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letorip · 4 months ago

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kiss with a fist [iii]

"your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you can't help but feel like maybe you and tara are more than frenemies, and it culminates in a night where you finally share some truths with each other.

warnings: a somewhat traumatic dream sequence lmao, mentions of sex, kissing (almost), curse words, blood

word count: 5.8k

A/N: hope y'all like this one because i definitely liked writing it. definitely a whole lot more kissing than fisting.... wait a minute....

it's 5 am, my ass is grass. anyways, part 4 relatively soon because woo wee theres still so much to explore in this story i legitimately cant believe my idiot self said it'd be done in 2 parts originally

===+++===

===+++===

"(Y/n)," a voice calls to you, sing-song and sweet as your eyes fade to darkness. It's a gentle woman's whisper, but it manages to hit you like a truck, pulling you down from wherever you came from, and plopping you wherever you've arrived. Or, rather, wherever you've always been. "(Y/n), look, darlin'."

A gust of wind gently strokes over the plane of your cheek, and when you open your eyes, all you can see is rye. On one end, it reaches out towards a sharp cliff, overlooking a lake, with nothing but rocks and the water below. On the other, it runs far up the plains of land in front of you, stopping in front of the white house you know all too well, with its rickety porch and broken tire swing.

You take a few steps forward, as if ready to run right inside, and then before you know it, you're running. Like the world is about to end, like the house is burning down, like you'll never see the place ever again. Foot after foot, you dash towards it, hearing Alisha's piano flit through the front window for the first time in years, and the smell of a pie right along with it. "(Y/n)!" the voice calls again. "Dinner time, kid!"—

But your foot catches on a root, just like it did in your memory, and in an instant, you've fallen down into the rye, with a painful thud, right on your face. You let out a grunt, feeling the dirt on your new, white shirt. The one your mother never let you wear when you were playing outside.

And when you right yourself again, sitting up out of the field, the house isn't any closer than it was before. It sits, perfectly far away, only all that stuff is gone now, and the house looks about as dark as it did the day of Mitchie's funeral.

"(Y/n)!" an excited voice calls from behind you. "Wanna play tag?"

"(Y/n)'s too old for that, Mitchie," another voice chides, and you whip around like Calvin would actually be there to chide him like that. Like he used to. But he isn't. All you can see is the rye. It stands in thick stalks, reaching up to your knees in lush groupings, tall and abundant, strong and growing.

Another voice. "Read me a story?" It's soft and it's a little girl's and it's far away, and you get to your feet and spin in a circle, waiting for her to appear. It seemed to reverberate through your ears, washing through the pathways of your brain before seeping into your heart. It fills it up, and before you know it, you can feel yourself hastily searching for her.

"'Randa?" you called into the open field. "Miranda? You there?" but she continues on like she didn't hear you.

"Would you read me a story? Please?"

"I will Miranda, but where are you?" you called back, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the barrel of the hot sun.

"I'm gone, (Y/n). You're supposed to be gone too," she says back, with a sweet giggle. "Why aren't you gone with us?"

"I—" you stammer, whipping your head around the field in search of your siblings. "I don't—"

"Do you really think that's fair, (Y/n)?" Calvin asks.

"Why aren't you here, (Y/n)?" Miranda asks again, this time her voice wavering like she was about to cry. "Why aren't you in the rye with us?" Your hands came up to your head, trying to squeeze your eyes shut and block out the noises, but they seemed to reverberate into your skull.

"Mitchie was your fault, you know," Peter chides. "We would've never let that—"

"—Why did you get to stay, (Y/n)?" Came Tomas' voice. "We're supposed to be cursed, and you're supposed to be cursed too." He was always the quiet one, but now his voice had a sharp edge to it. One of jealousy. One of anger.

"Why didn't you catch me?" Mitchie asked. "If you just would've caught me..."

"Come play piano with me, I'll teach you," said Alisha, in her light, airy laugh.

"Why did it get to be you?" snarled Calvin. "And why are you getting closer to Tara? You want to curse her, too?"

"Stop—" you stammered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

"Wanna play hopscotch?" said Mitchie.

"Do you miss us, (Y/n)?" Alisha said, in between tears.

"Yes, of course— I—" you tried, but now the voices were filling up your head, threatening to spill over and knocking you to the ground. You curled up into a ball as your brain filled up. Words piling up on top of words, piling up on top of words, about to split you open. "STOP!" you yelled.

And everything went silent. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself still in the field, but your siblings' voices had gone entirely. Now it was just you, in the field, alone with the rustling of the wind and the rye, as it grazed gently against your legs. You hadn't remembered standing up, but you were now.

In a flash, you could see a shape, running through the rye in a line that was very visible from where you were. You recognised the dark hair, and the yellow jacket he always wore. With the realisation came the looming dread, and you realised with very little time left what this exactly was a memory of.

You took off running, faster than you had to the house, faster than you had ever run, and faster than you had run then, chasing after him as he took off towards the cliff-end of your rye field. "Mitchie!" you yelled, trying to be louder than the buzzing cicadas, but it seemed the moment you yelled, the cicadas got even louder. He was too short to see over the stalks, but you could see him go, running in odd shapes as he got nearer and nearer to the cliffs edge.

"Catch me if you can, (Y/n)!" he called back with a gleeful laugh.

"(Y/n), grab your brother," called your mother. She didn't seem too worried, and she hadn't been, then. No one had been, until it was too late.

"Mitchie! Stop!" you cried out, feeling tears already beginning to fall down your cheeks. "Mitchie!" you tried again.

"Come on, you've gotta be faster than that if you're gonna be it!” Mitchie called back. "Catch me! Get me! C'mon! I'm gonna make it hard for you to win, Duck."

"MITCHIE! PLEASE!" you screamed, but all he did was giggle. “STOP! DON’T GO!” But the moment you reached the end of the rye, he was gone over the edge, just he had been when you were 13, and there was an arm shaking you awake.

===+++===

"Oh my god, you're about the least peaceful sleeper I've literally ever seen," Tara laughed, grinning at you from over her textbook. She had it pulled into her lap from her side of the table and titled against the table edge, and spread out in front of you were her papers galore, with notes scribbled all over them in preparation for her upcoming exam.

Mindy sat next to her, playing a stupid game on her phone, while Ethan was also studying in his own textbook. He had stopped trying to avoid you as much, as had Chad. You and Tara "dating" seemed to offend them less and less the longer it went on.

"Uh," you mumbled, still feeling a little bit disoriented from the dream. It was like a dose of adrenaline had been shot directly into your heart, and you struggled to adjust to the calm, peaceful library that actually was around you. "Shut up," you grumbled, but not like you were actually upset by her teasing.

Tara watched you with her eyebrows raised. "You look tired."

You sat up in your chair, running a hand through your hair. There was a small layer of sweat on your forehead. "Aren't you never supposed to say that to someone? Pretty sure that's how you get someone at the bar to throw their drink in your face."

"It is," Ethan nodded. "I made that mistake once. I was trying to be sweet."

"Good thing I'm not seducing you, then," Tara shrugged. "You've seen me puke everywhere. Pretty sure that ruined my chances right-out, and yet you love me anyways."

You grinned, leaning back to stretch out your arms. It was meant to be a gentle teasing from Tara, but you had only gotten better and better at deflecting the longer you were around her. "You'd be surprised, actually. That was super pretty. That was the prettiest you've ever been." Mindy snorted next to Tara.

Tara glared at you, unappreciatively. "And you're pretty when you do not speak."

"I'm pretty all the time, Tara," you mockingly shook your head. "And you think I'm joking. Find yourself a girl who looks nice covered in sweat, with her hair going everywhere, and puking in the toilet. That's my girlfriend."

"You're such a dick," Tara scoffed, but you could tell part of her was stifling a laugh. It was funny to her too, and you both had laughed at it together for days, afterwards.

If anything, it had gotten easier and easier, to act like the both of you were actually dating. You weren't too sure why, maybe Tara had become less annoying, or you had become less annoyed by her, but you had definitely at least become a better actor. That's what it was, after all. "Oh, also," she continued.

"Yeah?"

"Someone tried to call your phone, while you were sleeping. I think it was your dad."

You frowned. "You didn't pick up, right?"

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. Then she paused. She dropped her voice to speak just to you, guarding the conversation from Mindy and Ethan. "Do you and him not get along?"

You shrugged. "Eh. He was probably just checking in. We have a fine relationship." It wasn't true but it was an easy lie, that rolled off the tongue like nothing. He had already called twice, that day, and you knew why.

"Seriously, though," she said with a frown, looking up from her book. "You look fucking horrifying—"

"—Thanks," you said, flatly.

"—I mean, even more than normal, it's crazy—"

"—Thanks," you repeated.

"—Have you not been sleeping, or something?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I'm an architecture major, and it's midterms... so not really."

"Hm."

"What?" you asked, propping your head up on your arm. "What's the 'hm' for?"

She shrugged, trying to turn back to her textbook. "Hm, nothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows down at her. "Well, obviously the 'hm' was something, Tara." Mindy shot you a look again.

"Or it was just a hm."

“Would you two shush,” she said to you, rolling her eyes. “You bicker like an old married couple.” But you both ignored her.

"It's never just a 'hm.'"

"I say hm all the time. It's literally just a hm."

"No, it means you've got something to say but don't want to say it."

She frowned at the accusation but was obviously even more displeased that you were correct. "I was gonna suggest we go to the OBK party tonight, but maybe you should just go home and sleep. I was trying to be nice.”

You shrugged. "I won't be doing either, actually." Tonight was not the night for parties. You were somewhat grateful, that you had a legitimate excuse to busy your time, or else you would've spent even longer thinking about the dream. "I have to do homework. My final is due tomorrow."

Tara furrowed her eyebrows at you. "Wait, but I thought classes ended today."

You shook your head. "Nope. I've still got some stuff do."

"Oh," Tara frowned.

"Not all of us can have easy majors," you teased, trying to lighten the mood away from what was clearly concern.

"Hey! You chose the stupid thing," Tara shot back. "Not my fault I chose something fun." She stood up, gathering her things into a neat stack. The time was nearing for her midterm exam, and you stood up with her, grabbing her textbook to be helpful.

"Thanks," she said, then she wandered over and held out her hand. You grabbed it in yours, lacing your fingers together, just like you had practiced together.

The library was a tall building on the far side of campus from where you lived. It was a trek and a half to get there, which is partially why you had been a little annoyed, when Tara said she needed to go there. It ended up being the perfect place to fall asleep in, with the quiet signs and only a few murmurs now and again, and though it had been a less than peaceful dream, it was more than you had been getting for the past few days.

"I don't see why you can't just go without me," you shrugged, adjusting her book in your hands. "Just tell Sam I'll meet you there. Besides, Chad and Mindy are going to the same party, right?"

"Yeah, but I what if they realise you're not actually there and mention it to Sam, or something? And, I'd have to go there alone, since Chad and Mindy are going early."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Helping with set up. Mindy literally just mentioned that. Shows how much you listen to her.” She shook her head in a mocking disappointment in you.

“I was asleep, jerk.”

“I know,” she said, grinning.

You looked down to her, where she walked next to you, gently swinging your joint hands back and forth. "It's not a far walk to OBK. You could probably make it there in five minutes. It's well-lit, and—"

Tara frowned, shaking her head adamantly. "Not alone. Not without you, no way. Sam would want to see you at the door to pick me up. She'd probably hate the idea of it."

"Fair enough," you shrugged. "Find a movie at home tonight, then. Relax, or something. I'd kill to be done with this stupid project."

"What are you even making?" Tara groaned, breaking your hands to shove hers into her pockets. Actually, it was your jacket, and therefore technically your pockets too, but she had taken a liking to it, after your date. You had been less than pleased, when she asked to borrow it, considering how much the jacket meant to you, but she insisted it was assisting her to keep up the act. You figured you could part with it, at least for a little while.

"Architecture," you said with a thick layer of sarcasm. Tara rolled her eyes at you. She nudged you, and you couldn't help but laugh as her elbow pointed into your side.

"Oh, you think you're funny, huh?"

"I'm hilarious."

"You wish..." she scoffed, shaking her head.

It was a beautiful day in autumn, and the weather was soon to leave the sigh of brown leaves and rainy days and move into whispery winds and icy pavement. You didn't mind winter, but you didn't like the chills, even though it was undoubtedly what gave summer's warmth a certain sweetness. Still, nothing burned like the cold.

You walked her all the way to the door of the exam hall, stopping out front to hand her the textbook you had been carrying. You went to speak, but the moment you tried to open your mouth, your phone started ringing. You grabbed it from your pocket, sighing and declining the call, while Tara stared at you.

"Is that your dad, again?"

"No," you said. "Telemarketer."

"Right..." she said, frowning. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I?" you challenged. You were, it was true.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

“I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m asking why, (Y/n).”

"Why don't you leave it alone?" you shot, in frustration. You could see Tara's eyes narrow at your tone, and you felt a bit bad. There was the occasional reflex still, to bite each other's heads off. You weren't sure what it was about her, but something about Tara Carpenter always seemed to rile you up inside, and do the same for her with you.

"Sorry," you said, looking down at your shoes. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean you have to be an asshole," Tara glared.

"Right... I'm... sorry."

Tara sighed. "I guess I'll see you next week?" She asked.

You nodded. "There'll be plenty of time after this, I just need to get this thing done."

"Okay," she nodded, failing to hide her excitement. Tara seemed to really love parties, the more and more she went to, and you were somewhat glad you could help her find something she enjoyed. It was nice to see, not that you'd ever say that to her. Doing that would absolutely result in her teasing you again, or something even more annoying.

"Good luck on your test," you said.

"Good luck on your project, babe," she said, drawing the name out.

“Now who’s hilarious,” you said with an eye roll. Tara winked at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Me.”

===+++===

It seemed you were having no good luck on it whatsoever, actually. Laid out in front of you was all of your materials, in a messy pile of cut-out pieces and foam boards that were there, sure, but not likely to just jump together and put itself together on its own.

The clock had already ticked away to 12:33 in the morning, and your design was barely finalised to where you could get to work and finish quickly. All of the other students had left at a much more reasonable hour, and it left you standing at your table alone, quietly working to classical music in the empty modelling lab.

At this rate, you could be here for another two or three hours, and the project was due at eight. You were sluggish, slowly working through the plans you had set out days ago and working through the kinks.

Every few minutes, when you stopped for even a second, the dream seemed to rush back to the forefront of your brain. Your mother had been the one to call, that evening while you were eating a poor excuse of a dinner, and you had declined that call just like you had declined all the rest.

You were hunched over your work, probably unhealthily so, with your face buried in your iPad, hastily throwing out sketches of the various shapes. You were settling on a design that would have to do, heading for the woodcutter, when you heard a noise.

It resembled a door shutting, and you froze right where you were. "Greg?" you called out. There was no one else in the building except for you and Greg, at his usual security post, and you waited with bated breath for him to return your call.

But there was no response, and all you could hear was the sounds of classical music gently floating in the background. Usually, it set you at ease while you worked through whatever you were doing in the lab, but now all it did was raise your heart rate to match the increasing tempo. It was completely dark, except for the overhead light above you, which illuminated the table you were working at and a few of the stainless steel cabinets that held tools and supplies.

Then, off to the side, you heard a rolling. An odd, wooden rolling, slowly drifting towards you. On the ground was a pencil, gently pushed towards you, playfully rolling as if perfectly in front of your toes. You hopped to your feet. "Hello?" you called, squinting in the dim light, in case anyone else was there. "Is anyone there?" you called out again. "Greg?"

Now you could really feel the thumping of your heart. The modelling lab had always been creepy late at night, but this was a new level of unease. It was as if someone was watching you, playing with their food, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "Is someone there?" you said to the rest of the room.

"Hey!" said a voice, and you jumped what felt like five feet into the air.

"Fuck!" you shouted, spinning around and seeing Tara behind you. She jumped at your reaction, raising her hands up. In one of them was a tray with two coffees on it. “You scared me!”

"Woah, woah, are you okay?" she asked, face etched with concern. She walked towards you slowly, and you put your hands on the edge of the table, trying to calm yourself.

"Don't just sneak up on me like that, dude," you glared at her.

"I literally didn't, I fucking announced myself, loud as can be," Tara said, rolling her eyes at you. Then, it melded into concern. "How long have you been here?" she asked, looking around the place and its emptiness.

"Since I left you at your test," you shrugged. "How'd it go by the way?" Tara's eyebrows furrowed, ignoring your question instead for one of her own.

"Did you at least eat dinner, or something?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Good."

“Yeah…,” you trailed off, turning back to your work. “How did you know where I was?"

“I asked Chad. He’s still a little snippy with me about, well, thinking we're together. Tried to tell me that if anyone would know, it would be me, and I said, yeah, that’s true, but it’s only been three months, now.”

“Well,” you said, gesturing around to the lab. “This is the modelling lab.” You were a bit of a nerd about the whole place, showing it off like it was your cool superhero lair.

“I know,” Tara mocked. “I saw it on the giant sign above the front door.”

“Ha ha. Does Sam know that you’re here?” You asked, grabbing your pen and resuming your work while you continued to talk to Tara. She plopped herself down on the edge of the table, letting her feet swing.

She looked a bit sheepish at the question. “Uh… no.”

“You know she’ll kill me like she did that one time, if you’re not home when she wakes up,” you frowned, wandering over to the supplies and grabbing out a box cutter to help trim the pieces you needed.

Tara nodded. “I know. But I snuck out, so I’ll sneak back in.”

You turned back around to reply, maybe say something stupid, but you had to stop yourself from laughing, when you saw her legs hanging off the counter and not reaching the ground.

“What?” Tara asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and returning to the table. “…Dwarf.”

“Hey!” she said, smacking you on the arm. “I brought you coffee, don’t make me take it back.”

“That’s true,” you frowned, weighing your options. “Guess I can’t make fun of you; you brought me caffeine.”

“That’s more like it."

You worked in silence for a few minutes, feeling Tara watch your every movement. It was harder to work, under her scrutiny, but you were grateful that she was there. It wasn’t lonely in there, any more. A few months ago, you would’ve hated her guts for sitting around while you attempted to work. But not with Tara anymore. Not on that day.

“This might be an all-nighter,” you warned, sending her a small smile as you sliced a piece of foam in half and went to work to attach it to your board.

“Fine with me,” Tara shrugged. She just continued to watch you, in a calm silence. “Actually, I have beef with you,” she hummed.

You laughed, looking up while you secured the base with glue. “Why’s that, Tara?”

“You got that song, stuck in my head.”

“Which one?” You asked.

“The one you sang for me. I found it online.”

“Which one?” you teased, smiling again. Your face was tired and the smile certainly didn’t help, but you couldn’t help the newfound peace washing over you again. You had completely forgotten the weird happening from earlier.

“You know, don’t play dumb.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t know.”

“You literally do,” Tara scoffed.

“Sing a little bit. Refresh my memory.”

“Nuh uh,” she said, crossing her arms. “This is a trap.”

“It isn’t,” you insisted, sticking your pinky out to her. “Swear.”

She wrapped it in her own, rolling her eyes. She definitely knew it was, but she obliged anyway. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a strangerrr. You know in the end,” her voice broke on the low note like yours did, and you laughed while heat rose to her cheeks. “I’ll always be thereeee.”

“And when you’re in doubt,” you sang back to her, in between laughs. “And when you’re in dangerrr.” You both were tone deaf and the rendition was awful, but the mood in the lab was getting lighter and lighter the longer you were together.

“Take a look all around,” Tara sang, coming back in. “And I’ll be there.”

It was impossible not to laugh at how bad it was on both sides, and you grinned at her toothily, before turning back to your work. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome, idiot,” she teased, nudging you in the side again.

===+++===

You went back to working on your model, finishing the first floor in about an hour. You and Tara occasionally talked now and again, but mostly she just watched you while you worked. “Why are you doing this all tonight?” she asked.

“Uh…” you stuttered. “I didn’t have time the past couple weeks…cause of… well, you.”

She shot up to her feet, mouth dropping open. “Why the hell didn’t you say no to me?! I didn’t know you had all this to do.”

You shrugged. “I never mentioned it. Plus, you were having fun. I’m glad someone was enjoying themselves.”

“Oh…” she said, and it sounded small.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“…Nothing."

“It’s fine, Tar. Seriously.” She blinked at you.

“Tar?” she asked, looking amused.

You looked up from your work, feeling the change in the atmosphere. “What?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just never used the nickname for me, before.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Is it weird?”

“Well… no. I kind of like it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding a little. “My mom was the one who gave me the nickname Tar. Haven’t spoken to her in a little while, though.”

“Do you still miss her?” you asked, glueing your second story onto the base successfully.

“Sometimes…” she trailed off, staring out at the pitch black night through the window that hung over your workspace. "She calls me once in a while."

"Do you answer?" you asked.

"No," she admitted. "It's usually about Woodsboro. I gave up on her a few months ago, but she still calls sometimes about the town."

"You never talk about it..." you comment, trailing off with a hand on the back of your neck. "You don't have to, if you don't want to." You leaned back against the table with a curiosity, watching her face move as she struggled to answer.

"Well... it's cause I don't want to that I don't talk about it. You know how people say that shit about manifesting happiness?" you nodded, knowing what she was talking about. "Well, I keep saying I'm fine, and I'm moving on, but it just keeps following me everywhere. It's like this chronic cough I can't shake. This constant thing. No matter how much I run, it's always there. People don't see me as anything but one of the survivors."

You swallowed, feeling her words hit you. "I know what you mean." Tara's eyes snapped down to yours, but when you didn't volunteer more information, she sighed.

You frowned, turning yourself back to your work and hunching over, so she wouldn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “I, uh… I listened to that song you said you liked, too.”

“You did?” she asked, lighting up at the mention of it.

“Yeah… added it to my playlist… so…”

“So…” Tara laughed, amused by your awkwardness. It was somehow less awkward when you hated each other. The fact you could tolerate each other now was unusual but not unpleasant, and you still found yourself grappling with how pretty Tara’s eyes looked in lamplight. "If I get a nickname, you absolutely have to have one too."

You scoffed. "That's not at all what that means."

"You had to have had one at some point."

"No, I haven't had one," you said.

"Liar!" Tara said with a giggle, pointing at you with her finger. "You're so bad at lying it's remarkable. Now spill. What is it?"

"I'm not lying!" you insisted, but now you were laughing and it was even less convincing.

"C'mon, promise I won't say it in public— unless it's really bad."

You stared at her for a moment, when she clasped her hands together in a begging plea.

"Please?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Pleaseeee?"

"Fine," you sighed. "My family, they used to call me Duck."

"Duck?" She asked, leaning back to look at you as if the nickname would re-contextualise your entire appearance. "Where'd that come from?"

"It's dumb. I used to wear this yellow raincoat when it was storming outside and these orange booties, so my little brother Mitchie saw me, when he was like five or six, and said I was a Duck. And so I was Duck."

She smiled at you, genuinely pleased with the explanation. "That's adorable. Where is Mitchie, tonight?"

You opened your mouth but shut it. Then, you opened it again. "Probably watching cartoons, or something. Back in Nebraska." (A/N: my ass genuinely did not know that was a U.S. state until right now)

You couldn't tell her that today was the day he had died, several years ago. That a year or two before that had happened, Calvin had gone, and a few months before that, Tomas and Alisha had passed too. That Peter had gotten sick, or that Miranda had gone missing before any of that mess had happened. That you were the only one left.

It was a bad lie, and probably one you would regret later, but it was one you ushered past, and Tara didn't seem to pick up on. From one cursed person to another, you figured it was probably best that you keep your own curse to yourself. It's part of what had made you hate Tara so much at first. She walked around knowing her days were likely numbered, so carefree and careless. And then there was you, you who was so careful in order to keep living.

But you couldn't resent her for that. It had melted away with seeing the Tara underneath. The real, beautiful Tara underneath.

"Duck is good, though. I'll bring it out when I want to embarrass you," Tara smiled, inching closer on the table.

"Yeah?" you grinned back at her, standing up to gently tap against the glue. It was set, and your model was finally finished at 4:42 in the morning. Tara leaned close, watching the glue with her own eyes, cheek almost up against yours in curiosity.

You finished the thing, looking over at her and her large, warm brown eyes, staring at the model you had made with so much curiosity and genuine interest. Tara hadn't lifted a finger to help, but you couldn't help but feel like it was partially hers.

You went to pull back but found your face turning towards hers, looking at each other for a long moment. Your eyes lingered on the slope of her nose, down to the curvature of her soft lips, turned up in the corners like Tara always did when she smiled. They looked so soft, and before you knew what was happening, you could feel Tara's hands coming up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently stroking against the skin there.

You couldn't breathe, feeling the warmth of the pads of her fingers on your face and the faint brush of her breath upon your nose. "Tara," you whispered. The pull was magnetic, and just as you were about to say to hell with it all, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, and you both leapt apart from each other.

You wandered a few feet away, trying to seem busy while she answered it. You could feel Tara watching you while she spoke on the phone, so you did your best to hide the blush that was certainly spread wide across your cheeks.

This was the very girl you had spent the past several months hating. You suddenly felt dizzy, like the world would slip out from under your feet. Tara, the very same annoying girl who had pestered with you and bickered with you. The one who had so much more to her that what you had ever thought possible. The one who drew you in. The one in search of a hook up, for which you were only the decoy. You cleared your throat, whipping around when you heard Tara say "What?!"

"What's wrong?" you asked. "What's going on?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at you like she was about to cry. "They're questioning Sam again. They think Ghostface is back."

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN anyways my ass is going to bed now. also i do not recommend anyone lie to someone they're interested in about who they are, ESPECIALLY an attempted murder victim

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n

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phantomrose96 · 27 days ago

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Actually I'm so incredibly lucky to have The Silt Verses because it gives me the kind of character dynamics I desperately love and so very rarely find.

I am an ABSOLUTE sucker for characters who go "I will move heaven and earth for you. I will be driven to both great and terrible decisions for your sake because of how I am defined by you" but I do... NOT... care about romance. I Don't Care About Romance. I don't want it. I don't relate. My immersion hits a cliff there. I'm an aromantic Character Enjoyer and I do not care about shipping at all.

So as you can imagine, it's a challenge to find "I will do everything for you" character dynamics which, if not canonically romantic, end up being ships that get treated like canon if you try to talk about the characters in fandom spaces.

I am incredibly drawn to sibling media and I think it's largely because that's the primary way I've found these dynamics and they don't get treated as "come on it's basically a canon romance" by the main chunk of the fandom. I'm an FMA enjoyer, a Gravity Falls enjoyer, an Over The Garden Wall enjoyer--fuck I'm a Supernatural enjoyer, for this reason. Do you know what that's like? When Supernatural gets you because you're so hungry?

And then... The Silt Verses... Filled, FILLED, with these "I will move heaven and earth for you" kinds of dynamics--healthy, unhealthy, as sources of hope and sources of absolute destruction. Of course I'm here for it. Of course I'm clocked in.

But it SHOULD be hopeless for me. I mean the only actual sibling dynamics are just within backstories--Carpenter and her brother Em. Faulkner and his brother Charlie. Hayward has no siblings. Paige's aren't relevant. Faulkner and Carpenter have exactly this intense dynamic I love--same with Paige and Hayward--and then Hayward and Carpenter--and I should be taking the L because this always ends in ships.

But Jon Ware and Muna Hussen--who I owe my life to--very intentionally did not do that. Carpenter is aromantic. She gets to be that canonically. There's never a hint of romantic tension between her and Faulkner. When they call each other brother and sister, it's religious formality first, and then it's an actual found-sibling kind of bond.

Hayward and Paige, in like any other media, would have been a couple. The way they save each other, and lean on each other, and leave their old selves behind to become someone new together. It's obvious. I've seen it a million times. But when Jon Ware got asked in a Q&A about what Paige and Hayward -are- to each other ... look I just need to go with direct quotes to do the answer justice

I think maybe there’s also an implicit question there about whether there’s something romantic going on – maybe I’m reading into it, but that is something that’s on my mind a lot, so I’d love to talk about it more. ... I personally, I don’t like writing fictional characters where the most important moment in their narrative arcs is when they get together with the person they were always meant to get together with. ... And again, I think [give the people what they want] can send you in the wrong direction, one that ends up being essentially flattening – we don’t think, "if these characters hook up, OK, what new opportunities does that give us to explore them, to understand them in greater depth?" ... And after we released maybe one episode of The Silt Verses, I saw a couple of folks online going ‘oh, god, I hope this isn’t going to end with Carpenter and Faulkner hooking up,’. And you go, "oh my god, I hadn’t considered that as a possibility for a second, that’s not who they are and that’s not what the relationship is here" - but of course all of us are primed for it, that enemies-to-lovers thread that is so common. ... Because it was freeing because after Season 1, nobody is expecting or hoping that Hayward gets together with anybody. No-one wants that particularly!

And Shrue and Val come along... each of whom has intense interactions and kinds of relationships with the people they encounter but, still, no romance. And nothing among the high katabasians or the adjudicators. If there WAS any kind of romantic read with Rane toward Faulkner, it does nothing to overshadow what was happening there. I liked someone's likening it to Lady Macbeth and Macbeth. The Thing going on between them can't really be reduced to shipping.

We DO even get the family-related bonds and trauma I usually lean on. Paige with her dad. Faulkner with his dad. Carpenter dealing with the trauma of her Nana and brother. Shrue left in harrowing limbo about the safety of their (maybe non-existent) children and husband.

Anyway I didn't even mean this to be so long. I'm just so blessed and lucky to have character dynamics where they're screaming and sobbing each other's names and no one is pulling the "There's no platonic explanation for this" card. I'm so glad.

#the silt verses #tsv #sister carpenter #brother faulkner #aromantic #chrissy listens to tsv

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spideystevie · 6 months ago

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bad for business

summary: steve’s good for your heart but he’s really bad for business word count: 4.5k a/n: me every time i post after being mia for months: who’s missed me! this was technically supposed to be inspired by bad for business by sabrina carpenter and then suddenly it wasn’t. not even sure there’s much of a plot but alas! also feel a little rusty at this right now, it’s been a while since i’ve really written anything but i’ve missed steve a crazy insane amount. love you, miss you, hope you all enjoy this <3

You’re late. You’re never late.

The bell above the door to Dottie’s jingles as you hurry inside. Your fingers work on muscle memory to tie your apron around your waist as you slide through the mismatched seating arrangements inside the diner to get to the back office.

You’re not sure if the way your stomach flips is from it being full of a single gulp of coffee or because it’s more than an hour past when you should’ve been here. The time punch on your card reads 9:07 am and your stomach lurches. Definitely not the coffee.

It’s a Sunday, arguably your busiest day in the diner and arguably the worst day for you to show up like this. No doubt Dottie has noticed but you’re hoping against hope that she didn’t. God, what are you going to tell her?

Sorry Dottie! My super hot, super charming boyfriend wouldn’t let me out of bed this morning! Won’t happen again!

Your face feels warm, like you’ve just spent an extensive amount of time in the sun in the middle of July. You knew you shouldn’t have stayed over last night, but you were so tired and Steve’s couch is way more comfier than yours. It really doesn’t help that his bed isn’t any different.

“Lots of traffic this morning?” you jump, notepad falling out of your hand. Susan starts to snicker as you drop down to pick it up. There’s a smirk on her face when you rise to full height. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her name tag is crooked on her apron. You’re not sure you’d consider Susan one of your closest friends but you find yourselves pulled together considering she’s the only other young person working here.

“Oh you know…,” your voice rises in pitch and you clear your throat, hitching one shoulder up to your ear in a shrug. “Sometimes you just hit every red.”

Susan’s eyes narrow. There’s only one working light on your usual route to work. Coming from Steve’s adds only two. Not to mention, you didn’t drive yourself today. Steve dropped you off, promising to pick you up at 4 on the dot when your shift ended. Susan pops her gum in her mouth, not convinced with your fib.

“Right.”

“Yeah. Now if you’ll excuse me, Cliff is waiting for me in his usual booth,” you hurry past before she can ask you anything incriminatory. You hear Dottie before you see her, on your way to grab the coffee pot.

“You feeling okay, sweetie? You’re normally here right on the dot. An hour isn’t like you.”

Dottie’s older than most and she’s been running the diner outside Hawkins for a whopping 30 years now. She hangs out behind the counter and loves to chat with the regulars and get to know those just passing through. With rosy cheeks and gray streaked hair almost always pulled out of her face in a bun, she’s almost like another mom with how long you’ve been working here.

You snag the excuse she basically throws you out of the air.

“Had a bit of a rough night, but I’m feeling a lot better now, Dot. Didn’t realize I had overslept until I heard the birds chirping outside. It won’t happen again,” you say.

You didn’t oversleep actually. Whatever natural circadian clock inside of you wakes you up at almost the same time every workday but Steve can be quite convincing when he wants to be. Your heart does a little sigh of his name. Steve. You swallow and try to blink away the image of him.

Dottie gives you a sympathetic smile with a concerned tilt of the head, taking your flustered mannerisms and the way you wipe your palms against the sides of your jeans as lingering symptoms of whatever she thinks ailed you last night. She squeezes your bicep, the press of her mixed metal rings cool against your skin.

“Take it easy today, okay? You let me know if you need anything.”

“Course, Dottie. Thank you,” you give her a smile and grab the coffee pot.

Cliff sits at the same spot every morning. A little booth along the window wall, three down from the door to the diner. He looks a bit rough around the edges, his coat well loved and worn and his hands weathered from years of hard work. He’s worn the same baseball cap every time you’ve seen him and he’s always got a copy of the morning paper open and propped in front of his face.

He spots you out of the corner of his eye and scoots his empty mug closer to the table’s edge. You smile and pour the coffee, leaving enough room for his two packets of Sweet ‘n’ Low to be stirred in.

“Anything new this morning, Cliff?”

You’ve only known Cliff on his own, but you know he used to come with his late wife Winnie for coffee every morning before she passed. He’d summarize the big news and events and she’d do the crosswords on the back. Now, you let him summarize to you and he leaves the paper on the table for you. You do the crosswords on your break.

“Same old, same old. They’re thinking about rebuilding the mall that burned down in Hawkins a few summers ago. You hear anything about that?” He sets the paper down to the right of his coffee mug and grabs two pink packets of sweetener. You watch him tear the paper and pour them in. When he looks at you, you shake your head.

“First time I’m hearing of it. My boyfriend used to work there before it…you know,” you mention, unable to stop the morsel of information from slipping out. A twinkle sparks in Cliff’s eye, a small smile on his face as he diverts his attention back to his mug. The spoon he’s stirring with clinks against the coffee stained ceramic walls.

“Are you ever gonna bring this boyfriend of yours around here so I can actually see that he’s real?” He’s teasing, tapping the handle of the spoon against the rim of the mug and setting it in the gap between the coffee and the newspaper. You roll your eyes but a smile lifts your cheeks.

“I don’t know if that’d be too good for business around here,” you joke.

“And was he the reason you were late giving me my coffee this morning?” He's quick to cover his smirk with the coffee mug as he takes a sip. Your mouth falls agape and you fluster, shaking your head and laughing shakily.

“Ha ha, very funny, Cliff. No, he was not. There was traffic!” Cliff makes a face at this and you don’t blame him. Has the traffic excuse ever worked for living in a small town, you wonder. “And I had a rough night and accidentally overslept, is all.”

He grabs his morning paper again and opens it up. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The rest of the morning starts to fly by in a blur. You recite your favorites off the menu to a couple passing through from Chicago. Refill Cliff’s coffee twice, each time dodging whatever he tries to insinuate about your tardiness this morning. Sneak an extra pancake onto little Sofie’s plate with a wink. The early morning breakfast rush blows through and things start to quiet down.

You’re wiping down the table adjacent to Cliff’s booth. His mug is empty and he’s left the paper for you like usual. The bell rings as he opens the door to leave.

“See you tomorrow, Cliff!” you call after him and he raises a hand in a wave as he walks through the door, thanking the young man that holds it for him.

You have to do a double take as you swipe the paper off the table. It’s not just any young man in passing holding the door, no it’s Steve coming inside Dottie’s. It’s Steve standing at the entrance in his usual Levi’s and a white tee with sleeves that seem to strain around his biceps with windswept hair and a bright smile when he sees you.

There goes your heart again with the sigh of his name. Steve. Though maybe this time you think it was your voice instead, airy and soft. You can’t believe he’s here. It’s nowhere near 4’o’clock. You’re aware of Dottie’s eyes on you behind the counter and Susan’s from across the diner and nearly every regular scattered about as well.

Your knees wobble at the sight of him, the disbelief fading away and giddy smile falling into place as he meets you next to Cliff’s booth. Cliff, who’s standing outside the diner and staring and you worry he might come back inside to hound you and insist you introduce him, but he doesn’t.

Steve wraps an arm around your waist, fingers hot against the side of your stomach through the layers of your apron and shirt, and dips to press a kiss to your cheek in greeting. There’s a rush of a swoon that goes down to your toes, the bulk of it getting stuck in your abdomen and swirling like crazy.

You’re in the middle of a greasy old diner but Steve’s somehow tucked you away from prying eyes and into your own little safety bubble. He’ll be the death of you one day. Your heart’ll just keep expanding until it can’t fit inside your ribcage anymore and has no choice but to explode from adoration and kill you.

“What are you doing here?” you wonder aloud, eyes scanning all around his face, taking in every freckle and crinkle and mole. You pause for a minute on his lips and then you blink and find his eyes. He’s smiling at you, in a way that tells you he caught that and you feel struck by that feeling of being caught in the July sun again. He looks around the diner and everyone’s attention goes back to what they were doing before.

“Thought I’d surprise you! Also, it’s supposed to rain later and you didn’t take a jacket so I brought you one.”

Only then do you notice the gray fabric in his other hand and your heart twists and flips and oh god, you think this might be the moment it explodes. He presses it into your hands, the newspaper crinkling against it.

“What’s that?” he asks as you go to thank him. Your brow cinches for a minute before it smooths in comprehension.

“Oh! Cliff,” you point towards the door he’d just walked through, “one of the regulars, leaves the paper behind for me every morning so I can do the crosswords. A little tradition we’ve got going on.”

“A tradition? Should I be concerned?” He jokes and you laugh.

“Oh, definitely. Cliff’s your biggest competition,” you throw back and now it’s his turn to laugh. A glittering light fills your chest. You glance over to where Dottie is engaged in conversation with a middle aged woman just passing through. She can’t hear you from this far but you drop your voice nonetheless. “No but, he did give me a bit of a hard time about his coffee being almost an hour late this morning.”

At your pointed look and sly smile, Steve winces, fingers pressing a quick squeeze against your side. An embarrassed blush blooms on his cheeks, bridging across his nose. “Right. Sorry.”

“Forgiven,” you lean up to press the quickest flash of a kiss to his cheek. You wrap your arms around the newspaper and jacket, holding them to your chest. “Do you wanna sit for a minute? I can get you some coffee? Although be warned, Dottie might come up and talk to you.”

His arm drops from around your waist and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, coffee sounds great.”

You smile and motion him into Cliff’s booth. When he sits, he insists on holding onto the jacket and newspaper for you and you let him. He watches you take Cliff’s mug away and walk to Dottie behind the counter to get him a fresh one.

Dottie bumps her hip with yours as you pass and you give her a look. The pot’s nearly empty and you wait the few minutes it takes for it to fill, eyes catching on Steve while you wait. He’s stopped staring and has instead taken interest in the comics in the paper.

“He’s handsome,” Dottie’s voice snaps you back into your senses. You glance at her and she’s got a special look in her eyes to match the smile on her face. You check the coffee pot that’s filling up quicker than normal. But your focus drifts back over to Steve, who senses your gaze and looks over to you and flashes a big grin.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he is.”

Dottie looks between the two of you and then takes a look around the diner. It’s not the usual Sunday hustle and bustle, post early breakfast rush and the impending rain could be the indicator for that. She's got Susan and Judy’ll be coming in any minute now and Pam right after at 12. When she looks back at you, you’re watching the last few drops of coffee fall into the pot.

“Take the rest of the day,” Dottie says. Your eyes snap up to meet hers over the coffee pot between you.

“What?”

“Go sit and have coffee with that boy of yours and then go home,” it doesn’t sound like a suggestion, more like an order but you look around the diner and hesitate.

“Dottie, it's Sunday. I can’t just leave this early on our busiest day of the week.”

“There’ll be other Sundays busier than this one. And you need your rest after the night you had. We’ll be okay, now go,” she pushes. You bite back a smile as you relent, kissing Dottie on the cheek as you pass with the full coffee pot and two mugs gripped tightly in your other hand. She shakes her head watching you cross back to the third booth from the door.

Steve lights up when you enter his line of sight but his brow furrows at the two mugs held in your left hand. You set them on the table and fill them both with the fresh coffee before setting the pot down on the table. He watches you slide into the empty spot in front of him. The same place you assume Winnie occupied when she’d come here with Cliff.

“Dottie’s letting me off early,” you say, grabbing an almost obscene amount of Sweet ‘n’ Low packets and dumping them into your mug. “Can you hand me a creamer?”

Steve finds himself staring at you, doctoring your diner coffee to how you like it, hearts for eyes and a wistful smile taking permanent residency on his face. When he doesn’t hand you the creamer right away, you look up, only a little confused but mostly amused at the blatant and overwhelming display of admiration across his features.

“Steve?”

He blinks in quick succession and clumsily reaches for a creamer while you giggle and god, it’s killing him that he hasn’t kissed you right yet since he’s been here. You hold out your hand and he sets the mini pod on your palm, your fingers brushing his as they enclose around it with a thank you.

He watches you finish stirring in the creamer, the coffee in your cup now a light shade of brown. You take a sip, both palms wrapped around the mug and your eyes on his when you set it down on the table.

“You look nice,” you say, eyes dropping down to the simple white tee he’s wearing. When you look back up at his face, his smile is cheeky and his cheeks are flushed. It takes an incredible amount of self restraint not to kiss him across the table.

“Yeah? The plain white tee is really doing it for you?” he leans closer over the table, voice dropped just the slightest bit. You mirror his movement almost like there’s a magnet pulling the two of you together. Steve pulls one of your hands into his, weaving your fingers together across the table.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” there’s a flirtatious thrum in your voice that makes Steve grin. His mouth opens to respond, another silly flirty quip back when Dottie appears at the side of the table.

“You kids want anything to eat?”

The sound of her voice sends Steve jumping back against his seat, like he’s 15 and getting caught doing something he shouldn’t be. You lean back slowly, amusement clear on your face and a question in your eyes. Do you?

Steve looks from you and up to Dottie who watches with a knowing gleam in her eye. He starts to shake his head but then his eyes fall back to you and he’s repeating the question to you with his eyes. You consider it for a second and then shake your head slightly which Steve repeats to Dottie.

“No, we’re alright, thanks,” he says and Dottie nods. She grabs the coffee pot but doesn’t move.

“Heard a lot about you…” she trails off and Steve’s eyes widen just a tad.

“Oh! Steve. Harrington. Steve Harrington,” he fills in the blank for her, even reaching out his hand for her to shake.

“Dottie. She talks a lot about you, Steve. Sometimes I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it.”

You try to cover your face with your one free hand and groan, “Dottie.”

Steve lets out a small laugh and squeezes your hand, always finding it endearing to see you flustered. You slowly move your hand away, to which Steve gives you a quick wink which only makes you want to hide away again like you’re 16 with a crush.

Dottie pulls him into an easy conversation. How is Hawkins? Where’d you both meet? And: Do you have a job? I expect only the best for my girl here, you know. And: you’ll have to come back and have something more than just coffee next time.

By the time she’s finished and gone off to engage with the newest patron in the diner, your coffee’s finished and Steve’s has gone cold. You watch Dottie walk off and when you look back, Steve’s staring at you, soft and kind. His gaze makes you squirm.

“I like her,” he says.

“Uh oh, do I have to worry about having competition now?” you joke and Steve shakes his head with a laugh.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone else, you’re the only one for me,” he confesses, rubbing his thumb against your hand. There’s that feeling like your heart might explode again with a sigh of his name, Steve. Though this time, you’re positive you’ve said it outloud.

“Steve,” you tilt your head, voice soft. He lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles and if you don’t kiss him in the next minute, you’re going to have a problem. As if he can sense it, Steve sticks a five on the table and grabs the jacket he’d brought for you as well as Cliff’s leftover newspaper.

He holds his hand out to you to help you out of your side of the booth and you take it, his palm soft against yours. You make it to the door and then pause.

“Oh! Gotta grab my bag from the back,” you lean up to press a kiss against his cheek. “Meet you at the car?”

Steve nods, squeezing your hip briefly. He watches until you’ve disappeared into the back office before he walks out to his car. You come out not even a minute later, apron off and over your arm and bag hanging off your shoulder. There’s a slight skip in your step.

The air smells like rain, an earthy petrichor that makes things somehow feel lighter. Steve’s leaning against the passenger side, the door already open and waiting for you. When you’re close enough, he hooks a finger through your bag strap to pull it off your shoulder. It gets caught on the crook of your elbow when you reach up to cup his cheeks with your hands.

He’s confused for the briefest of seconds and then your lips are on his and he forgets about the bag on your shoulder. His hands fall to your hips, one of his arms wrapping tight around your waist. Something inside both of you is cheering, finally.

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of kissing Steve. Both of you fit perfectly into the empty spots of each other, as if you were carved from the same stone upon creation. It’s a kiss almost far too explicit for outside Dottie’s diner midmorning on a Sunday but you can’t bring yourself to care. That is, until you need to come up for air.

You pull back, Steve chasing your lips and winning. You’re almost smiling too much now for it to work, your hands sliding from his cheeks to the sides of his neck. This time, he pulls away and your chests rise and fall in sync.

“Been needing to do that since you first walked inside,” you breathe out and Steve lets out a laugh that you can feel reverberate through you. He kisses you again, quick and soft and his hand moves to take your bag off your shoulder again.

“And why didn’t you?” he jests, stepping back enough for you to get into his car. One of your hands rests on the top of it, the other hanging loose at your side. Steve wishes he had a camera on him just to capture you in that moment with the sun hitting you in just the right way, playful adoration in your eyes.

“Because,” you shrug, stooping to get inside the car, holding a hand out for your bag when you’re situated. Steve passes it over and closes your door, jogging around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“Because…?” he pries, sticking the key in the ignition but not yet turning it. You’re pulling your seatbelt across your chest, turning your head to smile at him as you click the buckle into place.

“Because Dottie might’ve gotten suspicious as to why I was so late this morning,” another pointed look his way and Steve shakes his head, turning the engine over and quickly buckling in his seatbelt. He shifts into reverse, checking his rearview mirror and then slinging his arm across the back of your seat.

It’s like a feast for your eyes. The stretch of his arm, a long expanse of muscle right by your head that carries a strong whiff of his cologne. The swift, smooth, one handed feel on the wheel. You’re staring unabashed, only getting knocked out of your reverie when he responds.

“I’m never living this down.”

He glances at you, his arm dropping from your seat to shift into drive. You lean your head against the headrest and shake it with a smile.

“So what was your excuse then? For being late?”

He pulls onto the street to take you back towards Hawkins, his right hand leaving the wheel and dropping to find your hand. You take the liberty of slotting your fingers into the spaces between his.

“Oh you know. Rough night being sick. Oversleeping. Like something out of Steve Harrington’s playbook for getting out of work,” you tease. He scoffs, sparing you a quick amused glance. You lift your hands to your lips in response, your smile hiding behind the kiss you press to his knuckles.

“And did it work? Did she buy it?”

“Oh, of course. Why do you think she let me off so early?”

Steve looks over at you again and sees the slight smirk on your face. He shakes his head with a slight laugh.

“Wow, you’ve been hanging around me too long. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Like that’s such a bad thing,” you roll your eyes, turning your head so your cheek rests against the leather of the headrest. A gooey softness melts into your gaze. “You’re one of the best people I know.”

Steve smiles, his cheeks blooming with a slight twinge of pink. He doesn’t say anything, just takes his turn lifting your joined hands to his lips to litter kisses along your knuckles. Your heart goes mushy, such has been the case since you started dating Steve. The mush liquefies, seeping through your body with a shiver when you notice the picture he’s got propped on his dash.

He’s had to have just added it recently. A grainy film capture of the two of you, you think Max must’ve taken it if you remember correctly but you haven’t seen it before. You’re both leaning against the hood of his car, Steve’s arm around your shoulders and your hand lifted to hold his hand that hangs there. A big toothy grin is spread across your face, your head tilted slightly against Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s not looking at the camera though, he’s looking at you with a lopsided smile, adoration spilling out of him clear as day.

“When did you add that?” you ask, pointing at the picture with your free hand. Steve glances down at it and immediately breaks into a smile.

“Just the other day. Surprised it’s taken you so long to notice it,” he replies, looking over at you and then back at the road. You’re about to ask if you can somehow get a copy of your own when he says, “I have a copy for you at home, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get it before you go back to your place.”

You smile at him, one that’s soft around the edges, a perfect mirror of how you feel. It feels so wonderful to be known and seen by somebody the way Steve knows and sees you. Making sure to get two prints of that picture of you. Bringing a jacket to work for you for the rain that doesn’t arrive until that afternoon as you’re about to leave his house to go back to yours.

He uses it as an excuse to keep you with him for another night, something you weakly protest against because the roads aren’t completely slick yet and you can get home just fine. But he insists, his eyes round and pleading and really you can’t deny that you’d rather stay with him anyway.

Even if it means you’re tired again in the morning and rushing to work. You think being with Steve is a worthy price to pay, you never thought you’d be so glad to be so tired.

And, at least you’re not late this time.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #📝: a writes!

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slimybeth69 · 25 days ago

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Que Será, Será: Part 3

Rating: Explicit- Smut, violence, drinking/drug use. MDNI!!

Summary: It's almost twenty years after some weird outbreak almost happened but the CDC took care of that...Now you're living in Austin, Texas as an adult.What happens when you meet Joel Miller who hasn't been hardened and ruined by twenty years of murder and loss?

Warnings/Tags: DaddyDom!Joel/ you. no use of y/n. No physical description of the reader besides one tattoo. Reader has a background story. Drinking/drug use. Slow burn. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Graphic depictions of violence. Eventual loss of virginity. Use of nicknames/pet names (lil girl, baby girl.) DD/lg dynamics. BDSM play. Unbeta'ed. WIP. Cross-posting from my Ao3.

Chapter 3-

You don’t hear from him or see him at the hardware store for two weeks. The first time he does come in… he doesn’t go through your line or look at you. You didn’t really look either, so he might have. You just kept your eyes on your register and caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye when he walked by to leave. It broke your fucking heart that he didn’t even acknowledge you. But why would he? You two don’t talk anymore. It’s hard but not impossible to keep yourself from crying at work.

The rest of the day drags on. You actually ask your manager if you can do restocking because just standing at the register and hoping that every scared and suntanned hand that comes into your vision belongs to him. It never does. It’s always some other stupid carpenter. Fuck. You’re quitting this job. You’ll quit and just work for Cody. He offered. Would pay you well but you hate IT and would probably have to travel and you don’t like flying. Not one bit. So… maybe you’ll stay here for just a lil while longer. You could move to the back and never have to worry about seeing Joel ever again.

Your shift ends and you don’t see him again. Your partially thankful, partially heartbroken and devastated. You stop at a drive through and get french fries and a full fat coke. The best kind. With all the sugar and carbonation. You sit in the truck and indulge sadly. You think about going home and… putting on that lingerie… you could take a picture and send it to him. Then block his number and break your phone and go jump off a cliff because that is the worst idea you’ve ever had. It’s been an internal and also an external struggle to not text or call him. You want to so badly. So badly. You don’t think he’d answer.

Joel might. He didn’t seem like he wanted to leave that day. He was acting like he could have stayed another night before you two got into your lil disagreement. You could kick yourself for being nosey and whatever the fuck else you are that makes you say dumb shit. No. You stood up for yourself and didn’t get put back into another Jackie Harris situation where you’re getting screamed at in the back of a Dodge Neon at sixteen because you’re scared to lose your virginity.

You should’a done it then because now you’re never going to lose it. Not at this rate.

You roll seven joints when you get home because you need to keep your fingers busy so they don’t accidentally type out a message to him that tells him to come over and kiss you again. As you roll your joints you speak affirmations to yourself out loud.

“You’re worth more than getting screamed at!! Worth more than fingers being pointed in your face calling you fucking worthless. You are worth more than that. So, you’re a very smart girl for kicking that douche--Joel Miller, to the curb. Fuck him. He is a prick.” You snort and feel satisfied because you feel a little better.

You decided to smoke on the porch because it’s so nice out today. You can wear just shorts and a tank top out here. It’s not humid, not sticky. Just hot. You made yourself a drink with your coke from the fast food place and some of Cody’s whiskey. It’s hard to unwind when you cannot stop thinking about him. The way he felt when he was on top of you in the car? The way he kissed you? You had never, ever been kissed like that. It was like he was trying to crawl inside of you through your mouth and it was the hottest thing. You miss it. You could cry.

Let’s not even get started on his cock? Please? It was so beautiful– honestly, the only cock you have ever really wanted to look at. Every other one you have seen was… alright. Nothing to write Dad about– that makes you chuckle aloud, the idea of writing your dear old Dad about all the cocks you see (which really isn’t many) and giving them your ratings and clear descriptions of them. You’d write about how Joel had a thick patch of dark pubic hair right at the base of him, and veins that crept from that base all up and along the thick shaft…he had been so hard– so throbbingly, achingly hard in his hand while he stroked himself. He was red in contrast to the rest of his tanned skin on his fist. The seam of him drooling precome like it got paid to. There was so much of it. So much on his shirt after he was done…

It was so erotic.

You had never done that. Touched yourself for someone and watched them do that!! No! You got naked for Jackie Harris a couple times. Didn’t ever wanna watch him jerk off. You just let him look– store it in his memory for later, you did show him what you looked like with a couple fingers inside you…but that was it. You never finished alongside someone else like that. You honestly… had never finished with anyone before. Some got you almost there, real fucking close but then they’d lose their rhythm or get tired of try. Sometimes not even try because you wouldn’t let them fuck you. Fuck men. Honestly. They all suck.

It gets dark so fast and you think about how you are lonely. You don’t know anyone down here. Sam took off literally two weeks after you got here. You text her.

Hey sisterrrr. I miss u and I know shit is tough for u right now. Im always here… always. Send me pics of u and carter. I don’t gave a shit about cody, tell him i said to go fuck himself. Jk i might be taking him up on that job offer soon. Love you. Text me back this time, ho.

She’s been gone for three months and you have heard from her only once. Every other time you talk to her or even see her is when Cody texts you or facetimes you so that you can see her and know that she is still alive. Carson is growing up and you’re missing out on all that.

Your phone rings. It’s Cody.

“What do you want, you fuckin’ loser,” You sneer into the phone with no real malice. At this point Cody is more of your brother than Paul. That asshole.

“Hey, so… your sister isn’t doin’ good—” He starts but now you’re stiff in your chair.

“What does that mean?” You whisper softly.

“She’s just really depressed. The wellness gurus here at the retreat thinks she needs professional help…like real therapy and shit.” Cody sounds so worried.

“You’re gonna get her—”

“Duh, you fucking asshole. Of course. Literally would chop off my nuts for Samantha if she needed ‘em to get better. Shit. There is a specialist in Germany that is said to be a fuckin’ genie with this postpartum stuff so we’re going to go there for a couple months. Get her a change of scenery.” He sighs.

“That’s good. Real good. I’m glad you guys are able to do all that. Fuck. That’s crazy… is she there?” You ask hesitantly.

“Okay… don’t get upset with her okay?” Cody warns you and your stomach drops.

“What?” You almost don’t wanna know. Why would you be mad at her?

“She’s not talking…” Cody whispers.

“Huh?” You’re unimpressed with his answer.

“She’s… I dunno. On some weird mute shit right now. Only answers me with nods or head shakes.” Cody is sounding more and more hopeless the more he talks about it.

“Like… she’s not talking on purpose?” You’re so utterly shocked by this. That is no Samantha.

“She barely gets out of bed. Doesn’t hold the baby. It’s fuckin’ sad…I feel so bad for her ‘cause she wanted this so…we both did and now, she can’t even enjoy it.” Cody sounds like he’s going to cry.

“Do you want me to fly to Germany to meet you guys?” You offer even though the thought of being on a plane that long makes you want to throw up.

“I appreciate that so much…” Cody sighs and now you are shitting your pants too because it sounds like he wants to do this. “I just dunno… If you think you should, come out here but I know you’re weird with the flying thing.” He is thinking of other solutions. You can hear it in his voice. “We’ll be okay. I got Carson. I’m a good dad, not like your guys’ piece of shit cock-sucking dad. I’m a real dad.” You know Cody is poking his chest real hard when he says this and it makes you roll your eyes.

“I’ll get you a mug or something. An award.” You chuckle into the phone.

“How’s the house? Still standing?” He asks nervously.

“I flooded it. Ruined everything. I’m drinkin’ all your expensive whiskey.” You snicker into the phone and Cody groans loudly.

“I should have locked it up, you bitch. Fuck. I knew you were gonna get into it. Thief!” He exclaims into the phone quietly like he might be a little mad. “What’re you drinkin’?” He sounds less mad and more curious.

“I dunno. Something Macllins or something The Reach 18 or something.” You shrug because you didn’t look at the label.

“You’re fuckin’ lying. I know you’re not drinkin’ it the way you should be. Drinkin’ it with a coke from McDonalds or something stupid.” He grumbles.

“Sure am. How am I supposed to drink that shit?” You snort into the phone.

“Well seeing as how you’re drinking one hundred and twenty five… thousand dollar scotch. That’s been aged for eighty-one fuckin’ years, ya dingus, should be drank neat. One ice cube…if you need it. But should just be drank straight, ya fuck.” He exclaims into the phone.

“You just love talking about how much money you have. It’s gross. I’m surprised Samanatha married you.” You snicker.

“She married me for the money, turdface. Fuck off.” He sounds annoyed and you love it. “Don’t drink anymore of the Macallans. You can drink anything else. I mean it. Seriously. Help yourself to that whole cabinet but I can’t get more of The Reach 81. S’all gone. Gotta wait another eighty one years for more— so stop fuckin’ adding it to watered down coke, you asshole.” Cody almost shouts into the phone.

“We’ll see. Your house is fine. Love you guys. Give Carson and Samantha a kiss for me. Maybe slap my sister a lil for me and see if she snaps back to normal.” Your smirk.

“You’ll have to fly to Germany to do that. I would never. Say outta The Reach, bitch. Love you too. I’ll call you when we get to Munich.” Cody hangs up the phone before you can say anything else.

What a good fucking husband. Doing literally anything and everything for her. Sometimes you’re jealous of Samantha but remember she is going through it right now. She also worked really hard in school and then at college. She worked her asshole right out of her body to get her degree to be a child psychologist. Worked so hard to do that…to then meet Cody who literally had more money than she had ever seen in her whole life. That didn’t make her fall in love with him, not at all. It’s how much fun she had with him. Cody is the life of the party. He’s incredibly smart. Very handsome. Hilarious. Self-deprecating in the best way. He’s a good guy and you’re lucky he’s in your life at any capacity. Cody paid for your entire trip down here. The moving truck you drove down here, paid for all your gas and hotel rooms. Gave up his air conditioned gym to have to work out in the hot ass garage. He’s a good man. A good brother.

Better than Paul.

Your phone dings in your hand. It’s Samantha.

Love you, Squeak.

That’s it. It means more than anything. She calls you that because your mom used to call you that. It makes you smile and get goosebumps. Samantha is still in there somewhere. Hopefully this therapist in Munich can find her and help her back to the surface. You go inside. You do not have to work tomorrow so…you’ll stay up all night and read your true crime blog. Why not? Nothing better to do. You go to change into something a little warmer, it’s cooler inside with the AC on. Your fingers graze the lace material and you can suddenly taste your heartbeat. You touch it again, don’t pick it up… just rub the delicate, light blue lace between your fingers gently.

Ideas come to your head. Familiar ideas. You’ve had this idea before.

Fuck it. The Reach 81 is buzzing around in your head. You put the dainty outfit on before you can chicken out. You go to your full length mirror. It doesn’t… not fit. You have put on a couple pounds since you move down here but it’s not… too small. You’re busting out in all the right places and the fabric digs in and makes you look supple and soft. You pull out your phone and take one of your entire body with your feet pressed together at the toes. The next pose is you on your knees, with your legs spread wide– leaned back so you can get a nice lil look. Nothing is too directly exposed even though the lace is see through. There is a little bit left to the imagination. Except for your nipples and areola. Those are seen directly through the fabric. You turn your camera around and take a picture of you on your back, cupping one of your spilling tits in the bra. You bite your bottom lip an angle the camera so he can see down your body.

You’re feeling so confident because these pictures are… actually really hot. That or you’re a little drunk.

You send Joel Miller all three pictures and put a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie on over the lingerie. It makes you feel hot and sexy and so you don’t really wanna take it off yet. You don’t know what you’re expecting… really.

You’re hoping he texts you or calls you back. You want that.

You don’t think he will though. You just embarrassed yourself and now you have to quit your job at the store or just hope he never, ever comes in again. He might not. You just threw yourself at him via the phone screen. You look desperate and now you hate yourself.

What have you done!?

You go to see if you can delete them, un-send them or something but he looked at them. It says right under the pictures…

Seen 8:22 PM

It’s almost eight thirty now… eight fucking minutes have gone by and he hasn’t answered. He might still be at work… could be. He liked Ava’s pictures before he called you the night he saw you. FUCK. Okay. You’re just going to delete those pictures from your text thread so you can pretend you never sent them. Then you delete them right out of your camera roll. What pictures? You never did anything. Nothing.

You read your blog. Sadly. You wish Joel Miller had been a killer and just murdered you on the side of the road that first night. That had to hurt less than this. You know this is not true. You feel so badly for every victim in these stories. Sometimes they are hard to read but you do it anyway… for whatever reason. It makes you feel something. Sad. Better than nothing. Better than being bored and alone. Ugh. You need another drink.

The Reach 81 goes back in the cabinet because you do not like annoying Cody that much. You reach for a different bottle and grab a can of diet coke from the fridge upstairs because you’re too lazy to go back downstairs to grab a regular coke from your fridge. You don’t wanna do anything ever again. You add ice to your drink when the doorbell rings. Your heart flutters for half a second and then you get so scared. It’s past nine now. Who is ringing your doorbell?? Shit. You have no weapons. Why does Cody have no guns? Fuuuck. You check your phone and there are still no messages from Joel. Or anyone. You get nine one one typed in and ready to call and walk slowly to the front door.

The doorbell rings again.

Ooooooohhhhhh noooooooooo.

Normal people only ring one time.

Crazy people ring twice… fuck. Okay. Everything is fine. You can talk real fast if you need to yell your address to the operator.

You fling the door open and Joel is standing there, shifting his weight between his feet nervously, he gives you a sheepish grin. You frown and then so does he.

“What are you doing here?” You ask that way because you had just been terrified and that hasn’t left your body yet. So you’re a little harsh.

“Oh…did you mean to send those sexy ass pictures to someone else or were you fuckin’ teasing me?” Joel sounds genuinely upset.

“I meant to send them to you…but what are you doing here?” You blink up at him and now he’s blinking right down at you too.

“Did you…not want me to come over?” He raises one eyebrow in suspicion and maybe confusion.

“I thought you’d text me back first.” You explain to him dully. Joel stops shifting his weight and his eyes flash from left to right three times before he looks at you again.

“Yeah. I should’a done that. I’m sorry.” He stands at the open door just looking down at you. You dunno what to say now that he is here…right here in front of you!! You thought if you ever talked to him again it’d be over text or the phone. Not in person. You can’t help yourself when he is…right here. “You want me to go?” He throws his thumb over his shoulder to his truck in the driveway.

You shake your head no silently.

The corner of Joel’s mouth turns up slightly.

“You gotta invite me in. I don’t barge.” He shrugs his shoulders and speaks much more calmly and cool than he had been before. He wasn’t nervous anymore.

“Do you wanna come in?” You don’t have any energy inside of you to produce sound so it just comes out in a whisper. He nods silently and side steps you into the house.

“Sorry ‘bout last time.” He slips his boots off and stands in the entryway. His eyes trace along your comfy outfit and he looks almost disappointed for one second and then his eyes flash roguishly. Devilishly.

“I’m not. Thanks for telling me you’re an asshole. Now I can make an educated choice on what I want.” You smirk at him and he takes one step towards you and tries to close the distance but you step back– but now you’re pressed against the closed front door. You sigh softly as he eliminates any distance left between you with two large steps.

“What do you want.” He whispers quietly as his nose grazes across your forehead gently. His words are breath against your closed eyelids. “Tell me what you want, lil girl.” He’s demanding in his soft, throaty whispers.

“You.” You keep your eyes closed but as you speak his hands find your hips and he’s pulling you against him.

“You still got that sexy lil blue thang on under this?” He tugs at the hem or your sweatshirt gently. You still haven't opened your eyes, but his the tip of his nose trawls down the bridge of yours, his lips kiss the tip of your nose as he pass by and then his lips are on yours and he’s hungry for you.

You moan in affirmation that you do still have that lil sexy blue thang on under all this that you’re wearing. His tongue pushes it’s way into your mouth, he doesn’t wait for you to open up for him. He needs you. You’re lips are wet with saliva as your mouths open and close against each others, tongues swirling whenever they can. He pulls away at the sounds of your protesting whines.

“Wanna do somethin’, open your mouth.” He sighs softly his lips still touching yours. You don’t even care why he would want you to do something like that, you’re melting against this door and he hasn’t even really touched you yet. Just kisses you and played with the hem of your sweatshirt. He had one hand on your waist. That was it.

Joel Miller spits into your open mouth. Loudly. You are appalled and pull away from him in horror. You want to spit it back at him but he closes your jaw with his strong hand.

“Swallow it fer’ me, sexy lil thang.” He growls softly in that deep, country twang he has. You mindlessly swallow and then are even more horrified that you just did that!! What!!

“What was that!?” You exclaim in annoyance. “Spitting into my mouth?” You’re offended that he thought you’d like that…. You didn’t wanna like it. Not at all. But you did kinda. Liked the way he smirked at you when you swallowed it. Loved how he growled at you.

“Didn’t like it? I won’t do it again… I’m sor—” Joel does look sorry and like he feels really bad.

“No. It’s fine.” You snap at him…because… you don’t know why. “No one’s ever done that to me before.”

“So…you did like it? ‘Cause I fuckin’ love it. You could do it to me too…” He offers with the slightest raise of his eyebrows. “I’d spit more into yer’ mouth if you’d let me.” He whispers softly. This actually horrifies you.

“What does that mean!?” You gasp softly. You make Joel chuckle.

“Want me to tell you? We should go downstairs… n’ you can show me what that lil thang you got on underneath all them clothes really looks like.” Joel wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him.

“Okay.” You sigh softly and let him lead you downstairs to your room. He’s down at the bottom of the steps and you’re on the second to last. He grabs you by the waist, his strong hands dig into your sides as he lifts you. He holds you against his chest and torso as he carries you past the bed and into your makeshift living room.

Joel sets you down in front of the couch, steals a loud, wet kiss from your lips and then makes his way to the couch and sits down with his legs and knees spread wide. He’s comfortable.

“Go slow.” He growls at you with that same mischievous look he had the the last time he was here and chased you. You blink at him. You have on just sweats! The hood of your sweatshirt was up over your head You didn’t look very sexy at all.

“What do you mean? I have two things on! It’ll be over–” You exclaim, pulling the drawstrings of your hoodie tight and closing the hole around your face. Joel is shaking his head and holding his hand up for you to stop.

“Go. Slow.” He shrugs his shoulders when you stop talking. “Simple. Slow.” He tips his head to the side as he shrugs his shoulders. You’re gonna spit on him.

“Fine.” You loosen the drawstrings and pull the hood down and fix your hair so it isn’t frizzy anymore.

“Y’look cute already… are you nervous?” Joel raises one eyebrow slightly as he watches you dance around on your toes nervously.

“No. Why would I be nervous?” You shake your head at him and try to sound offended but you think you actually sound nervous. So, that’s nice.

“I dunno… why would you be nervous?” He chuckles and shifts around on the couch to get comfy. “Drove almost ninety miles an hour to get here.” He jokes but it doesn’t really sound like a joke.

“Why’d it take you so long then?” You flick one eyebrow up at him playful and he’s stunned by this. He has no words, he’s just chuckling but you don’t really like his lack of voice. He’s always got something to say. “Seriously… if you drove that fast… n’ you were home— you should have been here sooner after you saw the pictures.” You eye him doubtfully. The small smirk leaves his face and he sighs.

“I’m never, ever gon’ lie to you if you ask me stuff outright like that. I was with Ava.” He says simply. You had your arms inside your hoodie, getting ready to slowly lift if over your head and show him your sexy outfit but you punch your arms through the sleeves and cross them over your chest. Joel chuckles.

“Ok.” You sigh loudly.

“Why’re you mad? I’m here…” He smirks now and stands. You take a step back but he doesn’t walk towards you. He goes to the light switch and dims the lights dramatically. You can almost barely see him. He comes back to sit on the couch and stretches his legs again, spreading his strong, muscular arms along the back of the couch.

“Is that why it took you so long? ‘Cause you had to finish?!” You accuse him with a pointed finger in his direction. He laughs loudly and shakes his head.

“No. She just lives further from here n’ I had to talk her off the ledge when I told her I didn’t wanna see her anymore.” Joel is smirking. You can see it now that your eyes have adjusted to the dimness of the room. “We weren’t even doin’ nothin’. Jus’ talkin’. ‘Bout to do somethin’...” Joel shugs one shoulder and tips his head again.

You think in your head right now if you have a reason to be mad about this or if you should even believe him.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” You give him another dubious look and tap your foot impatiently even though… you have all the time in the world. You’re off tomorrow. So is Joel. Tomorrow is Saturday so he has all the time in the world too. Shit.

Joel shifts to the left slightly and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He unlocks it and then tosses it to you without a word. You barely catch it and glare at him for that. You would have felt so bad if you hadn’t caught it and something happened to it!! So embarrassed. You stare at his phone in your hand.

“My lil password or whatever is 072089.” He smiles at you. “S’my daughters birthday… not my other lil girlfriend. Don’t worry.” He winks at you like he’s so fucking funny.

“What do you want me to do with it?” You stare at him as the phone screen goes black in your hand.

“Look through it— since you like doin’ it so much. Look’it the messages from Ava tonight. They’ll prove I’m not lyin’.” He’s got a shit eating grin on his face like you’re going to be so happy with what you find in there you’ll get right on your knees and suck his dick or something.

You tap the screen and the face ID doesn’t recognize you, so you enter the numbers he said to you and his phone unlocks. Okay— he can change his password. He probably will when he leaves here. The message thread from Ava is above yours. She’s currently typing stuff out to him but there are unread messages from her as well.

“She’ll see that you opened them… you have your read receipts on… old man.” You smirk at him but he shrugs.

“Don’t really care.” He still has that stupid grin on his face and you are going to spit on him. You sure will… kinda hopes he does it to you again. Soon. Tonight.

You press Ava’s text thread and there are… countless messages all from within the last forty-five minutes. All the texts are some variation of…

You have to be kidding?

You’re not fucking serious, are you? Is it someone else?

Talk to me. Answer my calls.

Just walk out? Really? We were having a good, real talk for the first time and all of a sudden you just have to leave? With no explanation?

Ava starts to call him before you can read any more. You blink at the phone vibrating in your hands.

“She callin’ again?” Joel asks casually. “You can ignore it. You could answer it…but that’ll just piss her off… n’ she’d probably show up to my house…smash my windows or something.” Joel isn’t grinning anymore, but he sounds like he means what he’s saying. Like you could really answer it if you wanted.

“I don’t wanna talk to her.” You hold the phone back to him but he holds his hands up like he doesn’t want it either.

“I said what I wanted to say. There isn’t nothin’ she can say that’s gonna change my mind.” Joel shrugs again and stretches his back, arching his chest towards the ceiling as you hold his still vibrating phone in your hands. It stops vibrating and then immediately starts up again. She called him right back.

“Change your mind about what?” You ask softly, setting the phone down on the TV stand behind you but it just buzzes and skitters across the glass noisily. You pick it up and stare at it and then you silence the call. You stare at the black screen and it lights up again!! She called Joel again!! You set the phone down on the black, faux fur rug in your mini living room. It’s quiet and doesn’t move. You push it far away from you with your big toes.

Scary.

“I’ll tell you… I’ll tell you everything … but you gotta start taking them clothes off— real slow.” Joel draws the last two words out for so long before they end and he licks his bottom lip just as slow. You swallow hard.

“Okay…” You whisper because what does everything mean? You’re so scared. You pull one arm into the sweatshirt slowly and Joel starts to talk.

“I only saw her again ‘cause I didn’t think you wanted to see me.” He speaks quietly and calmly as you pull the other arm into the sweatshirt. Your finger the hem by your waist slowly and pull it up just an inch and expose the baby blue lace fabric that covers your skin. It’s so thin you’re immediately stricken with goosebumps as the cool air from the AC touches you. Joel keeps talking. “So… when you texted me those pictures— shiiit. I had to get outta there… but I knew I wasn’t gonna wanna see her again. So I told her that I had come over there to break things off… even though we weren’t really talking like we were about to break things off.” Joel admits quietly.

“What were you talking about?” You almost coo to him even though you don’t really wanna know!! You pull the hem of your sweatshirt up another inch and the intricate, delicate design of the lace starts to appear. Blue isn’t really… your best color but it was just so pretty that you couldn’t stop looking at it while you were shopping for new bras. It was this blue color or pink— that looked worse on you. Joel sighs softly as he sees more of whatever you’re hiding from him under those baggy clothes.

“Nothin’ crazy– honestly. Just tellin’ her ‘bout my day which I never do… then my phone goes off n’ I look at it… go wide eyed… and then tell her I don’t wanna see her anymore. She’s a lil confused. Probably a lil pissed off.” Joel shrugs his shoulders. “She knew what I wanted from her. Knew all along..”

“You sure about that?” You pull the sweatshirt up and little higher and now the curve of your breast in the lace is visible. Joel makes an audible sound as he exhales. It’s not a groan or a moan. Barely a hum. It makes you smirk when he licks his lips again and has to readjust on the couch. He has to pull his jeans away from his groin with his fist.

“She knows. Why you think that’s all our texts are ‘bout?” He nods his head towards the phone that is still ringing. She’s called him non stop.

“You said it turns her on…” You pinch your brows and stop lifting your sweatshirt. Your nipples are just barely hidden. Joel speaks a little more rushed than he had been speaking earlier.

“S’also the only type of text I respond to from her… We don’t talk outside of what happens in the bedroom.” He shrugs.

“Okay. I don’t wanna talk about her anymore.” You grumble and feel annoyed and wanna put your clothes back on.

“Okay. But that was the the first time I saw her since we stopped talkin’...” Joel trails off and lets you put the pieces together for yourself. He hasn’t slept with her since then.

“Again… how do I know you’re not lying?” You ask nervously, your arms are still hovering right below your chin, about to take the sweat shirt off but you had paused when you caught him in what you thought was another lie!

“You ain’t gotta trust me. Really. I don’t care. It’ll just get annoying after a while.” Joel shrugs his shoulders and adjusts himself in his jeans carefully. “I gave you the all the evidence right there. Messages’ll show the last time I even liked one of those pictures she send…” Joel lifts his eyebrow. “I ain’t lyin’ to you, Little Birdie. Relax a little.” He whispers. “Show me how pretty you look.” He coos to you.

You pull the sweatshirt off your body and toss it to the floor, covering Joel’s phone in the process. He grins stupidly.

“Hell yeah.” He sounds happy, like… really happy with what he sees. “Got damn, you are fuckin’ beautiful. Them pictures didn’t do you justice.” He shakes his head no slowly. You’re blushing. So fucking hard.

“What else would you spit in my mouth?” You ask quietly as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of the sweatpants. Joel holds his hands up to you and speaks quickly.

“Hold on!! Lemme get comfortable.” He stands quickly and undoes his belt and the button of his jeans quickly. You sigh as he pushes his pants to the floor and steps out of them so he’s just in his boxers and a black t-shirt. He looks so fucking hot. Fuck. You hate him for how attractive he is. “Okay… what did you ask me?” He asks, one of his strong hands slides to the bulge between his legs.

“W-What else would s-spit in my mouth?” You’re stammering as you watch him tease himself through the fabric. His big– ridiculously big- hand gropes himself gently and just tugs. Pulling his cock away from his body as it continues to harden. You’re almost drooling because you forgot to swallow. You forgot everything. You don’t even know why you’re standing up here. You look down and remember you were doing something for him. Okay.

“You like t’get freaky? You like it rought n’ shit? Kinda kinky?” He asks as his fist squeezes himself through his boxers gently. You’ve never done anything even remotely kinky. Nothing. The most kinky thing you ever did was literally what you were doing right now…and what you did with the same man sitting in front of you, two weeks ago in his truck. So, apparently you do.

“Yes.” You answer quickly before it becomes a painfully long time of you being quiet, staring at him. He snorts softly and works on his erection slowly and gently.

“Go just as slow with them pants… n’ maybe spin a lil so I can see the back when you bend over.” He orders gently with his cloth clad dick still in his hand. His voice is steady though. He’s not overly excited and you like that.

“Okay.” You hook your thumbs in the waistband again and pull just the front of the waistband down and give him a little preview of your mound and the very top of your slit. Joel inhales sharply and his hips move a little on the couch but then settle.

“So after I fuck you—”

Joel says this so casually because he’s done it one thousand and ten times. So… it means nothing to him. But when he says I fuck you like that isn’t the most intense statement you’ve ever heard in your life. Especially because you’re seen his cock. It’s pretty big. You’re… inexperienced? Tight probably… going to be torn in half and now you’re so nervous but you listen to what this scary man is going to do to you after he fucks you.

“--I’ll probably come all over that fuckin’ pretty lil pussy—unless you’re on the pill…” He gives you a questioning look but you shake your head. He doesn’t care. “-doesn’t matter… after spread my come all over you, n’ make sure you feel what I did to you…” Joel pauses as you turn around so you’re back is to him– you wish he wouldn’t. You’re blushing so fucking hard he’s going to know you’re a virgin because what!? You’ve never heard anyone talk like that. Not even in porn.

You read it in a fanfiction once!! You didn’t think people spoke like this in real life, Jesus fucking Christ. Okay. You push the back of the sweatpants down the curve of your ass and Joel groans softly in appreciation. You bend at the waist— who does that? Who takes their pants off this way? No one. You slowly let the gray fabric slide down your thighs, revealing the stockings your still have on. Joel gives you another slow, happy growl from his throat.

“Then once you’re nice n’ sticky… I’ll go down there n’ clean you up.” Joel says simply. You look around at the wall and TV in front of you and frown. What does that mean? Where does the spitting come into it? You turn just your head and look at him over your shoulder. His cock is out of his boxers through that flap in the middle. He’s not even really stroking. Just holding his cock in his hand as he takes you in. He flicks his eyes to you frowning at him in confusion. “Lick you clean.” Joel clarifies for you.

You have to snap your head back to the TV that isn’t on and try to keep your composure because what!? He wants to do what!? Lick his own release off your cunt after he fucks you and then he does what??

“Then you spit that into my mouth?” You figure it out for yourself but still need him to tell you as the sweatpants reach your ankles.

“Yup. Love doin’ it.” He chuckles softly. “Dunno why, think it’s real hot.” He sighs as you stand straight and turn to face him even though your face is still beet red. You feel so badly that he's been so honest with you about everything. So upfront, too. Shit. You feel like such an asshole. You have to tell him. Have to before this gets too out of hand. You cannot let him fuck you and traumatize you!! You're already traumatized by Jackie Harris!! Shit!!!

“I’m a virgin..”

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