#but i hope all of u waiting for it when it drop have fun and put lots of content on my dash in the morning heheh
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never even noticed the comparison before but it is somewhat insane from a solavellan perspective how solas is maybe the only other (living) person who can understand the inquisitor's hardships irt being incorrectly mythologized as a godlike figure. i mean thats the crux of his entire arc lol ! solas swears up and down that hes not a god and look where that got him. the inquisitor swears up and down theyre not the herald and look where that got them. idk. its such an obvious comparison really but it never clicked until now. and like damb. talk about a freak well and truly matched
#going 2 bed soon bc i am too employed to be as insane abt this as i want to :(#but i hope all of u waiting for it when it drop have fun and put lots of content on my dash in the morning heheh#man.... if alix wilton reagan was implying aomething in that last reblog of mine and that something turns out to be#an inquisitor cameo.... ft solas....... well. its not going to happen. but if it DID. i may have to call in sick tomorrow lol
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pretty minor thing to think about, but i find it interesting how chapter 7 is the first chapter illustration to show chizuutan as chizuru (instead of chuutan)






like, i get itâs a flashback chapter, but we hardly got to see her as chizuru in the previous few chapters thus far⊠maybe weâll get to see more of her as her true self after the hiyori fight/make up? only future chapters may tell, i guessâŠ
#thereâs like 5 weeks to go till chapter 6 is released into the rest of the world and i m n o t r e a d yâ#man. chapter 5 still manages to ruin my mood no matter how many times i read it⊠man.#i was having so much fun with renren and concon and the 3 stooges and th e n.#imagine putting on a (somewhat) perfect/cute act to hide your true self because you know youâre unlovable the way you are#but then someone else runs along and screws up every step of the way without putting on any airs and is adored for it anywayâŠ#i imagine chapter 6 will be much worse. especially since the start of the flashback begins thereâŠ#i sincerely hope the flashback ends in chapter 7 bc aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa#though. considering where we are now in the series. i think thereâs a chance that vol 2 will come out at the end of december#ch 8 will prolly start to drop somewhere around the later half of november so it seems about rightâŠ#b u t if thereâs the preorder bonus manga for vol 2 in dec can we have santa girl chuutan in it p l sâ#i think weâll need an incredibly cute bonus feature to lift the mood from whatever the heckâs going on with vol 2âs chapters#bc. idk. im sensing some self hatred with this one chizuchan⊠itâs as though she can only love herself if sheâs dolled up as chuutanâŠ#like. even in her aizo self-insert delusions sheâs thinking of herself as chuutan⊠maybe im reading too much into this. hm.#but then again she even puts on makeup when sheâs at home in her own roomâŠ#w a i t a sec what if this wack behaviour only came about bc of whatâs about to be revealed in the flashbacks. wait. no. w h a t ifâ#i hope manga chizuchan will be able to love herself properly soon⊠we all love you chizuchan~~~~~~~~~~#this. too. is our oshi noâ#dammit why is something set in the same universe as the [redacted] anime making me feel things??? i hate itttttttttt#anyways. wh. what if one of the h10w turns out to be an anime adaptation of the chizuchan manga#and theyâre just waiting on. like. the final vol to announce it.#itâd make the most sense for an anime series at this point⊠since chizuchan is marketable and itâs set in the same anime verse#so thereâs no inconsistencies to retcon and suchâŠ#but!!!! most importantly!!!!!! weâd be able to see animated renren and concon!!!!!!!#âŠbut something like this will only appear in my delusions huh~~~~~~~~~~~~~~#mousou dake no kawaikute gomen anime#ok thatâs enough thinking for the day; back to kimikawaii mv g o o d b y e~~~~#chizuutan chizpost
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fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.
word count: 13.6k
warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but itâs (say it with me) for the plot!!!
a/n: i know itâs been a LONG time since iâve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope itâs at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)
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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steveâs.
He picks up on the third ring. âHello?â
âHey, Steve.â
âHi,â you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, âwhatâs going on?â
Youâre not quite sure where to start.
Coming home from work earlier, youâd been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.
The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartmentâone in the basement of a sweet, older coupleâs house who just never used the space and converted itâthe carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.
You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.
You donât know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.
Unfortunately, it wasnât.
The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. Theyâd both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasnât their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle âweâll take care of it, sweetie.â
You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.
Itâs an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasnât so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?
Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.
Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, youâre on the phone with the one person youâd known would pick up.
You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, âShit.â
âYeah, shit,â you agree. âAnd now Iâm gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I donât know how Iâm gonna go back into that house, Steve.â
If youâre being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose thatâs one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.
âJust come live with me, instead,â he offers without hesitation.
Steve says it like itâs obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since youâve slept over at the Harringtonâs house countless times before. Only, this is different because youâd be staying for a while, because youâd be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.
Heâs been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and youâre one hundred percent sure youâd offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesnât make it any easier for you to accept, not when youâre already frazzled from the events of the day.
âNo, Steve, Iâm sorry Iâm just being dramatic,â you say, twisting the phoneâs cord around your finger. âIâll be fine, really. Itâs just a month, or so, and I donât wanna be in your way or-â
âWhen have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?â The pet name heâs called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. âBesides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents wonât be around to care, either.â
âI canât ask you to let me move in, Steve.â
âWell then, itâs a good thing youâre not asking. Iâm offering. Itâll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. Itâs perfect!â
Thereâs a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory heâs talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.
You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he canât be bothered to hold himself up, like thereâs constantly a weight on him.
âAre you sure about this, Steve? Itâs really okay if youâre not. I swear Iâll be fine.â
âAs if Iâm letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parentâs house. Youâre staying with me, alright?â His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that heâs being honest, that he means it. âWeâll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, âkay?â
âYou can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.â
âDon't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,â he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. âSo, youâre living with me, yeah?â
You donât think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.
âYeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.â
âNone of that. I know youâd do the same.â
Thereâs something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where youâve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. Thereâs no questioning whether or not youâd be there for each other if you were in need.
Itâs known, felt. Like a fact.
âNow,â he continues, âIâll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.â
âOkay.â
âYou need me to bring boxes for your stuff?â
âIâm not sure how much is worth keeping. Itâs pretty ugly in there.â
Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. Youâll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you donât have money for right now.
But, you havenât let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.
âIâll bring some anyway, then. Weâll figure it out, angel, donât worry.â
âThanks again, Steve. See you soon.â
âTen minutes,â he assures you, then the line clicks.
-
True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isnât surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.
Youâre sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steveâs BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.
His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, âYou okay?â
The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that youâve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, âGuess so,â you nod. âMaybe ask me again after all of this?â
Steveâs arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. âIâve got you. Weâll get through this, angel.â
Weâll, he says. A team.
You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.
âI hope you didnât wear your good shoes for this,â you say.
Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, âShoes can be replaced.â
He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though youâd seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think itâll just make it all more real.
He mouths the word âfuckâ while you arenât looking, then claps his hands once. âOkay, letâs figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?â
Youâre grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. âMaybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.â
ââKay. Iâll just go grab some boxes from my car,â Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. âIâll be right back.â
You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.
Youâre opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.
Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that heâs there, youâre glad for it.
Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least itâs only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.
Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that itâd be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save whatâs there.
Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroomâs doorway to look at you and make sure youâre doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.
Youâre not sure how youâd be managing this if you were alone, and youâre thankful that you donât have to.
The next time he checks on you, youâre by your nightstand.
Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the pictureâs stained with water and the frame youâd decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.
Where yours and Steveâs handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the markerâs colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.
Before you can stop yourself, youâre tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture thatâs sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.
âHey, angel?â Steve calls.
When all you do is sniffle and mumble an âmhm?â in response, he sets the box heâd been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.
He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.
âIt was my favorite one,â you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.
Although itâs soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where youâve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and youâre both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.
Steveâs clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and youâve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.
It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.
Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.
âWe can fix it,â he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.
âBut the frame-â
âWeâll fix it, angel. Iâll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.â
âSteve-â
âLook at me,â he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. âThis fucking sucks, I know it does, but youâre strong and Iâm here, and we can handle this.â
His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what heâs saying, and he really believes in you.
âThank you for being here.â You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. âIâm sorry for crying. I know itâs kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, itâs just-â
âItâs not stupid,â he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. âYouâre allowed to cry. Hell, Iâd probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.â
You laugh wetly into his shirt.
âNow,â he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, âthe quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. Iâll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.â
A smile tugs at your mouth. âDeal.â
-
Steve wouldnât let you do much of the work after that.
Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where youâd been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a âyes,â or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a âno.â
Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steveâs carâwhich wasnât a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.
Youâd refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.
By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like youâd lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.
Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when itâs time to fill the silence and when it isnât, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.
He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.
You were no stranger to the Harringtonâs house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing youâll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.
Steve, however, doesnât let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. âHoney, weâre home!â
âDork,â you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.
Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.
The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesnât even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.
It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide youâll deal with them later.
Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that youâd left there, and hands them to you. âI figured youâd wanna wash up.â
âYou calling me smelly, Harrington?â
âShut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.â
âHey!â
âIâm teasing, angel.â He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. âYou know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?â
You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.
Itâs funny, youâve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasnât said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when youâre in it. Thereâs a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when itâs not around.
You nod, âThank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I wonât be in the way, promise.â
âI want you in the way. You know youâre always welcome. This is no different.â He shrugs, âPlus, itâll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when itâs just me.â
âMaybe Iâll just stay forever, then,â you say, tone light and joking.
Steve, completely serious, says, âIâd let you.â
Thereâs a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something youâve never feltâor noticed, ratherâaround him. It throws you off just a little.
âAnyways,â Steve cuts your thoughts short, âIâll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when youâre done.â
He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.
Youâve been to his house a million times, so you donât really feel the need to âget settledâ but you desperately need a shower so thatâs where you go.
You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.
When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steveâs sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.
Itâs the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.
-
Youâve been staying at Steveâs for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when youâre there, especially when youâre around him.
Heâs taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. Youâve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where youâd done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.
Itâs been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.
This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, heâd even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasnât out of his way at all.
After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.
Eventually, youâd taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.
You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.
Though you havenât worked together in years, and he isnât far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where youâre simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.
If Steve were with you, heâd make stupid jokes that you donât wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever youâre cleaning.
Heâd probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.
You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.
Thatâs it.
Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isnât feeling too different from you.
Heâs spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever heâd come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robinâs been manning the desk.
Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.
Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (youâd told him he could tell her, because sheâs your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how youâd ended up staying with him in his house.
She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isnât very good at hiding things.
âWhat?â Steve asks.
âNothing.â When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, âWell⊠are you sure thatâs a good idea?â
Now, Robin is one of Steveâs closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesnât want to see anyone hurt.
She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, itâs clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesnât even know it.
When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldnât be filled by anyone else.
He would say itâs that of âbest friendâ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks heâs an absolute dingus, sheâs trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.
Clearly, itâs taking fucking forever.
He looks confused at her question, âWhy wouldnât it be a good idea?â
Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, âYou know what they say: become friends with your roommates, donât become roommates with your friends.â
âWhoever they are, theyâre dumb as shit,â Steve says. âSheâs been over, slept over, hundreds of times. Itâs not any different, just longer.â
âI guess so,â she settles on. âThe rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.â
âThatâs because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.â
âHow would you know? Itâs not like youâve ever tried following them.â
ââCause Iâm a rule breaker, Robs.â
Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair heâs sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.
âDonât think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.â
-
That night, your routine was pretty much the same.
Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.
Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. Theyâd met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.
Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.
After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldnât even remember already), theyâd assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.
You probably wouldâve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, youâd squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.
Steveâs hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.
He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they wouldâve found a way to blame you for it.
You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didnât know exactly what it felt like beforehand.
After giving the couple Steveâs phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.
Home, you call it. Like itâs yours.
Sometimes it feels like it is.
Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, youâre back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie heâs brought back this time.
âGremlins?â You ask, smiling and shaking your head.
âHell yeah, angel. Itâs a classic.â
Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing âplayâ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.
âSo, how was work?â Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. Itâs why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.
âWeekdays are so boring, Steve,â you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. âYouâre so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.â
âRobin is a pain in my ass.â He says. He doesnât really mean it, because even when she is, heâs glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. âShe kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. Thereâs probably a dent in the desk.â
âThatâs because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.â
âWhat the fuck!â Steveâs smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. âYouâre supposed to be on my side.â
Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. Itâs contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.
Shrugging, you say, âI donât know, Iâd wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.â
âYouâd spin me too much. Iâd get sick all over you and then nobodyâs happy.â
âDonât talk about barf while Iâm eating, Harrington.â
You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesnât even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.
When the bowlâs empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.
Itâs a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes youâre asleep. Youâd been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.
That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.
He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldnât be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.
Steve, though he doesnât let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.
Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.
âHey, angel,â he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. âCâmon, letâs get you to bed.â
Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. âHmm?â
âYou fell asleep.â
âOh, sorry,â you mumble.
Steve laughs softly. âDonât be sorry, I just didnât want you to be uncomfortable.â
The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.
You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steveâs being. As if you havenât fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.
Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small âCareful.â
He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to whatâs become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.
Tomorrow, youâll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you donât feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.
Youâre practically asleep again by the time youâre settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.
Youâre just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft âGoodnight, angelâ against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.
-
On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.
âWe should go shopping,â he says when you walk into the kitchen. Itâs a little later in the morning, having slept in since itâs a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.
You raise your eyebrows at him. âLike, groceries?â
âNo, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?â
You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that youâre looking.
You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. âYou literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.â
âThatâs what theyâre there for!â The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. âYou need new clothes,â he continues, âand I need to get out of this house.â
âWe can do something else, Steve,â you say. âI thought you hated shopping.â
âWell, I donât hate you.â Thereâs a pause, Steveâs eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didnât notice, because even heâs not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. âPlus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really canât stand for that, can I?â
âOhhh,â you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, âso you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?â
âExactly. Weâll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?â
So thatâs how youâd ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.
He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.
Youâre a couple of stores in, and Steveâs been complaint-free so farâwhich makes sense, since this was his idea, but youâve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know heâs got some remarks in his head he just hasnât said out loudâand follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you canât imagine that this is any fun for him.
âHow about that one?â Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the storeâs wall.
Heâd seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what youâd lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.
He knows you. He cares enough to know you.
âYeah, thatâs really pretty, actually,â you admit.
At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things heâd already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was âtoo hard to browse with your hands full.â
After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steveâs holding. âYou can wait out here, Iâll be quick.â
âHold on,â he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. âWhy do you think Iâm here, angel? I wanna help you pick.â
âSeriously?â
âYes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?â
âOh my God,â you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.
Theyâre hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.
âHi there,â an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know itâs a practiced one. Customer service smile. âHow many you got there, darling?â
âOh, um,â you turn back towards Steve, whoâs counting the hangers in his hand. âFive.â
âPerfect!â The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, âYour man can have a seat right here. We call them the âboyfriend benches.ââ
âHeâs not my-â
âThanks,â Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didnât want you to correct her.
Did he⊠like the idea of being your boyfriend?
Fuck. No. He just didnât want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. Thatâs all.
The redhead smiles again, âHoller if you need anything,â she says before walking off.
You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?
âCome on,â Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. âShow me what youâve got.â
âI can't believe youâre making me do this,â you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.
You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that itâs not scratchy on your skin. Then, thereâs just some basic t-shirts that arenât all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.
Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.
It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You donât always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you donât hate what you see.
You actually like it.
âWell?â Steve calls softly from the bench.
In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.
Steveâs seen you in plenty of dressesâhell, you went to prom togetherâbut for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe itâs simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way youâre smiling shyly as he looks you over.
Or, maybe itâs because heâs the one who picked it.
He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he canât take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isnât very big, so with both of you in it, youâre standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steveâs eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.
As if he canât help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.
âYou look beautiful,â he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadnât meant it to slip out that way. It sounded⊠more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. âI have great taste. Clearly.â
You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. âYeah. Donât let it get to your head.â You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steveâs arm. âSteve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?â
You probably shouldâve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, âI didnât know!â
âOkay, Iâm gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.â
âWeâre not stealing.â
âI know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and donât buy something. Trust me.â
You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.
Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.
Heâs just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.
âFor you,â he says, holding out the bag for you to take.
âSteveâŠâ You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. âYou didnât have to do that. I wouldâve been fine with something from the Gap.â
âI know that,â he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. Itâs a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. âI wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.â
Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you donât think youâve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.
You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. Theyâre so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesnât have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.
Heâs the sweetest boy youâve ever known.
âWell,â you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. âThank you, Steve. This is really nice.â
His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. âYouâre welcome, angel.â
You donât buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each otherâs baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.
Itâs the best day youâve had in a while.
-
You donât think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (âI donât even pay rent, and I live here all the time.â)
But, this morning, youâve decided youâre gonna try.
Steveâs favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. Heâd told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that heâd have the kitchen table to himself.
Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. Theyâd ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.
So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.
You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steveâs usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.
Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheelerâs and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. Sheâd directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.
By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, youâve already made the batter and set out the toppingsâberries, maple syrup, whipped creamâlike a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as youâre swearing at the waffle maker.
âStupid fucking thing,â you mutter, trying to open it.
Steve smiles to himself before saying, âMorning, angel.â
You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.
Steveâs still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And heâs shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. Heâs got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.
Youâve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.
The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.
You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. âIâm making breakfast. Coffeeâs already in the pot, too.â
He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread youâve prepared, âWaffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?â
âJust wanted to do something nice for you,â you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. âTo thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-â
âHow many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?â He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. âI like having you around.â
âSo you donât want the waffles then?â
âOh, I want the waffles. I just donât want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. Itâs not some debt youâll owe me, angel.â
âWant you to know I appreciate you is all,â you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.
Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, âI appreciate you, too.â
Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.
And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.
Your cheek still tingles from where heâd kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like heâs still remembering exactly how it felt, too.
You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steveâs got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and youâve got your berries on the side the way you always do.
Neither of you work until later in the day, and itâs nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be âcoolerâ in school (heâd told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). Youâd told him he was going soft with age.
You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says âif you have time to lean, you have time to cleanâ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each otherâs impressions of him.
What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.
You wonder what itâll be like when you have to leave. When youâre living alone again.
Logically, you know youâll still see Steve frequently, because heâs your favorite person and you canât remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, itâll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.
Youâll miss it, you think.
Trying not to dwell on something thatâs still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.
He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.
Then, he teases you, âThese are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.â
You kick his leg under the table. âThatâs a funny way of saying âthank you,â Harrington.â
He kicks you back, much gentler than youâd been. âThank you.â
âThatâs what I thought.â
When you look at him, thereâs an easy, boyish smile on his face.
A similar one stretches across your own lips.
-
Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he shouldâve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.
And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he canât lie and say that he isnât glad that youâve ended up sharing his space.
The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.
He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like itâs him. For everything youâve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever youâd cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.
Even when youâre not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until youâre fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.
He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasnât seen you cry since, or even bring it up, heâs decided he wants to fix it. Heâd told you he would.
Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steveâs room for his copy of that same picture.
When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, heâs glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasnât always all bad.
Steve probably shouldâve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (âDude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.â âI was four!â)
He hopes itâll be worth it.
Dustin was the one who found the picture theyâd been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steveâs face as if theyâd been racing.
Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasnât too difficult, âcause Steveâs writing still isnât that neat), heâs waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.
Heâd picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so heâd taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.
Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows youâre done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later youâre walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.
His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.
He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. âI have something for you.â
âSteve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.â
âThis thing was free, so you canât even be mad,â he says, smiling almost sheepishly.
Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks⊠nervous.
Steveâs never nervous around you.
âOkay,â you say, shuffling on your feet. âWhat is it?â
âHere,â he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. âOpen it.â
You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isnât your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.
What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.
Itâs your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, itâs not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.
When you look back up at him, heâs already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.
Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. âThank you,â you say into his skin.
Steveâs arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.
âItâs not perfect,â he says. âBut I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.â
âSteve. Shut up. It is perfect.â
âIâm glad you think so,â he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.
You hug for what couldâve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. Youâre not sure if itâs still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you donât care at the moment.
This is probably the nicest thing anyoneâs done for you in a long, long time.
When you finally do pull away, you donât go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steveâs hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.
âIâm keeping it forever,â you tell him.
âYou sure?â he asks.
âCertain. Youâll always be my best friend, Steve.â
âYouâll always be mine too, angel.â
Then, your eyes both move to each otherâs lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.
Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupidâs bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that canât be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.
Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.
He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but heâs too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.
âWhat are you in the mood for tonight?â he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. âI brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.â
âMmm,â he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. âHorror. Unless youâre too scared?â
âYouâll just have to hold my hand, then, wonât you?â
âI guess I will.â
You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.
His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when heâs scared.
-
Youâre having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.
You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long youâre open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.
Youâd think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow youâd be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You canât quite remember what happened, only that youâd been yelling for Steve and he wasnât there.
Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you donât bump into anything.
Just as youâre pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.
âHoly shit,â he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. âI thought you were a ghost or something just now.â
You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that heâs distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.
âI feel like I should be offended right now,â you say, âif you think I look like a ghost.â
âShut up,â he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. âMy eyes arenât awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.â
You shake your head, though thereâs a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, âCouldnât sleep?â
He shakes his head. âBeen tossing and turning. Just canât get comfortable, then I got pissed âcause I couldnât get comfortable and only made it worse.â
âYou would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.â
He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. âWhy do you know everything? Spying on me?â
âHate to say it, but youâre getting predictable, Harrington.â You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. âI know you too well.â
He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.
Fitting, he thinks. Youâre his angel, after all.
âYeah, you do,â he agrees. Then, âWhat about you? Whyâre you up?â
âNightmare. Been forever since I had one.â
âYou okay?â he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.
âYeah,â you say, skin tingling where heâd touched you. âI can't even remember most of it, but now my brain wonât let me sleep.â
Steve wishes he couldâve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. Itâs silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.
He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.
So, he blurts, âWhy donât you sleep over?â
You furrow your brows at him, âUm, Iâve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.â
âNo, I mean, like in my room with me,â he says, suddenly shy at the idea. Heâs grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. âA proper sleepover.â
Youâve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, âOkay.â
Steveâs eyes widen like heâs surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, âCâmon.â
Soon enough, Steveâs lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.
You blame sleepinessâor, maybe, the lack thereofâfor the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.
He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.
His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.
âGoodnight, angel,â he says into your hair.
Your hand splays itself on top of his. âNight, Steve.â
And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesnât feel like much of a battle anymore.
-
You wake up the most rested youâve felt in a while. Thereâs warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.
Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than youâd been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.
Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.
Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.
Steve hasnât woken up yet, you donât think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like heâs fighting to keep you close.
As if youâd go anywhere even in your sleep.
His knee is tucked between your legs, and youâre quickly realizing that itâd be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. Youâre completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.
In his sleep, Steveâs mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.
It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that donât make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. Heâs met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.
âSteve? You awake?â you ask, checking.
âMhm,â he hums.
Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so thereâs space between you. âFuck. Sorry.â
âItâs okay,â you say. Because he canât control the way his body reacts while heâs asleep.
âI didnât think-â he cuts himself off, because heâs not quite sure how to say I didnât think about the whole morning wood factor or that Iâd fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, âIâm sorry.â
You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand thatâs now laying between you.
âItâs okay, really,â you say. âItâs, like, anatomy. Youâre human, Steve.â
âI donât want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,â he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.
âI donât think that at all,â you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. âWeâve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything Iâm surprised this hasnât happened already.â
âOh my God,â he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.
âSteve,â you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way heâs acting. Heâs got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesnât reflect the things you heard about him in high school. Heâs changed a lot since then. âItâs seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.â
Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.
He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after youâve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.
Itâs during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. Youâre sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and theyâd be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. Heâs already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.
You know Steve, could tell what heâs feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one youâve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.
Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.
âWhat if we didnât forget about it?â he says. Quiet and scratchy.
You donât have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. âWhat would that mean?â
Steve doesnât answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.
You donât.
Instead, the hand of yours that isnât still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.
It isnât as tentative now that youâve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morningâs haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.
Youâre simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.
Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.
Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze buttonâand you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits itâbefore diving back into you.
You feel hot all over, where one of Steveâs hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.
Itâs so good, youâre almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.
You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his âlast tardy warningâ from Keith.
Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, âbye, angel,â on his way out. His hairâs still a mess from your fingers, and he doesnât even seem to mind.
You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like youâre searching for physical proof that everything was real.
What the fuck just happened?
-
Itâs been a couple of weeks, and Steve canât stop thinking about that kiss. He doesnât know it, but you canât stop thinking about it either.
Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.
You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and itâd be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldnât that be something close to perfect?
You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steveâs, you realize that youâve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as datesâthe movies, lunch or dinnerâyou cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and youâve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.
You havenât brought it up with Steve because you havenât even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and youâd like to have a better idea of whatâs going on in your own head before asking him about his.
Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. Heâs in love with you.
Heâs pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.
It hadnât come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions youâve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.
Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where heâd practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed âthank youâ before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.
Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?
Steve canât answer those questions. He canât say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesnât think heâll ever come back from it.
Youâre his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl heâs ever seen, and he canât picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.
Heâs fucking terrified of losing you, but heâs also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.
So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddieâs trailer.
Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, âoh, hey Harrington. More weed?â
âNo, shut up. I need your help.â
âYou,â Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, âneed my help for something? Are you ill?â
âOkay,â Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.
âCome on,â Eddie laughs, âIâm just joking. Whatâs up?â
Soon enough, Steveâs sitting on Eddieâs couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.
âBasically Iâm in love with her and I have no clue what to do,â Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.
Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, âYou know Iâve never dated anyone in my life, right?â
Steve groans into his hands, âWhy do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.â
Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. âHave you ever thought of, I donât know, telling her how you feel?â
Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. âOf course I have, but Iâm fuckinâ scared.â
âWhatâs the worst that could happen?â
âUm, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and Iâd lose my best friend in the entire world.â
âWhat if she does feel the same?â Eddie asks.
Heâs both yours and Steveâs friend, heâs been around the both of you together. Heâs seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but itâs always looked a lot like love to him. Heâs pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.
âWhat do you mean?â
âWhat if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because youâre too afraid?â Eddie says. âMan, donât you think that risk is worth taking?â
Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddieâs right. Heâd hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.
You are worth the risk to him.
âWhen the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?â
âDunno,â Eddie shrugs. âWanna smoke?â
Steve laughs, âYes I do.â
-
With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, thereâs been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.
Youâve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.
You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever heâd been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.
The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.
How youâd been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddieâs, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didnât care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.
The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.
Sure, youâve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.
You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.
For a second, youâre purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and youâre scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.
So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like youâre running away.
Truthfully, youâre not sure what else to do. Youâve never been in love before, youâve never known it this wayâso kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didnât set a good example for you. Theyâd fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then theyâd be back and the cycle would continue.
Youâre scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.
Youâre stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steveâs quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. âWhat are you doing?â
You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like heâs nervous.
âI thought you werenât supposed to be home until later,â you say, hoping he canât hear the shake in your voice.
âIt was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-â Steve furrows his brows, âare you leaving?â
You nod. âIâve been in your way long enough.â
âI told you, youâre never in my way.â Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that thereâs something going on. That youâre panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. âI want you to stay.â
You want to stay, too. You just donât know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.
Your mind doesnât work the same when youâre afraid.
âGive me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. Iâve been taking up your space for weeks and-â
âBecause I love you.â Steve cuts you off. He hadnât planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he canât wait any longer. Especially not when youâre trying to run away. âIâm in love with you. And I want you here.â
You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like youâre not sure youâd heard him correctly. âYou- what?â
âI love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.â
âYouâre not high again, are you?â You ask, your eyes a little misty.
Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure youâre looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, âCompletely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesnât really feel like home unless youâre in it.â
âWhat about when my apartment is ready?â
He squeezes your hands. âStay then, too. Stay forever.â
You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy youâve ever loved.
You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how itâs turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.
Itâs easier than you thought it would be to say: âI love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. Iâm so scared of losing you, is all.â
âYou wonât. Not ever.â
You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if itâs one heâs known for years. Itâs slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love youâre practically overflowing with it.
The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesnât go far, resting his forehead against yours.
âSo what happens now?â You ask.
âWell, weâve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-â
âUm, Iâm pretty sure youâre supposed to ask me first.â
He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. âMy angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?â
Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you donât care one bit. âYeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.â
âAnd, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.â
He kisses you once more. And you donât ever want to not be kissing him again.
đđ
thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington reader insert#steve harrington request#steve harrington requests#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington x fem!reader#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#steve stranger things#stranger things steve#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you#steve x reader#steve harrington friends to lovers#stranger things imagine
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Ë Ęđ„ Ę KABEDON W TOKYO REVENGERS
TOKREV BOYS CAGING YOU AGAINST A WALL. ft. izana kurokawa, takashi mitsuya, & shuji hanma x f!reader
sfw. 1K wc. iâve been sooo excited to write for izana !! & my headâs been buzzing w so many ideas after seeing a bunch of maid-sama edits back on my fyp <3
IZANA KUROKAWA. mild jealousy & possessiveness
You wonder if Izana can hear the rapid thumping of your heart as his arm comes to rest against the doorframe, his eyes looking intently into yours.
âWho was that guy you were talking to?â His voice breaks the silence, tone laced with the faintest hint of curiosity that sends a shiver down your spine.
You swallow hard, trying to compose yourself even though the proximity has heat rising all the way to the tips of your ears. âI don't know,â you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. âHe just asked for my number. And i said no.â
There's a moment of silence as izana processes your words, his gaze never leaving yours. You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction, unsure if you should add that you mentioned you have a boyfriend too.
âThatâs all?â Izana finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but there's something in his eyes that betrays his calm exterior.
You nod. âThatâs all.â
He exhales deeply, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he moves closer to you. His fingers brush against your cheek, lingering on your jaw for a brief moment before gently tilting your head to the side. âIzana?â
âMhm,â he hums softly, his breath warm against your skin as he presses gentle kisses along your collarbone. âThat sounds right.â
His lips move with a deliberate slowness to cover every inch of your skin, and you canât help but melt into his touch as his lips ghost down your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your skin. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him, and you sigh. âThatâs good.â He repeats to himself.
âDonât pay them any attention.â Izana reminds you, his voice dropping to a soft murmur against your skin. âYouâre mine.â
HANMA SHUJI. recreation of that !! scene from maid sama (he gives u a hickey on your back), reader wearing a backless dress, âpretty thing,â âprincessâ
âThatâs a tiny dress you got on.â Hanma muses, long arm resting just above your head as he cages you against the wall, his face coming to hover mere inches in front of yours.
âWhereâs a pretty thing like you headed tonight?â
âWell, yeah,â you pout, adjusting the thin strap of your dress. âIâm going to my friendâs birthday party tonight.â
You struggle to read the expression on his face, amused eyes lingering on the simple design of your dress, ignoring the way you huff impatiently.
âBackless?â
âYeah, backless. Iâm leaving now.â With a quick tilt of your head, you try to gauge his reaction again, a part of you skeptical to whether or not heâs planning something this time.
He only responds with a slow hum, chuckling a bit when you rudely swat his arm off the wall, gaze following the natural sway of your hips as you mumble something in annoyance and walk away.
BacklessâŠhe thinks.
Thatâs rightâ backless.
An idea pops into his head, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. Without a second thought, he reaches out to roughly tug at one of your wrists, pulling you back towards him in one swift motion.
âThe hell are you doing-â you snap, your voice trailing off into a sharp intake of breath when you feel his lips press against the middle of your back. âS-shuji!â You protest, heart racing as you feel the warmth of his lips press against your skin.
Thereâs a pop when he pulls back slightly to look up at you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
âOh? Youâre going? With that hickey on your back?â His voice comes out low, tinged with too much amusement for your liking.
âHope you have fun, princess.â
TAKASHI MITSUYA. he takes care of you when youâre feverish
âYou shouldnât be out of bed right now.â Mitsuyaâs voice breaks the silence, and you stop dead in your tracks.
Thereâs an exasperated groan from you, your hand coming to rub at your temples. Of course he would be awakeâ you really thought you had waited long enough before trying to sneak downstairs.
âI want cake, Mitsuya.â You whine, arms folding over your chest. ââM not sick anymore. The feverâs gone down.â
âIs that so?â Mitsuyaâs tone sounds both amused and skeptical as he steps closer, watching the way you start to fidget with the sleeves of your shirt. You give him a quick and desperate nod to confirm, and itâs all a little too suspicious for his liking.
But before you can protest further, his arms come around you, caging you against the wall, and you suck in a sharp breath as he scans you up and down. His gaze is focused and intentionalâ and you feel your heart rate pick up.
âInteresting,â he whispers, warm breath grazing your skin. It sends a violent shiver down your spine. âLet me check.â
âW-wait you shouldnâtââ your protests are halted as he leans even closer, until his face is just an inch in front of yours. He thinks itâs cute the way your eyes slam shut involuntarily, your heart pounding against your chest at the proximity. His forehead presses gently against yours, and you can feel the subtle warmth of his skin.
âLiar.â He murmurs softly, his lips brushing against yours so gently you almost miss it. âYouâre burning up.â
#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers x you#tokrev x reader#tokrev x you#mitsuya x reader#hanma x reader#izana x reader#izana kurokawa x reader#mitsuya takashi x reader#hanma shuuji x reader#hanma shuuji x you#izana fluff#hanma fluff#mitsuya fluff#tokrev fluff#tokyo revengers fluff#izana x you#mitsuya x you#tr x reader#tr fluff#tr x you#hanma headcanons#izana headcanons#mitsuya headcanons#tokyo revengers drabbles#tokyo revengers headcanons
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someone â jude bellingham âËà·
contents: 1.6k words, fem!reader (she/her), fwb!bellingham is down bad, lil angsty but happy ending, they like each other so much SIGH
đ hanaâs note: hi my loves!! hope u enjoy <33 i actually had fun writing this, please tell me what u think 𫶠sorry if nothing makes sense LOL
đ main masterlist!
Jude was sure that the muscle on his wrist had gotten stronger in the span of three days. He moved to check his phone again for the hundredth time that day. The whole situation feels like a thirteen year old boy waiting for his girlfriend to reply to his text.Â
The only difference is that heâs twenty one years old, and his âgirlfriendâ is not actually his girlfriend.Â
His gloomy mood attracted his assistant who was off clicking the keyboard computer.
âWhose text are you waiting for?â they asked, immediately bringing him out of his little pity party.
His heart stuttered, âNo one.â he replies, shaking his head, before tucking the phone away into his pocket.
A skeptical look was thrown, âYeah, sure.âÂ
Jude took a minute before he relented, âSheâsâŠsomeone.â he sighed, not really in the mood to throw up his gut to his assistant.
He ran his hands through his hair down to his face, frustrated.
They were sure this âsomeoneâ was not just anyone, âThe same âsomeoneâ who had you giggling and kicking your feet last week?â his assistant smirked, noticing the little smile that Jude always wears every single time he stares at his phone.
But not in the last few days.
Recently, he has been more sad when he stares at his phone.
Heat trailed from the back of his neck to his cheeks, âI was not giggling and kicking my feet.â tummy twisting with nerves.
âOh, you so were. She has you wrapped around her fingers, Bellingham.â the keyboard clicking stopped, as a teasing smirk was sent his way.
Judeâs heart made a backflipâoh she definitely doesâ âSheâs just.. special. And I really really like her.â his cheeks heating up more as your pretty face fresh flashes in his mind.Â
âSo? Why don't you ask her out on a date?â
He sighed, âI would, but sheâs ghosting me.â
âSomeone ghosted THE Jude Bellingham? Damn, your ego must be hurt.â they laughed.
Jude took a deep breath, âIt's not about my ego, I justââ he paused, âI thought we were going somewhere, I like her and I thought that she liked me but I guess...â his voice trailing out as sadness coats his words.
His assistant noticed how Judeâs head dropped in disappointment, immediately feeling bad for him, and an idea lightbulb immediately went off, âGo to her place then.â
âWhat?â
The assistant shrugged their shoulders, âGo to her place. Ask her out.â
He coughed out, âShe doesnât wanna see me.â
âAsk her face to face, get confirmation. If she really doesnât wanna see you then, fine. But try at least! Fight for her!â their encouragement send Jude into a full dedicated state. Already having a full plan in his head.
ËÊâĄÉË
Screen lights from the tv illuminated your already dark room with a movie playing in the background. You really should be asleep right now. But your mind was too cloudy with a certain, seriously attractive, very sweet and nice footballer.Â
What did you think was gonna happen?
Getting into a friends-with-benefits with someone you harboured a big fat crush on was not the brightest idea.Â
Jude is a bigshot footballer, everyonesâ starboy, all he needs to do is smile and all girls fall to his feet (including you). The strategy of pushing him away was pretty solid, considering that he might not even notice that you havenât been replying to his texts.Â
He probably has hundreds of girls on his phone anyways.
Not that you care, he can do whatever he wants, heâs not your boyfriend.Â
Not your boyfriend.Â
Then why does it still bother you?
A sudden knock, broke you out of your spiralling session, shooting your heart rate up. Who knocks at 2 in the morning?
A buzz from your phone alerted you.
â
bellingham :)
Iâm outside your apartment
I need to talk to you
â
You contemplated opening the door, what do you even say to him? Another knock.Â
Another buzz.
â
bellingham :)
Please.
â
The door swung open and Jude was met with the sight of you, with tired eyes and a scowl on your face. You don't look too happy seeing him, and he doesn't blame you.
âAre you insane?! What do you want, Jude? Itâs two in the morning!â you huffed out, taking his wrist and pulling him inside. You do not want to get a complaint from your old cranky neighbours.Â
Both of your hands tingle the second it touches, fingers twitching as you hope the other doesn't notice. You move to pause the movie, hands gravitating towards the blanket on your couch before draping it around your shoulders. Trying to cover up your well-loved worn pyjamas.
You look like a mess.Â
Judeâs hand sweats in his pockets, his heart was pounding after finally being in your presence. With your messy hair, pretty droopy eyes, paired with your profile being highlighted by the tv. His heart rate shoots up when your eyes meet his.Â
You look really pretty.
Focus, Bellingham!
He awkwardly coughs, trying to cut the thick tension in the room, âYou still watching that show?â he voiced out, hand gesturing to the tv behind you.Â
It was a show recommendation from him. You had made fun of it at first, but then the plot was too good to be ignored, you needed to know how it ends.Â
You shrugged your shoulders, âYeah, I was curious.â voice small as your hands tightened around the blanket, bringing comfort to you.
A beat of awkward silence went on.
And Jude has had enough of it and decided to go for it, head first, no thoughts.
"Why are you ignoring me?" he finally said, saddened brown eyes met yours. You can feel your defence chip away the more you look at him.
You avert your eyes immediately, trying to formulate words, "I'm busy."
"That you ghosted me for three days straight?" he scoffed.
"Jude-"
"I don't think you understand how much youâre in my head." his voice shook, heart trembling in his chest, âI wake up and my first thought is to check if you have texted me back and you know how embarrassing it is to not see anything?"
You scoffed, âSo this is about your ego?â
âNo! I didnât say thatââ
Another scoff, "Jude donât lie, you get messages every single day. Your notifications are always flooded! Donât act like Iâm suddenly special!â you rolled your eyes, lungs burning with anger.
His face contorted into confusion before turning into hurt, âDid I give you that impression? That I don't care because youâre not special?â Judeâs voice cracked, maybe it was your head playing tricks but you swore his eyes were glossy with tears.Â
Anymore second looking at him than you might just break.Â
âJude-â you started.
âBecause I do! Iâll buy you more flowers, pick up your favourite coffee, watch those reality shows that you love so much, we can have a picnic or even a fancy dinner!â he rambled, hands animated as his feet started to move towards you, eyes pleading. âI really want this to work. I want to be in your life, as your boyfriend.âÂ
The distance between two got so small that you can feel his warm breath hitting your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.
He smells like mint.
Did he chew one before he got here?
The call of your name hits your ears, his voice soft and sweet. You really like how he says your name. You miss it. You like him. You miss him.
âPlease say something.â Jude whispered, eyes involuntarily dropping to your lips, cheeks warming under his gaze.
âI really really like you.â you softly said, nothing but a whisper but it sends just into cloud nine.
His eyes shined, mouth already opening to say something before you cut him off.
âBut-â
His heart dropped.
âBut?â
âJude, you can literally have anyone you want in the world!â you raised your voice. Tears pricking at the edge of your eyes. Why does he have to be so complicated? Why wonât he understand that you will never be enough for him?
By now, he can have a general sense on why you ghosted him. You have been insecure and worried ever since this little relationship started. Jude partly understands it, his popularity is intense and the media is poking at every nook and cranny of his life. Judging at the littlest things he does.
But he also doesnât understand because-
âBut, I want you! Donât want anyone else!â he exclaimed, big calloused hands move to the sides of your face, thumb softly running on your cheeks. âI want you.â he added, softly pressing a kiss at the apple of both of your cheeks.
A lovesick smile broke out on your face before you can even control yourself. âI want you too.â
Jude eyes twinkled at the sight. His heart elevates in the process. Was this a dream?
âPinch me.â he snickered.
Your hands move around his waist to pinch his skin, âDork.â you giggled, his smile getting wider at the sound.
A comforting silence blankets over you both. Smitten eyes staring at each other with heavy yearning. Hearts fully enamoured with the other.
A soft kiss was planted on your lips, tender and gentle as his hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He canât get enough of you.
Your whole body was on fire. It has been so long since you both got together.
âJude-â
âMhm.â he hummed, lips still pressing against yours. His hands wander to wrap around your waist. It feels like he wants to eat you whole.
He definitely does.
You carefully pull away, chuckling at the small whine that leaves him as he chases you again, âItâs late.â you affectionately scolded.
âLetâs go to sleep then.â
âTogether?â you teased.
âYes, please.â
Well, how can you say no to that?

reblog for a kiss <3
#HI HI HI HI HI!!!!#i was giggling while writing this LOL#love u babies hope u guys are doing good đ«¶#hana writes!#jude bellingham#jude bellingham blurb#jude bellingham fanfic#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham one shot#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham angst#jude bellingham fluff
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WHEN THE HOUSE IS EMPTY.
pairing: soft dom!chris sturniolo x fem!reader summary: when chris finally gets the house to himself for the night, he invites his girlfriend over to spend the night spoiling her rotten. warnings: 18+, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (be smart pls), fingering, oral (fem receiving), praise, use of pet names (angel, love), cursing, fluff fluff fluff, established relationship a/n: this is my first smut on here pls bear w me... but i hope it is AWESOME i love u guys <3 please give me feedback also !! i hope this is ok . <3 3.2k words
i swallowed thickly as i grasped the straps of my backpack, standing at the front door of my boyfriend's home.
chris had texted me last night, asking if i could come spend the night tonight as his brothers had planned to do something that had to do with "business stuff".
i had never really done this sort of thing. chris and i had been together about three to four months, and we had confessed our love to one another and kissed and whatnot, but that's about it. it didn't bother either of us, we just moved at a pace we were both comfortable at.
my eyes snapped up at chris opened the door and grinned ear to ear, opening his arms wide to engulf my body into his. "hi, angel," he greeted against my ear.
i hugged his waist with a soft smile. with a deep breath, i took in the comforting scent of his cologne mixed with the scent of his shampoo.
as chris pulled away, he gently took my hand and guided me inside. once he shut and locked the front door, he reached out to take my bag from me and transport it to his bedroom.
i let out a content sigh as i took in the familiar home, but it was so different when it was just chris here. much quieter, too.
"i have such a fun night planned for us!" chris cheered as he came back up the stairs, his hands clasped together in excitement.
i couldn't help but smile warmly at him.
the white tank that hugged his torso perfectly and his black sweats that hung dangerously low kept my attention on him.
"what do you have planned?" i asked as i took a seat at the table in the kitchen, smiling warmly at him.
chris did a little dance, his slightly dampened hair flopping with each sudden movement before he halted and shot two finger guns at me. "dinner!"
i chuckled at his embarrassing dance, nodding softly and standing up. "what're we makin'?"
chris's jaw dropped. "are you kidding? i already made it." he giggled as he opened the oven to reveal a tin of fettuccini alfredo with grilled chicken, some slices of garlic bread on the side. he also went into the fridge, where behind all the different lyrical lemonade cans, there was a bowl of ceasar salad.
"did you make this yourself?" i asked, my jaw hung open in shock.
"well," he started as he trailed off, "i guess nick helped a bit.. and youtube... matt, too, sorta.."
"it looks amazing," i stood up and smiled as i wrapped an arm around chris's waist, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "i can't wait to eat!"
i moved to pull away, but chris gently took my jaw between his fingers and turned our faces together again, exchanging one quick peck to my lips. "me neither," he replied with a soft smile.
dinner was outstanding. i never could have thought that chris could put something like that together.
"blue shell!" chris's voice boomed as his hands gripped the controller in his hands.
"fuck!" i shouted, my tongue sticking out in focus as i tried my hardest to remain in first place in mario kart.
"please, please, please, please," chris chanted, his entire body straight as he was sitting at the edge of the couch. "yes!!" he shouted, flying past me in the game at the last moment to take first place. his arms flew in the air, controller loosely dangling from his fingers as he shot me a shit-eating grin.
"not fair," i stated quickly.
"it definitely is, y/n, i won fair and square." he defended, moving to hug my waist and press his nose into the crook of my neck.
i chuckled at this, a hand of mine moving to his jaw to caress his cheek softly. "fine. you win."
chris did a small fist pump before pulling away with a bright smile.
we sat like that for a few moments, eyes locked on one another before he gasped at the song that came on. "oh my god, i fucking love this song." he stated quickly as he took my hands and stood to his feet, dragging me up with him.
i gasped at the sudden movement, my smile never leaving my face as i laughed beside him.
3 nights by dominic fike had started playing in the speaker that chris had set up, which was playing ambient music most of our time tonight. he turned it up and smiled widely as he held my hands, waving them around and biting his lip into a wide smile.
i couldn't help but smile at him, the way his curly hair bounced with each silly dance he did, his fingers never unlocking from mine. every once in a while he would stop for a breath before starting again, his eyes locked on mine.
i did my best to keep up, jumping around with him and waving my arms as we both loudly sang the words. no matt to give us shit for being too loud in the living room today.
the song eventually came to an end, both of us panting softly as we both smiled at one another. a soft chuckle escaped both of us, before the next song began playing.
i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys?
"since when do you listen to this?" i chuckled.
"i- it's a good song," chris defended, his cheeks growing pink as he moved his hands to gently take my waist. "also because it's one of your favorites."
i smiled warmly at him. "alright, buddy," i smiled. i moved my arms up to rest on his shoulders, my hands connecting behind his head as i looked up at him and chuckled. "are we slow dancing in your living room?"
"maybe?"
"is this your idea of a smooth move?" i joked, a soft giggle leaving me as chris's face burnt up.
"hey, let a man live." he defended, his thumb gently rubbing circles on my back as we swayed softly.
i had to give it to him - i was having a great time with him.
what started as me being a nervous wreck for whatever reason resulted in me having an amazing time.
"y/n," chris stated softly, dragging me out of my thoughts. i locked eyes with him, smiling. "i love you," he whispered softly.
i could feel my cheeks heat up. "i love you too, chris." i smiled as i gently moved a hand to bury into his hair, gently running my fingers through it. "i've had a great time so far tonight."
chris smiled at this, nodding softly as he removed a hand from my waist to gently press against my cheek, holding my face there softly. "can i kiss you?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
i nodded softly as i closed my eyes and leaned forward, closing the gap between the two of us.
chris's thumb gently grazed my cheek as he kissed me softly, his eyes closed.
no words could express the feelings i was feeling right now.
feeling a bit bold, my arms tightened around him as i deepened the kiss and tilted my head softly against him.
i could feel chris's lips curve into a small smile as he moved his hand from my waist to my lower back, his lips working against mine in sync with me.
when he gently took my bottom lip between his, i parted my lips softly as our tongues collided.
a few more moments went by and we pulled away, both with heavy breaths and a string of saliva that kept us connected for a brief moment.
we stared at each other for a brief moment before i took a deep breath. "chris," i started, before taking his hand in mine and interlocking our fingers, "i'm, uhh... i'm ready.. if you wanna-"
"me too," he quickly stated, a bright smile on his face as he tightened his grip on my hand and began walking towards the steps downstairs, which i followed and giggled as he tripped slightly on the way to his room.
"watch your step, chris!"
"i'll be fine," he smiled as he opened the door and turned us around so that my back faced his bed, his foot lifting off the ground to kick the door shut behind him. the door shut a little louder than he had anticipated, causing us both to flinch. "oops."
"chris-" i scolded, but i was quickly cut off when he pressed his lips to mine once more, gently pushing me against the mattress and hovering over me.
his hand gently grazed my hip and toyed with the hem of my shirt. he pulled away from the kiss to glance down at his hand, and back into my eyes. "is this okay?" he asked softly, which i quickly responded with a nod. "tell me if anything isn't okay, alright?" he stated softly, and gently began lifting my shirt off of my body.
the comfort of chris's voice was enough for me to let him do whatever he had wanted.
the cold air of the room kissed my skin, causing a shiver to run through my body. but every goose bump on my skin melted away when i stared up at chris, who was pulling his own shirt above his head.
"you okay?" he questioned, leaning down again to caress my cheek softly.
"i promise everything's fine," i reassured with a shy smile, and chris smiled back, pressing a kiss to my lips before he pulled away.
he kissed against my neck softly, sending shivers through my body. his lips moved down to my shoulder, down to my collarbone and down the center of my chest.
i felt like he was exploring the entirety of my body.
"can we take this off, love?" he asked, gently tugging at the strap to my bra.
i nodded quickly as i sat up and reached behind me to unclasp it, but chris's hands came around mine as he did it for me.
i felt my face heat up as it dropped, and my arms instinctively moved up to cover myself.
"shhh," chris reached to my wrists and gently lowered my arms, his nose moving up to press against the shell of my ear. "you're gorgeous. no need to hide, not ever." he gently pressed a kiss to my jaw before working down again, his lips moving to press against the skin of my left breast.
my breath hitched slightly at the feeling as i instinctively moved a hand to his hair.
the moment his lips pressed to my nipple, i felt my eyes scrunch shut as i arched my back slightly into him. the feeling was so familiar yet so unfamiliar.
chris's tongue circled around it, his eyes shut as he ran his hand up my stomach to gently knead at my right side.
i let out a shaky moan, one hand burying into his brunette locks as the other dove into the sheets.
chris eventually switched to give the other side the same attention, and after a few moments, i shakily lifted my hips to meet his, which caused a groan to erupt from us both.
chris lifted his head and moved back up to press a soft kiss to my lips, his eyes locked on mine. he admired me for a moment before his hands met with the hem of my pajama pants. "may i?" he questioned softly, his voice groggy. i nodded quickly.
chris gently tugged my shorts down and let out a shaky breath, simply at the sight of the thin, deep red fabric that hugged my hips.
i smiled softly at him. "like what you see?" i joked, and chris simply shot me a knowing glance.
"always, angel." he stated softly before he shifted his body on the bed.
"wait- what are you-?"
"takin' care of my girl," chris stated softly, his eyes moving to meet mine as his face was now inches away from my core. "is this okay?"
i blushed darkly. i was no expecting all this. "yeah, yeah that's perfect," i breathed, shifting my hips against the sheets slightly.
chris moved to press soft kisses against the insides of my thighs, his eyes closed. one hand found its way to move my underwear to the side before both of his hands wrapped around my thighs to lock them in place.
my eyes squeezed shut and my entire body shuttered as he pressed his lips where i needed him most, his tongue gently gliding along my folds until they reached my clit, where he sucked softly. i tossed my head back and released a moan as a hand subconsciously moved to lace into chris's hair. "shit." i breathed.
chris's eyes met mine for only a second before he unlinked a hand from my thigh, pressing a finger against my folds.
i shuttered slightly before a gasp escaped me at the feeling of his finger entering me, my eyes squeezing shut.
"is this okay?" was all he said, his breath hot against my clit.
"fuck, yes," i moaned softly, my volume increasing as chris gently pressed a second finger inside my cunt and began curling them gently.
my back arched as i threw my head back, letting out a shaky breath before i bucked my hips to the best of my ability. my hand gently tugged at his hair as i guided his lips back to my clit.
chris seemed to get the hint, his tongue beginning to lap against me as he sucked on the bud, his fingers pumping and curling inside of me.
"shit, chris-" i gasped as i tugged at his hair softly.
chris removed his fingers and repositioned his body before his tongue entered my cunt, his thumbs prying me open as his nose occasionally grazed my clit.
i let out a string of moans, my hips lifting off the bed and into his face as i warned him of my release.
"i- i'm close, chris, fuck," i breathed.
with the continuous thrust of his tongue, chris moaned softly against me, sending a vibration against my core.
with a gasp and a tight grip on chris's hair, i clenched around his tongue and released my juices against his tongue, my eyes lidded as i panted softly.
chris helped me ride out my high, his hand gently caressing my thigh as he removed himself. he looked at me and licked his lips, a hand reaching to his shirt that he had previously removed. he used it to wipe off his mouth before he pulled away to begin sliding off his black sweats.
"you could have gotten a towel or something," i teased.
"that's too far." he defended, winking softly. "you still okay?" he questioned, gently tossing his sweats onto the floor.
i nodded quickly. "i promise, i-" i took a deep breath, my cheeks still pink from a few moments prior. "as long as i'm with you, anything is okay, chris."
chris simply smiled softly at me. "that's what i love to hear, angel." he whispered before he gently tugged his boxers down, his member meeting with his skin as a small dribble of precum escaped the tip.
your eyes locked on him, causing a chuckle to escape chris. "let's be polite, now," he whispered, moving his fingers to press against your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes and press his lips against yours lovingly. he pulled away and shifted between my legs, smiling softly. "you ready?" he asked softly, and i nodded eagerly.
"ready," i whispered, moving my hand to gently interlock with his.
chris used his free hand to gently part my legs and press his tip against my opening, making my breath hitch.
he slowly pressed into me, deep groans and moans sounding from both of us as chris's bangs hung over his eyes. "fuck," he grunted as he continued to move into me, before he bottomed out and stared at me.
with a few moments to adjust, i shot him a soft nod before he began to move slowly. "shit," he moaned softly, his grip tightening on my hand as he rocked his hips against mine.
our eyes locked, and i swear that did something to chris, because his entire face beamed red as he picked up his pace and pressed his forehead against mine.
a low moan escaped chris's throat as he thrusted into my cunt, my eyes rolling back as i allowed my jaw to hang open. a series of moans escaped us both.
chris gently unlocked our fingers to get a grip on my thigh to lift it. he held up my leg, now hitting a new spot inside of me that made my back arch off of his mattress. "oh fuck," i moaned, my eyes squeezing shut as he pounded against my gspot. "right there, chris," i moaned, causing chris to pick up his pace and slam his cock harder into me.
my eyes teared up slightly at the euphoric feeling, my heart racing as i felt my stomach tie into a knock. chanting his name, i gripped the sheets and clenched against him, resulting in a deep moan from chris's lips.
"fuck, angel, careful," he grunted against my ear, his breath heavy against my shoulder.
i gasped and let out a shaky moan, moving to grip chris's shoulder. "fuck, i'm gonna cum," i breathed, and chris nodded softly.
"me too, love, fuck," he moaned softly, his hips rutting into mine.
a few more thrusts resulted in my voice booming as i cried out, the knot in my stomach snapping as i released all over chris's cock, my eyes squeezing shut.
chris's hips sputtered at the pornographic moan, his throat releasing a deep moan as he pulled out and released against my stomach and chest, his hand moving to gently pump at his member.
chris moved to lay beside me, our eyes shut as he laid beside one another catching our breaths.
i let out a shaky sigh as i turned to chris and smiled weakly, sleepily.
chris turned and met my eyes, a sleepy smile on his face, but it was the same as every other smile he had given me today. "how do you feel?" he questioned, his hand moving to lock with mine again.
i chuckled breathlessly, nodding softly. "fuckin' awesome," i chuckled as i leaned forward to kiss his cheek gently.
chris smiled warmly at me before he reached to get a few tissues, wiping off my skin the best he could. "you did so good for me, angel." he whispered, moving a hand to brush a strand of hair out of my face. "fuck, i'm tired." he admitted.
i scoffed at him as i opened my arms. "me too, chris."
chris bit his lip as he shifted to rest his head against my chest, his eyes closing as he hugged my waist tightly. "i love you s'much." he whispered softly.
i smiled and bit my lip as i kissed the top of his head. one hand threaded through his hair as the other gently rubbed his side. "i love you so much, chris.. thank you for tonight." i whispered.
chris nodded lazily in response, and i chuckled lightly. "get your beauty sleep."
the two of us slowly fell asleep, skin to skin as we breathed together and slept soundly.
maybe i should spend the night at my boyfriend's more often.
taglist;; @sturnsxplr-25 @vampiree-555 @wh0resstuff @jetaimevous @sturnioloshacker @lovesturni0l0s @sarosfilms @sturnclouds @l34n
#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo smut#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#chris x reader#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo
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summer's golden haze - chapter six
pairing: lando norris x reader
summary: a love confession, a PR scandal, and an explanation (5.2k)
a/n: donât hate me for this folks đ
things are going to be fine with our favorite couple, donât worry! (or are they??? guess youâll just have to read and see mwahaha)
previous chapter | masterlist



Somehow Lando convinces you to stay the night with him after spending a little quiet time together at his place once the jet lands, instead of going home like youâd originally planned. You wonât go into detail, but it involved little talking and a lot more kissing.Â
He lets you shower off the nightclub musk first, and only when youâve made yourself comfy in his bed can you shoot a text to your friends.Â
You: staying at landoâs tonight. no need to wait up for me, heâll drop me off at ours in the morning
Samira: ouuu get it girlÂ
Maren: be safe wear protection etc etcÂ
You: GOD no not like that you perverts
Camille: sure đđŒ
Camille: is he reading over your shoulder? WEâRE ONTO YOU NORRIS.Â
You: i hate you guys â€ïž
Maren: why are u still texting us go spend time with ur manÂ
âEverything good?âÂ
Landoâs toweling his hair dry as he walks into the room, wearing only a pair of shorts. Heâs a bit sunburnt on his chest and shoulders from today, but heâs still got that aftersun glow about him as he makes his way over to you. He collapses dramatically beside you on the mattress, wasting no time in sprawling into your space with a content sigh.Â
âYep, fine. The girls say hi and goodnight,â You say airily, putting aside your phone. Lando lets out a noncommittal hum, too busy with making himself comfortable next to you to form a response. In the end, he finally settles with an arm thrown across your thighs, face pressed into your side snugly.Â
Your fingers trace the dip of his spine gently, coming up to brush over his reddened skin. âYouâre all burnt, Lando.â Â
âSun cream is for wimps,â He mumbles, words muffled. âIâm tough.âÂ
âYou might rethink that when your skin starts to peel.âÂ
âDid you have fun?â He asks, changing the subject in favor of aiming a hopeful smile up at you.Â
âI did. I still canât believe youâre friends with Martin Garrix, though.âÂ
Lando chuckles, shaking his head. âYouâre still hung up on that?âÂ
âUh, yeah! Normal people usually don't know world famous musicians!âÂ
âGuess Iâm not normal then, am I?âÂ
âNo, youâre not,â You hum, pushing his damp curls away from his forehead. His face screws into an overdramatically offended look that makes you giggle. âYouâre not normal, youâre better.âÂ
âGood save, that,â He mumbles, face morphing into what has to be the most fond, heart-melting, doe eyed expression youâve ever been looked at with.
What you say next seems to fall out of your mouth before you realize just what youâre doing. All you know is heâs gazing at you like youâre holding up the moon and the stars, and suddenly it feels like exactly the moment to say what youâre thinking.Â
âI think Iâm in love with you too.âÂ
Funnily enough, Landoâs eyes widen the same way Maxâs did when heâd accidentally told you. âWhat?â
âI love you too,â You say, though a little more unsure this time. Thereâs a key difference between your first and second confessions, but saying it out loud the first time only solidified what, deep down, you think youâve already known.Â
You love Lando. Youâre in love with Lando, and you want him to know.Â
Only now heâs staring at you like youâve just told him some deep dark secret that he wasnât supposed to know, which definitely isnât the response you thought youâd get from him, and it makes your brain kick into overdrive.Â
Max had seemed entirely genuine at the time, but maybe he was just messing with you. Maybe your entire relationship with Lando was some sort of a prank, or god forbid, a fucking bet. The thought had crossed your mind at the beginning, but youâd shoved it aside because Lando was so charming and so painfully your type that you were willing to take the leap.Â
Less than two weeks. It took less than two weeks to fall in love with the boy in front of you, less than two weeks for you to put your heart into his hands and pray that he wouldnât break it. The heart that heâd already wormed his way into and made his home.
Itâs definitely fast, youâre fully aware of the fact. At the beginning, you werenât expecting to get into anything serious. Telling yourself youâd let things play out, let whatever was to happen happen, prepared to leave any and all thoughts of Lando behind if things didnât work out.Â
You didnât actually think youâd end up in love with him, and for some reason, it scares you more than you couldâve ever imagined. Thereâs something terrifying about falling in love, but something even worse than it was him not feeling the same.Â
âHow did youââ He stops mid-sentence, looking so utterly floored youâve figured it out that you forget any and all previous doubts of Lando not sharing your feelings. âHave I been that obvious?âÂ
âMax let it slip.âÂ
He lets out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily before opening them again. âMax couldnât keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it, the twat.â
âYâknow, he said the same thing,â You giggle quietly.Â
âBecause itâs true! His big mouth has been getting me into trouble since the day we met.âÂ
âDo you think falling in love with me is trouble?âÂ
âNo! God, no, absolutely not,â Lando insists, shaking his head. In one fell swoop, he manages to shift the both of you so youâre on top of him now, sitting on his thighs with a leg on either side of him. His hands travel up from your waist to cup your face in his palms reassuringly. âThe opposite, really. I think youâre the best thing to ever happen to me. I justâŠI wanted to tell you on my own terms. Had it all planned out too.âÂ
âOh yeah?â You hum, hooking your fingers over his biceps. âWhat'd you have planned?âÂ
âWouldnât you like to know?â He teases, grinning from ear to ear. You make a pleading noise from the back of your throat, but he just shakes his head, zipping his lips with an imaginary key and pretending to hold it high above his head.Â
You play along, going to reach up for it, but Lando leans forward, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. Itâs a total distraction move, and it works. You forget all about what his plans couldâve been, the thoughts quelled by his mouth on yours, kissing you sweetly.Â
Your hands slide over the broadness of his shoulders without thinking, fingertips pressing into lean muscle to keep yourself upright.Â
âOw, fuckââ He hisses, pulling away from you with a wince. Thinking youâve hurt him, your eyes go wide. âSunburn,â He explains hastily.Â
You scramble off of him. âI am so sorry!â
âNo, no, itâs fine, Iâm fine, letâs justââ He leans in for another kiss, but the moment is over now.Â
You snuggle into his side, splaying a hand over his chest. Your fingers immediately go to toy with his necklace. âWhat will things be like when your break ends, when we have to go back to our separate lives?âÂ
If your question catches him off guard, he doesnât show it. He just sighs like heâs been thinking about the same thing, rubbing a hand down your arm. âHonestly? Iâm not sure. Tried not to think of it much, really.âÂ
âItâs coming soon.â Your voice is almost a whisper, like saying it as soft as you can would make the day you have to leave each other never come. âToo soon.â
âToo soon,â He echoes sadly. âDo youâI mean, would you want to go public?âÂ
The first answer that pops into your head is no.Â
No, you donât want to make your relationship known to the public. Lando is a celebrity, and within that territory comes many things you arenât comfortable with sharing. And it might be selfish of you for the thought to even cross your mind, but part of you doesnât want to share Lando with the world.Â
Youâve gotten used to your peaceful little bubble the last few weeks, and once he returns to racing, that bubble will be popped. It might only be a matter of time before people start to figure things out, and youâre not ready for that. Until you part ways, you donât even want to think about it.Â
âHey, itâs okay,â Lando murmurs, drawing you out of your spiraling thoughts. His hand is on your face again, cradling your cheek tenderly, thumb rubbing over your cheek. âWeâll keep things under wraps. Iâve got no problems with that.âÂ
âYou donât?âÂ
âYou sound surprised.âÂ
âIâm not,â You say immediately. You must not sound very convincing, because Lando tilts his head in question. âI meanâmaybe I am? I just thought youâd want to, yâknow, go out and stuff. Press events and races, like the other driversâ partners.âÂ
âYouâve been looking?â He sighs, but not unkindly. More like an oh, I wish you hadnât kind of way.Â
âYeah. A little.â You feel a little embarrassed admitting it, but you just wanted to know what might be expected of you as Landoâs girlfriend.Â
In doing so, however, all youâve done is hurt your own feelings. In your hours long deep dive about Formula 1 WAGs, as youâve come to learn theyâre called, there seem to be some commonalities.
Theyâre all brilliant, accomplished women. Some of them are models, some athletes, some businesswomen. Everything about them seems pristine and polished, always perfect. From their makeup, to their clothes, even their posture is perfect. You, on the other hand, youâre nothing like them. Youâre not a model, youâre not as accomplished or as brilliant, and yeah, most of the time you slouch when you sit.Â
Youâre justâŠyou.Â
And for some reason, Lando likes you. Loves you. That should be enough for you, and you hate that it isnât.Â
You hate that at the very back of your brain, the thought that youâre not good enough for him digs its way into your self conscience, burrowing deep into the pit of your stomach. It has its claws in you, and it isnât letting go any time soon. Youâre not sure it ever will.Â
âYouâre spiraling again, baby,â Lando chides lightly, bringing you back to the present moment once more. You meet his gaze again, thinking youâll find pity, but seeing nothing but adoration. He bumps your chin with his knuckles lightly. âI love you. Not who you think you should be.âÂ
Your heart swells so big youâre certain it might burst out of your chest. Lando knew exactly what you needed to hear in this moment of self doubt and didnât hesitate to tell you.Â
You smile at him, leaning forward to press your lips against his with all the love and affection you can muster, because words arenât enough to explain just how lucky you are to have found someone like him.Â
Lando sighs against your mouth, having no hesitation in swinging himself to hover over you.Â
You let him nudge you back gently against the pillows, knees falling apart easily to accommodate the thigh he slots between them, and it has him pushing in even closer, chasing the breath right out of your chest with the way heâs kissing you.Â
Safe to say, sleep does not take you until a long while later, not until you're both wearing a lot less clothes, tangled in each otherâs embrace, fighting to keep your eyes open. Lando tells you he loves you one more time before you drift off for good, a whisper pressed against your temple in the darkened room.Â
Youâll sleep well tonight with the ease of knowing that there is no question of how Lando feels about you, about your relationship. Everything is perfect.Â
-------
âNo, thatâs bullshit. Iâm not doing that. I donât care if thatâs what they want, Iâm not doing it.âÂ
Landoâs hushed voice is what wakes you up, quiet but still sharp. Firm.Â
Light from the bathroom pours in one beam through the cracked door on the other side of the room, piercing the darkness of early morning. You can see him pacing back and forth too, phone pressed to his ear, and it piques your concern. Whoever is on the other side of the line has obviously said something to get him heated.Â
Work again, maybe?Â
âIs everything okay?â You yawn, squinting at him through the sleep in your eyes as he shuffles back into the bedroom after the call ends. Â
âSorry for waking you,â He says stiffly. You pull yourself into an upright position.
âSâokay. Whatâs wrong?â Lando just tosses his phone into the mess of clothes in his bag on the chair. Youâll take that as a no, everything is not okay, and yes, something is wrong. âLando.âÂ
He sits at the edge of the bed, facing away from you, elbows braced on his knees. You scoot towards him, smoothing a gentle hand over his back as your chin presses into his shoulder, his skin still warm under your fingers. Youâre not sure what's wrong, but whatever it is, youâre there for him.Â
âThereâs pictures of us from the other night, at the club, and the beach. People took pictures of us together and now theyâre all over social media.âÂ
Your heart sinks. âOh. Thatâs not great, is it?âÂ
âNo. Not really.âÂ
âWas that your PR officer calling?â You ask. Lando nods. âWhat did they say?âÂ
âBest to not go online today. And turn off your notifications too, because theyâll find you fast. Honestly, just turn off your phone.â He stands abruptly from the bed, away from you, pacing and muttering and raking his hands through his hair. You can almost see the cogs in his brain spinning from where you are.
This is foreign territory to you. You havenât the slightest idea on how to deal with a situation like this one. Youâre not even sure Lando fully does, given the way heâs acting right now.Â
Still, it feelsâŠviolating. Having photos taken of you without your knowledge or consent, then having those photos spread around like theyâre some sort of gossip. Even more so because youâve felt safe around Lando up until this moment.Â
Now heâs telling you to stay offline, to turn off your phone because strangers on the Internet will find you. You donât even want to know whatâll happen when they do.Â
âWill you slow down for a minute, please?â You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. He doesnât answer, just continues in his back and forth actions. âCan we talk about this, or have you gotten everything about our relationship figured out on your own already?âÂ
Itâs a bit petty, a little bratty of you. Of course he hasnât gotten much of anything figured outâheâs only just been made aware of the situation that had likely progressed overnight. It isnât something he should be having to deal with on his summer break, but he does.Â
He stops in his tracks, stares at you blankly, and for a second, you think heâll sit down and listen to you. But then heâs on the move again, rifling through his bag for something. âI think I should take you home.âÂ
You let out a sharp exhale, raising a skeptical brow. âAre you serious right now?âÂ
âWhy wouldnât I be? This isnât a joke, this is my image weâre talking about.â He procures a wrinkled shirt from the depths of his bag, wasting no time in pulling it over his head.Â
That leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Youâre very aware that you have no idea what itâs like for him, no idea what itâs like to have your every move be so up for public speculation. That being said, you do know how a biting jab like that makes you feel.Â
âYour image!â You chuckle wryly. âOh, Iâm so sorry, youâre right. You need to keep up your image, my bad.âÂ
There goes the tic in his jaw again. Heâs still not making eye contact with you either, which irks you to no end. âLet me find my keys, Iâll drive you home.âÂ
âNo, thatâs okay. Iâll just take an Uber. Wouldnât want to put your image at risk any more than I already have.â You throw the blankets off yourself, going to find your clothes yourself.Â
Lando lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. Heâs probably just as ticked off as you are, but you're not really thinking of that right now. âCâmon, donât be ridiculous. Iâll drive you home, sweetheart.âÂ
Sweetheart. Heâs being all pissy like this and he still has the nerve to call you that. You fight to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the nickname. Youâre still getting used to it. Right now, you have a love hate relationship with it.Â
âFine.âÂ
Thatâs the last word said by either of you until you're almost back to your place. By this point, you've cooled down considerably. Youâve gathered your thoughts enough to realize you were being a little bitchy about the situation. Heâs frustrated, you're frustrated, but it's not either of your faults.Â
The car pulls to a stop and the doors unlock automatically, so technically you could just let yourself out without saying anything at all. You almost do, but you don't want to leave things the way they are with Lando right now.Â
âI love you,â You say softly, carefully watching him for a reaction.Â
The clench in his jaw softens almost imperceptibly, but the crease between his brows, the set of his shoulders, the laser focus he's got on something off in the distance, those still remain.Â
Itâs an entire world away from the way his face had lit up brighter than the sun when you said the exact same three words to him for the first time, just last night. âText me when you get back so I know you're home safe?âÂ
âYeah, sure.â His voice is clipped, void of any emotion. He doesn't want to talk. That you can see loud and clear.Â
Still, you try again. âIâm sorry about the photos, Lan.âÂ
âNot your fault.âÂ
Itâs not your fault either, you want to say. You want to look him in the eyes and tell him everything will be okay, that things will work out in the end. You don'tâyou canâtâbecause heâs angled himself away from you.Â
Tears burn at the edges of your eyes and you think you can feel your heart crack a little bit, but you will yourself to get out of the car before he can see them fall. The last thing you need is to add to whatever is going on inside his head right now.Â
Yeah, maybe youâd been a little combative with him at first, but at the end of everything, you love him now. You still want to figure things out together. But judging by the way he wonât even look you in the eye right now, it isnât what he wants.Â
How could you go from basking in the light of newfound love to barely being able to get a word out of him, with just one phone call? A phone call about you, your relationship with Lando, one where you donât even know what was said.Â
You hear him pull away as soon as you shut the door behind you.Â
Is it bad that a small part of you is glad he waited for you to get inside? It means he still cares about you enough to make sure youâre in safely, even though he might be upset with you.Â
Then youâre hit with the fact that he is upset with you, and that sliver of hope vanishes.Â
You sink down onto the cold tile of the entryway, back against the door. Everything was so good and now itâs all going to shit, and you hate to think about how youâve messed things up.Â
âTell us everything and donât leave a single detailââ Marenâs gleeful shout dies in her throat the second she comes barreling around the corner and sees you on the floor with your head in your hands.Â
Sheâs quick to call for the other two, rushing to your side in a second and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.Â
âIâm gonna kill him. Do I need to kill him?â Samira sounds beyond angry. Youâve only ever seen her this angry a few times, all of which you were glad to have never been the source of.Â
Camille hushes Samiraâs threats, kneeling by your other side. âWhat happened?âÂ
âToo much,â You mumble, half muffled by the sleeve of your jumper. Landoâs jumper. You want to rip it off and chuck it in the bin, but itâs the same one heâd been wearing the first night you spent togetherâsoft and well loved, smelling like his cologne. Instead, your hands clench into fists around the worn cotton, squeezing the material tight between your fingers.Â
You eventually find your way to the couch, where you remain until nightfall nears, a half empty bottle of wine sitting open on the coffee table in front of you while your comfort show plays quietly on the television. Realistically, you should be getting ready to go for a night out on the town, but youâre all in your pajamas, curled up against each other nicely.Â
Youâd managed to tell them what was going on through tears that had stopped a while ago, but the thought of Lando putting up walls to keep you out of the situation still burns bright in your mind.Â
The doorbell rings suddenly and you wrinkle your nose, confused.Â
Camille untangles herself from the pile, squeezing your hand gently. âIâll get it! Itâs probably our food.â You didnât even know sheâd ordered dinner, but you won't complain. All this wallowing in your hurt feelings has really spurred an appetite.Â
But then Maren and Samira leave for the door too and you're alone on the couch, even more confused.Â
âDonât get mad at us, okay?âÂ
Your mouth pulls into a confused frown at your friends whoâve just reappeared, but then you see Lando step into the room. He looks disheveled and just like you were hoping heâs been feelingâguilty.Â
Your eyes flick to the girls. You donât feel betrayed, but rather the thought of them reaching out to Lando brings you a surge of love.Â
Theyâve always known what you need, even if you donât know it yourself.Â
âYou two need to talk things out, so weâll be in the kitchen. But if you make her cry again and Iâll kick your pretty rich boy ass, I swear toââ The rest of Samiraâs threat is cut off by the other two pulling her out of sight.Â
That just leaves you and Lando, staring at each other, expressions unreadable. He steps forward, hesitant feet bringing him to the edge of the couch, where he perches awkwardly.Â
âHey,â He says meekly, shoving his hands into the big pocket of his jumper. You canât bring yourself to greet him back. âYou werenât answering any of my texts or calls.âÂ
He looks like he wants to reach out for you but refrains himself from doing so. Youâre partly glad he does, because if he did, youâre not sure you couldâve stopped yourself from burying yourself in his arms.Â
Instead, you stare at him blankly. âYou told me to turn off my notifications.âÂ
Lando sucks in a breath through his teeth, head bobbing slightly. âI did say that, didnât I?âÂ
âYou shut me out, Lando. You wouldnât even tell me what was happening,â You grit out. Youâre hurt, to say the least. You hope he knows that. âDonât you think I have the right to know whatâs going on?âÂ
âI know. I know, and Iâm sorry,â He insists, almost pleading. âI didnât mean to shut down like that. I guess Iâm just used to doing these kinds of things on my own, yâknow? Usually when my name trends on social media, itâs something Iâve done. Something Iâve got to deal with the aftermath of. But now, this timeâŠâÂ
âThis time, thereâs me,â You finish, frowning.
âYeah. It isnât just my life I have to think of, itâs yours too. Having your every move watched and judged by people who donât know you is the last thing I want for you to have to go through. I can handle it because it comes with the job, but you shouldnât have to. It isnât fair to you.âÂ
âItâs not your fault.âÂ
âIsnât it? Weâre in this situation because of me. Because of who I am.âÂ
âYou didn't ask for this. Like you said, it comes with the job, no matter what you do.â
âYeah, but Iââ
âLando, Iâm not mad that the photos got leaked, I was hurt because you just took me home and left me here without telling me what was going on,â You say. Your voice only wavers the tiniest bit, and you fight it even more. âIt felt like you didn't want me to have any input on our relationship, and that's not what a relationship is supposed to be like. At least, not one that I want to be in. I would hope youâd feel the same way.âÂ
âI do. Baby, I do feel the same way. I love you, and I shouldâve said it back in the car, I know. And I was angry this morning, but not at you, and I shouldâve made that clear too. I was upset and I made some rash decisions, and Iâm so sorry,â He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them again, there's pain swirling within them. âI just wanted something to be just mine for once. I wanted our relationship, I wanted you to be that something, because in my life, everything is public. Even if Iâd rather it not be, somehow it always ends up out there for the whole world to see, and I donât want that for us. I know you donât want that. I donât ever want you to feel like you're giving up anything to be with me. That being said, I understand if you want to call things off.âÂ
He doesnât look at you when he says it, but the pure sense of defeat in his tone makes your guarded posture finally soften.
Despite how things were left this morning, the thought of calling things off with Lando had never even crossed your mind. The fact that he thinks it was enough to make you want to break up with him has every ounce of frustration you have towards him leaving your body.Â
âI donât,â You say firmly. His head flies up, gaze snapping to yours, a mixture of relief and confusion. âI donât wanna break up, Lan.â
âThank god, âcause I donât either.â Finally, he reaches a hand out towards you, and you feel okay enough to crawl over and curl into his side. He immediately presses a smattering of kisses against the side of your head that makes your stomach feel all fuzzy again. âI hate that your privacy was stripped away so soon.âÂ
âHonestly? Part of me knew something like this might happen,â You admit, pulling his arm around you snugly. âIâve made my peace with it.âÂ
âYou have?âÂ
You shoot him a tiny frown paired with a sharp exhale. âWell, obviously itâs not great, but it was bound to happen at some point, right?âÂ
âSo youâre cool with it?âÂ
âIâm not ready to make it publicly official, if that's what you're asking. But IâmâŠnot as upset as I thought Iâd be.â You shrug, humming thoughtfully. âCan I ask what your team said on the phone?âÂ
Lando lets a mirthless scoff escape from the back of his throat. It stings less now that you know he's not upset with you for asking about it. âThey wanted me to say you were just some random girl. That you were a fan, or something, and that I didnât know you.âÂ
âWell, that seems a little excessive.âÂ
âYeah, I know, I said the same thing! Nobody with half a brain would believe it either. I mean, just look at us.â He digs his phone out of his pocket, scrolling around until he finds what heâs looking for and flipping it around for you to look at.Â
Turns out youâd been right on the nose about someone recognizing Lando at the club. The photo is grainy and a little blurry, but you can tell it's him cozied up behind you even though his head is tipped down. Thereâs no mistaking that messy head of curls.Â
Then thereâs the one at the beach, of the two of you holding hands as you walk along the shore with your heels dangling from Landoâs fingers. Thereâs a video tooâLando brushing your hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you gently.Â
Itâs still an invasion of privacy, definitely, but there's something romantic about it. Like, at least it's nothing bad. Itâs just an outwards expression of your love. You might not be quite ready to share that love with the world just yet, but one day, you might.
âYâknow, if you ignore the whole gossip mill of it all, the pictures are actually kinda cute.âÂ
âHa! You think so?âÂ
âSure do. My boobs look great in the club one.â
Lando draws his lower lip between his teeth, shamelessly zooming in on the specific photo. âMm, yeah they do, huh?âÂ
You scoff, digging your elbow into his stomach lightly. âStop that!âÂ
âWhat? You said it, Iâm just agreeing!â He protests, holding his hands up in surrender. Then he tilts his head hopefully. âWeâre okay now? Iâm forgiven for being a big stupid idiot?â He asks, tilting his head hopefully. You chuckle, nodding, and he beams. âMint! Love you.âÂ
âI love you too, you big stupid idiot.âÂ
"Fuck, I love hearing you say that."
"What, big stupid idiot?" You tease, dodging the decorative pillow Lando swings your way.
"Funny. The first part, obviously. Say it again for me?"
"I love you, Lan," You say again, looking directly at him.
The giddy smile that curves his lips and makes his whole face brighten is worth everything to you. You'd tell Lando you love him every single day if it'd make him happy.
âAm I allowed to ask you all to come over? Max is fetching Pietra from the airport and she wants to meet you all so badly, I donât think Iâll be allowed back in the house if I donât bring you back with me,â He says, smile turning sheepish. âDâyou think the girls are gonna try to kill me?â
âUh, Iâm not sure.â
âYouâre not sure? Itâs a yes or no answer, baby.âÂ
âIâm ninety percent sure youâll be fine.âÂ
âNinety?âÂ
âEighty five.âÂ
âThatâs so much worse.âÂ
When you inevitably do make it back to Landoâs villa, Max and Pietra have just arrived home too, still outside as Lando pulls up right next to their car.Â
Max folds you into a hug once youâre in range, pausing briefly to say quietly into your ear, âI knew youâd work things out. Iâd have kicked his ass if he didnât.â
You squeeze his shoulder gratefully, because you know heâd had something to do with getting Lando to make things right.Â
Pietra and Lando bicker kind of like siblings, but even then you can tell they're close. He introduces her to all of you, and she instantly melds in so seamlessly with you and your girls it feels like youâve been friends for ages, chattering away about what Max has told her about your adventures in Greece so far.
Finally, things really are all perfect in your little world.Â
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#lando norris#lando norris x reader#ln4#ln4 x reader#lando norris x fem!reader#lando norris x you#lando norris fic#lando norris series#lando norris imagine#summer's golden haze
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sweet child o' mine | pt. i



purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x
pairing:Â neighbor!joel x fem!reader
summary:Â you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?
warnings:Â age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!
word count: 9.8kÂ
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post đ©”
Itâs just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.
The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.
The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like youâre sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you donât know to look for yet.
Perfect, comfortable, still â until heâs on your porch. And he knocks again.
You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.
âYou mind fasteninâ yourâŠdelicates to your clothesline a little better?â
His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before youâve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. Youâve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Millerâs. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.
You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. âExcuse me?â
He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.
âUhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, yâknow. I canât have womenâs underwear just â lyinâ in my damn yard.â
Your head tilts. Ears prick. âCompany? You hostinâ somethinâ?â
His shoulders drop with a sigh. âNo. I am not hostinâ anythinâ.â
âGood. âcause Iâd want an invite.â
âIf I were hostinâ, youâd be the last person I would invite. And you know that.â
âOuch,â you pout, âthat hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.â
âAnd I am grateful to you,â Joel grumbles, âbut that doesnât mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.â He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.
You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features â his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.
Company â that he doesnât want seeing a pair of someone elseâs underwear.
âYou have a date.â
Joelâs tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. âNo, not a date,â he quietly tells the street.
âBut you have a lady cominâ over. Or at least â someone you donât want seeing these.â You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.
He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.
âSounds like a date.â
He hisses, ââs not a date.â
Your stare doesnât slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.
Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. âItâsâŠitâs somebody Tommy ân Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?â
âSo â a date.â
âIf you donât ââ Joelâs head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as â shut the fuck up. âWeâre just having a few drinks. Just â hanginâ out.â
âJust hanginâ out,â you repeat, eyes widening. âOne-on-one. With some woman who â Wait, Tommyâs in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?â
âFrom before they moved. And â Maria ainât his wife. Yet. Theyâre getting married next month.â
Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.
âRight, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, orâŠ?â
The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, âHow many damn questions are you gonna â? Iâm only here to â to return your ââ He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.
A laugh shoots from your nostrils. âWhatâs the matter? You donât like â whatever her name is?â
âLaura.â
âLaura,â you breathe.
âAnd there ainât nothinâ wrong with her. She just â sheâŠâ
âSheâŠ?â
âShe has, like, five cats, and itâs justâŠhair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my ââ He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.
Your lips turn, amused. âFive cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.â
He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. Heâs already halfway down your front steps when he says, âKeep an eye on your laundry from now on,â and strides off back to his own place.
Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. Youâve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You donât know much about him at all â the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.
The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.
He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didnât seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.
He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone elseâs business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.
He's a good guy. You know this much. Heâs a dick to you most days, but heâs honest, and heâs kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when youâre not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.
Heâs observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving â his shining bald head low between his shoulders.
âs the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.
Kitchen sinkâs leakinâ. Fuckinâ â nobody can fix it.
He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip youâd been plagued with for a week straight.
Heâs good. Heâs a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.
Youâve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime youâre on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that â though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden â and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.
You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar â accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how youâd angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.
You know heâs single and childless and has been for at least the three years youâve lived next door to him.
You know little fucking else.
The words on the curled pages seep into one another. Youâre staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.
You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joelâs house. If â when â Laura pulls up, youâll know. And youâll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.
See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brotherâs wedding.
Itâs nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.
Sheâs been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car â a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out â sits patiently out front, like even it canât wait to help her fucking disappear.
Youâre hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasnât noticed you yet.
ââŠso nice gettinâ to properly know you,â Lauraâs crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.
âThanks for cominâ,â he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. Heâs a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. Sheâs still babbling about his six-string.
âMaybe next time I can hear a little somethinââŠâ she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethinâ curls up at its end.
âMaybe,â he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura â who, now that sheâs a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow â is forced to cough up one last chance.
âI gave you my number,â she says, then, âI didnât get yours?â and this time, itâs definitely a question.
Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. âI musta left my phone in the house.â
You canât help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesnât look over.
âWell,â Laura tugs on the handle, âthank you for a lovely eveninâ. Iâll hear from ya.â
Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesnât. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.
As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.
âHonk If You LoveâŠCats,â you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.
He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. âDonât even.â
âGood date?â
âI said donât.â
âShe talk much about her cats?â
âGoodnight.â
âDid you ask their names, at least?â
Heâs backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. âNo more questions. No more pesterinâ me.â
âNothinâ about the cats? Seriously, dude?â You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.
Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.
Eleven hours later, youâre stood in front of your bedroom mirror.
The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Dianeâs roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.
You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.
You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, thereâs a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.
âWhat the fâ? You gotta be fucking kidding me,â you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.
The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.
The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. Itâs probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, thatâs gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve oâclock.
Joelâs a contractor. He could do âem. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or heâd want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joelâs thing. You can cook mac ân cheese â though one lousy meal isnât payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two daysâ labor.
A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller needâ?
Youâre hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.
You slap the rolled paper into his chest. âI have an idea.â
He squints at you in the summer light. âWhâ? Didnât I tell you not to pâ?â
âIâll be your date.â
Joel blinks.
âIâll be your date,â you repeat. âI got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and Iâll be your date.â
âYour wardrobe?â
âCrapped out on me this morninâ. I donât want to pay for some stranger whoâll overcharge me ân do a half-assed job. Fix it, ân you donât have to take cat lady Laura to Tommyâs wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.â
âI already fixed your kitchen sink.â
âItâs back at it. Drippinâ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip ââ
âAlright.â Joelâs palm is up again. He does that a lot when heâs talking to you. âAlright. Wardrobe ân sink.â
âWe have a deal?â you ask, extending your hand.
His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.
Deal.
Two weeks before the wedding, youâre at Joelâs door again.
Heâs in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. âThe hell is this?â
âDo you know what youâre wearinâ?â
His eyes roll up to meet yours. âDo I know what Iâm wearinâ?â
You nod. âYouâre the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?â
âBlack suit,â he says, after a beat.
âThatâs it? He ainât got no theme?â
Joelâs head cocks. âI donât do themes.â
You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.
âYou are so damn annoyinâ, you know that?â his voice echoes behind you.
âYou want this date or not, Miller?â you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom â thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. âVeryâŠgray,â you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.
You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.
âIâm not wearinâ a dress.â
You glower at him. âHa. We have to match.â
He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. âMatch how?â
âYâknow, your suit ân my dress. If Iâm your date, we have to match.â
âAlready told you. Iâm wearinâ a black suit.â
âRight. But, like â what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?â You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. âMaybe,â you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, âthis one?â
Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. âNo. Black.â
âJoel.â
He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. âBlack,â he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.
Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. âCan you just â? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?â
âWhy the hell are you so hung up on this?â
âIâm not. Iâm just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.â
He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. âI will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?â
âHappy. Are you ready?â
âGive me five minutes.â
You huff, head rolling back. âYou are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.â
With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though itâs the only chance youâll get to see it.
It probably is, when you think about it. You donât imagine heâll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.
Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo â a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kidâs tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dogâs thick neck.
One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joelâs boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.
Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.
The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.
âYou ready?â Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.
âYep,â you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his headâs down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.
ââs go,â he says, keys dangling from his finger.
It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.
You chitter in Joelâs ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ân how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and itâs not? I wonât; itâs enough. You sound so sure. Thatâs âcause Iâve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?
âWhatâs our story, then?â you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&Mâs he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.
âOur story?â he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.
âLike, when people ask how we met. Whatâs our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?â
He doesnât laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. âJoel.â
ââsec,â he frowns, âIâm focusing.â
You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.
âTwentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteenââ
Joelâs lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.
âDo you mind?â he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.
âHome Depotâs your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?â
âBecause itâs your damn closet Iâm fittinâ. Just ââ he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, ââ come on.â
Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.
âSo, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?â you ask, taking the cart from Joelâs hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.
His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. âYeah. Why?â
âDo I get to meet âem?â
âNo.â
âOh, come on. Youâre not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?â
He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. âMy fake date?â
âThey donât know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.â
He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. âMatt or gloss? Guess it donât really matter if Iâm painting âem after.â
âStop fuckinâ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.â
He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. âYou think Iâm gonna introduce you ân your potty mouth to my mom?â
You smirk, eyes narrow. âDick.â
âFunny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?â
âPlanning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could ââ
He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. âWe shook on new wardrobe. No changinâ the deal,â he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.
You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. âWhere are your mom and dad from?â you ask.
âAustin,â he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. âNever known anywhere else,â he adds. âWhat about you? Whereâs Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?â
âUh,â you swipe at your nose awkwardly, âtheyâre up in Allandale. Thatâs where I grew up.â
âThat so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ân resell.â
âYeah,â you say, âright next to the cemetery, right?â
âThatâs the one,â Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. âThey live nearby?â
Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. âTheyâre, um,â you gulp, âtheyâre in the cemetery.â
Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. âOh,â he says, set on your expression.
âItâs okay â I donât mind. Itâs â it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasnât in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I donât mind,â you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.
âI had no idea,â he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.
ââs all good,â you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, âI got to buy a big house with the money they left.â
It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin youâre holding. âThat oneâs nice. You, uh â you okay?â
You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. âYeah. Iâm fine. We got everything?â
Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. âYou can meet her, if you want. My mom. Sheâs a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.â
You smile, following him down the aisle.
A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, youâre back on Joelâs doorstep.
Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and youâre separated only by air.
Joelâs eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joelâs do.
âWow, you ââ
ââ look great, I ââ
ââ nice dress, is that â? Sorry ââ
ââ no, Iâm sorry, you were â sorry.â A laugh pushes from your throat. âYou look â you look good. Scrub up well, ân all that.â
âYou too. You â Yeah. Thatâs a nice color, after all. You suit it.â His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.
âThanks. After all?â You snort, and Joelâs exterior seems to crack a little.
He steps back, ushering you in. âAlright,â he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. âYou know what I meant.â
Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.
âYou mind doinâ my tie? Itâll end up squint if I do.â
âSure,â you reply, stepping forward.
He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.
Heâs rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But thereâs something soft about him, something familiar andâŠcomfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.
You pull the knot higher until itâs sitting in the notch below his Adamâs apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.
âThanks, darlinâ,â he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. âOh,â he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.
Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. âVery nice. Good job.â
âYou can do the honors,â Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.
You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joelâs eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. âThere,â you whisper, leaning back.
He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You donât see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.
Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.
âHow come he didnât send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethinâ?â
âYou think weâre made aâ money?â Joel asks, smirking.
You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. âCan I pick the music?â you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.
Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. âNo,â he says.
Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.
The wedding isâŠbig. Joelâs family is big. The venue â a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles â is big.
Joelâs been good about it â that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom â a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head â who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.
Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long youâd been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joelâs direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.
You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, thatâs it; maâam, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!
You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl youâre so used to seeing on him. You didnât even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.
You hesitated. I donât know if I â
Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.
The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back â Tommyâs, loose on your shoulders, and Joelâs, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.
Drink? Joel had asked, and youâd responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.
Heâs still over there â by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him â her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.
Sheâs beautiful â a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.
Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.
He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. Heâs warm, his knuckles kissing yours.
âHow was it, then, talkinâ to my mom?â Joel asks.
You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. âI like her. Sheâs funny.â And then, when he tosses his head in response, âWho were you talkinâ to?â
Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. âUh,â he wanders around your back to his chair, âwe used to work together.â
Your nails tap against the glass. âOh, yeah?â
He sniffs. Doesnât meet your eye. âYep.â
âYou were talking to her for a long time.â
He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. âLotta memories.â
âWhy wonât you look at me?â
His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. âYou want me to look at you? There.â
You grin. ââs better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.â
âSafer to have âem stuck on you, is it?â
âMhm,â your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, âbetter view. So, who is she?â
Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. âWeâŠwe were together for some time. A few years.â
âAn ex,â you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. âHow many years?â
âEight.â
You almost choke on your drink. âEight â eight years?â
Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. âHavenât seen her in a while. We were just catchinâ up.â
âEight fucking years. Why the fuck arenât you married?â
He scoffs. âThatâs a fifth-date question.â He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.
âI donât need five fuckinâ wardrobes,â you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didnât make him laugh like that â not from where you were watching.
It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind â tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.
Within four rounds, youâve lost count.
The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like itâs coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.
The jerk of Joelâs shoulders stirs you from your daydream. Thatâs one more.
âWhat?â you ask, head rolling to look over to him.
âYou still in there?â he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.
You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. âYou know who has tulips?â you ask him.
He lifts his eyebrows. Who?
âAlice.â
âBrown?â
Your head nods heavily. âOne time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend â heâd just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thingâŠâ You bat your hand. âAnyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkinâ to him in the driveway.â
Joelâs head tilts back with a burst of laughter. âShe hear every word?â
âEvery â damn â word. Stood by the fence listeninâ.â
âThat woman is somâ else,â Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. âDidnât I warn you about her?â
âMhm.â You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythinâ.
The high squeal of the Sweet Child Oâ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joelâs shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long youâve been fucking staring.
Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.
âWhat room number did you say you were, again?â
Your shoulders roll. âThirty-four, I think.â
Joel nods. Points to himself. âThirty-six.â And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. âThink theyâll miss us if we call it a night?â
âWeâre callinâ it a night?â
âFigure if Iâm headinâ off then you wonât wanna be sat here by yourself,â Joel says, and heâs right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. âIâm callinâ it a night,â he tells you. âYou cominâ?â
The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.
ââs a good girl,â he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.
You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. Youâre laughing, and Joelâs hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna â tryna sleep, weâre in a fancy place, hey, da-rlinâ, no â you gotta shhhut up.
âGreat party,â you decide, finally docking against your door.
âYeah,â Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.
Heâs different tonight. Maybe itâs the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that youâve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.
âAre you tired?â you ask, head rolling.
âTired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.â He laughs again. Itâs infectious.
âYou wanna come inside?â you ask, words leaping from your giggle.
He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.
âYeah. Fuck yeah, I do.â
Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.
Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.
âThis ainïżœïżœïżœt â part of the â agreement,â you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.
âChanged my mind,â he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.
Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. âNo changinâ the deal, remember?â
âTell me to stop.â
If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joelâs teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.
He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.
âYou fuckinââŠâ He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.
You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.
âDonât get shy now, baby,â he murmurs, opening your body up again. âYou were so happy about me seeinâ âem a few weeks ago, no?â
ââs different,â you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, ânow I just want you to take them off me.â
He cocks his head, drinking every word youâre handing over like itâs water from an oasis. âSuch a dirty girl, ainât you?â
You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. âYou got no fucking idea,â you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.
Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.
His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.
ââs alright, baby,â he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. âIâm gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?â
A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joelâs mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.
âAttagirl,â he breathes, âyou want it bad, huh? Gettinâ so worked up so fast. Here.â
He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. âOpen,â he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.
Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, âYou got it, âs okay.â
A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until heâs dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.
âJust fucking â do it,â you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.
He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as theyâll go.
You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.
Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. âFuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?â
âUhuh,â you reply, voice wanton and broken.
You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.
Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one anotherâs hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.
Joelâs the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.
âYouâre gonna make me come, darlinâ,â he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.
âThatâs kinda the point here,â you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.
Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. âGotta feel this fucking pussy first.â
You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.
âYeah,â Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, âthat good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?â
You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.
Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.
âAlright,â he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.
âWant you to come in it,â you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.
âYeah, baby,â Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then â
You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.
âFuck,â he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. âBeen thinkinâ about this all fuckinâ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.â
You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joelâs hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.
Heâs so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this â made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.
So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.
Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.
The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that youâre forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.
âGonna â fuckinâ â come â baby,â he spits, his jaw locked tight. âYou want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?â
âMhm,â you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. âJoel, I â fuck ââ
âYeah, she can,â he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.
The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.
Joelâs lips press between your shoulder blades. âDonât fight it, baby, let go. I got you.â
You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joelâs wrists.
âFuck, baby, fuck me,â Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. âAhh,â he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. âGood fucking girl. Take it, baby. Thatâs my girl.â
He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.
ââs alright,â he coos, hips slowing against yours, âjust feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?â
âUhuh,â you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.
âSo fuckinâ full of me,â he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.
You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one anotherâs features, learning the lines on Joelâs face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows â all the parts youâre never close nor brave enough to get to know.
His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.
âI wanna do it again,â you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.
Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. âI wanna do it again, too.â
âI wanna do it all night.â
He hasnât stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. âThen letâs do it all fucking night,â he says, and his lips slam back into yours.
The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance youâve kept all morning â the unreal aftermath of sex.
The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way youâd silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as youâd tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.
He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.
He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. Itâs the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you heâll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.
âReal busy with work,â he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.
âThatâs good,â you tell him, nodding. âI ainât in any rush. I know where you live, so.â
A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. âI will get to it,â he assures you.
You shrug casually. âWhenever, Joel.â
You donât talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.
Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver â daring closer and closer to his front door, until youâre back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.
The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.
âHey, kid,â Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.
âHey.â
âYou doinâ okay?â he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.
Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. âThink I ate somâ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this morninâ.â
Joelâs chin angles. âHope it ainât contagious. Was thinkinâ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?â
The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, âSure. Sure, just, uh â just come over whenever, I guess.â
âNine work for you?â
You nod. âNineâs good. See ya then.â
Itâs something like nine when you find out.
You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.
Youâve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.
But it never hurts to be sure.
The pack tears like itâs liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap â like itâs something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.
Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.
A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush â and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. Thereâs no fucking wâ
Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates â flickers, like itâs unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you donât. Itâs seen something it doesnât want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.
Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.
#forgive me for it not being clm or sof#they're coming very soon i promise#this was too fun an idea not to chase#i have the attention span of my labrador retrievers (nil)#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#the last of us#tlou#macfrog#neighbor!joel miller#neighbor!joel#babydaddy!joel miller
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Tommy Kinard, from a long line of Gloucester fishermen. Hence his penchant for ill-fitting jeans, flannel, and affection via bitchiness.
He and Evan are sitting on the little bench outside The Causeway waiting for their chowderâbest in the country, hands downâwhen Evan, who's been quietly studying boats in various stages of winter wrapping across the road, suddenly asks, "Why did you leave here? It's awesome. The downtown area looks like something out of a postcardâ"
"It does not," Tommy interjects. "Rockport's downtown, on the other hand..."
"âand the beaches feel like real beaches, even if they do smell like shit."
Tommy tilts his head back and inhales the heavy, but comfortingly familiar stench of low tide. "I left because the town's unofficial motto used to be 'Come for the heroin, stay because you've developed a crippling heroin addiction.'"
Unimpressed, Evan nudges him with an elbow, then jumps to his feet to get the door for a family of six who will be waiting at least a month for a table big enough to accommodate them to open up.
The Causeway is approximately the size of an elevator car. Despite its outward appearance, it's relatively new; it hadn't been there when Tommy was a kid. The little cinema next door had been, though, and he feels a surge of pride for the Williams family that it's still going after all this time.
"No, but seriously." Evan hunkers back down next to him. "Why'd you leave?"
"Why'd you leave Hershey?" Tommy counters.
The corner of Evan's mouth twitches knowingly. He's got Tommy's number in a way no one else does. "You know why I left. But you could've stayed here and done anything. Massachusetts might be even more progressive than CaliforniaâI mean, it was the first state to legalize gay marriage. Plus, I know there's an air base nearby."
"Hanscom," Tommy says. "It belongs to the Air Force and I wouldn't have been caught dead joining them."
Evan gives him a dubious look. "But the Army was okay?"
"Don't you know, Evan? The Army is for real men," he says with a grin, putting an emphasis on it so Evan knows just whose words he's parroting. "The Air Force is for faâ"
"Yeah, okay, I got it," Evan says loudly, cutting a furtive glance at the people on the other bench, who are too busy looking at their phones and not talking to each other to pay attention to any casual homophobia. "You're gonna get us run out of town."
"Please, it's Gloucester. If anything, they'll probably join in."
Evan deflates a little, pouting, and Tommy is helpless against the urge to press a kiss to his hair. What Evan doesn't understand is that Massachusetts is like an impressionist painting: beautiful if you're standing back far enough to see the whole of it, but get closer and it's as ugly as anywhere else.
"My point was," Tommy continues, "I left because I needed something more than what this place could give me, same as you. And also I needed to be somewhere with a spring wind chill above -10°."
"You bitch if the temps hit above 70," Evan points out.
"I also bitch if the day ends in Y." Tommy shrugs. "Bitching is the official state sport, especially when it comes to the weather."
Checking his phone for the time, Evan heaves an impatient sigh and drops his chin onto Tommy's shoulder. He's too used to LA's food trucks to last a minute here. "There's so much here, though. Like, Worcester looked fun."
Tommy winces. "It's pronounced 'Wuss-ter'."
Wide-eyed, Evan lifts his head. "You're shitting me."
"I shit you not," Tommy says. "And Worcester's okay. It's big, though. And a pain in the ass to navigate."
"What's beyond Worcester?"
"Nobody knows." He coughs out a 'fuck' when Evan buries an elbow in his gut.
Laughing, Evan echoes, "'Fahk.' There's the accent I've been hoping to hear. I mean, heeyah. Try and hide it all you want, Kinard, I know what you are."
"Okay, Hershey, I dare you to say 'water' like a normal person," Tommy can't help but tease. "Remember, there's no U or D in it."
Eyes sparkling, Evan presses close with a shit-eating grin and says slyly, "I'll show U where to put a D."
Before Tommy can shove him off the bench for that one, the door to the restaurant opens and a head pops out. "Order for Kinard?"
"Saved by the clams," Evan chortles, standing up when Tommy goes to grab the bag from the kid. He gives a long, luxurious stretch, and Tommy can't help but let his eyes be drawn to Evan's belly when his shirt rides up. "Where do you want to eat? We could go sit down by the beach. There's a big dahlia garden display there."
Huh. They still do that? That's actually kind of sweet, but Tommy has plans and they don't involve the public.
"If you don't mind a bit of light trespassing, we'll head up to Mussel Point. The view's well worth it."
Intrigued, Evan lifts his brows. "Trespassing? Gee, Tommy, you take me to all the best places."
That snark is nowhere to be found half an hour later when Evan's full of clam chowder and getting ruthlessly jacked off while the ocean bays at his feet, but Tommy doesn't call him on it.
#bucktommy#bitchy new englander tommy my beloved#can you tell i adore gloucester (and the causeway)?#uh oh it's *jazz hands* L O C A L K N O W L E D G E#rc's 911 fics
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the taste of your tongue â
â



p - aib!niragi x f!reader
g - alice in borderland (the beach)
w - sexual tension, HIGHLY suggestive, lip biting, choking, making out, mentions of fucking, i don't rlly know if this would be considered a spoiler, but if you don't know anything about aib and are planning to watch it, then this fic might potentially be a spoiler
an - i'm currently watching aib season 2 and i fell in love with niragi ALL OVER AGAINN (which i didn't know was possible) alsooo... my FIRST published fic! lmk what u think <3
playlist - libid0 - OnlyOneOf
wc - 1k
when niragi attemps to test you at The Beach, you don't hesitate to put him in his place.
the night was still, the air cool and crisp with the sound of silent waves crashing against the shore. you stood on the balcony of The Beach, leaning against the railing as you gaze at the remnants of the sunset. the chaos of the dayâs games were a distant memory, and here, you found a moment of peace. but that peace was about to be interrupted.
niragi, having noticed you step away from the other residents, walked up quietly, his gaze fixed on you. the way you guys had been basically eye-fucking one another ever since you'd arrived had been gnawing at him since he hadn't found an opportunity to do something about it. and now, seeing you alone, he couldn't resist the chance to approach.
he stops a few feet away, his voice low. "do you always disappear like this?"
you turn slowly, your eyes locking onto him. you hadnât expected him to follow you, but you weren't startled.
"what do you want, niragi?" you ask, your voice calm.
he steps closer, his usual smirk spreading across his face. "i'm just wondering what youâre doing out here all alone. the others are having fun, but you look like youâd rather do anything else." he was testing you, trying to get under your skin, but there was something about you that intrigued him. you didnât react the way others did. you weren't afraid of him.
"i'm just thinking," you reply with a shrug, trying to appear unfazed by his presence. "do you ever think, niragi? or do you just do whatever you want, whenever you want?"
he lets out a small chuckle. "i donât need to think too hard to know what i wanna do," he said, stepping even closer, his voice dropping lower. "and i think you want it too."
you raise an eyebrow, hoping to become the one doing the testing now. "yeah? did you hear it from me?"
niragi chuckled and leaned in, his tongue sticking out to wet his bottom lip. "well, you're a smart-ass. i'm sure you can figure it out." his eyes search yours for a hint of reciprocation. "you donât seem like the type to just sit back and let things happen, so why not prove me wrong? maybe i'll surprise you."
you look at him, your lips curving into a small grin. a surge of excitement filled your entire being just thinking of what could happen next.
you take a small step closer, your body now brushing against his, and for a moment, niragi's confidence faltered. before he could say another word, you lean in, your lips lightly brushing his. niragi's eyebrows furrow slightly, surprised by the suddenness, but he quickly regains his composure. his hand reaches to grip the balcony railing, both to trap you in between his arms and to stabilize himself. he waits for you to pull back or give some signal.
but you don't. you couldn't ignore the pleasure that slowly creeped straight to your pussy when you thought of the impossible amount of things that he'd want to do in this moment.
so instead, you stick your tongue out to meet his in a deliberate motion. you study niragi's reaction carefully; the way his breath hitched when you slowly dragged your wet muscle against his, the way he reciprocated your action immediately like it was second nature, the way his eyes never closed shut; it was as if they couldn't. you half expected him to become a complete monster and take you right there, despite it being the first time officially meeting (which was half what you wanted). but he didn't.
it wasn't until you pressed into his lips in such a teasing manner that niragi lost his composure. the pressure in your kiss was subtle, but it was enough for him to let out a soft groan. niragi was usually the one in control. but this time, he was losing it.
he responded suddenly, his hand reaching up to gently squeeze your neck. he leaned in deeper to carelessly enjoy the wetness of your tongues battling together. you moaned into his mouth, a sound that shocked the both of you. you tried your best not to melt in his arms when his grip tightened on your neck. you were supposed to be the one testing him, not the other way around. but that was hard to remember when he was making you rub your thighs together, so close to making you cum despite him barely touching you.
in one fluid motion, your lips wrap around his lower lip â softly sucking at first, then biting, just enough to send a small spark of pain through him (that he enjoyed more than he shouldâve). letting out a breathy moan, he pulls back, breath ragged and eyes filled with both shock and desperation for more.
"you think you can just get whatever you want by seducing me like that?" you look up at him, your voice low and needy. at this point, you couldn't even mask how bad you wanted him if you tried. plus, you weren't worried about trying anymore.
niragi's hand hovered near his lip, his fingers grazing the spot where you'd bitten him. his usual cocky smirk appeared on his face, chuckling at your attempt to take control of him. but he was still too dazed to pull away completely. "you're full of surprises, smart-ass," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, not even trying to hide the growing bulge in his pants.
you took a step back, looking him up and down, biting your own lip as your eyes lingered on his obviously large appendage. you found yourself wanting to continue elsewhere, but you couldn't let him think he had the upper hand. "next time, donât underestimate me," you say, your tone quiet but final. "and my name isn't 'smart-ass'. it's y/n."
niragi watches as you turn, heading back into the building. he stood there for a moment to watch your hips swing back and forth, not missing the way you turned back to motion for him to follow you. he hadnât expected to be the one caught off guard tonight, but you⊠you had a way of making him go crazy in a way he absolutely loved. and now, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to relieve his aching cock by taking you into one of the rooms and pounding you so fucking hard.
"y/n..." he whispers to himself as he follows after you, "i love the taste of your tongue."
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Iâm begging and scratching at the walls for more plug!sukuna omg. Iâve been thinking about him at a party really clinging to a shy girl, trying to get her to âjust take one hit youâll like itâ and something something he convinces her to sit on his lap and he lets her explore his body, slowly getting really worked up. Letting her have âcontrolâ until he loses it.
Once again this weeks dub has me by the NECK Ray chase ate and left no crumbs UNFFF I hope you like this! Scummy Sukuna my beloved đ
warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dubcon, creampie, manipulation, vaginal sex, choking, degradation, smoking oui'd, coercion, slight oral fixation.
words: 2k
âAlone?â a voice asks, sitting beside you on the couch. You shuffle as much as you can to give him space, keeping your knees together as he decides to manspread and rest his arm around the back.
âNo Iâm with myââ you turn to look at Nobara before realising sheâs attached her lips to someone elseâs while you were disassociating. âOh, well, kind of.â you shrug.
He smirks, leaning forward. âGood,â he tells you as he pulls some things out of his pocket and places them on the coffee table. Itâs like a science, watching people roll blunts. Youâve never tried it and youâve never wanted to, not when youâve heard so many horror stories. But whenever youâve been around to see someone roll, youâve always been oddly captivated. âYou look lost.â
âU-UmâŠâ you huff, unsure of how to respond. âI donât really like partiesâŠâ you sigh.
He nods, not saying anything else as he continues to finish rolling his joint. Itâs quick and easy, like he does this all day everyday and has it perfected. You watch him light it, but look down at your lap when he leans back against the couch.
âWhy not?â he wonders. âToo loud? Too many people?â
âYeahâŠâ you confess, feeling a little lame as you admit your true feelings.
Youâre in the prime of your life and youâre complaining about being at a party. You wouldnât mind as much if Nobara wasnât occupied. But you donât know anyone else here. Truthfully, you probably would have snuck home if he didnât sit down to talk to you. Youâd much rather be at home with some takeout food and a bingeable show.
Your heart sinks a little when he stands up. Have you really embarrassed yourself that much? So much so that youâve bored him enough to leave. He walks away, turning to face you after taking a good amount of steps.
âAre you coming? Thought you didnât like parties.â he speaks. He waits until you stand up, but carries on walking before you can catch up to him. You follow him through the house and up the stairs. Itâs a lot quieter, though there are still muffles. Soft moans from one room and crying from another. âSukuna. If you were wondering.â he introduces himself, not bothering to look at you as he does.
You tell him your name, and realise heâs brought you to a bedroom.
âGet comfy.â he instructs, he turns on a light, dimming it slowly when he sees your eyes screw shut from the brightness. The music still plays softly through the gaps of the door and into the room from the rest of the house. âWhyâd you come here if you donât like parties?â
âMy friend⊠she wanted me to.â
âSo you just do what people tell you to?â he asks, sitting beside you on the bed.
Your face fills with heat and your heart begins to race. You wiggle away from him slightly to keep some distance between you. He takes a drag of his blunt, looking up at the lights as he puffs a plume of smoke towards the ceiling.
âNot always.â
He doesnât respond, instead, he holds the blunt out for you to try. You shake your head, though, declining immediately. Even with a few drinks in your system, you know better.
âAwe, no fun.â he chuckles, taking another drag. âCâmon. One hit, sweetheart.â he tells you, getting closer to you again and putting his arm around you. Your head drops, eyes finding where his hand rests on your hip before looking at the joint heâs holding right in front of you.
âIâ Iâve never⊠Iâve never smoked before.â you admit.
âThatâs cute. One puff wonât hurt, yeah?â he speaks, though youâre unsure if heâs trying to convince you or if heâs actually certain it wonât hurt. He smiles widely, itâs toothy and somewhat intimidating. Heâs happy. He can see that youâre considering it. âPromise youâll like it.â
You gulp, heartily, before wrapping your lips around the end of it. Youâve smoked cigarettes before, and you could only assume it would be similar.
Wrong.
You cough, sputter, gag from the invasion. He laughs at your expense, though he smooths a large palm up and down your back to soothe you. Your throat feels charred. Itâs like the smoke has burnt holes throughout your oesophagus and the edges are scalding.
He gets up and walks towards a mini fridge you hadnât noticed, tossing a bottle of water in your direction. And you drink it, quickly, the bottle crackling as you squeeze and drain it of every drop you can steal.
âS-Sorry,â you apologise, still coughing slightly. âThat was embarrassing.â
âYeah.â he agrees. âYou really werenât lying about it being your first time, hah?â he keeps going. Unfortunately for you, you donât realise that heâs goading you. And itâs working.
You ask for another hit, out of principle. And of course, he smiles and hands it to you.
It gets easier, for sure. Soon enough, youâve smoked the whole thing. He applauds you, impressed. But why does it make your ego swell? Your confidence soars, you donât feel so shy anymore.
Not around him.
âCâmere,â he instructs, patting his thighs as an invitation. You look between his ruby red eyes and thick thighs as you decide whether you want to or not. You hesitate, a few times, before eventually standing up. He guides you down by your hips, your thighs straddling his while his hands dip beneath your skirt and thumbs stroke your skin soothingly.
Your eyes feel heavy, and he canât help but smile when he sees how bloodshot they are. He can see how your eyes want to widen in shock. So utterly confused about how you got here.
He doesnât give you a chance to think, though, not when his large hand cradles the crown of your head and pulls you towards himself. Your lips are caught together. Itâs tame, to him. But to you itâs scandalous. A random hook up isnât something youâve ever done. Youâre a long term relationship kind of girl.
But you canât help yourself, now. His personality is magnetic, and his charm is captivating. You donât want to disappoint him, for some reason. The thought of letting him down scares you. The idea of disobeying him makes your heart race.
That could just be the drugs, though.
You pull back, tracing your fingers over his body. A breathy gasp leaves you as he pulls off his vest, tossing it aside to reveal his chiselled body. Your cunt throbs as you feel how ripped he is. Heâs the biggest man youâve ever been with, like this, and he knows it too. He can tell by the look on your face.
The way you unashamedly squeeze his biceps. Two of your little hands arenât even enough to wrap around the entire muscle.
He watches you, calmly, admiring how cute you look as you inspect every inch of his body.
âHaving fun?â he asks, you give nothing but a dumb nod in response. His skin is smooth and you find yourself tracing a single finger over all of his tattoos. He guides you by your chin to look at him again, leaning forward to kiss you.
You reciprocate, allowing him to kiss you his way. He slips his tongue between the seam of your lips and two rough hands reach under your skirt and grab the fat of your ass. You wrap your legs around his back as he lifts you up, helping you back down so that your back is flat against the mattress.
He ruts his body against yours. And you can feel just how hard he is beneath his sweats. Itâs huge, it feels huge. But you can barely focus as each dry humping of his hips stimulates your core.
âFuck, need to fuck you,â he whispers against your ear and nibbling on the lobe. Your eyes roll back as he chokes you softly, and your own hips begin to buck as you search for more pleasure.
Youâve never felt so aroused before.
Itâs like all of the blood is rushing to your core and pleading with you to stimulate yourself further. You need more. More. You wonder if anything will ever be enough, though.
âSâfucking cute, wanâ my cock bad, hah? Am I right?â
âF-Fuck me, please.â you whimper, screwing your eyes shut so that he canât see how embarrassed you are.
He loosens his grip on your neck, moving it to cup your cheek instead. You instinctively open your mouth for him, and he lets out a soft laugh before pushing his thumb between your lips. He pulls down his sweatpants just enough to free his cock, eyes not leaving you for a second as you swirl your tongue around his thumb, bobbing and sucking all the while.
âI fucking knew it,â he speaks, âAlways the quiet ones, always the dirtiest.â
You giggle a little, still suckling on his thumb like it was your sole purpose on this earth. He flips up your skirt to reveal a cute little g-string beneath.
âYou donât like parties? Sâthat why you came here dressed like a little whore?â he asks, pushing the material into the crease of your thigh. He lines his cock up with your entrance, slowly pushing in. âSorry I didnât prep ya, but youâre drenched anyway. Besides, a slut like you probâly doesnât mind getting fucked like this.â he continues. He forces himself into you, ignoring the resistance until heâs snuggled inside.
He is huge.
The way your pussy splits open just to take the sheer girth of him makes you wonder if heâs even human. His cockhead nudges at your cervix, and every thrust he delivers hammers against it ruthlessly.
âH-HurhâŠâ you try to tell him that youâre hurting, but his thumb presses down on your thumb and it makes you gag. Though he slows down, knowing you were warning him. He isnât a complete monster, after all. Heâs a bit of a dick, sure, but he wants you to enjoy this, too.
His thrusts arenât as deep anymore, sparing your poor cervix for the time being. The pain subsides and turns into something a lot more pleasant. So much so, that you canât stop yourself from raking your nails across his back as he hits just the right spot inside of you with his enormous cock.
He pulls his thumb from your mouth, opting to squeeze the sides of your neck again instead. Your moans become lodged in your throat, and you canât voice just how fucking perfect he feels inside of you. Youâre close, so fucking close.
Though surprisingly, he cums first, loudly. Unable to withstand the blinding pleasure he feels as your tiny little cunt tightens around him. His body breaks out in a cold sweat as he moans, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into you. His restraint is lost, and heâs soon nudging against your cervix again, forcing every drop he can deep into your womb.
The warm feeling has your eyes crossing as you begin to spasm around him. He hisses, desperately, too overstimulated to keep quiet as your walls begin to hug his cock.
âYou can stay the night, if you want.â Sukuna tells you, pulling himself out of your spent hole. He wipes his dick off on your inner thigh, though you barely register it as you think about what he said.
âIs this⊠Is this your house? Your party?â
âLittle brotherâs party. I live here, too.â
He doesnât want you to get the wrong idea. Youâre certainly a sweet girl, and you seem like the type to get attached. He has an ulterior motive in mind, though. Sure, maybe heâll fuck you a few more times throughout the night. But he hopes you wonât be a fool and fall for him.
He has a goal for the following morning.
He wants to know how Yuujiâs girlfriend will react to seeing a girl leave his bedroom.
© 2023 rinhaler
#đ â luxe mail#đš â requests#AITA Sukuna#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna ryomen#sukuna ryomen x reader#ryomen sukuna#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu#jjk x fem!reader#tw dubcon#tw manipulation#tw choking#tw degradation#tw drug use#tw coercion
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hey love!!!! i hope you are doing well đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶ if you feel so inclined could we get another coworker frenemies james?? i loveeeee him âčïž
thank u for requesting đ fem, 1k
James canât fucking stand you, but in a fun way. You feel worse about him, heâs sure. Heâs sitting in his car waiting for you to get out of yours, pretending to look for something rather than have to share the elevator up to the office with you.Â
He hasnât figured out a good comeback yet for what youâd said about his rugby pictures yesterday as you left, and he hates when you win, because you smile all smug and he finds it adorable. You donât deserve a smile like that, youâre insipid, and annoying, and you take a full day to reply to his emails.Â
He digs his hand into the door handle and pushes it out. The winter cold hits him hard and immediate, makes him wish he wore his thick coat with the hood even if Remus says it makes him look like he works in the deep arctic.Â
Thereâs less slow on the ground than there has been for the last few days, snowdrift melting in the day and turning to ice at night when the temperature drops. Thereâs no sun out yet to warm him. He shoves his hands into his pocket and begins a careful trek from the parking lot to the stairs leading up to the office.Â
Youâre taking steps slow as his further in. Heâd hoped youâd be gone. Heâs stupid for not looking, now you both have to do an awkward shuffle where the other can see, what if he trips? You arenât looking his way, but heâs sure it would draw your attention. If he trips in front of you he might quit, heâ
Youâre about two steps away from the flat entrance to the office building when you slip.Â
In honesty, it's not as bad a fall as it couldâve been, your foot slips on the step and your knee hits the stone, then the other, your hand tight on the handrail but unable to save you. Your gasp is horrible, tight and too quiet, considering the surprise.Â
James pauses.Â
He could pretend he didnât see. But if you turn at any point and see him, youâll know heâs witnessed it, and thatâll be ten times as awkward as if he were to just keep on walking.Â
He canât walk past you. He never could. You donât get along, but James isnât the type of guy who can leave someone kneeling on the wet ground.Â
Foregoing caution, James hurries across the last stretch of slushied ground to grab you. He feels cruel at first, his hand under your armpits and yanking you up, but the ice is dead slippery and you canât find purchase, letting out another strange gasp as he rights you.
You turn your face to identify your saviour.Â
âOh,â you say, breathing funny, âof course.âÂ
âAre you okay?âÂ
âWhat?â you ask. Â
âAre you okay?â he frowns at your frown, though theyâre of two different calibres. You look angry. James is concerned.Â
âWhat do you think, James?âÂ
You yank out of his arms and turn away from him.Â
He shouldnât have grabbed you without asking. He probably hurt you a little with the force of it, but heâd thought picking you up would be best. Less humiliating, perhaps.Â
You sniffle.Â
âAre you alright?â he asks. He wishes he could say he spoke gently, but your annoyance churns his own, and heâs starting to sound mad too.Â
âIâm fine.âÂ
âListen, sit down. You have a long coat, just sit for a second.âÂ
Your shoulders tighten, but you sweep your coat under your thighs and struggle to sit down on one of the icy steps. He can imagine the cold of it under your bum and your palms as you begin to fold in on yourself, and itâs only then he notices the blood on your knees. âOh,â he says. (And later, years in the future, he might admit to sounding heartbroken). âYour knees.âÂ
You pull at your skin. âAwesome. Thatâs really cool.âÂ
You sound upset. James finds he canât ignore that, either. He feels like a dick standing over you and so he crouches, and that feels worse, but he stays like that, facing across from you, hand begging to touch your poor scratched knees. Your eyes widen ever so slightly in response, their waterlines heavy with tears, shimmery and waiting to fall.Â
âThe last time I fell up here I thought I broke my arm.âÂ
A tear breaks free from your lashes, streaking heavy and slow down your cheek. âWhat?âÂ
âI smashed my arm coming down. It hurt for days, and I had a bruise in a line.â He raises his arm to draw a line across his sleeve. âRight here.âÂ
âI thought you were better coordinated than that.âÂ
âThatâs not what you said yesterday about my photos,â he reminds you.Â
You laugh under your breath. A second tear tips down the other cheek.Â
âItâs easily done. The ice is pretty bad.âÂ
âDonât patronise me,â you say. Your voice is missing its usual disdain. You just sound sad.Â
âIâm not patronising you! You just take everything I say the wrong way.âÂ
âThen donât say it the wrong way.âÂ
âMaybe we should go inside and find the first aid kit. How does it feel?âÂ
âI slipped,â you say hotly. âIâm fine.âÂ
Then why are you crying? Floods of tears on your cheeks, your hot breath a cloud that kisses your nose. If it were Remus sitting here in tears, James would already be hugging him. If it were Sirius, heâd have patted him on the back by now. It is so, so odd to see you crying. So weird. It makes his chest twist.Â
âAre you sure youâre okay?âÂ
âIâm fine! Just go upstairs and tell everybody already.âÂ
âTell them what?âÂ
âI donât know. That Iâm a baby.âÂ
He tilts his head, canât help it, leaning in mildly too close. âYouâre a baby?â he asks, fondness leaking into his tone. âBecause you fell? Everybody falls.âÂ
ââCos Iâm crying,â you mumble.Â
âIâm not going to tell anyone. Then youâll tell everybody I cried when I nearly broke my arm, itâs a lose-lose situation.âÂ
Heâs stupid for talking to you like this. Like youâre friends, and like you can stand to be near him. You donât look disgusted as his finger brushes your leg, just below your sore cut, and youâre not mad anymore. The ferocity drains from your face and leaves behind a sniffly, embarrassed frown.Â
âWonât tell anyone,â he says quietly.
âThank you.âÂ
James didnât fall up the stairs the last time it snowed. He didnât hurt his arm or cry, heâs too remarkably coordinated for that. He lied, and heâll lie to Remus when he asks why it took you both as long as it did to get upstairs. You slipped and he helped you. There were no heart-hurting tears. Itâs a secret he doesnât mind keeping for you.Â
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter fic#james potter fluff#james potter blurb#james potter drabble#james potter imagine#james potter fanfic#james potter fanfiction#james potter scenario#james potter oneshot#the marauders#marauders era#marauders
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dumb tactics â jing yuan x reader
sypnosis. [ 0.3k words. fluff. established relationship ] â a game, a whistle, a kiss.
usagi's note: i haven't written in a while bcs i was caught up in academics, but i swear ive been cooking, like i have a rlly good upcoming plot so im very excited!! see more of my rambles after the fic, enjoy!!
âYour turn, A-Yuan,â you say as you drop your piece on the board.
It had been another one of those restful afternoons where the two of you simply basked in each other's presence. Today included a game of starchess.
Your lover looked seconds away from falling asleep so you called his name once again.
âMhm,â he simply hummed, yawned, then moved his piece, âMy love, do you know how to whistle?â
You raise an eyebrow, âWhistleâŠ?â you echoed as you moved another piece.
âYes,â he moves and takes one of your pieces. âI heard from Qingzu that whistling makes birds feel safe enough to rest next to humans,â he says, then stops to listen to the flock of birds you keep in the garden.
âWell yes, I do know how to,â you say as you take a piece of his.
Jing Yuan turns to look at you expectantly, using his signature pleading look.
You roll your eyes as you breathe out a laugh, âAlright, fine,â
You whistle a tune you know and wait for the birds⊠but nothing⊠happened?
You turn to look up and find the little creatures, but they just stayed in the trees.
âYuan, I don't think it's working, maybe I'm doing it wrong, hold on let me try again,â you say as you turn back to him and whistle a different tune when-
He kisses you.
A quick peck and he pulls back with a :3.
Wait-
âWas the whole thing a ruse so you could kiss me?â You ask while just staring at him.
âForgive me, Lady Bailu had told me something of a similar story earlier this week, I just⊠simply wanted to try it out,â he says still smiling.
You sigh in exasperation at his antics.
âYou do know if you wanted a kiss, you could've just asked me, right?â
âMm, but where's the fun in that, dear?â
You smiled amusedly, âYou should be glad I put up with you,â you tease, âBut do spit out my chess pieces, A-Yuan, you're not getting off the hook this time,â
The General turns his face away with a sly look.
âJing Yuan!â
usagi's note: SO ANYWAY. one of the reasons why ive been so happy this week is bcs i hit my first 200+ cdmg in genshin like im so proud (i have shit builds okay) but like the cr is 37 ish so i think i should get that up to probably 50 or 60%? but im worried the cdmg will drop to the 100s again.
another one is bcs i learned smth rlly cool during my science class, thats is soooo gonna be the theme of the next fic i write, oh and its gonna be w scara btw cuz he's the one i hit the 200+ cdmg with hehe. but im kinda worried i won't be able to finish the outline within this week bcs ive been made head of a few projects especially with our entrepreneurship class so idk we'll see... ANW I HOPE U ENJOYED PLS SEND ASKS ILY ALL BYE THX FOR 150 I CRIED (REAL) !!!
@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
#đŠ â JING YUAN.#đ° â usagi's works !!#jing yuan#fanfic#ao3#archive of our own#jing yuan x reader#hsr fanfic#hsr jing yuan#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#jing yuan x gender neutral reader#jing yuan x y/n#jing yuan x you#dividers by cafekitsune
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hii, please feel free to not write this AND tell me to piss off at the same time if this is something youâre not comfortable with! right, so it would be rafe x insecure reader (about her appearance and weight), but insecure to the point where she struggles to eat, or even just sit down and read, in public places đŹ you can choose any situation that would finally trigger this, quite important, conversation between them (and pls make rafe tell the reader to go to actual therapy + him supporting her along the way with âyou look prettyâ kind of thing). Thank you if u decide to write it đ„č
lamy's notes: no im definitely comfortable with this topicâi hope you like it!
it happens at a restaurant.
just a casual dinner with the group, something easy, something fun, but the second you walk in, the air shifts. the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughterâit all presses down on you, heavy, suffocating. your stomach churns, the mere thought of ordering something making your throat tighten.
so you donât.
ânot hungry,â you murmur when rafe glances at you, concern flickering in his blue eyes. you distract yourself by fidgeting with the edge of the menu, tracing the words with your finger just to have something to do.
he doesnât push, but he doesnât drop it either. you can feel his gaze, steady, studying you in that way he always does when he knows somethingâs off.
the food comes. everyone digs in. conversation flows. and you sit there, forcing a smile, ignoring the way your hands feel clammy, the way your chest tightens every time someone glances your way.
then, someone says it. not maliciously, not even directed at you, but enough.
âgod, i shouldnât even be eating this. iâll have to spend an extra hour at the gym tomorrow.â
it hits like a slap. your skin prickles. suddenly, all you can hear is every awful thought thatâs been swirling in your head for years.
rafe notices immediately. the way your fingers clench around the napkin, the way your breathing changes, the way your shoulders go rigid. his jaw tightens, something sharp flashing across his expression as he drops his fork, turning his full attention to you.
âcome with me,â he says, voice low but firm. he doesnât wait for a response, just takes your hand and leads you outside, away from the noise, the weight of it all.
âwhatâs going on?â he asks as soon as youâre alone, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks.
ânothing,â you whisper, looking away.
âbullshit.â he tilts your chin up, making you meet his gaze. âtalk to me, angel.â
it takes everything in you not to break right there, but the dam is already cracking. your voice wobbles when you finally speak. âi just⊠i canât do this. i hate sitting there, feeling like every single person is looking at me, judging me. i hate thinking about food, about what itâs going to do to me, about how i look, aboutââ you inhale sharply, cutting yourself off before you spiral further.
rafeâs eyes darken, not with anger, but with something deeper, something that makes your chest ache. âbaby,â he breathes, pulling you into his arms. he holds you tight, like heâs trying to shield you from every thought eating you alive.
âthis isnât okay,â he says after a moment, his voice softer now. âyou know that, right?â
you squeeze your eyes shut. âi donât know how to stop.â
he exhales, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. âweâre gonna get you help, okay? real help. not just me telling you youâre beautifulâbecause you are, and iâll keep telling you every damn day until you believe itâbut someone who actually knows how to help with this.â
your throat tightens, but for the first time in a long time, itâs not just from fear.
âyouâre not alone in this,â rafe murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your face. âbut you have to let me in. let someone in.â
a shaky breath. a hesitant nod.
rafe smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. then, as if he just canât help himself, his lips brush over yours, soft and slow, like heâs trying to kiss every bit of doubt away.
âweâll figure it out, angel. together.â
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Secrets
Law x F!Reader
WC: ~3000
CW: NSFW, MDNI, use of sex toys, established relationship, consensual voyeurism, fingering, oral (F receiving), soft dom Law, use of pet names, mutual masturbation, use of Y/N, penetrative sex, p in v
A/N: This one is for you @shy-writer-999 ! I hope this scratches that itch. Barely proofread. Enjoy!
âWhere the HELL is that damn comic?!â Law shouted, his voice grated with frustration. Heâs spent the last 30 minutes tearing your shared room apart looking for his newest Sora comic find. All he wanted was to take a few minutes to have a break and enjoy a light read. Something to break the monotony of medical journals and textbooks. But he couldnât for the life of him remember where he set the comic. His desk was messier than usual, papers and books scattered and disorganized as he shifted everything around, swearing he left it on the desk. The bookshelf was left just as messy in his search, rummaging through every shelf. He rubbed his hand down his face in frustration. Alright, clearly it got put somewhere stupid. Where else can I look? He thought to himself. He couldnât ask you where it was, you were out getting supplies with Ikkaku at the island where you were currently docked.
He was hoping to get to read while the crew were out on the island, giving him a true opportunity to be alone without worrying someone barging in and interrupting his personal time, but at this rate, that was less and less likely to happen. Time to move on to more unusual places to check he thinks as he walks to his nightstand. Pulling open the drawer and still not seeing anything. Maybe itâs in (Y/N)âs nightstand. At this fucking point it could be anywhere. He makes his way around the bed and pulls your nightstand drawer open with such frustration that all of the contents flew forward. Slamming into the front of the drawer. Suddenly, he forgot what he was looking for. Rightbin front of him was something that took him completely by surprise. When he opened the drawer so forcefully, he exposed your sex toys. He smirked, picking up a toy in each hand- a wand and a clit stimulator. And just like that, the comic was long forgotten. He felt a pulse of desire as he thought about you using these. When was the last time she used these? Why does she have them? WHEN did she get them? OhâŠthis is going to be fun.
Ikkaku and you were making your way back to the submarine with the crate of medical supplies that Law requested you both pick up. Laughing and joking about the trouble Bepo almost got into at the market for clumsily bumping a produce stand, nearly destroying the poor farmerâs entire crop, you both entered the ship loudly. Lawâs ears perked up when he heard your fit of giggles. He was in your shared room, lying in wait for your return. When you and Ikkaku unloaded the supplies and put them away, you noticed one of Lawâs Sora comics under a supply of latex gloves. âHey, Ikkaku, do you mind finishing cataloguing these supplies? I need to get this to the Captain,â you raise the comic. âOh yea, go for it. Iâll take care of it,â she smiles. âThanks! Iâll see you later! Iâll catalogue on the next supply run,â you wink as you walk out of the room to head to your quarters.
Youâre humming as you open the door to your room. âLaaaaw, baby, look what I found with the medical supplies,â you raise the comic to show your found loot. âI thought you might want to read it, right? Isnât this the new one,â and you stop. Jaw dropped, heat rushing to your cheeks, surely showing your embarrassment when you are met with the sight of Law. sitting at his desk, waiting for you. And your sex toys were on the desk in front of him. You quickly shut the door behind you. He wore a cocky half smile, his fingers pressed together in front of him. âU-uhmmmâŠ.did you go through my stuff, Law?â you question, your voice small, barely above a whisper. Your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat. âI was looking for that comic, thank you for finding it by the way, and checked our nightstands. Found these in there,â as he points to the toys on his now clean desk. You feel so warm with embarrassment and being on the spot. You only got them when you and Law were separated for so long when he was on Punk Hazard and Dressrosa. You needed the toys because your own hands were no longer cutting it after him. What his hands can do; how they make you melt.
âAm I not enough for you?â Law questions, his eyes growing dark as he stands up. You gulp, âYouâre more than enough, Law. I got them when you were on Punk Hazard and Dressrosa. It was so long without youâŠ..and I-I couldnât take care of it myself because youâre too good at it,â you shyly smirk. He chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest as he grabs the toys and walks to you. Holding them up in front of you, he looks down and back up at you, âI want you to show me how you use themâŠ.forâŠresearch purposes.â You let out a breath you didnât realize you were holding. Your embarrassment quickly dissipates, replaced by desire in your belly as his request. âO-okayâŠ,â you pause, waiting to see if he gives you any further direction. âPick one,â he smirks as his gaze grows more intense, boring through you.
You pick the wand and make your way to the bed, unzipping your boiler suit, stripping down to your tank top and shorts underneath. You sit on the bed, shifting to a slight recline with your legs out and knees slightly bent. He pulls his chair around his desk to the end of the bed and sits down, arms crossed as he watches you. You gulp, I canât believe this is happening, you think to yourself as you unbutton your shorts, shimmying out of them and your underwear at the same time. You kick them off at him. He catches them, his devilish smile and heavy lidded eyes spurring more confidence in you. âSpread your legs, baby,â he growls and you instantly comply, âThat's itâŠjust like that.â Exposing your cunt to him, you grow wetter by the second. You turn on your wand and as you take it to the apex of your thighs, you slowly rub your other hand down your other thigh. Pressing the wand on your clit, you immediately close your eyes in the pleasure the stimulation brings. You gasp and bite your lip, slowly increasing the pressure and moving the wand in small circles on your clit.
Law leans forward as he adjusts his jeans, his length achingly tight in them, as he rests his elbows on his knees. His breathing increases as he watches you pleasure yourself. Your head thrown back in pleasure, eyes closed, biting your lip. Itâs driving him wild. He wants nothing more than to confirm how much more pleasure he brings you, but heâs enjoying himself at the moment. Trying to hold out before he ruins you. âDonât close your eyes, baby. Look at me,â he commands. Your eyes snap open and you both take in each otherâs forms. You apply more pressure with the wand, bringing yourself closer to orgasm. You're spurred on by seeing him palm his length through his jeans. Suddenly, he drops your shorts but still holds your panties. He unbottons his jeans and pulls them down, exposing his hard cock- tip angry and red from its confinement- as he wraps your panties around his length and begins slowly fisting himself with them. You moan at the sight and stop pleasuring yourself for a moment. You groan then, not intending to stop. âPlease, Law, please make me feel good. No one else can like you,â you plead. âTch- donât stop. Be a good girl and cum for me. If youâre good, then Iâll fuck you,â he demands as he continues to fist his cock.
You bite your lip harder at the sight and nod as you press the wand to your clit again. As you adjust the pressure youâre applying from harder to lighter, you continue to watch each other, connecting through intense eye contact which only fuels your desire. You push one leg out straight and bring the other up, grabbing your knee as you feel the coil in your abdomen begin to unravel. Your eyes close tightly as you approach your orgasm and with a harder press from the wand, you snap. âF-fuuck, yes, Law,â you cry out as you cum, your cunt throbbing around nothing as you get even wetter, leaving a slick shine on the tip of the wand.
As you come down, you hear Law shifting, âThatâs itâŠgood girl. Let me take care of you now,â he says darkly. You look up and see him standing next to you at the edge of the bed, heâs already stripped down to nothing. You quickly pull off your shirt and unclasp your bra. You yelp in surprise as he moves you on the bed so your legs are bent over the edge. He gets down on his knees as he presses your thighs up, exposing yourself completely to him, âI want to hear my name on your lips when I make you cum, got it?â he rumbles.
He immediately takes your clit into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks between harsh flicks of his tongue. âFuck, oh my god- hng,â you shout as your hands find purchase in his dark locks. He moans at the feeling of you tugging his hair and continues eating you like a man starved. Between him fucking you with his tongue and going back to sucking your clit, youâre on the verge of another orgasm. âOh god, donât stop, right thereâ you cry out as he has you tumbling over the edge again. Your legs twitch and squeeze him. The sounds of his mouth lapping you up obscene and filling the room with your cries of bliss. As you come down, your legs tremble and he leans back, wiping you from his face, âThatâs my girl.â He comes up and leans over you, kissing you deeply, forcing his tongue between your lips as you taste yourself. Your hands on each side of his face as he has you caged beneath him. His arm wraps underneath you and he pulls you up to his chest and moves you both further onto the bed.
âTell me what you want, love,â he whispers into your mouth between kisses. âHmm,â you moan, âI need you, p-please, fuck me,â you pant. He leans up, and presses your knees to your chest and fists his cock as he takes you in, fucked out and breathless. He lines himself up to your pussy and presses in slowly, as he leans forward over you. When he presses to the hilt, youâre both panting, foreheads pressed together as he pauses, trying not to cum immediately at the feeling of your warm, wet, walls clenching around him. He presses a kiss to your soft lips and leans up, moving his hands to grab your hips, pressing sharp indents into your flesh. He begins thrusting into you, enamored by how your cunt takes all of him and it awakens something possessive within him. âFuck, look how well you take me. Youâre mine, got it? Nothing and no one can make you feel this good.â You nod, unable to speak, as youâre lost in the pleasure of his cock stretching and filling you completely. Your moans grow louder as he picks up his pace, sweat glistening on his brow. âHnng,â you cry out as he thrusts particularly harshly, slamming into your cervix. âFuuuhck, I love the sounds you make. Just for me,â he pants as he loses himself in you.
He suddenly pulls out and you cry out in frustration at the empty feeling. You press up to your elbows, âW-whyâd you stop, baby?â you pant. âCâmere,â he pulls you up as he sits down, pulling you onto his lap. He grabs your breasts as you push them into his face, rolling your nipples between his fingers as he takes one into his mouth, sucking and biting as if theyâll disappear if he doesnât pay them attention. You throw your head back, eyes shut tight. Reaching down, you line himself up to your entrance and sit down on his throbbing cock, gasping when youâre fully seated on top of him. âGo on, fuck yourself on my cock,â Law rumbles, his voice deep and thick with lust.
Heâs as drunk with you as you are with him as you begin riding him as his hands roughly pull across your body. You bounce up and down his length until your legs and hips burn. Pushing through the pain to chase your orgasm. âShit, just like that baby- fuuuuhhhck,â he cries out as he wraps his arms under yours and pulls you down grabbing your shoulders. You feel him pulse as he cums, spilling thick ropes into you and you roll your hips, grinding your clit on his abdomen. âI know you have one more for me baby,â he whispers breathlessly into your mouth as he kisses you. As you're grinding, feeling him pulse within you, and feeling his release trickling out of you with your movements, you cum again. Pleasure wracking your body as Law leaves no space between you. Youâre overwhelmed with pleasure. All you feel, smell, and think is him as you lose yourself and cry out his name over and over.
You still, sitting in his lap as you collapse forward, utterly spent. He wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly as you both come down from your highs. Trying to catch your breath in the crook of his neck, you feel him press kisses along your shoulder. âHmmm,â he exhales, âSo which one is better?â he asks, trying to stifle a laugh. You pull back to look at him, âOh hush!â you laugh as you playfully push his shoulder, laughing together intimately.
Dividers by: @/cafekitsune
Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!
Tags: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99
#one piece#one piece smut#trafalgar d law#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar law smut#trafalgar one piece#trafalgar d law x reader#trafalgar law x y/n#trafalgar law x you
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Schlatt rq!!! Noticing someone is following u at some event and running up to him (not knowing who he is) and begging him to pretend heâs ur friend/bf/what have u and the chaos that ensues
OMHHH YESS YESS I LOVE THIS!! Hope this is alright! đ
Unexpected Savior || Jschlatt
It started as a feeling. A prickling unease at the back of your neck. You glanced over your shoulder, he was still there. Too close. Your stomach tightened.
You turned the corner. Stopped at a booth. Pretended to check your phone. He didnât leave.
Panic clawed its way up your chest. Your breaths came shorter, quicker. You needed to do somethingânow.
Thatâs when you saw him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hands stuffed in his pockets like he had all the time in the world. He looked⊠steady. Safe.
You didnât think. You just moved.
Your hand gripped his arm, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. His body tensed, and his head turned, brows knitting together.
âHey,â you rushed out, voice unsteady. âI donât know you, but thereâs a guy following me. Can youââ You swallowed. âCan you just pretend weâre together? Just for a second.â
Schlattâs confusion flickered to understanding in an instant. His eyes cut behind you scanning the crowd. Then, without hesitation, his arm moved.
It was easy. Natural. One moment, you were standing beside him, and the next, his arm draped securely around your shoulders. He pulled you in close, his body angled between you and the man trailing behind.
You barely had time to react before his voice cut through the air.
âThe hell are you looking at?â
His tone was sharp, loud enough to draw attention. The easygoing stance heâd had just moments before was gone. Now, he was a wall, solid and unmovable.
You felt it in the way he held you, the way his grip tightened just slightly, just enough to let you know he wasnât going anywhere.
The man hesitated. His eyes flicked between you and Schlatt, suddenly weighing his options.
Schlatt shifted his stance, his grip around you firm but careful. His voice dropped, low and warning.
âNot so fun when someoneâs actually watching you, huh?â His jaw tightened. âWalk away. Now.â
A beat of tense silence. Then, finally, the man muttered something under his breath and turned, vanishing into the crowd.
Schlatt didnât move right away. His hold around you stayed firm, protective, as his eyes lingered on the space where the guy had disappeared.
Only after a long pause did he exhale, his shoulders relaxing slightly. His arm around you loosened, but he didnât drop it just yet.
âYou okay?â His voice had lost its edge, now softer, steadier.
You nodded, though your hands were still shaking. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind exhaustion. Schlatt felt it.
He let his arm slip from your shoulders, but before you could fully process the loss of warmth, his hand settled gently on your back, grounding.
âHey,â he murmured, tilting his head toward the cafĂ© nearby. âWhy donât we sit for a bit? Just breathe.â
You swallowed hard, still trying to collect yourself. Then you nodded. ââŠYeah. Thatâd be nice.â
Without another word, he guided you toward the café, his touch light, reassuring.
The moment you stepped inside, the world outside seemed to quiet. The hum of conversation, the smell of coffeeâit felt safe.
Schlatt caught your eye, offering the smallest smile. âBetter already, huh?â
You let out a breath, tension easing from your shoulders. âYeah.â
He nodded toward a table, waiting for you to sit before heading to the counter. When he returned, he set a cup in front of you.
âHere,â he said simply.
You wrapped your hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. ââŠThanks.â
He sat across from you, resting his forearms on the table. The sharpness from before had faded, replaced by something quieter.
âIâm Schlatt, by the way.â He extended his hand.
You smiled, shaking it. âY/N. Nice to meet you⊠in a really weird way.â
A chuckle rumbled from him, low and amused. âYeah. Lifeâs weird like that.â
The conversation started slow, hesitant, but the heaviness faded with time. Laughter replaced lingering nerves. The café, once just an escape, became something else entirely.
After a while, Schlatt checked his phone and sighed. âI should probably get going.â
You hesitated. You didnât want the moment to end.
Without thinking, you pulled out your phone and held it out to him. âBefore you go⊠donât forget to text me, okay?â
Schlatt blinked, caught off guard. Then, to your absolute delight, a flush crept up his neck. He scratched the back of his head, muttering something under his breath before grabbing your phone.
âYeah, yeah. Of course.â His usual confidence wavered just a little.
You grinned. âGood.â
As he handed your phone back, his fingers brushed against yours. He froze. For a second, neither of you moved.
Then he cleared his throat, looking away with a cough. ââŠYâknow, if you ever need someone to walk you home. Or just wanna grab a coffee without the whole âlife-or-deathâ partâŠâ He hesitated, then glanced back at you. âI wouldnât mind.â
Your heart did something strange in your chest.
âIâd like that,â you admitted.
A slow, lopsided smile tugged at his lips.
âGood.â
Before he left, he shot you one last lookâsoft, warm. âSee you around, Y/N.â
#chuckle sandwich#chuckle sammy#jschlatt x reader#jschlatt#hc#jschlatt hcs#jschlatt fluff#jschlatt imagines#schlatt fluff#schlatt x reader
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