now. He begins to make his way to the kitchen. Turns. “Wait, have you talked to him at all?”

Chim crosses his arms over his chest. “Honestly? Not really. We texted a few times, right after... you know.”

“He dumped me?” Buck says flatly, feet carrying him forward. He helps himself to a glass of water.

“Yeah.” Chim says hesitantly, trails after him into the kitchen. “That. So, not recently.”

Buck can feel the way he's being watched, resolutely doesn't turn to face him yet, takes a second to let this-- this irritation subside. If Chimney would just believe him, if he'd just understand--

“Okay,” Chimney says. “Yes, fine. If you think that will help, I'll... I'll give Tommy a call. Okay?”

“Yeah?” He turns now, takes a few steps closer, trying to gauge if Chimney actually believes him, or...

“Of course,” Chim replies. “That's what brothers are for, right?” He gives Buck a pat on his shoulder, as though trying to really lay the brother thing on thick. as if Buck won't notice he's still looking at him like he's someone to be concerned about as he does it.

..

So it doesn't surprise Buck when Maddie spontaneously drops by the firehouse the next day, because she just so happened to be in the area.

“Don't listen to her, she's here for me,” Buck says with a sigh, earning him a round of raised eyebrows from everyone but Chimney, who has his best (worst) poker face on. He had cornered Chimney earlier that morning to check if he'd talked to Tommy yet, but apparently Tommy hadn't answered because he was on shift, which is fine, though Buck knows Tommy is perfectly capable of picking up the phone when he's on shift as long as he isn't actively on a call. But. Whatever. Chimney will try again later, and until then... Buck is apparently being babysat.

“I'm here for all of you,” Maddie retorts before sing-songing, “I brought fancy coffees!”

“Maddie Han, you are an angel. You should ditch your lousy husband and run away with me,” Chimney croons, accepting the cup she offers him. Buck sticks to where he's leaning against the rig, waiting for his sister to finish her little charade so she can corner him and look at him with those-- those big brown worried eyes, and tell him she knows it's tough but isn't it time he thought about moving on? He'd shot his shot, he'd texted Tommy. If he hadn't responded, then, well...

He should take the hint.

Buck knows that. He just... can't. Not when something so very clearly isn't right.

Even if he's the only one who seems to notice.

-

tag list below the cut

@fiyaerrigan @bisexualbrainrots @leashybebes @louuieferrignojr @rubydaiquiri @teabroomsandbooks @crimsonwildcat-blog @sweaters-and-silly

let me know if you wanna be added or removed :)

[percyjackson-post]

What I think the 7 Heroes of Olympus would be like when they get sick

Annabeth: Tough it out. She is absolutely refusing to admit that she’s sick until she’s got a fever of at least 103. Even then, trying to keep her in bed is pretty much impossible. She’s so confident that the ideas she’s having are groundbreaking, but once she’s better, she realizes that they’re absolute nonsense. 

Percy: Dramatic. He spends most of the time with tears in his eyes buried under a mountain of blankets. He is convinced that he is experiencing the worst pain of his life the entire time. It does not matter if he held up the sky; the headache is apparently worse. He will say the same thing about the coughing 10 minutes later, though. It's best to just turn on a movie and pray it distracts him long enough for the sleep meds to kick in.

Piper: Aggressive. She is absolutely livid about being sick, and it’s extremely common to see her screaming in frustration over how stuffy her nose is. If anyone tries to offer any kind of help, she's snapping on them. Best to just leave her be.

Leo: Taking EVERYTHING. He’s got at least 4 different types of cold meds in him at all times, and he swears he can taste colors. Coincidentally, he is absolutely not allowed anywhere near the infirmary. Somehow that precaution still wasn’t enough, and now he has a babysitter assigned to him for the entire time.

Jason: Sick? He’s actually in a constant state of being sick and doesn’t seem to recognize that fact he’s sick. Body chills, headache, and nausea are a part of his daily life to the point he doesn’t even notice a difference. He and Nico aren’t allowed to be near each other when they’re sick because all they do is reaffirm the other that their symptoms are normal.

Hazel: Checked out. There is absolutely no use in trying to hold a conversation with her because she isn’t listening to a word. She goes through the whole thing with a dazed look on her face, and any time you try to talk to her, she blinks and stares at you like she’s loading a response. 

Frank: Asleep. The moment he realizes he’s sick, he’s out like a light. He’s only waking up for soup and Gatorade, and then he’s back to bed again. It’s extremely effective, though, and he’s never sick for more than 48 hours.

[sangwookisser]

⭒TENSIONS ARE RISING - RAFE CAMERON⭒

cw. football! rafe, college rafe, enemies to lovers, breakups, love triangle (maybe not sure), female reader in mind, violence and blood, objectification of reader by rafe, no use of y/n, allusions to cheating, suggestive, ANGST

a/n: im so sorry babies the word count hit 8k so i gotta write a part two with all smut. stay tuned! MDNI

Homecoming weekend always brought out the worst in everyone.

The air was thick with school spirit and tension, the rivalry between your college and Rafe Cameron’s school burning hotter than ever. You knew the game would be brutal—your school hadn’t beaten his in years, and this season, your team had the best shot in a long time. But apparently, Rafe wasn’t content to let any stats do the talking.

His school was known for being best in the state at football, and although yours wasn't far behind, it seemed as though his was always several steps ahead with strategies, moves, and plays.

You spot him before your boyfriend does, standing near the tunnel below the bleachers with a few fans and frat bros making bets before the game, his team’s colors contrasting against his sharp jawline and too-perfect hair. He’s talking to some of his teammates, but the second he sees you, his smirk widens like he’s been expecting you. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

His gaze landed on you first, darkening slightly as he gave you a slow, deliberate once-over. From your little sneakers to your sweater, to the way your arms were wrapped around yourself, trying to ward off the October chill. But his stare wasn’t cold. No, it was heated, hungry, and entirely too satisfied.

Your stomach twisted. You hated that look. That arrogant, leering gaze that made it clear he liked what he saw—and that he didn’t give a damn who you belonged to, even with your boyfriend's initials on a gold locket around your neck, sitting on the plush skin of your cleavage.

He made it obvious that his eyes drifted to your tits, and he chuckled. Whether it was at your necklace or your boobs, you weren't sure.

You wrenched your eyes away, but it was too late. He’d already seen your reaction.

“Hey, look who it is,” Rafe drawls as your boyfriend finally catches sight of him. His voice is loud enough to carry over the pre-game noise, designed to get under your boyfriend’s skin. “Didn’t realize you were still wasting your time here, man. Thought you’d be smart enough to transfer after last year’s beating.” A few of Rafe's friends look over and laugh softly, sporting school colors and jerseys.

Your boyfriend stiffens beside you, already pissed before Rafe even says the next part. You hug your boyfriend closer to you, feeling his chest rise and fall hard.

“And you—” Rafe’s gaze flickers to you, shameless and slow, causing you to stiffen. You absentmindedly push your hair in front of your shoulders so it blocks some of his view of your breasts, and he laughs, unperturbed.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes rake you over, going down from the way your tits push against your tight sweater, down to your black leggings, which hug your thighs and hips, and then back up to your face, taking his time in a way that makes your skin heat for all the wrong reasons.

“Damn. I gotta say, you really are the only good thing about this sorry excuse for a school.”

Your face heats up at the comment, and you frown softly. He does this every time he sees you. Flirts with you, more so in front of your boyfriend, and tries to get a rise out of him by making it seem like he can take his girl from him any time he wants.

Your boyfriend surges forward, already balling his fists, and you barely have time to react before his teammates grab his arms.

“Watch your mouth, Cameron.” His voice is low, furious, barely restrained. You wrap your hands around your boyfriend's arm, rubbing gentle circles on his bicep to calm him down. He could be benched for foul play if he threw the punch, and you knew how much the homecoming game meant to him, he couldn't mess this up for someone as stupid as Rafe Cameron.

The two different teams crowded around, with Rafe's behind him and two of your boyfriend's holding him back.

Rafe just grins smugly, soft, charming dimples gracing his cheeks as he bites his lip momentarily, letting out a low whistle. He cocks his head slightly to try and get a glimpse of your ass, and you cling tighter to your boyfriend, your heart racing.

“What? Just saying what we’re all thinking.” He takes a slow step closer, eyes gleaming and deliberately provocative. Then his gaze flicks back to you, lingering this time—too long, too obvious. His smirk turns downright filthy.

“I mean, I get it,” Rafe muses, voice dropping just enough that only you and your boyfriend can hear him over the noise of the crowd. “You probably have him all wound up, looking like that. But, Jesus…”

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and his eyes shamelessly drag down your body yet again. “I can’t stop thinking about how much better you’d look in my jersey. On my bed. Making my name sound so much better than his.”

Your boyfriend lunges before you can stop him.

It happens so fast. One second, he’s tensed beside you, vibrating with fury, and the next, he’s ripping himself free from his teammates’ grip and charging at Rafe. The shove is hard enough that Rafe actually stumbles back a step, but he barely looks fazed. In fact, he laughs.

“You motherfucker—” Your boyfriend is seething, fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white. “You don’t talk about her like that, you hear me? I'll fucking kill you”

Rafe straightens his jersey, still grinning. “Oh, come on, man. It's nothing personal, yeah?. I just can't stop thinking about the way she’d sound under someone who can actually handle her.”

Your boyfriend goes for him again, ready to throw a punch this time, but Rafe doesn’t back down. No, the smug bastard meets him head-on, chest bumping against his, barely restrained tension crackling between them.

He pushes your boyfriend back a bit, grinning. He's on a power trip, feeling proud at the way he can easily plant seeds of doubt in your boyfriend's mind. “What, you scared?” Rafe taunts, voice low,. He looks crazed, his eyes lit up with the delight of adrenaline that comes with a potential fight.

“Scared she might like it?”

You shove yourself between them before your boyfriend can swing. “Enough, Rafe!” you snap, voice sharp. “You’re disgusting.”

Rafe tilts his head at you, amused by your intervention. “That so, beautiful? That why you’re blushing?”

You hate him.

Hate that he always gets under your skin, hate that he’s so damn smug about it, hate the way he looks at you like he already knows how this ends.

And worst of all? He laughs.

Like this is fun for him. Like he loves the way he gets under both your skin and your boyfriend’s.

“Save it for the game!” a sharp voice cuts through the tension.

The ref.

He glares between the two boys, face tight with frustration. “I see either of you lay a finger on each other before kickoff, you’re both benched. Understood?”

Your boyfriend steps back, breath ragged, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding himself together. His teammates grab his arms again, dragging him away. You reach for him, running your hands over his back, whispering something low to calm him down.

And then you feel it.

The weight of a gaze still on you.

You turn, just in time to see Rafe watching you walk away.

You’re still fuming as you drag your boyfriend away, your fingers gripping his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping him from turning around and knocking Rafe’s smug face into the dirt. "You're good, baby. It's fine, he's just talking shit before a game. Wants to get you in trouble." He nods, barely looking your way, and your heart sinks in your chest.

You’re tired with this. Tired of Rafe, tired with his bullshit, tired of the way he always has to push and push and push until someone snaps.

And then, just as you think it’s over, you hear him again.

A low whistle, slow and drawn out, just loud enough for you to catch.

“Damn,” Rafe drawls, voice lazy. “I swear, that ass just gets better every time I see it.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your boyfriend stops dead in his tracks.

It takes everything in you to yank him forward again, forcing him to keep walking, even as you hear Rafe chuckling behind you like this is all some game.

The audience is alive with energy before the game, the roar of the student section echoing in your ears as you slide your boyfriend’s jersey over your sweater, tugging it into place. It’s warm, slightly oversized, and smells faintly like his cologne—the same one you stole hoodies from just to keep close when he was away for away games.

You ground yourself in the familiar scent, trying to rid yourself of the memories of Rafe's. Mahogany... Nutmeg... your mind starts to wander, and you shake your head quickly, refusing to let your mind get carried away.

You try to focus on the field, unwillingly making eye contact with Rafe.

He's standing near the 50-yard line, smirking like he’s been waiting for you to turn around. He’s wearing his helmet but hasn’t strapped it up yet, letting his hair resting against his forehead. He grins roguishly. Your stomach twists. Rafe barely acknowledges him at first, like he expected this. Like he’s amused.

“Well, well,” he drawls, flexing his fingers in his gloves as your boyfriend stops right in front of him, blocking you from his view. “Look who finally showed up.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t take the bait. Not yet. But his jaw is tight, his fists already clenched. “Stay the hell away from her, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckles. “I thought you were smart enough to know that’s not how this works.” He glances past him, back at you, sitting there in the bleachers. He grins like he’s thinking of something. Like he’s remembering something.

Your boyfriend sees it, too.

“What?” he snaps. “What the hell are you smiling at?”

Rafe tilts his head. “You sure you wanna know?”

Your boyfriend takes a step closer, but Rafe’s still so damn relaxed. He claps a hand on his shoulder—just for a second, just enough to push.

“You should be thanking me,” Rafe he murmurs into your boyfriend's ear. “For keeping your girl entertained while you were busy choking last season.”

That’s it.

Your boyfriend lunges, only stopping when his teammate grabs him from behind, dragging him back.

“I swear to God,” your boyfriend growls, chest heaving. “You say one more thing—”

Rafe grins. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll save it for the game.”

They march off, assuming positions on the opposing side of the field, and with the blow of the ref's whistle, the game takes off.

As you watch the game, you find yourself filled with anxiety. Sportsmanship is out the window, and people have started to become hyperaware of the animosity between the two boys. You heard some girls a few rows back wondering who the girl is that has Rafe Cameron so whipped for her.

You wanted to shout that he wasn't, that it was a pride thing, a rivalry between the two boys that you got caught in unwillingly.

The match has devolved into a raw and brutal battle. Every hit and tackle is sharp, almost desperate. Strategy is out the fucking window, and it's all brute force and personal animosity between the rival schools. You can tell by how many times the ref blows the whistle and screams at the men about class and integrity.

However, the rivalry between your boyfriend and Rafe has turned into the whole focus of the game. Every time they collide, it's personal.

Your boyfriend, a linebacker, is built for this. Working tirelessly to achieve his physique, he's all strength and power with an instinct to shut down Rafe at every opportunity.

But Rafe is a beast. Inhuman, if you will. He's faster. More calculated, and worse, he's playing with intent.

He's not just trying to win, he's making sure your boyfriend loses.

Each time your boyfriend goes in for a tackle, Rafe slips by, taunting him as he runs down the field, dodging him seamlessly. The frustration on your team's end builds with every quarter as the other team picks up points.

The hits get harder.

The penalties increase.

By the fourth quarter, Rafe's team is up by a touchdown. With a few minutes left on the buzzer, your boyfriend can still stop him.

The crowd is raucous, screaming, on edge. You're holding a school flag in your hands so tight that your hands start to hurt, and your eyes focus on your boyfriend, praying he makes the right play to at least get a tie. Anything to put a stop to Rafe's ego.

Rafe gets the ball.

Your boyfriend charges like a bull seeing red, going full speed to stop Rafe this time. He slams into him, the force of the tackle sending them both skidding across the turf. It's a clean, beautiful hit, and the crowd gasps, standing up to watch the two closely. It's the kind of hit that should leave Rafe pained, winded. But it doesn't.

Flat on his back, eyes dark and burning, he spits onto the grass and grins up at your boyfriend with a sickening sort of delight.

And then he leans closer.

“You know,” he breathes, voice husky from exertion, “when I win this, I think I’ll take my time with your girl.” Your boyfriend freezes, going pale.

Rafe sees the hesitation, the moment of shock on your boyfriend's face, and continues with a second blow. "Maybe I'll take her back with me to the showers and bend her over one of those nice locker room benches."

That’s it. Everything snaps. Your boyfriend is feral. No hesitation, no thought—just raw, furious instinct. He lunges, fists flying, tackling Rafe back onto the ground.

The refs are blowing their whistles frantically, but no one’s stopping this. No one can.

The first punch lands hard. A solid hit straight to Rafe’s jaw that sends his head snapping to the side.

For a second, you think maybe—maybe—your boyfriend has this.

But then Rafe moves.

It’s fast, almost too fast. He twists, using the momentum, shifting, and suddenly, he’s the one on top.

And then, it’s like watching something calculated, something cold.

Because Rafe knows how to fight.

This isn’t some wild, desperate brawl. It’s controlled. Every time your boyfriend swings, Rafe dodges just enough to take the edge off, redirecting the energy, making sure his punches land clean.

Your boyfriend is strong, but Rafe fights dirty.

He predicts every move, twisting your boyfriend’s arm just enough to knock him off balance, slamming him down harder each time. He tears off the other boy's helmet, His hand wrapping around your boyfriend's throat to hit his head repeatedly against the grass.

It’s like he’s toying with him.

Your boyfriend fights like a football player—full force, all muscle. But Rafe fights like someone who’s been in real fights before. Someone who’s done this enough times to know how to wear someone down.

And it’s working.

A brutal hit to your boyfriend’s ribs.

A sharp, precise punch to the gut.

Your boyfriend groans, struggling, but Rafe doesn’t let up. He’s relishing this.

He finally gets your boyfriend flat on his back, pinning him down with one knee pressed into his chest.

"You hear that, you fucking cuck?" He says, even as your boyfriend punches at Rafe's head desperately.

With every punch, he emphasizes the words, voice wild, breathless, dripping with cruel satisfaction.

“I’m—” crack

“gonna—” crack

“fuck—” crack

“your—” crack

“girl.”

Your boyfriend’s head snaps back, his lip split, his breath ragged.

You scream.

Your heart is pounding, panic rushing through you like fire. You can’t watch this. You can’t let this happen.

Before you even think, you’re running.

Pushing through the chaos, shoving past people, barely hearing the gasps as you throw yourself onto the field.

You grab Rafe, your hands clenching the back of his jersey, desperately trying to pull him off.

But he doesn’t move.

He’s too strong.

His muscles are tense beneath your grip, his breathing heavy, wild—his entire body thrumming with adrenaline. He’s smiling, his nose bleeding, his cheek already bruising.

And then he turns his head.

Looks at you.

The second his eyes meet yours, something shifts.

He leans closer to your boyfriend, his knee pressing harder into his chest, keeping him pinned.

“Say it,” Rafe murmurs, voice low, like a slow purr.

You blink, confused, hands still gripping his jersey. “What?”

Rafe’s smirk widens, his voice dropping into something sickeningly sweet.

“Tell him,” he murmurs, tilting his head, mocking. “Tell him you want me.”

Your breath catches.

Your boyfriend, barely conscious, groans, trying to lift his head. His eyes, swollen and bruised, find yours.

And that’s when Rafe really digs the knife in.

He twists your boyfriend's collar so he's choking, and you scream and try to lunge for him, but Rafe holds you back with one hand, holding onto the back of your jersey.

By now, there are people crowded around, coaches and the ref fighting to get to the middle of the scene, but Rafe's got his vision set in you, his eyes a striking blue that makes that disgusting, loathsome feeling in your tummy swirl.

You feel like you could throw up, because deep, deep down, so deep that you'd NEVER act on it, you feel that he might be right.

"Go on, princess." He coos at you, his voice no longer a hard snarl, but a soft coo, addressed solely for you. “Say it like you mean it.”

You shake your head, tears starting to cloud your vision as you grip onto Rafe's jersey, feeling desperate. “Rafe... I c-can't, I can’t,”

Rafe tsks, leaning in. “You can,” he whispers, voice sickly smooth. “Or I keep going.”

You look down. Your boyfriend is barely holding on, his breath shallow, his hands twitching at his sides. If Rafe keeps hitting him...

You swallow, your throat tightening so painfully you can barely breathe. And then, your voice cracks.

“I.... I want Rafe.”

Rafe hums, pleased. “Louder, beautiful. And look at him when you say it.”

Your lip trembles, your gaze glued to your boyfriend. Bile continues to rise in your throat.

“I want Rafe.”

His fingers tighten on your boyfriend’s collar.

“Louder.”

You scream.

“I WANT RAFE!”

The crowd is silent.

Rafe exhales slowly, satisfied, his smile wicked.

And your boyfriend—your sweet, strong, beaten boyfriend—just looks at you.

Like something inside him has shattered.

The game resulted in a draw due to extreme foul play on both sides. Not just during the fight between your boyfriend and Rafe, but all throughout the match. The coaches had to make a statement and apologize to the students for a lack of sportsmanship. It did nothing to squash the rivalry, however, and Rafe's team is still ranked higher than your boyfriend's.

Ex boyfriend's. You corrected yourself as you sat alone in your room, your hands cradling your sacred necklace as you sigh softly.

You weren't surprised, in all honesty. Your boyfriend had been humiliated in front of hundreds of people, and he felt like you weren't there for him when he needed you most, even as you explained in verbatim that you only said it because you didn't want Rafe to beat him to death, which then caused him to question if you believed in him. If he was too weak. If you thought he wasn’t man enough to protect you, to stand his ground against Rafe Cameron.

And the worst part? He didn’t even say it in anger. He said it with this hollow, tired acceptance, like the fight had been drained out of him in more ways than one. Like he’d already lost. On the field, in front of everyone, in front of you.

You’d cried. Begged him to understand. But the damage had been done, and his pride was too wounded to heal anytime soon.

So now, here you were. Alone.

You ran your fingers over the locket again, throat tight, stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Rafe got to walk away from this with everything, his ranking, his team’s reputation still intact, and worst of all, the last word.

He always got away with everything.

You frown, trying to focus on your schoolwork, despite the ache in your chest that wouldn't go away.

No matter how many times you tried to refocus on your laptop screen, no matter how much you tried to drown out your thoughts by going over your assignments, your mind kept drifting back to him.

Rafe Cameron.

You hated him. You hated him. The smugness, the arrogance, the way he got under your skin like it was his birthright. You hated how he’d humiliated your ex-boyfriend in front of hundreds of people, how he’d practically made you say those words, how he was still haunting you even now.

You shook your head, pressing the heels of your palms into your tired eyes. You had work to do. You needed to study. You needed to stop thinking about Rafe.

But then, as if summoned by your very thoughts, your phone lit up.

A new message. You already knew who it was without looking at the username of the account.

You hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as you tapped into the notification.

Miss me, sweetheart? Hope you’re not too heartbroken. That’d be a shame. Don’t worry though. Your boy still has a shot at redemption.

Your pulse spiked.

You sat up straighter, your brain scrambling to process the words. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Your fingers moved before you could stop them.

Rafe, what the fuck do you want?

He left you on read for a moment, and you could see the smirk he was probably wearing.

Relax, beautiful. Just wanted to check in. Oh, and let you know I’m seeing your Iittle boyfriend real soon Might just have to finish what I started.

Your stomach dropped. Don't touch him. You respond quicker than you'd have liked to.

Why don't you come stop me then? You know how good I listen to you, princess.

Your heart races at the implication, the hint of a threat he weaved so subtly into his text messages. That’s not funny, Rafe.

He responded soon after, and you got up to try and calm your heart. Your whole body was on fire.

Who said I was joking? But we can make a deal, sweetheart. You come see me. Tonight. And maybe I’ll be nice.

You weren’t actually going to do it.

You weren’t.

But then you found yourself gripping the steering wheel so tight your knuckles went white, staring at the highway exit that led straight to his university. This was insane. Every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to turn around, to just go home, block his number, pretend none of this ever happened.

And yet.

Your fingers tightened, your heart pounded, and before you could stop yourself, you flicked your turn signal on.

You told yourself it was because of your ex. That you were handling things. That if you confronted Rafe now, if you made him promise to leave your ex alone, then you could walk away from this once and for all.

It was a lie. And deep down, you knew it.

Rafe’s apartment was as absurd as you expected.

The complex was sleek and modern, towering over the rest of the neighborhood like a statement piece. The lobby alone was more elegant than any place you’d ever lived. The kind of place meant for hedge fund heirs and people who never had to work for anything in their lives.

The doorman let you up without question, which only made you more annoyed. He was expecting you. By the time you reached his floor, your blood was boiling. You lifted your fist and pounded on the door, heart racing, breath shallow. There wasn't even a moment spared, as he opened the door quickly, leaving your fist raised in the air.

He grins the second he sees you, raising both arms above the doorframe to hold onto the top and lean over you. He smelled expensive and dark, all spice and warmth, mixed with the faint scent of whatever soap he used. It made your stomach twist with something you refused to name.

"Rafe."

He grins the second he sees you, raising both arms above the door frame to hold onto the top and lean over you.

"Well, well," he drawls, his smirk deepening. "I was starting to think you'd chicken out."

You glare, jaw tight. "Shut up, Cameron."

But he’s not even listening. His eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate, drinking in every inch of your face, your body, the way your fists are clenched at your sides. His eyes rove over your body, and he laughs. “Holy shit.” he muses, staring right at your thighs. "Are you seriously wearing shorts right now? Just for me?" Your face burns. "Not for you," you snap, shoving past him into the apartment, but he follows.

"Mm, sure," Rafe muses, his voice dropping a little lower. "Nice and loose, though. Looks good on you ‘cause it shows off that fat ass."

You whip around, glaring. "Cut the shit, Cameron." He just grins, like he loves seeing you all riled up. "You always this feisty when you visit guys in the middle of the night?" He hums, stepping closer, too close. "Or is it just me?" Your stomach tightens, pulse hammering as his fingers graze your arm, light and teasing. You shove his hand off hard, but it doesn’t matter. His other hand is already grabbing at your waist. You smack it away. "Rafe."

But he just laughs, his hands held up in mock surrender. "Relax, princess. I'm just being friendly."

"You don't know the meaning of friendly. All you think about is your next fuck." you snap.

His smirk deepens. "Oh, you know me so well. I hope you know I’ve been thinking about you next. Made sure to tell your little boyfriend that you’d be on my dick soon enough." he murmurs, voice as he grabs onto your ass, dragging you up against him and squeezing handfuls of soft flesh, before smacking it light.

Your breath catches. Your whole body tenses. "You pervert!" you snap, shoving his huge hands away again. “G-get your hands off me, do you understand?” You pause, panting so loudly that your whole body wracks with each breath. “A-and we broke up. M-me and him. So don’t bring him into this anymore.”

He actually stops, his eyes widening and brightening. He looks elated for a moment. He lets out a low whistle, cocking his brow with impressment. “You got rid of him? Finally, I hope it was because of me.” He laughs at your hurt expression and the way you get more and more frustrated. He knows it was. He just wanted to dig the knife in your chest deeper, and he does, because he keeps going. “Too bad I didn’t get to fuck you when you were still his girl, though. I would’ve had a lot of fun sending him videos of the fun you and I will have tonight.”

You slap him across the face.

Rafe’s head snaps to the side with the force of your slap. A sharp crack echoes through the apartment, the sting lingering in your palm. Your breath comes fast, your whole body shaking with anger, with something else you don’t want to name.

For a second, there’s silence. And then he laughs.

Low and slow at first, before it deepens, growing dark and hungry.

"Fuck," he breathes, running his tongue over his teeth before turning back to you, his cheek already blooming red. His eyes are glowing with something wicked, something starved. "You hit me so hard, baby. Thought you were gonna break that pretty little wrist." You can’t even speak. You want to, you want to tell him to shut up, to back off, but your voice won’t work because he’s smiling. Smiling like he liked it.

And then he steps closer, crowding into your space.

Your breath catches, your whole body tensing as his fingers skim up your arm, trailing slow and lazy toward your throat. You shove at his chest, but it’s like pushing against a brick wall. He doesn’t even budge.

Instead, he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward, so close your noses almost brush.

"You’re trembling," he murmurs, voice silky. His grip tightens just enough to make your pulse jump. "Scared?"

You glare, ripping your hand free. "Disgusted."

Rafe chuckles, but there’s something dark in his gaze now, something twisted.

"That’s funny," he muses, "considering how fucking red your face is." His hand skims down your waist again, fingers pressing lightly over your hip, your stomach, before moving to your thigh, toying with the hem of your shorts.

Your breath hitches.

You shove his arm away, but he’s already gripping your waist again, fingers digging in.

"You wanna hit me again, don’t you?" he hums, dragging his nose along your jaw. "Go ahead. Do it, baby. I like it when you get rough."

"You're sick," you snap, hands bracing against his chest.

His grin deepens. "And you love it."

"I hate you," you hiss, nails digging into his shirt, gripping too tight.

Rafe laughs, a sharp exhale against your skin. "Yeah?" His fingers tighten around your waist, dragging you flush against him. "Then why are you still here?"

You don’t have an answer.

Or maybe you do, but you don’t want to say it, because his hands are so big on you, because his breath is warm against your neck, because his smell is making your head spin and your stomach twist in that awful, unbearable way.

Rafe sees it. Of course he does.

His hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Knew you wanted me," he breathes, his eyes primal with want. "Could see it all over that cute little face of yours, sweetheart."

You shake your head, eyes burning. "No, I—"

But you don’t get the words out because suddenly—He kisses you.

[sweetpupii]

cw: dub-con,　fingering,　sev’s mechanic arm vibrates,　 degradation,　 hair pulling, 　 overstimulation,　 cunnilingus (r!giving), no aftercare at all. | 2,3k words, barely proofread I'm sorry.

　coming back to the last drop after a rough deal, five in the goddamn morning, wiping blood that isn't hers off her clothes, a nasty cut on her cheek, thick eyebrows positioned into a nasty frown, a bottle of strong liquor she took from the counter ( even if the bar was open, the bartender would have not stopped her ) on her metallic hand as she went upstairs into silco's office, knocking heavily on the door, ready to speak about how jinx—living up to her name—almost turned the guy who's the usual contact for shimmer distribution into bones and ashes for whatever reason when she wasn't even supposed to be there, is definitely the worst part of sevika's job.

little shit, always getting on her nerves. sevika just wants to smack some sense into that fucked up brain but silco's the only thing that keeps her from doing so.

and of course she had to clean after the bluenette.

after all, you can't attack a trafficker without consequences. an eye for an eye turned quite literal when the man's eye popped because one of the window crystals from jinx's explosion flew right onto it and his men tried to jump at sevika. ‘bit stupid if you ask me…yes, their boss almost died and all but did they really think they could take this woman down with a few weak punches? they lack common sense, apparently.

now the drug dealer has one eye and five men nearly dead.

oh, great, just what she needed—silco is not even in his office. she wants to break something and rip her hair out.

“sevika? didn't see you coming in.” right, sometimes she forgets you come clean the mess the people at the bar make. taking care of the alcohol, the drugs, the shattered glasses, the unknown fluids, etc, that can be found on every corner just so they can do it all again the next day. cleaning up jinx's mess seems like nothing compared to your job. “everyone left already.”

she looks up from the couch to the door where you are standing with a surprisingly warm smile for someone who's working so early in the morning—god knows when your shift even started.

“silco also left like an hour ago, I was hoping I could secretly clean his office because it smells a little… funky.” you laughed gesturing to the mop on your hand before walking into the room, turning your back at sevika while picking up some bright neon, spray painted decoration from the floor to put it on his desk again. focused on getting the job done since she didn't seem in the mood to talk. ( rude but makes sense. )

how is the poor, pent up woman supposed to resist that heaven-sent view?

hand suddenly on your waist as she took one final swing of the strong liquor, pulling you closer even if you gasped and automatically tried to pull away. when did she even get up from the couch? “stay still.” she warned putting the bottle down on his desk to hold your hips more firmly against her front.

“I probably should go clean somewhere—” she could only scoff at your nervous words. yeah, like she'd want you to leave right now when all she needs is someone to pour her stress onto.

“shut up, what did I just say? stay still.”

this woman is one rough motherfucker and that applies to every aspect of her life, as you can tell by how tightly she's gripping at your hips as she moves you to bend over silco's desk. her calloused hand swiping away most of his stuff away, making sure your torso is flush against the wooden—and still dusty—surface, her fingers tangle themselves on your hair to keep your head down.

your legs go just a little weak. but hey, it's just you being tired from cleaning for hours now!

…or maybe it's the wall of pure muscle behind you sliding her mechanic hand under your pants, tracing your panties while she keeps talking.

“been a long fucking night.” her face buried itself on your neck, not even kissing the skin before nibbling on it. why would she? she doesn't owe you any gentleness. her body weight pressing you forward—the action making sure you can feel the cool metal of her fingers. the sharp tips lightly scratching the fabric of your underwear in a way that shouldn't feel this good, especially in the current circumstances but oh, well.

“are you stupid or deaf?” she pulled on your hair a little before pushing your head back down on the desk when she felt your hips moving away from her as soon as her arm made a loud mechanical sound, the rather strong vibration coming right after making you shudder.

you didn't mean to move like that, lifting your hips away from her, but you couldn't help it! the vibration was so out of nowhere it startled you. who's fault is that, hm? definitely sevika's. but I wouldn't say that out loud if I were you—you know, keeping in mind there's still blood that isn't hers on her clothes and body. just saying.

“hey, wait—”

your protests meaning nothing to her as she tugged ( ripped ) your pants and underwear down. “look at that, you whine but you're getting wet?” the most mocking scoff ever coming out of her lips while she pressed her vibrating fingers even more firmly on your now bare clit.

“it's not that much, you're just weak. get over it.”

she's right, it does feel like you're getting weaker by the second. the feeling getting more overwhelming as she gets meaner. “never thought of quitting? cleaning is definitely not your job, the brothel would work way better.” she's infuriatingly good at talking though, it's annoying.

“i mean, look at you. I'm sure people would pay more to see this ass than what silco does for you to clean his shit.” she squeezed one cheek to emphasize her own point, giving a slap to watch it jiggle, her lower lip caught with her teeth at the sight. she could get used to it, actually.

“there we go, see? wasn't so hard to keep quiet.” her fingers are no longer cold, now sticky and warm from your body heat—body heat she proudly increased by the way—while her hand starts to move back and forth to cause more sensations, moans and trembles.

you feel like it's too much? oh, baby, she hasn't done anything yet!

you realize she's actually doing something when you notice her sliding two thick fingers—lucky for you, real ones instead of the sharp prosthetics—stretching you out without a single warning as the vibration on your clit does not cease at all.

the wet sounds combined with the slap of skin and buzzing coming from in between your legs absolutely obscene in a way that's fucking humiliating. god, you shouldn't be this horny for a woman that treats you like a hooker she found in an alley but it would be a terrible lie if you said it didn't make your lower belly burn and tingle in a way you've felt before, but definitely not with that intensity.

her scent—blood, sweat, and that funky, smoky tang that always clings to her—feels pretty intoxicating, to the point it's impossible to think straight.

you bit your lip, frustrated at the way your own body seems to betray you with the moans you fail to hold back. no amount of deep breaths able to help you. the mixture of pleasure and pain seems to blur together, forcing an embarrassingly whiny whimper to escape before you can even stop it.

“what's wrong?” sevika murmurs with a mocking chuckle, her fingers curling just right, pressing against your g-spot as if she knew your body better than you and honestly with the amount of experience she has, she might as well. “guess you like being treated like a common whore, huh, is that it?”

heat goes straight to your cheeks and down yourq back at her words, and yet again your body completely ignores your internal struggles, hips rocking against her hand despite your best efforts to stay still. she noticed, of course she did, using that to give a punishing thrust that suddenly feels way too deep.

“yeah, that's what I thought,” she scoffed, voice dripping with disdain, but her movements became more purposeful. her metallic fingers pressed firmly against your clit with no mercy, the vibrations and the movements had you clutching at the edge of the desk.

“look at you,” sevika muttered, more to herself than you, as if fascinated by the way your body responds to her rough thrusts. “maybe I'll keep you here, bent over silco's desk, let him walk in and see what a filthy slut you are.”

the thought sent a jolt of humiliation and twisted excitement through you, and sevika definitely feels it, her lips turn into the most asshol-smirk you've ever seen ( if you were able to ), and she speeds up, the wet, obscene sounds of her fingers working you echoing in the small office.

"go on," she said, "are you gonna keep pretending you don't like it?"

sevika doesn't even think about slowing down as she felt the way your walls squeezed her tight enough to earn a small groan from her—your moans being her motivation to keep going through your orgasm—drawing every last tremor from your body until you're left breathless and boneless, slumped over the desk.

she finally pulled out after god knows how long, her fingers sticky and wet from your fluids. sevika raised them to her lips, absolutely shameless, eyes locked on yours as she licked the digits clean with a deliberate, slow drag of her tongue, enjoying the dazed expression on your pretty face while you panted.

“come on, to the floor.” oh, lord, she's still going?

she sat on the couch, pants lowered to her ankles before you could even register her words. shaky legs doing the best they can when you kneeled down in between her thighs. so tired that taking a nap on ‘em seems like the best idea ever, but you can't do that now—not when she's already manspread there, waiting with a cigar on her lips ( probably stole it from silco's desk or something, everything’s happening way to quick for your brain to comprehend ) while casually lighting it up like she didn't just rearrange your guts with her fingers.

free hand wrapping around your hair again, this time guiding your face to her lower abdomen, soft lips pressed on the happy trail that decorated her sweaty skin in a way that now felt sinfully good. “open.”

how could you say no when she's looking down at you like that, making you eat her out as she exhales the heavy smoke?

a low groan, almost imperceptible to your ears covered by her thighs, comes out of her when she finally feels your mouth trail down and down and down, her legs spreading further so you can taste her better.

the scent of her mixed with the smell of cigar was all you could notice. her grip on your hair tightens, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to remind you where you are. half naked, wet and sticky inner thighs, now a sticky mouth, kneeling down on some floor you were supposed to be cleaning while eating the pussy of a 185cm tall woman who disfigured a group of men a few hours ago.

almost in a trance, your lips part, tongue darting out to give her a tentative lick. the taste is overwhelming, consuming your senses until nearly all you can focus on is the feel of sevika,the taste of sevika, the scent of sevika. “that’s it, knew you were playing dumb.” huh, who would've thought you'd be doing this and liking it?

your tongue took another swipe at her dripping slit, this time lingering longer, trying to get deeper. a husky moan from her motivating you to keep going.

at the light twitch on her hips, you vary your technique—going from licking long stripes up and down to swirling your tongue around her already sensitive clit, before dragging it lower to spear into her weeping entrance. the sound of her breathing turns ragged as you lost yourself in the act of pleasing her, of tasting her, of being the cause of such raw feelings.

her hips start to move, grinding her achingly greedy cunt against your face, you grabbed at the tensing muscles on her thighs for support meanwhile she basically used your face like a toy for her own pleasure. not caring if you can breath or not. smearing your lips and chin with her own fluids just like you did with her hand. ( was it revenge? probably not since it's a win-win situation for sevika. )

lost in a haze of sensations, you barely register the heavy, strong hand pressing down on the back of your head, holding you in place—forcing you to feel every clench and twitch. the world narrows down to the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her, until you can barely recall why you ever resisted the idea of doing what she says.

oh?

oh.

she did not just come, make you lick all of it and then push you away. ( she absolutely just did, the motherfucker. )

“okay, that's it, enough.” the fucking audacity to get up, fix her pants and just leave you there, sat on the cold floor as if you were a simple stray dog who got its five minutes of petting from a stranger. “clean up the mess you made.”

“hold on—”

she just left without even listening?! great, now you're stuck having clean a messy desk, pick up the paperwork from the floor, your own panties and pants and having to get rid of the wet, creamy stain on silco's couch that apparently ‘you’ made as if it wasn't sevika's cum.

what a rollercoaster of a night.

masterlist

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Wu Yanzi has taken a dangerous job. Shen Jiu is sure of it.

It's the only time his 'benevolent' Shifu ever ensures he's prepared. Most jobs he doesn't even speak to Shen Jiu, simply giving him a quick glance to ensure he was following like an obedient dog.

Today Wu Yanzi ensured all of his supplies were full, all the knives sharpened, the blades and needles dipped in their worst poison, and, most damningly, he checked in on Shen Jiu's health.

Shen Jiu was tempted to fabricate some sort of illness just to observe the man's reaction. He didn't, in the end, his caution winning over his curiosity as it was oft to do nowadays.

"Shifu" Began Shen Jiu, "What's this job about? Who's the target?"

Wu Yanzi, with his shadowed appearance and scoundrelly demeanor, cradled his liquor, and looked down into the liquid pensively. The hairs on the back of Shen Jiu's neck raised further; Wu Yanzi in an introspective mood meant danger. The renegade Shen Jiu called Shifu barreled into most situations without a second thought, the man gifted in the art of survival to a degree that made him look reckless. Imagine how surprising it was for Shen Jiu to learn how calculating the man was. For him to take the time to carefully consider, to prepare? If the precariousness of the job was to the point Shifu stepped carefully, it meant Shen Jiu could very well perish. He had no delusions about the value of his life in the eyes of his master. If it benefited the man more to complete this job, even at the expense of Shen Jiu, his student, he would pay unflinchingly. Wu Yanzi left his seat at the dim, gritty bar, and motioned Shen Jiu to follow him to the inn they were bunking in.

When inside the spartan room, Wu Yanzi threw silencing talismans on every wall. "Shifu?" Shen Jiu said questioningly. "Listen kid, this one is big. And high-profile. It's the head disciple of one of the big four. Yue Qingyuan is the name, and he already has folktales about his power, his exploits, his virtue." Wu Yanzi's voice was low, and intense. His gaze pinned Shen Jiu to the spot. "There will not be a single misstep, not one."

Shen Jiu bent at the waist, his murmur of 'Yes Shifu' tinged with a sincerity, and obedience, the youth rarely felt. Destruction nipped at his heels, and he felt the familiar inferno's heat on his back as his Shifu took the time to teach him, perfect his stances, even his manners. He could almost smell the acrid smoke as his part in the plot, the assassination, was revealed. The possibility of death lit his nerves on fire, the thrill, the adrenaline blazing through him like molten mercury. Shen Jiu wasn't sure if it was just part of who he was, or if it was through his up-bringing, but the charge that brushes with mortality brought him were as addicting as the liquor and women his Shifu was a slave to. It was the true reason he kept to the side of Wu Yanzi. Shen Jiu had learned enough that he was confident in his ability to thrive without the man, and it wasn't as if Shen Jiu was particularly endeared to him. Wu Yanzi didn't afford Shen Jiu any sort of guarantee of safety either, their mere association endangering Shen Jiu. muchless so protecting him. However, in the roaring aftermath of slaughter, as Shen Jiu stood in front of his masterpiece of wrath and vengeance, as his blood still sung for violence, as his hands itched for destruction, a hunger was stoked within him. It was the type of hunger that came after starvation, unholy, ravenous, consuming the host as it consumes the world. Death had chased him for so long, to the point where Shen Jiu became addicted to the chase. Shen Jiu just didn’t like seeking the brush of death on his own. It grated against his higher faculties. He could justify his discipleship to Wu Yanzi though. It did benefit him. So master and disciple used each other to chase their own highs, the knowledge of the dance unspoken between them. The arrangement would work until it didn’t, and whoever was faster to draw was the one who would walk away. It was with this mindset that Shen Jiu walked into Cang Qiong’s Qiong Ding Peak, his footsteps silent, the night heavy, and his blood singing.

[gallowdancingmuck]

Analyzing W(e)yler Part Three:

This is a long one that focuses on Wednesday and her arc and is a little messy.

The thing that has really stuck with me since my first viewing is Morticia telling Wednesday “sometimes you get in your own way”. I think if any one line can summarize what Wednesday’s arc is all about, it is this one. Wednesday has all the brilliance she needs as well as resources to sail through life easily. I would even argue that Wednesday could fit in socially (because look how easily she made friends) but she constantly makes decisions that set her back. It could be argued it is her ego, but I genuinely think Wednesday does not think she’s better than everybody, I think she is genuinely very afraid of emotional hurt. She has been raised in a loving family and loyalty has been ingrained in her, the very worst thing that can happen to someone with this background is loss (and betrayal). I think what set Wednesday forth on this path of emotional detachment was Nero’s death.

Even if Nero is only meant to purely be a pet, imagine how traumatizing it would be to see your puppy or cat killed in front of you (she literally walked him on a leash). However I think Nero also acts as a symbol. Him being odd and a loyal pet is equivalent to her feelings towards her family, and then with him being a small scorpion he also represents innocence and outcasts. We have seen Wednesday is very protective of these things and I think she is so afraid of these things being ripped away from her she doesn’t know how to act. She’s setting herself back with this avoidance though because unfortunately, life is filled with loss. She either risks not having it all (lost potential) or losing it after she’s loved it (grief). She’s getting in the way of her own experience.

Wednesday is so caring and loyal that everybody sees it (Weems points it out in her office and Tyler/Hyde knows to mock her with his betrayal). Where she falters is she intellectualizes these feelings rather than work through them. In terms of Tyler, she does not hate him for being a murderer or a monster (she’s an Addams, she probably likes him more) she hates him (right now) for being a traitor and a liar. What we are going to hear her talk about is how he undermined her intelligence and then it’ll fall to him being weak, and then how it is unjust, and then eventually we will finally hit the core of this problem, Tyler hurt Wednesday’s feelings. Notice how she added a few superficial layers? Betrayal cannot exist without trust and I think Wednesday is going to take a long time to actually digest that fact, but she’s a smart girl, she knows that!

Looking at how she defends the underdog (Pugsley, Rowan, Eugene) Wednesday will say it’s because of what is fair. But in reality it's because she feels sympathy for them. If Wednesday was truly Machiavellian, she would know life is not fair and cut her losses and move forward, even at the expense of the underdog, but she never does. This trait of hating injustice is going to be the driving point because eventually she’ll forgive Tyler, but only in the intellectual pursuit of removing the stigma around hydes (not because the sympathy intertwines with her attachment to him, silly goose).

The Addams Family is odd and unusual and centered on the fact that the Addams are immensely loving and good people. Wednesday, despite showing love in odd ways, loves her people a lot. This care is what drives the story forward. While she is curious, her bouts of serious action are spurred when someone she loves is threatened. Pugsley is bullied, piranhas, now she's at Nevermore. Eugene gets attacked, her vitriol (no longer just curiosity) fuels her need to find the monster. Her father is arrested, she pushes herself to reconcile with her mother and make further discoveries on the Gates family. Thing is stabbed, she goes to the manor. Tyler is hurt and she goes back and reveals her cards. Her curiosity and intelligence is a great tool, but like a mathematical problem it is the same in every language and every place, decipherable once learned. Love and emotion however are contingent on specific circumstances and people, it can't ever be truly replicated. (“There are all kinds of love in the world but never the same love twice”) Enid, Eugene, Tyler, Pugsley, those are all irreplaceable to her, and that's why her love for these people is her strongest, most unique trait. That is what makes her Wednesday Addams. Her whole problem she has right now is thinking her emotions and her connections weaken her, when in reality the show proves she wouldn't have gotten anywhere without her people.

Another thing that causes her to get in her own way and she is warned about is her negativity. The nature of her being a Raven and Morticia warning against trusting Goody is really important! Ravens are predisposed to only see bad visions and circumstances. This is important because it causes Wednesday to only see a partial picture, leading her to make inaccurate assumptions and hasty decisions. Tyler plays into this because she only saw him getting manipulated and abused and being manipulative ,and she threw out her real life observations of his goodness for visions that she has been warned against trusting. I think being warned of Goody’s vengeful nature by Morticia is a sign that Wednesday is prone to letting the darkness sabotage her abilities and become impulsive.

Wednesday’s whole story seems to be based on the idea she can’t rely on only seeing the darkness in people, that is why her greatest allies are Enid, Eugene, and (previously) Tyler. All three of these people are gentle and present as pieces of light within the show and are people she doesn’t understand but truly shines with. Even think about “I did a terrible thing but I’m not a terrible person” like that’s the whole thing. Wednesday needs to learn (much like Tyler) that you can enjoy the dark and macabre, but that you can’t feed into negativity. There is a difference, and that’s how the Addams family has always been. They’ve never been negative, they’ve just been positive towards the shunned things in life. That’s what her story is!

Now, I love Jenna but I think she is so like Wednesday with her idea of “no romance”. Jenna is getting in the way of Wednesday’s story because I think Wednesday's whole arc is about her emotional development and defeating her tendency of denying the care she has for everybody. I think we have to move away from the idea that Wednesday has to be the spooky, mean, goth girl, intellectual who only pursues her career. She can be all of those things and be autonomous and still dedicate herself to family and love! Again guys, this is literally what the Addams Family has been about since its creation. You can be alternative and spooky and still love people and be happy! None of this has to be an either or situation. Do not let Wednesday limit herself based on a patriarchal idea that love only comes for women who conform and women who do fall in love are somehow vapid or less than!

I know a huge criticism of Wednesday has been how it messed with the Addams Family dynamic and made Wednesday act angsty towards her family, but if this is the arc they are following, it actually makes sense! Every iteration Wednesday has loved her family and in two of them she was a little romantic, it would be out of character to only make this a horror series.

[theamarischapter]

He’s Not My Boyfriend!

CHAPTER 03; the hangout

previous: chapter 2

a/n: hey everyone!! it feels like it’s been forever lmfao. it’s been chaotic but the chapter is finally here! if anyone would like to join the tag list, please lmk :)

w/c: 2.9k

genre: strangers to frenemies to lovers, high school au, slow burn…ish (?), fake dating (for a day)

warnings: none!

summary: your friends trick you into hanging out with him (alone). you should’ve seen it coming, really…but it’s not the worst. it’s actually fun! well, until…

fic below the cut! enjoy <3

It starts with an innocuous text from Kai.

hyuka!! : hi ^ - ^  do u wanna go to the movies on saturday ur bf will be there… (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

you: shut up 🙄 i’m free who else is going

hyuka!! : soobin yunjin said maybe  and me ofc!! ( ^ω^ )

you: okay 😛  lmk what time and everything 

Of course, you think nothing of the interaction. Why would you? It’s your cousin inviting you to see a movie…and your friends said they’d be there. You made sure to ask them directly. Beomgyu will be there too, but whatever. It’s not like it matters. He’s just another person in the group, nothing more. Of course, you’ll get teased and everything but it’s no big deal—it’s been a while since you all hung out, anyway. 

The rest of the week passes in a blur of boring classes and repetitive homework. Everything is so normal and your friends have been talking non-stop about the movie you’re going to watch. Honestly, you’ve become quite interested in seeing it—you even decided to watch the trailer. When the weekend comes, you find yourself smiling at the thought of hanging out with your friends. It’s cold out, so you put on a few layers before stepping out into the chilly breeze. 

The movie theater is about ten minutes away from your home, and Kai texted you to meet out in front. You type out a text to let everyone know you’re on your way since you’re running late; it’s left unread—weird…they’ve been nonstop in the group chat all week, so why the silence now? The large building slowly comes into view, sitting beside the rest of your town’s constantly overcrowded mall. The car slows to a stop beside the curb and your eyes scan the area. You spot Beomgyu standing alone in front of the large glass doors, fingers moving anxiously over his phone—texting someone, maybe. A weird feeling begins to bubble in your chest, eyes narrowing down at your own phone—still nothing from your friends. You glance at the time, and you’re about eight minutes late. With a resigned sigh, you step out of the car, waving goodbye as your mother drives away.

“Hey, uh… Where is everyone?” You ask, standing in front of Beomgyu. He startles and his head whips up, meeting your gaze wide-eyed, as though surprised to see you. He looks around, lips parting, then closing, then parting again. What’s up with him?

“Everyone?” He repeats, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. It takes a moment, and then a flash of realization passes through his eyes. His lips press into a thin line before he scoffs, shaking his head. “Kai said it’d just be him and Soobin.” 

“Really? He told me he invited Yunjin and Chaewon, though—they both said they were coming…” Your words slow down as the realization hits you, too. It’s already ten minutes after you were all supposed to meet and only you and him are here? And your friends, who usually spam the group chat, are suddenly silent? You let out a long sigh, looking away from him. You’re an absolute idiot. How did you not see it coming? It’s so obvious now that you’re here, alone with Beomgyu in front of the movie theater. This is a setup. 

“What the hell.” He mutters under his breath, eyes narrowing at his buzzing phone screen. He senses your curiosity, the unasked question in your gaze, so he turns the phone to you. On it you see a message notification from Kai that says “have fun ( ˘ ³˘)♥.” Neither of you say anything. The wind nips at your cheeks, and for a second, the only sound is the hum of traffic in the distance. His phone buzzes again and he ignores it. He brings his phone back down into his pocket with a long, weary sigh. There’s an unspoken tension as if you’re both waiting for the other to do or say something, afraid of making the “wrong” move. You’re unsure why you suddenly feel the need to fiddle with your sleeve and avert your gaze—you were fine a few seconds ago! But, that was also when you’d assumed there’d be other people to make up for the awkward feelings and thoughts that always bubble up when he’s around. You shake your head, dismissing the unwanted thoughts. What’s the big deal, anyway? 

“Well, um. I mean- we already…” You stumble over the words, feeling indescribably unsure of yourself. There’s this unfamiliar, tight feeling in your chest that makes your throat tickle and your tongue feel heavy. You aren’t the most charismatic person in the world—you’ve had your fair share of awkward interactions—but talking to people isn’t that bad. And it’s Beomgyu of all people! Why are you struggling? “We already bought the tickets, so we might as well stay…if you want to—um, you don’t have to! It’s cold out and everything so-”

“No, it’s fine. Um, I’ll stay.” His response is quick, almost eager, and he immediately regrets it. He shifts his weight back and forth, clearing his throat. His mind races—does this make it seem like he wants to be here? Because he doesn’t. Not really. It’s just—

His gaze flickers to you, and you’re watching him expectantly. No judgment, no irritation, just quiet, kind patience. A gaze he remembers, the one that captivated him in middle school. He allows himself to relax, exhaling quietly.

“I don’t mind.” He says, steadier this time. He gestures toward the wide glass door behind him, offering you a polite smile as he holds it open for you. A tinge of warmth flows through your chest and the tension in your posture eases—just a little. See? He’s nice. You have nothing to worry about. It’s just a normal hangout with… a friend. Beomgyu seems a bit more at ease too, since you’re both on the same page. He’s really nice and, apparently, he's the kind of guy who insists on paying for your snacks, even when you argue you have your own money.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

Beomgyu can’t help but feel a bit annoyed. It was just the other day that he told Kai about his crush on Yeji, yet here he is, sitting beside you in the movie theater. Then again, there are worse people he could be stuck with. It’s just frustrating to have his feelings so blatantly ignored by his best friend. And then there’s also the fact that every negative thought about himself tends to resurface whenever you’re around, almost like a learned response. It happens before he can stop it—the automatic scan of your expression, the way his brain scrambles to pick apart your every shift in posture. He begins to gauge your unreadable expression and pull from it illusory ideas of dissatisfaction or ridicule. 

You don’t want to be here. You’d rather be with anyone else. You think he’s weird. A loser. Awkward. Someone you tolerate at best. You two don’t get along—

He should know better by now. He’s not that kid anymore. But still—

Are you bored? Are you fidgeting because of him? Are you regretting staying? His stomach knots.

Why does he care, anyway? Middle school was a long time ago, meaning he’s had plenty of time to let go of those bygone feelings. But, maybe, he forgot to let go of ingrained habits associated with you. Maybe deep down there’s a part of him that still holds you to an unattainable standard. The girl who was never in his league, who never took a second glance at him, who probably only ever knew him as her cousin’s best friend. He really needs to stop doing that all the time. In any case, you’re the one who offered to continue the hang-out, your here by your own choice. Because, in reality, you’re not some special celebrity. You’re just a normal, average teenage girl. Just his best friend's cousin whom he happened to end up alone with because some people love to be stubborn. He’ll get back at Kai for this…just wait.

The movie passes by in a blur of flashing images. The tension in his chest fades for the hour and a half that he sits completely captivated by the story being told on screen. Well, okay, he fell asleep like forty minutes in but whatever! The first half was really good…so he’s sure the rest was, too. 

You almost don’t want to wake him from his peaceful slumber. Even as the lights gradually come on, you sit unmoving beside him, eyes lingering on his plump lips and long eyelashes. Get it together, idiot. You nudge him gently. He shifts a little, taking a slow breath as his eyes flutter open. They connect with yours and it feels like the universe pauses for just a moment.

“The movie’s over.” You say quietly, glancing at your hand, which remains gently placed against his shoulder. Oops. You pull it away hastily, clearing your throat as you collect your garbage and stand. You refuse to spare him another glance, which he’s actually grateful for. You won’t see the reddening tips of his ears. He regrets falling asleep—what if you think he’s weird now? Or boring? Or rude, or something? The warmth of your palm lingers on his shoulder. He walks silently beside you as you exit the theater. 

The lively chatter of others fills the silence between you. Some say the movie was good, others found it boring. The exit gets closer and closer. Perhaps you two hadn’t made as much progress as friends as he initially thought. Should he bring up the movie? He was asleep for half of it, though. Are you two just going to part ways without speaking? He’s holding the door open for you now, noticing the way your gaze avoids his. Did he do something wrong? The quiet breeze whispers by, and he stops in his tracks when you suddenly stop. Finally, the tension is broken. 

“So…um.” You start, conversation eluding you. Seriously, this needs to stop. It’s Beomgyu. Beomgyu. There’s nothing to stress over. “Did you like the movie?”

“Yeah. It was good,” he replies stiffly, hands clenched in his pockets. His lips purse, a soft breath coming out through his nose. He just needs to be himself. His real self—the one he’s been working so hard to improve. “I mean, the part that I saw, at least.” He laughs softly.

You laugh in response, easing up again. Internally, Beomgyu celebrates this exceptional achievement, which boosts his ego and encourages him to do more. The Beomgyu from middle school would be shaking right about now. “I was so invested and then the next thing I knew I was the main character.”

“What time did you go to sleep yesterday?” You ask, an amused huff escaping your lips as you smile at him. He looks away from you, a smile pulling at his lips as he rubs the back of his neck. 

“Well…I kinda lost track, but maybe 3 AM?” He replies, a touch of hesitance in his tone. You’re still smiling at him, shaking your head. 

“At least it’s the weekend.” You shrug, glancing over to the mall, which sits right beside the movie theater. There’s a lot that happens in your mind over the span of a few seconds. First, the impulsive thought to invite him to hang out a little longer. Then, the realization that you don’t need anything fueling your friends’ shipping. Then, dismissing that thought because you already watched the movie with him which is enough to have fueled the shipping anyways. And then your gaze connects with his, triggering your brain to give in to an unasked request in his eyes. Is that really all the convincing it took…? “Uh, do you wanna go get some ice cream or something? Since we’re by the mall already.”

His expression brightens a little, lips pulling into a pretty smile. He nods, his fingers mindlessly fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “Sure.”

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

As you browse around the mall, you get to know him better, slowly making your way toward the food court. He's unexpectedly fun—goofy, even—and keeps you smiling the whole time. You’ve never really seen him break out of his shell like this, but it’s refreshing. Maybe your impression of him has been wrong all along—he’s not some awkward loser or intimidatingly reserved. In fact, he’s the exact opposite. He’s charming and kind, his presence exuding a natural warmth—now that he’s more comfortable with you. Since he bought your snacks for the movie, you make sure to pay for his ice cream, even though he tries to pay. You take a seat at an empty table in the food court, sitting across from each other. 

“Ice cream in the winter…” You murmur, letting out a small huff as you take a scoop from your cup. He raises an eyebrow, elbows resting on the table as he laughs softly. 

“It was your suggestion,” he teases. As he takes the first bite, he lets out an overexaggerated hum of delight. His eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. “It’s delicious.” 

You can’t help but laugh, unsure how to react to such an overblown reaction. You simply nod, deciding to go along with it. It’s a little annoying that it’s him who’s making you smile and laugh so much. Your friends are going to get the wrong idea, especially because you exchanged numbers on the walk to the food court. Either way, the hangout has been surprisingly nice—ignoring the fact that you were both tricked into being here. 

Tricked, but technically…not forced.

And, of course, when things are going well the universe has a way of interrupting. An unexpected face appears, displaying a bright smile and gentle gaze meant for Beomgyu. Her sweet voice rings out, interrupting the small moment you’d been having. It’s…Yeji. 

“Oh, Beomgyu! Hey! You two on a date?” She asks, her voice bubbly and naive. Her kind gaze shifts to you and, for just a moment, it almost feels like she’s sizing you up. Her gaze flickers down, then up, before settling back on Beomgyu.

A date? With you? Something about the thought makes his brain glitch, but he obliterates the thought in seconds. He promised himself to move on.

“What? No—no, not at all. It’s nothing like that.” Beomgyu replies hastily, shaking his head with wide eyes and a breathy laugh. His attention is fully on her now and for some reason…that bothers you.

More than that, however, is how quick that response was. You were going to say no, but it seems he was eager to make it very clear that you aren’t on a date, dating, or anything of the sort. Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean you aren’t a little offended. Like, is the thought of dating you that bad? You thought things were going pretty well. Anyway, it’s not like it matters. It’s better if he isn’t into you; it saves you the guilt of rejecting him. Plus, it’s just Beomgyu…his opinion doesn’t matter. At all. 

They seem to be having a comfortable conversation, even if Beomgyu’s leg is incessantly bouncing beneath the table. It’s all a blur to you. You spend the time trying to make yourself invisible because you’d prefer not to feel like some sort of third wheel. You scroll through messages, check the weather, and type random words in your notes app. Your ice cream has begun to melt by the time Yeji is walking away with a pretty smile, waving gently and sparing you one final, subdued glare. You sit up, clearing your throat to gain his attention again—his gaze had followed her as she walked away. 

“Well, I think I should probably go now. Um, I have some homework to do. So…” You say quietly, forcing a smile as you take a deep breath. He tilts his head, sitting up straight as he scrutinizes your expression. His eyebrows pull together faintly, but he simply nods. 

“Alright. I’ll…walk you out to the front.” He replies softly, standing with you and tossing his empty ice cream cup into the nearby trash can. You don’t have the will to argue or refuse, so you decide to walk beside him silently. As you approach the curb, your mother’s car sits there waiting for you. 

“Um, do you want me to wait with you?” You ask, gaze avoiding his. There’s an inexplicable tightness in your chest. As dumb as it sounds, perhaps there’s a part of you deep down that thrives off of the idea of…whatever this is. It provides a sense of comfort—a guarantee of prospective romance. Not because it’s him, no, it would be the same with anyone! He shakes his head softly in response, smiling sweetly. 

“It’s okay. I’ll see you around?” There’s a beat of silence, his gaze still carefully analyzing your expression. It’s like he can intuitively sense that the energy has shifted, but doesn’t want to mention it outright. You force a smile, looking into his eyes.

“Yeah. See you, Beomgyu.” You wave goodbye, getting into the car. Faintly, hidden beneath his dark hair, the tips of his ears warm up—that’s the first time you’ve said his name today. He can’t help but think it sounds nice coming from you. That thought is quickly dismissed, though, replaced by thoughts of how pretty and nice Yeji is and how he can’t believe he had an actual conversation with her—and she was the one to initiate it! He feels a flutter in his chest, smiling to himself as he thinks everything over again.

Yet somehow, it’s not as fulfilling as he imagined. Something changed.

taglist: @whatblop, @innies-goth-gf <3

a/n: hope you enjoyed it!! i feel like this chapter took me literally forever. the story is finally picking up! a bunch of denial and complicated feelings lol. i’m gonna try and have longer chapters from here on out, so it might take me a little longer. comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! thx for your patience! (>_0) ♡

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

upcoming: chapter 4 - the shipping gets worse the second you try to forget about his existence. beomgyu notices you avoiding him for some reason…and he has something to say about it.

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | august 5 - 11

note: this is chapter 11 of 13 (plus an epilogue). we are in the final stretch! this chapter is 19.5K.

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71:90 – TREVOR

“And another grüner veltliner for the lady,” Sarah spouts with a fond chuckle, topping off Honey’s glass. 

Honey’s smile is dopey and her cheeks are growing pink from the wine. “Thank you, Sarah,” she says, sounding a whole lot like she does when she exaggeratedly flirts with Trevor. 

Trevor squints at Honey.

Sarah notices first and starts to laugh. “God, Trevor, you might need to be cut off,” she laughs. Trevor turns his eyes on her. She laughs harder. “Don’t look at your bartender like that, especially not if you want to keep daydrinking on a Monday afternoon.”

“He’s just mad ‘cause I’m being sweet to you,” Honey says, propping her chin on her palm and blinking at Sarah like a cat about to nap. “He doesn’t know how to share. Very jealous.”

“She’s a married woman,” Trevor grumbles, frowning at Honey.

Honey waves her hand at Trevor, just a flick of the wrist. “She has the wine, Trev. Be sweet.”

“Don’t wanna,” he pouts. 

Sarah snorts out a laugh and ruffles Trevor’s hair. “Can I get you anything else, bud? You’re not going to let your girlfriend drink alone, are you?”

“I’ll take–” Honey waves her glass in front of Trevor’s nose enticingly, but the smell of the wine stings his nose. “Not that. I don’t like that,” Trevor says, pushing her glass away. He tried it earlier. It tastes like pepper and celery and seeds. He doesn’t know how it’s her favorite. “Uh, something red. Fruity.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Honey laughs. 

Trevor fixes her with an unimpressed look. She remembered this morning that he and Jack were once two participants in a very poorly-executed threesome (not for lack of trying on Trevor’s part) and she’s been milking it ever since. Her chirps were funny the first time, just because Honey has never really chirped Trevor. They’ve always been more serious digs, not chirps, that come from her mouth. But now she’s chirping and it was funny and cute at first… but now it’s getting under Trevor’s skin.

Sarah walks away after nodding in assent to Trevor, signaling that she’ll be back with his order soon. 

Trevor’s look turns into a pout. “You’re so mean to me,” he complains, faking a pout. “I never should’ve told you about that threesome. We were 17, it was such a long time ago.”

“Your 17 was so much different than my 17,” Honey says with a laugh. She says it so casually, even taking a sip from her glass of wine. Trevor’s stomach turns thinking about that– how he was so carefree and happy when Honey was going through the worst time of her life. She clears her throat after swallowing her drink and says, “Hey, if you had to choose another one of the guys to have a threesome with me, who would it be?”

Trevor immediately balks. “None of them,” he replies, defensive. “Absolutely not.”

Honey laughs again. “Good answer,” she says. “You passed the test.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t let you have a threesome with Bea, either.”

“Have you?” Trevor asks. There’s something about the way she says it that makes him suspicious.

“No,” Honey says with a wave of her hand. “Bea didn’t actually start hooking up with people until we were eighteen, and I stopped having sex after the whole Thomas thing. If I couldn’t trust my partner, then why would I trust a random person, you know? We kissed once, though.”

“You and Bea? Like, recently?” Trevor raises his eyebrows in surprise.

Honey scrunches her nose at Trevor. “No, not recently,” she says. “Although she wishes she could pull the make-out trick at bars for free stuff. No, it was in middle school. It was a boy-girl party thing.” Honey grins. “I bet you loved the idea of two girls kissing when you were in middle school, Trev.”

Middle school, high school, rookie year… even now it’s not unappealing. He doesn’t seem to do a good job of keeping his face still and impassive. 

“I knew it,” Honey accuses, pointing at him with her index finger. “You’re such a boy.”

It’s then that Sarah returns with a new glass for Trevor, taking the empty one from their table. “This is your last one, both of you.”

“What? Why?” Honey whines. Before Sarah can reply, she turns to Trevor. “This is your fault, you weren’t nice to Sarah.”

“It’s not Trevor’s fault, Honey,” Sarah says with a smile. “You guys asked me to cut you off at 4:30 so you could go get fruit.”

Honey groans. “So not fair. Push it back to 5.”

“Babe, you’re going to be hungover for work tomorrow if you keep drinking. I’m trying to give you time to come down from this,” Sarah reasons.

“Thanks, Sarah, we understand,” Trevor jumps in, digging his hand into his pocket to find his wallet. “We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Yeah, you’d better be,” she teases, looking around the patio. There are only two other tables taken and neither occupants have been there for very long. “I was super worried about running out of table space.”

Honey is sulking. She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at Sarah. “You shouldn’t turn away your patrons.”

Sarah stifles a laugh. “I think I’ll live.” She leaves the table, heading inside, and Trevor laughs when Honey sticks her tongue out at Sarah’s retreating back.

“Look who’s being mean now,” Trevor says. 

“She took the wine away,” Honey returns.

“You asked her to.”

“I didn’t think she’d do it!”

“Well, baby, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Honey groans. 

“But,” Trevor says enticingly. “Now we get to go to the fruit stand!”

Honey takes her glass and drinks, swallowing a mouthful before she eyes Trevor out of the side of her vision. “Who’s going to drive?”

“Drive?” Trevor asks. “To the fruit stand? We don’t need to drive. We can walk.”

“Okay, then after that,” Honey says. “Who’s going to drive us home? I’m in no state. You’re in no state, plus I wouldn’t let you drunk-drive me on the mountain roads anyway. You don’t know them well enough to even try.”

“We’ll call an Uber,” Trevor says, defaulting back to his go-to when he gets a little too tipsy on a night out.

Honey bursts into laughter. “In Litchton? Babydoll. There’s not even a taxi service in town.”

Now it’s Trevor’s turn to groan. “Well, why don’t we call Earl?”

“No, we can’t call Earl, he told me and Bea that if we ever called him again for a ride while we were drunk, he’ll make us pay for his mechanic bill. He’s had a check engine light on for like, three years, so we’re trying to wait him out.” Honey swirls the wine in her glass, then watches the legs drip down to join the settling liquid. 

“I can pay for his mechanic bill,” Trevor insists. “Hello, professional athlete over here? My contract is almost six million per year?”

Honey’s jaw drops. “Holy shit, Trev,” she says. “You’re… rich. I mean, I thought you were, but I didn’t think you were rich-rich. Six million, that’s… that’s a lot.”

“That’s just my contract,” Trevor explains, backpedaling. “I don’t actually make that much. I have to pay agent fees and trainer fees and stuff like that. I only take home, I don’t know, between two and three million.”

“Oh, only,” Honey parrots back sarcastically. “That’s more than I make…” she trails off, thinking hard. “That’s more than I’ve made ever. And you make that in a year? What’s your biweekly direct deposit like?”

Trevor blushes. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” This is one of those things that makes him vastly different from the rest of the world. That’s not to say that he doesn’t love his job and all the things it affords him; Trevor actually can’t imagine living a “normal” life with a “normal” salary. Still… being called rich… it just makes him feel weird.

Honey continues to remind Trevor why she’s the world’s greatest person, because she’s quick to drop the subject. “What about our other resident threesome enjoyer?” she asks. “Could he drive us?”

Trevor furrows his brow. “Who?”

Honey chuckles at Trevor, giggling like they’re sharing a joke. She picks up her glass and sips.

Trevor laughs too, awkwardly, and picks up his own glass. He looks out toward the Appalachian mountains in the distance. There are pink flowers sprouting in the window-boxes along the edge of the patio, creeping up into eyeline. It’s so pretty here. He avoids Honey’s eyes.

“Cole, baby,” Honey says after a brief silence. “We could call Cole. He could drive us.”

“When did he– oh, yeah,” Trevor starts, then remembers. When Quinn blueballed Bea, both Jack and Cole went upstairs with her. He feels kind of stupid for forgetting. He definitely should have remembered this before Honey explained her joke– then, he wouldn’t have laughed so awkwardly and made it obvious that he had no idea what she’s talking about. Trevor hums in surprise, then stops. “Wait. But we’re on a date,” he says.

Honey nods and shrugs. “For all he knows, we’re just hanging out,” she says.

“But he’ll get sad that we didn’t invite him,” Trevor tells Honey. “And, like, they know we’re friends, but they don’t know we’re close enough friends to hang out just us.”

“Tell him we ran into each other in town,” Honey suggests. “It’s Cole. I don’t think he’ll care that much.”

Trevor stares at Honey. “He’s the most dramatic person I know.”

“More than Jack?”

“Yes, baby, more than Jack,” Trevor says seriously. 

Honey scoffs. “Ugh. Can we just call him? I’m sure it won’t be that big a deal.” She tilts her head back and finishes her glass of wine. “Tell him I’ll buy him a bottle of liquor at the liquor store tomorrow after work if he picks us up.”

She’s not going to budge on this, which Trevor realizes. “Alright, Hon,” he concedes. “Once I finish my drink, we’ll go buy some fruit, and then I’ll call Cole.” He lifts his glass, which is still about half full, to his lips and drinks.

Honey stands. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” She touches Trevor’s cheek, her fingers a little more clumsy than normal. She jokes, “Chug, Trev, chug!” and heads inside.

Trevor is left alone, sipping on the remaining wine. Honey’s right, it would be easy to call Cole and ask him for a ride. It’s probably their best option. He has the car since Honey picked Trevor up from the house this morning and, to be fair, Cole was still asleep. That kind of throws their “we met in town” story out the window… which Trevor doesn’t love. As willing as Cole is to overlook trivial details, and as easily he transitions from one moment to the next, this might be too far. If Honey doesn’t want the boys to know because she’s not ready, then it might not be a good idea for Cole to pick them up.

But she’s so insistent. Maybe it’s because she’s drunk and, hell, Trevor is drunk too, but this just doesn’t seem… right.

Trevor takes a big deep breath before finishing his wine. Good timing, too. Honey has exited the bathroom and is now waving goodbye to Sarah, even blowing a kiss before she accidentally stumbles into one of the plush chairs in the interior of Wild Bloom. She’s laughing when she exits the building, eyes lighting up when she sees that Trevor succeeded in finishing his glass, just like she’d asked.

“Let’s go get some fruit!” Honey bounces onto her tiptoes as Trevor rises. She produces his card and hands it back to Trevor. “I’m thinking maybe not grapes? We’ve probably had enough.”

Trevor breathes out a little laugh. She’s so funny today– except for the overdone threesome stuff. Honey always has jokes, but she’s being very vocal today. Trevor might have to blame the alcohol.

Honey gasps suddenly, as Trevor stands and gets ready to leave the bar. 

“What?” Trevor asks. 

Honey is fumbling for her phone, dialing a number and holding the device to her ear. She reaches for Trevor’s hand and holds it, walking with him across the patio. She chews her bottom lip while she waits for the person to answer. When they do, she brightens again. “Hi, Bea!” She exclaims.

Trevor almost bursts out laughing. She’s acting like she would if Bea called her by surprise. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Honey asks. “You remember how you owe me because I’m always opening the store for you when you’re sleeping over with Quinn?”

Trevor smiles at the ground, kicking a piece of gravel in the alley where they walk.

“I need you to pick me up and open the store with me tomorrow,” Honey says. “Why? Because I’m drunk… and I’m not driving back to my house tonight. Is that good enough?” She pauses, waiting for Bea’s response to end. “Don’t call me irresponsible for getting drunk on a weekday, you’re just crabby because you’ve been in the car for almost six hours.” Another pause. “No, I can’t get Trevor to come get me, who do you think I’m with?” Honey looks to Trevor and makes a face at him, feigning annoyance at the words of her best friend. “We’re going to call Cole. Yes, Cole.”

Trevor still doesn’t feel any better about that.

“No, babe, I gotta go. We’re almost at the fruit stand. I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow. Unless you want to sleep over tonight?” Honey grins at Bea’s response. “Really? You’re not tired of that guy yet? Impressive.” She laughs. “Okay, bye. Love you.” Honey hangs up and puts her phone away, then lifts Trevor’s arm to bring it over her shoulders. She wraps her arm around his waist. 

They walk the rest of the way to the fruit stand like that, leaning on each other. Honey can’t seem to help herself, running her fingertips over the fuzzy surface of the peaches. Trevor’s not carrying her bag this time because, although he tried to keep it, Honey stole it from his shoulder. Instead, he’s able to watch her move in her own way. Her movements are practiced, like muscle memory, and it reminds Trevor of how she looked the first day they met. He has a sense of deja-vu when Honey tucks her hair behind her ears and plants one hand on her hip, pursing her lips as she looks at the fruit. 

“Hey, how did you know I was Greek?” Trevor asks suddenly, remembering how Honey’s eyes had illuminated when he told her his last name for the first time.

Honey looks over at him, drawing her eyebrows together.

“When we first met,” Trevor supplies. “Right here. I told you my name and you said ‘You’re Greek?’ all excited. You weren’t quite as excited after I told you I lived in Cali.”

Honey stares at him a moment longer, then she recalls the moment herself. “Oh!” She tilts her head to the side and hums, thinking. “Um, your nose? You’ve got a very Greek nose. And then I read an etymology book a while back, specifically about surnames around the world, and the Z and the -as in your name kind of gave it away.”

She’s so smart. Trevor likes her so much.

Honey breaks into a smile. “How cute of you, thinking about when we first met,” she teases. “What was your first impression of me?”

Trevor blushes, remembering exactly what he’d realized as he’d sat in the front seat of the car and looked at her from afar. “Uh, that you’re a lot prettier than the girls I know in California.” He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the concrete. “That I wanted– well, that I wanted your attention and I wanted you to like me.”

“I could tell,” Honey says, biting her bottom lip to curb the even-larger smile on her face. “You were trying really hard, Trev. It was… interesting.”

“I was interesting,” Trevor repeats. He squints at Honey and nudges her arm. “That’s all you thought about me?”

“I didn’t like you,” Honey laughs. “You bumped into me, nose in your phone, then you barely apologized, and then you came back a few minutes later and just started talking about shit, obviously lying to me about some of the details of your life. It was weird.”

Trevor tries not to pout at that. He had felt lame talking to Honey, but he didn’t realize that she’d actually found him off-putting. “You didn’t think I was cute or anything?”

Honey pauses, raising her eyebrows at him. “You’re very handsome, Trevor,” she says. She nods at him, blinking up at him in fake earnest. Trevor nearly rolls his eyes. Honey continues, “You were dressed like a bum, though.”

“I’d been in the car for eleven hours!” Trevor defends himself. 

Honey reaches over and pats his cheek. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says. “Don’t dwell on it. You’ve got me now, don’t’cha?”

Trevor grins. “Yeah.” He bends down and kisses her mouth. “I guess I’ll go call Cole.”

“Thanks,” Honey says. “I’ll be here.”

Trevor nods and walks away, just about a hundred feet. He leans against the brick wall of the grocery store and scrolls to find Cole’s contact. When he finds their shared messages, he clicks along until his phone is ringing and ready. 

Cole picks up in two rings. “Where are you?” he asks. “You’ve been gone all day. No note? Honestly, Z, you’re trying to kill me.”

“You were asleep when I left,” Trevor replies. 

“How did you leave? The car is here.” 

“Honey picked me up.” Trevor braces himself for impact, but Cole is quiet. “She had to run to Winston to pick up something, didn’t want to go alone, and I thought it might be nice to go see one of the girls I hooked up with who lives in Winston.”

Cole is quiet for a second longer, then he hums. “Okay. So… what, you want me to come out? Why are you calling me?”

Oh, now Trevor feels worse. Cole is going to hate that they went drinking without him, leaving him alone in the house. But, like… it was a date… Trevor should be allowed to go out with his girlfriend without a third wheel. “Um… well…”

Cole sighs into the speaker. “What,” he repeats impatiently.

“Honey and I went to Wild Bloom after we got back,” Trevor says. “Remember the wine bar that we went to with Ellen and Jim?”

Cole is eerily silent. 

“We’re a little drunk and we need you to pick us up from the grocery store,” Trevor admits sheepishly. “We, uh, we can’t drive like this.”

The silence stretches on.

“You’re calling me for a ride,” Cole says. “After you left me at home, alone, all day.”

Trevor presses his lips together. It really does sound bad. “Yeah.” At least Cole isn’t focusing on the fact that Trevor and Honey have been hanging out all day, one-on-one.

“Fuck you, dude. I’m on the way, but fuck you.” Cole promptly hangs up.

Trevor pulls the phone back from his ear and stares at the screen. He cringes, going through the conversation again in his head. He hates making the guys– but especially Cole– mad. Cole is his happy friend. When he gets angry… oh, when he gets angry… the mere thought sends a shiver up Trevor’s spine. The horrors of angry Cole…

He shakes his head and returns to Honey. “You ready, baby?” He asks, trying to sound upbeat.

Honey clocks him immediately. “What’s wrong?”

Trevor sighs. He wanted to pay at least before talking about this with Honey. “Cole’s mad,” he says. “I knew he would be. We should’ve invited him to drink.”

“I’m sure he’ll be over it by tomorrow,” Honey tells Trevor. “Cole never holds onto things for very long.” She tries to give Trevor a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t offer the same reprieve that it normally would. Trevor hates upsetting his friends.

“Let’s just pay, okay?” Trevor replies. He pulls his wallet out and hands it to Joan, who is quick to complete the payment and shoo them along. There are a couple of other people at the stand now, so it’s getting crowded. It’s not a huge stand. Regardless of how quickly she waves them off, Joan is sure to tell Honey and Trevor that she’ll see them next week.

Honey holds Trevor’s pinkie in hers silently for about five minutes as they walk around the grocery store, buying a case of beer for Cole. A big one– Honey said she’d pay for it, but Trevor refused, and they went for the 48-pack to really try and make it up to Cole. Honey lets go of Trevor’s pinkie once they’ve purchased the beer, insisting on holding it. She gets tired of holding the case and passes it off to Trevor within three minutes, frowning exaggeratedly until Trevor relents and takes the heavy item from her. 

Cole pulls up in front of the grocery store a few minutes later. He doesn’t say anything as Honey and Trevor climb into the car, except a brief thanks to Honey for the beer. His hands stay on the steering wheel and his eyes are set on the road in front of them. He doesn’t involve himself in conversation and the car ride slowly drifts into something stilted and tense. 

Trevor doesn’t walk Honey to the door, nor does he put her fruit away for her. He doesn’t kiss her goodnight and barely says more than a goodbye.

Cole still doesn’t speak when they drive back to the house. He doesn’t talk to Trevor when they go inside. He goes downstairs, puts on a show, and ignores Trevor when he sits on the couch next to Cole. 

The day went from really, really good to… this. Tomorrow will be better. Trevor wishes Honey was here.

72:90 – HONEY

Having Bea back is excellent, although Honey could live without the teasing over her relationship status. Fine, she called Trevor her boyfriend by accident and then made it official, but that doesn’t mean that Bea has to poke fun at Honey. It’s really not as funny as she thinks it is.

Their shift is long today, which Honey doesn’t mind. It’s National Night Out. On the first Tuesday of every August, the shops along Main Street stay open until well after dark and the citizens of Litchton are free to roam and mingle with their fellow townies. There’s a bouncy house in the grocery store parking lot for the kids, snow cone machines and carts for root beer floats lining the curb, and plenty of other games along the three-block section of road that closes down every year for the event. It’s one of Honey’s favorite days of the entire year.

She spent most of her afternoon setting up the outdoor booth that she and Bea will man after hours. Ada is planning on paying them for an entire day’s worth to extend the store’s hours– like she always does– even though Bea and Honey insisted that it wasn’t that serious and they would be fine taking their normal hourly pay. Honey still doesn’t think that sitting for five hours in the nice summer weather is worth a day’s pay, but Bea had eventually shushed her and said “This is not a thing that we should fight!”

The booth is all set up now and the ladies left the store around noon, so Honey is running out of things to do. The Reading Nook is an awesome place to work because there’s so much downtime, but Bea is currently sitting behind the cash register in Honey’s usual place, so she can’t sit and read like she normally does. Instead, Honey is curating a stack of books that they can throw on sale during NNO. She’ll probably take her break when she’s done– they get an extended break today because they’re working a fourteen-and-a-half hour day.

“Bea, can you pull up these titles and see the prices for me? I’m thinking 20% off,” Honey calls from one of the stacks, balancing a stack of books in her arms and pulling another from the shelf. 

“Mmm, if you put them on the counter for me,” Bea replies. “I don’t want to yell back and forth.”

“But then I have to walk back and forth to you,” Honey complains. She peeks her head around the stack and glares at Bea.

“Babe, if we’re having a lazy-off, you know I’m going to win,” Bea says. She closes her own book, one with a red cover and a dragon-looking beast on the front, and stares at Honey. She holds eye contact for a minute and then shrugs. 

Honey rolls her eyes and drops the first stack of books on the counter for Bea to flick through. She’s right– Honey prefers to be up and moving, whereas Bea is content with anything, even if it means staying in one spot for longer than an hour. 

She spends the better part of the next hour walking around the store and pulling books. Eventually, Ada stops Honey and asks if she’s trying to sell out the whole store. She takes the final stack from Honey’s arms and sends her out of the store to take her break.

At first, Honey isn’t sure what to do. She already ate lunch at the store when the ladies left. She doesn’t really need a coffee, although she wouldn’t hate to have one. She could grab one. Maybe that’s something to do towards the end of her break. Honey will wander a bit first.

The air in Litchton is nice in the midst of the afternoon, if only a little heavy. There will probably be a thunderstorm later tonight. If it doesn’t happen tonight, then tomorrow will certainly be full of rain and humidity. That kind of ruins Honey’s plans for after work tomorrow– she and Trevor were supposed to head out on a hike. If the ground is all muddy and wet, then she doesn’t really want to do that. Trevor can just come over and hang out in her bed instead. She’ll do the crossword in the Litchton Local, which she’s been neglecting lately because she’s been a bit too tired to wake up so early on Thursday mornings like she normally does. Honey blames Trevor. He’s been keeping her up late.

Honey is approaching the hardware store, ready to go inside and bother Earl, when her phone rings.

It’s… Trixie. Bea’s oldest sister.

Honey blinks at the screen, then slides her finger across the surface to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, H,” Trixie greets. “How’s it going? It’s been a minute since I checked in with you.”

“...Good,” Honey replies. Trixie is correct– the last time they talked was on Trixie’s birthday in January. Bea talks to her sister more often than Honey does, for obvious reasons. Honey’s a little confused why she’s getting a call now. “What’s up, Trix?”

“I can’t call my baby sister’s bestie and see how she is?” Trixie asks, laughing.

Honey looks into the distance like she’s staring into the face of a camera. She loves Trixie, and Cece for that matter, but she’s not close enough with either sister to talk to them regularly. Sure, they check in once in a while, but Trixie had already graduated from college– early, by the way, because she’s an overachiever– and moved to the coast before Honey and Bea moved to Litchton. She’s five years older than them and a great older sister figure, but Honey is grown up. She doesn’t really need advice from an older, wiser sister anymore. She didn’t even tell Trixie about Thomas when all of that happened; it was too embarrassing. Honey is pretty sure she knows now, given that Bea and Cece know all the hairy details, but Trixie has never outright talked about it. 

“You can, but I have a feeling you aren’t,” Honey answers. “You always text before you call and this time you called out of nowhere.”

“Well, Bea told me you were on break so I couldn’t call her and kill two birds with one stone,” Trixie says. “So I figured you had no good reason to ignore my call.”

So Trixie was talking to Bea just before this– if Honey is going by her gut, this will have something to do with the recent company they’ve had in Litchton. 

“Yeah, I’m just walking around Main Street.” Honey’s passing Bold Brews now, so she might as well get that coffee. “Hey, what coffee should I get during break?”

“I’ve been into matcha lately,” Trixie says. “It’s more tea than coffee, but it hits the spot when all the case briefs start blurring together.”

Oh, yeah– another reason why she’s an overachiever. Trixie is a lawyer. 

“Okay, give me a second.” Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and greets Joel, Bea’s ex who is actually working today, ordering a ‘Velvet Mist’ to go. It’s their matcha, with a shot of espresso, a bit of vanilla, and splash of rosewater, and it’s actually not all that bad. Honey doesn’t normally order it, usually going for the ‘Midnight Rider’ instead, but she likes a change every once in a while. The last time she ordered the ‘Velvet Mist’ was when it debuted on the menu a year and a half ago. After she pays and walks to the end of the counter to wait for her drink, Honey brings the phone back up to her ear. “So what are you calling about, Trix? Actually.”

“Ugh, fine,” Trixie relents. “You’re so stubborn. Next time we talk, at least pretend to enjoy the small talk. I miss you sometimes, you know.”

Honey accepts her drink from the other barista– she doesn’t actually know her name, which is surprising for a town like Litchton– and waves goodbye. She takes a sip from the straw and lets the taste mull over for a second. After a moment, Honey decides that it’s fine. She takes another sip. “Miss you too, Trix,” she parrots with an eye roll.

“I heard my two favorite country bumpkins got boyfriends this summer,” Trixie says. “And I was wondering if you guys would all like to come to the beach and stay with me this weekend. I want to meet your boys.”

Honey takes another sip. “Mm, where did you hear that?” She asks.

“Well, Cece told me about Quinn and when I called Bea just now, she was deflecting and being evasive and saying it wasn’t going to last past the end of the summer…”

Sounds about right, Honey thinks.

“...and then, as a last ditch effort to distract me, she told me about your boyfriend,” Trixie finishes, her tone salacious.

“She seems to have left out that my relationship is supposed to be a secret,” Honey says sarcastically. “In her effort to stop you from focusing on hers.”

Trixie scoffs. “You’re too young to have secrets. Who cares if you’re dating some guy?”

“Believe me, the boys would care.” Honey plops down on the bench outside of city hall and brings the phone to the other side of her head. She thinks about how Cole was silent and put off in the car yesterday, just like Trevor had said he would be. “They care about everything.”

“Okay, so frame it like this,” Trixie proposes. “It’s a free beach weekend. Just a group of friends going to Bea’s sister’s house and enjoying the sand, salt, and sun.”

Trevor would probably like being at the beach again, like he’s in California. The Hughes boys might like the open water– they had been whining about a “real” lake. They could experience the real ocean instead, which Honey thinks is better than a lake. Cole might… well, a beach trip might make him forget about being forgotten.

Ugh, it really does sound bad when Honey says it like that.

“I’ll talk to the guys,” Honey says after a brief pause, in which Trixie waits on the other end of the call with baited breath. “I’ll text you in like an hour, okay?”

“Sick, I’ll start preparing the guest room for you and Bea and the living room for the guys,” Trixie says. “Oh, this is going to be so fun! I can’t wait to see you, H. Hey, for revenge, don’t tell Bea until after the guys say yes. That’s what she gets for trying to keep secrets from me.”

That’s something Honey can agree with. It’s also revenge for revealing her secret to Trixie without warning Honey first. “Okay, sounds good. No promises! The guys might not want to come.”

“It’s a free beach weekend. They’ll come. Bye, Honey-bun! Love you.”

Before Honey can say it back, Trixie has hung up. Honey pulls the phone away and snorts out a laugh, shaking her head. She takes a second to drink her beverage before composing a text to Trevor.

Would Cole forgive you if I secured us all a free weekend trip to the beach? Honey asks.

Within minutes, Trevor is replying. He might try to kiss me on the mouth, Trevor says.

Wouldn’t be the first time. So Beach Trip is a go? Ask Q.

That reply comes a bit after. He wants to know how soon we can go.

Thursday?

Thursday works. Have you talked to Ada already??? What about work on Fri

I’ll talk to her now. Plan on Thursday night to drive down. See you tn for NNO?

YYES

Honey rolls her eyes at his joke and hearts the message, then puts her phone away. She’ll have to pick out a couple of books that Trevor might like for the sale. She can convince him to buy them and it’ll give him an excuse to hang out at the booth– Bea will probably sneak off with Quinn to get a snowcone or play a round of cornhole, so Honey needs someone to keep her company.

She texts Trixie on the way back to the Nook, confirming that the boys are down. She’s sure to include that there are five of them, all relatively rowdy and annoying, so Trixie should hide anything expensive before they get there. 

Back at the Nook, Honey rests her elbows on the counter and faces Bea. “So you told your sister about my boyfriend to avoid talking about your own boyfriend, huh?” Honey asks knowingly.

Bea glares at her. “You know how they get about boys.”

Honey laughs. “Which means you thought it would be better to throw me under the bus? Trixie didn’t fall for it, Buzzy.”

Bea groans, deflating. She shoves her bookmark into her book and tucks it underneath the counter, on the shelf next to Honey’s book. Bea then crosses her arms over her chest. “Damn, I was hoping she’d be too excited for you and she’d forget about me.”

“Well, she didn’t,” Honey says. “And you know what that means?”

“What?” Bea asks, a tinge of exasperation in her voice. Honey revels in it. She should be annoyed. Payback for spilling Honey’s business to her family– not that it really matters. Honey was going to tell Trixie and Cece eventually, probably around Thanksgiving when they get together next.

Honey leans forward and raises a finger to tap the tip of Bea’s nose. “You bought yourself a beach weekend in Topsail. Your boyfriend already agreed to go.”

“You coerced him,” Bea accuses.

“I didn’t coerce him, I just… conveniently left out a few details,” Honey replies. She grins at Bea, who is scowling. “You’re paying for gas.”

“I’m going to make sure Trixie interrogates Trevor just as much as she interrogates Quinn,” Bea threatens. “Just you wait.”

Honey shrugs. “This all could’ve been avoided if you’d kept your mouth shut.”

Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey petulatntly.

Honey laughs and reaches out to try and pinch Bea’s tongue between her fingers, just to be an annoyance, but Bea flinches away. Instead, Honey tweaks her nose and pretends to steal it like she used to do to Luca in her babysitting days. Honey waves the “stolen nose” triumphantly over her head as she walks back to the stacks, ready to pick out her next few books, and Bea overexaggerates an annoyed huff at the desk. 

She might pretend like she’s annoyed, but she’ll enjoy the time in Topsail. Honey knows that she will.

73:90 – TREVOR

The hike up the mountain today is a stark contrast from the hike that Honey and Trevor first took together. For one, Honey isn’t sprinting up the mountain. Trevor isn’t chasing her, trying to catch up and ignoring the dull ache in his ankle with every other step. They’re walking up a trail named Cedar Hollow Path with which Honey seems very familiar, the sun is starting to set, and they’re hand-in-hand. It’s the picture of romance.

According to Honey, they’re less than five minutes from the peak of the mountain. They’ll stop for a break, then they’ll head back down. It’ll take about 45 minutes to get back down to the car, and then another 30 in the car. 

Honey’s phone is connected to Trevor’s mini speaker, which is clipped onto his backpack. He’d told her to play whatever she wanted and she’d thrown on her hiking playlist. Trevor doesn’t recognize some of the songs, but he likes them– what he likes more is that he gets to see the kind of music that Honey likes. It feels like a peek into her soul.

He loves this, being around her in what can only be described as her natural habitat. Each gust of wind and each patch of golden light that filters through the trees reminds Trevor of the girl by his side. 

The song they’re listening to now is warm like the sun. Trevor can’t say that he knows it, although he probably should. The voice of the man singing is familiar and the guitar plays an acoustic melody that makes Trevor bob his head to the beat. It’s one of those songs that could’ve been written last week or fifty years ago and Trevor wouldn’t be surprised either way. Everything seems slower while it plays and Trevor is all the more aware of each step that they take, and the way that Honey swings their hands between their bodies. Her crew socks are bunched up around the top of her hiking shoes, which are a lot more practical than Trevor’s sneakers. 

At the end of the song, a harmonica comes in, and Trevor looks out at the view cresting over the horizon. There’s a neat clearing in the trees and the sun is off to their left, so they’re not blinded by the brightness that is unfiltered by the woods around them. Trevor takes in the ridges and valleys of the mountains, which seem to be bathing in the sunshower. He looks at the way the light brightens Honey’s tan, summer skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be in the mountains again without thinking about you,” Trevor thinks aloud, breaking the silence. He squeezes Honey’s hand when he’s done speaking.

Honey’s lips quirk up at the corners, taking a full deep breath before she tears her eyes from the view and turns to Trevor. She squeezes his hand back. “I’m really glad you came here,” she says softly. She technically changed the subject, but Trevor can’t imagine another reply working any better than this one did.

Trevor’s expression smooths out and matches Honey’s. He leans in and presses his lips to her mouth. 

Honey pulls away. “Let’s snack, then we’ll head back down,” she decides. Her voice has returned to its normal slightly-bossy tone, which Trevor finds amusing. She’s so matter-of-fact all the time and she’s not shy about it. 

Trevor follows her to a boulder and takes a seat with his thighs brushing hers. He swings his backpack around his shoulders and doesn’t protest when Honey snatches it from his grasp, looking in the big pocket and digging around for the tiny bag that she’d stuffed inside so that she wouldn’t have to carry anything this time. “What’s the good of having a boyfriend if he doesn’t carry all your stuff?” Honey had asked and Trevor had pretended to be annoyed, just to appease her and make her smug about getting one over on him. He would have carried it anyway, but she likes that she managed to get him to do it without actually asking him to.

She grins devilishly at him when she pulls her back out and unzips it, finding her snack and drawing it out.

Trevor groans. “You can’t be serious.”

Honey turns the banana over in her hands. “What do you mean?” She peels it from the bottom, holding the stem in her fist like it’s a handle. “Potassium means that your muscles won’t cramp as much. We’re hiking, I think it’s important that I don’t get a cramp.” She takes a bite of the fruit, sure to hold eye contact with Trevor the whole time.

“You are not as funny as you think you are,” Trevor tells her. He takes his backpack from her lap and finds his own snack– a peanut butter protein bar. 

Honey shrugs. She tilts her head down slightly, blinking her eyes innocently, and slides the banana into her mouth just enough for Trevor to get the picture before biting into the fruit and chewing proudly. 

Trevor has to look out at the mountains on the horizon or else Honey will keep up this behavior, dissatisfied with her performance until he’s got a hard-on. His protein bar tastes like cardboard in his mouth, but Trevor chews it resolutely, probably more forcefully than he needs to, to keep his mind from wandering.

“So Ada is letting us take off work on Friday,” Honey says after she’s done with her banana. She throws the peel onto Trevor’s lap when she is finished with it. “Which means we can leave on Thursday after work. It’s almost a five hour drive, but there will be five of us in the car, so we only have to do an hour each. Ish. That’ll be nice, I think.”

“I think Jack and Luke are going to fly into Wilmington and drive up on Thursday night. Can you send me the address so I can send it to them?” Trevor replies.

Honey waves him off. “I have Jack’s number, I’ll just text him. Cut out the middleman.” Honey rests her chin on her hand and makes a face at Trevor. “I know you said you’re bone-tired of being the middleman.”

Trevor rolls his eyes at her joke. “Tired of being Bea’s middleman,” he corrects. He pops the last bit of protein bar in his mouth and tucks his trash into the side pocket of his backpack. “I’d be your middleman any day of the week.”

“How sweet of you,” Honey deadpans, laughing to herself. She rises from the boulder and pulls Trevor up when he extends his hands. 

He stands right in her space and rests his hands on her hips before she can step away. He pecks her lips once, then twice. He thumbs over the skin of her waist, which is pleasantly bare due to the heat and humidity of the day. Honey is wearing a tiny sports bra and those biker shorts she loves so much, leaving very little to Trevor’s imagination. He wants to bite her stomach and leave a hickey there.

“And then we’ll leave on Sunday,” Honey adds belatedly. Her fingertip brushes the middle of his stomach, like their minds are connected. Trevor had forgone his shirt when he saw that she’d done the same. “Because Bea said you guys wanted to go to the rink on Monday. Gotta get one last practice in at Bojangles.”

“Do you want to come?” Trevor asks. He wants her to come. Last time they went, she got into a fight with Bea. Honey should have a good experience at the rink. Plus, maybe this time she’ll agree to road head.

“Monday is the 12th,” Honey replies.

Before, when she changed the subject after Trevor said something, it was fine. He felt like her non-answer was a perfectly good response. This non-answer is more on topic, yet… somehow worse. He’s confused. Does Honey have work or something on the 12th? Is it some book holiday that Trevor knows nothing about? “So?”

Honey scrunches up her nose. “The 12th is my parents’ anniversary,” she says. “Chris and Steph are celebrating the big 3-0 this year.”

Trevor’s not sure what to do with that information. “Is that a weird day for you? Do you want to stay home? I don’t mind if you do,” he tells Honey. He takes her hand and they start down the path from which they came.

Honey bites her lower lip, chewing on it for a second. Trevor gives her the space to think, instead focusing on the song that plays through his speakers. This one, he recognizes. It’s by that guy– Jack something. The one who always makes Trevor think of Curious George. The song is Banana Pancakes.

Lots of banana references seem to be appearing in Trevor’s life lately.

“I was thinking more like… I might want to see them,” Honey reveals after a few minutes of silence. She’s hesitant to admit it, Trevor can tell. “And, well, if we’re already in Charlotte… do you think you’d, I don’t know, want to meet them?”

Trevor chokes on his own spit in surprise, although he keeps himself from coughing. Of all the things he expected Honey to say, an invitation to meet her parents was not one of those things. 

“You can say no,” Honey says in a rush, like she’s covering up her tracks. “Really, you can. I was just– ugh– I don’t really want to go alone and I love Bea, but she already knows my parents, if that makes sense? Like, she has a history with them, so it would be really easy for all of us to rely on her to guide the conversation, and that’s just not fair. If I’m going to see my parents, then I should be the one to talk to them.”

Trevor still doesn’t know what to say. Meeting Honey’s parents? The parents she doesn’t talk to? That’s… a lot.

But she’s still not done talking. Her voice grows quieter, so quiet that Trevor has to strain to hear her. “I think it would keep me calm if I could hold your hand, too,” Honey mumbles.

Well, if that doesn’t damn Trevor. The second she utters those words, he’s hopeless to say no to her. Trevor’s not the kind of guy who meets the parents, considering the fact that all of his other relationships have been fairly casual and low-key, but he’s going to have to meet Honey’s parents at some point. He wasn’t exactly sure when, but it was somewhere in the distant future… or so he thought.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” Trevor tells Honey. “It’ll be cool to meet your parents. I mean, it might be awkward, but I’d like to meet the people who made you.”

Honey makes a face and recoils slightly. “Don’t say it like that.”

Trevor laughs. “I thought you liked your parents,” he says. “Even though you don’t talk to them. So why are you cringing at the thought of them?”

“I like my parents a normal amount,” Honey says. “Which means that I don’t want to think about them ‘making me’ ever. How would you feel if I talked about how your parents made you? And your brother, and your sister? Those two were made while you were alive, Trevor. You could’ve been in the next room over.”

“That’s too far,” Trevor interjects, scowling at Honey. “You don’t get to flaunt your only-child-ness in that context.”

“Who says I’m an only child?” Honey asks, grinning at Trevor. 

Immediately, he comes up short. Has Honey ever outright said she’s an only child? Trevor asks himself. Or is he assuming something else about her, yet again? This is like when he assumed she was from Litchton all over again…

“I’m kidding, Trev. Yes, I’m an only child, you got that one right,” Honey assures him. “But there’s something I was thinking about last night that might come up when I see my parents.”

“What’s that?” Trevor asks, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“They know I go by Honey, obviously. I’ve been using that name since I was in kindergarten.” Honey lets go of Trevor’s hand to walk in front of him, since the path is narrowing too much to walk side-by-side.

“Wait, Honey’s not your real name?” Trevor teases, pretending to be aghast. “All this time, I thought that was on your birth certificate. I thought your parents were just really into beekeeping or something.”

“Hardy har,” Honey jibes sarcastically. “No, Trev. You know that’s not my real name.”

Which is true, Trevor does know that Honey isn’t her real name. He doesn’t actually know Honey’s real name, since she never uses it, but he has a feeling he’s about to find out.

“I was overthinking last night and started tweaking about, like–” Honey adopts a mocking, low voice. “What if my parents feel just as awkward as I do and they call me ‘Charlotte?’ I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility.”

“Your name is Charlotte?” Trevor demands, his voice sprouting an edge as a result of his surprise. “That doesn’t fit you at all.”

“Oh-kay,” Honey replies that in the same tone, looking over at Trevor and curling her lip. She shakes her head and flips her hand up in exasperation. “It’s not like I chose it, Trevor. Also, that’s not what you say when someone tells you their name. Have you ever met a person before in your life?”

“I’ve met many people and most of them enjoy my company, but thank you for the advice,” Trevor says. “Still, though, you know what I mean. Charlotte isn’t your vibe.”

“What do you think my name should’ve been, then?” Honey challenges. 

“I don’t know,” Trevor replies. “Ava or Lauren, maybe. You look like an Ava.”

He can’t see her, but Trevor has a feeling that she’s huffing and rolling her eyes.

“But, like, your name is Honey. Honey fits. That makes sense. I don’t know why they named you Charlotte, especially since you were living in Charlotte anyway. Doesn’t that get tiresome? That’s like if my parents named me Bedford– which is a terrible name, by the way,” Trevor continues on, rambling a bit and spewing whatever comes to his mind, speaking to the back of Honey’s head.

Honey turns around and walks backwards down the trail, tilting her head at Trevor and nodding exaggeratedly. Her eyes are comically wide. She holds her hands up as if she’s saying ‘Yeah, Trev, that’s exactly it.’

“They named you Charlotte because you lived in Charlotte?” Trevor asks, seeking clarification.

“Yeah, it was very creative,” Honey replies, turning back around and leading the way. Her ponytail bounces. “Charlotte was also my mom’s favorite character in Sex and the City.”

Trevor hums at that, but doesn’t reply. They continue down the slope, weaving through trees and avoiding mud puddles from the rain the right before. All the while, Honey’s music plays on. 

A thought pops into Trevor’s head and he makes the joke before realizing that it’s funny. “Double homicide to Charlotte, H. First you forsake your name and then you move away? You really have something against Charlottes, huh?”

Honey steps walking and hangs her head, her chest shaking with quiet laughter. She takes takes a breath and sighs aloud, “Ohhh my God.” She turns back to Trevor and takes his hand, clasping it in both of her own. “You have got to start thinking before you speak if I’m going to bring you home to my parents, Trev. I don’t think they want you insulting the name of their city or the name that they picked for their daughter.”

She kisses his mouth, then they walk the rest of the trail in silence, hand-in-hand.

74:90 – HONEY

Taking one car to Topsail might’ve been this summer’s biggest mistake.

Really, it made the most sense. They took Quinn’s car with its three rows of seats and Honey was happy to relegate herself to the way-way back after her turn behind the wheel. Her duffelbag is on the seat next to her, containing four different outfits for the next three days, pajamas, toiletries, bathing suits, her slippers and birkenclogs, and a beach towel in case Trixie didn’t have enough at her place. The rest of the bags are in the back of the car, behind Honey’s seat. 

Right now, Cole is behind the wheel. He’s actually not a bad driver, even though he’d complained about having to drive at all. He says he’s more of a passenger– which Bea had agreed with– but that excuse hadn’t worked for either of them. For Cole, it hadn’t worked because no one wanted to drive for more than their fair share. For Bea, Quinn had offered to take her place… but Honey had chimed in and explained that Bea is the person who is most familiar with Trixie’s home. It only makes sense that she takes the last driving shift– which is already shorter than the rest anyway– and is the one to pull into her sister’s driveway.

Bea had huffed about it, but she’d been outvoted. Honey thought it was only fair that she drive, Trevor agrees with anything Honey says, and Cole had been adamant that if he had to drive, then Bea had to drive too.

On the bright side, they’re more than halfway through the drive. They’re in the Siler City to Raleigh leg of the trip, which means that they’re still in civilization. The final stretch of the drive is along backroads, but Honey likes it. It’s like there’s a Litchton-style small-town-vibe on both coasts.

What she likes less is that she’s been trying to nap in the back for a little while now and Bea is starting to get annoyed with the music in the car.

They created a Spotify blend with all of their accounts. It had taken thirty minutes to get the blend set up, since Bea is against giving her phone number to anyone but Honey and Trevor. First, everyone needed to join the blend. Then, Honey had to send the blend to Bea. Then, all they had to do was hit play on Cole’s phone, since he was the one who started the blend in the first place. There were only three steps. It still took way longer than it should have.

“You can’t just skip every song that you don’t like,” Trevor fights from the seat just in front of Honey, trying to reach around the passenger seat and grab the phone from Bea’s hands. “It’s not fair to the rest of us who do like those songs.”

“No one wants to listen to ‘Devil in a New Dress’ by Kayne West, Trevor!” Bea exclaims. She leans forward and rests her head against the dashboard, out of Trevor’s reach. The phone stays between her knees, well away from everyone else in the car. “Isn’t he still, like, a terrible fucking person?”

“Your precious Taylor Swift is flying all over the world without a care about how it’s affecting the environment,” Trevor shoots back. “What is it all of her fans say when people bring that up? ‘Separate the art from the artist?’”

“Do we have to have the Taylor Swift vs. Kanye debate,” Cole tries to interrupt, sounding just as fed up as Honey. 

“My precious Taylor Swift?” Bea demands, speaking over Cole. “Don't sit on your high horse and act like you hate her when I saw you singing ‘You Belong With Me’ in the mirror earlier!”

Trevor opens his mouth and closes it a few times, not having a good comeback ready.

“Kanye West is an anti-Semite who said on record that slavery was a choice,” Bea continues. “Trevor, out of the four friends that have been living with you all summer, three are Jewish.”

“Not actively practicing,” Quinn points out. 

Honey thinks this is novel. It’s the first time he’s ever said anything to contradict Bea– at least, to her face. There was that one time in the car when Honey called him out for not committing and he’d said “I’m committed,” as if he wasn’t the problem.

“You’re Jewish by matrilineal descent!” Bea scoffs. “That’s, like, the whole thing with being ethnically Jewish. Do you think Kanye West gives a fuck if you’re practicing Judaism or not? He would absolutely have something against you and I don’t want to listen to a person who spreads hate!”

“Didn’t you play ‘Call Me Maybe’ two hours ago?” Trevor asks. “Isn’t Carly Rae a shit person too? Wasn’t she racist towards CupcakKe?”

Bea pauses, relenting slightly. “Okay, I don’t actually know who CupcakKe is and I’ve never heard that Carly Rae Jepson stuff, so… T-B-D on that argument until I can do some light googling. But, still, Trevor– you should not be giving your attention to Kanye.”

“Bea, I am going to be completely honest with you right now, I don’t think this is the hill you want to die on,” Trevor says, still arguing. “I feel like there are more pressing issues in the world than a singer’s beliefs.”

“He’s insanely influential, Trevor! People listen to his shit for entertainment, but there’s a very real possibility that they’ll take his word as Gospel because he’s a ‘good artist’ or whatever–”

“Can we all shut up?” Honey snaps. “It’s not this fucking serious.”

“It is this serious,” Bea tries, but stops speaking when Honey buries her face in the back of Trevor’s chair and lets out a muffled scream.

“You two are the most insufferable people ever,” Honey spits out. “No one wants to listen to you bicker like children. I don’t like Kanye West either, but you’re both being stupid and stubborn and we still have two hours left in the car. I will break the back window and throw myself onto the highway if I have to listen to any more of your bullshit. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Trevor mumbles. He looks over his shoulder and frowns at Honey, like she’ll commiserate with him at the sheer sight of his sad face. She won’t, because he deserved it. It’s partially his fault that she’s raising her voice at all. 

“Yes,” Bea groans. Honey can hear her rolling her eyes. 

“Yes, Honey,” Cole echoes. He actually sounds the saddest of them all and he wasn’t even in the fight.

Honey has to suppress a smile at his agreement. She doesn’t want to diminish her successful scolding by bursting into laughter. “Good,” she says, trying to hold her voice steady. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am trying to take a nap.” She promptly turns in her seat and tries to curl up as best she can without unbuckling her seatbelt. 

There’s five songs of silence by Honey’s count, and then a slow country duet begins to play. 

Within thirty seconds, just as Honey is deciding that she likes the song, Bea announces, “Well, this is too slow. We can’t listen to this. We’ll be put to sleep.”

“That’s the whole point,” Honey jumps in before she can skip the track. She opens one eye and squints at Bea. “Plus, I thought you hated when people– Jack– skip through songs instead of letting them play though.”

Bea scowls. “You suck. I’m not going to let you sleep in the guest room with me.”

“I suck ‘cause I’m right?” Honey laughs. “As if Trixie would let you kick me out of the guest room anyway. She likes me better because I didn’t cut off Felicity’s hair over a stupid birthday party invitation.”

“That’s not fair,” Bea complains. “Everyone got an invitation except me.”

“What happened?” Quinn asks, his growing smile looking slightly askew and crooked on his face. “Who’s Felicity?”

“Trixie’s American Girl doll, who she loved,” Honey explains. “Like, her most prized possession, and on her eleventh birthday she hand-wrote cute invitations for all of her friends and Bea was pissed that she didn’t get one–”

“Again, not fair, because you got one and you were only invited to the party because my parents let me choose a friend to hang out with that day,” Bea interrupts.

“The party was at your house! You lived there, you didn’t need a special invitation,” Honey exclaims, then turns back to Quinn. “So Bea, five years old and pissed off, sneaks into Trixie’s room and chops off all of Felicity’s hair, and puts it in a gift basket for Trixie to unwrap at the party!”

Quinn’s eyes grow wide and he starts to laugh out loud, eyes darting over to Bea.

“So Trixie unwraps it and starts crying over her favorite doll being ruined and that kills the vibe of the party, and then–”

“No–” Bea growls, turning in her seat and waving a finger at Honey.

“–Then, Bea lies about it to her mom and dad and gets away with it for a whole month, until her mom finds the scissors in Bea’s sock drawer, which had been missing since the Felicity incident,” Honey continues, entirely unafraid of Bea’s threat. “And Trixie didn’t speak to Bea for, like, two weeks and Felicity was never the same after coming back from the Doll Hospital.”

“The scissors were a plant by Cece because I put them back when I was done and she overreacted,” Bea justifies. “Felicity came back just fine, practically brand new–”

“She overreacted,” Honey repeats, gobsmacked that Bea still maintains that she didn’t do anything wrong. “You destroyed her $90 doll on her birthday!”

“I was five,” Bea says.

“You did all of that over a piece of paper written in sparkly gel pen!”

“That’s it?” Cole demands. “Bea, dude, I’ll write you an invitation to a party in sparkly gel pen right now just so you can let this go.”

“I’m not the one who brought it up,” Bea defends herself. “Honey’s the one who can’t let it go.”

“Who knew you were such a monster, baby,” Quinn joins in, reaching forward to pinch the skin on the back of Bea’s elbow.

Bea jerks her arm away. “Ugh, whatever,” she grumbles. She turns toward the window and pouts, glaring into the settling dusk. Honey isn’t worried about knocking her down a few pegs– she’ll be over it by the time the next Miley Cyrus song rolls around.

Honey actually falls asleep when Cole and Trevor switch spots after getting gas in Raleigh. Cole sings along with as many songs as he can– he actually does a rather impressive Dolly Parton– and Bea eventually joins in.

The post-debate liveliness in the car is a good sign for the weekend ahead. Honey’s really excited for Jack and Luke to drive up, too, just to reunite the group. Jack’s text announcing his ETA came in just before Honey fell asleep and they’re slated to make it to Trixie’s house about an hour after the Litchton car does. 

Honey’s already planning the full beach day tomorrow. She’s going to bury Jack in the sand in the shape of a mermaid’s tail. It’s what he deserves.

75:90 – TREVOR

Trevor wakes to soft voices drifting in from the kitchen. The layout of Bea’s sister’s house is pretty open, which is great for the lighting in the place, but not great for those who like to sleep in. She lives alone, so she’s only got one guest room and that’s where the girls are sleeping. Trevor and the rest of the boys are in the living room. 

Quinn and Jack are sharing the pull-out couch, Luke is reclining in the plush chair, and Trevor and Cole are sharing the blow-up mattress. The coffee table is pushed against the wall underneath the TV.

Trevor recognizes Honey’s voice after he’s done blinking the sleep from his eyes. It’s the same soft tone she uses when she apologizes for waking him up as she gets out of bed. Trevor stretches, then shifts out from under the blanket he’s sharing with Cole. He rolls onto the floor in order to minimize his chance of waking Cole and picks himself up, tiptoeing into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Trixie greets as Trevor walks into the room. She holds a mug of coffee near her chin and raises her eyebrows, which are dark, like her hair. She looks just like Bea, but her hair is nearly black. Trevor wonders if it’s dyed. “Which one are you again?”

Trevor breathes out a little laugh and sidles up behind Honey, kissing her bare shoulder. “G’morning.”

“Mm, that one,” Trixie hums. “You want a coffee, Trevor?” 

She’s turning and pouring a mug before Trevor can decline. Trevor looks at the clock on the microwave and sees that it’s not even seven yet, which is typical Honey behavior. He’s been trying hard all summer to keep her in bed until a reasonable eight o’clock, but she loves her routine and she’s actually very chipper in the morning. 

“You’re up early,” Honey comments, sipping from her own mug. 

“Someone woke me up.” Trevor smiles.

“We weren’t talking that loud,” Honey replies. She looks over at Trixie. “Were we?”

Trixie scoffs. “God, no. I don’t reach above twenty decibels until I hit morning traffic. It’s a pretty steep jump after that.” She sets the steaming mug in front of Trevor and leans against the counter.

“Why are you up so early?” Trevor asks. “I know why she’s up, but why are you?” He points his thumb at Honey when he references her, then wraps his hand around the handle of his mug.

Trixie’s lips quirk up. “Not all of us have summers off from work.” She sounds amused. “I have to head to the office in a little bit. I have meetings today, so I’m having a cup of coffee and heading out.”

“She’s a lawyer,” Honey supplies, answering Trevor’s question before he asks. “Real estate law.”

Trevor doesn’t know anything about real estate law. “That’s cool,” he says, shrugging. 

Trixie hums in the back of her throat and narrows her eyes. “I don’t know about ‘cool,’” she teases. “But it works for me.”

“Anyway, I was telling Trixie that I was going to go to the store before everyone wakes up,” Honey says to Trevor. “Do you want to come?”

“We can’t eat the food in the fridge?” Trevor asks.

“I didn’t go shopping for seven people,” Trixie says. She sips from her coffee, inspects the mug, and downs the rest of the liquid inside. “Plus, some of that shit is old. I need to clean out. You guys need to buy your own stuff. I can only provide so much to your traveling band of vagabonds.” She sets her mug in the sink and rinses it out, but leaves it sitting there. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Honey parrots.

“I’m going to throw on my good clothes and then I’m off,” Trixie says. She rounds the counter and presses a kiss to the side of Honey’s head, squishing her cheeks. “Don’t set my house on fire while I’m gone.”

“Are there any dolls lying around that we should know about?” Trevor jokes, thinking about the Bea story from yesterday.

Luckily, Trixie’s shoulders jump with a laugh. “Nah, those are in the safe. I had to lock them and the scissors away just in case. That’s funny, Trevor.” She flicks the back of his head as she walks away, which stings a bit, but Trevor figures it’s just as affectionate as the kiss she gave Honey.

Trevor waits for her to walk out of earshot, then turns to Honey. “She doesn’t actually still have dolls, though, right? Because that would be kind of creepy,” he admits. 

Honey rolls her eyes and reaches over to pat Trevor’s hand. “No, I don’t think Trixie has any dolls in this place. She kind of outgrew that when she hit middle school, bud.”

Trevor deflates at the nickname. 

“Don’t make that face,” Honey chides quietly. She tosses a look over her shoulder, towards where the rest of the guys are sleeping. “You know I can’t talk to you like that right now.”

“I know,” Trevor sighs. “What about at the store, though?”

Honey smiles into her coffee. “Yes, you can be all… you… at the grocery store.”

“Sick.” Trevor celebrates getting permission to act like a boyfriend with a fist pump. “Let me get dressed and we can go.”

Honey hums and finishes off her coffee. She takes Trevor’s mug, which he had no intentions of finishing anyway, and takes it with her to the guest bedroom. 

Trixie sneaks out the front door with a wave to Trevor a few minutes later. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a nice blouse, which is pretty impressive. Trevor likes his walk-up suits, but he doesn’t really think he could wear them for an entire day of work. They’re too stuffy.

Honey follows not far behind. She’s in a pretty sundress and her birkenclogs and Trevor can see the strings of her bikini rise up and loop around the back of her neck. She takes the keys to the smaller car that Jack and Luke drove up from Wilmington last night and waves Trevor forward, shutting the door quietly behind them.

The drive to the grocery store is practically a straight line. They turn out of Trixie’s driveway onto the main road, then turn into the parking lot of another Food Lion, like the one in Litchton. It must be a North Carolina thing. Trevor had never seen a grocery store called “Food Lion” until he got here.

Honey grabs the cart from the collection area when they walk in the store, then allows Trevor to bump her out of the way and take the reigns. He’s on good behavior for a while, dutifully rolling the cart beside Honey and waiting patiently while she tries to decide between fusili or orecchiette noodles for a homemade mac’n’cheese that she wants to put together for Trixie. Apparently, macaroni noodles aren’t good enough because mac’n’cheese is Trixie’s favorite side dish and has been since she was a child.

The grocery store isn’t very full, given that it’s 7:30 in the morning on a Friday, and the barren hallways are too tempting. Trevor starts to drifts around corners, pop wheelies, and races down aisles far ahead of Honey. When he accidentally bumps into her in the chip aisle, she shoots him a glare that would melt ice, and sends him off to go find hamburger patties for Quinn to grill later tonight.

He takes the grocery cart with him. She might be able to discourage him from performing his NASCAR tricks while she’s around, but what Honey doesn’t see won’t hurt her. Trevor’s not going to let one accidental collision ruin his fun.

He coasts down to the ground beef, staring at his options. Would Quinn rather have pre-made patties, or would he like to form the patties himself? He is weird like that. Maybe smash burgers would be fun…

Trevor reaches for the meat that he thinks would work best, dropping it in the cart. As he walks toward the slices of cheese, a guy with a Giants hat accidentally cuts him off.

“Sorry, man,” the guy laughs, gesturing for Trevor to go ahead. He uses the carton of chocolate milk in his hand to wave Trevor forward.

“No, dude, don’t worry about it,” Trevor replies, letting the guy go ahead of him. “It’s all good. Can’t hold anything against a fellow Giants fan.”

“Oh, you’re a New York guy?” The guy reaches for a pack of string cheese, the ones that mix mozzarella and cheddar in a fun swirl. That’s not a bad idea. Trevor might pick up a pack of those for himself. “Excited for the big centennial next year?”

“It’s gonna be awesome,” Trevor says. “I hope we make the playoffs.”

“Hey, me too,” he tells Trevor with a chuckle. He looks at Trevor for a second, then blinks. “Wait, aren’t you–”

Trevor allows a smile to take over his face, hoping that it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. He forgot how awkward it is to be recognized in public, especially when you’re doing something as mundane as grocery shopping. “Yeah.” He extends his hand. “Trevor. It’s nice to meet you, dude.”

“Tommy,” the guy returns, grasping Trevor’s hand firmly. “What are you doing all the way out here, man? Don’t you play for Anaheim?”

“My girlfriend and our friends are spending the weekend at the beach during the off-season, actually. We just got in last night.” Trevor nods along with his own statement. He waves his hand at the contents of the cart. “She wakes up early, so I thought I’d tag along with the grocery shopping.”

“Good man,” Tommy praises. He holds up the cheese and chocolate milk. “I got sent out on my own. Pregnancy cravings from the wife.”

“Good man yourself,” Trevor laughs.

“Where’d you drive in from, if you don’t mind me asking?” Tommy asks. “Long road trip from Cali?”

“Nah, I’m not built for that shit,” Trevor jokes. “Why do you think the league has jets now? No, my girlfriend lives near Winston-Salem. Tiny town. Litchton, actually, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”

“I have, actually. Been there once, too– I used to know someone who lives up there.” Tommy shifts his items into one hand and reaches for his phone. “Hey, would you mind if we get a picture?”

Trevor’s about to comply, but he sees Honey exit from the chip aisle with her arms full. He raises a hand to wave her over. “Hon,” Trevor calls. “Over here. Check it out, a Giants fan all the way down south. Tommy and I were just about to take a picture–”

“Is that what you go by now? Tommy?” Honey asks. Her eyes were sparkling when she first spotted Trevor, but now they’ve turned sullen and guarded and she’s stopped walking forward. 

Trevor takes in her body language, how she’s tersely holding the chips in front of her body like a barrier. Her shoulders are pulled back and her jaw is set tightly. Trevor suddenly stands to his full height. 

This must be Thomas.

He’s sandwiched between them, having turned to Honey when Trevor’s eyes slid over his shoulder and lit up at the sight of his girlfriend. Thomas is looking between them, although he mostly stares at the girl down the corridor to his right.

At least he has the decency to look like he’s seen a ghost.

“Oh my God, Honey,” Thomas grimaces. 

“You’re Thomas,” Trevor says aloud, repeating his internal monologue. His voice is hard. “You’re that Thomas.”

“Ruined any lives lately?” Honey snaps, her eyes narrowed and fierce. 

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Thomas tries. “Really, I am. It was, well, you know how it was. We were kids and I was hopped up on all this shit, but I’m clean now and I found Jesus again and–”

“I ‘really’ don’t give a fuck,” Honey interrupts, mocking him. Her movements are becoming exaggerated, the way they do when she’s barely containing her rage. 

“I’m going to have to turn you down for that picture,” Trevor says, jerking the cart back and starting to push it towards Honey. He pauses and looks Thomas dead in the eyes. “I know you have quite the reputation when it comes to photos.”

Trevor pushes past the man, feeling sick and seeing red. He was nice to this guy. He was having a good conversation with him. Fuck– they talked about his wife. He’s got a pregnant wife at home. That makes Trevor want to throw up.

Honey is still standing her ground and staring at her ex-boyfriend, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Trevor has to take her arm and pull her away.

Without speaking, they head straight for the cash register. Honey is stewing and grinding her teeth, so Trevor sends her out to the car. The teenage cashier was starting to send him panicked looks, evidently thinking that Honey’s glare was directed at her. When he steps outside, groceries in hand, Honey has parked the car right in front of the store. The flashers are on and Trevor appreciates not having to walk all the way to the vehicle, but he is a little apprehensive about Honey driving.

It’s a straight line. It can’t be that bad.

Trevor keeps an eye on her, though. He’s obvious about it. He faces her during the first half of the ride, counting the times Honey’s jaw clenches and unclenches, and plans to continue his count for the rest of the ride. He loses track as soon as Honey speaks.

“Stop looking at me,” Honey says.

Trevor won’t. He’s not sure what she’s thinking and he won’t stop searching her face until he knows. “No.”

“Okay, then stop looking at me like that,” Honey amends. “I can see you trying to figure me out. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Just give me a minute to process it, dude–”

“Don’t call me dude,” Trevor interrupts with a frown. It’s like when she calls him ‘Z,’ or earlier, when she called him ‘bud.’ He’s not her friend. He’s her boyfriend. He deserves more than ‘dude,’ especially because he’s only looking at her like this because he cares and he’s worried.

“–and then I’ll tell you how I’m feeling,” Honey finishes. She tosses a glance at Trevor, eyebrows pinched together. “Also, it’s a force of habit. I’m not calling you ‘dude’ to be a bitch. Stop acting like I am.”

Trevor doesn’t think he’s acting like that, but that’s an argument for another time. Tensions are high right now. He should’ve thought about that a second ago– again, with the ‘thinking before he speaks’ idea. Maybe Honey has a point.

She flicks the turn signal on and creeps into Trixie’s driveway. Honey throws the car into park and pulls the key from the ignition. She sits back in her seat borderline-agressively and huffs. Trevor would laugh at the way she crosses her arms over her chest if it weren’t for the situation at hand. She lets out a deep breath. “Five fucking years,” she curses. Her attention turns to Trevor. “I hate him. Even after five fucking years.”

Trevor nods. “I think he deserves that.”

Honey inhales, nodding and chewing on the inside of her cheek. She’s more angry than upset and Trevor can’t help but feel like that might be better than a freak-out. He also isn’t one to label things, but… her anger is a good sign, to him. Honey’s not drowning in the debris that Thomas left. She’s practically surfing on it, running on adrenaline and fury. That’ll fade eventually, but Trevor thinks that this might be a step forward rather than two steps back.

To be determined.

She takes a few more breaths, her face slowly becoming less tense with each exhale. After a minute, the wrinkle between her eyebrows has faded and her mouth is in a straight line rather than a frown.

Trevor reaches out and cups Honey’s face. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just musters up a sympathetic smile. 

Honey holds eye contact, then her lips quirk up and her lashes flutter in a little eye roll. “I need to talk to Bea,” she says. She leans into his touch. “She was there. No offense, but she’ll get it more than you do.”

Trevor breathes out a laugh. “I think you’re right.”

Honey leans over the center console and kisses Trevor’s lips in a fleeting, yet sweet, pass. “Can you take the boys to the beach so they don’t hear? I think we might scream and yell a bit.”

“Anything you want,” Trevor agrees. He pauses. “But… you’ll talk to me after, right?”

Honey kisses him again, gently. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you after. I just… I want to get my mind wrapped around this first. I might have to sleep on it.” She looks at that clock, then jokes, “Even though it’s not even nine in the morning yet.”

“Maybe you’ll take a midday nap,” Trevor replies with a wink.

Honey snorts. “Be patient, Trev.”

Trevor draws back and releases his hold on Honey’s cheek. He changes the subject. “You go on up. I’ll put the groceries away, then I’ll round up the boys.”

Honey thanks him, then exits the car. She leaves the keys with him and heads up the stairs, disappearing from Trevor’s sight.

He’ll do as he promised, taking the groceries up for Honey and leaving the house with the boys within thirty minutes of their arrival. They had to pack a cooler, to be fair, and that always takes a little time. 

By the time Honey and Bea make it down to the beach around midday, the boys are ravenous. Honey and Bea come bearing sandwiches and they eat in a circle, sitting on their towels, like it’s a picnic.

After lunch, Cole digs a hole. Bea and Quinn head into the water, bobbing in the waves. At the same time, Honey buries Jack in the sand with help from Luke, giving him a mermaid tail and a seashell bra. Trevor sits on his towel and watches the group, feigning nonchalance, but he’s really watching Honey.

Thomas doesn’t seem to plague her mind, but Trevor doesn’t really know. She’s giggling with the group and yelling at Cole to stop throwing sand near them, which Trevor takes as a good sign.

He guesses he’ll find out what she really thinks tomorrow. He can wait that long.

76:90 – HONEY

Honey had told herself that the two cocktails at dinner would be her last drinks of the night. The boys have a kind of routine on their beach days– they pack as many drinks as the cooler can fit and they crush them. Honey, Bea, and Trixie had done their best to keep up, and it had resulted in quite a buzz.

There had been time to come down, too– Honey left the beach around 3:30 because she’d gotten sleepy. She’d showered and taken a nap, then woken up before dinner to see Bea napping in bed next to her. The guys had been in the same state when she went into the living room. Luke was the only one awake and he was watching golf on low volume, his eyes glazed over. Honey thinks he might be so zoned out that he’s dead to the world.

After dinner, though, everyone had been reinvigorated. The boys had cracked open new beers and Trixie had produced a box of seltzers from her minifridge in the garage. She and Bea are party girls, as is Cece, so it must be a McLean thing. They’d been adamant that the group played a few drinking games before winding down for the night. 

They’d played Flip Cup first– dividing into two teams of four and pounding drinks up and down the length of Trixie’s dining table. Bea and Trixie had captained the teams and drafted their picks because the boys thought it was most fair. Bea’s first pick was, unsurprisingly, Quinn. Trixie had picked Jack. At first, Honey had thought it was because of his frat-boy energy.

The more drunk everyone got, the more Honey noticed that Jack and Trixie were flirting. By the time they moved onto Stack Cup, Jack and Trixie were standing next to each other and Trixie was shrieking each time Jack nearly lapped her. When he finally did and she’d had to chug the Bitch Cup, Trixie had pulled Bea’s signature pout.

Honey was not surprised when they disappeared into Trixie’s bedroom, presumably, less than an hour later. Neither was anyone else, apparently. Cole had snorted and said that Bea and Jack were two peas in a pod, since they both collected siblings like it was nothing. Everyone laughed at that, then they’d split into smaller groups. Cole and Trevor started playing Ride The Bus with a stack of cards they found in Trixie’s junk drawer, Quinn and Luke had settled on the couch to watch TV, and Honey and Bea took a girl’s trip to the bathroom.

Bea finds a fresh thing of moisturizer while she’s digging through Trixie’s bathroom cabinet and goes to smell it, catching a strong whiff of eucalyptus. She gags, stomach lurching… and pushes Honey out of the way while she’s pulling up her sweatpants so that she can vomit into the toilet.

Typical. 

Honey braids Bea’s hair back messily while she yacks, then helps pat her face with a cold towel when she’s done. They decide to go to bed, even though Bea says that she’s fine. Honey thinks she needs to rest after throwing up the many, many drinks she had today, so she and Bea throw on their pajamas– a fun matching nightgown set that they always bring on their trips outside of Litchton– and cuddle up in bed. Honey is glad she made Bea brush her teeth before they left the bathroom, even if their faces aren’t close enough for her to smell Bea’s breath.

“You didn’t talk to Trevor,” Bea mumbles. She’s got her arm thrown over her face, eyes buried in the crook of her elbow. “You said you would today.”

Honey gets a flashback to the previous morning– how Bea had been aghast and furious that Thomas was in the same town as them, how she’d been elated that Honey had called Thomas out and been mean to him at the store, and how she’d pretended like it took all of her energy to praise Trevor for reacting the way he did. Honey knows that Bea likes Trevor deep down, even if she treats him like an annoying brother.

Honey groans, shifting under the covers. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You have to talk to him,” Bea replies. Her voice is monotone and tired. “You promised you would. You know how he gets when he’s worried.”

She’s right, unfortunately. It takes a lot out of Honey to sit up, especially with the last of the booze that is coursing through her veins. She feels a bit like an old man, grunting through a stretch, but she finally swings her legs over the side of the bed and begins to make her way to the door.

It bangs open before she reaches for the handle.

“Bea!” Jack exclaims, shouldering into the bedroom in nothing but his sweatpants and underwear– Honey can see the Nike lettering peeking out from under the gray waistband slung low on his hips. “New PR!”

Bea’s arm falls from her face and she squints at Jack with one eye. “What?” she asks groggily.

“I beat my time!” Jack catches Honey’s wrist as she passes him and raises her hand to give himself a high-five.

Honey fails to hold back a laugh, producing a stifled snort. Just as Jack jumps onto the bed and crosses his legs, getting comfortable, Honey slips away.

She walks as quietly as she can past Trixie’s room, finding her way to the end of the hallway and slipping through the glass door to the balcony. It’s there that she finds Trixie in her bathrobe, looking up at the stars and twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.

“Hey,” Honey greets quietly. “I heard Jack broke his record.”

Trixie chuckles. “Yeah, he told me. I think it’s cute how excited he was.”

“How long was it?” Honey asks.

“I don’t know, twenty minutes, maybe? From the time we got naked to the time it was over?” Trixie shrugs. “It wasn’t bad. He’s definitely good looking enough to get away with that.”

“One night stand?”

Trixie nods. “Definitely, one night stand. I’m not looking to do anything more than hook up with a guy who’s five years younger than me.” She drops her hand and slaps her knees. “Do you need the balcony?”

“Yeah, I need to talk to Trevor about something,” Honey says. “Do you remember Thomas?”

Trixie makes a face. There’s Honey’s confirmation that Cece and Bea did have a tell-all with Trix when Honey and Thomas broke up. “Yeah, I remember that dipshit. He should’ve gone to jail for what he did to you.”

“We saw him at the store yesterday,” Honey tells her. “Me and Trev.”

“Shit.” Trixie’s eyes are wide. “Are you okay?”

“Surprisingly, yeah,” Honey replies with a bit of a laugh. “I was mad when I saw him. Even after we left, I wasn’t upset. It was just like, ‘Oh, here’s the bitch that changed my life. I hope I never see him again after this’ and then I was fine.” She shrugs. “Bea and I talked about it. I’m not happy with what he did, obviously, but I’m past it.”

Trixie smiles and stands, bringing Honey in for a hug. “I’m happy for you.” She squeezes Honey tight, then lets her go, palms on Honey’s elbows. “You are such an impressive and resilient person.”

Honey doesn’t know quite what to say to Trixie. She thinks that if she opens her mouth to talk, her voice will break. That was so nice.

Trixie pats Honey’s arm one last time and heads toward the sliding glass door. “Goodnight, Hon. Have a good talk with Trevor.”

“Do you like him?” Honey blurts out as Trixie steps through the door. “For me?”

Trixie turns back and nods. “I do.” She slides the door shut and disappears down the hallway.

Honey smiles to herself, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. She shakes it away, pulling her phone out and texting Trevor to meet her on the balcony. She hopes he’s awake.

He sends her a “!!!!” within seconds and Honey hears his feet padding down the hallway a minute later. 

“Hey,” Trevor whispers as he closes the door behind him. He crosses the balcony and wraps his arms around Honey’s waist. He buries his face in Honey’s neck and kisses her, biting lightly over her pulse point. “I hated not being able to touch you all day. Y’looked so good in your pretty bikini, baby.”

Honey sighs and relaxes into Trevor’s touch, breathing in the traces of his cologne. It’s mostly worn off by now, but if she closes her eyes, she can still take it in. Honey wraps her arms around Trevor’s neck and holds him close.

Trevor is the first to pull away. “You okay?” he asks. “You seem… pretty okay, all things considered.”

“I am, actually,” Honey murmurs, bringing her hand to Trevor’s hair and stroking the strands along his temple. She can feel Trevor’s gaze on her face, never straying. “I think I’m really moving on. Not just fake-moving on like I’ve been doing for the past couple years.”

A smile creeps over Trevor’s face. “That’s awesome, babe.”

“I think you’ve been helping,” Honey admits quietly. “More than I wanted you to in the first place.”

“Yeah, baby, you hated me,” Trevor teases. He nudges Honey’s nose with his, then kisses her. “You didn’t think I’d be any good to you this summer.”

“That’s not true,” Honey fights back, frowning. “I thought it would be nice to have people to hang out with.”

“Hmm, I bet you meant the other guys,” Trevor continues in the same tone. He brings his hands to Honey’s hips and walks her back as he kisses her, only stopping when he’s got her pressed up against the wall. He starts to kiss down her neck, bringing his hands to her bare thighs and pushing at the hem of her nightgown.

“I gave you one week before you went back home,” Honey says. She raises a leg and tries to wrap it over Trevor’s hip. She slips at first, but then Trevor grips the fat of her thigh and holds her leg in place. 

“Well, I’m still here,” Trevor replies. His right hand slips between Honey’s legs and traces her folds before shifting her underwear to the side and diving in. “And you know I’m not leaving.”

“But you are, though,” Honey chokes out. She’s reeling from the way he just shoved two of his fingers into her cunt.

Trevor hums. “Okay, physically,” he says. “But I’m not leaving you. You’re stuck with me.”

“I fail to see how that’s a good thing,” Honey jokes, but she’s lost the fighting edge in her voice. It’s so obvious that Trevor is affecting her, considering the way her breath has grown weary and how she’s biting her lower lip.

Trevor laughs anyway. “I can show you,” he says. 

He kisses Honey, sliding his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes drift all the way shut and she fists the neckline of his t-shirt. He tastes like the drinks that he’s been consuming all day, but with an overt layer of minty toothpaste. His lips are soft and Honey likes how he smiles between kisses.

“Is that a good enough reason?” Trevor asks softly, trailing his lips down to Honey’s jaw and sucking softly. It’s not enough to leave a mark, but she can feel his tongue massaging her skin and his teeth scraping over the area when he’s done.

“No, I already knew you were good at that,” Honey says. She feels a little stuck in her head, waiting for Trevor to do more.

His thumb presses against her clit and starts to circle. “I guess I have to up my game.” Trevor fits his teeth around Honey’s collarbone and nibbles. “You want me to talk about how pretty you are, baby?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” Honey cards her fingers through Trevor’s hair and sighs.

He snuffles out another laugh. “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Trevor tells Honey. 

“Thing?”

Trevor actually chuckles. “Not thing. You know that’s just a saying.” He adopts a southern accent. “Prettiest ‘thang’ I’ve ever seen.”

“You are so goofy.”

Trevor twists his fingers inside of Honey and makes her choke on a breath. “Don’t be mean, Hon. Let me talk.”

“Then talk,” Honey bites.

“Attention seeker.”

“Now you’re being mean.”

“If I was mean, I’d stop fingering you and head back inside.”

Honey rolls her eyes. She grinds down on Trevor’s fingers and pulls him up for another kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” Trevor continues, jumping back into the bit. He noses against Honey’s cheek. “Honestly, Honey, you steal my breath. It’s unreal. I think about how pretty you are all the time.”

“Jerking off?” Honey gasps out. Her stomach is starting to turn from the pleasure.

“Mm.” Trevor smiles against her neck. “Sometimes. You turn me on, baby, but your looks aren’t the only thing I like about you. I’m determined to stay around for other reasons, you know.”

Honey hums, prompting him to continue. She is a bit of a glutton for praise– but who isn’t? She likes when people like her. She likes when Trevor likes her.

“Like how loyal you are to your friends,” Trevor says. “I couldn’t handle Bea for as long as you have, but you know that.”

“You handle Jack,” Honey points out. “That’s the same.”

“Fair point,” Trevor surmises. “I’m so… taken with how you act, babe.”

“Trevor,” Honey warns. She’s getting closer to the edge. His fingers are dancing inside of her, unrelenting, and his words aren’t helping. She still wants him to talk more, though.

“Do you know how proud I am that you stood your ground with Thomas at the store?” Trevor murmurs, moving his hand from Honey’s thigh to thumb over her nipple. 

“Oh my God,” Honey moans out when he pokes the spongy spot inside of her. She jumps, then whimpers, pulling his face back up so that she can bit his neck.

“It was amazing,” Trevor praises. “You’re so brave. I love how fiery you were when you saw him and how well you’ve bounced back from it over the past day and a half.”

Honey’s hips jerk into his touch. Her mouth drops open and eyes roll back. She knocks her head against the wall, but the sting doesn’t actually hurt. She barely feels it. Honey snaps, her resolve crumbling as Trevor’s fingers thrust into her at what feels like lightning speed. Her hands clutch at Trevor’s bicep and the back of his neck, fingernails digging into his skin and leaving red crescent-moons behind. “I love you,” Honey whines. She’s praising Trevor and his unique ability to give her everything she’s craved in a partner, especially since Thomas destroyed her confidence the way he did. 

Trevor’s hips roll against Honey’s hip like they’re controlled by an external force. His fingers continue to fill her just right. He draws his lip into his mouth and his stunning, shining eyes lock in on her expression. “I love you,” he repeats, natural and easy like nothing else.

Flickers of recognition pass through his pupils. “Oh, fuck, I love you,” he repeats again, conscious and strangled and desperate and true.

Honey melts into his gasp, her chest heaving with a sob as her climax rearranges the atoms in her eyesight. Honey’s admission, which is slowly dawning on her, has taken all the tension from her body and sent it out into the universe like a flood.

Trevor’s trying to kiss her again.

Honey gulps and wiggles away from him.

Trevor doesn’t seem to notice how she’s inching towards the sliding door. His hands slip off of her hips for one second and Honey is gone.

That was not supposed to happen. The whole “I love you” thing was supposed to be a nonissue. That’s what she told herself when she thought it– and now that she’s said it… Honey’s head cannot stop racing with thoughts.

You know what? Maybe Trevor didn’t hear her.

Okay, that’s stupid. He replied. Twice. 

Maybe he didn’t realize it either.

No, that’s why he repeated it. 

This is terrible. This should’ve happened a year from now over some stupid, sentimental, and dry candlelit dinner that Trevor tried to cook in his California apartment. This should’ve happened while Honey was trying to stomach the food without being mean and make sure that the candles didn’t light the flowers on fire, and she would’ve distracted him by telling him that she loves him.

Honey hasn’t thought about this at all. It– ugh– it was a dream she had a few nights ago. It should be noted that she woke with a start, sitting up, and nearly had a heart attack when Trevor’s arm had tightened around her waist to keep her in place.

She bursts through her bedroom door, interrupting Jack and Bea’s conversation. Honey slams the door shut behind her and plasters herself to the cool wood. She can hold the door shut if Trevor tries to barge in.

Bea blinks at Honey. “You okay?”

“I told him I love him,” Honey announces. She fumbles for the doorhandle and turns the lock.

“I thought you were going to talk to him about Thomas,” Bea says incredulously.

“Yeah, I was, but then we started…” Honey tilts her head and makes a high-pitched humming noise in the back of her throat as an insinuation, then opens her mouth again. “And it just slipped out.”

“During?” Bea demands. “During?”

“Yes, during!” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack cuts in, sitting forward on the bed. “I’m lost. Who are we talking about?”

“Trevor!” Honey and Bea exclaim at the same time, both rounding on Jack in identical fashion. 

He flinches back and holds his hands up in surrender. “Geez, sorry, I didn’t know.” It takes a moment, but their shared word registers. “Wait, I’m sorry, you’re in love with Trevor?”

“What are you going to do?” Bea asks, waving a hand at Jack to silence him. 

“Hide out in here for the rest of the weekend, probably,” Honey answers. She might’ve reached a pitch that only dogs can hear, but Bea and Jack seem to be faring well enough.

“Okay, not to interrupt again, but you know Trevor’s been fucking random girls all summer, right?” Jack continues.

“Oh my God, no, he hasn’t,” Honey says. The jig is up now and she doesn’t have time for Jack’s well-meaning warnings and confused comments. She has bigger problems.

“Yes, he has,” Jack insists. “He’s on Raya, dude. We’ve been talking about it for weeks. He’s very open about it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bea scoffs. She faces Jack and puts her hand on his shoulder, looking deep into his eyes. “Jack, I love you dearly–”

Honey groans and covers her face with her hands.

“Sorry, Hon, I didn’t mean to trigger you.” Bea raises half of a hand-heart for Honey. “But, J, Trevor and Honey have been fucking for months. The Raya hookups were a cover.”

“What?” Jack looks at Honey, mouth open in surprise. He turns back to Bea. “And you knew? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Of course I didn’t tell you, no one knows!”

“What about Quinn?” Jack asks.

Bea relents. “Okay, Quinn knows. But Luke and Cole don’t know, so you have to shut up about it.”

Jack’s face turns from offended to slack and pale. “Oh, I’m not good at keeping secrets,” he says. Honey knows that– he’s said it before.

“I’ll give you two hundred dollars to keep your mouth shut,” Bea bargains.

Jack purses his lips. “Well, now, that’s an interesting point,” he muses. 

“Hey, hi,” Honey urges, waving her hand at the duo on the bed. “Can we get back to my problem now?”

“Honey, I wouldn’t, like, call it a problem, necessarily?” Bea says, but she’s stammering a little when she says it.

Honey scoffs and widens her eyes, feeling like she’s going crazy. “You haven’t said it back to Quinn!”

“You haven’t said it back to Quinn?” Jack demands. He covers his face with his hands. “Oh my God, I should’ve just gone to bed after hooking up with Trixie. This is so much drama.”

“It’s not drama!” Bea exclaims. “Did Trevor say it back?”

“Yes!” Honey reveals, shrugging. She raises a hand and gestures into the air. “So what?”

“So what?” Bea repeats. “You have nothing to worry about. He said he loves you, you said you love him.”

“Other way around,” Honey corrects.

Bea stares at Honey for a beat, then starts to laugh. “Semantics! Dude, who cares? You’re in love! I bet he’s on the other side of the door, waiting for you to let him in so he can say it again.”

“I am, actually,” comes Trevor’s muffled voice. Honey feels one of his fingers poke her heel from the crack under the door. “Can you let me in?”

Honey resists the urge to stomp on his finger. She groans, tilting her head back and crumpling her face. She doesn’t want to face Trevor right now, for two reasons. One: she’s not over saying “I love you.” and two, it’s embarrassing. She ran away from him. She whines, slightly annoyed with herself, as she turns to the door and unlocks it. She turns the handle and Trevor crashes into the room in a similar manner as Honey did.

He kicks the door shut and brings his palms to Honey’s jaw, cradling her face in his hands. He kisses her hard. He stays there, then pulls away.

“Jack’s here,” Honey says.

“Hi, Z,” Jack supplies. 

“I don’t care,” Trevor tells Honey. He lays kiss after kiss against her lips. He speaks between pecks. “I love you.” Peck. “Don’t run away.” Peck. “You said what I was getting ready to say, baby.” Peck. “I’m so glad you feel the same. I love you.”

Honey hums against his lips. “I love you, too,” she mumbles quietly. “I just–”

“Let me enjoy this for a second,” Trevor says, stopping her short. “Fuck, you make me happy.”

Honey relaxes with a little whimper, feeling a little wounded by how lovely he is. He’s so nice to her, even as wishy-washy as she’s been. He said he wasn’t going anywhere, even if he’s physically leaving at the end of the summer, and Honey is the one who’s constantly changing things up on Trevor. Ugh, how annoying. 

Jack hoots from the bed, interrupting their moment. Bea, at least, had the decency to stay silent with a big grin on her face.

Trevor pulls away from Honey and glares at Jack. “Dude, get out.”

“You should be thanking me, bro,” Jack says as he stands from the bed. “I’m the one who told Honey that you like her in the first place.”

“Not to be like that, either,” Bea jumps in. “But this is technically my bedroom, and I’m a little sleepy, so I think you guys might have to wrap it up. You can consummate your love when we get back to Litchton, if that’s okay with you.”

“Well, it’s not okay with me.” Trevor rolls his eyes. His hands are still on Honey, but resting on her waist instead of cupping her cheeks. “This is kind of a big deal for us.”

“And I so get that, Trev,” Bea continues, inflecting her voice like Alexis from Schitt’s Creek. “But, also, I’m not leaving so you can have sex in the bed that I’m sleeping in after you’re done. That’s like, not…”

Honey dips her forehead and laughs. She pats Trevor’s chest and pushes him back towards the door. “It’s okay, Trev. It’s late.”

Trevor holds onto her hand and brings it to his lips, pouting. Jack catches Trevor’s shirt and tugs him towards the door.

Honey can barely contain a coy smile. “I love you,” she mouths as Jack drags him away. She brings a hand to her mouth and blows a kiss in his direction.

Trevor smiles as wide as Honey has ever seen and allows himself to be pulled from the room, barely catching the handle and closing the door behind him.

Bea jumps from the bed onto Honey’s back and screeches in her ear. She hugs Honey in a partial headlock, arms locked on Honey until she can’t breathe.

“Okay, get off of me,” Honey chokes out, slamming Bea into the mattress. 

“This is so exciting,” Bea squeals. She hits Honey’s shoulder with each word. “Honey! This is so wonderful!”

“Can we just go to bed?” Honey asks, feeling her skin crawl a bit. Yes, everything is fine on paper, but another shoe has got to be on the precipice of dropping. 

“Yes, but I’m cuddling you all night to celebrate,” Bea agrees. She grabs Honey’s shoulders and shakes her until Honey feels like her eyes are about to pop out of her head. “Honey!”

“Shut up,” Honey groans. She buries herself under the covers, pulling the sheets over her head and disappearing into a lump.

“Are you so excited at least?” Bea aks, wrapping her arms around Honey’s middle and pressing her cheek into Honey’s back. 

Honey smiles into the pillow. “It’s exciting,” she admits.

Bea squeals again and squeezes Honey’s waist like a belt that’s too tight.

“Alright, that’s enough, stop it with the Heimlich,” Honey scolds, pinching Bea’s forearm. Her grip slackens after a moment. “You already threw up tonight, I don’t want to either.”

“Do you think you’re going to?”

Honey’s not sure. It is a little nauseating to have said what she said to Trevor, even if he received it well. She said it back again and she wants to keep saying it back, but it’s still weird. She’ll either throw up from being excited or from being so surprised that she told Trevor how she feels.

She buries her face in the pillow and screams.

77:90 – TREVOR

Trevor has been riding on a high since last night. He’d been hesitant to tell Honey how he felt, how he loved her, but after running into Thomas and seeing how she’d handled that so well, Trevor had thought that there was no better time than the present.

He’d been trying to build up to it. He was praising the girl and trying to fill her head with a bunch of pretty– and genuine– compliments so that she didn’t freak out when he uttered those three words.

She’d said it first. Honey had beat him to the punch by about one second, which surprised Trevor. Her statement hadn’t really computed in his brain until after he’d said his piece, which is when he’d felt so surprised that all he could do was repeat himself. 

It wasn’t surprising that Honey bolted after the fact. She’d been in an abject state of denial after calling Trevor her boyfriend by mistake the week prior, so it made sense that she was surprised and confused and frustrated with herself when she’d accidentally said “I love you.” Trevor knows Honey well enough to assume that she hadn’t meant to tell him that. He’d bet money on it.

It feels like a quick turnaround on paper, Trevor thinks. He’s never actually said “I love you” to anyone other than his family members and his closest friends, so he doesn’t know what the “right” time is. He’s known Honey for two and a half months now, but like she always says, mountain time passes differently. It feels more like he’s known her for five or six months. Quite frankly, Trevor has had feelings for Honey since he saw her outside of the grocery store on his first day in Litchton. He’s liked her since then and he can’t really pinpoint the moment that his admiration for Honey evolved into love, but it happened, and now they’re here. 

They’re one step closer to telling everyone, too. Jack knows, which isn’t ideal since everyone knows that the boy can’t keep a secret, but Trevor’s okay with that. Sure, he threatened Jack and made sure he wasn’t going to tell Cole or Luke, but he only did that to protect what Honey wants. She might be in love with Trevor, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready for everyone to know.

Which is why Trevor is managing to contain himself during their last trip to the beach this morning. Bea is skipping church because she’s on vacation, so everyone is together under the ocean sun for the last time this summer. 

Honey looks practically edible in her red swimsuit. She reminds him of the classic Baywatch, the original series that Trevor would sometimes catch replays of when he was young. Yasmine Bleeth might’ve been Trevor’s first awakening, the one who made him realize that girls are pretty. Honey is yet another reminder and Trevor is having trouble keeping his eyes away from her.

She’s standing at the edge of the water with Cole. Occasionally, one of them will pick up a rock or a shell and skip it against the waves. One of Cole’s shells hits Luke, who is bobbing in the waves and tossing a football with Jack. Honey laughs with her whole body, bending at the waist.

“Eyes off, Trevor,” Bea murmurs, reaching out to slap at Trevor’s arm. 

She’s lying next to him on her towel, back bared to the sky. The tie behind her back is undone to prevent an uneven tan, but Trevor thinks she has bigger problems to worry about. Quinn’s head is resting on the small of her back and his arm is wrapped around her body, palm flat on her hip. Talk about an uneven tan, Trevor thinks.

“Why?” he questions. “It’s not like anyone up here doesn’t know about it.”

Bea groans. “Because you’re being obvious. I know that you’re in love, or whatever, but Luke and Cole don’t know anything.”

“She looks hot,” Trevor argues. “Maybe I’m just ogling her because she’s sexy. Cole and Luke can’t argue with that.”

“Do you really want Cole and Luke to ask you why you’re looking at Honey like that?” Bea points out. “You’ll have to tell them she’s hot and then they’ll look at Honey like she’s hot.”

“And they’d be right to think that,” Trixie adds in a disinterested voice. She’s preoccupied with the stack of papers in one hand and the legal pad balanced on her knee. She waves her hair out of her face and looks at Trevor, tilting her head down to that she can meet his eyes above the rims of her sunglasses. “You’re lucky that she decided to date you.”

“I know,” Trevor replies, feeling like he has to defend himself against the sisters. He doesn’t take advantage of being Honey’s boyfriend, nor does he take her for granted. He knows that their relationship is still pretty fragile and new, even if they love each other. 

Bea hums, squinting at him. She seems to decide to take his word for it, because she changes the subject. “I gave Jack $200 to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s terrible,” Quinn mumbles. He picks his head up and turns to face the back of Bea’s head. “You don’t have to pay Jack to keep their secret.”

Bea shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’d rather pay him to stay silent than just have blind faith in him.”

Quinn snorts and kisses down Bea’s spine. “I think the world is lucky that you’re not in a position of power,” he comments. “If you’re so willing to resort to bribery.”

“What has Ada been teaching you at that store, Bea?” Trixie jumps in. “I hope you’re not bribing customers or your suppliers. I’d get so fired for bribing people.”

“We’re not allowed to bribe people either,” Quinn adds. “Although I bet Z would if he could. Anaheim sucks.”

“I would not,” Trevor refutes. He’s still fighting with the group and defending himself. They start laughing like it’s all some big joke, but his feathers are still ruffled. Trevor huffs and turns away from them, looking back at Honey and Cole. 

Cole has Honey thrown over his shoulder and he’s marching into the waves. She’s shrieking and Cole stumbles over the sandbar and sends them both tumbling into the waves. Honey surfaces with a sputter and pushes Cole into a wave, jumping onto him and holding him underwater. Luke and Jack get involved not long after.

The rest of the day passes far faster than Trevor would like. They eat cold cut sandwiches as a group for lunch. Jack gets far too sunburnt, despite Honey and Bea’s better efforts to convince him to wear sunscreen. He claimed he didn’t need it since he tans well, but his pink skin is proof that he doesn’t tan as well as he thinks he does.

In the afternoon, Trixie runs up to the house and gets a volleyball. They play beach volleyball without a net, instead drawing a line in the sand that marks the barriers of the game. They don’t keep track of who’s winning or who’s on what team. The game isn’t serious and there’s a boatload of cheating– Bea pushes Luke over while his head it turned towards the sky, despite being on the same team, and they all laugh about it. Jack puts Honey on his shoulders so she can block a hit from Trixie. The ball ends up hitting her straight in the chest and knocks the wind out of her. When they finally head up to the house in the early evening, Honey’s still got an imprint of the ball on her skin. She calls it her battle scar and compares it to the mark on Quinn’s cheek. Quinn tells Honey that hers will fade.

For dinner, they eat the burgers that Trevor had bought when they ran into Thomas. Trixie whips up a salad to go with the meal and they all eat at her dining room table.

After dinner, they pack and divide into cars. Honey, Bea, and Quinn take Quinn’s rental car back. Trevor, Jack, Luke, and Cole are relegated to the other car. They speed home, losing Quinn’s car within the second hour, once they pass Raleigh. Cole falls asleep halfway through the drive and doesn’t wake up until they get back to Litchton. 

One of Honey’s favorite songs starts to play from Trevor’s liked songs as they turn onto the main road. He closes his eyes and leans back against the headrest. Jack has the windows rolled down and the air smells clearer up here. 

Trevor can’t imagine driving down this mountain in two weeks, knowing that he won’t be back until next year.

[barblaz-arts]

Thank you for taking my ask so seriously!!!! A lot of people would have just said no and move on, but now you've activated my secret infodumping card >:3

First of all, I went through the notes and I promise you the comic isn't as angsty as the premise makes it out to be. A very central theme is friendship, and connection, and how relationships can save us even in the worst times. These guys are already dead and they're finding time to have group hugs and blood pacts <3 they're so stupid n I care them a lot 💖💖💖💖

And all the characters have such fun designs!!! They're all very distinct and full of personality, with very fun interactions, and I genuinely think you'd have a blast putting those beasts in situation. Since their personalities are so unique the fandom (me) looooves making silly little aus where they can do whatever and not. Yk. Fight for their lives.

The art is great and the whole world building with the spectre forms (kind of similar to the full demon forms from hazbin) are genuinely so cool and so fun to speculate about, and wonder what else is going on in the very vast world of the story.

But, ultimately, the best part is the lead romance. And girl. If you like couples who are devoted to each other Annabel Lee and Lenore are the best thing to ever happened. That devoted that's leaning into "Oh there might be something toxic goin on here!!!!" They have burnt down houses, trapped friends in walls, and almost fell of balconies for the other. Absolutely bonkers bananas.

They're honestly what makes the comic so if you think they're not your style idk if it's going to be an enjoyable experience. There's also some bloody scenes (ex: someone's eye getting scarred) but they never get gory, and some heavier themes (esp madness and the condition of women in the early 1900s).

Soooooo idk. I'm mostly sending this ask bc I love being in the same fandoms as you and hearing your takes :D

I mean, both my hyperfixations are on hiatus rn and there aren't lot of content for them anymore, so why not? I could try other media while im waiting.

Ngl the toxic element im hearing about the romance isn't pulling me in all that much cuz I'm not a big fan of that. I'm more for wholesome shit. But the plot itself does interest me. Especially the spectres. I love seeing transformations.

And im fine with gore so long as it isn't straight up, idk, torture porn. I've ended up seeing some nasty shit because of previous hyperfixations lmao the most violent media I got into was this game called Corpse Party when I was a teen(if you dont know it, it's fine. Ur probably better off. But in denial baby gay me was obsessed bcuz of the yuri) so yeh I'm fine with a little violence

Thank you tho! It's one thing to be liked for my art or fic, but to have my insight valued too means a lot! I can't promise if or when I'll check it out, cuz i dont wanna get anyone's hopes up, but I'm not gonna write it off. It does genuinely seem interesting.

[solacescastleglow]

You're Not Lazy, You're: A Daydreamer

So, you're addicted to daydreaming, to the point where you're putting aside important real life things in favour of talking to yourself. You're sitting there, watching life pass you by, desperately trying to fill the void with people you made up in your head. Your outer life is starting to look less and less like how you thought it would be, and the worst part is, there's nothing and no one to blame.

I've been there. In fact, when I was 12, it was so bad I literally didn't care at all about my family, I had no friends, and my grades were abysmal, but I was convinced I would be fine because 'at least I have my mind'. What I didn't realise was that I had lost control of even that. Now I still daydream, but I've become much more able to cope, and I can work around it to the point it no longer affects my day-to-day life. What was maladaptive daydreaming has become immersive daydreaming. If you're in the same situation, here are a few tips to get out of that hole for good.

(Remember, this is much easier said than done, so don't feel bad if this doesn't start helping right away. Also, this is not a substitute for therapy.)

Less daydreaming

1. Eliminating the need

I'm gonna be honest, this is the hardest part. Your daydreaming came about for a reason; it's kept you alive and safe for all this time. Daydreaming is a coping mechanism. The problem comes when it becomes your only or primary coping mechanism, and your comfort zone becomes so small that you're using it all the time. Start with the negative things in your life that caused you to start daydreaming. What are they? How can they be mitigated or resolved? What are some other coping tools you can use to get through them? For me, a big part of the reason was unchangeable (untreatable illness), but some of it could have something done about it. I started medication for my mental health, switched schools, went to therapy. Am I cured? No. Did it take a long time? Yes. But was it worth it? Absolutely.

2. Attention span and comfort zone work

Now that your negative situation is ameliorated, it's time to work on getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. When you don't daydream after a certain amount of time or coming across a trigger, you start to get restless and irritable. You're, unfortunately, just going to have to sit in that emotion for a little bit. Just 5 minutes. If the trigger is media or a conversation topic, try your absolute hardest not to let your mind wander. After that 5 minutes or when the conversation is over, you can excuse yourself to go daydream. Doing this repeatedly will slowly make your brain able to go longer between daydreaming sessions, which means you can function better in your outer life.

3. Don't limit daydreaming, expand your outer life

If you're anything like me, the thought of stopping completely makes you panic. This isn't a great sign overall, but if you feel terrible whenever you don't escape, it disincentivises you from living your life. Instead, start surrounding yourself with people: spending every evening with your housemates, having an accountability partner for work, going on walks in public. The self consciousness alone is usually enough for me to not daydream, so basically I'm just giving myself less time to drift off. Bonus points if it's an activity that gets you where you want or need to go.

4. Grounding

I know, I know. It's uncomfortable when you know that's what you're doing. I personally hate the 54321 method. But you know what does work for me? This one TikTok (I can't find it) where the lady in the video tells you to look at the corner of the screen and tell what time it is, then asks questions like 'what's to the left of the screen?' and 'what are you wearing?' That snaps me right back to the present. The moment you notice yourself drifting off, look at a clock. Then look down at what you're wearing. Then take a second to describe what you're seeing to yourself and do some kind of tactile stimulation (rubbing your hands together or tapping your lap, for example).

More doing

1. Life direction audit

Your daydreams are clues to what you want out of life. Use them to guide how you want your outer life to go:

How does daydreaming make you feel? How can you emulate that without daydreaming?

Related to your daydream self's career, how does it make you feel to think of yourself getting paid to do that in your outer life? What steps can you take to get yourself there, or closer to it?

What can you do to cultivate friendships that are meaningful to you on the same level as your daydream friends? If you have outer friends, what's the most realistic scenario that would play out if you said, "I need more (support/connection/in-person time) out of this relationship"?

Are there any significant personal differences between your daydream self and your outer self? Are you a different gender, do you have a different style of dress, do you have any skills or hobbies you don't actually have? Is there anything that you would do, if only you had the [time/money/energy/certainty that this is the right thing to do/ability to get through hard things]?

Based on what you've written down, make a 10 year plan, then from that a 5 year plan, then from that a 1 year plan. Once you have your yearly plan you have options: split it up into quarters, months, weeks, or some other way. Either way, eventually you'll want to get it down to what you can do on a daily or even hourly basis to make your daydream self your reality.

2. Do it daydreaming, but do it

Now, do it. Sounds way easier than it is, but when I say do it, I mean do it any way you can. Do it upset, complaining, bored, frustrated, scared, badly, adapted to fit your abilities, in a way other people think is weird, crying the whole time, late, embarrassed, inconsistently, from your bed. Do it partway, then decide you want something else out of life. Do it when it's easy, and if you really want it, do it when it's hardest. Do something similar to it if what you want is unattainable. You can even do it with one foot in your daydream world.

As long as you're trying to do what makes you happy (and I mean the real kind of happy, not the kind that's always tinged with the grief that it's all in your head), any amount of effort you put into it is worthwhile.

3. Incentives

I was going to say to follow your plan and not your mood, but that's really hard. What you need is to find a way to make yourself follow that plan happily. For me, that's setting difficult monthly challenges for myself and getting rewards if I complete them. The challenge makes me want to do it because I want to prove my inner critic wrong. Do whatever works for you, because even if it sounds silly, it's not silly if it works.

4. Check ins

Every so often, re-evaluate where you're going. I know I just said to do it bored and frustrated, but if the whole thing is boring and frustrating and there are no upsides, don't keep at it. Check that you're actually happy with the direction your life is going.

---

And that's all I have for you. Remember, daydreaming can still be a healthy part of your life, it's the inability to stop it that's the problem. You can learn to balance it. I believe in you.

[hylianane]

A big part of the Haikyuu rewatch is watching the characters interact and worrying that I fandomized their relationships too much in my head, particularly with the Karasuno first years because Hinata and Kags keep Yamaguchi and Tsukishima at arm’s length for so long. But then I remember. Oh wait the squad is literally Hinata’s phone background by the end of the story. You don’t put a picture of just some dudes in your after school club as your phone background.

[asinasura]

finally got all achievements,,,,, uuahhhhhggghhhhh

[forcebookish]

i need a new strategy for like, cleaning my room and doing yoga and reading and leaving the house. the adhd has reached mythic levels of bad. i have the thought, "i should do X," and then i won't move. i make a to-do list and i won't do anything on it. i queue up a yoga practice and i won't do it. i stare at my room and get stressed out about how cluttered it is. i write 3000 words of notes for a fic i don't even know if i'm going to write. i think and i think and i think about my OCs and they won't let me write them. i spend hours looking at stuff i can't buy. i take like an hour to write this.

[fandom-fae]

honestly. on one hand. i really really really like the version of peter pan from once upon a time, in the way that the actor does a phenomenal job, the character has great dialogue and is just overall really really enjoyable to watch imo. but then i remember how he kept wendy in a cage for like 300 years and like

i stan him but that is so. AGSJDHJDHDJ. like i feel SO BAD for wendy there. this poor girl honestlyyy. like. that’s so disturbing honestly. like i can’t imagine much things that would mess with someone’s psyche more than that. like if he had just kept her on the island then fine, but constantly in that tiny hanging cage??? big OOF.

like i’m sure she’d need like permanent therapy afterwards and even then how would you even begin to unpack that in therapy???? like??????