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misshoneyimhome · 7 months ago

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500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

"If you cross her, then you cross me” I Matthew Knies☆

Requested: yes/no

Summary: After weeks apart, Matthew Knies finally sees his girlfriend again, his heart racing with anticipation. Yet, the sight of bruises on her arm brings a sharp reminder of why he hates being away from her.

Tropes & warnings: Matthew Knies x reader, established relationship, boyfriend!Kniesy, protective!Kniesy, no real harm (bruise), Smut 18+; Oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (p in v), cum inside;

Other notes: So, we're at the final stop of our Followers Festival, and I can’t express enough how grateful I am for your input! Writing like this is always so much fun and thrilling, as it's pushing me to explore new challenges 🤗 Thank you so much for joining my little celebration and for reading my work ❤️ Lots of love!

Word count: 2.9K

➼｡ﾟ

You and your boyfriend, Matthew Knies, had been apart for far too long.

Almost a year ago, your life had taken an unexpected yet wonderful turn, where it all started on a crisp autumn evening when you decided to attend a charity event organised by your company. You hadn’t particularly been enthusiastic about going, but it was for a good cause, and as the newest (and youngest) hire, you felt obliged to make an appearance.

The venue was a beautiful old mansion converted into an event space, filled with elegantly dressed guests, soft music, and the hum of polite conversation. And almost lost in your own thoughts, you casually wandered around, occasionally mingling with colleagues and sampling the delicious hors d'oeuvres, when you suddenly spotted a tall, handsome man across the room. He had a relaxed confidence about him, and you couldn't help but notice the way he smiled as he chatted with a group of people.

Then feeling the need to hold onto something for comfort, you made your way over to the refreshment table near where he stood. And as luck would have it, you both reached for the same glass of champagne at the same time, where the tall man simply laughed, a warm, genuine sound, and motioned for you to take it.

“Looks like we have the same taste,” he said with a grin.

You smiled back, feeling a spark of something you couldn’t quite identify. “I guess we do.”

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he introduced casually, extending his hand.

“I'm y/n,” you replied softly, shaking his hand in a polite and friendly manner. His grip was firm yet reassuring, and you found yourself immediately at ease.

And from that small moment, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You discovered that Matthew was a professional hockey player, currently enjoying some downtime before the new season began. He was charming and down-to-earth, with a passion for the sport that was infectious. You shared stories about your jobs, your interests, and your families, finding common ground in unexpected places.

So, as the evening progressed, you both found yourselves gravitating towards each other, enjoying the easy banter and undeniable chemistry. When the event then started to wind down, Matthew hesitated for a moment before asking if you’d like to grab a coffee sometime.

“I'd love that,” you replied, feeling a flutter of excitement.

And so, your relationship began. The first coffee date turned into a series of outings—dinners, walks in the park, movie nights—each one bringing you closer together. Matthew’s schedule was hectic, but he always made time for you, and you quickly found yourself falling for him faster than you had ever thought possible.

By the time you reached the six-month mark, you knew this was something truly special. Despite the challenges of his demanding career and your own busy life, the bond you shared only grew stronger. The time apart was hard, but it made the moments together even more precious.

The off-season brought you nothing but more joy and excitement into your life. Matthew had invited you to spend a few weeks in his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona, where you were introduced to everyone.

And those weeks in Phoenix were nothing but magical, filled with warm, sun-soaked days and cool, starry nights. You visited his favourite childhood spots, hiked the stunning desert trails, and shared countless meals with his family, where his parents welcomed you with open arms, treating you like one of their own.

Matthew took you to some of his favourite local hangouts, where you met his old friends who regaled you with stories of their younger days. And you could easily see the deep bonds he had with them, which made you feel even closer to him. The evenings were your favourite, spent on the porch of his family’s home, sipping cold drinks and watching the spectacular Arizona sunsets.

Those quiet moments, where you could simply enjoy each other's company without any interruptions, were what you cherished the most.

But as wonderful as those weeks had been, reality eventually intruded, and you were called back to return to work. Matthew stayed back as he was busy with off-season training, his days then filled with rigorous workouts and team meetings, while your own days were consumed by the demands of your job.

Though you both tried to keep in touch with nightly video calls and sweet text messages throughout the day, it was never quite the same as being together. The screen could never capture the warmth of his touch or the comfort of his presence.

The nights were lonely, and the days felt endless without him. The ache of missing him settled deep in your chest, a constant reminder of the distance between you. You threw yourself into work, trying to fill the void, but it was a poor substitute for the man you loved. Weekends were the hardest. You'd find yourself aimlessly wandering the apartment, lingering over the photos of the two of you scattered around, each one a painful reminder of what you were missing.

And sensing your melancholy, your friends decided to cheer you up. So, they dragged you out one night, determined to lift your spirits. They took you to a lively bar downtown, where the air was thick with the scent of alcohol and the sound of loud, pulsing music. And for a while, it worked. The drinks flowed, laughter came easily, and the music helped drown out your thoughts as you danced with your girlfriends, trying to forget how much you missed Matthew.

But then, amid the flashing lights and the thumping bass, a man approached you. At first, he seemed harmless, just another person looking to have a good time. But as the night wore on, his behaviour became more insistent. He moved closer, invading your personal space, and his touch lingered on your arm longer than was comfortable. You tried to signal politely but firmly that you weren’t interested, yet he didn’t seem to take the hint. At one point, his grip even tightened around your wrist, and though you managed to pull away, the encounter left you shaken.

Nothing overtly dangerous happened, but his touch left you feeling unsettled. You felt a surge of anger and frustration, not just at the man who had crossed the line, but at the circumstances that had left you vulnerable and alone. You wished Matthew had been there, his presence a shield against the world.

Fortunately, only two days later, you stood at the airport, your heart pounding with anticipation. The noise of the bustling crowd, the rolling of suitcases, and the constant announcements over the intercom all faded into the background as you anxiously scanned the throngs of people for a familiar face. Every second felt like an eternity. But then, through the sea of strangers, you finally spotted him. Matthew’s tall frame and broad shoulders were unmistakable.

Your heart leapt as your eyes met his, and you saw his face break into a wide grin that mirrored your own. And without a moment's hesitation, you dashed towards him, your feet barely touching the ground. When you reached him, you threw yourself into his arms, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. And effortlessly, he lifted you slightly off the ground as he hugged you tightly, burying his face in your hair.

“Missed you so much,” he murmured into your ear, his voice rough with emotion.

“Missed you too,” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest. The relief of being in his embrace after so long was overwhelming, washing over you in waves. You could feel the tension of the past weeks melt away as you clung to him, savouring the familiar scent of his cologne and the steady beat of his heart.

So, with no intention of wasting a single moment, you grabbed his hand and headed straight for the car. The drive to your shared apartment was filled with stolen glances and soft touches, the air between you crackling with anticipation. And by the time you reached your place, the need to be close to each other was almost too much to bear.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Matthew’s lips were already on yours, the urgency of your reunion clear in every kiss. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer as if to make up for the lost time. Meanwhile, your own hands fumbled with his jacket, eager to feel his skin against yours. You barely made it to the living room before clothes began to come off, a trail of discarded garments marking your path to the bedroom.

And once in the bedroom, Matthew’s hands explored your body, rediscovering every curve he had missed. His touch was both tender and demanding, his fingertips tracing the lines of your body with a familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. The kisses grew more passionate as he explored your skin, each touch igniting a fire within you.

He knew your body like a map he’d charted himself, but his touch faltered when he encountered a mark on your arm—a bruise that hadn’t been there before. So, he pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he examined the bruise.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was rough, filled with concern and barely-contained anger. His jaw tightened as he looked at you, his protective instincts flaring up.

“It’s nothing, Matts,” you said, trying to downplay it. “Just some guy at a bar… it’s not a big deal.”

“No, this is something!” His eyes were fierce, the protective side of him coming to the fore. “A guy touched you? And bruised you?”

“It looks worse than it was…” you began, but he cut you off with a gentle but firm grip on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

Matthew’s face softened slightly, but the anger in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. “I don’t like thinking about someone else touching you.”

You sighed, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. “I’m alright. I’m here with you now. That’s what matters.”

His gaze remained intense, but then he leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a deep, passionate kiss that stole every bit of air from your lungs. His hands were rough yet tender, conveying the love and longing that had built up over the past weeks. And the kiss was an attempt to claim you, to remind you of his presence and devotion, and you could feel the intensity of his emotions in every movement—how his lips pressed against yours, how his hands held you close. It was as if he was pouring all the missed moments and unspoken words into that one kiss.

And then, Matthew’s focus shifted to ensuring your pleasure, his touch expert and attentive. He started by exploring your body with his mouth, trailing kisses down your jawline and along the valley of your breasts. He lingered briefly at each nipple before continuing downward, moving past your belly button to your core.

Light moans escaped you as he settled between your legs, his arms wrapped around your thighs. He then kissed around your needy centre, his touch both deliberate and tender.

“Please, Matts. I need you,” you whimpered softly, your hand finding his brown locks, as if to pull him closer.

But Matthew just smirked against your skin, tightening his grip before he finally indulged in the craving he’d been holding back. Skillfully, he licked up your folds, drawing moans from you—sweet music to his ears as he savoured your tasty honey.

“Oh yes,” you breathed out, your head sinking deeper into the pillow below you, your fingers gripping his hair. “Mmm, more…”

And your plea was his command. He licked you several times, making sure to explore all of your sensitive areas, before focusing on your sensitive clit. Sucking and nipping, he wasted no time in drawing louder moans from you. And as he sensed your light squirming under his touch, feeling the power he held over you, he worked his skilled mouth with determination.

“Mmm, taste so fucking delicious, baby,” he hummed huskily into your core as he ate you out you like a starved man getting his first meal in months.

“Fuck,” you cried softly as you felt the arousal build within you, a familiar wave of pleasure coursing through your body. You were approaching your climax, and the ecstasy intensified as Matthew continued to suck on your sensitive bead of nerves, making you shut your eyes tightly. And when he then added his long fingers into the mix, it didn’t take long before his skilled tongue pushed you to your first orgasm.

“I’m gonna cu—Matts, I’m coming!”

The sensation was intense, a welcome relief from the tension of your separation.

And as Matthew looked up from between your legs, urging you to meet his gaze, a satisfied smirk played on his lips. “It’s good to be home.”

You couldn’t suppress a smile either, the rush of your orgasm still lingering as he gently moved to hover over you. Feeling the need to shift positions, you then signalled for him to lie on his back.

And Matthew naturally obliged. He always enjoyed when you tried to take charge—emphasis on *trying*, as you both knew that even when you were on top, he was still the one truly in control.

Yet, as you positioned yourself on top of him, you led with fervour and passion. His length was larger than any man you’d experienced before, but whenever he was inside you, it felt like your bodies melded perfectly together. You rolled your hips smoothly, his hands guiding you gently, as your palms pressed firmly on his muscular chest, giving you support to increase your pace at his unspoken command. Then with his thumb pressing insistently against your sensitive clit, Matthew helped you reach another peak. Arching your back and clenching around him, you let his name slip from your lips in a deep moan.

It was a blissful moment as you reached your second orgasm. However, as the rhythm of your movements built, Matthew’s own desire surged. So, with a swift motion, he turned you around into missionary, where he effortlessly took control and began pounding into you with primal intensity. His movements were relentless, driven by his need for release.

It had been too long. Too long since he had felt himself inside you, too long since he’d climaxed under your touch.

His breathing was erratic, mingling with the sounds of your moans and the echo of skin slapping against skin throughout the room. Your nails dug into the back of his shoulders, and the force of his thrusts pushed both of you to the brink, each touch and movement designed to make the experience as overwhelming and fulfilling as possible.

“Fuck baby…. Oh yes,” he groaned deeply as he spilled his release into you, gasping for air. Matthew knew he finished sooner than he’d usually do, but given the time apart, it was no surprise to either of you.

Besides, you were already satisfied with your own rather quick orgasms he’d caused you.

You both panted deeply, surprised by how intense and satisfying the reunion felt, more so than you had anticipated. And as you lay tangled in the sheets, the aftermath of your intimacy left both of you spent but content. Yet, you could sense something lingering in Matthew’s demeanour—a worry that hadn’t quite been erased.

“What’s wrong, my love?” you asked softly, tuning slightly to face your incredibly handsome boyfriend, with his Arizona tan.

But Matthew just brushed a strand of hair from your face, his voice tender and sincere. “I just don’t like thinking of someone else touching you.”

“Then don’t think about it,” you replied, resting a hand on his chest. “Nothing happened. I’m here with you now.”

“But still… if someone crosses you, they also cross me,” he said, his tone resolute and protective. “And I’m not going to let it go. If I knew who it was, I’d…”

“You’d what? Risk your career by punching a stranger in the face?” you chuckled lightly with a cocked brow.

“No,” Matthew breathed out softly. “I just wanted to make them pay for doing anything like this to you…”

You couldn’t help but smile up at him, touched by his fierce loyalty. “You’re wonderful, Matts. But I can take care of myself when you’re not here. You don’t need to go around and punch people for me.”

“I know you can,” he said, gently pulling you even closer. “I just… I love you so much. I’ve never loved anyone like this before. And… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me. Not now, not ever.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, reassuring him.

Matthew’s arms tightened around you, a final, tender embrace as the two of you settled into a peaceful slumber. In that moment, all the fears and uncertainties of the past few weeks faded away, leaving only the certainty of your love for each other.

Well, Matthew, of course, couldn’t let it go completely. So, he interrogated your friends, pressing them for any information about who might have done this to you, earning light chuckles from all of you. However, as weeks passed, the bruises fading, and the hockey season began, the incident faded into the background.

#500 followers festival #mk23 #matthew knies imagine #matthew knies smut #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl hockey smut #nhl imagine

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shapeshiftersvt · 4 months ago

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Well!

This sucks.

In 2016, Shapeshifters was two and a half years old when the country we operate in seemed to elect one particular asshole. Today, this company is ten and a half years old, and the same damn asshole is back again.

Under that first term Shapeshifters went from a two-person, back-of-the-dining-room operation to a production floor in a converted warehouse to the beautiful studio we're in now. We sent chest binders in anonymized packaging all over the country and the world for those four years. We hired trans people in our town and purchased services from queer folks in our network. We left behind the landlord who objected to our Black Lives Matter banner and hired models for photoshoots who knew what we were about and were excited to join the work.

Then we took a damn breath. We found stability in our little studio, over the last four years. We experimented with prints and patterns and fashion lines. We worked on new projects with new people.

It sucks that we're back here again.

And: our job now, as always, is to connect you with what you need and connect each other with what we all do.

There's a lot of good advice out there about keeping yourself as safe and healthy and stable as possible, from a lot of activists and poets and people much better at it than me. I speak from my position as a business owner from a family of economists, who's been trained to watch the money. Buy queer when you can, buy local when you can. Keep the money close, trade the same $20 back and forth with your friends for services, re-use and repair what you have.

Buy a binder, or a sew-your-own-binder kit, ora sports bra, or a binding dress, or some cryptid art from us here:

Find a queer-owned business for what you need at Everywhere is Queer:

And also from Hey Famm:

If you are located in or near Western Massachusetts, find some queer folks to support via Bloom Local:

and if you have a few bucks a month to spare, maybe support a trans person on Patreon. I suggest friend of the shop @neolithicsheep :

and Mercury Stardust, the Trans Handy Ma'am, who is a great resource when you need to fix something yourself:

Spend your money for good whenever you have the chance. It matters.

And you matter, too.

Keep talking to us, keep talking to each other, keep in touch with your people. Keep building these systems and these structures and these networks. We're going to need all of them.

And, hey: if you're trans and starting a business, reach out. I'd love to help folks in the early stages, connect you to resources, pull you over some of the hurdles we faced. There's a lot more room for queer business owners now than there was eight years ago. Let's take up that space.

Keep building, fam. It matters and it's worth doing. Every time.

#queer business #queer community #LGBTQIA #trans community #trans business #we can do this again if we have to #and apparently we have to #these fucks can't stop us #death before detransition #and a shitload of other things before death!!

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mauvecherie-writes · 9 months ago

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“hi, it’s nice to meet you.” : k.powers

warnings: none.

note: a good ole’ surprise fic that I wrote in a couple of hours since his video is now a viral TikTok sound 😂. support the page any way you can girlies �� like, comment and reblog. this was supposed to be less than a thousand words 🫠.

w.c: 1.2K

It has been two and a half hours since you arrived at the event.

For some reason, the promotors really wanted you to come so they went out of their way of booking you a flight from your city to Sacramento and booking you a very suite at the Kimpton Sawyer Hotel. They had even offered to hire you a private driver but even, a woman who often didn’t say no to free things, declined the offer.

Instead, you had messaged some of your friends who were in the local area who had informed you that they were attending the event so you joined them. The event was a pretty successful one for the community. Celebrities and influencers alike would come from near and far to attend because of the safe environment it had cultured due to their strict rules. The event was a space for lovers and to find lovers, consent was heavily promoted and had security constantly surveying the space and the biggest thing you loved when the flyer was sent to you was the insistence to use your phone less and just be present in the moment.

The event, SweetOne, was working to bring back the clubbing culture of the old days with their own modern twist to it. An event where egos were left at the door and people met each other on a human level to connect. You were enticed by that (the $13,000 check for your promotion to your 8.9 million audience and appearance for the night was also a little push.)

So here you were, engrossed within the atmosphere as your body swayed to Body Party by Ciara as your friends cheered you on. The liquor had sunk deep into your veins and you were really letting loose for the first time in a long time. Your sultry black and gold mini halter dress sat on your curves, adding onto the sensuality of your impromptu performance. The bangs of your curled silk press fell over your eyes like a curtain as you sang along to the erotic lyrics.

“Woooo! You go girl!” Your friend, Nikki cheered you on as she recorded you. You turned around and held onto the bars that had been a supporting act to your dance. With your hands on either side of you, your hips swayed side to side.

“My body is calling you.” You sang as your eyes opened and by chance, met the ones that had been tracking your movements all night. Behind the brim of his cup, he was intently watching you with a dark glint in his eyes that amused you.

Your glossed lips curled into a smirk as you turned away from the handsome man and then you brought your performance to a close with your friends shouting for an encore.

“Next performance comes with a charge.” You winked at them as you stepped away from the edge of the section.

When you sat down, you couldn’t shake the vision of him watching you. He was a sight, himself. Chocolate brown skin with dark freckles scattered across his cheeks, a neatly trimmed anchor style beard sitting on the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen with your own eyes. It was too dim to see his haircut but you knew that his hair was short. You were also digging the way that was dressed. The light grey sweater snuggly fit around his long torso, highlighting his muscles.

The thing that captured your attention the most were his naturally pink tainted lips, that he seemed to lick very often. God, you were smitten and you had not shared one word with the man.

“Excuse me?” Your attention was called out of your thoughts and you snapped up to meet the eye contact of a server.

“Yes?” You enquired.

“The gentleman from across the room bought you this drink as a thank you for the performance.” The server said. Your cheeks warmly flushed before you scanned the room and met his eyes yet again. He slightly nodded his head and gave you a slight wink. You turned back to the server with a smile.

“Can you go back to the gentleman and tell him I’ll humbly accept his thanks if he brings the drink himself.”

The server smiled, nodded and then left. You eyeballed them as they walked across the room and back to him. They spoke, he bent down to get closer to hear the server speak. He was tall … even more interesting.

Then, he took the drink from the tray and began walking towards where you were. You took a deep breath as his height became more apparent.

“Hi.” The richness of his deep voice vibrated through you and settled in the pit of your stomach. You were fucked - you were a sucker for a good voice.

“Hi.” You breathlessly smiled up at him as you crossed your legs, putting your carved legs on display to his ravenous eyes.

“You said you wouldn’t accept this drink unless I brought it myself.”

“Mhm.” You nodded your head as you held eye contact, hoping to not let your attraction seep into your actions. “We’ve been tip-toeing around each other for most of the night. Someone had to make a move.”

He grinned and his white teeth shone at you. “I’m a little disheartened that it had to be you to make a move but I like your boldness. I like it a lot.”

“So, sit with me then.” You scooted a bit to the side, opening a space beside yourself. He placed the drink on the table in front of you and then sat down. That’s when you truly took in the beauty of this man. From his full yet neat eyebrows, his tapered sides and most importantly, just how pink his lips were up close.

“That was quite the performance you put.” He commented. And despite the shyness threatening to grip your senses, you rolled your eyes - downplaying the intention of your actions.

“It was nothing. I was just feeling the music that’s all.” You shrugged your shoulders as you reached for the drink he had purchased for you - a French 75.

“Your sentence seems to imply that you could do more than what you gave right now.” His eyebrow inquisitively raised up.

“Well, we’d need to at least be exclusive for that kind of performance.” You boldly stated as your body turned with your legs leaning towards his body. He let out a one syllable laugh as his head fell backwards. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The length of his neck would be perfect beneath your fingers …

“So how do we get to that stage then?” He brought his head forward and turned to face you.

“Well, you can start by telling me your name.” He brought his hand forward, outreached for you to shake.

“Hi, I’m Keith. Nice to meet you.” You took his hand into yours and you couldn’t help but notice the difference and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Nice to meet you Keith. I’m YN.” You replied as you gazed upon his face. As he met your stare, the dark glint of desire was back with a touch of promise for more in them …

And your body and mind would be readily accepting of that.

————————————

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#mauvecherie writes #hi nice to meet you one shot #keith powers x black reader #keith powers x black!reader #keith powers x reader #keith powers x you #keith powers fanfiction #keith powers fanfic #keith powers imagine #keith powers one shot #keith powers

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as-is-above-so-below · 2 years ago

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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Hey, Jealousy

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: NSFW, SMUT HEAVY CHAPTER, MDNI. Canon typical violence mentioned. Note: HELLO ALL! It's been a minute! This fic isn't going anywhere by any means, just had a bit of writer's block and lack of motivation to write for a bite lol. A special thank you to @lethalchiralium for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

“This is your target. Memorize it.” John paused as the surveillance photo of their target, a dark-haired woman with almond-shaped eyes, made its way between the trio. He placed a black cell phone in the center of the table while Soap regarded the image. “Freyja, you’re the best pickpocket out of all of us. Your task is to lift her phone and swap it out with the duplicate. Rumor has it there’s a major weapon’s deal rearing up, and I want to know when and where.”

Taking a moment to examine the photo now pinched between her thumb and forefinger, Freyja raised a brow. While she wasn’t one to judge solely based on appearances (a tactic she relied upon herself many times), the woman pictured looked far from an arms dealer. She seemed fairly young. “She has the details?”

Price nodded and partially sat on the table, arms crossed over his chair. “She’s the buyer. Rather unassuming, I know, but our intel is good.”

“Bloody hell,” Ghost mumbled, leaning into her space to sneak a peek. “They just keep gettin’ younger and younger…”

“Ah dinnae mean to be rude, but Ghost’s no’ exactly inconspicuous. A bit hard nae tae notice a giant with headgear at a social event.”

A fair point. Ghost was the tallest member of the team outside of König.

“Which is why you will be partnered with the Captain.” Freyja didn’t miss how her husband’s watchful gaze flickered between her and her co-captain. “You’ll have to couple it up to blend in; a single woman at an event like this would draw suspicion. Ghost will be going undercover as security detail and watch your six.”

“Me? Are ye sure, Captain?”

“Affirmative, Sergeant. I’d rather not have another incident like last time.”

“Last time?” Johnny looked between them. “What happened last time?”

THEN

It should’ve been a simple task, really. A pretty young woman lures a gullible, unsuspecting new hire to a roped-off room with certain expectations, only to be met with the cold steel of a knife to their throat.

As expected, the information burst from the young man’s lips like water through a broken dam, hoping to save his own skin. The quick execution Ghost offered was a mercy compared to what would happen if his boss found out he had snitched.

He could be merciful when he wanted to be.

The Simon she married was not a jealous man. A younger Ghost, at the beginning of their… “situationship”, however…

After the body was stuffed in the room’s closet, hopefully not to be found until at least the next day, he wasted no time hoisting Freyja up against a wall with ease and fucking her senseless. Her legs tightened around his waist immediately, her Venetian mask coming loose at the sudden movement and falling to the floor.

“Yes, right there. Hah, hah, nngh-”

“See what you do to me?” he growled against her cheek, hips snapping against her shaking thighs. “Can’t even get through a fucking mission without my cock gettin’ hard, and you’re over there, actin’ like a slag. Touchin’ that bastard like that-”

“I was just - doing - my job-”

Ghost’s brutal pace stopped and pinned her to the wall. One hand no longer supporting her weight, jumped from her ass to her throat, the bare, calloused skin squeezing the sides.

“You took it too far. I should leave you high and dry for the show you put on.”

Her fingers scratched at the short hair near the base of his neck, earning a warning sound from the man. Freyja wriggled her hips to find some kind of friction, a release. “Fuck fuck fuck – please, Ghost, don’t stop. Make me come, please–”

“Yeah? Y’want me to make you come?”

“Yes, yes, please! Please, I need to come–”

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, so sorry! Fuck me!”

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I’m feelin’ forgiving.”

“Oh shit, thank you, thank you, I’m sorry–”

“You’d better be.”

NOW

The sergeant looked between Price and the couple, studying Price’s lifted brow and Freyja’s pressed lips and flushed skin. Ghost snorted beside her, which got him a sharp jab from his wife’s elbow.

“Bunch o’ rabbits, you two!” he snickered, laughing into his fist. Just how they managed to bone in the field so often, he’d never know. “It’s a miracle ye don’t have a thousand wee bairns by now.”

“Could’ve had them discharged for the mess I had to listen to.”

“We said we’re sorry!”

“No, you said you were sorry. I won’t apologize if I don’t mean it.”

“I’m going to kill you–”

John cut them off, standing again and collecting his paperwork. “The target rarely comes out of hiding, so we can’t risk spooking her. Freyja, Soap, you’d better sell it.”

“Oh, I’ll make it believable, a’right.”

“And if somehow you find a way around this arrangement – please, for the love of God, no shagging on the job,” Price stressed, pointing at each of them for emphasis. “Got it?”

Johnny raised his hand. “Ah would just like tae point out that, for once, I’m the good egg here,” he pointed out with a wide grin.

Multiple sets of eyes rolled. “Right then. Dapper up. I’ll see you all tonight.”

Ecstatic about their upcoming mission, the Scot jumped up from his seat, still beaming. He was already bubbling with ideas for their strategy, the backstory of the characters they would play, what he was going to wear–

“Johnny.”

“Sir?”

Ghost leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees as he looked up at the man. “Remember what I said about flirtin’ with my wife?”

“Aye.”

“Still in effect.”

Soap made it his mission to be as handsy as humanly possible the moment they stepped out of their vehicle. Ever the gentleman, he stuck behind Freyja when taking the steps up the grandiose front stairs into the venue; once at the top, his hand slipped across her lower back from one hip to the next.

Both operators kept their attire simple yet appropriate for the dress code. They complimented each other nicely; Johnny sported a simple black suit and a white collared shirt with the top two buttons undone, while Freyja donned a rich, dark purple, satin gown with an open back dipping to her tailbone. They were meant to fit in, not draw attention to themselves.

When they entered the ballroom, crystal chandeliers twinkling above, she glanced around the perimeter at the masked guards. Only taking in their stature for a second before moving on to the next, attempting to locate their backup –

There.

Ghost blended in seamlessly, dressed exactly like the other guards stationed around the room. All black ensemble, black combat boots, and a balaclava with a window for the eyes. They met briefly with Frey’s before she shifted her gaze up to her date, placing one hand on top of his at her side, the other between his shoulder blades.

All night, Ghost’s stare could have burned a hole through her skin straight down to her soul as her partner positively manhandled her. Nothing was safe. Her ass, hips, bare shoulders, and stomach were frequently groped, pinched, and caressed; you name it, Sergeant MacTavish did it. He came up from behind with a champagne flute for her, pressing against her as his hands snaked around to cradle her belly. Kissing obviously wasn’t off the table, his warm lips frequently finding hers; he had enough decency to keep that portion of the night brief.

Finally, after an hour and a half of loving it up with her husband’s best friend, Johnny turned Freyja into a pillar, forcing her to squeak in surprise. Gentle kisses pecked from her collar up to her ear, using his body as a shield.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” she whispered, keeping up the appearance of a drunk, handsy couple by carding her fingers through the back of his mohawk.

He chuckled against her hair. “That’s the idea, Hen. Figure one o’ us should get a good fuck outta tonight.” Frey rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to shove him. “Eyes on the target. She’s had a chance tae get settled. Move in on yer mark.”

She followed his guidance, subtle pressure at the base of her skull pointing her in the direction of their target. Thankfully, a small purse dangled by the woman’s pelvis on a long chain, ripe for the picking. If all went according to plan, Soap would walk them into each other, allowing her to switch the dummy in his pocket with the real thing.

Freyja initiated their objective by stepping in that direction but allowed her companion to take the lead. Clinging to his bicep and stumbling slightly, she whined, “You are in so much trouble when we get home!”

“Aw, c’mon Bonnie! Ah just cannae help myself!” he purred, bending to nibble her ear and give her a reason to jerk away.

“Hey, stop that!” As she lunged to the left, she fell out of the Sergeant’s grasp and into the young woman, grabbing her to keep upright. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“What the fuck!” She wheeled on them, eyes wide at the sudden intrusion into her conversation. “Watch where you’re going!”

Freyja huffed angrily in Johnny’s direction, straightening herself and her dress. “I am so sorry about him. You know how men can be. Always impatient.”

“Unfortunately,” the woman mumbled, nose turned up in disgust. If Freyja could rely on anything, she could always lean on most women’s mutual distaste for men. While it always felt distasteful to manipulate while undercover, it got the job done.

With a soft huff, Freyja grabbed Soap’s hand again and departed with a soft wave, tugging him toward their exit point. Ghost was nowhere in sight.

According to plan, the Brit had dipped into the women’s bathroom when he was sure the lift was successful, and they would eventually follow. Going into the bathroom after two people clearly looking for a space to hook up would look suspicious. The real trick was leaving enough time between their entrances that nobody would notice, without waiting too long for the other guards to notice Ghost’s absence.

She used her best high-pitched, giggling squeal and ditzy movements, swatting at the wandering hands pawing at the shiny, smooth material of her outfit. It had been at least two minutes since Ghost had disappeared, and she decided that was enough leeway for them to follow without raising any alarms. But just as her palm pressed against the cool doorknob, her ally stopped behind her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Freyja felt the abdominal muscles under Soap’s shirt tense; otherwise, his composure remained unchanged. “Sorry?” he asked with a laugh, keeping his body turned toward her. She refrained from ripping the stranger’s hand off Johnny’s shoulder and ripping back his ring finger–

The man smiled, perfect white teeth nearly sparkling in the light. “Ye owe meh a drink! C’mon, one more shot fur a fellow Scotsman?”

“Shite! Ah completely forgot!” Johnny hovered over her still and bent to run his nose along the shell of her ear. “Ah’ll be right behind ye. Just give me a fiver to finish my drink, aye?”

“Sure thing.” Freyja hung her hands on the lapels of his jacket, anchoring him in place to stretch and purr in his ear, “Don’t take too long.”

She was so fucking dead when they got home. Likely won’t walk right for days.

Barely halfway through the door, a firm grip pulled her into the room, slammed the door shut with her body, then wrapped around her throat. Her heels brought her just a bit closer to her husband’s height, brown eyes practically set ablaze. Ghost had abandoned his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his button-down, exposing the black ink on one forearm.

I should put in for a day or two off.

“Did you not learn your lesson last time?” Ghost asked, low-pitched and gravelly as if he had been restraining himself for hours. He probably had been. “Must’ve been too generous. Let’s try this again.” A man on a mission, he swiftly twisted the lock on the handle and hauled her with him several steps away from the door before forcing Freyja to her knees. His touch moved to cup her jaw.

“Broke my fucking finger watching him touch you, touch what’s mine. This mouth-” His digits snatched her cheeks, making her painted lips purse with a soft whimper. “-is mine. Your cunt is mine. Your body is mine – facts you’ve apparently forgotten. Let me remind you.”

Freyja gulped helplessly when his other hand slid the leather strap of his belt out of the buckle, then looked up at him through her mascara-coated lashes.

“Soap-“

“I. Don’t. Care. Do it.”

Her cheeks were enflamed under her blush, but she still raised a brow at him. Again, Simon wasn’t known to be a jealous man; they were very secure in their relationship, trusting each other completely. Plus, Johnny was in a committed, loving relationship, after all. But still, watching his best friend all over her, purposefully egging him on and pushing boundaries…

Anyone would lose their patience.

Her nails, painted to match her color scheme for the evening, worked at undoing his slacks and dropping them and his underwear down enough to free his already hard member. Slacks which, by the way, were fitted perfectly to hug his ungodly figure. Saliva pooled in her mouth at the sight, her hole already clenching around nothing.

As if he had read her mind, Ghost seized the back of her head and snarled, “I’m beginning to lose my patience, love.”

Suddenly he was buried down her throat, to the hilt. Tears sprang to her eyes; she moved to dig into his thighs for purchase, which earned her additional pressure at the back of her head. “No touching.”

All Freyja could do was blink up at him and hold her hands behind her back, hoping he understood the message. Thankfully, he let up and slowly drew out before easing back in, fucking her throat with soft moans and the occasional curse. Ghost groaned at the sight of his precum and her spit gathering in his blond curlies, her dark lipstick smudging on his cock, tear streaks running lines in her makeup…

She flattened her tongue, bobbing her head with a steady rhythm while breathing through her nose and intermittently taking him until her nose was enshrouded in coarse hair. Even if she wasn’t getting off, and Ghost’s pretty face was hidden by his mask, the expressions in his eyes as she edged him toward his release were almost as satisfying.

“Fuck, you like that?” he questioned, hoarse and needy. “Almost like you were – hngh, shit – hoping I’d p-punish you.”

Even submissive, vulnerable on her knees before him and choking on his cock, Freyja still made him stutter and whimper. How many hours had he spent uncomfortably hard, keeping his dutiful post as their backup? Observing the near obscene show Soap had put on?

Ghost leaned his torso forward, supporting his weight against the wall with his free hand. He didn’t have to tell her he was close; even with his controlled breathing, his eyes threatening to flutter shut was a dead giveaway. Still, the head of his cock popped out of her mouth, garnering her attention again.

“How much of me can you take?”

“All of it.”

“Bloody hell…” He presented himself again, the hooded tip resting against her lips. “Lick.”

She immediately ducked under him and laid her tongue against the vein on the underside of his dick, applying soft, slow pressure to the tip again before taking him back in her mouth. Freyja picked up the speed and hummed around him, pushing (or rather, pulling) him closer and closer…

“Fucking shit – take it, take it, take it–”

His warm cum spilled down her throat, but she continued slowly guiding Ghost through his orgasm as he pulsated and huffed quietly above her. Freyja basked in the way he flinched, eyes closed as her touch bordered on overstimulating and torturous.

Satisfied and out of breath, Ghost jerked his hips away to avoid any more of her touch and offered his wife his hands. She immediately took them and was pulled to her feet effortlessly with a moment to find her balance. When he was finished tucking himself back into his trousers and fastening his belt again, Ghost slid the delicate strap of her dress that had slipped off her shoulder back into place, his gentle touch dragging across her skin.

Freyja was about to speak when the door rattled, someone trying to open it before they both heard a familiar accent on the other side. “Bonnie? ‘S me, open up.”

She gestured for him to stand out of sight for a moment while she unlocked the door and opened it just enough to let Soap in, careful not to expose her current state to others who may be watching from the party. When it was closed and secured again, Johnny took in their appearances; Freyja, clearly dazed with her hair tousled and makeup smudged, and Ghost, with his fly down, shirt untucked, and blazer tossed carelessly onto the sink.

Then, with the absolute, most shit-eating grin, said, “Ye’r welcome, Hen.”

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal, @beakami, @addictedtothefictionalworld, @kaghost, @witchy-writing, @67-angelofthelordme-67

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year ago

Text

right where you left me;

chapter two: can i be close to you?

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist | previous chapter

——

Those first few days pass in a blur.

You wake, often in Steve’s arms, your bodies coming together like moths to a flame. Like magnets. Neither of you says anything on the matter, merely brushing it off as the typical nature of your friendship.

He readies for the day, you watch him dress and go, and you take it upon yourself to clean up around the cabin in the woods. It’s odd, being that it’s the first time in a few years you have responsibilities like this. If you can call them that. Really, you only want to feel like you’re contributing something to the place you’re currently staying at.

Steve’s been kind enough to uproot his life for you, so it’s the least you can do. And when he comes home later in the evening, he cooks and you sit on the kitchen countertops, talking to him about his day. Soaking up the fact you can spend all this time with him now, without the societal pressures, parties, and social events to weigh you down.

About a week in you decide you want to contribute something. A fact which Steve laughs at, reminding you, “If you’ve forgotten, I want you here. Don’t feel like you need to do that.”

Both of you walk side by side on the sidewalk, him in a sweater and jeans, and you in a pair of newly purchased jeans and a dark knitted sweater. Wind prickles against your cheeks, the puffer vest you’re wearing doing very little to block out the cold. Leaves crunch as you walk, dancing along the streets as people pass on by, kicking them up as they go.

The Hideout comes into view, dim lighting highlighting the ‘Now Hiring’ posted hanging in one of the windows. “It’s like the universe is sending me a sign!” You giggle brightly, hand wrapping around Steve’s wrist like a bracelet, dragging him into the restaurant behind you.

It’s different than you remember. Still that darker interior — all wooden floors, wooden bar, wooden walls. Against the side wall is a sprawling bar top, with steel stools full of patrons sipping on drinks. There are some bent low in conversation, others looking like they’re on first dates, all blushing cheeks and bashful smiles. Others are cheering, wearing jerseys of whatever team they support, likely coming home from a football game.

The dining area is different than you remember too. Wooden chairs around wooden tables, beautiful lighting hanging from above, the room cast in an ethereal glow. From where you're standing you can see families and couples, friend groups and bachelorette celebrations occupying the spaces. Smiling servers and wait staff weave in and out of the aisles, before your gaze swivels to the hostess at the front booth, asking how many in your party.

“Two, please!” you say, leaning into Steve’s shoulder excitedly, giving his hand a squeeze as the woman leads you toward a table near the back of the restaurant, your mind still whirling a bit at how successful Eddie’s place has become. Once seated, you whisper, “This restaurant is insane. Can’t believe this is the same bar.”

Steve nods. “He really did a great job with the place —”

“Says the guy who put together a good chunk of the furniture here,” Eddie teases, placing menus on the table in front of you both. “Fancy seeing you two here. Thought you’d still be holed up in the love shack. Rob's going crazy.”

“I could only take off a few days for the wedding,” Steve reminds him, shoving the older man lightly. “We’re seeing her tomorrow, if you must know.”

“Good, because she’s been parked on my couch the past few nights and Abi and I haven’t had any alone time,” Eddie says with a grumble, but you know there’s no malice there. “Get whatever you want — it’s on the house. My ‘welcome back to Hawkins treat.’”

Eddie moves to leave, but you stop him with a hasty, “The door. It says you’re hiring.”

The man in question turns back around, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes travel up and down your form, a question burgeoning in his gaze, “Yeah, I’m in need of waitresses for the busy season. You keep your tips. Why? Do you need a job?”

You swallow. “I don’t want to mooch off of Steve the whole time I’m here. And I don’t really know what I want to do long term, but I figure I need money to do anything. So…yeah?”

“Then you’re hired.”

Steve grins, but you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want you to just give me a job. I want an interview, just like anyone else.”

“Okay…” Eddie glances Steve’s way briefly. His best friend only shrugs. “Do you have any customer service experience?”

“I worked at a clothing store in Starcourt?” Before it burned down, obviously.

“How long was that for?” Eddie asks, pulling out a free chair and settling in front of you.

“Few months,” you tell him, and then blurt out, “I also babysat for the Sinclair’s for a bit!”

“You babysat the younger Sinclair?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little quieter this time, not quite sure what he’s getting at.

Erica had been nothing but lovely to you in all the time you babysat her; if not quite a bit sarcastic and oftentimes blunt, but given you’ve spent years in the company of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson, it was never anything you couldn’t handle.

“And survived?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods rapidly. “She —”

“Quiet, she’s interviewing.” Eddie raises a hand to silence Steve.

“I…survived…” Your words are quiet, and Eddie leans backward against the frame of the chair, contemplative.

“Abi makes the schedule on Sunday usually.” Tomorrow, then. “I’ll ask her to put you on for Monday, and then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

You swallow, a little miffed, brows knit high on your forehead. “That’s…that’s great. Yeah. Monday is good.”

He claps you on the shoulder and ruffles Steve’s hair, grinning at a server that passes by as he shoves his chair back into place with a loud screech against wooden floors. And then he’s off, leaving you to stare across the table at Steve, trying to hide the smile that creeps along your lips at the realization of what just happened seconds ago.

“So…” Steve takes a sip of his drink, grinning ruefully, “that happened. How are you feeling? First job in a few years, yeah?”

“I…I have a job.” Steve bursts out laughing as you nearly topple over the table in pursuit of wrapping your arms around his next. “I have a job!”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sliding a hand over the small of your back, grinning into your cheek. “I'm so proud of you. Think we should order a bottle of wine and celebrate a bit?”

That’s exactly what you end up doing.

——

In the mornings, you and Steve share coffee and breakfast. You’ll take turns cooking. Some days he’ll wake you with coffee in bed, Garfield lounging across your thighs. Others, he’ll stumble into the kitchen, eyes bleary and in search of the coffee pot, while chocolate pancakes cook on the stove.

Those mornings are your favorites, because you’ll often hear him murmuring to himself how much he loves you — and you try to deflect that feeling that crawls up from deep within you, the part of you that craves for him to mean it in the sense that he’s in love with you.

Later, he parts for work and you ready yourself for shifts at Eddie’s restaurant. Which is a learning curve, to say the least. Abi, Eddie’s soon-to-be wife, only laughs as you drop another plate filled with water cups in the back, landing on your butt in the process. A huff pours out of you, just as some of the cooks grin your way, offering condolences for your likely bruised tailbone, and Eddie’s head pops into view, all the dark curls that resist staying put in an elastic spilling around his face. He’s grinning but you’re frustrated, on day seven of utterly making a mess of things.

“It’s really not that bad,” Abi reassures you later that afternoon, your apron draped over your shoulder, punched out for the day. There’s a glass of wine in front of you, but you haven’t really had any of it. “It takes time. You’ll get it.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard.”

And yet it is. For years you’ve lived a life of luxury, shuttered away from society. Work was some lofty idea, left behind after you fled Hawkins. You want to pick up on things, want to be good at them, to make Steve proud. Yet you still struggle, still find yourself doubting your capabilities, wondering what it is Eddie saw in you when he hired you.

That night, Steve and you sit around the coffee table in his living room. You’re wearing a pair of cozy sweatpants and an equally comfortable hoodie and he’s there in that yellow sweater of his you told him to never get rid of. The one that has some holes in it now around the edges, but looks great on him all the same. A puzzle rests on the table in front of you both, the pieces scattered all around the wooden surface. Garfield snoozes on Steve’s lap, curled up onto a tight ball, his purring mixing with the crackling of the burning fire mere feet away.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve says, sipping at the beer on a coaster in front of him. The label is long scratched off, condensation dribbling down in little rivulets against the glass. Confusion pricking, your head tips to the side. “Eddie says you’re doing well at the Hideout.”

“He’s lying to you,” you deadpan, pushing another edge piece into place. “I’m struggling. But Abi says it just takes time. It’s definitely not like working at my old clothing store over at Starcourt.”

An edge of darkness flitters across Steve’s features at the mere mention. It shudders and ripples in the spaces between the two of you. Neither really talks about it all that much, especially now that he and you both had been in extensive therapy for it. And even then, the remembrance stings a bit. The reminder of what that day meant for your friend group. Hadn't then at all really to your detriments, when everything happened as it had. Instead you’d both pushed it away and hopped into Steve’s car some days later, with nothing but a map and some money pooled between the two of you.

But it had been enough. It had been everything. The road. The warmth of summer. The escape. The boy.

Steve’s not a boy now. Hasn’t been for a while, you realize, sitting there and peering into those hazel eyes that almost look like molten honey when the fire dances within their swirling depths. Your fingers reach over and twine with his. Just as they have countless other times, just as they always do. Seeking him. Craving the nearness of him. Comforting him, but also yourself.

A cheek of his twitches. Curls a bit with the softest of smiles. Steve Harrington’s smiles are your favorite. Have always been. They’re the kind that a picture can’t capture, an artist can’t form the likeness of. The only way to contain them is to see them, to bottle them up, to store them away in your heart. Sometimes, when you were younger, you imagined they were special. Meant only for you.

Still do now, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Nothing is quite like working at Starcourt,” he teases, diverting to humor. You wince a bit at it, fingers around his twitching lightly. “Not everyday someone gets possessed, and you get abducted by Russians, huh? Bet the Hideout will feel like a walk in the park soon in comparison.”

“I hope so,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. “I just don’t want to sit around while I’m staying here. Maybe I’ll…start saving up for my own place? For the time being, at least.”

“Or you could just stay here,” Steve says evenly, free hand stroking over Garfield’s fuzzy head, “I did say you could stay as long as you like. I didn’t just say that to say it. I like having you here. It feels…normal. It feels good. Really good.”

There’s a little rasp to his voice. A brokenness that clings to the edges of his speech. Your fingers tighten further, crawling up onto your knees to settle down at his side, shoulder bumping his as you reach over to place another puzzle piece down in the proper position. He leans his head against your shoulder, forehead shaking back and forth against the fabric of your clothing, and you just know he’s smiling without even seeing his face.

“Okay, okay. But the moment you get sick of me I’m giving you permission to kick me out —”

“Won’t happen,” he assures you, chuckling a bit.

“How can you be so sure?”

“For one, I’ve known you for years already. You clean up after yourself. You’re crazy loud, but we match each other in that, so it’s fine. You’re not bad to share a bed with — although you go all starfish on me in your sleep —”

“I do not!” you exclaim shrilly, cheeks burning up at the notion.

“You do,” he laughs, dragging you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders, “woke up with your drool on my chest the other day.”

“Yeah, because you’re a human furnace!”

“Doesn’t seem like you mind, seeing as you end up on top of m —” He pauses, the puzzle piece you playfully threw at him bouncing off of his cheek and onto the floor with a clatter. Garfield scampers off to eat, likely rolling his eyes at your antics as he goes, the sound of his collar bell jingling drowning out the silence in the room. “You just threw a puzzle piece at me.”

“I did just throw a puzzle piece at you,” you repeat slowly, bursting out into loud, shrieking laughter as Steve rolls you over onto the blankets scattered beneath him on the floor, body caging yours in place.

His fingers twitch along your sides, your body writhing and rolling beneath him, a frantic jostle of your stomach that has his face crashing into your shoulder, his smile warm against the skin of your collarbone.

You’re children again, you think, as your fingers slip under his sweater and pinch at his sides, earning a loud howl from the man. “Geez, not the pinchy fingers.”

“Mercy?”

“Mercy,” he pleads, his fingers pinning your hands at your sides, chest rising and falling rapidly in a direct mirror to your own.

“You look different from this angle.”

As in, your blood heats with it. Heart clangs at the proximity of your hips in relation to his. The way your mind itches and races to know what he’d feel like if he lowered himself a bit, the cradle of your thighs a home to him. He’s breathing heavy, his laughter joyful on your ears, eyes dark as they clash with yours.

“Different how?”

“Not a bad ‘different.’”

Not at all. He looks older now — is older now. His clothes fit differently now. He’s always been fit from basketball and baseball throughout the years. But he fills out his shirts and sweaters differently now. His chest broader, the stitching on his sweater hugging his biceps as they ripple around you — as you’ve seen them in the days since you’ve come back to Hawkins. Working as a carpenter seems to have had its benefits, and you try to not dwell on the fact you’re reaping them now.

His hazel eyes slide over your form searchingly. His chest still rising and falling as your fingers pinch in the yellow sleeve of his sweater, pulling at a thread that spills free from a stitched seam. The sudden shift of your form has your back flaring, right in the middle of your shoulder blades, a wince crossing your features before you can mask it. Worriedly, Steve rolls over onto his side, asking, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

No. Never. “No. Just…not used to carrying as much as I have the past few days, it seems. Pretty sad, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes at your self-deprecating remark. Sits up against the couch so his back is against it and pats the ground between his thighs. “Come here.”

“What…?”

“Come here,” he repeats, a little impatiently.

You return his eye roll with one of your own, clambering up and off the ground and into the space between his thighs. There’s little time to worry about the proximity of your spine to the muscular wall of his chest before his fingers are pressing into the curves of your shoulders, rubbing at the tensely corded muscles there.

It’s easy to relax like this. Can’t really think of a time when you last felt so relaxed. Usually you’re under the judgemental stares of dozens of eyes. Those who think they know you, understand you, and yet don’t. Defined by a name you had no name of being born to. It was only by circumstance. But you’ve always felt like yourself around Steve. No need to put on airs, to hold yourself to a certain standard, to lift your head a certain way or say all the right things.

He’s only ever wanted the fullest version of yourself. Probably has been one of the only people to ever understand you in the way you wished others did as well. For years you wondered if people knew you, really knew you, they wouldn’t like what they saw. But sitting here, in this cabin, with this man? You realize you don’t even care. Throw away the rest of the world, and leave Steve behind, and you’d have everything you ever wanted.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, thumb swiping along the top of your spine, right at the dip below your skull, before swiping in an arch along each curve of your shoulders. “I’ll stop if it does.”

“N-no,” you sigh, languid against his frame. “Although, I’m feeling mildly jealous of all those who may have benefited from a massage by Steve Harrington.”

A chuckle rumbles against your back. “Only you, really. In case you forgot, Eddie got me a cat to keep me company.”

A part of you, a very selfish part, rejoices inwardly over his confession. A little victory dance, sending giddy sparks throughout your bloodstream. That giddiness burns molten as Steve pushes the neck of your oversized hoodie down a bit, fingers wrapping around the fullness of your shoulder, tips of them dipping below your collarbone.

It’s a not at all sensual touch — and yet it has heat pooling between your thighs, has you biting back a quiet moan that inches up your throat, reminding you of the mere fact that it’s been a couple of years since being with anyone sexually coupled with the fact you’ve spent the past few days pressed up against the only one you’ve ever been in love with at night.

That’s all it is. The only thing that has you melting further against him, humming pleasantly as elusive sleep tugs you closer and closer into its comforting embrace. After a while, you’re not sure how long really, Steve’s arms start to slide around your waist, his chin against your shoulder, the sound of his comforting breathing a welcoming metronome against your ear. Your fingers reach up and slide into the holes of his sweater, brushing along the dark hairs you know line his forearms, lulling you and him into further rest. To anyone else, you know what the scene looks like: two people, intimately knowing one another, cuddling. Broken away from the rest of the world and into one of their own. To you, you know it’s another normal afternoon with the man.

And yet, your eyes lock with the dying embers crackling in the fireplace, wondering if it could ever be different. If only one of you were brave enough to broach the conversation, to see if the feelings are reciprocated, if now is finally the time to take a chance. A leap. To dare to dream a little. A silly, childhood dream that seems so insurmountable. Still, you crave it more than anything else.

You breathe in deeply, Steve’s arms tightening around your waist. His heavy, rhythmic breathing lets you know he’s fallen asleep now. Your fingers stroke along his arm again, a comfort to him but also you, and you finally close your eyes.

You rest, that question in your mind dying with the firelight.

——

“Monster Mash” blares from a speaker somewhere in the distance. Drowns out the chatter of those downstairs as you put on the finishing touches of yours, El’s and Max’s Halloween costume.

“Wednesday Addams again?” Max muses, pointing to the costume you managed to put together in a couple of hours, not knowing until the last minute you were going to a party to begin with. You’d also been Wednesday the last time you’d been living in Hawkins for the holiday.

You’re presently smudging red lines near the bottom of her jaw, adding little droplets of blood when and where needed. El is beside her, looking very much like a mummy.

“Hey?” Steve appears in the doorway. The hottest Danny Zuko you’d ever seen. You’d never admit that, though. “I don’t mean to interrupt but, uh —”

“Just finishing up,” you tell him softly, smiling appreciatively at the way his eyes roam your form swathed in black, “we’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve smiles and jogs down the stairs, leaving you standing in the bathroom once more with the girls, chewing on your bottom lip and likely smudging the dark lipstick you’d slapped on.

“I guess some things never change,” Max adds, beaming mischievously when your fingers stutter over her jaw, “still pining over Harrington.”

“I do not pine!”

“You pine,” Max giggles, blue eyes sparkling in her mirth as they glances to El for support, “She pines, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” El mutters, a bit more shyly than her best friend, “you pine.”

“Well I didn’t take Max Mayfield and El Hopper to be gossips,” you snark, dabbing a little red lipstick on Max’s pouty lips, voice taking on a higher pitch.

“It’s been, what? Almost ten years of you pining after him?” Max wiggles her shoulders, smirking when you glare at her.

“You were practically an infant then,” you balk, cheeks burning along with your chest, “not even in Hawkins.”

“Yeah…but…” El begins, tucking a hair behind her ears, “it’s kind of…obvious?”

“You two are lucky you’re my favorites of the children.” Though now, with them graduating this year, it feels weird to call them that.

“He pines too,” Max adds. “Right?”

El grins. “Definitely.”

“Is that so…?” You grin, a little rueful, hope blooming in your chest. “Tell me m —”

“Well look at this little band of creepy folk,” Argyle drawls from the doorway, shiny hair falling down around him in a halo, his Michael Myers mask dangling from his hand. “Don’t wanna interrupt this little gathering, but you know…”

——

As the Halloween buzz dies down around work and town, the frigid streets become full of the changing seasons. Leaves fall everywhere you go. Bursts of orange, yellow, red and gold swirl around busy side streets, packed with those investigating local farmer’s markets and slipping in and out of family owned businesses to purchase gifts to get ahead of the holiday season.

The Hideout becomes busier in those weeks. Countless patrons fill your stations, back screaming and head spinning by the time you end your shifts. That day in particular, you stand behind the bar with Abi, chugging down a glass of water she poured you before stripping your apron from around your hips.

“Did well in tips, it looks like,” she points out, gesturing to the wad of cash you promptly stuff into the pocket of your jeans. “Told you you’d get better.”

It also helps that you had multiple larger parties that evening, all of which were more than happy to pay a little extra once they’d gotten a second and third round of beer in them. Though you didn’t really appreciate the way one in particular had slipped his phone number, writing ‘for a good time call.’ You’d chucked that into the garbage with a huff, making sure to toss a wide grin over your shoulder as they later slipped out of the restaurant and he waggled his fingers near his ear in the shape of a telephone, as though you were going to run home and reach out.

“I told Steve I was going to make us dinner since he’s working late on a job, so I’m going to head out.” You huff out a breath, staring up at the clock that reads seven. “Though I think I’m going to need to grab caffeine. I don’t think I sat down once today.”

“Get out of here!” Eddie shouts, sneaking over to loop an arm around Abi’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Something like longing bubbles up in your stomach at the sight, the craving for what they have simmering with it. “Or else you’re fired. You’ve worked late every day this week. If you get sick, that’s on you.”

“Fine!” Your hands wave in front of you in defeat, waving to the two of them as you slip out the front doors of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

At this time of evening, those wandering the streets are quieter. Bags full of goodies from their excursions. You tug your jacket tighter to yourself as you slip on by, waving to those who have started to become normal faces once more over the weeks in Hawkins. They wave back, grinning like they used to. Greeting you like you hadn’t been gone for three years.

It's strange to think of being gone now.

Strange to think of leaving again.

You find you don’t want to leave again.

And fortunately, no one from home has tried to make an effort to bring you back to the city kicking and screaming. Part of that is by design — leaving no way for them to contact you in the first place. No one knows you’re staying with Steve. No one really even knows where Steve is these days, given he’s not been in contact with his family since they left in 1986 as it is.

You want to keep it that way.

Smiling to yourself, you slip in through the front door of Hawkin’s Brew, a little family run coffee shop that sits a few doors down from your job, smelling like cinnamon and spices, and the freshly brewed coffee you can see percolating over the countertop.

A new barista lifts her head up over the counter. All wavy blonde hair that reminds you of a mermaid and sparkling green eyes around a pair of thick lashes anyone would die for. Gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous and you definitely would have remembered her face if she’d been there before.

“Hiya!” she greets, beaming widely, revealing a glowing set of white teeth that flash in your vision. “You look confused. My mom, Mary Jo, is usually here with my dad. But mom wasn’t feeling well, and I’d finished up at the preschool, so I’m here to help. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m Lucy!”

You offer your name and a soft ‘hi,’ still a little startled by the exuberant greeting. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. Sorry to hear about Mary Jo. I hope she starts to feel better soon.”

Lucy leans her elbow against the counter, and you can’t help but admire the cream colored chunky knit sweater she’s wearing with a flowing skirt to finish off the look. It looks effortless on her.

“What can I get you today?”

“A hot coffee, cream two sugars please,” you tell her, and she gets to work behind the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s truck he uses for work, the back full of leftover lumber.

“Oh, Steve’s here?” Lucy says, sounding a little faraway. Contrast to the ball of excitement she’s been since you walked in. “You know, he’s a confusing one, that guy.”

“Is he?” You laugh, watching as he rummages around his front passenger seat.

“Ever since the earthquake, he’s been giving up so much of himself. Charity, taking up the basketball team at the high school, helping out around town. Did you know he helped my parents build a shed last summer? By hand?” Her voice trails off, and that smile of hers grows once more, like she’s stuck in a far off memory. “And he’s handsome. Single. Yet he doesn’t date. Not really. It’s so…strange? But whoever he marries — they’re gonna be a lucky one.”

“Yeah…” Your brows furrow at her words.

Steve, your Steve, is something of a hero to these people. He’s your hero too, but it twinges in your chest hearing it from someone else. For so long he’d been yours, but now, it seems, he’s needed around here. Admired. Loved. And you’ve missed so much of it in running away. Time you’ll never get back.

He’s changed. You just never realized how much. An ache builds in your heart, wondering if maybe you’re too different now from who you both were years ago.

The man in question hops out of the vehicle, fingers carding through his hair as he gazes into the coffee shop, immediately lighting up when he sees you.

“Do you know him?” Lucy asks, voice raising in pitch as she hands you your coffee and you toss your bills onto the counter.

“Yeah,” you say, sipping at the coffee, “he’s been my best friend for years. I’m staying with him for the time being, actually.”

“Oh!” Lucy perks up, chewing her bottom lip. “So you’re the one he’s so —”

As your mouth opens to ask what Lucy means, Steve walks in. He immediately commands the attention of the shop, both yours and Lucy’s stares drawn to him as he slides an arm around your waist and tugs you against his side, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I was going to grab you some coffee,” he says, fingers squeezing a bit at your side. He notices Lucy then. “Hey, Luce.”

Luce.

Familiar.

Jealousy burns. You try to tamper it down, to pretend the unspoken words between them don’t matter to you. But there are a thousand new questions that burn in your mind, with no words or standing to ask them.

Lucy waves in greeting, those pretty green eyes of hers glimmering in the moonlight spilling in through the front windows of the shop. “Always good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” he agrees, head lowering closer to yours as he then asks, “Ready to head out?”

He’s leading you to the door, and you spare a glance over your shoulder to the woman you’ve just met moments ago. There’s a look you can’t quite place on her features, a furrow of her brows, a slight downturn to her softly parted lips.

You wave your goodbye, and try to push all of whatever that might have been into the depths of your mind.

——

Steve tosses and turns behind you. A fitful rest that has you rolling over onto your side, fingers brushing along the clenched planes of his cheeks. You can practically hear his molars smashing against one another, can feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest as your fingers splay against his sternum.

At the touch, his face softens in the slightest. A low moan pours from him, a whine of ‘no, don’t’ cleaving your heart right down the middle.

“Steve?” It’s a whisper. A plea for him to come back to you in the waking world. He reaches out in his sleep and clutches at your tee shirt, clutching the fabric tight. Another whine. A whimper of a cry. “Steve, I’m here. I’m here.”

Sweat pools along his skin, despite the chill in the air. The tips of your fingers press to his forehead, running along the wrinkles forming high up on the skin there. His name is a whisper over and over again on your lips, a soft beckoning into wherever his dreams have taken him — a tether for him to grip onto, if only so you can reel him back in.

You’re no stranger to nightmares. They plague you, too. Dark, weaving things that sneak into your mind at night, tendrils clinging to the innermost workings of your mind. That day at the mall, watching as that monster loomed, dark and imposing in a colorful explosion of light. Billy, being ripped into over and over again. The spray of black blood, the cries of Max. The moments that came after, where Steve practically demanded an EMT to look over your ribs, despite the fact there was nothing one could do if they were broken anyway. And then there had been those images on the news — of classmates fallen to Vecna. Memories of the splintered down, the gaping holes in the earth, the spaces where many had disappeared into. Endless faces of the lost, declared dead or missing.

So much turmoil. More than some kids and teenagers were ever meant to see in a lifetime.

“Let go!” Steve shouts into the night, rolling over again so his back faces you.

“Steve,” you whisper, running a hand along his spine, “it’s me. Come back to me. I’m here.”

He rolls over again and his eyes open, locking on your features. Broad palms come up to cup your face, forehead descending upon yours. He mutters your name a little brokenly, moving to press his head into the space beneath your chin, arms looping low around your waist.

“I’m here, Steve,” you remind him.

There for one another, as you’ve always been.

In a world where people come and go, where you can’t rely on anyone, he is your rock and you are his.

“Shhh.” Your fingers thread into his hair, smoothing the messiness left in the wake of his endless tossing and turning. His breathing tapers off. Slows. Starts to deepen. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

But you fear the day he may no longer need you.

——

Steve’s…liked by most. Sought after. Desired. He’s popular, in a way that you’ll never be. With his friends, with his teachers, with women. Though he was your first kiss, you’re not even delusional enough to believe he’s only saving his lips for you.

He doesn’t do relationships often. He goes on dates and you watch him from afar. Can see the glow of his bedroom window, the hurt that burns like a knife when he sneaks a girl in while his parents are gone. Your curtains always shut when they kiss, when things start to feel like a betrayal to the foolish unrequited feelings you harbor.

It becomes a thing. Wishing and wanting your best friend as he loves everyone else around you.

Luckily, they’re always short dalliances. Flings. Dates that lead nowhere. And even though it hurts, there’s some comfort in the fact these things never last long.

That is, until Nancy Wheeler steps in. And you make yourself scarce. She’s smart and lovely and beautiful. She’s everything you could ever want for Steve — and she’s not you.

Just like everyone else he sneaks into his bedroom.

Because why would Steve Harrington ever look your way like he does theirs?

And therein lies the problem.

——

A month. You’ve been in town nearly a month and things are more or less exactly as they’ve always been. Platonic and full of yearning. At least, on his part. He’s not quite sure what to make of your feelings lately — and he’s never been one to push the envelope with you.

He needs a sign. A sign from up above or something just to show him that all his efforts have not been in vain.

It comes that afternoon. Sweat pools along his chest and stomach. Along his back as it ripples with each swing of the ax, splitting piece of wood after piece of wood. The plaid shirt he wears is long unbuttoned, stomach fully on display as he pauses a moment to reach down and sip some of his water set on a wooden stool nearby.

Thwack.

He’s so caught up in the monotony of the task, the methodical way he swings down and splits the wood, that he fails to hear your arrival. Only notices your form out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a tree.

Or, at least, it looks like you think you’re hidden.

He can see the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers covering your heart, like you’re terrified he’ll hear it. The boots on your feet are pinched tight together, likely having stopped abruptly once you noticed you could potentially be caught.

And there’s that bottom lip of yours, tucked between your teeth. Biting back any noises that might slip out.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes trail along his abdomen. How they linger on the newer muscles there, hewn by countless hours spent working as a carpenter. You look downright guilty — like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

He adores it.

“I don’t mind if I have an audience, you know?” He muses, grin growing wider as you stumble a bit in the leafy pile at your feet.

His amusement grows as you tilt your head up to the sky, as if searching for something. Unfortunately for you, it’s a cloudy day, and there is nothing to see up above other than an endless gray sea.

“Steve…” you warn, still not meeting his eyes.

You’ve always been endearing. Sweet, in a way he finds adorable. And this sudden shyness when you’re typically so sure? It reminds him of those moments when he first kissed you, all those years ago. Your heart was like a hummingbird’s wings against his chest that evening, fingers trembling against him, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Here,” he chuckles, walking over to curl a hand around your wrist and putting you out of your misery. He walks you over to where he’s splitting wood, “wanna try?”

“I mean, sure. How hard could it be?” you tease, back stiffening as he slips in behind you, sweat-slicked skin pressing against the curve of your spine before relaxing into him.

He’s already placed a new log on the block, the rest of his split pieces lying on a rack near the side of his home. Wide palms come to wrap around your hands, sliding them into place on the handle of the ax. One near the top for grip, another near the bottom for powering through the stroke. “Grip it nice and tight. Both hands.”

“Okay, like this?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him, and his breath immediately hitches. Throat cleaning, he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze and steps back a little.

“Spread your legs a little. Shoulder width apart. Yeah — just like that.”

You’re a little sheepish as he steps over to the side, trying to put enough distance between you and him to feel safe enough. A cold breath puffs out of his lungs, the cloud billowing in the air before him as you glance down at where your hands are firmly grasping the handle, deep breaths to center yourself echoing in the forest.

“Now you’re going to pick a point on the wood and focus on it, raise the ax and strike through, focusing on that spot.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you nervously murmur, doing exactly as he instructed, the ax rising above your head.

As you swing downward, the ax wedges into the wood, and you stumble to the ground, kicking up leaves as your bottom slams against the forest floor. Steve stumbles forward to check if you’re okay, but when your sides start trembling with uncontrollable laughter, his face breaks out into a grin.

He loves you, and he aches with it. More — now that you’re living with him.

“Guess you don’t want me helping you on any jobs, huh?”

A couple days later, however, you do exactly that.

Mr. Gerry Jones is an older man in town, and in desperate need of a new paint job for his living room before he tries to sell his home. Steve agreed to help weeks ago, and when his partner comes down with the flu, decides to ask you if you want to come along. He finds you laying on the couch that morning with a book, and he hardly expects you to say yes with the amount of hours you’ve been working at the Hideout, but you quickly jump to attention with a nearly shouted ‘yes.’

Now you sit beside him on the floor, admiring the freshly painted wall, taking a moment to breathe before starting the next one. You’re wearing a pair of overalls, a ratty old tee shirt tied up beneath, revealing the curve of your side, a patch of skin that Steve’s been trying to not stare at for the past few hours.

His heart clenches as your head tips over your shoulder, a little splatter of olive colored paint across your cheek. Reaching out, he cups your cheek and wipes it away, warming as you lean a bit into his touch.

Neither of you dares to acknowledge the tension burning in the room. The way it feels like time seems to slow to a halt when you’re there, shuffling up onto your feet, moving over to the next wall. Steve only talks. Begins prattling on about anything and everything, trying to keep himself distracted from the feeling swirling in his gut — the desire that has only grown every day to see what might happen if he just dared to try. To close the gap between your lips and put to bed all the questions.

But he doesn’t. Instead he gazes ahead, mouth dropping open when he asks about what your relationship with Clark was like — in what feels like an attempt to torture himself — and you utter that you’d never really done anything with him.

“Or anyone…for that matter,” you add slowly, your bottom lip pushing between your teeth, voice a little quiet.

“Like…?”

“I’m not a virgin, Steve,” you bark out, eyes rolling a bit in your skull. “But I’ve really only been with one guy. And it wasn’t even good or anything.”

“You’re joking.”

“Steve.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just…”

“Shocked at how pathetic I am?” you drawl, taking a step backward. Away from him.

“No — I just —”

“It’s not like the movies either. All of the explosions and fireworks.” You frown, and Steve grimaces at your words. At the sadness lining your features. “I just — I don’t know. It wasn’t like how you’d always talked about it. We barely even kissed during it and I didn’t…”

“Honey…” he sighs, taking a step forward. “Clearly, he wasn’t the right guy. The right guy would have made it extra special, because you’re special, and definitely would have made sure you finished before he did. And I’m sorry but he didn’t deserve you, because you deserve all the explosions and fireworks.”

“Yeah?” You sound so hopeful, eyes a little narrowed, mouth parting softly.

“I mean…hypothetically…” he steps a little closer.

He catches your slow swallow. The way your chest heaves on a breath, eyes trailing his form. Heat burns in the atmosphere as your eyes narrow a bit, staring at him like you had in the woods. Appreciatively, and not at all like a friend. How long had he missed those looks? How long had he not noticed the slow simmering desire beneath the surface? Suddenly he’s back in that closet and a teenager again, only now instead of your jean shorts, his finger curls into the pocket of your overalls, chest brushing yours. Cornered, your back bumps against the presently dry wall behind you.

“If it were me —” He stops. Thinks better of it.

“N-no,” you splutter out, voice a rasp, breath puffing, “go on. Hypothetically, obviously.”

“Well, for starters, I’d start by getting down on my kne —”

“Hey, kids!” Mr. Jones calls into the room, and you both jump like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “Could one of you help me sort through some boxes? I don’t want to be a bother, but my back just isn’t what it was, you know?”

You throw a hand up in the air. “I’ve got it.”

Steve inwardly groans, his jeans suddenly a little too tight at what he’d been imagining doing to you only moments before — what he’d been imagining doing to you for years, if he was being honest.

You glance away, rushing over to Gerry, embarrassment rolling off your form.

And you’re gone, following the older man from where he came.

Conversation…over.

——

The window next door glows with lamplight. It’s after the earthquake that you see it. The earthquake that has you hiding in the doorway, holding onto the frame as the earth shudders and groans beneath you, pictures of your family now shattered frames scattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You grab a few things. Bandages, clothes, some water bottles. You can’t really tell how many people are over there, so you grab a pack. And when you ring the doorbell and Robin answers, looking stricken and covered in an inch of dirt, your heart groans too, because the look on her face is grim.

Steve throws his arms around you when you enter his bedroom, a whisper of, “You’re safe,” against your head. Reverently. Like he can’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure what he would find when he came back.

Your hands slide up and along his back, his body jolting at the contact, your fingers coming back a little stained with what looks to be fresh blood. “Steve, you’re hurt. I brought bandages.”

“He’s worse,” Steve utters through gritted teeth, “take care of him first.”

And there on the bed is Eddie Munson, with Nancy Wheeler there to rest a cloth against his head, whispering to the man under her breath. Soothing him, soothing those wrinkles that line his forehead — deep set in his pain.

With Nancy’s help, you get to work. Trying to cut him out of his clothes, careful to not agitate the wounds any further, apologizing for every whimper. Every broken sob of the man who fought to save a town that would have killed him on their own had they been given the change.

And later, after you’ve scrubbed your arms raw to try and rid yourself of the remnants of Eddie’s blood, Steve slides in beside you in the bathroom. Curls a hand around your head and tugs you against him, kissing your temple. Whispering something against your skull that you can’t quite make out. Steve’s not religious, but you swear he thanks someone for keeping you safe.

“You’re next,” you mutter, wiggling out of his hold, peering up at the dirty face of the man you love. “Strip.”

“See, in a different context, those words coming from your lips —”

“I’m not joking,” you sing-song, tugging at the bloodied shirt he’s wearing. “Off with it.”

“I can’t,” he winces.

“You’re getting modest with me now? I’ve seen you half naked more times —”

“I think it’s a little stuck,” he groans, turning around and peeling off the outer jacket. It falls to the ground and you can see what he’s talking about. The injuries, freshly reopened, cling to the fabric like a second skin.

You whistle on an exhale, and he laughs darkly. “It’s not so bad. Just looks like one area got a little angry. If you get in the shower, I can run a little water on it to loosen it up.” You lift the edge of his shirt a bit, noting the swath of bandages around his waist. “Who did these? They look pretty good.”

“Nancy.”

“Good,” you say, a little softly, “now into the shower, Harrington.”

You’re trying. Trying to make light of a terrible night. But you can see the pain in his form that runs deeper than the scratches on the surface. Can see it in the tension on his form as he slips out of his jeans and climbs into the tub with nothing but a pair of boxers.

Neither of you speaks for a while. As you turn on the water and try to soak his shirt. As you eventually peel the shirt away and whisper you’re sorry over and over when he hisses and bites back against the pain. Nor as you run a damp towel over the wounds to clean them, careful to not agitate his mangled flesh further.

But then you hear it. The sniffle. The shudder of breath.

“Steve,” you whisper, threading your fingers in his hair, feeling him tremble against your touch, “what happened tonight?”

He cries. Folds his face into his hands and cries.

You toss the cloth aside and climb in to hold him, because you’ve known physical pain, but this pain hits differently. Twists in you like a knife. You can handle your own pain, but seeing Steve break, seeing your hero crumble, is a pain that cuts to your marrow. Shatters and scatters your heart into a million pieces.

But you have to stay strong.

For him. For all the times he’s done the same for you.

He clings to you, fingers fisted into your shirt, and you don’t let go.

——

You don’t talk about that moment in Mr. Jones’ home. Neither of you bring it up for days. And yet — it’s all you can think about. The way he looked your way, the timbre of his words, the way heat had crawled up your spine. How it also pooled low, throbbed in your core in a way that was unfamiliar to you.

Was this passion? Desire? Lust? All feelings that seem so foreign, and yet you don’t fear them. You just ponder the new questions that arise. The curiosity of what this might mean — if it could lead to more.

On that particular day, both of you were off of work. Decided with Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, it was about time you went pumpkin picking. Pumpkin picking turned into a whole day event, where you and Steve took turns arguing over which pumpkins were suitable for the front of his porch, and which were suitable for decoration for the potluck gathering with some friends that upcoming weekend.

And after spending half the day drinking warm apple cider, sharing donuts on a hayride while bundled up in comfortable clothing, and racing each other through a corn maze, you’d decided the last thing on your itinerary for the “full Hawkin’s experience” was to carve pumpkins.

“In case you didn’t know,” Steve jokes, his knife poking out a hole for an eye in his pumpkin, “Halloween was a few weeks ago.”

“So what? We were busy and didn’t get to do this sooner,” you bemoan, cutting open the top of yours and moving to stick your hand inside.

“You’re just going in like that — bare hand and all?”

“What’s a little guts, Steve?”

“It’s gross,” he says plainly, eyes narrowing, “and messy.”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of mess?” Your tongue pushes out between your lips as you get to work, pulling out handful after handful of pumpkin guts into the garbage pail you set up beside the table the two of you worked on.

“I happen to not mind a little mess,” he teases, coming to stand over your shoulder, the heat of his chest at your back. “What are you making?”

“A Garfield pumpkin,” you tell him, scooping more of the inside out into a trash can. “I happen to be quite fond of your kitten. Maybe more than you.”

“Really?” he asks playfully, stepping a little closer to hook his chin over your shoulder.

“Are you jealous?” you muse, circling around.

Like this, your chests nearly brush, his palms come up to rest beside your hips, caging you in against the table. Heat pools low again at the look on his face. The firm line of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the round depths of his hazel eyes. There’s a look in them you can’t quite place — a look you’ve never seen in Steve’s eyes, or anyone’s for that matter. But you know you like it, thighs bumping a bit off of the table as you crawl up onto it, legs swinging beneath you.

Fingers come up to curve along your cheek, Steve’s thumb brushing the line of your jaw with a pinky. Delicately, like you’re precious. Like you might break. “You got a little something on your face.”

“Oh,” you whisper out, swallowing as he leans in closer, as his hips slide into the space between yours. “Steve…”

He steps closer once more. Hips brushing against the cradle of yours. There’s a heat from him that seeps into you. Grows as his forehead rests against yours and you both breathe in the same space, neither of you speaking, because there’s nothing this moment requires other than a nearness. His nose glides down the side of yours, one hand of his coming to curl around your hip, squeezing the curve of it. Your mind screams at you he’s going to kiss you, and your heart leaps because you want it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You’re thinking you want to erase the space between the two of you. You’re thinking there’s a chance this doesn’t quite mean to him what this means to you. You’re thinking that you’re scared to allow Steve to see inside the part of you that you’ve kept from him all these years. But you’re also thinking if you’re going to play with fire, there’s a knowing chance you may get burned.

“I’m thinking…” you exhale, chest pushing further into his as your back arches a bit, propping yourself up onto your hands. Only, as soon as you do so, pain flares in the center of your palm, gasping breath coming out with a, “Shit!”

Steve’s there in a flash, fingers curling around your offended wrist that you show him. Blood pools up from the wound, the bloodied knife skittering beside it onto the forest floor when he shoves it out of the way. You hadn’t even remembered it was there, too caught up in the moment.

“Honey…” he sighs, thumb brushing along the curve of your wrist, glancing down at the cut, “let’s get you inside. You might need stitches.”

“No hospital,” you tell him, pinching your bottom lip between your teeth, “you’ve patched enough people up. This should be a walk in the park, right?”

“Yeah but this is you,” he says, and before you can ask him what he means by that, he’s helping you off of the table and steadying you when you land on the leaves below.

The bathroom is dimly lit by this time of day, even with Steve flicking the light on as soon as you enter. The edge of the tub is cool against your leggings, chilling your skin even through the fabric, as Steve rummages around in his cabinets for a first aid kid. And then he gets to work, sitting across from you on the toilet seat, making sure to irrigate your wound before dressing it.

“Not deep,” he says finally, inspecting the shallow cut that slices the center of your palm, “gonna disinfect it.”

A hiss pours from you as he does, pain flaring in the wound. Your free hand whips out to clutch at his pant leg, pinching the denim tight in your fingertips until the burning ebbs into a throbbing sting that beats in tandem with your heart.

“What did you mean before?” you ask as he starts to dress the wound, winding a bandage around and around your palm. “The whole ‘but this is you.’”

Steve pulls out a piece of medical tape and presses it to the end of the wrapping around your palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of your wrist. “I can handle my pain, but I could never handle yours.”

You swallow, because you understand. You know first hand what he means — have experienced it yourself. Watching the man you love throw himself into harm's way and injure himself in the process. Having to mend his wounds, to see him hurting without a way to stop it, when all you wanted was to ease the pain.

“There you go,” he whispers, fingertips teasing along yours, before letting your hand fall back against your thigh. “No more pumpkin carving for you.”

“Thank you.” Your lip twitches as you climb off the lip of the bathtub, following him down the stairs.

“Steve, back there, I…”

“Come on, let me cook us dinner.” He pauses, stopping himself once you both realize you speak at the same time. “Wait — what were you going to say?”

You swallow thickly, the nervousness choking your words and drying them in your throat where they live and die instantaneously.

Not the time.

“N-nothing.”

——

“Don’t think I didn’t see how the two of you walked in together.” Robin twirls her drink around in front of her, brows arching as a smirk creeps along her features.

You sip your red wine, smiling to yourself over the rim. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Although you do. You arrived at Jonathan and Nancy’s new home with a freshly baked apple pie in hand, and Steve’s hand against your lower back, keeping you close to him. Clearly it hadn’t gone unnoticed, the evidence apparent in the look Robin was sending your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Lucy struggling to open a wine bottle in the kitchen, and excuse yourself from Robin’s side to greet the woman. She’s beautiful today, in a pair of black jeans, and a brick red sweater. Effortless again, with endless wavy hair and those glowing eyes of hers.

“Here — let me,” you offer, helping her to get the cork out of the bottle.

Once it’s open, you pour the two of you new glasses of wine and clink your glass with her’s, peering out over the kitchen island to take in the sights around you.

Nancy and Jonathan went all out. They lined up multiple tables around the kitchen, making room for friends and family alike. Their parents sit at one table, while Steve, Robin, Eddie, Abi and Argyle talk amongst themselves. Holiday music filters in through the radio, as Nancy and Jonathan carve into the giant turkey resting against the table covered in Thanksgiving themed plate wear.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had a holiday like this. This is warm and inviting. Back in the city your parents would rent out restaurants and have wait staff take care of your evening. You’d always resented the thought that, while you spent time in a cold environment under the guise of “Thanksgiving,” those employees missed out on time they could spend with their own loved ones.

And when Steve looks over, you almost feel like you could fit in here. Almost allow yourself to dream big — to imagine a world where when he lifted his hand and waved as he is now, it would be full of love, full of the newness of relationship.

“So you and Steve…?” you can’t help but to ask, turning so your back rests against the kitchen counter, offering Lucy a soft smile.

She returns it a little tightly. “We…dated for a bit.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t expecting that. Had witnessed a little something passing along their features when you’d bumped into her weeks ago, but never thought to chalk it up to them dating. On paper it makes sense. She’s a teacher, they work together, she’s gorgeous, vibrant, bubbly, interesting. She’s here. She’s been here. And she belongs here.

And you — you don’t know what you’re doing most days. You’re living with Steve, but for how long? You want to stay, or think you want to, but what does that entail? There’s also the lingering doubt. The fear that you don’t quite belong as you once did. Can see it in the looks from people as you pass. Those who haven’t seen you in years now regard you as a stranger.

“Yeah, we’d gone on a few dates. He was always such a gentleman…but it just…” she exhales, and you watch as her eyes trail his form, “he always seemed kind of…detached? He didn’t want to commit. Sometimes we’d be spending time together and he just…didn’t seem all there? But it all made sense when I saw you two at the coffee shop that one day.”

“What?” you splutter, red wine dribbling down your chin at the suddenness.

“He lit up when he saw you. I’d never seen him look at me that way,” she admits softly, sipping her own wine. “I kind of wanted to hate you for it, but you were so nice and he deserves to be happy.”

“Oh — we’re not — it’s not —”

“Not yet,” she teases, giving you a little eye roll. “He’s happy. And he’s present. Both are things that have changed within him since you’ve been here. I don’t think that’s mere coincidence.”

Her words settle within you as you later join Steve at the dinner table, leaning into his shoulder as he scoops your requested dinner options onto your plate. They linger even as the kids arrive for dessert and the group ends up playing endless card games, laughter lyrical and swirling around the room, growing louder as the drinks continue to pour into awaiting cups.

And later, as you sit on Steve’s couch in no more than a pair of leggings, a comfy hoodie, and knitted socks you ponder Lucy’s words again while a fire crackles in the fireplace.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, fingers kneading into the arch of your foot, your head against the armrest, eyes closed in contentment.

“Lucy is really pretty…”

“She is,” Steve agrees, his fingers pushing in again, drawing a deep sigh from within you.

“She works with kids, she’s bubbly, she’s established. All things that you’d normally go for.”

“Okay…”

“I’m just…I’m — I guess I'm trying to figure out why you two didn’t work out then.”

Steve pauses in his ministrations, shifting a bit on the couch to look at you. “Honey…you know why.”

“No,” you retort, feeling anxiety bubble up within you, “I really don’t.”

“There’s always been someone else.”

“I’m not understanding…”

With a sigh, Steve scoots closer. Tugs you up and onto his lap to get you even closer, your knees thumping onto the couch cushion at each side of his hips. He grips your hips and stares up into your eyes. There’s an unspoken question. A whisper behind his stare. Begs for you to look deeper, to see him, to see his heart.

“No.” You shake your head, anger welling. Replacing that anxiety. “I’ve looked at you my whole life and you never noticed. Now? Now you decide you —”

“It’s always been.” His strangled voice breaks your heart.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? All this time, all these years —”

“I tried,” he interjects, fingers winding tighter around your hips.

“When?”

“First time I visited you after you moved away.” He sounds somber. Heartbroken in a way that’s foreign to you. “You’d gone inside and your dad and I had a drink out back. Remember?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, fingers running along the hair at his temple. He gives you a little squeeze, forehead resting against yours.

“He…I told him about my feelings for you. And he…well, he wasn’t supportive.” He exhales a wobbly breath. “He had his points. I had no money. He was right about that. I worked at a dead end job and was going nowhere. I had nothing to offer you. He…painted a picture of us in a few years from now. Asked me how I’d be able to keep you happy…keep our family happy. And I thought maybe he was right.”

“Bullshit. Everything he said to you is bullshit,” you snap, climbing off of his lap. “I never wanted any of that. If I had you, Steve, then I would have everything.”

“I know that,” he cries, jumping to his own feet, looping an arm around your hips. “I know that now. I’ve seen you here the past few weeks and you fit here. With me in my life. I want to stop wasting time pretending you’re just my best friend because that’s all I ever thought you could be. I want you here. I want you in my bed every morning and night, I want to touch you and, I don’t know, hold you while we cook dinner together. I want to kiss you just because I can. I want to hold your hand. I want all of that.”

He tugs you close, your chests thumping. His heart throbs against your sternum and you raise a palm to settle there, to push him back, but you find you can’t. He sucks the air out of the room when he’s that close — when his mouth is mere centimeters from yours, and all you want is to close the distance.

“I never felt good enough for you,” he breathes against your lips, his breath a shaky exhale. Lips graze against lips, your fingers slide up further, along his chest, over the curve of his neck, the slope of his jaw.

“You’ve always been good enough for me, Steve,” you whisper back, forehead nuzzling forehead. “I don't need all the money. I don’t want fancy dinners or cars, I don’t need the newest clothes, shoes, pocketbooks. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He slides a palm up against your cheek. A thumb draws a soft line across the curve of your jaw. “And now? What do you want right now?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

——

sorry about the delay. i’ve basically been sick since july, and wasn’t planning on having so many of my ‘bad’ days the past couple of weeks. the next chapter will be long, and i mean long. can’t wait to hear about what you think about this one! likes, comments, reblogs — all of that is such an encouragement to creators and means the world, so please consider 🤍

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve Harrington x reader smut #steve Harrington x reader fluff

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pedropascallme · 1 year ago

Text

Thank You, Mr Miller

Pairing: dbf!Joel x f!Reader

Summary: "'So, what, I let you treat me like a whore and now you’re hiring a new babysitter?' You goaded him. Initially you thought this was the wrong thing to do—his brow raised in surprise at your words, and you’d considered the possibility that maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind, that it wasn’t what he wanted. But he grabbed you by the wrist, stroking your skin gently with his thumb."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), age gap (reader is 20-22 age range, Joel is mid 50s), dom/sub dynamics (dom!Joel x sub!Reader), kinda brattammer!Joel? fingering, oral (f recieving), p in v sex, degradation, praise, little bit of cum play, Joel is talky when he's horny, no outbreak, if I missed anything else please let me know!

AN: Here it is...the moment you have all been waiting for...the long awaited part 2 of Yes, Mr Miller!! I hope you all enjoy <3

You woke up with your blankets pooled around your ankles. The heat from the fabric wrapped around you made your feet feel heavy under the sun shining in through your window.

You felt simultaneously drunk and deliciously sober; the daze and amazement at the events of last night washed away to reveal the underlying satisfaction of having finally gotten what you’d yearned for so deeply for so long.

Grabbing your phone off the nightstand, it finally registered to you how late you’d slept in; your parents had left for the day, for work and their respective errands, leaving you to sleep the day away despite more pressing matters. Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Still seeing you today?

Joel’s name lit up the screen and you felt yourself kick your feet, hearing the text in his voice, southern drawl and all. The thrill you’d experienced the night before hadn’t subsided, and the thought of being alone with him again, so intimate and passionate, made you bite your lip as you typed out your response.

Yeah. Gimme an hour.

~~~

The path to the Miller household felt longer today. Maybe it was the bubbling combination of nerves and excitement that you felt low in your stomach, but you kicked at the stones on the path, picking lint off of your skirt and trying not to let your hair fall victim to the humidity.

You hesitated before knocking on the door, unsure of whether or not you should change such a miniscule habit under even these circumstances.

You knocked anyway.

Joel answered, wearing a t-shirt that hugged his arms and abdomen, allowing you to admire his wide frame and the small scars near his elbows.

“Think we’re a little past knockin,’ darlin.’” He smiled down at you, and you flashed a shy smile that didn’t fool him for a second.

“Just wanted to be polite.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Joel licked his lips, “c’mon in.”

You followed him through the living room before stopping him at the foot of the stairs.

“Where’s Sarah?”

“With Tommy. Been buggin’ me to see him—knows he’ll do whatever she wants him to.” He scoffed.

“You do whatever she wants you to.” You grinned at his hypocrisy.

“Within reason.” Joel smirked.

“So, what, I let you treat me like a whore and now you’re hiring a new babysitter?” You goaded him, swatting at his chest. Initially you thought this was the wrong thing to do—his brow raised in surprise at your words, and you’d considered the possibility that maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind, that it wasn’t what he wanted. But he grabbed you by the wrist, stroking your skin gently with his thumb.

“F’I recall correctly, you loved bein’ treated like a whore.” Joel brought your hand to his lips, kissing each individual finger before letting it drop at your side.

“W—I might have…” You felt shy again, peeking up at him from under your eyelashes to watch the way his eyes darkened. “I think you liked it more.” You smiled, smug, but still carefully monitoring his reactions. Joel closed the space between you; your eyes came up just below his chin, and when he leaned down you could feel his breath on your face, his nose a hair’s width from your own.

“I think you’re mighty confident for someone I had beggin’ for more less than twenty-four hours ago.” His arms wrapped around your waist, but he didn’t move to kiss you, letting his words hang in the air.

“Mr. Miller…” You whispered, unable to make more than a peep with strong arms at your side and fierce eyes boring into you. Your hands came up to steady yourself on his forearms.

“Go on, darlin’,” he remained the same stoic, hard to read man you had come to admire, but you could see the anticipation building in him; with his lips parted slightly you could see his tongue trace over his teeth, wanting, waiting. “Beg.”

“Want you…” You tilted your chin up, hoping he would finally give you a taste of what you craved, “need you. Please.”

Joel finally gave in, pressing his mouth to yours in a heated exchange of spit and teeth; you could taste the smell of the cologne he wore and the mint of his toothpaste, and something that was so purely Joel. Your arms came to perch on his shoulders, lifting yourself up enough to match the fervor with which he was kissing you, letting your tongue dance across his lips and in turn letting his own lick into your mouth. In the light of day, there was something so much more profound about exploring each other—it felt less secretive, less taboo, and much more affectionate than the moments you had shared in the car last night. You moaned into his mouth, letting him capture and savor the sounds you made for him.

“Good girl,” Joel hesitantly broke away from you, your heavy breath matching his, “jump up for me, sweetheart.” You felt large hands grab the meat of your thighs, and you squealed as he hoisted you up to rest your legs around his waist, “Doin’ this right. Takin’ you to bed.”

You hummed, kissing his neck while he maneuvered up the stairs, feeling a small swat on your thigh when the love bites you gave him nearly made him miss a step.

You didn’t realize that you had made it into the bedroom, too busy sucking at the exposed skin he had foolishly granted you access to. It wasn’t until he dropped you onto the mattress that you realized he had stopped moving.

“Try’na kill me?” He huffed, “kissin’ me like that while I’m walkin’ up those crooked ass stairs?”

You scooted up the bed towards the headboard. “Shouldn’t’ve picked me up if you didn’t want my kisses, Mr. Miller.” You shrugged, enjoying the way his nostrils flared when you teased him. He grabbed your ankle, pulling you down the mattress, and you yelped at the sudden movement. Joel spread your legs and leaned over you.

“When did you become such a fuckin’ brat?” He pulled up your shirt, exposing your bare, braless chest. He let out a dry laugh, “Knew you were getting’ fucked today, didn’t even dress yourself properly.” The words were muttered, mostly for his ears as appreciation for the easy access you were granting him. He dipped his head down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, his hand grabbing at the other one.

“Oh—! Yes, yes…” You felt his teeth brush against the pebbled flesh before his tongue swept over it in a soothing circular motion. The hand on your other breast pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, before releasing it to engulf your entire breast and squeeze.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Joel moaned into your flesh, sucking hard on your nipple and making your back arch into him, the feeling of his mouth on your chest had pleasure pooling in your lower stomach. “Dreamed about these pretty fuckin’ tits.” He resumed his movements, switching sides to pay more attention to the breast he’d been squeezing.

“Yours,” you combed your fingers through his hair, “all yours.” You moaned when he began to suck bruises onto the plush skin of your breasts, pulling at his hair gently in appreciation.

“That’s right, honey,” he came up to kiss your neck, “who do you belong to?” His hand came down to the hem of your skirt, flicking it up to allow his fingers to trail over your ruined, dainty cotton underwear. “Who’s this pretty li’l pussy belong to?”

“You—fuck—you! Please, you Mr. Miller. Please, please, please.” Your cries became repetitive when you felt his fingers press carefully against your clit, his calloused skin drinking in the moisture that seeped through your thin panties.

“I know, sweetheart.” He fell to his knees in front of you, pushing your skirt up your hips and out of his way to let him worship you properly; his hands toyed with the waistband of your underwear, and you grabbed limply at his wrist to spur him on. He all but ripped the fabric off of you, letting it dangle loosely around your ankle before you kicked it off and across the room, bringing your legs to his shoulders. Joel brought his face to your core, inhaling deeply, savoring your scent.

He brought two fingers up to pull you open wider for him to see. “So pretty, darlin’,” his fingers left your lips, trailing up and down your inner thigh before you felt the whisper of a touch on your entrance. “So easy to get you wet, princess. Eager li’l whore.” You squirmed, sighing softly at his words and trying to get what you needed.

Clearly eager in his own right, Joel’s tongue came down to lap up the juices pooling over your slit; you felt the muscle trail up to your clit and your legs folded and tightened around his neck, thighs squeezing his head in reaction to the sudden friction. Joel chuckled, arms wrapping around your legs to pry you open and allow himself space to bury his face into your cunt. You felt him suck on your clit, mouth closed around it, while his tongue came down to swipe over it. The back and forth combined with the pressure his lips sucked over you made your head swim, and you reached down to grip at his curls. He released you, spreading his tongue over your hole once more to explore the flavors you gave him. You felt him push into you, and you whimpered at the small but pleasant intrusion. The scruff of his beard rubbed into your thighs while he fucked you with his tongue, his nose occasionally bumping your clit as he tasted you.

“More…” You whined, one hand buried in Joel’s hair while the other pawed at your breast.

“Greedy li’l thing,” Joel kissed your clit softly before turning to place open-mouthed kisses on your thighs. “Tell me what you need, darlin’. More what?” His words were gentle despite the underlying need that laced them.

“You—anything...just want more.” Your words sounded out from your blissed-out haze, and Joel relished the opportunity to see you this way.

“Gonna be good for me? Keep your legs spread if I give you my fingers?” You nodded furiously, making a pathetic show of your obedience by widening your stance around his shoulders. Joel grinned, placing two fingers in your mouth. “Suck.” You coated them, and when he pulled them out a thin strand of saliva kept your mouth connected to them. Joel dipped his hand down to your cunt with the other still holding your thigh to the side, pushing both fingers into you and scissoring them slowly before drawing them in and out. Gasps escaped your throat when he curved them, his mouth returning to your clit while he stroked your most sensitive spot.

“Please, please, please—” You couldn’t think straight, so intently focused on the way his tongue felt against you, the rhythm of his fingers matching your steadily increasing heartbeat.

“Please what, darlin’?” Joel taunted you, speeding up the pace at which his fingers pumped in and out of your heat, “You wanna cum for me? Be a good girl like you were last night?”

Moans fell freely from your mouth, warmth building in your abdomen and spreading to the tips of your fingers. “Please, Mr. Miller…” You begged, fisting his hair in a subconscious attempt to lessen the overwhelming pleasure despite how badly you wanted it to continue.

Joel growled against you, his fingers curling more fervently. “Go on, then. Cum.”

You didn’t have to be told twice; your legs flexed then went limp around his neck, back arching into his hand and mouth, riding out the high he had gifted you.

“Fuckin’ pretty when you cum,” Joel praised, slipping his fingers out of you and moving down from your clit to lick the juices dripping from your entrance. “Taste so good, honey.”

Your skirt rested on your stomach, shirt still pulled over your chest, and you felt so utterly content with the feeling of having Joel whisper sweet nothings to you from between your thighs. You feathered your fingers through his hair, silently urging him to come up, letting out a small whimper when he licked small stripes over your clit before coming up to face you.

“Sweet girl,” Joel pecked kisses on your face, “not actin’ so tough now that you got the attention you needed.”

You giggled quietly, pulling him down for a kiss and scratching shapes over his back, still full of want even after he’d made you cum on his tongue. Your hips bucked up lightly against him.

“Pretty li’l whore needs more?” Joel groaned, pushing his growing erection into your thigh, and you whined. “Use your fuckin’ words.”

Your palms fell flat on his back, and you pulled him in tight against you, tilting your head to whisper your wishes in his ear. “Want your cock, Mr. Miller.”

It was like watching a man possessed; Joel stood, leering over you as he pulled off his shirt, undoing his fly in one swift motion. He pulled you towards him, letting you sit up so that he could strip you of your own clothing. You shimmied out of your skirt before lifting your arms up to let him take your shirt off. He threw it to the side, and your hands drifted over the bulge in his jeans. You looked up at him, batting your lashes.

“Christ, you’ll kill me.” Joel took hold of your hands, throwing them behind you and encouraging you to lie back down. His hands kneaded your thighs, pulling them open again so that he could situate himself between them. You watched him free his cock from the confines of the denim, your lips parting and mouth watering.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about Joel’s cock before; it was the subject of all your fantasies. But now, watching him stroke himself above you, you felt unbridled desperation take hold of you. His hand wrapped around the base of his thick length, tip flushed red and veins running down the sides—you had never wanted anything more in your life.

You wiggled your hips, the pitiful noises you made doing nothing to encourage him to fuck you, only making him laugh over you.

“Told you to use your words,” Joel leaned over you, hand wrapping around your cheeks to certify that your focus was on him, “or do you just like bein’ difficult?”

You hummed at the way he spoke, thick accent coating the filth he said in sweet molasses. You blinked at him in faux innocence, “Can I have your cock?”

“Where are your manners, girl?”

“Please, Mr. Miller,” you spoke slowly, purposefully giving your voice a sultry edge, “can I have your cock?”

Joel straightened, taking his cock and running it through your folds, letting you coat him in your cum. “That’s what you want, sweetheart?” You felt him press his tip to your entrance, “Need this young cunt nice and full of my cock?”

Your restraint faltered, now purely focused on getting what you needed, and you couldn’t help the whimpers you let out, or the way your once teasing words turned into sobs of “please, please, please!”

Joel pushed his length into you, letting you acclimate to the feeling inch by inch; his brow furrowed, eyes closed, and your mouth fell open at the way he speared you so perfectly. “Goddamn, so fuckin’ tight f’me,” Joel groaned, bottoming out. His dominance faded slightly when he brushed the hair out of your face, “Feel good?”

“So full…” You breathed out, your hand falling flat against Joel’s lower stomach.

“S’what you wanted, ain’t it?” Joel bent himself forward, pressing his cock into you further, and you moaned out. “Wanted to get filled nice ‘nd deep?” There was that authority.

You nodded, nose brushing against his. “Fuck me—please fuck me.” You mewled, now accustomed to the stretch and longing to feel him wreck you. “Want you to break me, Mr. Miller.”

Joel let out an ungodly growl, immediately beginning to thrust in and out of you. “Fuckin’ slut—this what you needed? Big fuckin’ cock stretching this pussy out?” He lifted your legs over his shoulders, the angle lifting your bottom half off the bed and giving him more space to pound into you. “Pretty young thing doesn’t know what to do with this kind of attention, huh?”

His taunts had a shred of truth to them; your tongue lolled out from your mouth, spit drifting down over your cheek, and your eyes, though hooded, couldn’t hide how they rolled back with every deep push of his cock. You whined, trying to string together a sentence as best you could, but all you could manage was a continuous chant of “yes, yes, yes.”

“So pretty when you’re getting’ fucked,” Joel rambled, unable to keep his thoughts to himself when your pussy squeezed him tight, “you like this, princess? Like lettin’ a man twice your age use your cunt like this?”

You moaned, arching your back in wordless approval. Joel wasn’t satisfied with this, pulling out and smacking his cock against your clit.

“Asked you a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You cried out for him. “Yes! Yes, I fucking love it—please, I’m sorry, keep going!”

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.” Joel reached around you, gently maneuvering you onto your stomach. “Put your knees up for me, baby.” You obliged, tucking your knees under yourself and keeping your back arched for him. He slid back into you, the head of his cock nestled perfectly against your g-spot in this position. You felt hands pull the hair off your neck, and Joel came closer to whisper in your ear, “Can I fuck you like this, darlin’?”

You hummed an affirmative, “Yes, please,” and pushed yourself back against him, letting the curve of your ass rest against his hips. Joel grabbed at the skin of your hips, squeezing at the soft flesh and watching the way your ass bounced against him.

“Fuck—yeah, like that, honey, that’s right. Fuck yourself on my cock.” You sped up, eager to impress Joel with your servility and delighting in the way you could feel every inch and vein of his thick cock with every movement you made. You rested your head on the mattress, arms spread out above you, and you could hear Joel’s deep moans of approval and praise.

“So perfect for me, s’so good.” His head fell back and his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass. He began to guide your hips at a faster pace; big hands holding your waist, pulling you flush against him. He watched with dark eyes the way you squirmed on him during an especially deep thrust, the way your fingers grasped at whatever they could find and your moans got higher in pitch when he fucked into your sweet spot.

“Feels so fucking good, Mr. Miller.” You mumbled into the bedsheets, voice uneven with the way your body bounced with every push of his hips, “you feel so good.”

“Needy girl, you feel good?” Joel cooed, “you gonna cum for me again? Let me feel you soak my cock?” He sped up his movements, his fingers moving down your body to apply pressure to your sensitive clit. Your toes curled, eyes watering at the overwhelming enjoyment that coursed through you; you lost any remaining control you had, legs uncurling beneath you, mouth producing whimpered gibberish. Joel held your now straight legs, using them as leverage to force himself deeper into your cunt. “My good girl, there you go. Cum for me, darlin’, lemme feel you squeeze me nice ‘nd tight. Show me again how fuckin’ pretty you look when you cum for Mr. Miller.”

You felt your legs tremble, eyes shut tight and pathetic, wanton moans escaping you. His fingers continued to massage your clit and with one last thrust of his cock you felt yourself let go completely. You screamed out cries of his name, whole body shaking around him as he continued to fuck you through the intensity of your climax.

“Fuck—fuck, so good—perfect fuckin’ girl.” Joel groaned, leaning forward to press his chest into your back, each thrust sloppier than the last as he approached his own release. “Where do you want my cum, sweetheart—tell me what you want.” He was practically begging, so close to his high, awaiting your command.

“Cum in me,” you spoke barely above a whisper, “please cum in me, Mr. Miller—need it, please.” Your legs still trembled from the aftershock of your orgasm, the light, airy feeling clouding your mind, coming down to earth only to provide necessary details; “On the pill.”

Joel kissed your neck from his perch behind you, thrusts messy and cock throbbing. “Yeah? Gonna let me cum inside you, princess? Fill this pussy up, fuckin’ mark you?” He got faster, sloppier still, and you whined in encouragement. He pushed himself deep into you, and you felt his cock stir when he let out a low groan of your name, coating your walls with his spend, rocking his hips against you to keep his load deep.

He slumped over you, breathing hard. You reached a hand up to pull gently on his hair. “Heavy.” He smiled through his gulps of air, slipping his cock out of you with a hiss, rolling off of you and pulling you against his side. Your hand cupped his cheek while his own hand roamed the side of your body.

“Was that—do you feel good, darlin’? Wasn’t too rough, was I?” His other hand came up to stroke your hair, eyes searching you for signs of hurt or regret.

“Perfect,” you kissed his chest, “felt perfect.” You felt his cum dripping out of you, thighs coated with the sticky moisture.

“Yeah?” Joel smirked, nosing the top of your head. He removed his hand from your hair, dipping down between your legs and pushing a finger into you to feel the slick mess you'd both made. “Then what do you say?” His hand came up to your face.

You cuddled closer to him, letting the heat and sweat from his body sink into yours before wrapping your lips around his offered finger and tasting the milky combination of your cum and his. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut

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sinning-23 · 2 months ago

Text

Publicity Pt.1

HEYYYY everyone how we feeling about the introoo?

*crickets*

Lmao okay so what this is a bit of a indulgent fic I don't CAREEE! As a gorilaz fan I'm coming up on almost 2 years damn near 3 of NO CONTENT IM GOING INSANE-

Also- the events in terms of line phases are sort of out of order? Like I know the lore lol but I’m kinda also free forming this shit lol? Stay w me now-

Hopefully this finds someone like me who was also crazing some good fucking food! Heres the first official part!

ENJOY!~

Wordcount: a lot lol

Warnings: smoking, language, mention of marijuana, blood/nosebleed, y/n is a dirty little snoop

Link to Intro: Publicity (Introduction)

Link to Publicity Pt.2

Now in the muffled parking garage, 2D's lanky build slinks to the passenger side of the car to which he opens your door.

'A gentleman, thank the stars' You think to yourself, the notion quickly being overpowered by the next thought.

'Why the FUCK are there bullet holes in this door?!' You gulp, brows furrowing at the damage.

It's like the owl can sense your panic and speaks. He even shrieks like one for a second.

"Ah, 's not mine! Murdoc let me use 'is car, not sure why? Can' see too good, but I made 'it here alrigh'." 2D explains, your heart faltering anxiously.

Again…

THERE ARE PEOPLE YOU CAN HIRE FOR THIS!

Today was proving to have quite enough excitement. What you wanted…no needed was a bath and a fuckin blunt.

Your carry on growing heavy on your arm. But then that too is soon gone when he offers to take it and pop it in the trunk. Reluctantly agreeing, he slides your bag off gently, watching your skeptical demeanor as you eyeball the car interior.

The roof is scratched up, with splotches of all kinds painting it, mainly dingy white and brown. The seats are about the same, dirtied with shoe prints and stains.

With worn leather, the fabric peels off the stitching along the seams and scratches the flesh of your exposed thighs when you cautiously sit down.

Sticky

A chill rises up against your spine as you fight the urge to hold your breath, crinkle your nose, wrench, or a combination of the three. You breathe in deep, the rolled down window giving you some sense of peace and 2D struggles to start the car. He gives an awkward smile before clearing his throat and trying again, this time the engine rumbling to life.

And then he does it,

One hand briefly pushed bright, blue hair out his face before slinging around the back of your seat. The other skilfully grips the wheel. His eyes squint briefly, jaw defined as he chews his bottom lip in concentration. Then there's the flex of his arm, the veins a bit prominent as you ogle him.

Heeeee’s lowkey fine now that you're taking the time to observe. The voice might just grow on you too.

"Won' be long before we're at the studio," He informs, albeit a bit nervous.

You only nod, the slight awkwardness rising in your chest.

"I-I see. Uh, I appreciate you coming, my team and I are usually a lot more coordinated than this! Been a while I suppose." You admit, fidgeting with the peeling leather seat, picking some off with your nails.

He gives you a wide, gap-toothed smile before reaching over to the glove compartment. You freeze for a moment not wanting to break his concentration as he multitasks driving and fishing something out of the storage space.

“Ah, sorry love-.” He hums, his forearm brushing your legs briefly as he retrieves the carton of cigarettes and pushes the door closed.

For something you would have considered a bad habit look strangely good hanging from his lips. He lights his, offering you the open box but you decline. The blue-ette visibly relaxed, one hand steering while the other rests on the middle console.

Shit he was pretty, especially in the lighting of the California sunset. Part of you wanted to tell him that, strike up more of a conversation. Would that be weird?

“Y’ staring miss. Somefin’ wrong?” He speaks, the gap warping his words.

You go to speak but he adds on.

“S’ real honor to work wi’ you. You’re quite talented mm?” He says it as more of a statement than anything, a teasing one?

Like he knows that you know that you’re talented. You giggle, waving your hand as you find yourself becoming more comfortable.

“I’m surprised you guys responded, I was a fan in my teens, my dad took me to a concert then.” You explain, gazing off into the road ahead.

You missed him.

“I supposed you inspired me to even get into music in the first place. God that voice when I first heard it.” You continue, not feeling the pitch black gaze on your frame, taking you in.

“I almost forgot how much I liked your songs, listened to your whole discography on the plane.” You hum in admiration, your hands fiddling with each other.

Whoa what the hell?? Was that necessary to explain your obsession as a kid??? The word vomit just wouldn’t stop!

“I got home from that concert, oh I was obsessed. But then you guys disappeared and I got so busy building a career I could hardly keep up with the new stuff. Hearing it again, was so comforting.” You end, looking up just to find his eyes wide and already on you.

His got his look in his eye, the cigarette smoke flicking around his face as a faint red tints it. Maybe it’s the lighting? Your stomach flips when you catch his gaze flicker down, almost missing it when he does.

“Whoa! We’re ‘ere!” He chokes out, foot slamming the breaks.

!BANG!

Your body flies forward, face hitting the dash. Maybe instead of being so skeptical about getting in, a seatbelt would have been a better idea.

“AH! I-I’m sorry are you okay miss?!” Panic spreads through 2D’s body as you clutch your face in your hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First impressions are very important. Think of it like an interview! You want to make a good image for yourself and your character. Which senario is the proper way to greet someone you’ve never met before?

A. “Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you” with a firm handshake and smile

B. Holding your now bleeding nose while the lead singer of your favorite band as a teen panics and shoves handfuls of half-melted ice onto your face

C. A loud shrieking "HI" which comes out gargled and waving with a hand covered in melted ice and blood

D. Both B and C

It was a fucking nightmare. After 2D had damn near concussed you with the slam of the breaks, your head flew foreward faster than you could process leaving you bloodied and aching.

He rushed you into the house, rambling on and on about how he was sorry and that ice should do the trick, and that he would help you get a paper towel. You did your best to plug your nose but it was like a fuckin faucet and your hands were beginning to get sticky.

He’s guiding you with slender fingers, instructing you to tilt your head down whilst grabbing a handful of ice and wrapping it in a paper towel.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I dunno why I did tha’ you was just- the breaks I- oh no!” 2D rambles, voice raised an octave as he glanced down at the blood staining his own hands.

“GOU WASH TOUR HANSh!” You sputter, nudging him with your elbow, ice falling in the process.

You sigh heavily, turning to look for a fresh paper towel, but make direct eye contact with 3 other people.

“HI!” You gargle, eyes widening in embarrassment.

It could not get any worse-

A thud sounded from behind you aligned with a wet-sounding 'shwip' and a yelp. 2D just slipped like a fucking cartoon character on your melted, bloody ice.

“What a splendid firs’ impression huh?” Murdoc chuckles, hands clasped together menacingly.

You're quick to wash your hands and wipe what's left of the nosebleed away before helping the lead singer up.

"We jus' got in..." He explains shoulders slumped now as he steps away from you, quickly pulling his hand out of yours.

Ouch?

His eyes sort of drain and he somewhat curls into himself. There's a bit of silence as you shuffle, swallowing hard before realizing that you'd never seen Noodle or anyone else in person.

"Hi! Sooo sorry about all this, freak accident really! It’s so nice to meet you finally!" You announce, stepping forward, only to be cut off by the slightly taller green man who had an ungodly amount of cologne on.

He's got this crooked smile, one that is slightly upturned as his eyes narrow at you.

"Pleasures' all mine darling, pleasure indeed." He grumbles, looking you up and down as you nod slowly.

"Y/n! Yes, very nice to meet you! I see you've already met 2D. This is Russel, and that's Murdoc" Noodle introduces, gesturing to the two members beside her.

“Wanna see the house?” She offers and you can’t help but nod.

From the outside it looked sort of small but interior was pretty damn spacious-

Murdoc had redirected his attention to 2D, who was trying to make himself look smaller. You can’t help but want to linger and thank him for the help. His eyes meet yours but look away just as fast, your heart sinking a bit. Doesn't matter.

You follow behind Noodle, striking up a bit of conversation with Russel who decided to join the two of you.

"There's an extra guest room here! Figure I be easier for you to just stay here than some suit and have to drive back and forth." Noodle explains. The room is pretty standard and decorated quite eclectically.

She guides you up a set of stairs towards everyone else's rooms and a large recording studio. You relax, the feeling of being back in one of these overwhelming. The keyboard catches your eyes first and you let your fingertips dance across the top, then to a set of guitars, last the drumset, a bit worn with a couple stickers on them.

The recording booth was empty, a microphone and headset hanging from the center and you let yourself travel inside. Your stomach turns a bit, remembering how grueling hours of recording could be. How hard you pushed yourself hoping to sound better than the last take.

Straining your vocal cords to the max, scribbling lyrics into your book before capping the page altogether. You glance a bit past the glass at the synthesizers, the buttons and switches make your fingers twitch. Editing your own shit was no easy feat either.

"When do we plan to start? I wanna try and prepare beforehand if that's alright?" you inquire, making Russel smile.

"I like that attitude. We been in here working a bit here and there, I don't think Mudz wants to start just yet."

Noodle nods at Russel's explanation.

"You can use this whenever, though! This'll be your home for a bit so get comfortable," She nods, clasping her hands together before approaching you.

"You have no idea how nice it is to have another woman in the house." Her eyes are wide, the grip on your wrist unrelenting.

You smile and give an understanding nod. As far as you remember from your research, Noodle's been with these guys since she was little, and much like your family, being around them too much can be....a lot.

The house tour was nice and you had decided to head back downstairs to unpack. However, the door down the hall had caught your attention again. Yeah, snooping was bad everyone knew that.

Curiosity did kill the cat. You wait for Noodle and Russel to descend down the stairs before swiftly turning back towards that room. You take a breath, reaching for the doorknob before gripping it.

Fuck...no. No, you just got here you weren't going to disrespect these people by going into his room because you just HAD to see. You knew better than that!

.....

...

You step over discarded clothes and shoes turning to look around as you take in everything his room has to offer. The unmade bed makes you chuckle as you observe the slew of horror and thriller posters mounted to the walls along with the occasional Playboy model.

Not bad.

The smell of cigarettes and something sweet linger the longer you stay. Beside the nightstand were a few empty cans, a empty condom, and discarded pill bottles, one of which was open and spilling little round tablets.

You step back, gazing briefly into the bathroom which was a total wreck, more clothes and shoes discarded on the floor along with a half empty toothpaste tube on the counter decorated with empty bottles an skin care. In the sink was a model cruise ship and leaning against the cabinet a... cricket bat? Huh.

Alright, you'd snooped enough and feel a bit of the impending doom of being caught catch up to you. Shaking your head, you head to exit the room just to come face to face with the very person it belong too.

"Were...why're you in my room?" He questions, face heating quickly, his owl like eyes only widening further.

2D's hands pick at his jeans as he searches your glossy eyes for answers. Your mouth agape like a fawkin fish. You sputter, looking behind you, then back at him.

Shit shit shit!

"U-Uh this is your room? I'm sorry I was just um..I was looking forrrr the studio! Yeah!" Youre trying not to let the panic seep through your voice.

He's not buying it

"I didn't mean to come in here I wasn't paying attention and by time I realized and came out haha, uh youu were standing RIGHT here!" You ramble, releasing the door know. Fuck he's on to you, the slow nod he gives only making the air more awkward.

"Righ' then..." He continues, his arm easily sneaking just past your side and to the doorknob.

Your faces are insanely close, and in some sort of awkward and weird feeling dance, you swap places, spinning around one another, not once breaking eye contact. For a moment his arm brushes your side but you shake it off, the brief warmth making you dizzy.

"Stu'io 's that way." He states, tilting his head in the direction of the room.

Your heart in your throat, the sudden proximity making you shiver, swallowing down what you could only pinpoint as embarrassment. Ok, ok, maybe you were safe and he believed it. Good thing you would be downstairs in the guest room for the most part.

"Righ-uh Right! Thank-" Before you can finish he closes his door.

Dude what the fuck! What was that? The bastard is all awkward and sweet when you alone with that stupid accent and that adorable gap.

His stupid hand tilting your head over the dumb nosebleed that HE causes. That fucking voice crack and the slip and fall and- and now he's all of a sudden got this cold shoulder? Hell he even sounds different, what is that about?!

You scoff and follow through with your original plan. Go downstairs and unpack...

But how could you unpack, when they still haven't delivered your luggage to the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2D was a lot of things, well according to what eveyone else had told him. He hadn't thought much about what he thinks about himself, finding it more of a downward spiral than anything. Obedient maybe? He had a knack for doing what he was told, even if he didn't want to. Well most the time it wasn't like he had a choice either. Murdoc was notorious for making him do things. Hittin him too when he didn't do it...or even when he did. That's besides the point though.

Upon request, he was told to escort you from the airport back to the studio which seemed easy enough, but he couldn't quite remember the last time he wasn't in the passenger or backseat. Suppose today was the time to test his driving skills.

And the whole fiasco at the terminal threw him off yeah, but seeing you was worth the trouble. He didn't get time to take you in since the fans got a bit wild but he did get his fill on the car ride back.

He doesn't think he's ever seen someone so pretty. Just effortlessly mind you. It wasn't like you were trying to come off any way either. Especially not with how you initially reacted to the car.

AH right the car.

He didn't mean to make you smash your face he just got nervous is all! Who stares at someone like that while they're driving?! Reflexes got he best of him and BANG!

Peeling his shirt off and laying down now, he relives the last few hours with your presence. And Murdoc of course had to come and try some funny flirty shit. How typical.

But then, that awkward door altercation, god it sent chills up his spine. It wasn't like he cared you were in his room just....shit he wished he'd tidied up before if he knew.

You must think he's gross...boy that'd be a bummer. But you didn't seem grossed out when he saw you come out, just...shocked?

Like you'd be caught doing something you weren't supposed to. He liked that you keep eye contact too. Most folks avoid his gaze, think he's scary.

Not you though, it’s like you can't STOP looking at them and sometimes he wishes you would. No one had ever kept it long enough for him to feel some kind of way about it. Sitting up he plucks the melodica off the side of his bed and plays a few keys.

Already looking for the studio? Hadn't Noodle and Russel just shown you where it was before he got up here? 2D's brows furrow as he thinks about each individual face you made at him today, especially back at the airport.

He's gotten so used to being stared at he can tell when someones doing it from miles away...and you were watching him like a hawk when he pulled out he parking spot.

Had you-

*knock* *knock*

He hesitates to speak but soon replies with a faint, "Yeah?"

Response not fast enough, so he sighs heavily, tossing the instrument aside before swinging the door open and leaning against the frame.

"Hey sorry I...oh."

There you stand, eyes shifting so quickly from his face, them down, then back up again.

"Ahhh i just- yep, sorry goodnight!" You sputter, turning on your heel just as quickly as you came before finding your way down the stairs, shutting the light off behind you.

He can hear your door close with a thud as he stand in the frame of his own more confused that ever.

"Night?"

A/N: Ayeeee pary one is completeee!cI wanna make thisshit kinda awkward between 2d and the reader lol like thyeyre both in the early stages of catching feelings and neither of them really know it yet? They tryna keep it professional fa now buttt let see what happens when they get to that studio togetherrrrr.

#x reader #reader is black #i don't care he's hot #headcannons #hes so hot #smut #blurb #2d x reader #2d gorillaz #2D gorillaz x reader #gorillaz russel #gorillaz x reader #gorillaz noodle #murdoc gorillaz #gorillaz #gorillaz headcanons

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melodylsimpson · 2 years ago

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Melanin in YA

Imagine a space where you can easily find the next YA book written by a Black author to add to your TBR list. Best of all, amongst that book are an endless amount of other YA books waiting to be discovered by you, all written by Black authors. In that same space, you can find out if any of these authors have a book event near you or will be attending a festival / convention near you. In that same space, you can find out their NYT bestseller stats, book to screen adaptation details, a list of Black audiobook narrators to listen to, a detailed list of Black literary agents to query, Black bookish social media influencers to follow, Black led bookish podcasts to subscribe to, Black owned bookstores to visit and so much more.

That space is Melanin in Y.A. A database for all things Black in traditional young adult publishing. It acts as a no excuses cross-referencing tool for industry professionals, press, readers, writers, students, educators, librarians, program administrators and more. It’s available to you 24/7 for free.

I, Melody Simpson, created Melanin in YA in August 2020 and have been running it entirely by myself from day one. I really want to hire an intern to help me out because maintaining and promoting this is a lot but I’m tapped out on funds and cannot afford an intern right now. Though I am in desperate need of one and would never ask anyone to do the amount of work that I need done without paying them. If you’d like to help in that regard, you can do so here (gofundme) and no donation is too small, thank you so much. If you’d like to help out in other ways, can you please do any of the following below to help amplify this invaluable resource?

1) Follow and/or repost/retweet Melanin in YA content on Instagram or Twitter

2) Shop merch at Shop Melanin in YA

3) Send the melanininya.com link to your English teachers / professors, librarians, favorite booksellers, colleagues, fellow book club members, anyone you know who loves books, anyone you know who values diversity, equity and inclusion, and everyone you think could use this resource.

Full transparency, when Melanin in YA first launched, there was lots of excitement around it. But it’s been quite the struggle to get people to talk about this resource and share this resource outside of moments in time, say other than Black History Month or when something tragic doesn’t happen to Black people and makes it to mainstream news. I appreciate your support 365 days a year. Especially during a time when Black YA books are being banned more than ever before. This resource is so necessary. Your support is so necessary. It means so, so much.

Thank you.

#books #yalit #melanin #blackgirlmagic #blackcreatives #blacktumblr #reading #writing #literature #publishing #blackcommunity #fortheculture #blackisbeautiful #library

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a-heart-attack-ow · 11 months ago

Text

The Arrangement. Part Eleven

Part Ten

Part Eleven:

It all happened so fast.

Too fast to process.

The funerals, the press, Colby’s new position within the family estate. In a matter of weeks, everything as we knew it had changed and neither of us had time to really understand it. Colby’s new position was being treated with the utmost thought and with as much media attention as possible. Everyone treated him like a king ascending his throne and in a way he was. It was only when he became the new CEO that I understood the level of attention we were going to be under. Suddenly photographers were stationed outside of our estate, lenses poking through the gate at all hours. Colby hired his associates as bodyguards to watch over us, but more specifically me. What had happened to his parents had rattled him to his core and he’d been more desperate to keep me safe.

Treating me like glass that’s about to shatter.

Now, at 18 weeks pregnant, my bump had popped enough to be nearly impossible to hide. I had lost so much weight since entering into my arranged marriage and now it was shifted to my stomach. I place my hands on my stomach and breathe a deep sigh as I look out the window of our living room. My eyes focus on the hedge maze I’d walked through weeks ago, my eyes filling with tears at the memory of what I’d witnessed. I jump when I hear the loud pop of a cork being pulled out of a wine bottle.

The memory of what happened had left me rattled too.

I should be happy my in-laws are gone, but I’m not. I never wanted anyone to get hurt. I just wanted people to be good to one another. I just wanted to operate on kindness and make the world a better place.

“Emilia?”

Sam’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts and brings me back to the present. I look at him as he fills his glass of wine. He’d noticed the way I jumped at the popping sound, his face sympathetic. I try to smile back at him, but I know it's not believable. I look at the stack of papers on our coffee table and remember that he and I had been planning the next event I was going to attend.

“I’m sorry Sam. I spaced out for a minute.”

My voice sounds rough, my throat burning as I attempt to not cry. My emotions had been out of whack for a multitude of reasons and I knew he understood. Sam nods and hands me a bottle of water before sitting on the couch across from me. I look at the stacks of paper and breathe a deep sigh. I didn’t want to do this right now.

But I had to.

“We can do this another time Emilia. Colby will be home any second anyway and I doubt he’ll want to spend his time with you stressing about appearances.”

My eyes move to the clock hanging on the wall behind Sam, noting that it’s quarter to five. Colby’s new position gave him new hours that I hadn’t adjusted to. Before we were together nearly all of the time and now he was out of the house by 7:30 and back home by 5:00. I nod wordlessly as I stand up from the chair quickly, ready to go into the kitchen and cook something, but when I do I feel a little dizzy.

My knees start to buckle, but Sam is quick to catch me in his arms. The moment he does we freeze, his eyes locking with mine for a moment. I see something flicker in his eyes as he takes a second to look down at my lips before meeting my gaze once more. As we look at each other I think of the last conversation I had with my mother-in-law;

“Ever since they were children, the boys shared everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if they shared you too.”

Unease washes over me as I laugh uncomfortably. Pulling back a little.

“Thank you Sam, I stood up too quickly.”

I explain myself, but he looks at me with the same desire unwavering. He places a hand on the side of my face and sighs. Under his gaze I feel my breathing hitch. Neither of us speaks as he moves in closer, his lips nearing mine. For a moment I freeze, unsure of what to do, but he stops himself.

Just as his lips graze mine.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and took a step back. I hadn’t kissed him back, but I still felt like I’d done something wrong.

“Sam…”

I whisper, my eyes wide as he licks his lips. It’s taking everything inside of him to control himself. But I decided to move back once more, not in the mood to tempt him further.

“... Please don’t start this. I love Colby.”

He nods, contemplating my words before sighing.

“I know you do, but there’s something here. Between the two of us and I know you can feel it too. I saw it in your eyes just now. Don’t act like this is all one sided.”

He speaks calmly, but I’m completely unnerved. I did find Sam attractive and I did have a connection with him. But I knew who I was in love with and I wasn’t going to mess that up.

“Please. I can’t do this Sam.”

My voice is a warning, my hands up in defense as I take a step around him. I don’t look back as I do this, keeping my eyes forward even though I know he’s following me. He takes my hand in his as we reach the entrance way by the front door and he spins me to face him. When he does he gives me a look of apology. I can tell that he wants to say sorry but when he goes to speak the front door opens. As it does I pull my hand from his and shoot him a look that tells him to back off.

I turn my attention to the front door and meet the pale blue eyes of my husband, who looks between the two of us with suspicion. His eyes fixate on his brother, before narrowing. I know he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He clenches his jaw for a moment before turning his attention back to me. Whatever suspicion he has subsides when he sees the look on my face. A silent plea for him to know that nothing has happened.

Because nothing happened.

He sighs before speaking, trying to emulate whatever mood he’d been in before opening the door. Turning slightly, he reveals someone behind him and my heart stops. Standing behind Colby is the man I gave up my life for. The only reason I agreed to marry into the Brock family madness.

My Father.

He stands behind Colby, slightly shorter and so much skinnier than the last time I’d seen him. Wherever my in-laws had kept my father they hadn’t treated him well. He stood before me, rail thin and graying at the crown of his head. He’d grown a beard and looked dirty. My eyes move over him, memorizing every single detail about my father.

As if I was seeing him for the first time.

I noted how he looked at me with equal awe. Compared to him, I was much better off. Standing before him in my designer maternity clothing, sporting not one, but three of the diamond rings my husband had given me. I probably looked like a doll to him, all done up and pretty thanks to Kris and Celina. Nothing like the poor college kid I’d been over a year ago.

“Dad?” Is all I can say in shock before being unable to stop myself from crying. I ignore both Sam and Colby as I practically run into my father’s arms. He wraps me in an embrace and starts sobbing as hard as I am. For a moment we hold each other as tightly as we can. Almost like we’re afraid we’ll be split apart if we don’t hold onto each other for dear life. After a few minutes, he pulls back to look at me and smiles.

“Are you okay lia?”

He asks using my nickname, the one I used as a child when I couldn’t pronounce my full name yet. Apparently Emilia was a hard name for me to say at two years old. I nod looking back at him, sad that he’s asking about me when he looked so rough. I look at his left ear and feel my blood run cold.

It was missing.

I think a part of me wanted to believe that my in-laws hadn’t actually hurt my father. That somehow the severed ear in the mail had been fake. After all, I hadn’t seen the ear myself, but I now realized that it wasn’t fake. Here he stood, without an ear because I’d spoken too much at dinner.

Maybe it was for the best that they were gone.

I try not to let the thought overtake me. Something that is greatly helped when my father looks down at my stomach. Shock overtakes him for a moment as he realizes that his baby is having a baby. For a moment, I don’t know if he’s going to be angry that the son of the family he’d stolen money from and tortured him had knocked up his daughter, but he appears to be overjoyed as he gives me another firm hug.

“Oh lia, you’re going to be the best mom.”

He mumbles against my head as he gives me a kiss in the same place. It felt so nice to have him here with me, but a part of me was worried that this was too good to be true. This time when I pull back to look at my father, I glance over at my husband. Colby looks back at me with a big smile on his face, a look that calms any worry I’d felt.

“Thank you.”

I say shakily, my eyes still watering. Colby nods, giving me a light pat on the back. He studies me for only a moment before looking at my father.

“You’re going to stay here. Until the house next door has been remodeled to your liking. Once that happens you’re more than welcome to come visit whenever you want. I’ve created a position for you within the family business and I’m going to make sure you want for nothing sir…” Colby pauses looking from my father to me. It’s then he looks at me, with the sweetest expression he’d ever given me. A look that makes me want to melt onto the floor. A look I’d always dreamed of getting from him. Right now I was in awe of his kindness and what I knew it would mean for my father.

For the life he’d been living before this.

“... Because of you, I’m married to the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. And I know that nothing I do can ever make up for what my family did to you. But I want to try because you raised Emilia to be who she is today and I’m beyond lucky to call her my wife.”

My father looks at Colby with gratitude. He doesn’t know what to say to that, but I can tell by the way that he looks from my husband to me that he approves of our union.

Even if how we got here wasn’t ideal.

At this moment, everything feels perfect and’m thankful beyond words. At this moment, I feel like my life has some semblence of normalcy.

–

I finished catching up with my father at around 10:00 before I decided it was time for me to head to bed. Colby had headed upstairs a few hours earlier so my father and I could catch up. Something I greatly appreciated. It had been so long since I spoke with my father and we had so much to catch up on. So much that I knew tonight alone wouldn’t be enough time to cover it all. I find myself smiling as I open my bedroom door and tuck myself inside. Once inside I find my shirtless husband sitting at his writing desk, his face focused on a document as he holds his glass of whiskey in his right hand. He looks up at me as I walk further into our room.

“Thank you Colby. I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you for what you did.”

He smiles at my words, placing his glass down on the desk.

“You don’t have to repay me. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. I would’ve had him to you sooner, but I had to find where my parents had hidden him…”

He pauses, shaking his head as he mentally recalls the process. I couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through over the past two weeks. Losing his parents and then taking over the family business had taken a toll on him. Not only that, but I knew that he was now aware of all of the shit his family had done. Now that he had access to everything, he knew all their dirty secrets and I couldn’t imagine what that was like for him.

“... Anyway, it’s nice to have him here and to see you so happy.”

When he speaks I know there’s something he’s not telling me, but I know that it’s probably work related and I didn’t want to take that on if he wasn’t comfortable. Instead, I join him over at his desk, but feel my heart stop when I see what he’s looking at. He doesn’t speak as he leans back in the chair, allowing me better access to see what he’s been studying. I feel his hand take mine in his, as he looks at the wedding rings I’m wearing. On his desk is a photograph of Sam and I, from earlier.

When Sam’s lips had ghosted along mine for a moment.

From this angle it looks like we are kissing, my body in his as he’d held me up after I’d almost fallen. The photograph doesn’t show that I didn’t kiss him back. It doesn’t show that I’d moved away from Sam before anything could happen. The photograph doesn’t catch me telling him not to do this because I loved Colby. No, the photograph looks like I’m kissing Sam willingly. Like we’re two lovers stealing a moment while my husband is away at work. I don’t speak as Colby guides me to sit in his lap, his lips on my neck.

“My whole life I’ve had to share with Sam…”

He starts, his lips gently sucking my neck. My eyes flutter closed as I lean my head back, giving him better access to my neck. An action that makes him hum in amusement.

“... Do I have to share you too?”

My heart is beating in my chest, so loud that I’m sure he can hear it. I feel my breathing gets uneven as he lightly moves his hands along my arms. Chills are left in the wake of his fingertips and I can’t think straight as he continues to suck the same spot.

“This picture isn’t what it looks like.”

I attempt to explain myself, but when I do the gentle sucking ceases and is replaced by a playful bite from his teeth. A bite that tells me to stop talking.

“Corey took the picture while he was patrolling the grounds. Told me all about how you pushed Sam away. Told me that Sam didn’t seem to want to listen, but did because you weren’t interested.”

I mentally thank Corey for seeing the whole situation and giving context because it really wasn’t what it seemed to be in that photograph. But the photograph didn’t seem to catch that brief moment before Sam tried to kiss me. That brief moment where we stared at each other and tension built.

“Are you angry?”

I whimper as his fingers move to the back of my dress, slowly unzipping the back of it. The air touching my back is cool and sends a shiver up my spine as his lips move to my spine. Soft kisses go up my spine, slowly as he tugs the dress sleeves off of my arms. Once that’s done, he pulls the front of my dress down, exposing my bare chest. The cool air causes my nipples to harden, something he uses to his advantage as his hands reach around me, his fingertips slowly toying with them. As he starts toying with my nipples, a needy breath escapes me. A faint pant that escapes me as I lean into his touch, my body falling back to lean against him. He uses this as a chance to focus his attention back on my neck. Resuming the sweet, sensual assault on my neck.

“Should I be?”

He asks, his voice rough like gravel. The sound alone makes me moan, earning another chuckle from Colby. He moves his lips from my neck and stares at me as I glance over my shoulder. Once our eyes meet and he sees how hot and bothered I am, he bites down on his bottom lip. Quietly contemplating what he wants to do with me next.

While I wait patiently to see what happens next.

The tension building between the both of us is so thick that I feel like I could cut it like a knife. The look of mischief in his eyes tells me that he’s enjoying the buildup between the two of us.

“I’m yours. Only yours. I don’t want you to share me with anyone else.”

My words are muffled by the sensation of his lips on mine. His lips don’t break away from mine as he turns me to face him, my chest against his. The kiss is intoxicating, our skin on fire as we remain locked together. It didn’t matter how many times we ended up like this, because every time only made me want him more. I meant what I said. I didn’t want him to share me with his brother, he was the only person I wanted and I was frustrated with Sam’s actions making him feel otherwise.

In need of air, I break the kiss and stare at Colby. Both of us are out of breath as we study each other closely.

“Can we hire someone else to help with PR so Sam isn’t the one I’m working with? I think it would be better to get more space. I’m not saying he has to go away, but it would be better for us to spend less time alone. I don’t want him to continue getting the wrong idea.”

Throughout the duration of our marriage I’d asked for very little from my husband. For the most part, I did as was expected and didn’t complain. But I knew this was something I needed. I didn’t want Sam to go, but I couldn’t play this game with him. Colby was my husband and I didn’t want to give Sam the wrong idea.

Even if I felt that flicker he said he saw in my eyes.

As much as I didn’t want to believe it.

I wasn’t going to love Sam the way that he wanted and he needed to get that. I knew that any flicker of feelings I had formed were just because he was the person I spent all of my time with when Colby was away. When Colby and I had our rough seven month patch of distance. It wasn’t anything more and he needed to know that. Colby looks at me closely as if he can read my thoughts, a look of understanding washes over him.

“I already took the liberty of hiring someone new. She’ll start tomorrow and I know you’ll love her.”

I nod and breathe a sigh of relief. Someone new would be best and I hoped Sam would understand.

“What’s her name?”

I ask, Colby’s eyes move the mark he’d formed on my neck. He lightly brushes his thumb over the mark, the tender bruise a satisfying ache. A smirk plays on his lips when he notices how I lean into his touch, despite the ache.

Fucking Masochist.

“Katrina. She’s an ex of Sam’s. I think she will do a good job of distracting Sam. That way he stops looking at my wife.”

The latter part of his sentence sounds possessive and the sound alone causes a chill to move up my spine. Normally possessive men were a turn off, but it was different with Colby. He wasn’t controlling, he just wanted me and only me. Just like I wanted him and only him.

In quiet hesitance I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him in against me, my lips returning to his. His hands find my lower back, holding me against him as I deepen the kiss. Neither of us speaks as we continue kissing, pausing occasionally to catch our breaths before resuming.

I feel the chills move up my spine as his fingertips rubs circles on my thighs, his lips leaving mine. We stare at each other as his eyes search mine.

“I’ve been thinking about you, me, and Nellie…” He pauses, smiling sweetly to himself when he mentions the nickname he’s just created for our daughter.

“... I want us to move out of this house. I want us to start over and have a home that hasn’t been tainted by what’s happened with my parents. I want to move somewhere safer and in a home that we’ve built together. You and I can design it and make it our own. I just want Nellie to grow up in a house that’s actually a home, not just the calculated shell we’ve been living in.”

I study my husband closely, noting how distant his eyes look when he says this. The same look he seemed to get whenever he talked about his parents. His own internal struggle of feeling sad about the loss of two people who’d never treated him the way he deserved to be treated.

“I think that sounds really nice.”

He nods in response, his eyes moving from mine and down to my exposed chest. He bites down on the bottom of his lip, his fingers resuming the small circles on my thighs. The heat of the moment hadn’t passed, but what I really needed from him wasn’t sex. I just wanted him in our bed and to just cuddle. Seeming to read my mind, he lifts me up into his arms and carries me to our bed. Pulling back the blankets, he lays me in the bed before joining me himself. Tucking us in, he plays with my hair and looks down at me as he starts to hum a song I’d never heard before. I feel my eyes get heavy within moments, peace overtaking me. The man laying next to me was my whole world and I couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen next.

I think about how much I love Colby as I feel his other hand rest ontop of my baby bump.

“I can’t wait to meet her Emilia...”

He rasps, as my eyes get heavier. My body drifting off in an exhaustion I hadn’t realized I’d been feeling. The last thing he whispers before I lose consciousness brings me such a sense of bliss that I fall asleep smiling.

“... She’s going to be perfect. Just like you. I’ll never let anyone hurt her the way I was. I promise.”

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #sam and colby #colby brock smut #sam and colby fanfiction #sam and colby smut #colby brock imagine #colby x reader

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terraliensvent · 6 months ago

Note

Not a vent’ asking a question. Out of genuine curiosity do you actually like Terraliens as a species? A majority of CS vent blogs seemingly want the species to die or fail as an end result.

Isn’t the whole point of vent blogs to give people a space to actively point out problems to make the community better as a whole. Reblog to make it die faster or run out of the community feels conflicting to what the blog is actually supposed to achieve. Do you want it to get better? It seems like you do. Or are you actually hoping it gets worse to increase engagement.

So general question would be do you hate Terraliens? What’s the end goal for you? 🤔

this is a loaded question for me at the moment haha

personally, ive been in terras since april 2023, so basically since the start. ive seen every controversy pretty much first hand, was an avid reader of the terra blogs previous to mine, and terras was the first species i put my whole heart in and tried to interact with the community in. initially i really wanted the species to get better, when they had the suggestion threads i was an avid poster

then over and over again mods just kept failing in the simplest of ways. this blog was made february of 2024, a few months after the first psa and ownership change. i still thought terras could be good but there were just too many blockers, esp from coy and civ after learning some behind the scenes info from the psa

then the Reckoning came and i hoped it really would go down, if only that meant making the species totally open

when tycho became owner i really was hopeful considering the facts that previous mods completely disavowed vent blogs like mine, but shortly before he became owner tycho reached out to ask my thoughts on stuff around the species (you can see that in my post about The Reckoning), when the species fell in his lap i honestly thought there was going to be big change. for a while there was, like new assets in the item channels, feedback forms, etc. but then there were also the nagging issues that never went away from before, like hiring friends for staff, weird unspoken rules, and a horrible approval process

for the past few days ive been thinking, man this really doesnt seem like its worth it. the same issues are starting to pop up again, and the mods currently just twist and turn making up their justifications for moving the goalpost. i dont like a lot of the new designs, dont really have any myos i want to make, and im not pulled in by the new events.

my end goal initially when making this blog was that i wanted terras to get better and make the easy changes everyone wanted, but now i think the better course of action would be for it to die. make it an open species and just let people run with it, because over the 2 and a half years of this species there has never once been such an attitude of unity and happiness among terra community than on that one night in april where the species WAS open.

honestly? im days away from voiding all my terras and fucking all the way off (ill still stay in the server though, i couldnt imagine anyone else running this blog and i think its become a necessary place for everyone. i imagine there would be at least some outcry if i were to shut it down, lol). once i finish my current obligations, im trading all my shit. its exhausting to have been doing this back and forth for improvement for over 2 years now, and its just so much more effort than its worth when i could be putting my whole heart into other up-and-coming projects. it hurts when a thing you really loved and found happiness in just has too many glaring issues to ignore

i think its a bad look when most of your oldest members who have been there since near day 1 decide this shit isnt worth it anymore and want to be done with it. its a bad look when someone who cared so much to make full essays about this species on an entire blog dedicated to it decides that its just not worth trying to "fix" anymore.

and i kind of hope a lot of other members come to that same conclusion and cause it to die.

#closed species vent #closed species #terralien #terraliens #not a vent #mod rambles

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lahooozaherr · 2 years ago

Text

I Will Always Find You

Chapter 1

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Kidnapping, dead parent mention, good relationship with parent, drugging (implied)

MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI. AGELESS/BLANK ACCOUNTS WILL BE BLOCKED.

My tag list (instructions & requirements)

Chapter Summary: You’re a princess attending a diplomat event on Naboo with your father, a senator. He enlists his old friend, Greef Karga, to hire the best he knows to be your bodyguard for the week. Meeting the Mandalorian sparks a mutual fascination between you and him.

A/N: This takes place between season 2 and Book of Boba Fett although I do take some liberties with canon. The Razor Crest still exists because obvious reasons. Space birth control is a thing. Trying to bring out the sassy Din I know exists. It’s been over ten years since I’ve written and posted fanfic so please be gentle with me!

Song Inspo: Safety Net by Arianna Grande

Inspo Playlist

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Present Day

Wherever you were, it was dark and humid. Sometimes the sun shined through the small, barred window of the room you were placed in. It had been a few days, or at least that’s what it felt like to you, but you hadn’t kept count. Twice a day, meager rations were placed into your room quickly by someone you never really saw.

You couldn’t help but think how this was such a pathetic way to die. Slowly, but surely, you were losing any hope or will to live and any fight left in you also diminished quickly. The timing of all of this was awful. Saying goodbye to the Mandalorian had left a hole in your heart. Life would just never be the same after him.

If only you had told him how you felt. The thought of that had only made you more depressed, given your current situation. That last goodbye, full of unspoken feelings and confessions that wouldn't leave the confines of your beating chests, was all you could think about, aside from your duties as princess, your relationship with your father, and wanting so badly to help his burden as senator. And all of that amounted to this? What a cruel joke the universe had played on you.

The jingling of keys jerked your attention towards the door. A man you don’t recognize walks in, he is probably the same person who's been bringing you your “meals”, if you can call them that. You remained on the small, creaking bed that had been the only piece of furniture in the room besides a makeshift privy.

“We’re leaving later today,” he leans forward with a cloth and wraps it around your eyes. You don’t bother to say anything, the small bruises on your body are enough evidence that asking questions will get you no answers anyways.

After wrapping the cloth around your head and securing it around your eyes, he grabs your wrists. You hear the click of fasteners and drop your hands to your lap. Finally, you hear his footsteps exit the room and you’re alone again.

What was the point of this? To make sure you can’t tell where you’re being taken? It’s hard to care anymore. That flame of self preservation has been increasingly low and dull the more the days drag on.

You had been kidnapped, you know that much at least. Not by who, though. It had happened on a random stop for fuel and supplies on the way back to your home planet. It was during your walk through the market near that stop, telling your father you’d be quick. The planet seemed safe enough but you’d guess that judgment was wrong, evidently.

The whole event was a blur after you had been grabbed back into an alley, made to smell a cloth and pass out. Since then you’ve been met with sneers and silence from the few you’ve seen of your captors. They didn’t harm you but they also didn’t care how they handled you, thus the bruising. Wherever you were, you could tell it at least housed several of them. This must be where they kept you before they decided what to do with you. For all you knew, they could have taken you to an entirely different planet while you were unconscious.

You’ve wondered if you’d be found. Would the Mandalorian find you? Or is he really long gone? Your father had to have at least tried to contact someone.

You sink back into yourself on the thin mattress, slipping back into a dreamless sleep.

—————————————————————————

Two weeks earlier…

It wasn’t long ago that Din had to leave Grogu with the Jedi. Grief had been a foreign emotion to him until then. So he dealt with it the only way he knew how: distract himself seeking quarries. Greef Karga had plenty of bounties for him under the table while he rebuilt Nevarro.

He made his way towards Karga’s office, weaving through the bustling city Nevarro had become in recent months. Merchants sold their goods and civilians worked together to build and improve their infrastructure.

The communication Karga sent to Din had been vague.

“Come see me when you’re done with this job, I have a new, interesting one for you.”

Din had originally scoffed at the statement. Interesting? Probably more like a headache. Karga was regularly roping him into weird and sometimes, very inconvenient, jobs. But he’d always at least hear him out.

Entering his office, Karga turns to him and smiles, “Mando!” The two clasp arms and shake, their usual greeting to each other. “Please, sit.” Gesturing him to the seat in front of his desk. He sits in his own chair and folds his hands out in front of him.

“I’m assuming you got my message!”

“Yes, saying you had an interesting job. Define interesting?”

Karga laughs, “you know me too well Mando. But I promise, this isn’t the usual ‘interesting’ I bring you on for. However, it is still very important.”

Din crosses his arm and leans back into the chair, tilting his helm to signal him to continue.

“A diplomatic gathering is happening in Naboo, one that I’m attending. A very good friend of mine, who is a senator, is requesting a bodyguard for his daughter. He asked me for my best and most trustworthy guy, and that guy is you.”

Din lightly hums, “a body guard while they’re in Naboo? Doesn’t that seem a bit much?”

“I see what you’re saying, my friend, but there’s more to it. We’ve caught word that a warlord seeks control of their territory and….lineage. It’s very important to him that his daughter’s protection is made a priority.”

“Lineage? Because they’re royalty?”

“That’s correct. She’s a princess. She will also be attending the events, their plan is for her to take on more of a senator role and take her father’s place one day.”

Din mulls the details over in his mind for a moment. Karga was right about it being interesting, but it’s nothing he couldn’t handle. If anything it was interesting that Karga had a friend who was royalty.

Karga continues, “you will be paid, very well if I might add. Your lodging and transportation will also be paid for. You and I will travel together.”

“Why not? Sure, I’ll do it.”

Karga claps his hands and stands up, “excellent! I’ll have my ship prepared and we’ll leave in due time.”

—————————————————————————

Naboo has to be one of your favorite places to visit. Your home planet had its own fair share of greenery, lakes and culture but it wasn’t as much as Naboo. Your family’s bloodline were far off cousins to the royalty here and thus you always had somewhere to stay when you were here.

For the entire week leading up to the trip, you thoroughly prepared yourself. You had classes and meetings to be attending soon and you wanted to do your best to properly represent your homeland. Your father had done well to provide you with everything you’d need, from learning etiquette as a senator but as well as politics and diplomacy.

A spacious room had been provided for you, already filled with some of your possessions and needed materials. You sat at a small vanity in the corner of the room, touching up your hair and makeup. Meetings didn’t start today but you’d be making rounds with your father regardless.

“You can do this,” you mouthed to your reflection in the mirror. You didn’t 100% believe yourself though. There was immense pressure to take on the responsibility, though you knew your father would never force you. You wanted to help him, the most selfless and hardworking man that you looked up to more than anyone else in the galaxy. More than that, you wanted to improve your leadership skills for the sake of your people.

But a nagging feeling you’ve tried to squash in recent years always crept at the back of your mind. Is this what you really want? It was easier to keep that thought in the dark and to not question it. But that became more difficult the older you grew.

Would your father be disappointed in you if you chose another path in life? Probably not. But he was also aging, and that worried you always. Losing your mother a few years ago had seemed to fast track that aging. He is a compassionate and caring leader, and an adoring father, all in spite of losing the love of his life. You struggled with the thought of leaving him to deal with everything on his own.

Suddenly you hear your father knocking at your door, “can I come in?”

“Yes father!” You call out to him. The door to your room slides open. You can see him from behind you in the mirror. His smile is bright and warm, as always when he looks at you. Keeping eye contact with him in the mirror, he comes up behind you and places his hands on your shoulders.

“You remind me so much of your mother.”

“You always say that,” you smile back at him.

“And I mean it, every single time,” he lays a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Are you almost ready? We have some people waiting for us.”

You furrow your brow, “really? Who?”

He smiles, “it’s a surprise, you’ll see.”

—————————————————————————

After landing the ship in a nearby port, Din and Karga soon found themselves walking through the expansive, wide halls of one of Naboo’s palaces. This one was reserved for events like this. Senators and other political figures got to stay in the provided lodging of the palace, very convenient for the activities of that week.

Much like the rest of Naboo, the palace was beautiful. Lush gardens lined several courtyards within its walls, perfect for gathering with others or even just oneself. The halls were made of a shiny granite, any steps across it left a small clicking noise that echoed in the comfortable silence.

The two came upon a small, more private courtyard. Complete with a stone bench and small fountain in the middle. To the far side there was a door to someone’s quarters, Din had figured.

“Alright, we should be meeting them here,” Karga says while looking around the area.

“This is exciting for me,” he beams. “This year I was finally invited, with a good word in from my friend. This will be great for relations for the society Nevarro is becoming.”

Din is half listening, taking in his surroundings while still as a statue. It didn’t matter so much to him, this was just another job. Another thing to keep him busy, to keep him from missing Grogu.

“Karga!” The voice comes from another man who looks about Karga’s age, emerging from the door in the courtyard. “My friend, it’s been too long!”

The two share a hearty laugh and hug, patting each other on the shoulder respectively. Pulling away, they lock hands and shake.

“Likewise, Senator,” Karga turns and gestures towards Din.

“Mando, this is the Senator, my good friend and our client for this week.”

The Senator reaches his hand out and Din reciprocates, shaking it, “so this is the Mandalorian I’ve heard so much about! I’m so grateful you took the job.”

Din nods and steps back into position.

“My daughter should be out here in just a few minutes. She’s been very nervous about this week. My own nerves are eased knowing I can trust her in your care. Karga has told me a great deal about you, and anyone he trusts that much has earned mine as well. You’ve been made aware of our situation, I hope?” He queries Karga, who nods in response.

“Of course, I made sure.”

“I’m very grateful. I will spare no costs to make sure my daughter is safe.”

Din notices the glimmer of fear in the Senator’s eyes. Karga shared more details about the warlord threatening them on the way to Naboo. He found it odd that this warlord had chosen, what seemed to him, a random planet. Despite its royalty and trading, it was a more distant planet in the outer rim not too many others knew about.

“Then what is so special about this planet?” Din asks, really more so thinking out loud.

“Probably because they seem weaker, and have similar resources to Naboo. They are smaller and lesser known, for a warlord that’s an ideal place to set roots and control,” Karga replies, nonchalantly. “It’s not exactly that they’re weak, but they’ve chosen to keep more to themselves. But times change and relations have to be made to keep their economy running. That draws attention.

“What does the daughter have to do with it then? Why target her?”

“Well, negotiation for starters. Ransom. A threat directly to their lineage. If she’s killed, there’s one less direct descendant to take on their leadership when their current senator is retired or passed on. Although, I doubt the plan is to try and kill her right away.”

“Right. Makes more sense to hold her hostage, I guess.”

Karga sighs, “You’re probably right. And without much of an army at this time, they can’t afford to take them with them.”

____________________________________________

Leaving the door to your room into its adjoining courtyard, you notice your father standing with two other figures.

“Father?”

All three men turn to face you, your father’s smiles, “There you are! Gentlemen, this is my beautiful daughter.”

With part of the gown you’re wearing bunched in one hand to give you room to walk, you descend the small stairs and approach them. Smiling and bowing your head slightly, the two other men do the same in response. “It’s nice to meet you…” shooting your father a clueless look.

Your father clears his throat, “my dear, this is a good friend of mine, Greef Karga.” Karga nods in acknowledgement, holding his hand out for you. You take it gently and allow him to give it a small squeeze before returning it to yourself.

“I’m sure you don’t remember me, the last I saw of you, you were still an infant. You have grown into such a lovely young woman.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind. It’s nice to meet you again.”

Your father quickly interjects, “And the surprise for you, my darling.” He points to the steel clad figure standing next to Karga. “The Mandalorian I have hired as your bodyguard this week.”

Distracted might be an understatement when you first spotted him. Compared to you, he was tall and intimidating. His armor is made of beskar, shining in the sunlight. You were immediately intrigued by him. Mandalorian culture came up in your studies plenty of times, and you had a vague knowledge of it stored in your memory.

The Mandalorian is silent, only giving you a small nod, and you respond in kind. Very fitting for someone like him to be silent and emotionless. You wanted to know more about him. Aside from the bodyguard detail, you understood why your father kept this as a surprise, he knew better than anyone what interests you and your thirst for knowledge.

Your father claps his hands, “Shall we show you two around?”

Karga waves ahead, “By all means!”

Karga and your father walk ahead, leaving you and the Mandalorian to follow behind, side by side. You wanted to keep staring at him but tried not to, you didn’t want to seem rude and you certainly couldn’t tell where his eyes were. Yet.

Approaching another set of small stairs, you habitually gather a corner of your gown to free up room for your feet to step down. Karga holds his hand out to you once more, this time to help you.

Once at the bottom of the small staircase, Karga points at the Mandalorian, “Mando, learn to do that for her. It’s proper.”

The Mandalorian tilts his helmet at him, your face starts to heat up, “Oh please it’s really not necessary!”

He laughs and returns to your father’s side, walking ahead. Both of you follow behind them, now in a sort of awkward silence. You mull over in your head what you could say but you’re afraid of sounding….immature? Incompetent?

“I-I’m sorry,” you begin. “Please don’t worry about something like that.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away and it makes you even more nervous. Finally, he replies, “Do you plan to wear more outfits like that?”

You felt flustered, quickly. This is the first time you’re hearing his voice, although modulated because of his helmet. Your curiosity only grew.

“Uhm, yes…”

“Then I will help you,” he says, with a hint of softness that somehow filtered through his helmet.

Your now racing heart doesn’t relent and you find yourself seriously questioning why.

—————————————————————————

Karga and your father might as well have their own bubble, leading your group while they engage in deep conversation and play catch up.

Unfortunately this left you and the Mandalorian in a sort of awkward silence. Well, awkward to you at least. He’s probably fine, probably prefers it that way. You had hundreds of questions you could ask but none that were appropriate after only just meeting him. You searched your mind for ways to break the ice.

“Do youuuu…..get jobs like this a lot?” You decided to shoot that one out.

“No.”

Dammit. Of course. New question.

“What kind of jobs do you usually get, then?”

“Bounties.”

Maker, this was almost painful. Intimidating might have been an understatement for you. Something in you wanted to fight for his attention, his actual attention. Not what he was paid to do.

Your small group would come to stops here and there, your father guiding your guests and showing them where everything is and what’s what. You’d occasionally pass others who would nod in your direction and carry on. The palace was peaceful and quiet.

“Are you ok?” His voice startled you out of your thoughts. You glance his way without turning your head.

“Yes. Why?”

“Your heart rate is spiking.”

Oh no, he can tell? Because of his helmet? How embarrassing.

You let out a deep sigh, “this is my first time meeting a Mandalorian. Admittedly, I’m trying to come up with a conversation without prying too much.”

“That makes you nervous?”

“You’re tall, silent and intimidating. Of course.”

A small chuckle escapes his helmet in response to your sudden casual attitude, taking you by surprise. Did you somehow pull a laugh out of him?

“I’ll give you that.”

You smirk and let your eyes wander. Maybe this won’t be as hard as you had thought.

—————————————————————————

The way you look at him is…..different. Din is a trained warrior, he’s skilled in being able to read others. You wear your emotions and thoughts on your face pretty clearly. What he’s not exactly prepared for is the kind of emotions you’re displaying. When he first met your eyes (unbeknownst to you) he saw you look him up and down, curiously. A small smirk on your lips and your eyes change from inquisitive to….excitement? Was he reading that right?

At some point, your father’s tour tapered off. Karga suggested going into the nearby market for food and your father insisted. All four of you are now seated outside of a restaurant. Din, of course, did not eat. So that left him with more time to sit back, cross his arms over his chest and observe you.

It was hard to get a word in edgewise with your father and Karga. It felt like they had never stopped talking, having years to catch up on each other. He’d watch as you sat silently, your eyes would flit between the two of them, him and around you. Here and there you’d stop to stare at him for a minute, observing him right back. But you didn’t have the shield of a helmet to hide the eyes you gave him.

After finishing your food you started to become visibly impatient. You finally find a small moment of silence between those two and interject.

“Father, I’d like to wander around the market for a while if that’s alright with you. I’ll meet back up with you tonight?” You shoot him a look in your eyes that Din can definitely understand. Please let me go. I'm so bored.

He smiles back at you, although cautiously. He seems to hesitate, pausing before saying “Yes. Of course. Of course!” You stand up from your chair and stretch, Din also rises from his seat and stands.

“Don’t give the Mandalorian any trouble,” he winks at you, giving your hand a small squeeze before letting go. You give him a small tch with your tongue, rolling your eyes and turning to leave. Your father and Karga laugh heartily before resuming their previous conversation.

Din catches up to you and you let out a big sigh, “I’m sorry, any longer and I would have fallen asleep!”

“Karga has that effect on people sometimes.”

“You’re lucky though, you have a helmet, you could sleep and no one would really know.”

Din hums, amused, “don’t tell anyone.”

You couldn’t help but cackle back at his unexpected quip. You know for sure now that there’s a living, breathing person under there.

—————————————————————————

You’d noticed the Mandalorian does an excellent job of making himself look broad and strong. He was definitely a man of few words, so you tried to pay extra attention to his body language and mannerisms, which was still almost scarce on its own.

His armor glinted in the early evening light. Night life was starting up in the small area of town you were in. Some shops remained open alongside merchant stands and food vendors. Perfect timing on getting away from your father and Karga, otherwise you’d probably be dozing off.

But that still meant you were left in another silent moment like before. Only this time, the Mandalorian followed you.

You want to say more and break the silence, but your mind draws blanks on what to say. You finally settle with, “So! Uh, can I call you something? Maybe your name?” He’s silent for a minute before responding, “Mando is fine.”

Ah. Yes. Mando. Very creative.

“You don’t tell anyone your real name, do you?”

He glances at you on his side and nods.

“No, I don’t try to.”

He walked beside you as you took your time looking through merchant tables down the street of the city. The choices of items were almost endless. Clothes, books, and trinkets.

“So….besides standing around and brooding, what else can you tell me about yourself?”

He does a double take at you; you’re starting to run a record for most unexpected things ever said to him before. “Brooding?”

You laugh before turning to face him, the black T of his visor peering down at you. You had gotten close enough to him to really take in how broad he really is. A tension slowly built between you.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just so fascinated by you”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I wonder just who you are, under that cool demeanor.”

He lets out something between a scoff and a laugh.

He’s used to the mixture of camaraderie or fear others tend to have towards him. But this? His brain almost short circuits, having to take a few minutes to process what you said. His helmet system alerts him to his own pickup in heart rate.

He settles on saying nothing, as usual, and you’ve already learned to not be bothered by that. You take it as an answer itself, sort of. You turn back to the table you’re standing at, browsing the small piles of clothing.

It was like the more the ice melted away between the two of you, the more you felt attuned to him. Maybe it was real or just your imagination, but if felt like you could start to tell where you think he’s looking at. You’d see his hands move in particular ways, clenching his fists at his sides or casually hooking his thumb into his bandolier.

The evening sky grew darker and the streets were lined in lanterns and lights. Music played somewhere in the distance, the crowd slowly died down. You decided it was time to head back, with Mando following after you.

You both turn down a quiet pathway. The silence between you had grown more comfortable. Fatigue has started to settle in your bones. You yawn and drop your shoulders, “just seven days. Seven days of dressing up and making appearances.”

“Do you have to dress like that everyday?” He asks, not that he exactly minds. The way you dress yourself is proper, ethereal. It was one of the first things he noticed about you. Which makes sense, because you’re royalty. Right, that’s why he noticed.

“I have to represent my family, and my home, so yes. I have to look my best every day.”

You pause for a moment, your eyes staring off into the distance as if you were mentally somewhere else.

“It’s like my armor,” you add, softly smiling to yourself.

Mando notices the distant look in your eye, and the sound of your voice. A sudden sadness had seemed to creep in. Something about seeing you like that pulled at his heart.

As if returning to yourself, you snap your eyes to meet his visor and smile.

He recognizes that look, the feeling emanating off of you. That was your wall, your learned defense mechanism. He knows underneath his armor, he’s a grieving man. A man who is not sure of his path anymore. An apostate.

He wonders who you are, under the well pampered, royal facade. Underneath the manners and gowns.

He mentally agrees, the fascination between you two is mutual.

—————————————————————————-

You’ve really got to start putting on that charm you know you have.

Wait, why are you telling yourself that?

For fun, of course.

If you’re going to be stuck doing this for seven days, you might as well have fun during it. Is striking up a flirtatious banter with the Mandalorian so bad? You’re curious.

Everything about him says “don’t fuck with me.” You’d noticed the glances he got, from the town to even inside the palace. The way crowds parted for him and others looked on and whispered.

You don’t think father thought that through when he hired the Mandalorian. All in an effort to protect you from potential dangers and he has, now, brought more attention to you. But you can’t necessarily blame him. Mando seemed more than capable and his reputation precedes him just from the looks he’s getting everywhere you go.

He had a swagger in his walk and gave off an aura that says he knows he’s a walking deadly weapon.

And all of that combined was exciting to you. It made your heart stutter. Maybe you should ponder that, but you put that thought aside for later.

You have felt his gaze since you met. At first you’d thought you were being paranoid, or maybe self indulgent, you weren’t sure of which at the time. But you’re more certain of it now. Especially when you sat across from him at dinner. But that’s what he’s getting paid to do, right?

Now, as you walk alongside him back to the palace, you’re mentally bashing yourself. You told him you felt like your gowns were like armor and felt ridiculous. There is no comparison of your clothes to his cold beskar. After a smile, you change the subject, opting for the bolder route.

“I’ve felt your eyes on me all day.”

Mando remains silent, looking ahead. You half expect him to scoff. Instead, he stops walking. You stop in front, facing him. In the nick of time, you two had made it to the garden area outside of the door to your suite.

“I could say the same for you.”

Your stomach flips, even though you already knew you weren’t exactly hiding when you watched him. He leans back on his legs and crosses his arms, waiting for your reply.

Right, yes, a reply. Hurry, and think of something to quip back at him.

“Is that wrong?”

He hums, considers your question, “no, just more obvious.”

“Yes, well, not all of us have the luxury of anonymity right now,” you nod your head to him, he shrugs.

You raise an eyebrow and smile, “so you admit it? You’ve been watching me all day.”

His stance freezes, and now you know you’ve got him, you smirk.

He steps closer to you, just enough to barely brush against you. His form is wide and tense, “it’s my job.”

There’s a small tone in his voice. Darker, smooth and matter of fact.

Your eyes drift from down up and focus on where you expect his eyes to be, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. This is suddenly a contest of confidence, and you muster any bit you’ve got left in you.

“In that case, Mandalorian,” your voice drifts, breathy and low, you run a finger across his chest plate as you strut past him, “I will just have to give you more to watch.”

You peer at him over your shoulder and smile. “I’ll see you back here in the morning,” he says. You notice his stature becoming more relaxed. One hand on his hip, knee popped out, he watches you disappear inside.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you @veggiestreehugger so much for beta-reading this for me 😭❤️

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fanfic #mando x you #mando #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #Star Wars #mandalorian

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sixshotsinatumbllr · 1 year ago

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Part 3 of rating Good Omens characters based on whether I would employ them in my IRL cafe

Part One Part Two

I'm eventually going to run out of characters that I can find GIFS for, in the meantime, let's keep this going.

Newt Pulsifer

That's a firm no. He doesn't come with any references whatsoever, and when he emailed his resume my laptop crashed.

Brian

He has a trial for a few shifts but he's just too sloppy with keeping the kitchen clean; he leaves spills everywhere and doesn't clean them up, causing a food safety hazard. We will get him in for the occasional weekend service as an extra when we are really desperate, because he has a good rapport and service manner with the customers.

Ennon

He got a job but was fired within a week for being an entitled brat. However, we let his sister Jemima set up a stall selling her ceramics out the front during the school holidays, and we provide her all the free milkshakes she wants.

Hastur

I feel like putting Hastur anywhere near food would be a health violation.

Ligur

I have mixed feelings about Ligur. Part of me feels like he might sell illicit drugs out of the back door, and half of me thinks he'd be a very focused and useful chef. It's 50/50 on this one.

Saraquel

We don't have the set up to cater to Saraquel's mobility needs as an employee in our rabbit warren of a kitchen space, and that's on us. She would make a great employee and we are missing out by not providing a more diversity-friendly workplace.

Sister Mary Loquacious

Um, no. Doesn't feel like a good idea. But I'd hire her after her character arc into Mary Hodges, that woman has business acumen. We might go to a paintball training event she runs.

Warlock dowling

He and Ennon had one shift together and it was totally disastrous to us, they are both no longer working with us but are best friends now.

Uriel

I can imagine Uriel with big Chef Knife tattoos and tattoos of botanical drawings of heirloom vegetables all up her arms. She's a gun cook and we put her on the busiest shifts. She fails to talk to anyone because clearly none of us are worthy.

War

Nah, she's one of the bikers that come in and get a big brekkie on the weekend in the middle of their bike trip up the mountain.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens au #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #gomens #cafe #hospitality work

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insane-control-room · 6 months ago

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fallen down (1/3)

Joey is invited to an art convention by Nathan. He goes, and is delighted by the turn of events. So much so, that he finds his dreams clashing again.

chapter 1: ink demonth - rival chapter 2: ink demonth - heartbeat chapter 3: ink demonth - hide

For @halfusek; inspired by his You Left Me in a Heartbeat :) Rated: G+ Warnings: unhealthy relationships, alcoholism, not actually cute AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58747897/chapters/149709028 Length: 2800

It was entirely one sided. That much was apparent - Joey's relationship with both of them; it was completely and utterly on his end. Most of Joey's relationships seemed to cascade into that awful sector; one where a person's emotions loom vast and disconcerting over the other cogs in the machine of human interaction. There is something to be said there as well - the smaller such a wheel is, the greater the effect other gears have upon the inevitable turn.

Therefore, to say that the relationship between Linda and Joey was a rivalry was nothing short of a humorous joke - for far more reasons than either of them were aware of. There was an aspect of acidity, a bitterness held in the back of the throat; perhaps contributed to by the fact that Henry's own relationship with Mr. Drew had been friendly, strained, agitated, and then shattered like a vertebrae in a spinal column- destroyed and irreparable.

After that incident, the vanishing of the Steins was holistic - there was no trace, no forwarding address, no phoneline: a faultless (yet not blameless) disappearance. No, Joey was not to blame for their sudden departure from New York, even if he was the reason.

There are moments that eclipse sanity, haunting instances and circumstance will chase a person out of a town - worse than a bad job, a bad boss, or a tangled, messy (and messed up) relationship. If you land someone in a wheelchair, especially someone close to you, but not close enough to warrant remaining near- then putting yourself in a wheelchair of your own and driving off into the California sunset is a particularly appealing decision.

That was precisely what Henry had done. Perhaps Linda had protested, leaving behind friends, family, the comfort of familiarity and routine, though that was hardly on the animator's mind. For Henry, it is rather difficult to determine what exactly his jumbled thoughts were, aside from the plaintive urge to hide himself away and not be found.

Henry's departure from the studio caused an upheaval, certainly, though it was nothing that Joey Drew could not persevere through. Sure, his two legs were nothing to stand on (thank you, Henry), but that would not prevent him from pursuing his own success; from forging happiness anew, from finding someone else to take up the space in his life that Henry had left icily bare.

So to say that Joey had a rivalry with Linda for 'taking Henry away' would be a rather crude and insensitive disservice to both Linda and Joey. Henry had removed himself, simple as that.

Joey filled his life and focus with living drawings. No, he did not make them literally come to life, that would be silly. He did, however, expand the art department, and took more work into his office, hiring an accountant to take care of the business tasks that had taken over his life and passions. Mr. Cohen had ranted and raved about the abhorrent state of the business, bemoaned how difficult it would be to turn things around, but to Joey's bated breath and relieved surprise, he managed. There were stutters and stops, but with the cobbled and slapdashed situation that had been there before, Mr. Cohen had worked miracles.

There had been instances where he would fancy that the accountant would glance over him a moment too long here and there, though it was likely his imagination (and what a strong one he had). He had thought, at times, that there was potential between them, though his hands would tighten on the arms of his wheelchair if he considered the idea for too long; a foreign anxiety building in his chest at the notion of being close to Mr. Cohen.

So he continued working, alone. Business was difficult, though at least he now had some breathing room to actually create himself, and he had enough to put food on the table - that was more than some people could say. He hardly cared about the time he had left, pouring his soul into his work. There were times it paid off. Nathan Arch was one of those... angel investors. There was some resentment simmering under the surface for Joey, considering that he wanted to be successful on his own- however, he accepted that success was not so clearly in view for him, nor for his visions.

While the situation was not Nathan's fault, per say, his influence hovered over the events that had yet to transpire within Joey's life.

It was... kind of Arch to get Joey the ticket to the Artist's Convention. Joey did not particularly feel inclined to attend, but Grant had given him some words of advice and encouragement (rather reminding him of himself prior to the 'accident') that had boosted his morale and enthusiasm to go.

Now, Joey was on a train to California with a few sample animations that he was particularly proud of. It had taken unreasonably long to get there, which caused a mite of worry for the studio but he felt assured that the business was safe under Grant's watchful, stringent eye.

The first thing Joey did upon arriving at Nathan's extravagant house was (after giving some drawn gifts to him, his wife, and son) pull himself face down on the bed. He dreamed of endless stairs spiraling down - or was it up? It was hard to tell from the way he was falling. It was silent, black and white, and he woke up on the floor with a cold sweat running chills down his spine. Nothing that a nice shower could not fix - and thankfully, the room that Nathan had given him had an attached bathroom, with a shower chair already in place as well. How... kind. It was kind and considerate. Even if it was a painful reminder of his disability.

Coming out of the shower, Joey felt rejuvenated and relaxed. He picked up the briefcase of showcasing, and then he and Nathan went to the convention. There were some people that Joey recognized, many who recognized Joey. He gave out cards and information, saw interesting methods of filming and painting, processes that would decrease labor loads and increase productivity. He took careful notes- knowing that Grant would certainly like to learn more about those. There were moments where he thought, for an instant, that he saw someone very familiar, only to blink twice and realize that it was not Henry.

He was tired - he had a long journey and less than ideal sleep. Nathan agreed with him to leave early- as there would be another two days of the convention, in any case, so they would not be missing much. They ate a warm meal and made small talk: talking about what they had seen that day; Nathan's son and what he was up to; of the studio and how much help Grant was (Joey felt an odd warmth in his hands that was not coming from his mug of coffee) in getting the studio back on its feet. Nathan let Joey know that he would be busy the next day, but that he could have someone help Joey to and from the convention - which Joey declined, saying that he could manage himself. Immediately after their dinner, Joey went and laid down, and before a wolf could count three sheep, he was fast asleep.

This time, it was not his dreams that woke him, but rather, quiet conversation. It was rather strained, but Joey could hear the distinct notes of a distressed woman, and the more calm- yet somehow uncomfortable- words of Nathan. At first, he assumed that it was Nathan and his wife having an argument of some sort, but then he realized that the woman's voice was not hers, but rather, a more familiar one. Part of him thought he was dreaming as he got into his wheelchair, now glad that he had not changed out of his clothes. Nathan was a good man- what was she doing here? It bewildered him even as he silently approached the room where the two were talking.

"We planned carefully, Linda," Nathan was assuring her. Joey settled himself by the doorway to listen, confused and feeling his heart beating a little too fast for his liking - so he focused on the conversation. "He's going to be distracted at the convention tomorrow, and we'll be able to get you over here for a bit."

"I don't think that it's going to work," Linda rubbed her temples. Joey was surprised to see streaks of grey running through her hair. "I've been thinking about it, Nathan. He's going to get frustrated and bored there, and he's going to come home, and I'll have to put on a smile and tell him everything is okay. It's not okay, and it hasn't been for years. Not since we left New York. No- before that. He's been falling apart longer than I've ever wanted to admit, and I can't deal with him anymore."

"We're working on it, Linda," Nathan tried again. "You will get out, I promise. I'll be picking you up at noon, and Tessa will be here to get you all sorted out."

"How are you going to pick me up if he's going to be there?" Linda asked miserably. Joey felt something shift in his chest. His heart, maybe, about to give out or something. "He might not even go. All he does is mope. And drink. It's sad, really. Maybe that's why I've stayed so long. I thought we'd be happy."

The silence hung in the air, cloying and depressing. Joey unclenched his jaw- unsure of when he had knotted it at all. He took a deep breath, letting his hands out of the claws he was digging into his armrests. Then, he exhaled, and took a gamble.

"Hello, Linda," he said with as much surprise as he felt initially, a broad smile growing on his face. The two in the room turned to look at him with shock as well. "Incredible seeing you here! Funny how things line up, don't you think?"

"What is he- I mean-" it took Linda a moment to compose herself. She mustered a weak looking smile that appeared rather nauseated. "Hello, Joey. It's... it's been a long time. I'm guessing that you're here for the art convention, right?"

"Right," Joey's smile twitched. The two of them stared at each other without a lot of comfort between them, a sort of uneasy aura. Nathan looked like he wanted to sink within his own portrait, what with his stock smile plastered on his face and shifting feet. Joey gestured at him. "Nathan invited me."

"That's nice of you, Nathan," Linda's smile relaxed a bit, and she took a deep breath of her own. She blinked as she took in Joey's appearance. "You're looking well."

"You're not," Joey replied instantly without thought. A wane smile appeared on her face. "What's going on?"

"You artist types are all the same, aren't you?" she asked, a melancholic bitterness to her humor. "So good at painting pretty pictures, but not quite able to see what you're looking at."

Joey did not say anything. Nathan looked between them.

Linda gave another sigh; "You two really were made for each other."

Victory! Triumph! The witch has been defeated!

Joey failed to not smile.

"Linda, that's brilliant!" Nathan suddenly interjected, turning to Joey with that portrait grin, but more genuinely now. "We can arrange for Joey and Henry to have a little meet up, have some chit chat, and then hopefully we'll be able to have Henry distracted the whole day."

Linda and Joey stared at him. He raised his hands, smile faltering.

"It's only a suggestion," he added, flustered by their judging gazes. "No need to follow through with it."

"No, actually... I can see it working," Linda murmured. "Either he'd have forgotten what he did, which is not likely, or if he remembers, then maybe the 'guilt' he talks about will make him stick around Joey and talk with him. It's worth a shot, Nathan. Joey?"

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Joey asked, eyebrows raised. He was not quite following - or maybe he was purposefully being difficult, trying to draw out that positive rush of smug assurance that was running amok in his brain. "Talk to him?"

"Well, in a way, yes," Nathan paused as he thought through what to say. "Distract him- the longer, the better. A whole day would be optimal, if not, well, more."

A whole day with Henry.

"Sounds like a dream," Joey laughed quietly, smiling. "Linda, do you know where Henry will be going at the convention? Anything he was particularly interested in seeing?"

"I don't know," Linda confessed, brow knitting. "He doesn't really talk about it. Maybe he said something about... about... oh, right." Another slight, sad smile. "There's going to be a reshowing of your old toons. Someone is talking about the technology you used for it, a camera company or something. I'm surprised Nathan didn't tell you."

"I wanted it to be a pleasant surprise for Joey," Nathan admitted. Joey blinked, tilting his head at his friend- certainly surprised, a good feeling settling over his shoulders like a hug. Things seemed to be turning around since this trip- he really needed to thank Grant for nudging him to go. "But that sure would be something."

"So I'll meet with him there," Joey cheerfully said. "I'm sure nothing can go wrong at all."

Joey could hardly sleep after Linda had left. He and Nathan spoke a bit more on the subject, how they would go about getting Linda to Nathan’s place safely and how to let them know if something were to go wrong (because, in spite of Joey’s high-riding optimism, there was a serious concern that something could go wrong). Joey stared up at the ceiling, fingers intertwined with each other as he tried to quell his anticipation. It had been years since he had seen Henry, and the excitement overshadowed the concern that probably should have been there. After all, Linda was attempting to escape a man she once loved- surely that was cause for some alarm. However, when it came to Henry, Joey knew he was a lost cause; they had built a life together and he had never gotten the closure needed to finish that chapter of his life, where he had been left in a heartbeat.

Perhaps, he never would.

Not with Henry. Not when he finally could have him back in his life. There was nothing but excitement in his veins as he looked up at nothing, seeing images of his former friend in his mind’s eye as he partially drifted, mostly basked in joy and anticipation (why were those two words so foreign to him, yet so familiar?).

He was up and raring to go far before Nathan was, scarfing down a breakfast so fast it nearly made him choke. A clogged windpipe would not stop him from getting to meet with Henry once again. Nathan’s son, Wilson, drove him to and dropped him off at the convention. Many more people recognized him the second day, seemingly just as excited to see him as he was to see Henry. Yet Joey knew that none of them would be half as excited to see Henry as Joey was. So he greeted and spoke and nodded along, all the while his bright green eyes scanned the crowd. Soon, the show was starting, the presenter brimming with delight that the creator of the show was watching- though, as upon Joey’s request, did not mention his presence (unless he were to see Henry as well). The presentation was rather interesting, even though Joey’s heart began to sink at the notion that Henry was in fact a no show.

But then, the presenter froze, and grew allthemore excited before continuing, fidgeting and barely able to restrain a beaming grin. At the end of the showing, she announced her gratitude that both the esteemed Joey Drew and the elusive Henry Stein had come to attend her presentation. Joey saw a brown haired head suddenly rise above the others, square framed glasses flashing into Joey’s vision.

His heart skipped a beat as he smiled and waved.

Henry gawked at him, eyes wide behind the glass.

“Hello, old pal,” Joey brightly said. “Good to see you again!”

Henry only stared, shocked. He was about to say something when the crowd around them shifted, moving the two of them to the center together.

“Let’s catch up with some lunch?” Joey asked him in a mutter, smiling from ear to ear, unable to contain his absolute delight. Henry, too overwhelmed to think of anything else, agreed with a; “I need a drink. And you are paying.”

#control art #control draws #batim #bendy and the ink machine #joey drew #gift art #henry stein #traditional art #creatorship #control writes #gift fic #magenta #breakups #unhealthy relationships #love sickness #henry stein/joey drew #nathan arch #linda stein

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