#i hold out a tiny bit of hope but if all things go to shit I dont rlly have anything to fall back on in terms of fandom.

[aziraphales-lawyer]

Literally no other way I could describe it right now.

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 2 ]

Part One Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? Sexual Themes 18+ ONLY: fingering, cunnilingus, Bucky loves tiddies, dirty talk. Summary: Though you've become oddly close to SergeantBarnes, it's still difficult to act normal around him. A/N: I didn't think many would ask for a part two but here you go. divider by @cafekitsune

It was a peaceful evening in the apartment gym—or, at least, it was supposed to be. You had your plan: thirty minutes on the stair climber, some stretches, and you’d be out of there before any awkwardness could find you.

But then you heard it—the unmistakable sound of weights clanging, followed by a deep, low grunt that made your entire body freeze.

You glanced up, hoping against hope that it wasn’t who you thought it was. But, of course, there he was: Bucky, over at the hip thrust machine, setting up his weights directly in front of you. Perfect, you thought. Of all the machines in here, he has to pick the most… suggestive one.

Your eyes flicked back to the tiny screen on your machine. Stay focused, you told yourself. Don’t look. Just ignore him.

But the moment he started his set, you heard it—a low, powerful grunt that practically reverberated through the gym. You immediately bit down on your lip, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead, pretending you weren’t having flashbacks to his other kind of workouts.

Another deep grunt.

Your hands clenched the stair climber’s handles like a lifeline. Do NOT look, you told yourself, the mantra echoing in your mind. But your treacherous eyes slid sideways, just for a second, and you caught a glimpse of him, face focused, breaths heavy as he powered through each hip thrust. The guy was practically a one-man gym commercial.

You looked away, focusing on your steps—your very uneven, slightly panicked steps. It’s just a hip thrust, for crying out loud! Nothing unusual here, you told yourself, trying to stomp out the heat creeping up your cheeks. But every time he exhaled, your mind filled with images of… well, his other performances.

Then, in the middle of one of his reps, Bucky let out a particularly deep, guttural grunt that nearly threw you off balance. Your foot slipped, your rhythm stuttered, and in a moment of pure panic, you clutched the handles and stumbled forward, practically throwing yourself onto the machine.

“Shit!” you yelped, fumbling to regain your balance as your legs moved faster than your brain, desperately trying not to faceplant.

You heard Bucky chuckle, that low, infuriatingly amused laugh, and felt your cheeks practically ignite. You looked up, heart pounding, only to find him smirking in your direction, eyes dancing with mischief.

“Careful there, Y/N,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Stair climbers are brutal.”

“Oh, yeah, totally!” you squeaked, straightening up, trying to look like you meant to almost eat it. “Just… keeping things interesting. Got to keep the cardio exciting, you know?”

“Looks like it’s working,” he replied, wiping his forehead with a towel, his grin widening as he noticed your death grip on the machine. “You sure you’re good over there?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m great,” you lied, your face flaming as you tried to regain your composure. But he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, voice way too smooth. He paused, then tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Gotta admit, though… this machine setup does feel a bit familiar.”

Your brain nearly exploded. Did he just—? He couldn’t mean… But his eyes sparkled with that infuriating, knowing look, and you knew exactly what he was hinting at. Your face went beet red as your foot slipped again, but this time you managed to catch yourself, narrowly avoiding another disaster.

“Uh-huh,” you said, laughing nervously, desperately trying to hold it together. “Well, enjoy your… uh, workout!”

“Oh, I am,” he said, chuckling softly. “Especially with the view.” He winked, setting up for another set while you tried not to spontaneously combust.

With one final, mortified glance, you turned your attention back to the stair climber, mentally swearing you’d never step foot in this gym again after this.

Since you survived the stair climber ordeal without faceplanting (barely), you decided it was time to move on. Somewhere—anywhere—that didn’t involve Bucky’s hip thrusts or his incessant, maddening smirk.

You zeroed in on the bench press. Safe, you thought, relieved. Just a standard exercise. Nothing suggestive, no chance of stumbling, tripping, or looking like a klutz. You grabbed the bar, took a deep breath, and mentally prepped yourself. Easy-peasy.

And then—because the universe simply refused to give you a break—you heard that all-too-familiar voice right beside you.

“Need a spot?”

You looked up and almost swallowed your tongue. There was Bucky, looming over you with that same damn smirk, wiping his hands on a towel like he was gearing up for some personal training session from your worst/best nightmares.

“Oh, uh… I—” you stammered, already feeling the heat creep up your neck. You’ve got this, you told yourself. Just let him help you. No big deal. You’re a mature, fully-functioning adult.

“Yeah, sure!” you squeaked, trying to sound normal as he stepped closer, positioning himself behind the bench. You laid back, gripping the bar, and immediately realized what a horrible, terrible mistake this was. You were now lying flat on your back, Bucky leaning over you, his face far too close as he focused on making sure you could lift the weight.

“You ready?” he asked, his face all business, but his lips still had that mischievous curve.

“Ready,” you mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but up at him, trying to ignore how absolutely awkwardly intimate this felt. You started your set, breathing steadily as you lifted the bar, determined to act as if this were a completely normal workout.

But then, midway through the reps, he leaned down a little closer. “By the way, did you check out my new video?”

Your hands nearly slipped. You fumbled the bar, barely catching it as your brain short-circuited. 

“W-What?” you managed, voice strangled, heart racing.

“My new video,” he repeated, casually reaching out to help guide the bar back into place as you struggled not to lose it. “Thought you might’ve seen it by now.”

Your cheeks flamed, but you somehow managed to choke out, “N-No! I… I haven’t seen it!”

Bucky chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow as he straightened up, his voice taking on a teasing, almost disappointed tone. 

“Oh. That’s a shame,” he said, smirk lingering. “Didn’t have a costar this time—just me, actually. First time I’ve ever done that.”

Your mouth dropped open. Just him? Your brain skidded to a halt. Suddenly, you were far too interested in a video you’d just denied seeing. 

“Oh, um… interesting?” you squeaked, trying to keep your face neutral but definitely failing.

“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug, looking at you with twinkling eyes. “Guess you’ll have to let me know what you think… whenever you get around to it.”

“Actually, I… uh… I kind of stopped watching… since we, you know… know each other. Just… feels awkward.”

Bucky’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up with amusement. 

“Oh, so you’re telling me we’re too close for you to watch my work now?” He raised an eyebrow, looking mockingly offended. “I thought we were supporting local artists.”

Your cheeks practically combusted as he said it, and you fumbled with the bar, desperately trying to pretend you hadn’t heard him. Supporting local artists? Was he serious right now?

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, absolutely mortified. “This is not— You’re not— I mean…!”

But he just looked down at you, that smug grin firmly in place as he leaned in, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered state. 

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t you believe in supporting the arts?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, words completely failing you. “This… this is not the same!” you finally blurted, clutching the bar like it was your only lifeline.

“Oh really?” he replied, chuckling. “Because it sounds like you’re saying we’re too close for me to keep doing what I do. You know, my passion.”

You practically choked, waving your hands around in frantic denial. “No! No! That’s not— I’m not stopping you! I’m just— I don’t know, maybe supporting from a… distant, supportive spiritual place?”

He laughed outright, shaking his head. “So, what—you’re like cheering me on… but from across the street?”

You nodded vigorously, still trying to save face. “Exactly! Just… supportive… but in a non-participatory kind of way.”

“Got it,” he said, smirking. “So, I’m officially your guilty pleasure now.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as he chuckled, clearly far too pleased with himself. 

Note to self: Avoid all future conversations with Bucky Barnes for the rest of eternity.

× × × × 

That evening, you were finally settled at your dining table, a bowl of pasta in front of you, determined to put the entire gym disaster behind you. You’d survived another encounter with Bucky—barely—and now all you wanted was some quiet, non-embarrassing time with carbs.

But as you twirled your fork in the noodles, your brain betrayed you, replaying his words from earlier.

“Did you check out my new video?”

You paused mid-bite, the fork hovering near your mouth as you stared blankly at the wall, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and dread bubbling up. What could he have meant by “just me”? You tried to shake it off, forcing another forkful of pasta into your mouth. Nope, not going there.

But the thought lingered, nudging you, until you found yourself setting down the fork, fingers hovering over your phone. Just one quick search, you reasoned, glancing around your empty apartment as if someone might catch you.

You typed in the familiar site, thumbs hesitating above the search bar, nearly typing “SergeantBarnes new video” before you snapped back to reality, dropping the phone like it burned.

“Oh, no,” you muttered to yourself, horrified at how close you’d come. “Absolutely not. What am I, insane?”

You shoved another forkful of pasta into your mouth, shaking your head furiously. “I am not doing this.”

But as you continued eating, your eyes kept darting back to the phone, the curiosity gnawing at you, leaving you torn between common sense and the very persuasive power of nosiness.

You took a deep breath, clenching your fists. “Get a grip, Y/N. You are absolutely not watching that video.”

...But maybe just a preview?

You groaned, stuffing your face with more pasta, determined to win this internal battle.

× × × ×

The next morning, just as you were heading out the door for work, you spotted something bright and obnoxiously neon-colored taped to the wall near the mailboxes. Curiosity got the better of you, and you stepped closer, squinting at the bold, glittery letters.

POOL PARTY THIS WEEKEND! it proclaimed. Food, drinks, music, fun! Don’t miss it!

You raised an eyebrow, debating if you’d actually brave a building-wide party when suddenly, the quiet hallway was shattered by a loud, unmistakably ecstatic moan. The kind that could only mean one thing.

From none other than Bucky’s apartment.

You froze, eyes widening in disbelief. Is that—? Is he—?

A second moan, even louder than the first, confirmed it. This wasn’t just any moan; this was the sound of someone—some woman—having the time of her life. At what had to be eight o’clock in the morning.

“Oh, seriously?!” you hissed under your breath, glancing down the hallway as if there might be witnesses to this auditory ambush. Just then, the woman’s voice hit a pitch so high it practically reverberated off the walls.

You winced, clutching your bag like it could somehow shield you from this. Who even has that much energy in the morning? You took a step back, hoping to escape the sonic nightmare, but the moans only got louder, each sound more animated than the last.

You threw your hands over your ears, eyes squeezed shut as you muttered furiously to yourself. 

“Nope, nope, absolutely not. Not today, not right now.” You spun on your heel, practically power-walking down the hall, doing your best to drown out the soundtrack blaring from his apartment.

“YES, SERGEANT! OH MY GOD!”

You practically stumbled, muttering an alarmed, “Oh my god, stop!” as you picked up the pace, pressing your hands even harder against your ears. It was like some kind of cruel game—the closer you got to the elevator, the louder it seemed to get, echoing in your ears like a siren you couldn’t escape.

You winced, feeling your face burn as you all but sprinted down the hall, chanting, “Nope, nope, NOPE!” under your breath like a mantra. It was as if your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough, each step a desperate attempt to put some distance between you and… whatever was happening in that apartment.

Finally, you made it to the elevator, slamming your finger against the button with more force than necessary, glancing nervously over your shoulder as if the sounds might follow you. The doors mercifully slid open, and you dove inside, leaning back against the wall and pressing your hands over your ears one last time, breathing a sigh of relief.

But just as the doors began to close, one last triumphant shout echoed down the hallway, loud and clear, like the universe had decided you hadn’t suffered enough.

You groaned, staring up at the ceiling as the doors shut, wondering if this building had any quiet hours, or if you were doomed to start every morning with a full-blown soundscape of… Bucky’s extracurricular activities.

Note to self: Invest in earplugs. Maybe some noise-canceling headphones. Or a new apartment altogether.

× × × ×

You arrived at work looking like you’d barely survived a natural disaster. Traumatized, sleep-deprived, and still hearing the morning’s very loud soundtrack echoing in your mind, you slumped into your chair, hoping to quietly blend into the office scenery and get through the day in peace.

Naturally, that was too much to ask.

“Whoa,” Trish said, swiveling in her chair to eye you like you were a science experiment gone wrong. “You look like you just spent a night in a haunted house.”

“Or… like you had a wild morning,” Amy added, raising her eyebrows. “You okay there, Y/N?”

“Fine,” you muttered, barely making eye contact as you set your bag down, trying to erase the vivid flashbacks of Bucky’s… extremely enthusiastic co-worker.

Before you could even recover, Trish leaned in, her grin spreading like wildfire. “Sooo… did you finally get around to watching Sergeant Barnes’ new video?”

Your head snapped up, heart stopping in your chest. “Wha—no! Why would I… I mean… I—”

“Oh, come on,” Amy said, nudging you like she’d just caught you in a guilty pleasure. “You don’t know what you’re missing. He’s alone in this one.” She leaned closer, adding in a stage whisper, “The man has talent.”

“Uh-huh,” Trish agreed, nodding like a sage. “No costars this time. Just him, going all in. It’s… impressive.”

You clutched the edge of your desk, mentally scrambling for any kind of response that would shut them down without revealing the secret you swore you’d take to the grave: that Sergeant Barnes was actually your neighbor.

You swallowed, managing to squeak out, “You know we’re in an office, right? As in, the place we do work?”

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re all professional now!” Trish smirked, crossing her arms as she gave you a knowing look. “You were all too eager to do some ‘research’ when we told you about him the first time.”

“Yeah!” Amy joined in, her grin absolutely diabolical. “You should be thanking us! The way you’re looking right now, I’d bet you already took a look this morning.”

You spluttered, mortified. “No! I mean, of course not! It’s just—this is… inappropriate.”

Amy snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh, sure. And here I thought you had a little curiosity.”

You glared, fully prepared to tell them off, but Amy cut in first, smirking as she leaned over your desk. 

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s just us girls. Tell me you don’t have some curiosity about what the man can do when it’s just him and the camera.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, struggling to keep your cool. “No, I’m not curious! Not at all. And maybe you two shouldn’t be either, because, oh, I don’t know… WE ARE AT WORK!”

They both cracked up, sharing a delighted high-five as you buried your face in your hands, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you.

“Oh, we’re just messing with you,” Trish said, barely holding back laughter. “But seriously, girl… you look like you need to unwind. Maybe with a drink or… you know… a little quality screen time?”

“Or maybe someone live and in-person?” Amy chimed in, waggling her eyebrows.

You groaned, face down on your desk, cursing the fact that they would never, ever know the full story.

× × × × 

You stepped into the lobby, utterly drained from the day, just as the elevator doors began to slide shut. Without a second thought, you bolted, slipping in right before they closed. Only then did you realize the universe was playing tricks on you.

Because standing right there, with a half-smirk on his face and way too much knowing mischief in his eyes, was Bucky. Alone.

You froze, instantly regretting every choice that had led to this moment. But it was too late now, so you plastered on a polite smile and tried not to look like a deer caught in headlights.

Bucky’s eyes twinkled as he took you in, leaning casually against the side of the elevator as he said, “Tired?”

You laughed, and before you could stop it, the laugh turned into a borderline deranged chuckle. 

“Oh, yes, thank you very much,” you replied, sarcasm slipping out before you could rein it in. Then, muttering under your breath but clearly audible, you added, “Maybe keep it down too… in the morning.”

He chuckled, looking way too amused. “Sorry about that. Work, you know? She, uh… went home right after, don’t worry.”

Your face went flaming hot, and you whipped your head to look straight ahead, pressing your lips together like that would somehow save you from this horror. 

“Oh, you don’t… you don’t have to explain it to me,” you stammered, feeling like your cheeks were practically on fire. “I’m not worried.”

The smirk only widened. “Good to know.” He leaned in just a little, adding, “I wouldn’t want to keep you up… unintentionally.”

You choked, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you let out a mortified laugh that you could barely stop from turning into a squeak. Just get to your floor, just get to your floor… you chanted internally, keeping your gaze laser-focused on the elevator doors.

But you could feel him watching you, could practically feel the amusement radiating off him as you tried to pretend that your life hadn’t just devolved into a rom-com nightmare.

Finally—finally—the elevator dinged at your floor. You stepped out, sighing with relief, only for Bucky to step out right behind you.

“Hey,” he called, making you pause and turn reluctantly. He was smiling, hands casually shoved into his pockets as he looked you over. “Are you coming to the rooftop pool party this weekend?”

“No,” you replied flatly, the answer escaping before you could even pretend to think about it.

He laughed, clearly not deterred. “Aw, come on. You sure? It’ll be fun.”

You shook your head vigorously, waving him off. “No, no, I’m good. I’m… not much of a party person.”

“Really?” he replied, stepping a little closer, his smile turning into something dangerously persuasive. “It’s just neighbors hanging out, not some crazy nightclub thing. Good music, food… probably no loud… work, either.”

You glared, suppressing an eye roll as he gave you a wink. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, still grinning. “If you don’t show up, who am I going to talk to about all the ‘work’ complaints?”

You stifled a laugh, trying to maintain your resolve. “Pretty sure there are other people you can bother with that.”

“But none of them have your… constructive feedback,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the floor as he pretended to look shy. “And honestly, I need someone to keep me in check. I’m a handful at parties. Who else is going to stop me from climbing onto tables?”

You snorted, crossing your arms as you tried not to crack a smile. “I highly doubt you’re a handful at a pool party.”

He raised an eyebrow, challenging you. “Come and find out.”

You looked away, shaking your head but feeling the corners of your mouth tug upward. “Bucky, I’m not going.”

“So, you’re saying you’ll leave me up there with all these people who… don’t know me as well as you do?” He tilted his head, giving you a mock-pout.

Your face turned red, and you sputtered, “I don’t know you! I barely know you!”

“Oh, so all those research sessions weren’t exactly getting to know me?” he replied, grinning as he watched you turn an even deeper shade of crimson.

“You—ugh, you’re impossible,” you muttered, finally laughing despite yourself.

“That’s what everyone says,” he said, his voice softening just a little as he held your gaze. “Come on, Y/N. I promise, no loud work. I’ll even save you a spot.”

You sighed, feeling the last bit of resistance crumble. “Fine. But only for an hour.”

He beamed, triumphant. “Deal. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find something to actually talk about… outside of work.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart did a little flip. This is going to be a disaster, you thought. But somehow, you didn’t mind as much as you thought you would.

× × × × 

The weekend took forever to arrive, but somehow, you survived it—mostly by avoiding Bucky and doing your best not to think about that ridiculously intriguing video he’d hinted at. Nope, not even a peek. It was your own personal victory, though it took every ounce of willpower you had.

And now, here you were, standing at the rooftop entrance, mentally psyching yourself up. You’d put on a two-piece swimsuit under a white sheer cover-up, feeling only slightly self-conscious as you stepped out. Only because you hated drawing attention to your body. 

The party was already in full swing, a mix of upbeat music and laughter filling the air. You scanned the crowd for a certain troublemaking neighbor, but no sign of him. Great, you thought, rolling your eyes. Bucky drags me up here, then vanishes like an ass. Typical.

You made a beeline for an empty lounge chair, setting down your bag and towel, hoping you’d have a chance to relax before anyone else noticed you. But just as you were about to sit, a deep voice called out.

“Hey there!”

You turned to see an equally impressive figure—a tall, muscular guy with a sun-kissed smile, striding over with a confident swagger. 

“I’m Johnny,” he said, flashing a grin as he handed you a cold glass of beer. “Welcome to the party.”

“Oh! Thanks,” you said, taking the glass, feeling only slightly overwhelmed by all the testosterone on this rooftop. “Nice to meet you, Johnny.”

“Likewise,” he said, eyes flicking over you with the appreciation of someone who knew exactly what he was looking at. “Didn’t expect to see a new face up here. I know most of the regulars.”

“Yeah, I… usually keep to myself,” you admitted, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze.

“Well, glad you’re here,” he said smoothly, gesturing to a chair beside yours. “Mind if I join you?”

Before you could answer, another familiar voice cut through the air, low and unmistakably amused. “Johnny.”

You turned slowly, bracing yourself for whatever cocky look Bucky had in store, but when you finally laid eyes on him, your brain just… stopped. No thoughts, head empty, because the second he strolled into view, you swore you heard the sultry opening saxophone of Careless Whisper start playing, echoing dramatically in your head like some corny, slow-motion rom-com entrance.

He moved in perfect sync to the imaginary music in your head, each step more absurdly cinematic than the last. This can’t be happening, you thought, but somehow, there he was—tan skin, swim trunks slung just right, and that damn casual shirt hanging open over his shoulders. The man looked like a vacation ad, except he was bringing you dangerously close to a heatstroke.

As he got closer, the sax solo in your mind reached ridiculous, life-altering levels of intensity. Why do you have to look like this? you thought, nearly choking on the vision before you. Bucky’s smirk turned into something almost smug, like he knew exactly what effect he was having, as if he, too, could hear the George Michael anthem of seduction playing in your head. You half-expected him to whip out an actual saxophone and start serenading you right there.

You swallowed, barely keeping yourself from drooling, and willed yourself to stay composed. Get a grip, you told yourself, though you were about 98% certain your jaw was on the verge of dropping.

“Sorry, Johnny,” he said smoothly, not even glancing at the other guy. “I think she already has company.”

You quickly tried to compose yourself, forcing a neutral expression as you willed your face not to betray the sheer catastrophe your brain was going through. 

“Oh, hey, Bucky,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t sound as strangled as you felt. Inside, you were practically screaming. Why do you have to look like a freaking Greek god, Barnes? It’s rude, honestly.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “You two know each other?”

Bucky leaned casually against the lounge chair next to yours, flashing a grin that practically oozed mischief. 

“You could say that. She’s my neighbor,” he said, his tone implying… well, all sorts of things. You immediately knew that everyone within earshot was definitely getting the wrong idea. “And I’ve been trying to get her to come out of her shell for a while now.”

Come out of her shell? You wanted to throttle him. But before you could retort, Johnny, ever the gentleman, just gave you a knowing wink and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. 

“Well, guess I’ll let you take over, then,” he said, sauntering off with an amused smile.

You sighed, turning to face Bucky, who looked all too pleased with himself as he settled in beside you, stretching out like he owned the place. 

“So, you made it,” he said, taking a leisurely sip of his drink as his eyes did a once-over that was a little too thorough.

“Yep,” you replied, your voice barely concealing your exasperation. “I showed up, just like I said I would. Where were you?”

He shrugged, that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. “Was just giving you a chance to make some new friends,” he said, his tone way too casual.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the beer Johnny had given you. “Please. You just love making an entrance.”

He chuckled, clinking his glass with yours. “Can’t say you’re wrong about that.”

As he leaned back, his gaze lingered a little too long, making your cheeks heat up. 

“Nice cover-up, by the way,” he commented, smirk widening. “It’s… modest.”

You shot him a look, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the sheer fabric draped over your swimsuit. “Why, thank you. That was kind of the point.”

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice dropping just a notch. “Shame, though. Bet that swimsuit’s got a whole lot of personality under there.”

You practically choked on your drink, coughing as you glared at him. “You’re such a flirt, Barnes.”

He chuckled, clearly unbothered by your reaction. “Hey, just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

You settled back in your chair, determined not to let him get the upper hand. But as you sat there, pretending to ignore him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything, you were enjoying this game just as much as he was.

You took a deep breath, narrowing your eyes at Bucky, who was looking far too pleased with himself. 

“Like I said, just one hour,” you told him firmly, crossing your arms as if that would somehow fortify your resolve against whatever mischievous plans he undoubtedly had.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning even more devilish. “Oh, I’m sure an hour will be more than enough.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “For what? So you can drive me insane and then sit back and enjoy the show?”

He chuckled, leaning a little closer, and you felt your heart rate spike. “Maybe. But I was thinking more along the lines of just… keeping you entertained.”

“Oh, I’m plenty entertained, thanks,” you shot back, trying to sound unimpressed despite the heat creeping up your neck.

He shrugged, unfazed, and settled back into his lounge chair. 

“Good. Then let’s make it the best hour of your week,” he said, flashing you a wink that sent a new wave of exasperation—and, annoyingly, a bit of excitement—through you.

You huffed, shaking your head as you took a sip of your drink, determined not to let him see just how much that smirk was affecting you. Just one hour, you reminded yourself. What could possibly happen in one hour?

As you and Bucky settled into a strange, almost comfortable silence, you heard a booming voice from across the pool.

“CHICKEN FIGHT!” Johnny’s voice rang out, loud and enthusiastic, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention.

You whipped your head around, eyes widening. Johnny was wading into the pool, rallying everyone like some kind of pool party commander. “Come on! Everyone in! We need two teams!”

“Oh, no,” you muttered under your breath, instinctively shrinking into your lounge chair, hoping you’d be overlooked in the shuffle. Absolutely not happening, you thought, clutching your drink like a lifeline.

But Bucky, of course, was already grinning ear to ear. He turned to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement and mischief. 

“You heard him,” he said, patting your shoulder like this was some team-building exercise. “We’re going in.”

“What? No!” you hissed, clutching your drink tighter as if that would save you. “I didn’t sign up for a chicken fight. I’m just here for moral support.”

Bucky laughed, standing up and stretching in that way that only he could pull off without looking ridiculous. 

“Oh, come on,” he said, flashing you that smug, challenging grin. “Afraid of a little friendly competition?”

You shook your head, digging your heels in. “Nope. Not happening. And it’s not friendly—it’s dangerous!”

“Oh, don’t be such a chicken.” His smirk widened, and then, with a theatrical sigh, he added, “Guess I’ll just have to find someone braver.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, you’re really going to play that card?”

He shrugged, glancing around with feigned disappointment. “Guess so. Shame though. I thought you could handle it.”

It was the final straw. With an exasperated groan, you threw down your drink and stood up. 

“Fine! I’ll do it.” The second the words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, especially as you saw Bucky’s smirk morph into full-blown satisfaction.

“Perfect,” he said, clearly thrilled with himself.

You sighed, slipping off your sheer cover-up, feeling a sudden self-consciousness as you stood there in just your swimsuit. Bucky’s gaze flicked over you with open admiration, his grin widening just a bit. You forced yourself to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, rolling your eyes at his blatant staring.

“Enjoying the view?” you deadpanned.

“Oh, absolutely,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes twinkling. “But we’ve got a fight to win.”

Before you could second-guess your decision, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the pool. Johnny spotted the two of you and cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “Yes! We got a team! Bucky and… Y/N, right?”

You forced a smile, giving him a thumbs-up while silently planning your escape route. But before you knew it, you were waist-deep in the water, Bucky hoisting you up with surprising ease, positioning you on his shoulders.

“Oh my god, this is insane,” you muttered, gripping onto his head for balance as he adjusted to your weight. “I feel like a five-year-old at a theme park.”

“Just hold on,” he chuckled, steadying himself under you. “I’ve got you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his hands firmly held your thighs, and suddenly, this was a whole new level of intense. Focus on the fight, not the incredibly attractive man holding you in the pool, you told yourself, cheeks flaming.

Johnny waded over with his partner—a muscular, tattooed guy named Jake who was definitely taking this way too seriously. 

“Ready to lose, Barnes?” Jake taunted, grinning up at you.

Bucky chuckled, his hands tightening on your legs just slightly. “Not a chance.”

“Alright, you’re up top!” Johnny yelled, clapping his hands. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

You barely had time to brace yourself before Jake and his partner charged at you, water splashing everywhere as they made their move. Instinctively, you shrieked, grabbing onto Bucky’s hair for dear life as the force of the impact sent you both wobbling.

“Easy on the hair!” Bucky grunted, though he was laughing, his shoulders steadying beneath you as he held his ground.

“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, adjusting your grip. But before you could even catch your breath, Jake’s partner was lunging at you again, arms flailing as he tried to knock you off balance.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you muttered, your competitive spirit kicking in. You threw your hands out, grabbing his wrists and pushing back with everything you had, determined to hold your ground.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Bucky cheered from below, his laughter bubbling up as he shifted to help keep you steady. “Show ‘em what you’ve got!”

Fueled by his encouragement—and a surprising amount of adrenaline—you leaned forward, pushing against Jake’s partner with all your strength. The guy’s face twisted in concentration, but with one final shove, you managed to throw him off balance. He teetered, arms flailing, before finally toppling backward into the water with a massive splash.

“Yes!” you shouted, punching the air triumphantly as Johnny and Jake went down in a flurry of water and defeat. “Suck on that!”

The words had barely left your mouth when reality crashed back in. You blinked, suddenly realizing that maybe—just maybe—you’d gotten a little too carried away. Oh god, did I really just shout that? you thought, the heat rushing to your cheeks as your triumphant grin quickly turned into a sheepish smile.

“Well, look at you,” Bucky chuckled from below, clearly amused by your victory-induced outburst. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Yeah, well… neither did I,” you muttered, feeling the embarrassment settling in as you tried to slide off his shoulders, desperate to save whatever shred of dignity you had left. But as you started to wriggle down, you realized Bucky’s hands were still firmly gripping your thighs, holding you in place.

You froze, looking down at him. “Uh, Bucky… you can, you know… let go now.”

He glanced up, smirking. “Oh, but you’re comfortable up there. Why rush it?”

You huffed, your face going a deeper shade of red. “Because I’m very much done being the human flagpole, thank you very much.”

Bucky’s grin only widened as he kept his hold, clearly enjoying the situation far more than he should. “Nah, I think I like you right where you are. Adds a bit of… height to my reputation.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling your mortification level spike. “If you don’t let me down, I swear I’ll—”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, finally loosening his grip, letting you slide back into the water. But just as your feet touched down, he didn’t back away—instead, he shifted closer, his hands still lingering on your waist, his gaze locking onto yours with a look that sent your pulse racing.

You took a half-step back, but there was no real room to escape, not with the edge of the pool just behind you and Bucky’s broad frame in front, all mischief and steady, unbreakable eye contact. 

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “you could stay longer.”

Your breath hitched as Bucky leaned just the slightest bit closer, his hands still warm and steady on your waist, his smirk turning softer yet somehow more intense. Every nerve in your body seemed to jolt to life as he held your gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to find your voice amid the chaos of your thoughts. 

“Uh… stay longer? For what?” you managed, trying to sound casual, though your pulse was anything but.

His smirk grew, the corners of his mouth lifting in that way that was dangerously charming. 

“For the victory lap, of course,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “After all, we did just crush the competition. Wouldn’t want you running off too fast.”

“Oh, right, a victory lap,” you muttered, trying to regain your composure but finding it difficult with his hands still lingering on your waist. “But I think the whole pool just watched that ‘lap’…”

“Then they got a good show,” he chuckled, his voice warm with that teasing tone you were starting to know all too well. “But the best part of winning is savoring it… right here.”

Your face went hot as his fingers brushed slightly against your sides, sending a little spark of energy straight up your spine. 

“Bucky,” you said, the word barely a whisper. “You’re… awfully close.”

“Oh, am I?” He didn’t back away; instead, he raised a brow, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Didn’t hear you complaining when you were up there, champ.”

Your cheeks went impossibly warmer. “That was different. That was, you know… competitive. Strategic.”

“Competitive and strategic?” he echoed, his grin turning almost wicked. “Well, in that case…” He shifted his hands slightly, bringing you even closer as he leaned in. “Let’s see if you’re still competitive outside the game.”

He hovered just a breath away, his gaze flickering to your lips for a moment that felt like an eternity. You felt yourself leaning in almost on instinct, your pulse racing, and for one wild, heart-stopping second, it seemed like he might actually kiss you.

But then, as if on cue, someone nearby let out a loud, obnoxious cheer, snapping both of you out of the moment. The sound jolted you, and you quickly took a step back, breaking the tension as reality crashed in.

Bucky chuckled softly, looking slightly too smug as he let his hands fall from your waist. 

“Guess that victory lap will have to wait,” he murmured, giving you one last look that promised he wasn’t quite finished with his teasing yet.

You swallowed, desperately trying to get your heart rate back to normal. “Yeah, guess so.”

As the night went on, you’d lost count of how many concoction drinks had been handed to you, and at this point, your usual sense of caution was practically nonexistent. The rooftop was a haze of laughter, lights, and music, and the whole place felt like it was buzzing with energy. Any embarrassment from earlier had dissolved into pure, uninhibited confidence, each drink making you feel bolder than the last.

One minute, you were in a drinking game, cheering Bucky on as he took down a round of shots like it was nothing. The next, you found yourself in a game of truth or dare that had somehow escalated into body shots. You’d laughed, nearly choking on your drink, when you saw Bucky sprawled out on a table, daring you with that infuriating grin to take your turn.

“Oh, come on, that's not fair,” you slurred, trying to wave off the dare as he raised an eyebrow, that smug look firmly in place.

“Back out now if you can’t handle it,” he teased, lying back and folding his arms behind his head, acting like he hadn’t a care in the world.

The crowd cheered you on, and fueled by liquid courage, you rolled your eyes and leaned down, pressing your lips to his abs, feeling his warm skin under your touch as you took the shot in a quick, heated moment. His laughter mingled with the cheers around you, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush from the attention, from his gaze, from the heat spreading across your face.

Before you knew it, you were in a round of flip cup with Bucky as your teammate, and he downed his drink, slamming his cup down with a victorious shout. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you up and spinning you around, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand straight when he finally set you down.

Somehow, you ended up on the makeshift dance floor, music thumping as the party around you roared on, the lights around the rooftop pool casting a glow over everyone. You’d danced with other people throughout the night, but Bucky seemed to have a way of drawing you back, his energy magnetic, his laughter contagious. It was like he was everywhere you turned, keeping pace with you, matching every laugh and smirk with one of his own.

The music thumped, lights flashed, and the DJ’s voice blared over the speakers, “Alright, party people! Here’s the deal—find someone you want to… get close to tonight and give them a kiss, a hug, heck, even a lick if you’re feeling bold!”

Everyone around you burst into cheers and laughter, the party’s energy wild and reckless. By now, you were buzzing on so much liquid courage that everything felt like the best idea ever, including the fact that you were swaying against Bucky, who’d somehow stayed by your side all night.

He leaned in, his smirk way too mischievous, and the alcohol made it feel impossibly close. 

“Did you hear that?” he slurred, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. “I think it’d be a shame if we ignore the DJ’s request don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off, but he just grinned wider, leaning in until his cheek was practically pressed against yours. 

“Hold still,” he whispered, a laugh lurking in his voice.

Then, in a move so outrageous you could barely comprehend it, he dragged his tongue slowly from your chin up to your forehead.

“Bucky!” you shrieked, stumbling back and half falling over yourself, laughter bubbling out of you as you clutched your face in shock. “Oh my god, you did not just—”

He stepped back, looking beyond pleased with himself, the grin on his face pure, unfiltered pride. 

“What? I’m just being… obedient,” he slurred, raising his hands in mock innocence.

“You are the worst!” you squealed, laughing so hard you could barely keep it together, grabbing his arm as you steadied yourself, still half in disbelief. He just chuckled, clearly reveling in your reaction as he pulled you right back into the rhythm, your laughter mixing with the cheers around you as the dance floor pulsed with music.

They cranked up the music, and suddenly, the beat was all around you, pulsing through the crowd, as if daring everyone to let loose. The energy was infectious, and you found yourself moving in sync with him, laughing as you danced together, every touch and sway between you crackling with a chemistry that had been simmering all night.

Without thinking, you stepped closer, your hands drifting to his chest, letting your fingers splay against the warm, solid muscle. Your movements grew slower, more deliberate, and his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you against him until there was barely any space left between you. His gaze dropped, glued on your lips, and you felt a shiver run through you, your breath hitching as he leaned in, his face just inches from yours. His nose brushed yours, and you looked up to meet his gaze, seeing the same surprised intensity reflected in his eyes.

Bucky held your gaze, his breath mingling with yours, and you could feel the tension building, electric and undeniable. He was waiting—leaving the next move up to you. If you wanted him, you knew he’d let you take him.

🎶Just let me know, can you be the one to hold and not let me go?🎶

Heart pounding, you somehow managed to press yourself even closer, feeling the swell of your chest against him, igniting a flush across his cheeks. But it wasn’t embarrassment you saw in his eyes—it was heat, a look that sent a thrill down your spine. His hand shifted, his fingers tracing along the curve of your hip, and you could feel the strength of his grip as he held you.

🎶I need to know, could you be the one to call when I lose control?🎶

The tension was unbearable, and as you tilted your face up, your lips brushed his in the softest, most hesitant caress—a question, an invitation. His resolve crumbled instantly. His hand slid to your waist, gripping the flesh there as his other hand threaded into your hair, guiding your head back so he could kiss you deeper, tasting you with an intensity that left you breathless. You let out a startled, breathless sound, and he responded by pulling you closer, cradling your face as if you were something precious, something he couldn’t bear to let go of.

Your lips parted for him, and he kissed you with a hunger that had been building for some time. His tongue traced yours, swallowing your quiet moans, anchoring you to him as his hand kept you steady. It wasn’t forceful, just… tender, like he was holding something priceless.

Your breaths came heavy, your cheeks flushed, but you barely noticed; all you could feel was him, his touch, his heartbeat pounding against yours, and the fire in his veins matching your own. In that moment, propriety, the crowd around you, everything else faded into oblivion. If he wanted you to take him right there, you couldn’t even think of saying no.

Every nerve in your body was alive, tingling with an incredible sense of lust and need as his arms held you close. His lips pressed harder, deepening the kiss, his passion and intensity only spurring you to match it. You melted against him, completely consumed by the heat and need between you, and for those moments, it was as if nothing else existed. Oxygen became secondary; the only thing that mattered was the connection between you, growing more fervent with each second.

Finally, when the need for air became overwhelming, you both broke apart, gasping, your faces inches from each other, breaths mingling as you took each other in. His lips tingled, mirroring your own, and every beat of your heart seemed to urge you back into his embrace.

“Let’s get out of here… yours or mine?” Bucky stammered between breaths, his voice husky, his eyes still filled with fire. His body radiated heat, and he looked like he’d dive into the pool at any second just to cool down.

“Mine,” you whispered, your voice breathless, cheeks flushed, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you held his gaze.

× × × × 

You both barely made it down the hallway before the urgency hit, the tension that had been building all night finally snapping. Bucky’s hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, pulling you against him as you fumbled for your keys, the both of you practically tripping over each other in your haste. As soon as you managed to unlock the door, you pushed it open, stumbling inside, his mouth crashing into yours before it even closed behind you.

Wetness pooled inside you, the need for him overwhelming as you pressed back against the door, his body meeting yours in a frenzy of heat and desperation. His stubble scraped against your skin, rough and deliciously manly, a reminder that he was all raw power and intensity. You loved it, the way it scratched against your cheek, adding to the thrill and making your skin tingle wherever he touched.

His lips found the side of your neck, warm and insistent as he kissed his way down, nipping softly, each touch leaving you breathless. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, exposing the full length of your neck to his hungry mouth. His hands slid up your sides, his fingers pressing in firmly, possessively, as his teeth grazed your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“God,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You could only gasp, clutching onto him as his mouth moved up to your jaw, his hands never stilling, gripping you as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Bucky reached a hand up and placed it on your left breast, over the bikini top, and then brought his hand up to the back of your neck to pull you in closer to him. You undid the straps of your top, and down fell the top, exposing your naked breasts to him.

Holy shit—this can’t be real. Am I hallucinating? Is this actually happening? Wait—oh god, is he about to put my boobs in his mouth?!

Like a hungry child desperate for milk Bucky suckled on your nipple, squeezing the bottom of your breast passionately with one hand, and holding the other breast in his other hand. You looked down at him, licking, sucking, rubbing, and he looked as though he was transported to paradise.

He worked himself into a frenzy playing with your breast, until he wanted more. He lifted you up under your thighs, off the floor, and pressed your back against the wall.

Oh shit!

He kissed you again, his hand sliding down to press against you over your bikini bottom. With a quick, desperate motion, he tugged the fabric to the side, his fingers brushing bare skin, making your breath hitch.

As his hand cupped you, he began to move slowly, his fingers exploring, teasing. “Damn,” he murmured, his voice thick with surprise and satisfaction. “You’re so wet. Is this what happens every time you watch my videos?”

“M-maybe…” you stammered, cheeks heating, barely able to meet his eyes as a grin spread across his face.

His fingers slid inside you, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion sending sparks through your entire body. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he asked, “How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan as he continued, each movement intensifying the heat pooling inside you. 

“Mmmh—why would I tell you that?” you managed, trying to sound teasing but barely able to keep your voice steady.

His grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his fingers pressed deeper, his thumb brushing against you just right. “Because I want to hear every filthy detail.”

He kissed your other nipple, the one he missed when before. Bucky always gave equal time to the breasts. Suckling on one nipple, fingering you harder and harder, you were getting more and more excited for the moment he would penetrate you.

“Oh my god—” You swallowed, feeling your face heat up and you could feel yourself slightly sobering up. With a nervous laugh, you finally gave in, your voice soft but steady.

“Fine… sometimes, late at night—ah—I’d imagine you between my legs, devouring me like your life depended on it,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks burn. “I’d—fuck—I’d think about your hands, the way they’d feel inside me, moving exactly like this…mmmh,” you gasped as his fingers pressed deeper, your own words sparking the desire between you. 

His fingers never stopped their steady, torturous rhythm, each movement deliberate, coaxing you toward the edge with a patience that was as maddening as it was intoxicating.

“And? That’s it?” he asked, his tone thick with amusement, daring you to reveal more. His thumb brushed against you in just the right way, as if encouraging you to keep talking, to give him every last detail he was craving.

“And—hah—I’d picture you… spitting in my mouth while you’re turning me on, you’d put your hand on my neck while I beg you to i dunno? reorganize my guts—because you’re so big Bucky. . . I don’t think you’ll fit inside me.”

“Oh the innocent looking ones are always the dirtiest.” Bucky’s smirk turned darker, his fingers pressing into you with a newfound intensity, his digits hooking and pressing into your most sensitive spot, causing your hips to jerk against his palm. 

“And was I just as good in your imagination as I am now?” he murmured, voice low and rough, sending shivers straight down your spine.

“Yes… yes…” The words left your lips almost involuntarily, your hands gripping his shoulders as your nails dug in, grounding yourself against the overwhelming sensation. Your face twisted with pleasure, each stroke of his digits making it harder to catch your breath. 

Bucky’s eyes darkened with a fierce satisfaction as he watched you, his smirk deepening. “Better than you imagined?”

"Mhhm," you tried to respond, but it came out more like a needy moan, your voice barely a whisper under the intensity of his touch.

Bucky's smirk grew at the sound, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he took in every reaction, every tremble. "That’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice dark and teasing.

Bucky carried you through the open door of your bedroom, his movements purposeful, every touch sending sparks across your skin. When he reached the edge of the bed, he lowered you onto the mattress, but before letting you go, he bent down to capture your lips in a kiss—a kiss that felt as intimate as it did electrifying.

You couldn’t help but notice the difference; this was something he never did in his videos. Bucky never kissed anyone on the lips on screen. But here, he kissed you slowly, deeply.

His hands moved to your shoulders, firm but gentle as he guided you back into the soft downy mattress. “There you go, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and low. “Lean back.”

He knelt down at the side of the bed. He pulled off your panties, the final barrier to your sex. He pushed your legs apart and back, and gazed at your pussy, already wet for him.

He stared at your exposed pussy for ten seconds, admiring it like it was the greatest work of art he had ever seen.

"Your pussy," he said, his lips nearly brushing your sex. "It's beautiful.”

You lifted your  head up and looked at him. Your jaw was dropped and you were already starting to feel tingles up your body, even though he hadn't licked you yet. You heard his breathing get heavier and heavier, he was so excited to put his lips on your pussy.

Two large fingers of his left hand spread your lips. Two large fingers of his right hand rubbed your clit in strong circles. Each circle sends a shock wave through your body.

"You smell fantastic," he declared, and he dove his mouth right on top of your wet and stimulated clit. Up and down he licked. Up and down, his mouth clasped tight against your pussy.

"Oh," you moaned, as your eyes rolled up to the back of your head. Your arms—with a mind of their own—grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted them back, presenting yourself to this man who used to be on the screen and was now bringing you to ecstasy. He'd only just started to lick you, but even so you felt ready for him to enter you and never leave. 

As Bucky continued to eat you like you’re his last meal, each suction sending thrills through you, a sudden wave of doubt crashed over you, freezing you in place. Images flooded your mind—women he’d been with, all effortlessly beautiful, the kind who exuded confidence and allure. How could you compare? This had to be nothing more than another fleeting thing for him, a “friendship” that would end the moment the night was over.

You tensed, your hands moving to gently push him back. “Bucky… wait,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up from between your legs, his expression softening instantly as he met your gaze. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle, concerned.

“I… I just…” You stammered, the words getting caught in your throat before you finally managed, “I don’t want to be… one of your girls.”

Bucky blinked, taken aback, his expression shifting as if the words had struck something unexpected, almost offended. 

“One of my girls?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you searched for the right way to explain. “I… I don’t do one-night stands,” you admitted, feeling vulnerable. 

Bucky nodded slowly, his tongue pressing into his cheek as he rose to his feet. "Mhm—no, I get it... it's because of my job," he said, his tone carrying a hint of defensiveness.

You sat up, noticing the shift in his demeanor. "Are you mad?" you asked softly, uncertainty creeping into your voice.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not mad," he replied, though his clenched jaw suggested otherwise. "I just didn't think you'd see me that way."

"See you what way?" you pressed gently.

He met your gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "Like I'm some guy who just goes around collecting flings," he explained. "I thought you knew me better than that."

You swallowed, choosing your words carefully. “It's not that I think poorly of you,” you said. “It's just... your work makes things complicated for me. I don't want to be another notch on anyone's belt.”

He took a deep breath, his expression softening. “I understand where you're coming from,” he admitted. “But believe me when I say that this—” he gestured between the two of you “—is different for me.”

“How do I know that?” you asked quietly.

He stepped closer, his eyes sincere. “Because I don't share moments like this with just anyone,” he said. “You think I go around kissing people like that? Off-camera, in my real life?”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his brows knitting together as he crossed his arms, clearly growing more frustrated. “I thought you knew the difference between who I am on-camera and who I am off it,” he replied, his tone clipped.

You sighed, trying to hold your ground. “Bucky, you’re the one who kept teasing me to watch your videos, practically encouraging me to make it my new hobby—how am I supposed to ignore what you do?”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “Because those videos aren’t me,” he said, voice rising. “You’re acting like everything I do there is just some extension of my personal life, but it’s a job, Y/N. I don’t go around living like that off-set.”

You crossed your arms, not caring that the blanket had slipped off, leaving you bare before him. 

“And I’m supposed to just... pretend that all of it doesn’t mean anything?” you shot back, feeling a twinge of vulnerability but refusing to let it show. “You kept making those jokes, those comments—you have to see how confusing it is for me.”

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “And you think I just do that with everyone? That every person who walks into my life gets these... moments with me?” His gaze softened slightly as he gestured between the two of you. “If that were the case, do you think I’d be here, right now, trying to convince you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat. His intensity was throwing you off balance, forcing you to question your assumptions. You’d expected him to brush this off or laugh, not take it to heart.

He shook his head, a frustrated laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it, do you?” He looked at you, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t have to be here, fighting for this. I could have walked away and yet here I am.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat as the weight of his words settled heavily between you. The intensity of his gaze, the raw honesty in his voice—it was all too much, too fast, and yet it tugged at something deep inside you, making it impossible to brush off. But your heart was pounding, confusion and vulnerability swirling together, and you weren’t ready to face everything his words were unearthing.

“I… I think we should call it a night,” you said quietly, barely able to meet his gaze, the words coming out softer than you intended.

For a moment, he looked at you, his expression unreadable, and you could see him processing your response. Then, with a quiet sigh, he nodded, stepping back to give you space.

“Alright,” he replied, his voice subdued. “If that’s what you want.”

The room felt suddenly colder, the tension between you now tinged with a quiet ache. You could tell he was holding back more that he wanted to say, but he respected your decision, his expression guarded as he looked away.

You bit your lip, your mind racing with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say, with emotions you weren’t quite ready to admit. 

“Thank you… for understanding,” you managed, feeling the weight of your choice settle over you.

He gave a small nod, his jaw tight, before he turned toward the door. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly, pausing for a moment as if hoping you might change your mind, before finally leaving your apartment, the main door shutting made you flinch even though Bucky closed it softly.

The silence that followed felt heavier than you expected. The tension that had filled the room moments ago lingered, and a wave of frustration washed over you, mixing with regret and uncertainty. You took a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow, buried your face into it, and let out a muffled scream, releasing all the emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. The pillow absorbed the sound, but it did nothing to ease the twist of emotions churning inside you. Finally, you pulled the pillow away, feeling just as conflicted as before, wondering if you’d made the right choice… or a terrible mistake.

tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714

@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101

@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld

[skzthelomlhehe]

Part two is heeerrrreeee~~~ hope y'all enjoy all this brainrot I'm having hahahahaha I lost my mind midway through writing this so idek what I wrote lololol hope it feeds y'alls delulu minds thooo~ Total Masterlist

MDNI // smutty. Very smutty. // Established relationships // x F!reader

Tag Reqs:@arestoucries

How your boyfriend!skz will react to you waiting for them in a sexy lingerie when they come home after a long day at work. [Ot8] {Pt. 2: maknae line}

Han Jisung

When i tell you he'll MELT. Like I'm saying FOLDED, WHIMPERING, FUCKING TREMBLING like- believe me or not- THE MAN IS GONNA LOSE HIS MIND. Like just imagine. He had a tough day at work, comes home expecting to like cuddle and whine in your arms and he just walks in on you wearing a lingerie makes you look so so so fucking pretty. He'll stand there on the door way, jaw dropped, whimpering squealing whatever. He's gonna walk up to you and embrace you in the warmest fucking hug, nuzzle into your neck and let you rub his painful bulge over his clothes before letting all that scrumptious milk out along with all his worries after. When you both are done he'd just lay there cuddling you going "oh baby... I love you so much... Fuck why are you so damn beautiful?? You're making me lose my fucking mind here..." And just whine cuz he just can't resist you.

Felix

Ok so hear me out. When people look at Felix they're usually like 'oh he's just a submissive ball of sunshine' BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HOW MISCHIEVOUS THE MAN IS??? Don't let his cute and innocent, pretty little face fool you, chat. Cuz he's a very sly little kitten and he KNOWS it. I said what I said and I rest my case. When he sees you in that lingerie he's gonna walk up to you without a word, hold your face gently with those little hands, kiss you deeply and go "oh darling... You always know how to get my mind off of things... Didn't know you'd have this under your sleeve too~" in the deepest motherfckn voice ever. {I shit you not- while I was writing this I suddenly started hearing moans from the other room and realised my uncle was watching corn 💀 anyways back to Felix} like- the man is gonna RAVAGE you. He's gonna eat you out like you're the last meal he'll have. He'll let you know how stupidly attractive you looked in those garments with the minimum fabric. He's gonna let you know how fucking scrumptious you are and how much he loves the way you are.

Seungmin

For seungmin, you'd think he had no feelings or thoughts. He'd walk in, not even surprised by your antiques. He'd probably just walk over to you slowly and then grab you by the waist and whisper into your ear like, "you know I had a bad today... And the things you're doing right now is very very dangerous..." He's the typa guy who would quiet down COMPLETELY when he's upset so when he gets your permission he'd just pick you up, throw you on the bed and feel you like a puppy he is all night long. I feel like he's the type who would whimper and groan in your arms and make the bed CREAKIN iykwim 😉 and instead of doing the work, he would just lay there while you ride him cuz he loves it when you're taking the lead, caressing him, loving him and just... Making him feel like the most loved man ever.

Jeongin

Ok so- hear me out- let's put aside the 'saving myself for after marriage' thing for a second (while I do respect it, let's just put it aside for a tiny bit) I feel like when he gets home and the first thing he sees is you like that, on their bed, laying there welcoming him, he'd look at you with those foxy slender eyes of his with this sly smirk (if you know what I mean, you know. If you don't, that's sad and I'm so sorry you don't cuz HONEY you're missing out.) once he's done eye fucking you from the door frame he'd just walk up to you like the fox he is (ok but why do I like- imagine him making some tiny fox squeals too???) he'd just go over to you, get on top of you while placing soft wet kisses then whisper in your ear like "is this the surprise you were talking about when I said I was having a bad day earlier, hm? You're such a cutie, yknow that?" And then nibble at the lobe of your ear. People think that he doesn't enjoy physical contact given the way he is (which might be true lol) but I feel like with his lover he'd be just a snuggly fox and a very soft loaf of bread. (And then daddy toastie comes out Lolol)

Once again, these are all my assumptions so please don't take anything seriously it's all just brainrot I've been having. They're their own individuals and I completely respect them and dearly love and cherish them.

That aside, I hope you guys enjoyed!

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (23/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: There's nothing sweeter than unexpected visitors.

Warnings: 18+ (just be prepared for some words), fluff (like a lot), Pascale is the sweetest thing on this planet, teeny tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hello everyone! I hope you all are doing okay after the Ferrari-Carlos-Lewis thing, because I'm still in denial. this is mostly fluff, because I couldn't manage you dealing with more bad stuff this week. love you! feedback is appreciated!

Before you can say anything or even react, the blonde woman lets go of your hands and snatches one of the magazines lying on the coffee table in front of you. She rolls it up with her slender fingers before smacking Charles across the back of the head. 

"Maman!" he exclaims angrily, rubbing his head. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

The woman holds the magazine under his chin so that the Monegasque has no choice but to look her in the eye and return her stare. "That's no way to talk to your mother." She puts the magazine back in its rightful place before turning to you again. "Try again, chéri."

Your friend has to hold back a grin before he spreads his arms out and hugs his mother. "Good morning, Maman. It's really good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, mon chéri," she replies lovingly, stroking his broad back once with her hand before releasing herself from the tight embrace. She puts her hands to his cheeks to study his face. "I didn't know you were back home."

Charles tilts his head, his mouth forming a thin line. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know," he replies meekly, taking her hands from his cheeks so that he can press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"I can see that." She pulls her hands from his and then turns to face you. When she looks at you, you stiffen. All of a sudden, you feel as if you're naked in Charles' clothes, she's looking at you so piercingly. "I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself properly yet. I'm not usually as rude as my son." Charles rolls his eyes as her smile is affectionate and gentle. Then she wraps you in a hug that is careful, but firm nonetheless. It's a good hug. "I am Pascale. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." After you've also introduced yourself, you return her smile. 

"Now that you two have met," Charles interrupts your conversation. "How do we come to be honored with your company, Maman?"

As if it was her own home, her own four walls, Pascale leaves the hallway and goes into the kitchen, where she grabs a cup and makes herself an espresso at the coffee machine. Like two lost puppies, the two of you follow the beautiful woman. "I was called in tears last night." When the loud buzzing of the machine stops, she takes a sip of her coffee before placing it on the countertop. "Can someone explain that to me?" With her eyes glued to her son like an annoying price sticker on a new plate, you're off the hook. 

"I didn't think she'd call you."

She?

"And I didn't think you'd just kick her out of the apartment without giving her some warning," Pascale replies sharply, raising an eyebrow to show her disapproval of Charles' behavior. "She called me in the middle of the night, upset with you and crying bitterly because you kicked her out of the apartment with a simple text message."

Something flashes in your mind. When you followed Charles back to the bedroom last night, he was typing away on his cell phone. And when you told him that he'd be crazy if you went with him to the apartment where his ex still lives, he assured you that she wouldn't be there. 

You didn't expect him to just throw Annika out of the apartment so that you would have a safe place where Raphael couldn't harm you.

"Maman." Charles raises his hands placatingly. "It wasn't like that."

"So you didn't send her a text message telling her to pack her things and leave within thirty minutes?" When Charles doesn't reply, but simply stares at his mother open-mouthed, she runs her fingers through her hair in bewilderment. "I didn't bring you up like that. Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Maman -"

"No 'Maman'." Judging by the look on her face, she would like to hit him over the head with the magazine again. "Do you know what the consequences could be?"

"Maman -"

"She could go public with it!"

"Maman -"

"And - and damage your reputation! She could -"

"Maman!" Charles almost shouts at his mother to break out of her mental spiral. She looks angrily at her son, who takes a small step towards her. He lowers his hands. "Annika cheated on me."

As if all the air had escaped her body, Pascale plops down on the chair where you were eating pancakes just a few minutes ago. She puts her face in her hands and takes a deep breath before looking at her son again. She tries to blink away the tears in her eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you, mon chéri?"

Without answering, Charles closes the distance to his mother and holds her tightly in his arms. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and closes his eyes. "It's all right, Maman. Please don't worry, okay?" He squeezes his mother a little tighter as her arms wrap around his middle. "It's all right. I'm all right. I'm in good hands here."

Pascale's gaze flickers to you and a small smile crosses her beautiful face. You recognize Charles in it. "You'll take good care of him, won't you?"

You feel the blood rush to your face. Suddenly it feels wrong to be witnessing this loving conversation between mother and son. "Of course." With everything I have.

"Very well, chéri," Pascale finally says, gently pushing her son away. "Your brother is coming to visit tomorrow. As you haven't seen each other for a while, I'd like you to come to dinner. He would definitely be happy to see you." She looks at you again. "You too, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, Charles looks at you and shakes his head, barely noticing, so you don't turn down her invitation. "All right, maman. We'll be there." He nudges her lightly with his elbow. "As long as there's pasta e pollo."

Pascale rolls her eyes. "You're incorrigible, Charles." She smiles at him anyway. "Your new girlfriend gets to decide. After all, she's the new addition to our family and I want to make a good impression."

"Maman, she's -" Charles tries to explain himself, but his mother merely raises her hand to silence him. When Charles and your eyes meet, you feel warm. And when he pushes his lower lip forward, he looks so cute that you can't help but agree with him. 

"Pasta e pollo sounds great."

Pascale gets up from her chair. "Very good. Then I'll get everything ready for tomorrow." She strides past you towards the front door and you follow her again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. I'll let you know the exact time, mon chéri." She kisses Charles' right and then left cheek before repeating it with you. "Tomorrow we'll have enough time to talk about all this. And to get to know each other better."

"I can hardly wait," you answer her honestly.

"That's very nice. Then I'll see you tomorrow evening. Bonne journée," she wishes you before disappearing from the apartment just as quickly as she came in. As the door closes behind her, you both exhale deeply.

"I'm so sorry." Charles turns to face you.

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Sorry for what exactly? Your mother suddenly showing up here?"

He runs his hand through his hair and leans back against the closed door. "That you're now forced to spend the evening with my family. And that I didn't make it clear that we're just friends."

You run your tongue along the inside of your teeth. "It's okay, there's plenty of time for that." Then you smile. "Your mom seems nice. I have no problem spending time with her."

He laughs briefly and then leans his head against the white wood. "It's not my mom that worries me. It's my brothers. They can be really - you know - brothers sometimes."

You walk towards him and lower your arms. "Why? Are they that bad?"

He grabs one of your hands and plays with your fingers. His eyes search yours. "I think it's better if you make up your own mind about them."

"So they're that bad?" you joke, allowing him to pull you closer so that you're standing between his legs. "If they're anything like you, I think I'll get on well with them."

His free hand rests on your hip. Despite the layers of fabric, you can feel the warmth of his skin. "Then you'll hate Arthur." His fingers press gently into your flesh before something behind you catches his attention and he releases you - too quickly for your liking. As you turn around, the piano catches your eye and the roses standing on it. 

"What's the plan for today?" you ask him, trying to draw his attention back to you. You release his hand from your hip, but only to pull him into the kitchen so he doesn't have to look at those stupid roses anymore. "Do you have to do anything? Gym? Or do you have any appointments?"

Charles sits down in his chair and fishes his cell phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. "I don't think so," he answers and takes a look at his online calendar before placing his cell phone on the counter in front of him. "I don't have any appointments or commitments to meet until after Christmas. Until then, I'm all yours." His smile is sweet as sugar and your heart skips a beat.

You want to grab him by the collar of his shirt, pull him across the worktop and kiss him until you can't breathe. Touch him until the countertop is used for something other than cooking, but this morning you convinced yourself that this friendship is the right and, above all, the only way this can work. And that you wouldn't do anything to sabotage this friendship.

"How about we use this time wisely then, huh?" You reach for Pascale's coffee cup and rinse it. 

"Do you have an idea?" He raises an eyebrow and has to stifle a smile when he sees your grin. "Of course you have one. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked like that. Fire away."

"So," you start and put the cup back in its place in the cupboard. "We've finally spoken and we've agreed to stay in this apartment together."

"As friends," the Monegasque confirms the thought you just had, even if you don't understand why he has to say it out loud. 

Your eyes dart towards the hallway, knowing that the white piano with the red roses is just a few meters away. "What do you say we go out today and buy some new things for the apartment?" you suggest. "Then I could get things for my room and maybe something else to make it feel a bit more like home."

"You mean to make it feel like it's your apartment too?" Charles leans back in his chair a little and runs his hand through his hair. 

"Only if that's okay with you. After all, it's your apartment and I could understand if you wanted to leave everything as it is at the moment and -" you babble nervously without thinking about what you're saying. You look at him worriedly and try to read his face to see if you might have crossed a line. 

"That's actually a good idea," Charles finally replies, smiling at you. "But are you ready for it?"

"For what?" you ask, confused, leaning against the countertop, which - unfortunately - is only used for cooking.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "For being seen outside. With me." He looks at you like a kicked puppy that's been abandoned on the street in the middle of the night.

"I told you I have no problem with that," you assure him and walk around the kitchen counter to sit next to him. You reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers. "We're friends, Charles. We know we're friends. And I don't care what anyone else thinks they know about us." You tilt your head a little to one side. "Our friendship is real - and that's why we're going right out there to buy some new stuff for the apartment."

His smile almost makes your heart stop. "For our apartment," he corrects you, his green eyes twinkling.

"Our apartment," you repeat softly. 

"Okay." He lowers his gaze to your hands, and the way his fingers wrap around yours makes it feel like they're perfect for each other. The two of you spending time together shouldn't make you this happy. "But we'll only go on one condition."

"What's that?" 

"We're not going alone. We're taking Pierre and Kika with us so that it doesn't look like we're shopping for furniture for our apartment as a couple in love." The fact that he doesn't want to go out alone with you feels like a punch in the gut. When he notices the hurt look on your face, he squeezes your fingers gently twice. "It's just to protect you, Y/N."

The fact that he doesn't trust you to do this hits you harder than it should. How many times do you have to tell him you're ready? That the opinions of others don't matter to you as long as you have Charles by your side? Does he really think you're that weak?

"I don't need to be protected," you reply sharply and take your hand away from him. 

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he tries to reassure you, but the fact that he's talking down your feelings doesn't make things any better. 

"Maybe not," you say annoyed and get up from your chair. "But there will come a point when we're on our own. And then everyone's going to be talking shit about us, I get it. And I get that it's going to be bad." You don't care that you're acting like a defiant child. The fact that Charles doesn't want to be seen alone with you hurts more than you would ever admit. "So why not today?"

The young man in front of you looks away from you with a crestfallen expression before also rising from his chair. When he reaches for your hand again, you allow it. "I want you to be able to turn away from me if it gets too much for you. I want you to have the chance to live a normal life if you do decide against me." His other hand rests against your cheek and you snuggle up to him as if it were a reflex. "I don't want you to regret meeting me."

The fact that he thinks you could ever regret befriending him stabs straight through your heart. He wants to protect you from something you both have no control over, and although you'd like to stroll through Monaco holding hands with him, you can understand him.

He is trying to protect both you and himself. And you can understand that all too well. 

"All right," you give in and smile gently at him. "Then ask them if they're free and up for it today. It could be fun."

Charles lets go of you and the warmth that had been flowing through your body immediately disappears. While he talks to Pierre on the phone, you go back to your room to get changed and think about what would look good in your room. 

Different curtains wouldn't go amiss, and some candles and a small mirror would look good on the white chest of drawers opposite the bed. You might also find some new bedding that -

"Y/N?" Charles' voice echoes through the apartment. You find him in the doorway of the master bedroom, where he glances over his shoulder in your direction. "Pierre and Kika are about to head out, then we'll leave together." 

"Okay," you reply, glancing past him into the room. There are a few things lying around that are definitely not his, and the decor doesn't suit him very well either. "So this is your room?" 

"Uh-huh." He wrinkles his mouth a little. 

"What's wrong with it? Apart from the obvious, of course."

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Everything. I don't see anything in it that I wouldn't change."

You'd be only too happy to set the whole room on fire if it would certainly help him. Just like the roses that have burned themselves into your memory. You nudge him with your elbow. "Then we've got a lot planned for today." You look at each other and when he reaches for your hand, you have to smile. "You don't have to go through this alone, Charles. We can do this as long as we're together."

His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips. "Together," he says softly in return, leaning down a little towards you so that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. His warm breath caresses your face as his free hand finds its place on his hip again to pull you against him. You feel his hard body against yours, his heartbeat under your fingertips as you place your hand on his chest. You feel his warmth as his nose bumps against yours, his hip against your stomach as he presses you against him. You feel his -

"Are you ready?" Pierre's voice comes out of nowhere as he and Kika walk through the front door. Thank God the bedroom is further back so they can't see you. 

Instead of letting you go, Charles presses you tighter against him so that you can feel him everywhere. "I think we need a new door lock," he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. "Then no more uninvited guests can come in when we're together." 

When he finally breaks away from you, you have to take a deep breath. Although you've decided that you don't feel anything for him apart from friendship, he triggers something in you that no one before him has ever managed to do. 

You desire him. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet, you crave him, his touch, his skin on yours. And his words echo in your thoughts, making you dizzy. 

Together. Together. Together. 

You rub your face once and look after Charles, who briefly disappears in the direction of the living room, the opposite direction from your friends.

What you can't see, however, is him shoving his hand into his pants to control his raging boner, which is pressing almost painfully against the seams of his boxers. How is he supposed to put up with that when you live together?

Together. Together. Together.

[steddiealltheway]

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays :) This is way longer than I thought it would be, but it's been a while since I've written, so I think I needed it. I hope you all have a wonderful end to your year <3

Steve thought it was fate when he reached into Dustin’s old Santa hat and picked up a crumpled piece of paper with Eddie’s name scribbled on it. He had a gift stored away for Eddie that he bought weeks ago, and he was hoping there would be some way to get it to him without making it a big deal or something. Miraculously, the tiny slip of paper gave him that chance.

Now, two weeks later, Steve feels like his nerves are on fire as everyone gathers around in his living room, waiting to receive their gifts.

He goes off to the guest bedroom where the party had dropped off their gifts under the bed with the promise of not peaking - per Steve's request. Mike complained that the system was a little bit much, and Steve couldn’t argue with him. He just didn’t want to give away that he was Eddie’s secret Santa.

And now that he has pulled all the gifts out from under the bed, his stomach churns and his heart races. He just hopes his gift doesn’t cross a line or bring up unwanted memories, especially since he and Eddie aren’t exactly best friends.

Well, okay, they’re close. Considering the number of times Dustin has insisted they all hang out now that they’ve all been trauma-bonded, Steve has spent a lot of time with Eddie. But he hasn’t gotten a lot of alone time with him.

Sure, there have been a few times when Eddie has stopped by work, but Robin was always close by - not that Steve minded at all, except he got tired of the looks she would give him after Eddie left as if she was expecting Steve to say something. He doesn’t know what exactly he would say, but he will admit that it was always sad watching Eddie go. Maybe he should tell Robin he wishes he could stay a little longer, maybe even after hours.

The thought reminds him of the one moment they spent alone that Steve can't help but recall often. Even his present to Eddie is based around that moment which resulted in him purchasing something definitely higher than the price limit, but none of the kids would know that so it’s fine.

There’s a light knock on the door behind him, and Steve turns around. “Hey,” Eddie says with a small smile. “Everything okay?”

Steve smiles back, willing his heartbeat to slow down a bit. “Yeah, just trying to figure out how to get them all at once.”

“Let me help,” Eddie says, already bending over to grab half the stack that Steve had pushed out from under the bed. “You don’t happen to have a Santa suit do you?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “No?”

“Damn. Next year, okay? And I want to be Santa.”

The corner of Steve’s lip quirks up and Eddie's eyes light up, looking awfully proud of himself. The two hold the gaze for a few moments longer than they should, but it’s not like that's new to them.

“Guys! What’s the holdup?!” Dustin yells.

Steve sighs and offers Eddie a now irritated smile before leading the way to the living room, glancing down at the names on each present before handing them out. He and Eddie finish around the same time, and Steve notices there are two clear spots for them in the small circle on either side of Dustin. He almost makes a snarky comment to Dustin, but he holds his tongue, knowing Max and El will shoot them irritated glares if they start bickering.

"El, why don't you go first?" Steve suggests as he sits down, not giving the rest of the kids a chance to argue about it. After all, no one is going to protest after all that El did for them.

El smiles and carefully opens her gift, but Steve spaces out a bit, lost in thought about his gift and questioning if it will be an appropriate thing to bring up in front of the kids. Eddie had shared the moment only with Steve and even hesitated in doing so, so maybe he doesn't want it to be broadcast to the kids. Shit.

Steve snaps back to reality when El knee-scoots over to Dustin, pulling him into a tight hug and thanking him for her present. Dustin flushes an interesting shade of red that Steve is definitely going to bring up later when he himself isn't panicking. For now, he moves the game along. "Alright, Dustin gets to open his gift now since he was the Secret Santa," Steve announces, nervously glancing at Eddie, hoping the excited look doesn't mean the gift is from him. He's not sure if he's ready for Eddie to open his gift yet.

Luckily, the gift is from Lucas, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. But as the game continues and more people unwrap their gifts, Steve finds himself getting a bit impatient as he waits for someone to get their gift from Eddie. It's only when Max is last to open her gift that Steve realizes that he and Eddie are the only two remaining which means...

"No way," Eddie says with a big grin. "We're the only two who got each other."

Steve slowly looks down at the gift in his hand, neatly wrapped with a beautifully done bow that seems so unlike Eddie who always seems to be in a rush, doing everything with an almost frantic energy that Steve kind of adores. He wonders what he must've been like sitting still, carefully folding each curve of newspaper and taping it all together before neatly tying the red ribbon around the box into a beautiful bow. "You did this?" Steve can't help but ask, hoping he didn't just stick his foot in his mouth.

"Yeah," Eddie says somewhat bashfully as he pulls his hair in front of his face. "You do the honors." Eddie gestures to Steve's present and nervously rambles, "It isn't much really..."

Steve carefully undoes each fold, seeing the care Eddie took in wrapping a small box that Steve pulls the lid off of. He stares down at a small metal-looking thing and picks it up off the paper it's on top of. He presses it and startles a bit as it buzzes.

"A hand buzzer," Dustin laughs in disbelief.

"Maybe you two need to hang out more," El suggests innocently.

Eddie clears his throat. "There's a note in there, too, but you don't have to read it out loud in front of the kids or anything."

Steve keeps ahold of the little buzzer and picks up the note, staring at a few numbers in confusion before following an arrow that elaborates 24/7 Walkie Channel - especially at night. Steve flushes a bit red at the joke, but as he reads further, he realizes it's not a joke at all. In fact, he knows exactly what this is referring to.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Eddie walks up to the counter of Family Video and raps his knuckles on the counter. "Now tell me, what exactly is behind that restricted section with the red curtains?"

Steve rubs his temples and gives Eddie an unimpressed look. "You know exactly what's behind there."

"Well, maybe I want to hear it from my favorite employee. After all, you're supposed to help me with all my needs."

"Alright," Robin announces loudly, "I'm taking my break."

Steve hears the break room door shut behind him, and he drops his head in his hands with a slight groan.

"That embarrassed, Harrington? I thought you were like the expert here. Especially since Robin isn't allowed back there, but..." Eddie trails off but suddenly his voice gets much closer yet softer. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Sometimes I push too far without realizing and-"

Steve cuts him off with a short wave of his hand. "It's not that. You're fine really. Just didn't really sleep last night."

"Company or..." Eddie goes for a joke to lighten the second half of what he's implying.

Steve sighs and glances up at him. "It the 'or' option."

Eddie gives him a sympathetic look and glances around at the empty store before leaning on the counter, right into Steve's space, but it's comforting rather than intrusive. Eddie softly says, "I get it, man. The night terrors are... they're intense. I still see Chrissy when she..." He looks away, swallows hard, and takes a deep breath. "I get it."

Steve glances up and sees a matching haunted look in Eddie's eyes that Steve catches in the mirror from time to time. "It's harder late at night. I get this urge to reach out to everyone and make sure they're okay and..." Steve sighs and lowers his voice, "still alive." He shudders slightly and laughs humorlessly, "But it's not like I can just call everyone's house at night and wake up them and their family. I usually just wait for the urge to pass but it's harder for me with some people." Steve swallows hard, knowing what Eddie will ask next.

"Like who?"

Steve glances up at Eddie and says, "Robin of course because she's my best friend. Max is tough too because of how close she was to dying and you just never know if that thing will come back or not."

"He's gone for good this time. You know what Owens said," Eddie presses gently.

"Yeah, but I've heard it before," Steve argues. But he can't deny that things definitely feel more final now. Like maybe they're finally over. Still, he can't just let his guard down on the off chance that his gut isn't right for once.

Eddie shifts and nudges Steve's elbow with his own. "Anyone else though?"

Steve holds Eddie's gaze for a moment, and he sees the exact moment Eddie knows exactly what he's thinking as the memories of Eddie's lifeless body in Steve's arms flood in his head. "You were... gone there for a little while. And sometimes I wake up, and I think that you didn't make it. That the nightmare I keep having is actually reality."

Eddie gives him a pained look and places his hand over Steve's. "You can call me at any time. Day or night. I'll try my best to answer, especially at night."

"Eddie, I don't want to make you lose sleep any more than you already are."

"But I'm probably already awake. And I don't care if I lose sleep for you, okay?"

Steve glances up at him and flushes a bit as his eyes flicker down to Eddie's lips. For a moment, he thinks he might understand what Robin's looks mean, but he glances away before he can truly think about it. "That's not the only problem though," Steve confesses quietly.

Eddie just squeezes his hand, waiting for him to elaborate.

With a deep breath, Steve hooks his thumb on top of Eddie's pinky and squeezes back for some support. "I hate speaking in that empty house. My voice seems to echo, and it makes me feel more alone than I already am. And sometimes it feels impossible to speak about things. Like my voice doesn't work or something. I don't know."

"I get it," Eddie says simply, squeezing his hand again. "But really, if you ever need to call or stop by or anything. I'll be there." Steve holds Eddie's gaze, thinking maybe the upcoming night won't be so bad.

Before Steve can really say anything else, the bell on the front door dings loudly and he and Eddie practically jump apart. The customer doesn't even so much as glance at them, but they both still keep their distance, recognizing that the moment is over.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Steve stares at the little list in the note.

One Buzz: Checking in. I will buzz back so you know I'm okay. Two Buzzes: If you need to hear my voice. I will respond over the walkie and talk for as long as you like. Buzz multiple times, and I'll stop. And trust me, I will talk your ear off, so I won't get offended when you buzz. Three Buzzes: If you need me to call ever. Don't be afraid to use this one. Wayne is still working night shifts, so you're really no bother if you want to call first. But this way, I can be the one calling you so you don't have to worry about waking me up or anything. Really. The buzzes aren't too loud, so they shouldn't wake me up. Let me know if you want to add anything to this list. I have an identical list with my hand buzzer at home that I would be happy to add to at any time. Merry Christmas Love, Your Secret Santa

Steve stares at the note in his hand almost too stunned to speak. He doesn't think he's ever received a more thoughtful gift in his life. He pinches at his nose and tries to shut his emotions down a bit, and Eddie must catch on because he loudly announces, "My turn!"

Steve takes a deep breath, forgetting entirely about the gift he got Eddie. He watches as Eddie tears the wrapping paper off the small box then dramatically and very slowly opens it up with a big smile, knowing he has the kids' impatient attention practically in the palm of his hand. But when he finally sees the gift, his smile and whole act drop as a look of realization crosses over his face.

Steve's heart pounds in his chest.

Eddie slowly removes the little glass bottle filled with brown liquid and silently stares at it.

"What is that? Some type of fancy bourbon?" Max asks with a scoff.

Steve watches Eddie's eyes get slightly glassy, and he's quick to announce, "Something like that. But alright, we have to move on before your families start coming to pick you up. Was a snowball fight next on your cheesy list or something?"

Dustin is quick to defend the list the group came up with, but Steve is quicker in pushing them all toward the front door. "I'll be there in a bit. Eddie and I have to clean up."

The kids all rush to put on their coats and shoes, not wanting to be a part of any type of cleanup. Once they run outside, Steve closes the door and rushes back to the living room where Eddie's still staring at the bottle, a single tear going down his face. "You... you remembered... and you... you got... how?"

"Of course, I remembered," Steve says, thinking of what Eddie told him months ago.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Steve sighs and stuffs more things into a box from Eddie's closet. Dr. Owen's people had finally given the trailer the all-clear, so they were finally able to get the remainder of Eddie's and Wayne's things out of there. Of course, the kids had spent about an hour helping with the living room before taking a very very long break at Max's place. Steve assumes it will be lasting until the rest of the trailer is cleared out.

"They're great help, aren't they?" Eddie jokes as he brings another box into the room.

"Absolutely. Always willing to lend a hand. That is until they decide that the adults can just slave away for them."

"Someone needs to give them a lecture," Eddie sighs, pulling out a pile of clothes from his closet.

Steve scoots the box over and asks, "And why does that person always seem to be me? Especially when they don't listen to me."

"You're just so motherly," Eddie says with a big smile, dimples on full display.

Steve can't help but smile at the sight. And luckily he's staring his way when Eddie picks up another stack of clothes and suddenly hurdles something Steve's way. And even luckier, Steve's reflexes are quick, so he's able to easily catch the smaller glass bottle.

Eddie's eyes widen and he quickly grabs at the bottle, wrapping his hands around Steve's in the process. "Jesus H. Christ." Eddie's grip tightens as he stares at the bottle and breathes a sigh of relief, dropping his head to Steve's shoulder. "Have I ever told you that I'm so glad you're a jock?"

Steve snorts. "No, but whatever in this bottle must be important enough for you to admit it. So, tell me, what's in it? Alcohol? Some type of weird liquid drug?"

Eddie pulls back and looks away, still cradling the bottle and Steve's hands. "It's nothing. Just, hold it gently while I find another shirt to wrap it in."

Steve gently grasps the bottle and brings it closer, inspecting what it could be when he's hit with a bit of deja vu. He tests his suspicions and carefully removes the cap. "Eddie, why do you have an almost empty bottle of perfume in your closet?"

Eddie turns to him and asks, "Please, don't tell me you sprayed it."

"I didn't. The cap just gave it away."

Eddie quickly takes the bottle from his hand and puts the cap back on. "It's nothing. Like I said." He rolls it carefully in a t-shirt and places it in the box.

Steve slowly approaches and looks down at the box, frowning when he sees it start to blend in with the other pile of clothes in there. "I'll be right back," Steve announces before running out to his car. He opens the trunk and sighs, grabbing a shoe box and carefully placing his emergency date shoes in the corner of the trunk before taking the box inside.

When he gets back to the room, he reaches into the bigger box, fishes the shirt-wrapped perfume out, and places it gently into the shoe box before setting it aside. Steve glances up and notices Eddie staring at him. "Is that the emergency date shoe box?"

Steve is going to give the kids or Robin a lecture later about giving away people's personal information. "Yes," he admits.

"So, where are the shoes?"

"In my trunk," Steve says, moving onto Eddie closet to grab the last of the clothes.

Eddie pauses before asking, "You put your emergency date shoes the kids told me to never touch in your trunk to give me a box for my perfume?"

Steve shrugs. "Yeah." He stuffs everything down and closes the box, pushing it toward the door. But he's stopped by Eddie's hand on his arm.

"Why?" Eddie asks.

Steve straightens up and puts his hands on his hips. "It's clearly important to you, and I wasn't going to let you forget about it and accidentally throw it again when I'm not there to catch it."

Eddie holds his gaze for a few moments and Steve almost breaks the eye contact, not used to having Eddie's attention directly solely at him. But he feels like that will change in the future.

Eddie shifts and places a hand on Steve's back, leading him to where he placed the box. He picks it up and opens it, slowly unraveling the perfume and staring at it as if debating if he wants to share the story with Steve.

Steve just waits, not wanting to pressure him. Instead, he lets the moment play out.

Eddie breathes out, "It was my mom's."

It hits Steve all at once the implication of the phrase.

"She would wear it all the time. I remember she would put it on once in the morning, once in the afternoon, and once before going to bed. I told her it was silly to do that before bed, but she told me it was only silly if I let it be." Eddie smiles at the memory before growing distant in his expression. "When she got sick, she started forgetting the time more and more. So, I would remind her. And toward the end, I started putting it on her when she felt too weak to spray it."

Steve shifts and lightly rests his hand on Eddie's back as he continues, "I told my dad that she should be buried with it. That she would want to have it with her and wear it all the time." Eddie's voice cracks a bit and he clears his throat. "He told me that was silly."

Steve shifts closer to Eddie so their sides are pressing together, trying to give him physical support because he's unsure of what to say.

Eddie shakes his head and smiles sadly. "I kept it since then. And I used to spray it all the time, and god, the guys at school would make fun of me for smelling like girl's perfume, but I didn't care. But maybe I should've listened to them because now I only have this much left." He holds up the bottle to emphasize his point, the perfume so low that it seems to barely cover the bottom of the glass.

"One time, I brought it to a perfume store to ask what brand it was. I thought maybe I could save up and buy another one." Eddie shakes his head again. "But the lady accused me of stealing it. She said there was no way I would've been able to afford it in the first place. That there was no reason for me to even have it unless I was looking for a cheap buck to make."

Steve's grip on Eddie's back presses a little firmer as he feels anger and disgust toward the woman overflood his system. "That's fucked up."

"A bit, yeah," Eddie agrees. He glances at Steve, and Steve realizes how close they are, but he doesn't try to move away. "Do you want to smell it?"

Steve's brows furrow. "Eddie, there's barely any left in there, don't waste it on me."

Eddie smiles somewhat bashfully. "No, it's alright. I haven't used it in a long time, and after everything we went through, I need the reminder."

"If you're sure, then yes. I would love that."

Eddie holds out his wrist and lightly sprays the perfume. He uses his other wrist to rub it in before he holds it up to Steve's nose. Steve takes a deep breath and is suddenly taken back to a vague memory from a Christmas years and years ago when Steve was too young to succumb to the disappointment from his parents who were still around. But it's a happy memory nonetheless.

"What do you think?" Eddie asks.

Steve smiles softly. "I think your mom had great taste. And it smells really beautiful. I wish I could've met her."

"Me too," Eddie replies softly, staring at the bottle.

-:-:-:-:-:-

"My mom had the same one. Years ago it was gifted to her. I ended up finding the bottle in one of the drawers in her bathroom. It was still in the box, so it wasn't too difficult to find at the store," Steve admits. He holds out his hand and says, "Here. I have to show you something."

Eddie carefully places the perfume back in the box and takes Steve's hand, following him up the stairs and into his room. Steve regrettably lets go of Eddie's hand to pull out a box from under his own bed. He holds it up to Eddie who gasps, "Steve, this must have cost you a fortune."

Steve glances down at the five boxes of perfume and shrugs. "There was a Christmas sale. Plus, I was able to use my Harrington charm a bit."

Eddie grabs the box and carefully sets it on Steve's bed before quickly wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him in close. "Thank you. God, this is the best gift I've ever gotten."

Steve squeezes him tight. "Same with yours."

They remain in each other's arms for a few moments, not rushing the embrace or questioning how long they're allowed to linger. Only, when Steve starts pulling away, he starts questioning his next move. Because more than anything he wants to kiss Eddie.

The realization hits him hard. He knows exactly now what Robin's glances mean and what she's been expecting him to say. Of course, deep down he knew, but he just hadn't had to face it head-on yet. But here he is and... "Eddie," Steve says softly, lingering in his space.

"Steve," Eddie replies quietly, eyes flickering down to Steve's lips, already knowing what he means.

Steve takes a deep breath, feeling his heart pound in his chest as he asks, "Can I?"

"Hell yes," Eddie replies.

They both move together at the same time, meeting each other in a gentle kiss which they linger in. Steve moves away to breathe and shifts to cup Eddie's face with his hands and bring him in again. He kisses him with all he has, filled with the awe of the thoughtful gift he received, joy of the gift well received, and the overwhelming feeling that this is right.

Steve breaks the kiss with a smile and whispers, "Merry Christmas, Eddie."

"Merry Christmas, Steve," Eddie says breathlessly before kissing him again.

And it really is a merry Christmas.

[marie-swriting]

Love Advice - Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

Summary : Jake comes back after six months of deployment and he needs your help to win the woman he loves.

Warnings : a tiny bit of angst, mutual pining, thinking there's an unrequited love, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.4k

French version

Song inspiration : How You Get The Girl (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift

Somebody knocking on your door takes your attention away from your TV show; at first, you just lower the volume down so the person doesn’t know you’re home and wait for them to leave. However, the second the knocks on the door get more insistent and you hear ‘I know you’re home’ with a Texan accent, you jump out of your couch and run to open the door to Jake. You joyfully shriek before throwing yourself into his arms. Jake laughs because of your enthusiasm, then he tenderly holds you close to him. 

You haven’t seen each other in six months because of his last deployment. Of course, you called each other almost every day, it’s just not the same. You've been thick as thieves since you were five, you need to see each other often. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home today?” you ask, breaking the embrace.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did. I missed you so much!” you exclaim, kissing his cheek before bringing him inside. “I hope you’re staying home for a long time. Six months without seeing each other is too much!”

“I totally agree.”

As usual, when he comes back home, you spend the day together then, Jake sleeps at yours. You go downtown, eat something, even watch a movie if there’s something interesting and the next day, Jake goes to his place - he lives twenty minutes away.

As soon as the night comes, you go home, takeout food in hand. You go into your living-room and you put a random show as background noise. You keep talking about the last few months in order to catch up when you decide to bring up a topic Jake seems to avoid.

“So, you didn’t tell me anything, what’s going on with Lara?”

Jake met Lara in a bar a week before leaving. You weren’t with him that night, so you don’t know a lot about their relationship; all you know is Jake got along with her pretty well.

“Oh, huh… Well…” he stutters and avoids your gaze.

“Jake,” you say with a disapproving tone. “Don’t tell me you messed up. Not again!”

“Not really. Okay, maybe a little.”

“What did you do?”

“I may or may not have not called her since I left.”

“Are you kidding me?” you scream, hitting his shoulder. “Do you realise you’re the kind of guy we talk shit about when we’re talking with other girls? Jake, you have to stop being a dick and destroying your relationship. You’re a nice guy, but whenever it’s about love, you’re the worst of them. Every time you find an awesome girl, you just ruin everything.”

“I know and this time, I want to fix this.”

“Before we keep going, you didn’t cheat on her, did you?”

“I might suck at relationships, however, you know I have some limits and I’m quite proud to say I’ve never crossed that line.” he affirms with a grin.

“You better!”

“Anyway, at first, I didn’t know what I wanted with her but now I do. I really connected with Lara and I want her to forgive me and give me another chance, I just don’t know how to do it.”

Following his sentence, you immediately understand what he wants. He messed up and now he needs your wise advice to fix the situation. Again. You roll your eyes before straightening up.

“I’m gonna make you pay for my love advice one day, at least, I’ll become a billionaire in a month with you.”

“You’re the most stable person I know when it comes to relationships so obviously I always go to you! Besides, you’re a woman, you know what to do.”

“True.” you modestly confirm. “First thing first, meet her in a neutral environment, a café for example.”

“And I buy her flowers?”

“Do you know her favourite flowers?”

“Roses are the safe option, right?” he suggests and you’re desperate.

“Do you know any personal details about Lara, like her favourite book?” you ask and he shakes his head. “Well, just pay for whatever she orders. First, you apologise and you do it correctly, you put the focus on her and what she might have felt. The goal is not for her to comfort you because you feel bad when you’re the one who messed up. If she still hasn’t thrown her drink in your face, you’re on the right track. Then you say, in the most convincing way, you want her, not an other girl, for worse or for better. You know it’s gonna take her some time for her to trust you again but you will forever and ever. Tell her you know you broke her and you’ll put it back together because you care about her and you want to do better for her. In short, show her you want to be a better man and make sure your actions match your words quickly. And that’s how it works, that’s how you get the girl. At least, your chances will be higher.”

“You seriously think it can work?” Jake asks skeptical. 

“I can’t 100% promise you but, at least, it shows you want to be the man she deserves. Either way, you have to keep me updated! And also, don’t wait too long to do it. You should even contact her right now so you can see her in the following days.”

“You’re right.”

Jake takes his phone and quickly types a message. After you approve it, he sends it and nervously waits for the response; however, being tired from the travel, Jake quickly starts to yawn so you go to sleep. Jake sleeps in the same bed as you. You’ve always done it so you’re not going to change this now, after all, between you two, it’s purely platonic.

At least, for him. The same cannot be said about you. When you were still in High School, your crush on Jake was almost embarrassing. It’s actually the only secret you’ve never told him. Officially. During prom, you confessed to Jake you wanted to be more than friends nevertheless he was so drunk he didn’t understand it and the next day; he had zero recollection of it and you were very grateful. You don’t know what you would’ve done if he had remembered. You probably would have lost your best friend and you couldn’t allow this to happen so you just repressed your crush until it eventually died. 

Notwithstanding, what you don’t know and the only secret Jake has never told you is that he remembers pretty well what you told him that night. He was just so stunned that he pretended he didn’t understand it. He thought he didn’t like you that way so he said nothing to not alter your friendship; though, the backlash was pretty violent two years later when you got your first serious boyfriend, Jake was insanely jealous. At first, he just thought he was afraid to lose his best friend until he reached the dreadful conclusion: he has feelings for you and it’s too late, he missed his chance with you. As a consequence, Jake went from one fling to the other while you were going from one long-lasting relationship to the other without him understanding what you found to ‘those dudes’ like he always says. Though, these last few months, he has come to terms with the fact one of ‘those dudes’ whom you’ve been with for several years is the one for you. Jake isn’t sure he’s the one you deserve, and he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship, that’s why he wants to fix his relationship with Lara, especially because your relationship with Scott is the longest one you’ve ever had and he’s probably your future husband so Jake definitely has to stop hoping you’ll get together one day. He has to move just like you did.

The next morning, once Jake wakes up, you’ve already left for work. While he’s eating breakfast, Jake’s eyes are set on a picture of you and him hung on your wall, he has his lips pressed on your cheek while you’re trying to hide your fluster with a smile. The picture was taken on the last day of High School and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t one of his favourites. He finds you cute in this photo. 

His phone ringing catches his attention. He unlocks it and discovers a text from Lara.

Message from Lara to Jake, 8:37 A.M.:

I’m willing to hear you out, but just because I want some explanations. Is tomorrow afternoon okay for you?

Jake quickly answers her and confirms the date. He should be happy, Lara is open to the discussion though, he can’t help his heart to tighten in his chest, and he stares at the picture on the wall again. He shakes his head and brings back his attention to Lara. You’re part of his romantic past, even if nothing ever happened, Lara is his future. He has to think about her, not you.

The minute you come home from work that night, Jake tells you about his date the next day. You congratulate him with a big smile, though your heart breaks a little. Jake rehearses to you what he’s going to tell Lara to make sure he won't ruin his last chance and you assure him his speech is perfect.

“White lilies, those are her favourite flowers.” Jake says point blank.

“Then offer her some. It’ll prove you care about her because you remember a small detail about her.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to take roses?”

“Exactly. If you are lucky and it’s her favourite flower, you’re good but imagine if she hates them because she finds them cliché, you’ll ruin your chances before opening your mouth, ‘cause on top of not being original, you just prove you don’t pay attention to her. Roses are the safe option, yet it doesn’t mean it should be your choice at the slightest obstacle. You’re already taking risks by coming back after six months of radio silence so go all the way, don’t play safe with roses.”

“You’re right.”

“I know I’m right! And please, please, please, don’t buy her flowers only when you screw up. Do it when everything is good between you. Do it even when there’s nothing to celebrate. It’s those kinds of tiny details that’ll make all the difference, it proves you care about her. Of course, it goes further than flowers but you get the idea, the fact is, you can’t let a routine get in the way and the only times you break it and you give her some attention is to make up to her or believe me, it’s the breakup for sure because she’ll feel abandoned.” you specify, saying your last sentence at an incredible speed and Jake looks at you suspiciously.

“Is everything okay between you and Scott? It sounded personal at the end.”

“We’re not talking about me but you.”

“So the answer is no.” he affirms, reading you like an open book.

“We broke up five months ago.” you sigh.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? What did he do? He didn’t cheat on you, did he?” Jake questions, protective.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just after six, almost seven years of relationship, we lost ourselves in a routine and we realised we were together out of habits not out of love. Besides, we argued more and more for useless things. It’s better like that.”

What you’re not telling Jake is that there is another reason. Scott was sure you and Jake are in love. No matter how many times you said your crush on Jake was only when you were a teenager and that Jake never loved you like this, Scott never believed you. Your friendship with Jake was the main argument between you and Scott.

“You should have told me sooner rather than pretending you were fine when we were on the phone.”

“Don’t worry, I got over it. Let’s talk about you and Lara again. You didn’t tell me a lot about her.”

“In my defence, I never thought I’d go further with her.”

Jake replies to your several questions, but he can’t help and think back to the information you just gave him. You broke up with Scott, something he didn’t think would happen. He was sure you were going to end your life with him. As opposed to your exes, Jake had to admit Scott did deserve you and it cost him a lot to say it, nonetheless he could see how Scott made you happy like he never could. Maybe this time Jake could make you happy? Jake pushed this last thought in the back of his mind. He agreed he had to leave you in the past. Jake can’t hope for a future with you when he’s about to win Lara’s heart again! He needs to stay focused.

Jake ends up leaving in the late evening to go to his place. You hug him and give him some encouragement for his date before closing the door behind him. That night, Jake struggles to fall asleep, completely lost about who he truly wants.

The next day as it is your day off and raining a lot, you stay home and clean your apartment from top to bottom. Music coming out of your phone, you wipe the floor with care when someone knocks on your door. You loudly sigh then put the mop back in the bucket and make sure it doesn’t fall before walking to the door whilst shutting down your music. Once you open, you surprisingly find Jake, soaking wet, with a bouquet of several flowers in purple tones.

“Jake? What are you doing here?”

“I remember.” he tells you as if you were supposed to get it.

“What are you talking about?”

“Prom.”

“What? Aren’t you supposed to be with Lara by now, anyway? And I thought you were gonna offer her lilies.” you question, after you understood what he meant.

“The flowers, they’re for you. I’m not playing safe, I know you love these kinds of bouquet because you can’t pick a favourite flower and your favourite colour is purple.” he says, handing you the bouquet, yet you don’t take it.

“What? Are you insane? Lara is the one you’re supposed to win over, not me!”

“That’s what I thought, too, but it wouldn’t have been fair to her. I still went to meet her and apologise for ghosting her though, she isn’t the one I want.”

“Jake, I don’t understand.”

“Can I come in?”

Without replying to him, you step aside and let him in. Jake takes his damped shoes off before walking to the kitchen entrance.

“I’m gonna get you a towel, I don’t want you to be sick. Make yourself a coffee to warm up.”

Whilst you grab a clean towel, you try to understand what’s happening. You didn’t expect to see him, especially with flowers. The second you go back to him, Jake puts his freshly poured cup down and takes the towel while handing you the bouquet once more and this time, you accept it. Without holding yourself back, you smell the flowers and tenderly look at them; you love them. Jake got it right. He’s proud of himself when he sees the soft smile on your face.

“They’re beautiful, Jake, but why?”

“Like I said, I remember. I remember what you told me during prom.” he specifies whilst drying his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, avoiding his eyes.

“I think you do. You told me you had feelings for me.”

You stare at Jake, confused. You were convinced he had no memory of that moment. In one second, your cheeks heat and you don't know what to do with yourself.

“I pretended to not remember because I didn’t know how to react and I’m sorry.” Jake admits, putting down the towel and taking a sip of his coffee.

“Don’t apologise, you saved me from a moment that would have haunted me until I die like this moment will.”

“I shouldn’t have ignored you.” he affirms, putting down his cup on the table. “You confessed something very important to me and by ignoring you, I broke your heart and mine in the process. I didn’t know it at the time but I also had feelings for you. I realised it too late, actually when you met dickhead number 1.”

“You mean Josh?” you ask, laughing.

“That’s what I said. Anyway,” Jake resumes getting closer to you, “I should have talked to you and not leave you in the dark. Your friendship means a lot to me and that night, I didn’t act as a good friend. Even if I hadn't had feelings for you, I should’ve said something and not let you deal with your broken heart alone. I’m sorry I broke your heart that night and if it’s not too late, I want to pull it back together. I never stopped having feelings for you. I spent years ignoring my feelings and every time I wanted to confess them, you were with someone else and now, it’s the right time. I want you, not an other girl, for worse or for better.”

“What about Lara? I thought you liked her.” you ask, trying not to get your hopes up.

“She’s nice but she’ll never make me feel what I feel with you. I would have never been honest with her if I had been with her. That’s why I never got in a serious relationship actually, you were always on my mind and I didn’t want another girl there. I wanted to try with Lara because I thought I had missed my chance with you so I wanted to move on, yet when you told me you and Scott were over yesterday, I knew you’d always be in my heart. That’s why I preferred to apologise to Lara without getting into a relationship with her. I could have never committed to her because I want to do it with you. I don’t know if you still have feelings for me and if you do, you’re probably hesitant considering my history and I get it though, I mean it when I say I want to commit to you.” he insists, looking you right in the eyes. “I’m not saying I’ll be perfect right away but you can be sure I’ll do everything to be. I know it’s gonna take some time for you to trust me but I will, forever and ever. I care about you, no, I love you and I want to do better for you. For once, I wanna be the good boyfriend and more particularly the man you deserve,” Jake states, putting his hand on your cheek, “the one who will buy you flowers at any occasion, the one who won’t abandon you, the one you’ll never get stuck in a routine with, the one who will make you happy, make you feel loved and who will cherish you until his dying breath.”

At the end of his speech, you’re at a loss for words. You didn’t expect a confession of love from him and you never thought Jake was capable of saying such beautiful things or even being serious about a relationship. Not knowing what to reply, you put your free hand on Jake’s cheek and kiss him with passion. He doesn’t waste a second to kiss you back. Among all the kisses he’s shared, this one is officially his favourite, and he hopes he’ll relive it every day of his life. His heart is beating fast in his chest while he brings you closer to him. As soon as you break the kiss, you look at Jake with eyes full of love.

“I never stopped loving you, Jake.”

Jake smiles as he hears your confession. He was very nervous when he came to your place. He was afraid he’d ruin everything, and he’s relieved to know he was wrong.

“Wow, your advice works wonders,” he suddenly says with a sarcastic tone. “Well, I improved your speech a bit but I approve of it. You really should get paid for your love advice.”

“I told you that’s how it works.” you affirm as if it was obvious. “That’s how you got the girl.”

“That’s how I got my girl.”

When you hear the emphasis on the pronoun, you avoid his gaze for a second, flustered. You clear your throat before speaking again.

“You should take me to a first date then.”

“Oh, I will. Any advice as to what to do on a first date? I have to impress this girl who means a lot to me.”

You both laugh then you bring Jake close to you again before pressing your lips on him, the second kiss even better than the first one.

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

[a-aexotic]

HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!

Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)

And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣

Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x

hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes

cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything

You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.

When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.

During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.

But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.

When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.

You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.

You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.

Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.

He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.

He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.

He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.

He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.

During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.

Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.

The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.

You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.

You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.

Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.

You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.

When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.

--

When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."

Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.

You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.

The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.

As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.

You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.

Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.

"I have a plan."

"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."

Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."

You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."

Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."

--

It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.

You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.

Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.

You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?

You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.

You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?

"Hello, Y/N."

You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.

He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."

You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.

"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."

You shook your head. "No."

He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"

"No." You said again, louder.

He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."

He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.

If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.

They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.

"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."

You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.

"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"

Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.

Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.

You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.

It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.

You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.

But you knew that was just the beginning.

--

You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.

"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.

A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.

"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."

You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.

He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.

As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.

That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."

You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.

--

There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.

"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.

"Are you.. Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.

His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."

You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.

Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.

Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.

You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.

You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.

"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."

[puck-luck]

code-breaker | jack hughes

warnings: pining!, unprotected p in v, lots of miscommunication but it is resolved duh, lmao uhhhhh jack fucking his best friend's sister maybe? kind of a big plot point fasho, a lame excuse for a squirt, cum on da body (chest), eating come, lots of banter, tiny TINY bit of angst and insecurity on fem!reader's part pairing: jack hughes x zegras!reader request: cappy's "sister of the best friend, lake house, etc. sister makes the first move and the guy tries to turn her down out of loyalty to the other boy and she gets a little hurt and insecure thinking he's rejecting her and she's like "am i really that bad?" with her voice craking and he's like fuck then... smut!" wc: 4327

Jack is here. 

Jack, who you’ve been in love with since your twin brother started hanging out with him when they were in NTDP together. Jack, the New Jersey Devils’ prized star, the number one pick. Jack, the most annoying and most attractive brother of the esteemed Hughes family from Michigan. Yes, that Jack is here– ‘here’ being your apartment that you share with your brother in Anaheim now that Jamie has moved out and away.

Jack is here. You are here. Trevor is not.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you tell him awkwardly, still holding the door open and blocking the doorway. You’re all too aware of your lazy, solo-movie-night outfit as you stand in front of him. You’re clad only in a big shirt, one that normally reaches the middle of your thighs but has ridden up since your hands are raised and resting against the doorframe, and your favorite pair of panties. You did laundry earlier and showered, your big exciting thing of the day being that you could but on your favorite underwear and be lazy as soon as you finished the chore of folding your clothes. “Trevor’s in New York right now.”

“I know,” Jack says, a hand on his suitcase. The other is clenched by his side. “I have a meeting in LA tomorrow so he said I could stay here while he was gone.”

“Oh,” you reply, feeling silly. It would’ve been nice if your brother had told you that Jack was coming and staying here while he was gone, considering you’d made plans to be alone all night tonight. Trevor always does shit like this– he makes plans and then forgets to tell you until someone shows up or he has to leave to meet them. It’s frustrating. “Come on in, then.”

You move to the side, gesturing for Jack to enter the apartment, and he does. His suitcase rolls in behind him, just a little carry on, and he leaves it beside the door where he kicks off his shoes. 

Your hands make their way to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it. “I’ll, uh, go change into something more–”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Jack interrupts, waving you off. He clears his throat. “You don’t have to change on my account. I’m interrupting your night of–” 

He looks to the couch and the coffee table, littered with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of wine that you had been drinking out of, straight from the spout. Your movie is paused on the screen, a silly Disney Channel movie that had come out when you and Trevor were children and still hadn’t lost its touch yet. You’re hoping that Jack doesn’t recognize the screencap, but Mel’s Lemonade machine fills the screen and if he’s seen Lemonade Mouth at all, he’ll know what movie you’re watching.

“Disney Channel and wine,” Jack finishes, pinching his lips to hide the amusement in his voice.

You frown, even though you want to burst into laughter with him. It is silly, what you’re doing, but you were supposed to be alone and who are you to be ashamed of your guilty pleasures?

“Don’t make fun,” you admonish, crossing your arms with a pout. “I thought I had the apartment to myself.”

“I’m not making fun!” Jack denies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I think it’s nice that you’re having a me-party.”

He’s referencing the other time he’s interrupted when you’re having a movie night on your own, when you watched The Muppets (2011) at the lake house because the boys were out on the boat and you had gotten a nasty sunburn the day before, so you’d stayed in. Jack had come back early because he was hungry, making the boys drop him off at the dock before going back out, and caught you red-handed with his favorite kind of pretzels and a half-full bottle of margarita next to the blender. 

You blush, glaring at him slightly. “Shut up, Jack.”

“No, this is perfect,” Jack continues, glowing a little as his shit-eating smile builds. He walks over to the couch and plops down, grabbing the bottle of wine and taking a swig before wiping his mouth. “I’m already dressed for a lazy night in, I shouldn’t waste it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re such a dick,” you complain. “You know you don’t want to watch this movie with me.”

“Why not?” He challenges, another tilt of the bottle pouring the fruity liquid down his throat. He spreads his legs when he sits as all the boys do, taking up as much space as he can. 

“Because you won’t like it,” you say. “And because I wasn’t planning on having you here.”

“Were you planning on having someone else here?” Jack teases. “Popcorn, red wine, a movie, no pants… I think I see the writing on the wall.”

“No, God, shut up, Jack!” You repeat with a huff, returning to the couch and curling up against the opposite arm, far away from the boy. “Just be quiet while I watch my movie. If you’re good, I’ll let you have some popcorn.”

Jack wiggles his eyebrows at you, sticking out his tongue. You pull at the bottom of your shirt again, making sure that your panties aren’t visible when he looks over. This is already humiliating enough– you don’t need your long-time crush seeing your underwear, too.

You hit play and turn the volume up loud enough to drown out any comments Jack might make. You’re lucky the movie is short, because he’s an antsy boy who loves to talk, just like your brother, and you can tell that he’s anxious to start another conversation.

As the credits roll, you mute the television and turn to him. “What?” You demand, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce and shoving your hands into your lap to stretch your shirt over the space between your legs. 

“You really didn’t have plans tonight?” Jack asks. “It’s a Saturday night and you live in LA. You’re in your twenties. You didn’t want to have anyone over?”

You flush, but it’s less out of embarrassment and more out of anger. “Judgemental much, Hughes? Not all of us have people throwing themselves at our feet any given day of the week.” You grind your teeth, clenching your jaw and taking a deep breath. You stare at him, refusing to break eye contact. Jack shouldn’t be allowed to form opinions on your life. You know exactly what he’s insinuating– why aren’t you out there getting laid, Y/N? and it’s frustrating because it’s the same question you ask yourself whenever your friends text about their recent hookups or whenever Trevor brings a girl back to the apartment. 

More than anything, you don’t want Jack judging you. You know that your Saturday night plans are lame, but that’s why you wanted to be alone. 

Jack falls quieter, your reaction diluting his crooked, toothy smirk that he reserves for the people he knows well. “I’m surprised you don’t have– people. Throwing themselves at you.”

He’s awkward when he says it, too awkward not to make you suspicious.

He’s avoiding eye contact, picking at his nailbeds. 

“Would you?” You ask, directly to the point. You’re making a point, too– you’ve known Jack for years and he has never, not once, implied that he thinks you’re desirable. 

Jack says nothing, running his fingers through his hair and looking down. 

You nod to yourself and stand from the couch, still tugging at your shirt. You’re pulling it even lower now, the neckline dipping and stretching as you cover your legs up as best you can. “That’s what I thought,” you say quietly, a cold feeling washing through your chest and pressing down on the skin that your heart beats beneath. 

“I would,” Jack calls, just as you walk away. You’re positioned right in front of the door that leads to your bedroom when he says it, head hanging towards the ground so that he doesn’t see the frown on your face. 

His silence was a rejection and his afterthought is even worse. Nonetheless, you turn to face him. This time, it’s your silence that rings throughout the space.

“I would,” Jack repeats. “If, y’know. You weren’t–”

“Trevor’s sister,” You say, filling in the blanks and finishing his sentence. You nod, a tight, close-lipped, and pointed smile on your face. “You don’t have to explain, Jack. I realized a long time ago that my world would always revolve around Trevor.” Your hand is on the doorknob now, twisting it and cracking your door open. Your bed is right there and you can collapse into it in mere seconds, able to let your tears leak into your pillow silently as you remind yourself that you’re not as good as your twin brother once again, just as soon as you get these words out. “I know I can’t do or say the things I want to with the people I want to because they’re always thinking about Trevor.”

You could add, And why would you be any different? You know him best. Of course he’s the one you’re loyal to, but you decide against it. It’s too petty. It’s too mean. It’s too– real. 

You look at him one last time to bid him goodnight, already craving the following day when his meeting is over and he heads back to Michigan, far away from you and your un-desirability. The tight smile returns to your face, trying to smooth out your upset yet resigned features. It’s always the same thing. It’s not Jack’s fault, really, it’s not. You’ve imagined this conversation in your head many times and each time you think rationally, you know that this is how it has to be.

He’s Jack Hughes, for God’s sake. You’re just Trevor Zegras’ less successful, lesser known twin sister.

“Trevor would kill me,” Jack says on a whim. “Really. He would. He would stand me up and punch me, right here.”

You’ve got one foot in your bedroom and one foot out. Despite the ice piercing through your chest, you can’t find it in yourself to be rude and close the door on him. You turn to face Jack again.

He’s sitting forward on the couch, hands clasped in front of him like a prayer. He moves them when he talks, lowering them and spreading them and gesturing with them. He’s always done that, ever since you’ve known him– it’s another way that he calls attention to himself and takes up space. It’s part of the reason why he’s so charming– he knows how to use his hands, how to touch someone to politely get them to move or to pull them closer or to playfully shoo them away. 

“If I had a sister, I’d do the same thing to him,” Jack continues. “It’s just– we can’t go for each others’ family. It’s against the code.”

You nod, slowly, exaggeratedly just to show him how nonsensical that sounds. “You realize it’s not up to Trevor to decide who you go out with,” you say. “That’s kind of your choice, Jack.”

“It’s not that simple.”

You shrug, then look away. Outside the living room window is a dark night, leaves blowing with the wind. 

“It could be,” you say after a moment. You’re not surprised to hear how resigned you sound. You learned to live with this a long time ago, so you know that pointing out how easily things could change is futile. You say it anyway. “If you wanted it to be. But, I get it. I’m your best friend’s sister. Maybe if I wasn’t, you’d consider–”

“I have considered,” Jack interrupts. “I’ve– well, you’ve seen it. All the guys have.”

You’re lost. It’s like he’s speaking in code. “I’ve seen what?” You ask, monotonous and silently yearning for your bed. Your patience is growing thin.

“You can’t be serious,” Jack responds with a laugh. He buries his face in his hands, muffling the noise. “Are you?”

“I’ve seen what,” you repeat, straight-faced and not entertaining this sudden bout of humor from the brunet boy.

“How I look at you when you’re in those tiny little swimsuits on the boat, or how I laugh when you make one of your stupid jokes that aren’t funny to anyone but you and Trevor,” Jack says. “You really never noticed?”

Now he’s just dangling your hopeless crush in front of you. You assumed he had noticed sometime over the years, but this is overkill. He’s never felt the same– that much is clear. It’s cruel that he thinks he can lead you to believe otherwise as a means to further tease you for being alone tonight.

You shake your head. “I never noticed because you never did any of those things, Jack. You’re just saying that to say it.”

He’s up in a flash, coming towards you and placing a hand flat on your bedroom door to prevent you from closing it and ending the conversation. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me,” Jack says.

“I don’t think it’s funny that you’re making fun of the little crush I’ve had on you since we were kids. You don’t feel the same way and I’m not an idiot.” You move to close the door again, but Jack pushes it open again. 

“You– I’m not making fun,” Jack stammers out, looking surprised. He leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “You have a crush on me?”

Your jaw drops and your face flames with humiliation. You thought he knew that you liked him and that he was making fun on purpose– and now you’ve accidentally revealed your massive, well-kept secret to his face. This was never supposed to happen. “You didn’t know?” You hiss, covering the lower half of your face with your hands. 

“You have a crush on me,” Jack repeats, a smile spreading across his face. He steps closer, prompting you to back away.

“No. No,” you moan out, feeling positively ashamed and destroyed. Tonight is not turning out as you hoped it would.

Jack’s still smiling, closing your bedroom door softly behind him as he follows you into your room. 

You knock into the edge of your bed and sit, sinking into the mattress. Your hands are still pressed over your mouth as Jack kneels in front of you, prying your hands away from your face and holding them gently. 

“You have a crush on me,” Jack says for a third time, his voice soft and subtly optimistic. The corner of his mouth curves up into the tiniest of smirks and you swear your face couldn’t get any more red.

All you can give him is a frown and a devastated wobble of your bottom lip. 

“Well, this changes everything,” Jack says, regaining his ability to joke, it seems. His next question is rhetorical and makes you swallow hard. “Who gives a fuck about Trevor when you feel the same way I do?” 

“You’re– you’re serious,” you say, still a thread of disbelief sewn into your words. “You weren’t kidding. You actually– thought about it.”

“Thought about it?” Jack asks. “Fuck, Y/N, I almost told you right before you left last summer, but then you said you were talking to that guy.”

You roll your eyes– that guy had only been in your life for about a month and you had only mentioned him because Jack had mentioned a girl he wanted to see. You tell him such– “I only brought him up because everyone was talking about their romantic interests and who they were interested in, I didn’t want to seem like a loser. You had some girl, too, Jack.”

“Some girl– that was you,” Jack reveals incredulously. “I thought I was being so obvious.”

“You weren’t obvious at all!” You deny, mouth open in a scoff. 

“I thought that you mentioning that guy was your way of letting me down easy!”

“Yes, Jack, because I was going to reveal my feelings for you in a room full of both of our brothers. Good idea. You fucking idiot!”

Jack laughs aloud, throwing his head back. His face scrunches up and he smooths his face with his big palm at the end of his amusement. He fixes you with a look of glee and astonishment– something only hindsight can bring to his expression. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

You shake your head, laughing with him for a moment before he swipes a thumb over your cheek, which stills you. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, smile still gracing his face. “I can’t believe–”

“Me neither,” you say.

“Can I–”

“Absolutely.”

Jack’s rising up, kissing you and laying you back on the bed so that he can completely cover your body with his own. One of his hands cups your cheek, while the other grips your hip, atop your underwear but underneath the big t-shirt that is now riding up your body as you move. Your hand is on his bicep and his chest, clutching his sweatshirt. The strings dangle down into your space, brushing against your clothes and tickling you.

His hands memorize you like a topographic map, clutching at your dips and curves and anything else he can get his hands on. 

“Wanna take this off,” You mumble against Jack’s mouth, tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt.

Jack pulls back immediately, reaching behind his neck to grab the collar of his top and bring it above his head. He balls it up and drops it somewhere on the floor. 

“That, too,” you tell him, about his t-shirt, before he can bend back down and kiss you senseless again.

Jack chuckles and pulls it off, too, leaving him half-naked just like you. His chest is tanned and swollen from his recent workouts in Michigan since his shoulder surgery, something that Trevor had told you about but about which you’d never checked in. You’re gentler on that side of his body, especially as he comes back down into your space and you get to touch him. You run your hands over his muscles. You feel out the ridges of his body, trying to match his own confident movements as he feels you up.

One of your hands makes its way to his v-line, something you’d seen over plenty of boat trips. You’d always wanted the opportunity to touch it, to trace it, to watch it bend and flex as he rolled his hips. You’re being afforded that opportunity now and it is sweet.

“I thought you might like that,” Jack murmurs. “Caught you staring once. Was the same day you wore my favorite red swimsuit out.”

“I still have it,” you tell him, gasping a little when his hand slides up to your chest. He tweaks your nipple, then his hand retreats. 

“Mm, a treat for tomorrow,” Jack says. “I’m gonna have you walking around in that thing all day just so I can look at you. For now…”

He trails off, pushing the bottom of your shirt up and leaving your lips to attach his to the freshly revealed skin of your torso. He kisses up your body with each inch he reveals, between your breasts and up your neck. He pulls your shirt off, letting it join his own on the floor, and gets his first proper look at your tits.

“Been waiting to see these,” he continues, eyes fixed on your chest like he’s being hypnotized. He places his hands on you and squeezes, feeling your supple flesh between his fingers. You moan out at the sensation, the noise spurring him on. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding and tugging at his joggers, hoping he’ll get the hint and remove them.

“‘ve wanted to come on these tits since I first saw it in a porno,” Jack reveals, still mesmerized by your chest. “Thought about it a hundred times.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Come on my tits all you want, but you have to fuck me first.”

“Guess your Saturday night wasn’t so boring after all,” Jack says before he stands from the bed and tugs his pants off. He joins you again, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing over your face. He grinds against you, his clothed cock sliding against your damp panties in a way that has you both keening into each others’ mouths. 

“Guess not,” is your reply, cut short by another moan when Jack’s hand claims your chest again.

You move without speaking after that, fueled only by the desire coursing through your veins after years of pining and aching for the other. 

Jack feels you out and eventually discards his own underwear before removing yours, returning to the missionary position that you had assumed as soon as you had first kissed. It’s sweeter this way– and you both need to see the other’s face, to feel their breath mix with your own. Your chests are flush together, your nipples scraping against the defined and broad swoops of his skin. You grind against each other for a few minutes more, his dick sliding between the wet lips of your pussy with nothing blocking it. He groans into your ear as your juices coat his length, eyes closed in a grimace that is completely charged by his pleasure.

“Condom?” is the last thing he asks, with you shaking your head and replying, “Pill.”

He lines himself up, mouth agape with a choked breath as he thrusts into your tight, wet heat. Your head finds the mattress beneath you, your back arching up as he fills you. You can feel his veins sliding against your walls, the blunt and weeping tip of his cock poking at your deepest parts.

He moves like a man possessed and fighting the beast– like he wants to let loose but at the same time, restraining himself. When you tug on his hair, the subtle waves that he’s been growing out over the summer and hiding beneath his hat in every picture you’ve seen, and whine out his name, Jack’s control vanishes.

He starts to piston his hips into your cunt, burying his face into your neck and letting out ecstasy-fueled whimpers each time you clench down. He curses in your ear, voice a little higher than it normally is, and the intimacy and vulnerability of the moment has your heart clenching. 

“J– J–” You chant, mewling as his cockhead drives against the back wall of your pussy in hard thrusts that make your head spin. 

“So good,” he grits out, kissing over your neck and catching your earlobe between his lips for a moment before dropping it. One of his hands is splayed over your hip, the other securely planted next to your head. “So tight.”

“Coming,” you warn, your fingers finding his bicep and clenching, fingernails digging into his skin so much that you won’t be surprised if you break skin. Your voice is high, too, octaves higher because of the pleasure you’re experiencing.

“Fuck, yeah, baby, come on my cock,” Jack pants out, the hand from your hip coming to rub circles over your clit. 

It sends a shock up your spine and has your hips bucking up to meet his, your entire lower half shaking as your climax approaches. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your vision goes spotty when you do come, just seconds after his groaned encouragement. Your entire body tenses, freezing with Jack still inside of you, making it damn near impossible for him to continue pumping his hips. 

He slides from your opening as you’re coming, bringing some of the slick with him in a feeble excuse for a squirt. His dick bobs, hard and an angry red that might be the most beautiful color you’ve ever seen in your hazy, post-orgasmic state.

Jack comes up to straddle your stomach, stripping his cock quickly with a tight fist, chest heaving. You know he wants to come on your chest, having already given him permission, but your mouth opens and your tongue lolls out in an invitation that Jack can’t deny. He shuffles up further on his knees, his whimper sounding pained as his milky cum spurts from the tip of his cock and lands along the flat of your tongue and your lips.

His spurts grow weaker, although he’s still stroking his dick in a fervorous pace, whining a little more at the oversensitivity. His cum makes his way to your chest, just dripping down the length of his shaft and pooling over your tits. 

You reach up with one hand and trace your fingers through the seed, causing Jack to sway a little on top of you at the sight. His cheeks are flushed and pink, eyes blue and clear like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Your fingertips brush your nipple, spreading the cum over it before you bring your hand up to your mouth and suck the remaining liquid off of your skin, swallowing it with a hum.

Jack is off of you in a flash, pulling you on top of his lap and joining your lips. The last of his cum, painted across your tongue in a thin layer, mixes with your spit as he kisses you. He’s desperate, filling your mouth with his tongue until you can barely breathe, tasting himself on you until it’s indistinguishable– where you end and he begins.

It takes a long time for Jack to finally pull away, for you both to come down from your highs and take a breath.

In typical Jack fashion, he can’t stop himself from joking around.

“Trevor’s really going to kill me now,” he says. “There’s a chance he’ll never let us be in the same room again.”

You laugh, knowing already that neither of you will be willing to let this– whatever this is– go just because your brother has something to say about it. “In that case, we’ll just have to sneak away.”

notes: I WANTED TO NAME THIS "BFB" AFTER THE VICTORIOUS SONG SOOOOOO BAD!!!!! but alas. it's best friend's sister. maybe some other time. blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. well now wait that's a good idea...

[earthchica]

Right My Wrongs | 3

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: You and Terry's daughter, Jasmine, convince you to give him another chance and try to work things out.

warning: explicit smut (18+), angst, mention of nightmare, light submissive! terry, unprotected sex, foreplay, oral (f), squinting, hand job, choking, spanking, pet names { baby, baby girl, sweet girl}

note: the last part will be out soon; thanks again for your love for this mini-series. <3

series masterlist

You were staring out of the window, thoughts drifting away from this place and your heart elsewhere.

It's been at least a week, and you haven't been the same since Terry confessed his love and begged for another chance that night.

You tried to move on as if you didn't care, but you cared too damn much that it was affecting your relationship with Marcus.

You couldn't stop thinking about Terry that you had broken up with Marcus.

You wish Terry didn't have this hold on you. You wish you didn't love him, but the heart wants what it wants, and there's no stopping that.

You were lost in your thoughts when Jasmine's cry snapped you back to reality.

You hurried upstairs and entered her bedroom, where she was trapped in a nightmare—this had happened frequently.

"Sweetie, wake up," you gently said, wrapping her in your arms and giving her a slight shake to awaken her.

Jasmine opened her tear-filled eyes and exclaimed, "MOMMY? He didn’t turn around?"

Your heart sank as you asked, "Who, baby?"

"Daddy. He walked away because you pushed him away. You took him from me. Why? We need him; you need him," Jasmine cried, her words shattering your heart.

"Oh, baby...I’m sorry...I know the last few months have been hard, but I would never take your daddy away from you. Sometimes, we have to make choices that are hard to understand, but it doesn't mean we don't love you," you reassured her, gently stroking her back.

"Your daddy loves you so much, and so do I. We're both here for you, even if things are slightly different now."

Jasmine sniffled, nodding slightly as you held her close.

"But why can't we all be together as a family?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"It's complicated, sweetheart," you replied softly.

"How, Mommy? You love him, and he loves you. You two can make it work if you really want to. Are you just scared?" she asked, curious.

"I do...I do love him, and yes, a little."

"Don’t be scared, Mommy. I believe you and Daddy can make it work again. Can you at least promise to try for me?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle in your heart.

"I promise I will try, sweetie," you replied, stroking her back one more.

"Just know if it doesn't go as well. We are still a family, no matter what. Families can look different and still be filled with love. We'll always find ways to be together, even if it's different."

She sighed, her tiny body relaxing a bit under your comforting embrace.

"Okay, Mommy, but you should invite Daddy over so you two can talk through it," she suggested, her eyes flickering with hope.

"Sure, Sweetie. Now come on, go back to sleep." you smiled, kissing gently on her forehead.

Jasmine nodded, a small smile forming as she nestled her head against your shoulder.

"Mommy, I love you."

"I love you too, baby," you said. You stayed with her for a little bit, watching her peacefully fall back asleep.

The situation is complicated, but maybe it's time to stop fooling yourself.

You always be in love with Terry, and you just hoped he still felt the same after you rejected him.

You and Terry needed to get y'all shit together for the sake of Jasmine's emotional well-being, as it was negatively impacting her.

With a deep breath, you tucked her in securely, then gently kissed her forehead before quietly leaving the room.

-

You paced back and forth through the living room, nerves getting the best of you.

Jasmine was at your parents' house for the day, and Terry was supposed to be here an hour ago.

You feared he wouldn't show up until you heard a knock on the front door.

You hurried to open the door, and he stood there looking tall and anxious.

You hadn't made much effort to see him whenever he came to pick up Jasmine, so this was your first time seeing him in a week.

His eyes told you everything you needed to know; Terry looked utterly heartbroken.

He still looked handsome, but the slight dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept in days.

"Hi, Terry. Thanks for coming. Uh, come in," you said, stepping aside to allow him to enter the house.

"Where's Jazzy?" He asked, scanning the area, searching for her while maintaining a cautious distance from you.

"Uh...she's at my parents. I didn't call you for her; I called because I wanted to talk to you," you said, moving towards your leather couch.

"About what?" He asked with a frown, finally looking at you with his pretty eyes.

"You and me; please come and sit," you said, motioning for him to sit next to you on the couch.

Terry took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and approached the couch.

He sat down next to you, and both of you sat silently, tension building between you until you broke it.

“I miss you, Terry.”

“Oh, really? What happened with you and ol' boy? It didn’t work out, huh?” He asked in a bitter tone.

You moved closer to him on the couch. “Don’t be like that, you know you miss me too...I can see it in your eyes.”

You reach out to touch his scruff cheek, expecting him to pull away, but he immediately leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

A smirk spread across your face as you leaned in to kiss his stubbled cheek, savoring the sensation of the little hairs tickling your lips.

Terry opened his eyes and gazed into yours. There seemed to be a lot going through his mind.

“You got me down bad, girl. I-I do miss you; even after you rejected me, I couldn't stop thinking of you. You hurt me a little bit, but I deserve it. I meant what I said before: I love you. I'm in love with you, baby girl, and I would do whatever it takes for another chance," Terry says sincerely.

“Then this is your chance to show me the best you know how. Fuck me like you never want to lose me again,” You said, leaning your forehead against his.

Terry didn't have to be told twice before he kissed you passionately, pulling you closer.

You both felt up each other's bodies, his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you to his lap.

Your tongues still danced swiftly with each other; Terry pulled away and began planting soft, lingering kisses on your neck.

"Terry!" you whined, feeling shivers down your spine. He lifted you and carefully laid you in the corner of the couch.

His gaze never left yours; he knelt down and pulled down your leggings, causing you to bite your lip.

"Shit...looks like this kitty misses me too? It's so wet, just waiting to be devoured" he asked in his sexy, deep voice.

"Yes...Terry! Now fucking eat it," You growled, pulling your soaking panties off before throwing them on his face, which made him chuckle.

You gasped, watching him lick at the wetness of your panties before tossing them to the side.

"Of course, beautiful. She's calling me," He said, kissing your inner thigh before slightly spreading your legs for him to lick up at your center, leaving you tingly.

You moaned in great pleasure, feeling him diving in like a hungry man, tongue thrusting in and out of you.

You gripped your plump breast firmly with your right hand while the other held the back of his head.

"So good, Terry. It feels good; eat this pussy Daddy" Legs rested on his shoulders as you whined, feeling him slurping hungrily at you.

It felt so damn good,

"Mmmm...you taste so sweet, baby." He moans before his fingers rub at your clit in rhythm to his licks.

Your pussy walls tightened as he pushed a finger inside of you, and your wall clenched around that finger.

His fingers were thrusting in and out of the right places, his tongue licking and sucking the life out of you.

"I bet he never made you feel like this, huh? Got you shaking and shit," he asked; his muffled words sent pleasure up your spine.

You threw your head, arching your back while a loud moan left you as you felt yourself getting close to climax.

"Ahh, never....Terry! You're the only man that makes me feel like this, the only man. Oh my...I'm gonna cum" You cried, feeling him focus all of his sucking your swollen, sensitive clit.

“That's right. Come on, baby, cum for me” He says, feeling you clutch onto his head. 

"Oh my god, Oh my…" You cut yourself off, feeling you cum harder than you have in a very long time. 

"Mmm, that's so good," Terry says with a smirk as your juices are all over his face, which makes you giggle. 

You and Terry removed the rest of the clothes you two wore, and you gasped, looking down at the sight of his big, throbbing dick.

It was much bigger than you remember, your mouth began drooling at the sight of it.

Terry began stroking himself before guiding it to slide up against your center.

You gently bit your lip and let him go for a moment, then stopped him and flipped him down onto the couch on his back.

Trail open-mouthed kisses along his neck, pausing to suck a hickey into his caramel skin.

You pulled away and took hold of both of his hands firmly, in one hand looking at him with a little bit of dominance.

"This dick is mine, right, Terry? No one else," You asked, looking into his eyes while firmly gripping his thickness in your hand.

Terry gazed at you with adoration and a hint of submissiveness. He understands your need for this, and he allowed it.

"Fuck, yes, baby, all yours. This dick is only for you," He said desperately, his tone conveying a desire for more from your hand.

"Nah...I need a little more than that, big daddy. You want this pussy; gotta beg for it," You whispered in his ear, slowly stroking him up and down.

"Baby, fuck, I need that pussy; I'mma crave it. Please, baby, what I gotta go," Terry pleaded intensely and urgently.

You could tell that he was enjoying just as much as you were, loving the desperation and needy look on his face.

"tsk tsk, tsk. I don't know, Terry," you said with a shrug, still stroking him but faster.

"Fuck, please...I need you so bad, baby girl fuck me, take whatever you want; I just need to feel that pretty pussy of yours," He moans profoundly and passionately.

You smiled, letting go of his hands before kissing him. You pulled away, sliding down on his dick, causing both of us to moan.

"Fuck, baby. You feel so good gripping my fucking dick with that pussy," Terry moaned, gripping your waist and watching you move up and down his member slowly.

You stop your movement, causing him to let out a low growl, and you giggle.

"I need you to fuck me, Terry. Fuck me until I forget my fucking name!" You whispered in his ear, and he lost it.

He began pounding, gripping your ass cheeks with both of his hands, lifting you up and down his dick.

You gripped thin air gasping, enjoying every minute of his dick pounding up inside your dripping, wet pussy.

Terry moved his hands to your waist, getting a better rhythm with his thrusting.

He smacked your ass in a harsh motion, "Just like this, right baby?"

"Fuck, yes, just like that, Daddy, oh fuck." You cried, throwing your head back, placing your hands on his chest.

Your plump breasts bounced wildly with every up and down motion.

Terry kisses you before wrapping his strong arms around your legs and lifting you from the couch.

His lustful eyes met your eyes dangerously while pounding in and out of you with this lift.

You can't help but chant his name out in a loud moan at the amazing sensation.

It might have been a minute, but Terry knew your body so well and understood what you wanted.

"I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, right?” He asked, panting heavily while holding your arm to your back.

“Yes, the only one, Daddy....ahh shit, fuck me," You cried, feeling yourself get a little emotional.

"Fuck, you're the best I ever had, you know that baby. I'mma treat you right this time cause you deserve the world" Terry says, kissing you, stopping his thrusting for a minute to lay you on your back on the couch.

Terry pulls away to hold both of your legs open, using them to help him thrust deep back into your pussy.

You moaned, licking your fingers, and started rubbing your clit in circles motion while looking deeply into his eyes.

"Ahhh, yes fuck me, Daddy! Ahhh, yes," You moaned, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

You unexpectedly felt a gust of fluid come out of you, making Terry pull out.

Your body was trembling from another intense climax that he had just given you.

"Shhh, I've gotcha ya, baby," He whispered, leaving small kisses on your neck.

Terry strokes your face softly, kissing your lips while watching you slowly come down from your high.

He kisses you again before turning your body around to face down on the arm of the couch with your ass up.

"Mmmm...Terry" You moaned, trying to plead with him, still trying to get your breathing under control.

"I'm getting much out of this pussy; I can, baby, you can do it." He says, thrusting hard into you.

He grabbed your box braids and fisted in one hand while he snapped his hips into your rear.

“Terry…fuck.” You whimpered, holding onto the couch arm for dear life.

He is determined to make you cum for a third time, so he keeps on pounding into you like a man on a mission.

“Take it, baby, take all over this dick,” Terry moans, grabs your neck, and tilts your head to look at him, arching your back harshly.

Your sweet spot gets hit repeatedly by his dick, making you clench around him and feel yourself closer to the edge.

"Fuck, baby, that's right....you wanna cum again, don't you? Clenching that dick for it," He asked, and you couldn't even form the words.

Tears began to fall from your eyes; it was too much to speak; it felt so damn good.

"Go ahead, baby girl, come on, cum on his dick, it's yours. Remember, make a mess, give it all to your daddy, sweetie." Terry moans, hammering his hips faster into your cunt.

"Terry" You screamed out his name, trembling as if you felt yourself cum on his dick.

"That's my sweet girl," He groaned, pulling out for a second, slapping his dick against your sensitive clit.

Terry pushes back in, three more deep thrusts, and cums with a low grunt, filling you up.

A few minutes later, he withdrew, lifted you up, and took you to the bathroom to clean up.

The two of you lay intertwined on the bed, bare and reveling in the delightful intimacy you two just shared.

"Hey," he called, glancing down at you. You sat up slightly, meeting his gaze with hope and vulnerability.

"I love you, baby, and I know I gotta lot work to do. I want to be better; I will be better. For you, for Jasmine, and for us," he said earnestly.

“I know...Terry...I believe you.” You said, reaching out and touching his cheek.

"We can figure this out one step at a time. It won't be easy, but I will try if you are."

"Of course," Terry nodded, a flicker of determination in his eyes. He gently squeezed your hand on his cheek.

You both knew it would take a lot of time and effort, but you remained hopeful about the possibility of healing and growth.

[lovebugism]

“I’m not the easiest person to talk to, or be around. It’s… hard for other people to love me. I get that.” with Eddie? Maybe he and reader are sorta rivals or frenemies?

here's an unsolicited part 2 to this fic! hope you like it :D — eddie knows you like him now, so you find it extremely hard to be normal around him accordingly (enemies to lovers, grumpy!reader, more succession references, 2.3k)

You walk into the Hideout behind Steve and Robin, hands trembling and sticky with sweat. 

The humid air of the overcrowded bar and the overwhelming stench of cheap beer do little to quell your swirling stomach. The too-loud music and bustling bodies are hardly more than a harsh reminder of the last time you were here — pouring your heart out to Eddie Munson in the form of anxious word vomit, only to be hopelessly turned away. 

Not quite rejected but hardly embraced, which is somehow more embarrassing. 

“You alright?” Steve asks once you’ve ducked into the dim hallway of the backstage area. 

The music and muddled chatter are mostly stifled now, but the walls continue to pulse with life — riddled with chipping paint and dubious stains that only add to your unease. You try to swallow down your distant ennui, hoping it isn’t as obvious as it feels. (It is). Your loud feelings are too big for your body, and it’s got your face softly screwed together like you’ve tasted something sour.

The concerned glint in Steve’s eyes makes you cower. “Yeah. I’m peachy,” you deadpan with an unconvincing shrug. “Why?”

“‘Cause you look like we’re leading you to slaughter,” Robin scoffs.

“You’re asking me to be nice to Eddie Munson for two hours,” you grouse. “So, excuse me if I’m not the most chipper.”

The brunette girl flashes you a look over her shoulder, ocean eyes smudged with dark liner. “Scared you’ll spontaneously combust?” she jokes with her hand wrapped around the rusted knob of the faux greenroom. It feels more like her chipped maroon nails have grabbed your heart and twisted.

“Terrified,” you monotone just before she swings the door open.

The tiny, windowless room smells like sweat and grocery store cologne. It’s crowded with vanity mirrors, plastic folding chairs, and suitcases — hardly big enough for a heavy metal band. 

The three of you run into Gareth and Jeff on your way in. The two look nothing like themselves as you shuffle past them in the doorway, sharing fleeting glances and awkward greetings as you go. A couple of D&D nerds in leather and eyeliner feels almost uncanny.

It’s the same with Eddie, sort of. Curls drenched with sweat, eyes smudged black, tanktop damp around the neckline — a total rockstar. You’re not sure if it’s the raucous outfit stirring your stomach or the body wearing it.

“Oh, shit— You assholes actually showed!” Eddie beams at the sight of you. “And you dressed for the occasion, too.”

The boy in all black and silver stands before the three of you, still dressed in corporate attire after working late shifts. Steve and Robin look at least mostly normal without the Family Video vests and branded name tags. You, however, look like one of those businesswear catalogs brought to life — glaringly out of place. 

“You sayin’ The Gap isn’t proper Hideout attire, Munson?” Steve quips, holding his arm out for a friendly (only slightly awkward) side embrace.

Eddie slaps the back of the boy’s collared shirt with a ringed hand. “Claire’s is more metal than The Gap,” he teases, then turns to hug Robin. “At least Buckley looks halfway normal.”

“And by normal, you mean hot, right?” she jokes, voice deep and gritty and effortlessly sultry.

He scoffs. “Obviously.”

Eddie has no trouble greeting Steve and Robin but loses most of his cool when he turns to you.

The not-so confession at Benny’s Burgers seemed to change more things between you than the heart-felt one you shared here not too long ago. He feels a bit weird, knowing now that you meant what you said — that you actuallyliked him, and that it wasn’t just some cruel joke. 

He feels like he’s got cool points to win with you now. And it makes him achingly aware of when he inevitably loses them.

“Look at you,” Eddie grins, tossing his chin back to shake wild curls from his face. A few chestnut strands cling stubbornly to his sticky forehead. The milky white tendons of his neck shine with sweat, too. “You look like an actual human person.”

“Wow. Thanks, Eds,” you monotone, unsure of whether or not to take his words as a compliment. You cross your arms over the chest of your fitted turtle neck and joke, “I’d say that same, but… you look like a poodle that just washed up on shore.”

Robin mumbles your name through gritted teeth, flashing you a look and poking you on the shoulder. She scolds you like a parent, as though to say be nice without actually saying the words out loud.

“What?” you shrug.

Eddie only chuckles — a low and honeyed sound he presses to your ear when he brings you suddenly in for a hug. His lean body meets yours, soft and strong and slightly clammy. His skin smells like deep cologne, minty aftershave, and very faintly of boy. You tense when his hands cradle your back.

“Oh,” you mumble in surprise, floundering at the affection as you attempt to hold him back. “Okay.”

“How’s the nine-to-five?” Eddie asks after he parts from you, sounding almost like he cares. “Boring the absolute shit outta you?”

You shrug with an air of nonchalance and hope you don’t look as flustered by his attention as you feel. “Oh, you know… Burying the bodies, counting the cash.”

“Gotta picture of me in your little cubicle?”

“Tons,” you answer. “It’s basically an Eddie Munson shrine.”

His smile widens to show all his teeth. His chocolate eyes glitter with mischief, too, like he knows what he’s doing to you. 

Eddie gives you a break from his suffocating stare and looks to Steve and Robin standing on his other side. You feel like you can finally breathe. “I told Greg at the bar to give my friends free beer tonight— just show him your ID or whatever,” the boy tells them.

“Oh, my god— I could kiss you right now,” Robin mumbles.

Eddie’s plush pink lips curl into a half-smirk when he turns to you again. “So try not to run up your tab tonight, alright, sweetheart?” he quips and pats you on the arm. It’s easier to joke that he hadn’t mentioned you at all when your name was first from his lips. Which is totally a joke you would’ve made.

You flash Steve and Robin a wide-eyed look of annoyance, jaw clenched to contain all the insults you instinctively want to spew. “He got us free beers,” the former cautions with a sympathetic shrug. “Don’t ruin it.”

You roll your eyes and hear them leave behind you — not even trying to pretend like they didn’t swing byfor the beers. Eddie’s stupid grin widens when you stay. “You heard the man. Means you gotta be nice to be all night.”

“Right,” you scoff like it’s funny. Steve The Hair Harrington doesn’t exactly scream figure of authority to you. Robin Buckley, maybe. But definitely not Steve.

“Think you can do it without spontaneously combusting?” he quips.

You hate that he knows you so well. “Not particularly,” you deadpan.

Eddie tilts his wild head to the side and sends you a pretty, tight-lipped smile. “Well, you’re doing a great job already.”

His praise is sarcastic. You know this already, so you’re not sure why it has your stomach doing backflips. “Thanks…” you mumble, inherently shrinking inside yourself as you attempt to make small talk. “How, uh— How was the show?”

“Fine,” the boy hums, shrugging his pale shoulders. “Same set from last time. Same crowd of drunks.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“Eh. Don’t be. You’ve actually got important shit going on— Don’t worry about me.”

“Your shit’s important, too,” you argue without thinking, perhaps more shocked by your sincerity than the boy ahead of you. You follow quickly and much more harshly, “I guess.”

Eddie smiles wordlessly. You start to squirm in place. He watches you grow suddenly uncomfortable in your own skin as you seem to look everywhere but back at him. The pink expression ebbs into a more concerned one. “You okay?”

You hate the question more the second time. 

“Fine,” you monotone, hardly convincing.

He squints. “Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

“I am looking at you,” you argue just to argue, giving him a measly glance before turning away a moment later.

“No, seriously,” Eddie chuckles, reaching out to touch you. “What’s going on?”

His ringed hand caresses the outside of your elbow. You jerk back on instinct, more aggressive than you mean to be. 

“Nothing!” you huff, looking so far away from him that he can only see your profile. You grumble like a storm cloud, “You just— You make me go all weird. As you know. And fully intend.”

“That’s what this is all about?” Eddie chuckles. “You got a little crush on me?”

He reaches out for you again, this time digging his fingers into the junction of your neck. You swat him away with a harsh hand. You hate the way his touch makes your skin buzz. 

“You’re such a dick,” you groan before spinning on your heel. Your slacks swish around your ankles as you walk the very short distance to the door. Eddie’s footsteps sound much heavier in comparison as he rushes behind you. 

“Hey, hey, hey! C’mon. I’m just kidding,” he assures, still laughing as he slides his body between you and the exit. He meets your glare with a crooked smile. “It’s okay. I got a crush on you back— you know that.”

You hate how easily the words spill from his mouth, how cool he is about all of it compared to the time bomb you’ve become — tick tick ticking away as your anxiety builds. You figure this stupid crush (or whatever he wants to call it) must mean more to you than it does to him. So again, you turn away.

Eddie knocks his worn sneaker against the toe of your pleather boot. “Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t make it any less true, you know?” he tells you, quiet and suddenly serious as he tilts his cheek to his shoulder. “Doesn’t make me like you any less, either.”

His confession makes you feel funny. It makes you giddy and fills you with dread all at once. “It’s just… It’s weird,” is all you can think to say, after several long moments of silence.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I— I’m not— I don’t know,” you groan, bringing your hands to your face to hide behind your palms. “God, I did not intend to talk about this today.”

“Well, too late. We’re talking about it.”

Eddie takes a step away from the door, moving impossibly closer to you. He ducks his chin to meet your sheepish gaze, dark eyes sparkling with visible concern. 

You step back from him on instinct and talk wildly with your hands. “No! Tonight was supposed to be about you— about you’re fucking show— not about me!”

Brows raised and hidden behind his sweat-drenched bangs, he monotones. “Say it.”

A stubborn sigh puffs out your lips. “I just… I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to. Or to be around. I know that,” you confess. “I know it’s hard for people to like me, but… you do, and I really don’t fucking get it, okay? It just feels like you’re playing a big, dumb prank on me.”

Eddie stays silent for a moment, chocolate gaze unwavering as he ponders your words. 

“Wait, so…” the boy trails off, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “You’re mean to me, but I like you anyway, and because I can see through all the— faux bitchiness or whatever— You have a hard time… being around me?”

Your eyes flit to the ceiling for a moment. You look back at him and nod. “Yeah, that’s… That’s pretty much the gist of it, yeah.”

Eddie beams before he can help it, filling the dingy room with golden sunshine. “Well, you know how we get past that, right?” he wonders and scrunches the bridge of his nose.

You get the feeling he’s teasing you still, but you entertain him anyway. “What?”

“Us being boyfriend-girlfriend—”

“Eddie,” you groan with your head tilted back, only partly pretending to be annoyed. You don’t step back from him when he inches closer to you this time, though. You don’t jerk away from his touch when his hands caress your forearms, either. 

“I know you wanna…” he lilts, pulling you closer with ringed fingers wrapped gently around your wrists. Your shoes scuff the carpet as you stumble into his chest. “It’s why I make you go all funny, right?”

You squint up at him, with hate in your eyes and your heart in your throat. “You’re so annoying,” you deadpan.

“Okay, how about this? We can just go on one date, alright?” Eddie offers, smoothing his guitar-string calloused fingers up your shoulders. “Nothin’ fancy, I promise. Just bottomless breadsticks at Enzo’s at seven. And you, bottom-less at my place at eight.”

Your knotted stomach does a backflip at his words, but you keep glaring at him anyway. “And who says you don’t know how to flirt?” you squint.

Another chuckle spills from his plush, pink lips. His tongue darts out to wet them a second later — mouth desperate to be kissed. “‘Kay. Fine. How about we just makeout in my van after closing? And I try not to be a total idiot and ruin it like last time?”

He’s much more serious now. You can see it in his very expressive button eyes. He’s borderline pleading now, for a second chance he never needed to ask for. 

You cave, far quicker and with a lot less fight than he expected. “Fine,” you shrug with an unenthusiastic huff.

Eddie smiles so big, it’s like you’ve just told him you loved him or something — all his teeth on display — so wide and full of adoration it almost hurts. 

[jazzyoranges]

Sam carpenter x reader with the song birds of a feather by Billie eilish maybe friends to lovers

Birds of a Feather

Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: you and Sam are best friends. until you aren’t

Words: 8k

A/n: ok we kinda went off script with this one but i’d describe this as friends to lovers with a few bumps. is friends to not friends to lovers a trope?

A/n 2: i have something to confess. i’ve never seen scream 5. that might be very evident in this

Warnings: intoxication, usage of drugs, Richie Kirsch, Sam deals with some hard shit, crying, ghostface aftermath, not a warning but Tara is a cutie, mention of a dead parent, maybe ooc sam cause i’ve never written for her and probably should’ve made a less lengthy fic so i could get a feel for her character but wtv 🤷‍♀️

“Hey- What the heck! What was that for, Sam!?” The young boy yells when Sam pushes him off the swing

“You jerk broke my friend’s crayons. She really liked them!” Sam points a finger at the boy, who’s now dusting himself off

“Yeah? What’re you going to do about it?” He smiles a wicked grin. At least, what would be considered wicked in kindergarten

“I’ll never let you on the swings again!”

“I don’t see your name written on it!”

“That’s cause you’re stupid and can’t read!”

Tears well up in the young boys eyes. He blinks them away, running to tell on the teacher him and Sam share. Sam didn’t care, he deserved the insults anyways

“Sammy? What did you do to Carlos?” You run up to Sam, who’s glaring at the back of Carlos’ head from her seat on the swing

“I pushed him. He broke the crayons your dad gave you!” The Carpenter pulls you into a hug, not wanting to let go

“I know he did Sammy, but it’s not nice to push people” You reciprocate the hug, pulling back a bit to see Sam’s face and how her forehead was wrinkled with her eyebrows furrowed. You thought she was cute like one of your stuffed animals

“It’s not nice to break something that doesn’t belong to you! I did it because he was mean to you”

“You’re going to get in trouble! Mrs. Poppy doesn’t know you were trying to protect me”

“Then I’ll tell her, and Carlos will get in trouble too”

“Samantha Carpenter.” Your teacher’s voice was stern. Nothing like the sweet teacher you were used to. You backed away from Sam’s hug but you don’t go far. You hold her tiny hand with your own and make sure to stay close, rubbing her hand in hopes of comfort

“Is it true you pushed Carlos off the swings and said some mean things?”

“Yeah, but he was being mean to (Y/n) first! He broke her new crayons her dad got her! Mrs. Poppy, (Y/n) was really sad” Your dad couldn’t get you many new things due to being a single father. Especially new school supplies. Usually you’d reuse the crayons you didn’t lose or break from previous years or borrow some of Sam’s

On most days you took the bus home with Sam while your dad was off working his ass off to get you dinner every night. Your dad and Sam’s dad were good friends so Mr and Mrs. Carpenter didn’t mind taking care of you until your dad was able to pick you up from their house. Luckily you two lived in the same neighborhood. Some days you thought all of the stars aligned for you and Sam to be friends

“Is this true?” Your teacher shoots a look at the boy next to her. While your teacher was the nicest woman you ever met, she had a deadly glare. You were happy you weren’t on the receiving end of that stare

“N-No…”

“Carlos if I find out you’re lying, you’re going to be sharing the same punishment as Sam.” Mrs. Poppy seems to calm down a bit, entering her nice teacher mode once again

“F-Fine! I did break her crayons” Carlos pouts, crossing his arms

“Thank you for telling the truth, but what you did was wrong. You also did something wrong, Sam. Instead of pushing Carlos off the swing, you could’ve told me and I would have taken care of it” Your teacher bends down to look at the two kids in the eyes

“Sorry, Mrs. Poppy” Sam and Carlos say in unison

“Thank you, you two. I know you two are good kids and know what’s right”

Your teacher leaves with Carlos next to her and you can hear her faintly ask why the boy broke your crayons in the first place

“I like having you as a friend, Sammy” You hug the girl, who’s long since stopped swinging

“I like having you as a friend too, (Y/n)!” Sam beams. Her smile was one of your favorite things ever

“Can we play house?”

“Yeah! I’ll bring my bear next time so she can be our baby!”

//-//

“I can’t believe you can name your sister!” You were over at Sam’s house a few months after her baby sister was born. You didn’t know what to call Sam’s little sister considering… she didn’t really have a name. It was up to Sam to pick a name but of course she was a Carpenter, wanting the best name for her sister. As a result, her baby sister had no name

Until today, that is. Sam was finally making a decision today

“I don’t know what her name is going to be yet” Sam reaches out a finger to her baby sister who happily grabs onto it with curiosity

“She likes you a lot, huh?”

“She knows I’m her sister”

“Maybe I could help you come up with a name! What’s your favorite letter?”

“I like the first letter of your name but I don’t want it to be that! I need to think of something different”

“I know you’ll think of a wonderful name, darling.” Sam’s mom strokes her on the head as she rocks the small baby in her arms

“Do you have another favorite letter?” You ask

“Uh… I like T?”

“What about Triceratops!” You giggle

“Her name can’t be Triceratops, silly!” Sam smiles

“Tennis?”

“(Y/n), those aren’t names” The now older Carpenter giggles along with you

“What about Taylor? Oh! There’s a girl in our class named Thalia?”

“I want it to be different, though! I like those names but Tara needs to be special.” Sam’s eyes go wide in surprise. Maybe her brain just knew her baby sister was supposed to be named Tara

“Tara?” You repeat. “That’s a pretty name! Hi little Tara!” You wave at the baby in her mom’s arms

“Is this official? Is Tara your choice, Sam?”

“Yeah! Tara is a nice name. She looks like her name would be Tara”

“She does, doesn’t she? Such a pretty name you chose, Sam. Honey, come here! We have our daughter’s name!” Mrs. Carpenter yells for her husband

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Sam smile so wide before

//-//

“Hey, Sam?”

“What’s up?”

“Aren’t you scared of middle school?“

“No, why would I be? Middle school should be scared of me” That was your Sam alright. The most fearless person you knew. As far as you knew, she was scared of absolutely nothing. Not even the dark. Which is why you were reluctant to stay outside on your trampoline after sunset. Which is also why you were curled next to Sam as she pointed out all the different stars

“What if we stop being friends?”

“Don’t be stupid, (Y/n)” The Carpenter pinches your cheek and you yelp while giggling, shoving her hand away

“If we stop being friends, which we won’t, I promise I’ll let you have all of my stuffed animals”

“Woah, really?”

“Yes, really

“Every single one of them?”

“Yes, every single one of them” Sam rolls her eyes

“Even Ghostie?” Ghostie was the panda stuffed animal you got Sam for her eighth birthday. Technically your dad bought it for her but you picked it out

“What! You’re not supposed to take a gift back, I like Ghostie”

“Well, you can give me all of your stuffed animals and I’ll just give Ghostie back to you”

“That makes no sense, why wouldn’t you just let me keep it?”

“Cause then you wouldn’t have given me all of your stuffed animals and kept your promise”

“You’re weird, (Y/n)”

“Hey, so are you! That’s why we’re friends”

“Yeah, I guess so” Sam giggles

The sliding door to your house opens and both you and Sam turn to look who’s there. It’s your dad

“Hey, girls! Sam, your parents are leaving now. Best you go with them, eh?”

“Okay! Thank you, Mr. (Y/l/n)” The Carpenter waves to your dad

“Wait, let me go with you inside! It’s scary out here”

//-//

“Sam! What if we get caught out here?” Your words held concern but you couldn’t stop laughing as Sam dragged you under the bleachers

“Shhh! They’re gonna catch us!” The Carpenter put a hand over your mouth and put one over hers so she’d also stop laughing when both of you sat down on the underside of the bleachers where the grass was

Both you and Sam were currently in seventh grade but there was an eighth grade couple that was constantly terrorizing the younger kids. Sam being Sam, she wanted to end their reign.

How did she want to end their reign? By breaking the two up. Sam slipped a note in both of their lockers about meeting to break up during one of their classes, causing both of them to skip. Your job was to lead a teacher to their meetup and if everything went right, then they would be successfully broken up and in detention.

Both of you hear footsteps and see the couple at the meetup spot. The teacher wasn’t far away, all you had to do was rile him up a little and run away. Did you feel a little bad? Maybe. But in your defense the couple was always making out in the hallways and made everyone passing by uncomfortable. For gods sake, it was middle school! Not high school

You and Sam were far enough away you couldn’t hear them but their body language was enough for the both of you to understand. Your plan was going perfectly. You and Sam were more the vigilante type, not the heroes or the villains

The couple exchanged pointed looks and flailing arms, hopefully arguing about the note. You and Sam wrote… not the nicest things in there

The teacher eventually arrives out of breath but the couple is too busy yelling each other to notice how he’s standing over them. He looks to clear his throat and to their horror, they stop fighting. Success!

“Yes! We did it!” Sam says a little too loudly from the position you two were in. Their heads turn in your direction and you know you’re caught when the teacher stars walking towards you two

“Hey! What’re you two doing there under the bleachers?” His ragged voice yells

Shit.

//-//

“Sam? What’s wrong?” You run to the Carpenter, who’s outside under a tree eating her lunch. Usually she’d wait for you but today seemed different

“Get away from me, (Y/n).”

“Sam, don’t be like that. You know me, you can tell me what’s wrong.” You and Sam didn’t share too many classes in eighth grade. Even then, your friendship still didn’t seem to falter. You’d still hang out after school and help each other study. Sam lashing out at you was never really a problem you two had

“No! You don’t know anything.” Sam shoves you away when you try to put your hand on her shoulder. “You’re useless.”

“Sam, you don’t mean that. Please just tell me what’s wrong?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t understand anything.”

“Yes I do! We always talk to each other, Sammy. Even if I’m not going to understand, I can still listen”

“Don’t say that stupid name.”

“I thought you liked Sammy?”

“See, that’s the thing with you! You’re always so stuck in the past. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“You’re not being very nice right now”

“Yeah? Well you can deal with it.” The last thing you expect Sam to do is push you onto the ground into a patch of dirt.

“We’re done. I’m not your friend anymore.”

“Sam- we can talk about this” Tears pool in your eyes. You try to get up but all that happens is a crawl

“We can’t. You’re weak and pathetic and can’t do anything without me.”

Sam doesn’t look back when you say her name through tears. Sam doesn’t look back when she hears a few laughs and whispers directed at you. Sam doesn’t look back.

//-//

“Heyyyyy (Y/n)!” Sam’s voice slurs over the phone. It was almost one in the morning, what the hell was this girl doing? Not to mention this is the first time she’s even talked to you since middle school. And yet, you still answered without hesitation. Damn you really needed to grow a backbone

“Sam? What’s going on?”

“Nothingggggg whut’re y’doin?”

“I was trying to go to sleep then you called me. Where are you?”

“Why’d y’wanna know? You’re not my momma!”

“Are you drunk? Sam, you’re underage!”

“No fun… I’m wif my friends! We at a partayyy!”

“Whose house are you at?” Grabbing your keys, you race to the door. Your dad was asleep and you only had your learners permit but you couldn’t just hang up on your Sam like that.

“Uh… Tristan? He’s in our uh… what class is he in?”

“Math. Tristan from math, got it” You knew where he lived. You tutored the guy as requested by his parents but he paid you more money to stop coming to his house than his parents did for your tutoring business. How could you say no to free money?

Thankfully he wasn’t far. Thank god for that, you weren’t one to drive at night

You go faster than you hope but luckily you don’t get pulled over. You really didn’t want to go to overnight jail and face your dad the next morning but surely he would understand the circumstances you were in. He knew you, he knew Sam, he knew the devotion.

At least that’s what you told yourself on the way to Tristan’s house

You could hear the house blasting bad music from about four blocks away. It was a wonder how the police hadn’t shown up yet. Unless he paid off them too. You wouldn’t put it past the guy

Were you invited? No. But in all the movies you’ve watched - said movies being Mean Girls - random people just showed up and nobody cared enough to kick them out. So you walked up to the door like you were invited and instantly started looking for Sam

The music was so loud you could feel it in your lungs and couldn’t hear your thoughts. You couldn’t imagine this was the scene Sam was willing to put herself in but then again you hadn’t talked to her in years. Maybe under all those layers she was a party animal at heart

You internally laugh at the thought. Like hell Sam’s actually a party animal

After a bit you find Sam snorting some drug that probably shared the name with a sexually transmitted disease. Grabbing the sleeve of her shirt, you drag her out of the house while her friends groan and call you a party pooper.

“Hey! Wh- what’s wrong wif you!?”

“We’re going home, Sam. I’m taking you home”

“No! T-Tara can’t see me. Wanna go somewhere else…” Sam struggles against your grip. She’s always been stronger than you but in her intoxicated state you could probably carry her like a sack of potatoes if you tried hard enough

“Fine, I’ll take you to my house. You can spend the night”

“Noooo, wanna party…”

“We’re going home, Sam.”

In all of your years of friendship with Sam, she’s never seen you so stern before. The Carpenter keeps her mouth shut for the rest of the car ride.

After lots of trial and error, you eventually get Sam out of your car and into your bedroom with much difficulty. Thankfully your dad was the heaviest sleeper you knew. You search for a shirt and shorts that fit Sam, ignoring her protests of not wanting to sleep

Against your better judgment, you now have your intoxicated ex-best friend in your bed as her sobriety was nowhere to be found

“Why did you call me, Sam? Even in your state I know you couldn’t do that on accident”

“Ugh, friends made me. Wan’ me t’call my first crush”

“What?” You’re taken aback. Did you hear her correctly?

“Tired… m’sleepy”

You sigh, bringing your hand to Sam’s face to stroke her cheek. Your heart breaks when the older Carpenter leans into your hand like a touch starved cat. You wished things would go back to normal but Sam was stubborn. She wouldn’t let you in no matter how many times you tried.

“Go to sleep, Sam. I hope I’ll see you in the morning” You’re only met with small snores

You wanted to hate Sam. You wanted to hate Sam with all your heart for pushing you away and not even looking at her sister anymore

You wanted to hate Samantha Carpenter so badly but you couldn’t

//-//

It’s nine thirty in the morning when you hear a knock at your door. It was a Saturday. Who the hell was up this early? Rubbing the sleep from your eyes and attempting to smooth out your hair with your hands, you begrudgingly walk downstairs to the door. Your dad was at work already and usually you weren’t up at this hour

Looking through the peephole, you don’t expect to see Tara Carpenter in tears at your door.

“Hey what happened, sweetheart?” You bend down to meet Tara’s eyes. They were red and puffy, evidently showing she was crying a lot. And a lot before she got to you

“S-Sam, she-“ Your heart broke when Tara couldn’t let out even a few words without hiccuping and sniffling

“You can tell me later, darling. How about we drink some juice and you can tell me what’s happening, yeah?”

“No! S-Sam’s…” There seemed to be a never ending amount of tears flowing. “She’s gone, (Y/n). She’s gone and she’s gone for good.” Tara runs into your arms, staining your shirt with her tears.

“What do you mean, baby?”

“M-Mom said Sam left a-and isn’t coming back…” Your heart breaks when Tara’s breathing gets quicker and isn’t able to catch her breath

You pick up the younger Carpenter, taking her to your couch. Tara’s on your lap and you’re holding her just like her mom probably did when she was born. It was something your dad always did, even when you got older. Sometimes people just needed to be babied no matter how old they were.

So you start rocking Tara. She’s holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping her alive and you move her ear to your heart. Placing her head under your chin, you hum a tune that was familiar to you. A lullaby your mom always sung to you before she died

You kiss Tara’s forehead with tears in your eyes. You saw how Sam changed and you couldn’t help her. You knew this day was going to come and you couldn’t stop it. But how could you?

When Sam looked at you with such hatred and anger, you’d wonder if she was still the same Sam that pushed Carlos because he broke your new crayons. When you saw her high out of her mind with people that didn’t care about her, you’d wonder if she was the same Sam that watched the stars with you on your trampoline. When you looked at Sam all you could see was what you two were. Was your Sam even still in there there?

You felt disgusted with yourself. You could’ve done something and yet you did nothing.

You’d never see best friend again and Tara would only remember her sister as hateful and unloving. Memories of Sam would go sour until you only had Tara and Tara only had you as a reminder of who Sam used to be.

When the younger Carpenter sees you also crying, she somehow manages to hug you tighter than she already has. What a lovely girl Tara was.

“A-Are you okay, (Y/n)?” The brunette says in a small voice

“Can I be honest with you, Tara?” You earn a nod from the small girl

“No. I’m not okay. But you know what? I’ve got you and you got me. Thank you for telling me.”

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah?”

“Mom says she isn’t coming back. Sam didn’t talk to me a lot but I miss her.”

“You’ve got such a big heart, Tara. Did you know that? Please don’t ever lose it for me.”

“Will Sam come back?”

Your breath hitches and for a second you’re left without words in your throat and without knowledge about the future.

“Yes… she’ll come back. Sam just doesn’t know it yet.”

Tara’s mom comes storming in a second later with an out of breath angry expression that slowly softens when she sees how her daughter is nestled in your arms

“Tara, you can’t just run away like that. You made me so scared, you know I can’t run as fast as you” Her mom presses a kiss to her forehead

“I had to tell (Y/n), Mom! She’s Sam’s best friend and she deserved to know”

Her mom brought a hand to Tara’s face to wipe a few stray tears. With her other, she placed on your shoulder with a small nod. Sam was gone. She was gone for good.

//-//

Sam spends her first night away from home in her car in a neighborhood she didn’t recognize. The first night Sam leaves, she holds Ghostie in her arms and hopes it’s enough to keep her safe.

//-//

“You’re hiding something”

“What?” You and Tara always hung out ever since Sam left. Her mom hasn’t been the same since her husband walked out. You offered to be one of Tara’s caretakers to help her mom with the load of being a single mother without Sam or her husband’s support

Your dad wasn’t home very often but every now and again he’d give you random tips on how to raise a teenager. At least, tips he used when he raised you. At first he was skeptical of you taking on the role of caretaker at such a young age but when you employed Tara to use her puppy eyes, it was a losing battle for him.

So Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, Tara was all yours. You’ve been doing this since you turned eighteen and could confidently drive without being nervous at all. Also mostly because you couldn’t be her guardian in the eyes of the law under eighteen

There was a void in Tara’s heart and while you couldn’t fully replace her sister, the least you could do was be there. Which is how you knew something was up when she started picking at one of the things she loved so dearly. Your cooking.

“I know you’re hiding something, squirt”

“You’re crazy, I’m not hiding anything” Tara scoffs

“Hey, I’m not decades older than you. I know when you’re lying” You hated pulling the ‘I used to be your age’ card but now you’re realizing how effective it is when you’re only six or seven years older than Tara

Tara throws her head back, groaning in what seems to be frustration and covering her face. You can’t hold back your snicker. The younger Carpenter was always one for theatrics

“You don’t have to tell me but I could really help you, you know? With how super knowledgeable I am, as you know”

“Knowledgeable my ass, you didn’t know your microwave had a popcorn button until I told you”

“In my defense, I heard you’re not even supposed to use the popcorn button for popcorn”

“Then why is it called a popcorn button?”

“I dunno. Maybe the same reason why Greenland is called Greenland”

“What?”

“Deception. The guy who found Greenland named it that cause he wanted more people to come over. I bet he was lonely”

“Why do you know that?” Tara says in between laughs

“No clue, but we’re getting off topic!” You smile. “The point is, you shouldn’t feel like you have to keep secrets from me.” You reach over to pinch Tara’s cheek and she tries to swat your hand away, ultimately failing. “Well, big secrets. If you cheated on a test or something I don’t care that much”

“Thanks, (Y/n)”

“No problemo, squirt”

So now you were back to silently eating dinner except for your TV playing some sitcom Tara liked. You could handle the quietness. Even if Tara didn’t want to tell you, at least she knew you were there to listen. That’s all that mattered

“(Y/n), I think I like a girl.”

//-//

“What was Sam like?” Tara says out of the blue. “I was thirteen when she left but she didn’t really talk to me. What was she like… before that?”

It was another weekend night that consisted of spending time with Tara. The question catches you off guard

“I don’t think you’d believe me, squirt”

“Well I wanna know anyways. Even if i believe it or not”

“Did you know Sam named you?”

“She did?”

“Yeah, Sam named you Tara. You were unnamed for a while before she came up with anything.”

“Mom said she was mean. Is that true?”

“I mean yeah, but not entirely. When you’re friends with Sam, she’d be the nicest person you’ve ever met. Hell, she’d probably kill for anyone she loved. But when someone messed with a person she loved, nothing could stop her from making her loved one feel better”

“I wish I could’ve experienced it.”

“Trust me, you did. You just don’t remember it. One time when you were little, a kid that was around Sam’s age at time pushed you into the mud at the playground and Sam was furious” You laugh

“You cried and Sam could hear you from where we were playing soccer. She found him and kicked his ass so hard he crawled back to his mommy so we took you and booked it out of there”

“She did that?” Tara covers her mouth laughing, failing to cover it up

“I remember it like it was yesterday, squirt. Sam gave you a piggy back ride and you were giggling the entire time we ran home.”

//-//

“Fuck, Tara! Shit, I came as fast as I could. Are you okay? Oh my god, of course you’re not okay.” You barged into Tara’s hospital room without any concern of who else was in there. You took her face in your hands and scanned for anything wrong until you brought her into a bone crushing hug. “Sorry, stupid question. Holy shit I’m so happy you’re alive, squirt. I am never letting you out of my sight again. Okay maybe in the future I will, but the future is not now! Right now I’m never leaving you again.”

“You’re such a fighter, you know that? Holy shit you must’ve been so scared. Tara you’re the strongest person I know, did you know that?” There are tears in your eyes threatening to spill. You don’t even notice there are other people in the room.

“Deep breaths, (Y/n). I’m okay. Look, I’m right here” Tara takes one of your hands and puts it against her heart. Your eyes can’t hold in your tears any longer. When you cried, you rambled. Tara was ready for the storm.

“Fuck you’re such a sweet girl, Tara. Even when you’re lying in a hospital bed you care about me. I don’t know what monster would do this to you! He obviously doesn’t know what a blessing to this world you are. Please promise you’ll never let anyone stop you from being the beautiful sweet girl you are.”

There it was.

You felt a hand rub your back and your arm. You assumed it was Tara. Until you heard a hum that wasn’t Tara’s. Until you realized this person had rough hands. And oddly smelt like…

“Sam?” Your head whips around

“Hey, (Y/n). I… I missed you.”

“Sam?” You let go for a second and bring your hand to her face. Not in a cute or romantic holding-her-cheek-way, no, you pinch at her cheeks and nose with a questioning look. You poke at Sam’s forehead and nose, still probably in disbelief. Yeah, you were still her (Y/n).

“Please don’t tell me both of you are dead and I’m actually in a psych ward and this is all a dream” You whisper and you can hear Tara laugh behind you

“No, this is all very real.” Sam smiles, taking your hand off her face and gently putting it back by your side. Your eyes go wide and you whip around to look back at the younger Carpenter

“Tara, can I take my attention off you for a second? Will you be okay?” You whisper, knowing damn well Sam could hear you

“Yeah I’ll be okay, (Y/n). Go hug Sam.”

You press a kiss against Tara’s hairline and immediately after, launch into Sam’s arms. Tara could feel it again, you were going to start crying and rambling.

“Sam, I can’t believe you’re here! Well of course you’re here. I always knew you’d come back! I knew you wanted to come back. I don’t know why you left, but I hope you achieved your goal and came back because you missed us. Also I’m really mad at you but for the sake of time we can discuss that at a later time.”

There it was.

“You two are close, huh?” You don’t notice there’s a man with curly hair in the room and you raise an eyebrow at Sam

“Yeah, very close” You say

“Sorry, I should introduce you two. (Y/n), this is my boyfriend Richie. Richie, this is (Y/n). My…” Fuck. Sam couldn’t just say you were her best friend after all these years. After she made your life shit, was she even allowed to call you her friend? What if-

“Best friend. Happy to meet you, Richie”

“Likewise” He smiles. There’s a pang of a certain emotion in your chest you can’t quite place

“Well, I’ll be going now. Feel better soon, Tara” Richie waves at the younger Carpenter and gives Sam a kiss before he leaves Tara’s hospital room

“Do you know if my friends are visiting soon?” Tara asks you. Sam doesn’t know how to feel when she sees Tara treating you more like a sister than her. She knew it was wrong. Sam had no right to be treated like a sister after she just up and left all those years ago

“Amber told me she was getting some of your things from her house. The twins are coming over right now, okay? I think you’ll feel better when you see them”

Sam felt like an alien watching you and Tara talk. Watching you two was like watching everything she’s missed. Sam missed almost all of Tara’s high school experience. Arguably one of the most important times to have an older sister. She shouldn’t have been jealous. She wasn’t allowed to be jealous after all she did to you and Tara

“How’re you feeling right now? Anything I need to tell the doctors?”

“No, I’m feeling okay”

“Hey, can I talk to you outside, (Y/n)?” Sam says almost above a whisper

“Yeah, of course.” You turn to face Tara as you walk out her room. “See you in a second, squirt. Don’t run away” The brunette rolls her eyes at your words

“Guess I owe you all my stuffed animals, huh?”

“You still remember that?” You raise an eyebrow at the girl

“I do. I owe you an explanation, don’t I?”

“An explanation would be appreciated” You weren’t mad at Sam per se, just very very very disappointed. Mostly at yourself for letting her leave

“You remember when I yelled at you that day in middle school? I said I didn’t want to talk to you or be your friend anymore? It’s not an excuse, but I have an explanation.”

You nod along to Sam’s story, listening close

“The night before I yelled at you, I found out my dad wasn’t really my dad. I was going through my mom’s diaries I found in the attic and it was the worst thing I’ve ever done. I.. I found out I was-“ Sam doesn’t realize she’s crying until she chokes on her words and your expression falters. Sam remembers you were always good at comforting people

She’d always get bruises and scrapes when she was younger but you were always there to make her feel better. Fuck, she can’t remember why she would ever leave you. You were the perfect best friend. Always an inviting smile and open arms that were ready for hugs. The only one that stuck with Sam through whatever happened.

Sam was at her lowest of lows when you picked her up that night during the party. She remembers wondering why she’d put you so much pain and worry. She smoothed out the wrinkles on your forehead while you were asleep and felt guilty she was probably the cause of them. That night when you picked up Sam from that party and you had your arms wrapped around her, Sam asked herself why she would ever push you away. She loved everything about you. She loved you.

In her drunken state she remembers wanting to fade away into your memory. At least then you’d remember the Sam that played tag with you and not the one that snorted or drank away her pain. It was the same night she decided to leave everything behind. She decided to leave you behind

But Sam was selfish. She wanted you to tell her not to go. To come back into your arms and for you to tell her everything would be okay. That it didn’t matter she was the bastard child of a serial killer. It wasn’t her fault her dad left. Reassuring her you and Tara would love Sam the same. In a perfect world Sam would’ve still been Tara’s sister and you would’ve been her-

“Hey, look at me. You don’t have to tell me. If this is hurting you so much then I understand why you wanted to run away. What matters is that you came back. You’re strong for that” You pull Sam into your arms, letting her cry into the side of your neck.

Sam didn’t have the heart or the voice to tell you it wasn’t the story making her cry. She feared her voice would fail her and drive you away again. Sam would tell you why she left later

But right now, Sam was happy to be able to bask in your arms once again.

//-//

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

“Mhm?” You and Sam were back at your house getting some things Tara wanted

She requested the teddy bear Amber got her for her birthday, a blanket from her bed, and something better than hospital food. You decided to whip up something quick and simple you knew Tara liked. Frozen orange chicken from the store and fried rice

“I think I can tell you about why I left now.”

“Are you sure? I’m not gonna force you to tell me if it hurts so much to say, Sam”

“No, you of all people deserve to know. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m the same person that said all those horrible things to you and just never talked to you again without explanation.”

“Hey, don’t worry about all that. It’s in the past now and I know you’ve changed. I forgive you-“

“No, (Y/n). You can’t forgive me. You can’t make excuses for me and talk to me like we’re best friends again when I ignored you because I was mad at myself and- and-“ Sam chokes on her words and can’t hide it when you glance at her.

“Oh, Sam…”

“No, you can’t forgive me yet. I betrayed your trust. You can’t forgive me.”

“Sam, I accepted your apology when I saw you in Tara’s hospital room. Whatever you were going to say, I already knew I’d forgive you all the same.”

“Stop saying that, (Y/n). You don’t always have to be nice, you can be mad too.”

“But it’s true, Sam. If I’m mad at someone, I’m mad at myself for not fighting for you harder”

“How can you still look at me even when I left you. Years of friendship, all down the drain because I couldn’t handle being the bastard child of a serial killer that broke her family apart.” You turn off the heat to your stove, walking over to where Sam was curled into herself and sitting near the bottom of the staircase

Taking a seat next to her, you drape your arm around her shoulders and attempt to get her to rest her head on your shoulder. Sam doesn’t let you and fights back.

“Samantha Carpenter, you have been gone for five years. One-thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days, not including leap day. You aren’t allowed to push me away again. If you really want to say sorry, you can start by letting me in.” You take on a faux-mad tone and it seems to work

Slowly, the older Carpenter leans into your shoulder with a sigh. She makes herself comfortable and looks at you through her eyelids. It was weird. Five years out of Woodsboro and four years away from you, yet you still opened up your arms like nothings changed. It was odd. You were odd.

“What’re you thinking about?” You’ve always had a knack for reading Sam’s mind. Whenever she got quiet and her heart looked like it slowed, she was probably thinking

“You.”

“What about me?”

“How I don’t get you”

“What don’t you get about me?”

“I haven’t talked to you in nine years, I show up unannounced, and you’re still acting like we’re best friends even after all this time. I can’t tell if you’re the nicest or weirdest person ever.”

“Can’t I be both?” You smile, trying to lighten the mood. You realize it doesn’t work when Sam shies away from your gaze

“Well, I can be honest. I think it’s because I’m selfish.” That makes Sam look at you again so you decide to keep going

“Of course I’m… disappointed you broke up our friendship and you left without telling me and left your sister and I to believe you were never coming back,” The older Carpenter winces at your words but you don’t let her stop looking at you. Even as you avoid eye contact and place your gaze somewhere else.

“But there’s a part of me that wants everything to go back to normal. I know we’re going to have to talk about it. About us and about why, but right now I think what we need to do is be there for Tara. She’s in the hospital after being attacked by a serial killer and the last thing she needs is her older sister and her best friend fighting. We can do all the yelling and crying and screaming later.”

Taking a breath in, you look back at Sam who’s already looking at you. I’m makes your heart flutter in a way you don’t understand.

“And maybe that’s my excuse. Maybe I never want to cry or yell or scream at you. Maybe I’m putting off the inevitable because I don’t want you to leave again. Maybe Tara is my excuse for not being mad at you. Maybe I’m holding out hope for someone that doesn’t exist anymore. We’re different people than when we were in middle school. I don’t want to cling to a person that doesn’t exist anymore yet here I am, clinging to someone that doesn’t exist like she’s my lifeline. But in all honesty, I don’t think I could stay mad at you for too long. Even if I tried.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” There’s a silence that passes between you two. You can’t tell if it’s awkward or comfortable silence. You hope it’s the latter

“Do you get me a little more?”

“Well, not entirely. But I think it’s a step.”

“Yeah. Steps are good, aren’t they? Keep you healthy.” Sam smiles at your stupid joke.

You don’t miss how Sam still reminds you of looking like one of your old stuffed animals.

“What was Tara like?”

“What do you mean?” The question catches you off guard. The Carpenter sisters seemed to have that in common

“I missed a lot of her life. What was she like?”

“I don’t think she’s changed a lot. Tara is a sweet girl, she’s got a good head on her shoulders and a good heart in her body.”

“But that’s probably not what you’re asking. Tara was… distraught when you left.” You pick your words carefully. “She ran away from her mom just to tell me you left. She said I deserved to know since I was your best friend. It took a while for her to want to let go of me me. It’s when I knew I just couldn’t let her stay like that forever”

You shakily sigh before continuing. You’d have to acknowledge the elephant in the room eventually and you decided it was going to be now. “I know I’m not her real sister. I hope you’ll forgive me for taking a role that was supposed to-“

“Are you kidding?” Sam quickly cuts you off when she registers what you’re saying. “If anything, I’m happy it was you.” The Carpenter lifts her head up from your shoulder to look at you. To really look at you. “I know she has a good person to look up to. I’m happy you two are close.”

You’re about to respond when your ringtone goes off. The same ringtone you had in high school. Some Evanescence song you remember religiously listening to in school blasts from your phone. Usually it was Tara who found it embarrassing when you had to answer it in public but this time it was you with the reddened cheeks. Scrambling to find your phone in your pocket, you pull it out to see it’s Tara calling you

“Hey squirt. What’s up?”

“Are you guys going to hurry up anytime soon? I’m starving”

“Yeah we’re leaving just now don’t worry about it”

“Okay but my stomach is currently eating itself”

“You’ll live. I’ll see you soon, yeah? Don’t go running anywhere”

“At least I don’t run jokes into the ground until they’re dead… pun not intended”

“Hah! Proof you’re taking after me whether you like it or not”

“Whatever, I’ll see you soon. Run red lights if you have to”

“You got it, boss. See you soon” You pocket your phone, getting up from where you’re sitting. Offering Sam your hand, she takes it and you help her up too

“C’mon, our little girl’s hungry. That’s something you should know, she’s got an appetite the size of an elephant and a metabolism as fast as a cheetah” You smile, putting Tara’s food in a lunchbox you had in a random cabinet somewhere

Sam doesn’t trust her voice to do anything but break so she laughs at your comment and you both leave your house

Sam thinks our little girl has a good ring to it.

//-//

“Oh my god. Tara? Sam?” You narrowly avoided the police yelling at you to get away and the caution tape that prevented you from coming any closer. What used to be a house that held fond memories had been replaced with one that only caused you worry. You couldn’t lose both Tara and Sam. You couldn’t lose your favorite girls.

Sam texted you to come over to Amber’s house. That it was a Ghostface emergency and the speed in which you jumped in your car rivaled The Flash himself

“(Y/n)!” Sam’s voice. You run to the sound, dodging and weaving through the paramedics and police officers telling you to leave

Sam finds you with bags under your eyes and your hair a mess. It looked like you were in your sleepwear. Even though you were just in a band tee and plaid pajama pants, Sam feels the need to wipe the blood off her face and clothes to look a little presentable. You always had that effect for some reason

“Sam.” You breathe a sigh of relief, running into her arms. Your choked sobs reach her ears and it’s the saddest sound she’s ever heard. Sam squeezes you tighter. Maybe if she did she’d never want to leave again

“You’re back and you almost left me again. Don’t you know how mad I would be if you died?” Pulling back, you put both of your hands on Sam’s cheeks like you did so many years ago. “You- you-“

“Hey, shh… I’m here. I’m here, sweetie. See? I’m here and I’m never leaving again.” Sam leans her forehead against yours, putting your hands around her waist so she could wipe the tears away from your face.

“I’m here, yeah? We won. They’re gone now, (Y/n).”

“How’re you sure?”

“They’re dead. Both of the Ghostfaces are dead.”

Sam leans in, awfully close for someone who’s just your best friend. Your mind instantly goes to her boyfriend. You know what’s about to happen so you back away, a little weary. The Carpenter furrows her eyebrows looking a little sad, oddly resembling a kicked puppy.

“What about Ric-?”

“Don’t say his name, it’ll ruin your perfect mouth” Sam cups your cheek, running her face over your bottom lip

You have to fight your body to not get hot at her words and actions. “Yeah but- he’s kind of your boyfriend. Where is he?”

“Ex-boyfriend actually. He’s dead, I killed him.”

“Oh. Am I right for assuming that’s a god thing?”

“Very good. He was one of the Ghostfaces”

“One of? Who’s the other?”

“I think Tara should be the one to tell you”

“Well, I didn’t like Richie to begin with. He gave me an odd feeling”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Sam leans in closer to you, a ghost of a kiss hanging in the air waiting to be taken. Sam smiles against your breath and for a fraction of a second you think your heart has stopped beating.

“He got to kiss you before I did.” Something snaps in Sam when you kiss her. A craving she’s always had, a certain desire finally being filled, or maybe even her dreams coming true.

You hold Sam like she’s about to leave again, pulling her impossibly close. You’re never letting her go again. It’s Sam who pulls away first. She’s out of breath but you lean in to steal more kisses before she smiles against your lips and it’s an image you never want to forget.

“Please, you two have to stop doing this.” You whisper, your eyes going wide. “Where’s Tara?” You pull away from Sam, whipping your head around like it’s going to help you find her quicker

“C’mon, she’s over here. Be careful, don’t squeeze her too hard”

“I’m going to squeeze that girl until she knows how much I love her.”

“You might break one of her ribs, darling”

“Squirt, you’re alive!” You run to Tara as her head whips in your direction. You can feel tears pool in your eyes once again and you’re okay with letting them go.

“(Y/n), I was so scared. A-Amber she- she tried to kill me.”

“What? Amber? Amber as in, your girlfriend?” You say shocked, taking Tara’s face in your hands to look at her

“A-Amber and Richie, they-“

“How about we tell (Y/n) what happened later? We need to make sure everyone is okay, including ourselves. (Y/n) can wait, right?”

“Oh I can wait alright. I’m the best at waiting. You can tell me about it when you’re feeling better”

One of the paramedics call over the Carpenter sisters and by proximity, you tag along. A man is ushering them in an ambulance and you’re also about to hop in before he stops you

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but we can’t let you into the ambulance. We don’t have enough space.”

“That is my little girl and that is my girlfriend. I will either be running every single red light, hang on the top of this ambulance, or so forgive me god for what I’m going to do.”

“O-Of course, Ma’am. You can ride in the ambulance.”

“Thank you, sir. You made a good decision today” You pat his shoulder, taking your seat near Sam. You sling an arm around Sam’s shoulders and reach out to hold Tara’s hand.

“Girlfriend, huh?” Tara weakly smiles, looking between you and her sister.

[runninriot]

written for today's @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up event ☀️

Heat of the Moment

prompt: summer | wc: 1000 | rated: T | no cw | tags: Eddie has a crush on Steve, pining, Steve's 'stupid tiny swim shorts' deserve their own tag, (implied) friends to lovers | also on ao3

Eddie wipes a hand over the back of his neck, regrets it instantly when his palm comes back wet.

    Gross.

His hair is sticking to his forehead and no matter how little he moves, his body betrays him, wants to drown him in sweat.

It’s too fucking hot.

And Steve isn’t helping. He’s the reason for a different kind of heat wave just by lying there in these stupid tiny swim shorts, no shirt. Unfairly fucking beautiful, even in this unbearable heat, just blissfully existing.

Eddie is going to melt into a puddle on the floor if he doesn’t stop staring at him. If he doesn’t stop following the droplets running down his neck. He’d lick them right off, if he could. Would follow their trail down to where they collect in Steve’s glorious chest hair. Would swipe his tongue through the little rivulet that has formed in the groove between his abs, wouldn’t stop there.

    God.

It’s really not fair. How can someone look so good in this heat?

Steve always looks good. That’s why Eddie loves him. Or it’s one of the reasons. He has a thing for pretty boys, sue him! He wished it was different, too, but oh well.

The real tragedy is that Steve doesn’t know because he wouldn’t care – or worse. And Eddie really should stop staring if he wants to keep his little secret.

Steve is side-eyeing him when he stands up from where he was lying on his deck chair, his bronze skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat, glistening in the golden afternoon sun.

   “You good, Munson?”

Eddie swallows thickly, nods.

   “Want a beer?”

Another nod because Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to let out an embarrassing whimper if he dares to open his mouth.

Those shorts should be illegal.

It takes everything for Eddie to hold Steve’s gaze, to give him a polite smile in thanks for his offer, when his eyes are begging to drop down to where clingy fabric does shit all to hide Steve’s... form.

Steve thankfully seems unfazed by Eddie’s sudden inability to talk, just shrugs and walks inside, which – to Eddie’s blessing and misery – offers a whole other view that would send Eddie over the edge if he hadn’t at least one tiny bit of dignity left in him.

That. Ass.

    Jesus.

How is Eddie even allowed to exist in the same sphere as this perfection of a man?

And how is he supposed to ever get over his goddamn crush if Steve keeps inviting him over to spend time together, just the two of them, alone in this big ass house with no one around to save Eddie from his own dangerous mind, no one to keep him in check?

Had anyone told him he’d be spending the summer hanging around in Steve’s backyard, being served beer by the man himself, who’s walking around in these godforsaken shorts – Eddie would’ve laughed.

But now that it’s reality, all he can do is gawk and wonder and try not to lose his mind when Steve walks back out, two beers in one hand, the other outstretched to where Eddie is sitting.

   “Let’s sit by the pool, cool down a bit. Your face is so red, I don’t want you to have a heat stroke.”

    Oh god.

Eddie hesitantly takes Steve’s hand, lets himself be pulled up, hopes Steve doesn’t mind how sweaty his palm is. Hopes he doesn’t notice his staggered breathing, his trembling knees.

Maybe he does have a heat stroke? Maybe that’s the reason why he’s feeling a little dizzy right now.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Steve still hasn’t let go of his hand as he leads him to the pool.

Maybe, the fact that Steve is smiling at him brighter than the sun herself, is what’s making it harder to breathe.

They sit down on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the refreshingly cool water. The bottle in his hand is cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of Steve’s hand he instantly misses, now that it’s gone.

   “Wanna go for a swim?”

The water is nice, perfect to cool down his overheated skin and mind.

Steve is just chilling there, both arms splayed out over the edge, his head tilted back, eyes closed; soaking his body in the water while enjoying the sun on his face. Just minding his own business, not even batting an eye at Eddie who’s awkwardly splashing around, watching the beautiful man from a safe distance.

A distance that’s keeping him from mindlessly swimming over to him, to cage him against the tiles with his arms on either side, one leg slotted between Steve’s, pressing his own wanting body up against the other man’s.

He wants to kiss him so bad.

It’s not the first time that thought hits him but it’s painful every time.

    Fucking hell.

Eddie closes his eyes, groans in frustration over his stupid heart’s stupid fluttering. What a waste of time and energy to pine after someone so far out of reach.

Eddie takes a deep breath before he dives down. Lets his body sink deeper into the pool until his toes reach the ground before he resurfaces with a loud gasp.

When he opens his eyes again, Steve is suddenly right there, right in front of him, smiling his pretty smile.

And then he reaches out, fingers playing with a rogue curl before tugging it back behind his ear.

Eddie feels like the water around him is boiling, feels too hot again now that Steve is so close.

So close, Eddie could easily reach out to pull him in and-

   “I want to kiss you.”

It is Steve who reveals Eddie’s secret back to him. It’s not a question; he’s stating a fact – unashamed and clear. No talking around it, no shy blush painting his cheeks.

Eddie feels brave, carried away by the heat of the moment.

   “Then what are you waiting for?”

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Part two to this story

After Jason's cruel display and your identity of Eddie's admirer being public knowledge, you're sure he will be disgusted. He hates you and your friends doesn't he?

Turns out you're in for a big surprise.

Minors shoo! Angst, fluff, sweet Eddie and reader taking no shit.

If you have any requests then send me an ask. My request rules are in my pinned post ❤️

🎀💌

Hellfire Slut. The words had practically burned into your brain as you tossed and turned in bed. Jason's cruelty was nothing new but you didn't think he'd ever go this far.

It was bad enough that Eddie's best friend had caught you in the act of delivering the notes and the thought he could spill all to Eddie, you didn't expect your secret to come out in such a public way.

The notes that you had poured your heart to Eddie had been clear to see by everyone and you felt sick to your stomach. You didn't care that people knew you were smitten with Eddie, it was the fact that he was probably disgusted that you had feelings for him.

You dreaded going to school but you knew you had to face Eddie and Jason at some point. It didn't stop nightmares plaguing your mind all night about what would happen come first period.

...

Homeroom was the first thing today before any other classes, you try not to draw attention to yourself as you slide into a seat at the back of class. However it feels like all eyes are on you today, Chrissy takes the seat beside you and holds your hand giving it a tight squeeze, it makes you feel a tiny bit better.

Mrs Jones isn't in class yet so chatter buzzes around you incessantly, your skin tingles as you feel Eddie's gaze on you a few times, try not to look up into those pretty brown eyes.

One of Jason's friends called Tyler smirks at you, he's sitting beside Jason and says loudly for all to hear. "So little miss perfect likes a freak in the sheets huh? Who would have thought?" there's a little ripple of laughter that's quelled by Chrissy's vicious glare. She's normally a sweetie so seeing her pissed shut everyone up.

Ignore him. Just ignore him you chant in your head but he still continues. "You know I was going to ask you out but fuck that. You're a dumb little bitch"

There's a collective silence as you hear Eddie's metal lunchbox drop to the floor. To your surprise he's glaring daggers at Tyler, you also notice that his knuckles are bruised. What the hell happened?

"Oooh you're in luck sweetcheeks, maybe Munson likes you back and the two of you can be freaks together"

You're fraying control over being calm snaps. Screw this. You weren't going to sit and let him run his mouth or let anyone like him or Jason make you cry again.

"You can admit to everyone you're jealous Tyler it's okay. We all heard about the little problem you have, Stacy told us all about how disappointing you are" you fake a sympathetic smile at him and his eyes nearly bug out of his sockets.

Jason looks ready to say something but you don't give the satisfaction of listening to the bullshit he says. "I couldn't be less interested in what you have to say Carver, you're a pathetic, nasty little worm"

While sassing Jason you miss the look of awe on Eddie's face. Gareth snorts at Eddie's stunned look.

"Dude, I really do think I'm in love" Eddie murmurs sounding almost reverent. Gareth sighs. Maybe now Eddie knew it was you that sent the notes the two of you could get together and he could get a minute of peace.

Meanwhile you lean back in your seat relieved as Mrs Jones comes in. There's still a question that's nagging at you though.

"Chrissy, why are Eddie's knuckles bruised?"and that's when Chrissy launches into the tale of how Eddie punched Jason after you left yesterday.

Hearing this makes a small bubble of hope build up inside of you. Maybe just maybe Eddie feeling the same for you might not be as hopeless as you first thought.

...

After a few fruitless attempts Eddie manages to track you down as you're coming out of cheer practice with Chrissy. She gives you an impish, knowing smile as she leaves you and Eddie to talk.

Telling Jason and Tyler what you thought about them made you feel a little bit better for a while, boosted your shattered confidence but now Eddie was around and you could feel that confidence crack.

What was he about to say? Was he going to tell you he was disgusted?

"You don't have to be nervous princess" you feel your nerves dissipate at his soothing tone.

"I know you thought the notes were a joke but they aren't Eddie, I've really fallen for you. I was crushing on you for such a long time. That's why I wrote the notes in the first place, I was worried if I told you in person that you would be disappointed" the words all come out in a rush and you feel relieved getting it all out.

He shakes his head. "I mean I would have been surprised but the way you spoke in the notes...how could you ever think I'd ever be disappointed sweetheart?" His words fill you with hope, a warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest.

"You know because I'm from the dark side" you murmur and he frowns. His hand reaches out to hold yours and you wince at the bruising on his knuckles.

"You didn't need to do that Eddie, I don't want you hurt" he shrugs as if it's no big deal.

"It was worth it. You're worth it"

Eddie gently takes your hand and kisses it, "I fell in love with you through what you said sweetheart, I want to know all about you. I don't give a fuck about who you're friends with or if you're part of the dark side. I just want to be with you".

A slow smile works it's way on your face and you lean forward and kiss him, continue kissing him until you're both a little dazed and smiling goofily at each other.

"Uh maybe we could go out for Milkshakes after school, if you want princess?" you nod feeling the bubble of excitement in your belly.

After all that worrying you were going on your first date with Eddie and you couldn't wait.

Maybe happy endings were possible after all ❤️

[maya-caffrey]

Short Circuit

pairing: connor (rk800) x reader words: 1k summary: reader sees Connor outside of work for the first time in normal human clothes and dies a little bit (comedy, fluff) warnings: language, lack of proofreading, fic from reader's pov a/n: let's pretend this is after the good ending and androids can own property now cause we're going to Connor's place etc

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Words cannot describe the amount of hate I have for Fowler. On my day off he asks me to take some evidence over to Connor for a 'quick analysis', like, Jesus Christ dude wait for the labwork like the rest of us. The nerve of this guy, honestly. Anyway, if you were wondering why I was driving to Connor's place first thing on a Sunday, that was it.

Yes, I hate my boss, how original, but I would never pass up an opportunity to see Connor. Sure, he's my colleague, but he's also my friend. And also I may be in love with him have a normal, tiny, minuscule crush on him. I don't know how it happened, I didn't even realize it, but yes, I do, in fact, have feelings for Connor. "Oh but he's an andro-" Go fuck yourself, he's more human than most people these days.

Before I realized it, I was at his place and almost knocked on his door. Almost being the keyword here, because I heard a voice from the inside.

"Detective! Just a minute. I will be right there."

"Holy shit, how did you know? Let me guess, X-ray vision?" It's always something with him. Of course, Cyberlife's most intelligent android comes with X-ray vision. I feel stupid for not guessing right away. Wait, does this mean he had X-ray vision all this time? That feels like an ethical grey area. Is that allowed? My rapid descent down that rabbit hole was interrupted by the sound of the door being unlocked.

"Ring Camera. Come on in!" He led me inside and I absent-mindedly followed him before I noticed it. He was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Connor Anderson (legal name, yes), android detective by day, who famously only wore suits, was standing in front of me, in goddamn sweats. And he looked like he stepped right out of my dreams.

I did not know it was possible to be any level of attractive in fucking pajamas, but oh my god, it absolutely was. He looked hot as hell. I don't know if it was from having only seen him in formals, or the fact that Kamski knowingly made a hottie, but I was reveling in this sight.

His T-shirt fit him exactly as it should have, and his sleeves stopped halfway through the biceps I didn't even know he had. His hair looked unkempt and tousled, which was questionable because there's no way he slept, right? I was very sure he could hear my heartbeat because that sucker was betraying me and beating way too fast.

I could not form coherent thoughts for another full minute or so. I am not even holding back, he genuinely looked so attractive he quite literally stole my breath away. All I could do was mumble nonsense while staring at him like I misplaced my glasses.

"Detective, are you alright?"

"What? Me? Yeah, no problem, bud." Bud???? I'd have slapped myself if I could.

"Your body temperature is rapidly rising and your heart is displaying signs of arrhythmia. I suggest we-"

"I suggest we nothing, Connor. I promise I'm fine." See that kids, right there, is what we call a bald-faced lie.

"If you say so. What brings you here, detective?"

"Detective? Come on, we're not at work, man. Chill."

"Alright then, (Y/n), what brings you here?" (Y/n). The way he said my name made me want to explode. Sure, everyone says my name, its my name but oh my god, when he says it, he makes me want to change my last name to his. Which would be Hank's. Huh. That's weird.

"Right, yeah, work stuff. Fowler sent me with evidence for you to analyze. Apparently, they can't wait for the lab like the rest of us mortals." I shoved the file into his hands a little too quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice how my hands were shaking. He noticed.

"Your hands are trembling." Of course he noticed. Connor notices everything.

"I'm just… cold," I lied, despite standing in his very well-heated apartment.

Connor tilted his head slightly, that signature analytical look of his making me want to crawl under a rock. "You appear to be experiencing stress. Should I—"

"Connor, no. I don't need an analysis, I need to… sit down." That was the best I could come up with. Great. Very smooth.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing toward his couch. I moved to sit down, hoping a change of scenery would calm my nerves. It didn’t.

Connor sat across from me, still in those damn sweatpants, his expression unreadable as he opened the file and started flipping through its contents. His focus should’ve made me feel at ease- it was just Connor being Connor- but instead, I found myself staring at his hands. They were annoyingly perfect, like the rest of him, and I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like if he- nope. No. Abort mission.

"Is something wrong with the file?" he asked suddenly, looking up.

"What? No! The file's fine. Great file. Top-tier evidence. You're gonna love it." Jesus Christ, someone take my mouth away.

Connor raised an eyebrow. "You’re behaving… unusually."

"I’m behaving perfectly normal," I said, crossing my arms in what I hoped was a casual way but probably looked defensive. "Maybe you're the one behaving unusually. I mean, sweatpants? Who are you and what have you done with Connor?"

He blinked, then looked down at himself as if realizing for the first time what he was wearing. "Hank suggested I try some human rituals like pajamas and sleep to better accommodate my deviancy. He claims it’s a key aspect of ‘human relaxation.’ Was this choice inappropriate?"

"No!" I said, a little too quickly. "No, you look—" amazing, perfect, hotter than anyone has a right to look "—fine. You look fine."

Connor studied me for a moment, and I swear I saw the faintest flicker of amusement cross his face. Was he… smirking? Oh no. Oh no, he knew.

"You should consider it," he said, casually returning to the file.

"Consider what?"

"Relaxing. You seem… tense."

And just like that, the ball was back in his court. I was flustered, he was composed, and I was left wondering how I was supposed to get through the rest of this visit without making a complete fool of myself.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

a/n: y'all, this is my first time writing dbh, sorry if it sucks T_T