#i never really had any money anyways but after my dad having like

[the-hawks-rye]

i know it's been said a gazillion times and said more eloquently than me but god the amount of missed potential in the sequel trilogy. thinking about how anakin became a villain because he felt he had no other choice (and the tragedy being that he always had a choice, and his character arc concluding with him deciding to stand up for what's right by saving luke), meanwhile kylo grew up surrounded by a loving family full of positive role models and chose evil knowingly because he craved power for power's sake. kylo idolizing the tragic figure of darth vader all the while burning the world around him. there was so much you could do with that but instead they had to sacrifice rey's character to make the movies about her fixing the genocidal white boy who never wanted to be saved

[the-amber-droid-dreams]

[ID: A priest in a confession booth looking shocked]

[oneforthemunny]

baby, you're a haunted house |rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader|

prompt: eddie is horrified to find out you don't decorate for halloween, and is determined to fix that. based off this ask request sent in by @harmonib for the spooky stories series :) thank you!!

contains: mentions of shitty parents/ shitty childhood. nothing extremely graphic but touched upon. really the rest is sweet sweet fluff. alludes to smut bc it's them, but nothing graphic. for timeline purposes, set after the engagement.

"That's it?"

Eddie's brow lifted so high that the silver hoop piercing disappeared under his curly bangs.

"Yep." You gave a short nod, hands resting on your hips, looking down at the large plastic bowl, covered in an array of Peanuts characters all in various costumes.

"That's- Baby, are you serious?" Eddie's eyes widened, lips pulling in a look of shock, maybe horror.

You frowned, looking down at the bowl resting on top of the counter. You thought it was cute, you thought Eddie would find it adorable too.

"Yeah, I mean, I know it looks small but I don't get a lot of trick-or-treaters, honestly-"

"-Probably because they think no one's here." Eddie scoffed before he could help it, grimacing at the frown you gave him. "Sorry, but... Sweetheart, this is it? This is all you have? All your Halloween decorations?"

You wrapped your arms around yourself, scowl only deepening on your features making Eddie cringe. "So what? It's a candy bowl. That's all kids care about anyways." You muttered, eyes darting from his gaze back to the bowl.

"But what about you?" Eddie twirled the bowl around, examining the wrap around design on the lip. "You don't like to decorate for yourself?"

"No, not really." Your chin ducked down, toying with the edge of the cream fur trimmed sweater you'd bought yesterday. You had been so excited to go shopping for fall, at the first dip in temperatures. Eddie had promised you he'd take you somewhere with real seasons, back home to Indiana where the leaves actually changed.

"What?" Eddie gawked, lips curling in a soft smile, hoping it would ease you out of your own defenses. He'd grown used to coaxing you out of yourself when you got like this, guarded and snippy when you felt challenged in any way.

"That's shocking. I thought you'd be like, the biggest decorating fan. give Martha Stewart a run for her money." Your lips twitched in a smile you tried to hide, eyes finally meeting his.

"I mean, I would like to. I just... I don't know. I've never really decorated before." You admitted, twirling the puffs of fur at the end of the zipper. "My parents didn't ever really decorate so I guess I never got in the habit."

Eddie's eyes widened, blinking in shock. "Ever? They never decorated ever? Not even for Christmas or-or Valentine's Day or something?"

Your face twisted, tight the way it always did when you were talking about something painfully uncomfortable- when you talked about your childhood. "No. Well, we did a few times when I was younger for Christmas and my Dad's parents were still alive. They'd come over and spend Christmas, but my Mom would just hire one of those staging companies to come a few days before Christmas and bring decorations and make it look nice."

"You didn't even have a tree?" Eddie gaped. "Even I had a Christmas tree."

You rolled your eyes, lips pursing in annoyance. "Yeah, congrats, Ed. I had shittier parents than you, I guess." Your tone clipped, dripping in surly sarcasm.

Eddie sucked in a breath, biting his tongue to keep any sharp retorts back. It was still an adjustment, even now that you were engaged, to keep his retorts soft when they needed to be- to be soft with you.

"I didn't-" Eddie's breath huffed, a strangling sigh that kept in the rest of his words. "Go put your shoes on."

"Why?" Nose scrunched in confusion, still lingering with hints of an attitude Eddie was hoping wasn't going to be a problem.

"Because," He grinned, dimples creasing softly into his cheeks. "We're gonna go shopping."

Your eyes lit up, perking at your favorite activity- or so Eddie said since you were always shopping for something. "Shopping?" It was your turn to grin. "For what?"

"Decorations." Eddie nodded firmly, patting his pockets for his wallet, chains jingling on his jeans. "We need some for our house."

"Don't you have some we could use?" Your voice was softer than before, shoulders a little deflated.

"Yeah, but those aren't ours, those are mine." Eddie shook his head. "We need some for both of us. That we both like. So when we're old as shit and putting 'em out, we still like them." He grinned, pinching your cheek gently, heart skipping at the giggle you gave him.

"C'mon, it'll be fun, babe, I promise. You'll like it. Just like when we decorated this house, but better because this isn't boring stuff. It's actually fun." Eddie grinned, motioning towards the painting behind him- a real Van Gogh given to you as a wedding gift, bought off your registry, of the infamous 'Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette'.

"We'll go to that one store you like. The Pierce-"

"-Pier One-"

"-Right. That one. We'll start there, and we can just look everywhere. As long as you want." Eddie's hand slid down the soft cashmere of your sweater, giving your forearms a gentle squeeze that had your skin tingling with excitement.

"As long as I want, hm?" You hummed, brow quipping playfully. "That's a risk, Munson. You're sure you're committing to that?"

"Always committing to you, Munson." Eddie's lips curled. "You know that. As long as you want, wherever you want. We'll hop on a flight to New York if you want to. They might have better stuff, actually. More fall than the places here."

"Hm, that's pretty tempting." Your lips twisted in thought. "I do love New York."

"I know you do." Eddie grinned, his eyes shining with that familiar sparkle of wild that had your knees shaking. "Fuck it, let's go to New York. Go pack."

"Eddie," You gawked lightly, a breathy giggle slipping out with his name. "I- We can't go to New York."

"Why?" Eddie frowned. "I don't have anything to do. Do you?"

"No, but-but I haven't told Jacques. The jet won't be ready-"

"-LAX is still a thing, baby." Eddie teased lightly. "We'll just take the plane down there. Call Jacques and get the jet set up for us to take back. That's when we'll need it, anyways, for all the Halloween stuff we're gonna buy." Eddie's grin only widened, eyes getting more and more wild with the excitement of the trip.

"Go pack. I'll call Nelson, tell him to get us a hotel room at The Plaza- You want The Plaza, right?" Eddie pointed at you, walking towards the phone on the wall in the newly renovated kitchen.

You hesitated, tummy flipping with excitement and rushes of adoration, nodding gently. "I can get Jacques to call instead. He knows the manager there."

"Yeah, you know what, that's probably a good idea." Eddie placed the phone back on the hook. "Last time we stayed there, we kinda fucked the place up. Don't know if they'll let us back. Good call, baby. You call Jacques, and I'll start packing."

Eddie walked past you, ringed hand skittering across your waist, stopping to pull you into him, lips smashed to your in a sweetly steamy kiss.

He pulled back with a wet smack of his lips, grinning wide and bright back at you. "This is gonna be so fun. I can't fuckin' wait."

You giggled in response, brain fuzzy and gooey with a warmth you'd never felt before, not with anyone other than Eddie. Love blinded, completely and utterly by him. Willing to follow him anywhere, and do anything with him, which is why you dialed the phone, feeling like you could float on air as you leaned against the counter, chatting with your family's personal assistant about the spontaneous plans. Jacques' snarly tone of disapproval when you mentioned Eddie couldn't even soil your mood, too stricken with excited affection to be anything other than giddy.

"Oh, what about this one?" Eddie lifted the metal Jack-O-Lantern, spinning it by the painted stem towards you. "This looks like you."

Nearly two hours after landing, you and Eddie hadn't wasted any time. Throwing your bags in the presidential suite before stepping into the chauffeured car, hauling to 5th Avenue.

"I do like that." Your lips curled, running a hand over the smooth surface. "That's really cute. Do they have two?"

"Yeah, they've got a bunch. Look this one has a different face." Eddie beamed with pride, grabbing the other pumpkin, a little taller than the others, making a more shocked face rather than smiling like the other. "Do you want the exact same one?"

"No, I like the different ones. I think that would be pretty by the mantle. On the ledge?" You looked at him, and though you didn't say it, he knew you were looking for approval. Still a little apprehensive at the newness of decorating, unsure that you were doing it right, and just needing that extra push of confidence that Eddie always gave you.

"That would look amazing, yeah." Eddie grinned, curls bobbing as he nodded. He handed the two back to the eager sales person behind him, nodding with a muttered thanks as she took it to the front.

"What about some ghosts?" Eddie reached into the shelf, turning a stuffed ghost holding a stack of pumpkins around to show you. "That looks pretty cool."

"Can you... Do you think it'll match the other?" You bit your lip, fingers twirling the small pumpkin coasters against your palm nervously.

"Yeah, sweetheart, it's all Halloween." Eddie grinned softly, a hand on your hip, giving you a sweet, reassuring squeeze. "That's the great part about it, it's all on theme because it's all Halloween. Can't mess it up."

You relaxed under his touch, giving a quick nod. "I do like that." Your head tilted lightly, reaching out to feel the felt ghost. "It's cute."

Eddie nodded with a wide smile, picking it up and curling it against the leather of his jacket. "What about witches hats? Feel like you'd really like the witchy stuff."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You frowned playfully up at him, swallowing back a smile.

His hand moved to the small of your back, rubbing the skin that peeked out gently. "I dunno, you seem like a witchy woman, I guess." Eddie grinned playfully, giving a small shrug at your exaggerated gasp. "Seems like you'd really like that kinda stuff."

"Are you calling me a witch?" You pressed your lips together, slipping down the aisles towards the brooms and pointed hats.

"Nah, you're definitely more of a vampire vibe. Like Camille from Undying Love." Eddie snorted lightly.

"Why? Because I suck the life out of you?" You rolled your eyes, manicured nails raking over a pointed hat covered in stitched beads that made a sparkling spiderweb.

"Well, I mean, you're pretty good at sucking. Give amazing head, baby." Eddie snickered, his own cackles growing watching you squirm, eyes darting around to make sure no one heard.

"You're gross." You rolled your eyes, lips curling in a smug grin you couldn't fight back.

"Yeah, I think you like it." Eddie's hand dipped lower, squeezing your left ass cheek hard enough to have you squealing lightly, ducking down and nipping at the tip of your ear.

"Put it on." He nodded towards the hat your hand was still lingering on. "Wanna see you in it."

You scoffed lightly, picking up the witches hat. "Thought I was more of a vampire type."

"Yeah, I think you are, but I can't know for certain." Eddie shrugged, stepping back. "Lemme see you in it, then I'll make up my mind."

You snorted lightly, situating the witches hat on your head, spinning it so the long sheer fabric was in the back. You threw your hands out gently, pivoting from side to side sillily so Eddie could see, exaggeratedly modeling for him.

The loud wolf whistle he let out took you by surprise, had you jumping and snatching the hat off with a glare. "Ed-"

"-No, baby, that's definitely a keeper." Eddie laughed, uncaring about the others who turned towards the two of you. "I was wrong, you're definitely more of a witch. That looks so good on you."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "You're relentless."

"And you're hot." Eddie grinned, tossing you a wink that had you bristling with excitement, turning and hoping he didn't see how flustered it made you.

"We'll be taking this, and definitely this too." Eddie turned to the sales associate, passing off the finds.

"Why are you getting the hat?" You lifted a brow, hand running down the bark of a 'witch broom' that hung on the rack. "Are you going to wear it?"

"Shit, I will if you want me to." Eddie flirted, smoothly sliding his hand back over your waist. "Was thinking you could wear it later tonight. Stop at Vivienne Westwood and pick you out something black and sexy. Really put you into costume."

"Is that right?" Your tongue ran over the inside of your cheek, trying to still yourself, hide your fluster.

"Yeah, c'mon, you know how I love when you dress up for me." Eddie's breath was hot on the shell of your ear, leaving you shuddering.

"Thought we were here for Halloween decorations?" Your voice was tight, far squeakier than what you were hoping.

"We're here for that too, but that doesn't mean we can't have some fun." He teased, fingers tickling up your waist. "Dressing up in a costume is apart of Halloween, anyways."

You hummed, grabbing at the ceramic bottles of potions, each etched with a different deadly name. "I like those, get those." Eddie nodded, grabbing one of each.

"I like the broom too." You tilted your head over to the one hanging. "And the cauldron. It says it turns on and makes sound."

"See?" Eddie smiled, chin hooking over your shoulder. "Knew you'd like the witchy stuff."

You giggled, turning so your noses were nearly touching. It was nice to be open and affectionate, not have to worry about sneaking around any more or saving the love for behind closed doors.

"It's more fun than the other stuff. Don't you think?" Your eyes batted sweetly at him. Eddie didn't know how to tell you that he'd agree with anything you said in that moment. Instead, he leaned forward, lips pressing against yours, a short but sweet kiss that had you both reeling.

"I love you." Eddie muttered, eyes rounded with affection, nearly drunk off his affection.

"I love you." You giggled, pressing your cheek to his. "This is a lot of fun. I can... I can see why you like it so much."

"Yeah, told you. This isn't even the best part. The best part is when you get to put it all up, ya know? Putting stuff where you want and makin' it all spooky and weird and Halloweeny." Eddie gushed with excitement.

"Yeah." Your tone dropped, looking down at the cauldron in your hand. "Guess I really missed out, huh?"

Eddie frowned, pulling back to look at you, his hand sliding over your jaw, cupping your cheek softly, pulling your gaze up to his. "Hey, c'mon, it's alright." He muttered, voice low in case others could hear.

He leaned forward, tip of his nose to yours, heart aching at the way your lip jutted lightly in a sad pout. "You're never gonna miss out again, alright? I promise you. I'll make sure you never miss out, and when we have our own kids, they won't miss out. Promise."

You moved into his hold, lips beginning to curl in a soft smile. "Thank you." Your voice barely a whisper, taking a slow, steadying breath in.

"I mean it." Eddie nodded fiercely. "You're locked in for life with me, baby, and I swear we'll decorate every single fuckin' holiday until we're a hundred years old."

You held his gaze, locking eyes in such a passionately fierce yet soft way, like you two were the only ones in the store- on the planet, maybe. It felt like that, it always did when you were with Eddie.

"Um," The timid voice of the sales associate brought you both back to reality. "I-I'm sorry, are you still finding everything ok?" She hesitated.

You pulled away, chin ducking with light embarrassment, but Eddie didn't seem bothered. "Yeah, we're gonna take these too." He nodded, passing her the ceramic figures and broom. "Oh, and this." He took the cauldron from you, passing it to her with a muttering of thanks.

"Let's keep looking. I think they said the outside stuff was over here." Eddie's hand found your back, pointing towards the next aisle.

"Outside? I thought you said you had your own outside stuff." You looked at him.

"I do, but I don't think it's really... you." Eddie looked at you with a small smile. "It's kinda scary shit. Not sure that's what you want."

"Do kids like it?"

"I don't know, actually. Never really had trick-or-treaters. I always have a party on Halloween, you remember." Eddie nodded lightly. You did remember, the infamous Halloween rager he had just a year ago. How you'd shown up in a skimpy little costume, resting on the arm of his sworn rival just to piss Eddie off. It had worked, of course, much to your discomfort. Your tummy flipped with heat, hairs raising on your spine at the memory.

"That's right. Are you doing that again this year?" You asked, passing by the plastic graveyard signs.

"I can, if you want." Eddie shrugged. "Up to you."

"Maybe have it start after trick-or-treating is done." Your eyes lingered over the costumes in the corner, a tiny bat onesie that had your heart swelling. "I want to pass out candy this year."

"Done." Eddie nodded. "Usually doesn't start until ten or eleven anyways. Gives us time to change. Shit, that reminds me, we gotta figure out a costume."

"I thought I already had a costume." You nodded towards the front where the witches hat was waiting behind the counter with the rest of your things. "Isn't that why we're going to Vivienne Westwood after this?"

"Nah, that's just for me, baby." Eddie grinned, pulling you close to him, pressing a kiss to your head. "That's your costume for me. We need something for the party. Somethin' cool and weird. Gotta be a good one, ya know? Our first Halloween together, together."

You giggled, shaking your head lightly. "I'm sure you'll come up with something good. You always do."

"Needs to be perfect." Eddie nodded, picking up a plastic headstone with Frankenstein's Bride etched on the front. "For my bride." He droned dramatically, leaving you laughing.

"Oh shit, wait, that's actually a good idea." Eddie's eyes lit up. "Bride of Frankenstein and Frankenstein- oh shit!" Eddie exclaimed, a little too loudly, other patrons glaring at him with cutting eyes.

"I gotta call Ricardo, see if his costume guy can make somethin' happen. Oh man, this is gonna be so good, babe. Gonna be the best fuckin' Halloween ever." Eddie babbled, excited and bubbly with ideas.

Your heart swelled, squeezing his hand in yours as you pulled him down the aisles, letting him ramble about his ideas, decorations, Halloween traditions- everything. You listened, just as excited as he was. You finally would get to have traditions of your own, with a man you loved, in your own home that you decorated with items you both picked out. No longer would the holidays feel meaningless and boring. You finally had what you always wanted, finally found with Eddie.

[thewertsearch]

pipefan413: The girl that day swore she would bring down the baroness and her evil empire. She would use the many secrets she'd learned over the years against her, and began carefully plotting her downfall.

Tell us more, Nanna! I need to know what you had planned!

The prank of the century, perhaps? Something that could rob Crocker of her money, power and reputation, all at once?

pipefan413: Years went by. The girl was nearly ready to put her plan into action. But then, just like that, the baroness disappeared. She was never seen or heard from again.

God damn it, we were robbed of a final sinister 'hoo hoo hoo'!

Perhaps Grandpa had pulled off his own plot, in the meantime. He knew Crocker was a piece of shit too, after all, and might have been just as vengeful as Nanna.

pipefan413: The girl was finally free, by a strange turn of events. But not without a final jab from the witch. It turned out that in her will she had left the entire company to the boy!

Well, that really does make it sound like Grandpa orchestrated this.

If he was running a parallel scheme to Nanna’s, then they missed an excellent opportunity here to reconnect, and team up against the Batterwitch. If they’d only communicated, Crocker could have been taken down that much sooner.

pipefan413: The boy, now a grown man, was already very wealthy in his own right. He had no particular need for the baking empire, but assumed control nonetheless, and integrated the company into his extensive collection of enterprises.

We can assume, of course, that this was all in service to Skaianet. Somehow, Grandpa became aware of his origins – the how is still a mystery, unless Crocker told him in private – and he was making his own moves in the background, making sure that Sburb arrived on schedule.

...actually, I do have one new theory about how he knew so much about Sburb. If my memory-bleed theory is true, then he could have learned about the game from his other incarnation, the rebooted version of Grandpa. That guy could know anything.

Anyway, Grandpa’s moves would have been a lot more effective if he'd had any contact whatsoever with Nanna. I know this was long before group chats, but damn. Get a mailing list, or something. Communicate!

pipefan413: She considered a reunion with her estranged brother, and once destined husband to be. But the days of longing for a future with him seemed to be from another lifetime. The chance had come and gone. She was content to let him live his increasingly elaborate life, while she sought a simpler one. pipefan413: Besides, now was not the time to revisit a destiny with an old star-crossed lover. She had recently become betrothed to a fine, upstanding gentleman. Soon, she would start a family. No, not one meant for heroism as foretold, but one that would make her happy nonetheless.

You have to wonder if Dad’s father is a character we already know, or maybe another celebrity cameo. I don’t really have any theories here, but given that Betty Crocker is now critical to the plot, Dad's father could be anyone.

[featherandferns]

orange juice (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by noah kahn's incredible music

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of abuse; mentions of bodily harm (vague, non-graphic); sexual content | feel free to message me with questions of detail if any of this concerns you before reading!

word count: 7.5k

blurb: in the most unlikely of settings, you and JJ reunite after five years apart in radio silence.

“You know, on my way here, I saw a dead rat.”

A cloud of cigarette smoke dispels into the air.

“It was funny, you know? Cause I felt bad that it was dead, even though it was a rat. I mean, I knew nobody was going to miss it, and that it didn’t have any rat family or friends which would mourn it or anything. But still…It looked like it had been hit by a car, and it was only small so it didn’t look very old, and it seemed so harmless lying there. It probably had a million and one diseases, but just laying there, it seemed harmless. And it felt weird to be sad about this thing dying which would have only maybe caused more damage if it had stayed alive – nibbling through electrical wires and all that.”

JJ takes another drag of his cigarette as he digests the anecdote.

“Anyway. This just made me think of that,” you quietly finish before sinking back into the silence.

“Did you just compare my dad’s funeral to a dead rat?”

You clear your throat. JJ watches in his peripheral as you look down at your feet and fidget your fingers.

“Shit, I guess I did.”

His eyes cut ahead the moment yours seem to flick up.

“Can’t believe that’s the first thing I’ve said to you in years.”

JJ inhales and exhales the nicotine of his cigarette. “Well, I can.”

That makes you laugh. Small and sheltered.

“I weren’t sure that you were going to come,” JJ tells you.

“Could say the same thing to you,” you reply.

Sighing, he drops the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot. He probably should have worn smarter shoes. But then, why would he? Waste of money and space in his truck. Not like his dad was going to see them anyway.

“I only decided yesterday. Practically drove all night.” As if reminding himself of the sleep deprivation, JJ lets out a yawn.

“How is it, being back in Kildare?” you wonder.

JJ shrugs. “Weird. But also not weird at all. I guess I just feel old. I was driving through town and everything looks different.”

“I mean, it has been five years.”

“Jesus,” JJ chuckles, shaking his head. Had it really been that long?

He shoves his hands in his pant pockets and finally finds the nerve to take you in. His eyes scan over you like one might survey potential damage to a car after a close call. He never lets them go below your waist though. As if losing nerve, he flicks them back up to your head and meets your eyes.

“You look well.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya,” you smile.

With that smile – sweet and simple – JJ finds himself being hurled back through time to his teen years. The reminiscing of his youth and the memories that your presence stirs up feels like reflecting on a past life. Something that he almost had, and something that he didn’t exactly lose, but something that changed.

Everything had changed, really. The streets that he used to drive down with his friends, running away from security and darting to and from keggers and house parties, they all had new homes, new paint, new families. Old mom-and-pop shops were now trendy smoothie spots and hippie bars. Empty plots of land that were a good spot to share a joint had now been bought and developed into stylish holiday rentals. None of JJ’s family was left here, not even his cousin. None of his friends were here anymore either. Well, except for you. Is that what you were to him? A friend?

��It was a nice service,” you say.

“Was it?”

For someone like Luke Maybank, ‘nice’ is probably a generous term for a funeral service that’s void of cheery anecdotes and tender memories. It’s a shame that all the memories JJ held in high regard of his father – of the moments that they were bonded and close – often came with the overarching theme of alcohol or drugs. He wasn’t sure there was ever a genuine moment shared between the two. Whatever praise and pride he gathered from his dad was short lived and sparse. When his dad left the island on the boat he stole, JJ never heard from him again. And now he never would.

“Did they ask if you wanted to say anything?”

“What’s there to say? He was a guy and he died in a bender. Short and simple, I guess.”

You nod and go silent once more.

JJ knows that his answer evaded the politeness markers of small talk, but it was true. Luke Maybank was a human who lived on this earth with no mark to be left apart from those which he laid on his own child. The only way that he’d be remembered was in the nightmares that still sometimes have JJ waking up in cold sweats and reaching for the box of cigarettes by his bed.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come,” you say.

“No, it’s not…” JJ shakes his head and offers you a smile, but he knows it looks unnatural. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. Perhaps everything, if that’s even possible. “I’m glad you came. I’m just tired and…well, you know.”

The funeral of my father.

“Right. Of course.”

He watches you tuck your hair behind your ears and glance towards the graves. He remembers how you used to do that when you were both younger. It was funny to him: you’d go through the fuss of trying your hair back in one way or another, but you’d always leave out a couple of strands. “To frame my face” you’d tell him, and then you’d precede to spend the rest of the day tucking your hair behind your ears. He liked it though. When you’d be concentrating on something, like surfing or fixing something up or writing, you’d lean forward and they’d come lose and hang over your pretty features. He’d want to mess with them; tuck them behind your ears for you. Sometimes he did. He remembers when you’d be on top of him, kissing him senseless, and they’d come lose and tickle his face. Somehow it would make the whole thing more sensual, with his laughs and your giggles.

He feels his face flush as the memories of nights like those creep back into his head. He shouldn’t think of you like that, not after all this time. Not with how things turned out. And especially not at his father’s funeral.

JJ had come over to you once his father was safely tucked away in the ground, six feet under. You’d attended the service at the church, hiding near the back, and then the burial, and as everybody else departed to give JJ ‘a moment’ (whatever the hell that meant), he’d turned to find you stood near a bench, lost in thought.

“It was nice of you to come,” JJ thanks.

“I’m surprised none of the others are here.”

“They don’t know. I sort of kept it close to the chest,” JJ admits. “I’m actually impressed by the turnout.”

You go to laugh and JJ sees you stifle it. It helps him ease up, smile a real smile for a second, as wicked as that sounds.

“People have layers, I guess.”

“Not my dad.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes make it clear that you haven’t shed a tear and neither had JJ. He wasn’t sure if maybe that would come later, once the so-called shock had worn off. He doubted it though. And yet, there was a haze of sadness about him. Death is weird as a whole. The death of a parent like JJ’s, even weirder. Maybe it wasn’t just the funeral causing the sadness. Maybe it was you.

JJ makes a move to leave but before he can even shift his foot one whole step, you’re talking.

“Do you wanna come back to mine? We could catch up. I’m sure you’ve been doing all sorts since I last saw you. Maybe have a drink or two, for old times’ sake?”

“Oh, I don’t drink anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. A pause for thought, then, “well, I have orange juice.”

It’s a strange thing to offer in place of a bottle of beer or glass of wine. Most people would say a cup of coffee. But no - orange juice: that’s where your mind went. It makes JJ smile. It seems so on-par for you to offer him that.

“Okay. Sure. Orange juice sounds good.”

“Do you need a moment, before we leave?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder to the gravesite of JJ’s deceased father.

The dirt atop of his plot is fresh and stark brown against the green grass. JJ stares a second. The groundkeeper is dusting some muck off the gravestone. The funeral director had offered him a fine granite with award winning chiselling, after recognising JJ from the articles of El Dorado and assuming some high-placed budget. JJ had opted for a simple thing though. Cheap and likely to be hard to read within half a decade. It’s what Luke deserved. Probably what he would have invested into JJ, if the roles were reversed.

“No, I don’t. We can go,” JJ says, voice vacant. He looks back to you. “I’ll drive.”

You don’t live in your childhood home anymore. The place that you’ve settled in is a small home in a sweet looking neighbourhood. In fact, it seems the only part of Kildare that feels familiar to JJ. The front garden is quaint but well kept, with trimmed grass and flower beds that clearly garner a lot of attention and care. The fence is in need of a lick of paint: the blue fading and peeling. A sticky note is attached to the door frame of the front door and it makes JJ smile. ‘Doorbell’s fucked – shout “ding dong” really loud’.

“This is a step up,” JJ says.

“Nice, right? My neighbour is a dick though. Always complaining that I leave my driveway light on in the middle of the night. As if I can even afford to that.”

JJ chuckles as he follows you inside. There’s an instant warm smell that hits him. JJ can’t seem to describe it in any other way than that it smells like you. The interior is safe and homely. The wallpaper and wooden floors pair nicely with the throw pillows and crystals and plants and flowers. Fairy lights are strung from end to end. A kitchen, open plan, feeds nicely into a sitting room. A dining table is tucked in the corner which seemingly functions more as a desk: books piled atop with sheets of paper strewn out. There’s a small corridor to the right and the walls are lined with framed pictures which JJ can’t make out from where he’s stood. He assumes it must lead to a bathroom and bedroom. It isn’t unlived in though. There’s a small pile of clothes which need ironing; they’re sat in a basket, next to the TV. Near the backdoor is an arts and crafts project of some kind strewn about on the floor in organised chaos, blocking the exit.

It's still early in the afternoon so you don’t bother flicking on a light, instead opting to soak in the last few hours of daylight before dusk. Kie used to compare you to a cat, basking in the sun and chasing the rays until there was none left to follow.

JJ closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“You can take your shoes off, if you want.”

“Alright,” he mumbles. He toes them off and kicks them to the side, amongst a pile of your own. He notices how there’s nobody else’s shoes there: just yours, and now his.

You pour out two glasses of orange juice and turn around, handing one to him. He takes it, lost in thought. It all feels surreal, stood here with you, after a five-year pause. When you go to the sofa to sit, he assumes he should follow. You sit on opposite ends. A part of him wonders why you haven’t stretched out your legs and dumped your feet in his lap. ‘These stink’, JJ jokes, poking your toes. You wiggle his fingers off. ‘Shut up, no they don’t.’ Force of habit: he always seems to get stuck on that past. Instead, you go to pull one of your legs up onto the sofa, and JJ flicks his eyes around the room another time. He sips his juice.

“So…” You start. “Any news?”

“Well, my dad died, so there’s that.”

You kick out your leg, aiming for his thigh. “Come on now. Be serious.”

“I am; you were at the funeral. Thought you might remember that,” JJ jokes.

Rolling your eyes mirthfully, you have a sip of your juice. The sun paints shapes on the coffee table, weaving through the thin curtains that line your window. It makes your skin glow, healthy and happy. He’s torn between staring at your face and remembering every detail of your features and avoiding you completely.

“When did you move in here? It’s nice.”

“About two years ago. Mom and dad are still at the old place. They’ve rented out my room though, for tourists and stuff.”

“That’s nice of them,” JJ snorts. “How’s your brother? Is he doing good?”

“He is. He’s at college actually. Graduates later this year.”

“The fuck? That’s so trippy,” JJ mumbles, almost to himself.

JJ can remember your brother as nothing more than a preteen, sulking around the house and begging for rides to soccer practice. Now he’s nearly got a whole ass degree. His eyes naturally fixate on the dining-table-come-desk in the corner.

“What do you do for work then?”

“I’m a teacher at Kildare high.”

Of course you are. JJ smiles, eyes still fixated on the table. It seems to prompt you to continue.

“It’s kinda weird sometimes cause some of the old farts still work there,” you say.

“Oh shit. Mr Rumble still there?” JJ asks, perking up a little, meeting your gaze.

You laugh. “Mr Rummel does still work there, yeah. Still likes to bring you up to me, actually.”

“Really? In what way?”

“Just likes to add the odd little ‘you remember when your boyfriend used to steal my stapler’ kinda things.”

JJ’s laugh is different this time. The word ‘boyfriend’ coming out of your mouth has his thoughts short circuiting. You glance down at your juice and swirl it around the cup.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty good gig. I like teaching, and I actually think I’m making a difference to some of these kids lives sometimes, which is sort of strange.”

“I bet you are. You were always good at helping people,” JJ tells you. Your smile turns soft.

“Thanks, JayJ.”

The nickname is like another sucker punch to the chest. JJ takes it like a champ. Washes it down with water; pretends there’s vodka in there somewhere.

“How are the others, then?” you ask. “How are they?”

“Good. Happy. John B and Sarah are expecting a kid soon.”

“Fuck off.”

“No joke,” JJ laughs. He leans back into the sofa, reclining in the soft throw pillows. It’s strange how easily relaxed he is in this new setting. “They’re debating between two names. Esmeralda or Eton.”

“No. Please God, tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish,” JJ snorts. “Not that I got much of a leg to stand on.”

“What do you mean?” you frown. You lean over and place your juice down on the coffee table.

“JJ? Kinda dumb name.” JJ has a sip of his own before mirroring your actions.

“Hardly. ‘John James’ is pretty proper sounding to me.”

“Meh.” JJ shrugs and props an arm up on the back of the sofa.

“What about Kie, and Pope?”

“Kie is on her environmentalist shit. Investing in rebuilding the coral and things. Pope is studying like crazy. Got a good job lined up too.”

“Only Pope would get a degree when he has literal gold in his savings,” you chuckle. “Didn’t you buy a shop too, or something?”

“A little surf shop with John B, yeah,” JJ nods, smiling proud. The surf shop is something that he would always take pride in. What felt like a pipedream was now his nine-to-five. “It’s doing real good, actually. We’re thinking about expanding.”

“Well, that’s good,” you say, nodding. The two of you lock eyes. Your smile holds steady. “I’m happy for you, JJ. Really.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you’re doing good, too.”

And now the polite small talk is over and the catch-up is done. It’s so bizarre seeing someone again after so long. So many things in life have passed – relationships, jobs, fights, conversations, achievements, ailments – but when you finally come to sum it up, it only takes ten minutes. Going through a heartbreak lasts for months, but then a year later and the relationship is summed up in a sentence or two. Time doesn’t only heal, but it also shrinks. It seems to have shrunk whatever used to exist between yourself and JJ too, as you both sit, searching for things to talk about which avoid the dark and ugly. Things which avoid the obvious.

“Do you think you’ll stick around in Kildare for a bit?”

“I don’t know. I ain't really thought about it,” JJ admits. “I weren't even sure if I was gonna go to the funeral.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” you wonder.

He laughs to himself and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. Probably just crash in my truck.”

“You’re loaded as fuck and you’re gonna crash in your truck?” you laugh. It isn’t mean when you say it. Just amused.  

“I don’t know. You don’t really get used to having money when you grew up without it. I still feel guilty buying a new pair of boots or something when my old ones ain't coming apart at the soles and shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. Eminem had a similar thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought me and Eminem were similar,” JJ deadpans.

It seems to strike well with you because you’re cracking up, laughing like he’s just told the best joke you’ve ever heard. He smiles. He always liked making you laugh. You have a horrendous laugh: truly awful. Cats in a bag being bashed against the wall-howling dog parade level of terrible. JJ loved it though. He used to tickle you just to hear it. Watching you now, head titled back, eyes shut and mouth agape, guffawing like a damn hyena…He feels like throwing up.

“Sorry, that…That was good,” you chuckle, wiping your eyes and catching your breath. “You were always good at making me laugh.”

“Fuck knows why,” JJ chuckles.

“Cause you’re funny,” you reply, as if its obvious. “You were always funny.”

It’s strange how the tone of the conversation rises and falls like a mountain range the longer the two of you sit on the sofa.

Your smile turns sombre, like when someone reminisces over a funny memory of their dead pet. Nice at first, amused, and then dampened with the reminder that those times have passed.

“It’s weird, to be honest. You’re so different now but you’re also still JJ.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You glance around the room for a moment, as if you’d find the answer hidden in code on the spine of the books stacked on the windowsill. You look at him again. “Your face looks different.”

“It does?” JJ asks. He lifts a hand and strokes his jaw. He could do with a shave, he supposes. The vanity tries to bite through to ask how, but before he can, you’re talking again.

“You don’t drink,” you add, nodding to the orange juice still sat on the coffee table. “You’re quieter. Less…”

You seem to lose the words and so you gesture with your hands. Explosion.

“Calmer. Sadder, but not sad.”

“I can’t tell if these are good things or not,” JJ says, half-joking.

“You look at me different too.”

That makes him pause. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze, steady. The whole room shifts in a moment, from carefree catch-up to tense confrontation.

“Different?”

“Yeah. You look at me different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” JJ mutters, going to reach for his drink.

“Yes, you do, JJ.”

Your smile is gone now. He can tell, catching it from his peripheral. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be in Kildare, doesn’t want to be in this house, in this room.

“You could at least acknowledge it, you know?”

“I don’t understand—”

“It’s actually more rude to not acknowledge it,” you snip.

“I’m not being rude, I’m just making conversation. You’re the one who’s got me on blast like you’re some God damn therapist,” JJ hits back, meeting your steely stare.

“You feel like you’re on blast?”

“I feel like I’m being observed, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you are being observed, JJ,” you return, voice harsh and cutting like how a blade slices through paper. “Because it’s fucking weird having you back.”

“You’re the one that invited me here.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” you say.

JJ takes a breath and closes his eyes. The anger never went away, despite what you’ve just told him, he just got older. Got better at hiding it. Got enough money to try therapy. He takes another moment to breathe through it. Push it down his throat and back into his stomach and let it burn out in the acid.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly say. The venom is gone. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure why – can’t pinpoint a perfect reason behind it – but behind his eyelids, JJ feels tears swell. Feels his lips twitch like a child when they hit their funny bone. His next breath in is shaky.

“JJ?”

“Just…”

His voice cracks and he clears it, shaking his head. He wants to open his eyes but he’s scared he’ll start crying, and he’s not doing that, not right now, not today. It’s not even you. You’d seen him cry before. Held him through it and patched him up; made him smile after the sadness. But he refuses to cry today because he can’t give his dad that satisfaction, even if it’s not about him. Opening his eyes, no tears escape. He reaches for the juice and downs it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he snaps. Then, softer, “please.”

You nod. There’s a quiet. Then, you move to stand and he closes his eyes again because it’s a struggle for you to stand. It’s a struggle. He rubs a hand over his mouth as if trying to shove the welling emotions back inside. There’s the sound of running water in the background as JJ tries to gather himself. The crack-crack-crack of a gas stove turning on and then the clink of metal on metal. You’ve put the kettle on, boiling water. There’s the tinker of porcelain mugs being taken off a stand. He seems to zone in on the peaceful sounds of you making coffee.

When you pour water into the mugs, he remembers the sound of your voice years back. ‘Did you know humans have the ability to hear the difference between hot and cold water being poured?’ ‘Why the fuck do you know that?’ ‘I don’t know. Just thought it was interesting.’

As the teaspoon repeatedly brushes against the inside of the cup as you stir in the instant coffee and milk, JJ finally feels all the emotions even out. As your footsteps make their way back over to him, you flick on the lamp by the front door. JJ opens his eyes to see you place a steaming cup of Joe in front of him on the coffee table. The mug is cute. It’s peach pink and says “I’m drinking tea instead of committing crimes” on the front in an innocent type-writer print.

“Cute mug.”

“Thanks. Thought of you.”

He silently laughs. You sit closer to him this time and your mug sits next to his. There’s no funny quote written across the paint. Then your hand is on his back, barely rubbing him, and it hits JJ that this is the first time you’ve touched him in five years.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” you tell him. “It ain’t my place to say any of that. Especially not today.”

“It’s true, though. That’s the kicker, ain’t it? That it’s true,” JJ replies.

He sighs and leans back, sitting upright once more. Your hand falls away and you clasp it in the other in your lap. He glances down and takes in your side profile. That stupid piece of hair has come lose again, fallen in your face. He distracts his twitching fingers by twisting one of his rings.

“I’m okay, you know,” you tell him. You look up and meet his eyes. Yours are damp with emotion, just like his were moments earlier. “I’m really okay.”

“You almost weren’t though.”

“Is that the problem? That I almost wasn’t?”

“It’s not the problem. You were never a problem.”

“I ain't mean it like that,” you tell him. You shake your head and JJ isn’t entirely sure why. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I the reason that you left Kildare?”

A bird calls outside and JJ seems to latch onto it like a lifeline. That question makes him feel stranded and scared. He wasn’t ready for it despite being fully prepared.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I…It ain't that simple.”

“Can you explain it to me, maybe?” you wonder. There’s no wrath to your tone anymore – no vendetta against him. There’s just curiosity and care, and this wonderful tenderness that JJ always associated with you from day one, when you offered him your cap to keep his hair off his face.

“I didn’t like the person I was in Kildare.”

“Okay,” you quietly say.

“I didn’t like how I acted. I didn’t like how reckless I was, and how I didn’t care who got hurt in the process.”

“Like me?”

JJ swallows. He doesn’t tear his eyes from yours though. “Yeah. Like you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, quieter still, nodding.

“After El Dorado, coming back here, everything felt tainted. I just…I needed to escape it. My dad and my past and…And you. I couldn’t face it. I felt like I’d caused some freak accident and had gotten away, and then I'd come back to face the aftermath and I just couldn’t stomach it. I just ran.”

You nod.

“I just ran,” he hears himself repeat. “And I’m not proud of it. Of any of it.”

“Okay.”

“And I wanted to fix things, but I didn’t know how. Every time I thought of coming back to Kildare, or picking up the phone, or going on Instagram and finding you…I just got so fucking scared, like a stupid shithead kid. I was so scared of becoming the guy I was again.”

And, again, you nod. When he doesn’t continue, you fill the space. “How long have you been sober?”

“The minute I left Kildare.”

“Fuck.”

“Cold turkey. It sucked ass. It still does. You don’t miss it any less. I miss the rage too, sometimes. I miss my dad sometimes, too. Miss him beating on me. How fucked up is that? That I miss him beating on me?”

You don’t seem to know what to say to that. You just look down at the coffee mugs and watch how the steam is slowly but surely going away.

“I am sorry. I know that ain't worth anything, but I am sorry.”

“It is worth something.” You clear your throat, voice coming out stronger when you say, “It’s worth everything.”

Your smile comes back, timid and tiny. You meet eyes for the millionth time that night.

“It feels like I’ve been ready for you to come back, for so long, and now you’re actually here and…I don’t even know where to start.” He watches your tongue dart out and wet your lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to look so good.”

“Disappointed?”

“Massively. I would have got my ass in the gym more if I knew it was a Goddamn competition.”

JJ smiles. “You were always a sore loser.”

“Says you,” you snort.

There’s another peak in the conversation after the long slug of the last dip. It’s so bizarre. So wonderfully bizarre.

“I’m proud of you, for getting sober. Do you feel better for it?”

“Depends.”

“Well, you look better for it,” you say.

“You’re drooling, I think,” JJ teases, reaching a finger out to prod your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you mirthfully bat his hand away. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Well, withdrawal does crazy things,” he quips back.

You chuckle and shake your head. “I missed you like crazy.”

“I miss you too.”

Your lips part a little with that. Miss. You seem to hesitate to hold his gaze then, like it’s too intense. JJ feels as though he can see every emotion flash across your face in a second, like watching a car crash in slow motion. Surprise, shock, joy, anger, then sadness. It’s that sadness that hammers hard when you speak, voice weak.

“You left without saying anything, JJ. For five years. You just left me.”

“Don’t make it sound like that. Like I abandoned you.”

“But you did,” you whisper. The tears are back. You’ve both fallen from the top of the mountain. “You abandoned me.”

“You don’t get it,” JJ replies, voice suddenly thick.

“I was in it with you.”

“You didn’t see it,” JJ forces out. His tears are falling: they didn’t wait this time. “You didn’t see how it looked – how you looked. You looked so fucking fragile and tiny and small and your leg was so bent and twisted and black – it was black – and I thought you were already dead.”

Your breathing is shaky and broken. The two of you sit on your sofa in the sunset, eyes locked, tears streaming, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The word ‘dead’ hangs in the air and haunts the room.

“I thought you were dead, and I thought it was because of me.”

“Do you hate me for it?”

“Why the fuck would I—”

“Because I didn’t die? Do you hate me for it?”

JJ blinks back his bewilderment. He physically shifts back in his seat, as if you just spat in his face. Horrified, he tells you, “Of course I don’t. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because I’m still here, JJ. But you acted like I wasn’t for five years. You didn’t even come see me in the hospital. Didn’t sit with me in the ambulance. Hell, you can’t even look at my leg now! You think I didn’t notice? At the graveyard, and now. You think I can’t see it on your face?”

JJ whispers your name in a tearful plea. Stop.

“I’m still here, JJ. And I invited you back here, and I went to the funeral, because I wanted to see you.”

“To show me what I did?” JJ asks, harsher than needed.

You hold his gaze. “To show you I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, insistent. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking and if I’d been thinking straight, I would have never let you jump off the bike like that. It was fucking reckless and stupid and I would never, ever do it again. It was all my fault.”

“I don’t care who’s fault it was, JJ,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out and traces his cheek and jaw, and he can’t help but lean into your warm touch. There you sit, cradling his face as if he was the victim in this whole thing. It calms him almost immediately. “Nobody forced me on that bike. Nobody forced me to jump, not even you.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“JJ,” you sigh.

He closes his eyes as you shift in your spot, and somehow you end up with your forehead pressed against his. He reaches out one of his hands for the other of yours that rests in your lap and he clenches it, tight. You’re both still crying but they’re silent tears now.

“I forgive you, JJ.”

He shakes his head whilst you nod.

“Yes, I do, I forgive you. I always have. You know why?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

“Because you were dealt the shitest hand I’ve ever known and look who you are. You’re sober, and you're healthy, and you have loving friends and a steady income and a job which you love, and a boathouse, and so much of your life left. And you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t kill me, JJ. You didn’t even lose me.”

“I don’t—”

“We’re more than our mistakes.”

When JJ opens his eyes, you pull back enough to let him meet your gaze. As if you know what he’s about to ask, you smile. That smile…JJ feels like he’s coming home.

“You’re more than your mistakes, JJ.”

The moment his lips slot against yours, tentative and hesitant, like a bird exploring new ground for the first time, he’s home. There’s hardly a moment of reluctance, of confusion and mismatch from the time passed, before you’re kissing him back. The softness of your lips against his and the brush of your tongue. The sigh in your voice and the tilt of your head. It’s so seamless and sweet and safe. JJ feels safe here, with you. He feels like all the shit doesn’t matter. He feels like sober might actually be synonymous with happiness, with you. When he lies you down on the sofa, JJ doesn’t want to leave this room, this house, or Kildare. He wants to stay here, worshipping you, breathing you in until you consume all of his senses, because after five years, nothing has made him feel as alive as this. As you.

Everything is a wonderful illusion of being rushed and well-paced all at once. He revels in the way your skin gives gently beneath the scrape of his teeth. When he sucks at your throat, the skin is so delicate, and this close to you JJ can smell nothing but your perfume. He wants to fucking drown in it.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he pants. You’re gasping too. Fingers sliding through his hair, down his sides, along his face.

“I missed you,” you whine.

And that phrase gets repeated over and over like a mantra or a prayer. He hears himself whispering it against your skin with every button he undoes on your blouse. Basks in the sound of your voice, older and mature but still you, as you say it whilst pushing his dress shirt off his shoulder.

There’s a stalling pause when his fingers finish tracing down your stomach to your pants. You seem to notice it. Your hand comes to his face and thumbs at his cheek. They’re still sticky from dried tears.

“JJ,” you whisper, coaxing his attention back to your face. You’re glowing. You’re happy, you’re healthy, and you’re here. “It’s okay.” Nodding, you repeat. “It’s okay.”

Then, he watches your own fingers land on the button of your pants, slowly undoing it. Then the other and the third until they’re lose. He watches you wriggle out of them, pulling them down, struggling somewhat from the tight position on the sofa. Watches the scars emerge, faint but clear, and how they grow and spread like ivy on the side of a house. They merge with the cellulite and stretch marks. With a random bruise you must’ve gotten from hitting your leg on the table the other day. They’re a part of you – plain and simple. At the knee, there’s the connection for your prosthetic right leg. Once your trousers are off, JJ finds himself reaching out to touch it. This thing that he was partly responsible for, this marvel of medicine, the reason you can walk. He loves it and hates it desperately all at once. Glancing back up to your face, you’re watching him just as carefully as he was watching you. But you’re smiling.

“You’re okay,” JJ finds himself saying quietly. Because you are. You’re here, laying almost bare before him, just like you had years before.

“It’s rude to make a girl wait, JJ,” you tease.

With that, JJ’s smile is blossoming back like the returning of spring flowers following a brutal winter. He leans forward and catches himself above you with his arms, kissing you like you’re all the oxygen in the world. Your left leg rubs at his calf, still covered by his trousers, and you giggle against his mouth.

“Fuck, I missed this,” you say. “I missed you.”

“How much?”

“So much,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What’d you miss?” JJ persists, kissing down your neck.

“Your mouth,” you say through a moan. His hands slip behind your back and unclasp your bra. You arch your back enough for him to tug it off.

“My mouth?” he wonders, breathing it against your skin. You’re practically writhing. JJ laughs. “What about my mouth?”

“Don’t be a jackass, JJ,” you mutter.

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes,” you quietly beg.

“You do?” he checks, kissing over your breast, sucking at your nipple. “Where do you want it?”

“You fucking know where,” you sigh, impatience shining through.

He grins at the sudden hitch of your moan as he softly nips at the sensitive skin around your nipple. Then he’s kissing down your stomach until finally his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls them down. You kick them off at the ankles, a clear act of frustration, and he bites back his laugh.

“What? Here?” JJ plants a kiss to your hipbone. “You want my mouth here? Or…”

Another kiss, to your pelvic bone.

“Here?”

“Fuck you, Maybank.”

“You wanna?”

“I swear to fucking God,” you huff, laughing through the annoyance.

With that, JJ settles himself between your legs and praises you like you deserve to be. The noises you make are downright evil, considering he can do nothing about it and has to hold it together. You taste so familiar on his tongue.

“Fucking missed you,” he groans against you.

When he sucks on your clit, your hands latch into his hair. Your back is arching and you’re gasping and panting and desperate, and JJ feels like a young God. Pulling back, he slips a finger into your hole and it welcomes him so easily. He cusses at how wet you are.

“Come on baby. Come on, I know you’re close.”

The tells of your body haven’t changed since the last time you two were in this position. The way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan when you fall over the edge is so surreal to see after five years apart. He feels you spasms around him and basks in the scratch of your nails against his scalp as you try to ground yourself. He hardly has time to suck his fingers clean before your pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him stupid.

“Fucking missed you,” you repeat against his mouth, making him laugh. “Nobody fucks me as good as you.”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t say shit like that,” JJ chuckles. “Won’t last.”

“Don’t care,” you say. “Only thing bigger than your ego is your dick.”

JJ can’t help but laugh at that. He loves your giggles in response. And then your hands are shoving at his trousers and the humour is gone, replaced with nothing but raw lust and desperation. There’s nothing performative about it, when the two of you hurry to strip his clothes away as soon as possible. He takes note to get his socks off. You’d always had a weird thing about it, sex in socks, and nothing was going to taint this night. Not after so long.

Being inside you…JJ missed it more than all the alcohol and weed in the world. Nothing compared to the feeling of you clenching around him. The vice of your leg hitched up and over his back as he grips into your thigh, mean and firm, perfecting the angle. The senseless, endless whines falling from your agape mouth, eyes closed tight, lost in the feeling of it. JJ wants nothing to be less than perfect for you, for this. Every stroke, every kiss, every clench of his fingers…it all has to be perfect. He knows when you’re close and he’s more than fucking relieved. It’s taking everything in him not to come. He needs you to fall over the edge first.

“Do the thing,” you whine. “Do the thing, John.”

With that, JJ remembers five years back, to late nights and later mornings spent rolling in bed with you. He bites into his lip, holding back his shit-eating grin as the memories flood back, and he leans forward to your ear. Gently taking the lobe within his teeth, he croons into the shell of your ear.

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

And finally, you fall apart, taking JJ with you like you always would.

When the high finally passes and the endorphins settle down, the two of you are laying on the sofa, only covered by a throw blanket JJ had dragged down from the back of the sofa. You’ve somehow shuffled so you’re laying mostly atop of him. His arms are locked around your damp stomach like a vice, nose nestled into your hair, just behind your ear, breathing you in with every inhale.

“Will you stay in Kildare, just for a short while? For me?”

JJ wants to laugh but he knows how wrong that would be in this moment. The humour doesn’t come from the question, but from the notion that he’d leave after finally having you back in his life, safe and happy, after five long years.

“Anything,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. Anything for you.

-

“You look like shit by the way,” JJ says.

His hands are warm in his cargo pant pockets. Head tilted down and gaze steady, he sighs.

“Guess you didn’t have chance to clean up though, right?”

Shockingly, the gravestone says nothing back. Well, says nothing asides form Luke Maybank in barely legible font.

It still feels surreal, that his dad is gone. That they’d never remedy anything, or even attempt to fix their relationship. That JJ wouldn’t be able to face him and show him what he’d become. How he’d risen past it all and grown from the pain and the agony. That he’d taken the shitty hand that he was dealt and turned it into nothing but flushes and full houses. That he hadn’t grown into a petty criminal or a tax-evading lowlife, but a strong, good-willed, well-intentioned man. The thought, bittersweet at heart, makes him smile.

“I’m happy dad. I know you probably hate that, being dead and all, but I am.”

As if on cue, there’s the high pitch giggles from afar that catch JJ’s attention. He glances over to spot you and your wonderful mini-you, sitting on your shoulders, waving at him. He waves back, small and short, smiling.

“I’m glad you never met her,” JJ tells his dad, never tearing his eyes away from the pair of you. You ease her off your shoulders and take her hand, pointing to a small bed of daffodils. “I was so scared I’d be bad at this. I was so scared that I’d be like you.”

She’s so fragile as she picks a flower free from the bunch, holding it by the stem, up to you. You nod and presumably smile in approval.

“But I’ll never be like you. She’ll never know what it feels like to live in fear,” JJ states, firmly. He looks back down to the grave. “I’m not your mistakes, and I’m not mine.”

He lowers to a squat and wipes some of the dirt off the stone, revealing the dates. “Happy birthday, dad. You suck, and I hope you’re finally at peace.”

“Daddy, daddy…”

There’s an insistent tug at his jacket sleeve. JJ smiles and looks down at the best mistake he ever made. Mistake is a strong word. ‘Oops, I think is better’, you’d said when you first showed him the pregnancy test.

“What’s up, bub?”

“I found this flower. Can I give it to papa?”

JJ takes the daffodil and glances to the grave. A brief moment of anger passes over him like the breeze of winter. He doesn’t deserve this. He isn’t your papa. I’m glad he’s dead. But he closes his eyes and breathes. Your hand squeezing gently at his shoulder tells him you’re there. It helps ground him.

“Yeah, bub. I think that’d be nice,” he smiles, handing it back.

She giggles as she puts it on the grass just before the stone. Her laughter is brighter and louder still when JJ scoops her up as he stands, looping her around him until she’s a backpack.

“You wanna get ice cream?”

“Hell yeah,” you whoop.

“Hell yeah!” mini-you copies. JJ laughs.

“Alrighty, lets go.”

As the three of you make the small walk back to the car, you intertwine your fingers with JJ’s, holding his hand tight and secure. JJ takes one last glance back at the gravestone. It all began here, in a way, the re-introduction to a life he thought he’d lost. Perhaps the nicest thing JJ’s dad ever did, the kindest act he ever performed, was dying. Perhaps that was his way of paying him back for all the crap he gave.

“Hey.”

JJ glances down at you.

“You okay?”

He smiles. Then, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Everything is going to be okay.

[guiltyasdave]

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

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[iid-smile]

can't get rid of me , fushiguro toji

a strong legacy to be left behind , chapter one

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cw: profanity, mentions of pregnancy (pills) but filtered for megumi's sake, mentions of violence in prison, you're broke, smoking cigarettes

author's note: sigh... im out of my fluff era 😞 (sorry guys) kinda wanted to write something that i think would actually happen in some sort of alternate jjk universe and um idk how far to go because this kind of stuff does happen in the manga, but writing it feels illegal??? idk...

"mom?" megumi peeks out from around the corner in the hallway. "who was calling?"

another groan escapes your lips, around the fifth one in the last three minutes, and you silence your phone once again. "your— excuse my language, shitty deadbeat dad keeps wanting to call me." you slap your hand across your forehead and lean back on the couch, a small creak coming from somewhere below. "apparently he's getting aggressive in prison. shut off the house phone, but they still found my number..."

your son comes closer to you, and you scoop him up, placing him by your side. he glances up at you, and you swear your fight or flight instincts nearly kicked in, (not that you'd be able to fight of a guy as big as toji anyways) flinching slightly from his sharp gaze. it sucks how he looks so much like his dad, because you loved megumi so much. but the image of that guy was almost too much to bear, and he's the spitting image.

"shitty?" he repeats. for a well-behaved kid, he really doesn't respect your words.

"don't say that megs, it's bad language." you swear around him all of the time, so what's the point in scolding him? "only your mama can say it."

"don't tell me what to do."

wow. okay. why do you feel threatened by a six year old? "damn, you've got his attitude too." you mutter, but you've only got yourself to blame for that. you knew you were never cut out to be a mother, so your ways of parenting weren't the best.

he snuggles closer to you, and you openly accept, moving your free hand to his hair to rub over it. "why can't i see toji?"

ah, this lovely story again. "because he left me as soon as you were born, love." really, you couldn't and didn't want to stop yourself from wrapping him up in your arms, feeling the need to protect him. "at this point, he's dead to me. seems like he doesn't feel the same though... i'm so sick of his ass." you also knew it wasn't good parenting to rant to your child about adult issues, but you've only got him to talk to.

that hug was out of comfort then. why are you lying to yourself?

he looks up at you with an irritatingly cute but blank face. "why?"

"god, i hate how many questions you ask." you speak under your breath once again, looking up at the ceiling from any sort of help from a higher being. the amount of times you've had to family-friendly-ify things that have happened isn't even funny. you're not naturally rated u for universal. it's more embarrassing when he recites those same stories to his teachers, and you get called into the school for a little talk.

yikes... here we go. "he lied when he said he gave me the right magical candy after we visited the stork. tried to make it drop you off back to where babies are made in heaven, but i wanted it to deliver you to me, whether he liked that or not." the story's got to be a little filtered somehow. you'd rather not get yourself in the principal's office again. "you're my little hero; a miracle to me. i would've given up on myself ages ago. your dad is a bad, bad man."

the type that would kill. if he found where you lived, or perhaps where megumi goes to school...

"and now i'm left broke in an apartment that barely functions, yet i still spoil my little hero." you sing-song, leaning your head back. "and with what money? i'm broke as hell, megs. can't even make both of us breakfast in the morning cuz your elementary school is too damn expensive."

"is this my fault?"

"...no. no, baby, of course not." you furrow your eyebrows more, a small pout in your lips. "if anything, you made my situation a bit more fortunate."

it's a selfish way of thinking, using your child to avoid solving your problems, using your child to wail and complain about how much you hate your life, but you've got nothing to lose. nothing to lose except for the one person you love.

you can feel your phone buzzing again.

"you stay here and watch tv, okay? mama's gonna go to the kitchen and talk to her friend." he seems a bit relieved as you let go of him, and you stand up.

you hear him mutter. "it's only playing the news though..." no shit it only plays the news, you can't afford to get a good television company that has any kids shows. that is, unless you wanna get scammed out of all of your money.

begrudgingly, you make your way to the kitchen, confirm that you closed the door completely, and answer the vibrating device. "hello?" you sigh, placing the device over your ear.

the other person on the call replies quickly. "is this miss—"

"yeah, yeah, it is. what the hell do you want?"

"um... we apologise, but we strongly suggest that you come to the prison building. he—" the guy's voice cracks. must be really nervous. "pardon me. he's been physically assaulting other inmates and guards, he doesn't follow orders, he never leaves his cell unless it's to visit the closed visits room. you know, in hopes that you'll come..."

obsessed much? where was this energy six years ago? "that's got nothing to do with me."

"please, ma'am. he won't listen to anyone, and we are unable to place him into special facilities as he doesn't emit any cursed energy." ah, he's begging? that's a first. you never would've thought you'd hear a person who works at a prison begging.

cursed energy, cursed energy, this talk again and again and again. "urgh..." you take a deep breath. your options are limited, and they won't stop calling until they can get that lunatic to calm down... surprise, surprise, you really don't want to go.

but if you were really uninterested in him, wouldn't you have already spent the bail money that's been sat on the counter for ages, neatly concealed in an envelope? wouldn't you have paid off all of your debts already? "will i— hm..." choose your words carefully, goddamn it. "can i get a reward of some sort if i go? money?"

"yes, yes! please do visit. there's nothing we can legally do to him in check anymore." ...you think this guy sounds a little too eager.

damn toji and his "supernatural powers", or else you wouldn't get yourself into this mess. finally, after your moment of silence, you respond. "okay. i'll visit."

"thank you—!" you cut off the line.

"fucking bastard..." you drop your phone on the counter, running your hands through your hair and over your face. "stressing me out for what? you don't even love me." your words turn into whispers. with haste, you rummage through your back pocket, trying to find those last few cigarettes, but as your hands were occupied, your eyes moved over to the ashtray that was collecting dust on top of the microwave. oh, right... you don't smoke anymore because there's no ventilation indoors.

you'd have to head out if you wanted to, but then megumi would be in the apartment on his own. and nobody can babysit, because you don't have anybody to ask to babysit. great, you can't smoke until monday. it's a friday afternoon. you have two whole days to get through!

you know for a fact your addiction won't hold out for that long.

[interstellarrisa]

I manifested money two times today

a/n: hi everyone, ik i've been gone for 2 weeks but i'm back and with a success story and two mini ones lol. not the reason as to why i was gone but whatever :P btw this post is not proofread cuz im rlly tired

Decide

I needed new clothes since school is starting soon for me but we didn't really have enough money to go "back to school" shopping and so going shopping would've been kind of difficult but instead of getting sad and just accepting that story i decided to use my knowledge of the law of assumption.

It was late at night and I was tired and as I was falling asleep I thought "Why not use this moment to manifest some money?" When we fall asleep our brain is in a very open-minded state (dunno if that's the right thing to call it). It doesn't try to fight back or question suggestions it just kind of accepts them, and so I decided to manifest money. To be exact 200$ when converted.

Imagine it and accept it

As I laid there on my bed I kept on imagining how I had 200$. I would imagine my mom coming into my room and saying that she got 200$ or affirm that I had it. I even dared to get a bit bolder and start affirming that I would get more.

When any doubts would arise especially logical ones I would just go "Is logic really necessary?" and start questioning the logic. Like wdym "Where would you get that money from" or "It's impossible, there's no reason as to why I would just get money without any reason" I questioned the logic instead of making the logic question me.

Anyways, I just accepted that I had it and fell asleep. I did have a strange dream tho but nonetheless I fell asleep knowing I had it and that it was inevitable that I was going to wake up to the news of it.

Persist

Whenever I wake up I am in a kind of daze for like 10 minutes where I'm awake but my eyes are closed and my mind is really foggy, almost like I'm between the border of the waking world and the dream world (just say hypnogogia girl). I've always thought that this state would be good for manifesting but I've never done it.

When I woke up and was in this daze like state I decided to take advantage of it and do the same thing I did before I fell asleep, after that I just continued on with my day occasionally thinking about I should buy. I wasn't even worrying about the money I just knew that I had it.

That morning my mom had gone out to buy some groceries and when she came home she just told me that she had gotten 250$ and what was my reaction to that you may wonder, it was just a simple "cool". I didn't even realize that it had manifested because I already knew it would happen but like on a subconscious level, so I was just thinking that it was nice and not like "WOWOWOOWOWOW WATAHECK I JUST MANIFESTED 200$"

It was not until 3 hours had passed and I was in the bathroom washing my hands that I realized that it was ME who was the reason for the money, and even then I just gasped really quickly and calmed down. Maybe I'm just that type of person who calms down fast? Anyways, the title did say that I manifested money two times right?

Decide + Imagine it and accept it + Persist

After going shopping I was sad because buying things actually cost money!!! WDYM YOU'RE TAKING MY MONEY AFTER I JUST BOUGHT SOMETHING!!! I THOUGHT THE NUMBERS ONSCREEN WERE THERE JUST TO INTIMIDATE ME AND NOT THE AMOUNT YOU'RE TAKING FROM ME/j

As I was walking out the mall I was decided to change my mindset from that of a person who just spent a lot of money and is sad about it to a person who doesn't care because they know money goes round and round and they'll eventually get it back.

Essentially: poor person mindset → rich person mindset.

When I got home I talked to my dad and he was like "Blah blah blah... focus on your studies...blah blah blah...take care of yourself...blah blah blah I'm giving you 150$...blah blah blah...again focus on school..."

Again I only realized I just manifested it when I opened tumblr LMAO, and I guess my advice is stick with a mindset and know it'll happen, you don't need to affirm a thousand times or constantly think about not that doing those things don't work and will ruin your manifestation but relaxing is also nice I guess.

a/n: what a yapfest lol anyways the other two mini success were manifesting a toothbrush and changing the weather to fog, bye for now !!

divider by @/anitalenia

[chaoticcupcakeee]

Chapter One: Professor Harrington and Mr. Munson

***THERE WILL BE LOTS SMUT 18+ CONTENT EVENTUALLY SO MINORS THIS IS NOT A SPACE FOR YOU, MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED,IF YOU DONT HAVE AN AGE IN YOUR BIO I WILL LIKELY ASSUME YOU'RE A MINOR AND BLOCK. DM FOR ANY QUESTIONS THANKS!<3***

Pairing: Professor! Steve Harrington x Best Friends Dad! Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not much...YET.. lots of smutty smutt smutt to come. Vague mention of depression/ bad childhood/anxiety , mention of drug use/ cigarette smoking, Eddie and Steve being hot, Reader is in their mid 20s and Eddie and Steve are early to mid 40s

Summary: Reader moves to the one and only Hawkins, Indiana and meets her sexy new sociology professor and realizes she might have a crush on her best friends dad..oops

Authors Note: Hi folks!!! this is so nerve wracking i've never really properly written for either of these characters before except in my head and reading lots and lots of smut! I really hope you guys like it, i'm really excited for what's to come for this series, I haven't thought of a name for it yet so i'm just going to go chapter by chapter but its gonna be a fucking wild ride so buckle your seat belts :) 4k words (Also older Eddie pic by the lovely @eddiemunsons-missingnipple )

**Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five**

(banners and headers by @cafekitsune)

Were you doing the right thing? Could you do this on your own? What if you failed?

Your head filled with doubt now that your dreams you’ve had since you graduated high school were now coming to fruition. You saved up all the money you could, working odd jobs for a few years after high school to have enough money to get out of your hometown and into a good college states away.

You shake away all the negative thoughts, no. This had to work you were going to make sure it worked. This is your new start, to create your own life. It had to be better than back home, where no one gave a shit about you and your own parents didn’t care enough to stick around after you graduated high school, not that they were the most involved parents to begin with anyways. Even the friends you had back home were just party related or friends of friends, you were always on the outside looking in, never properly fitting anywhere. The only reason you decided to move specifically to Hawkins was because your only real friend, Violet, that you’ve had since you were 12 had moved here 10 years ago and you’d made a pact long ago that if you ever got out of that town, you’d follow her here.

You pinch your fingers to the bridge of your nose, willing the thought of your parents and back home to go back into the little dark corner of your brain. You can’t breakdown now, not right before your first class, how pathetic would that be?

“Focus focus focus, come on you got this.” you muttered quietly to yourself over and over until the anxiety subsided. You take a deep breath, willing your lungs to fill with air to cool down your buzzing insides. You look in your car mirror to make sure your makeup still looked good and fidgeted with your clothes.

You were never one to obsess over your appearance by any means, but you really wanted to make a good first impression. You had your hair pulled up into a butterfly clip and had on your favorite dress a pair of black tights and your trusty Dr. Martens. With one final look in the mirror, you sigh and grab your bookbag and get out of your car. You look on your phone to triple check that you were in the right place, the last thing you needed was to be lost or even worse late to your first class.

You’d only moved into your apartment off campus the day before so you haven’t had time to look around the town or get used to your surroundings yet. You noted that your car didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Your car was a few years old and was always something of an insecurity for you. But most of the cars that filled the almost completely full parking lot were older or used cars, which put you at ease. You head into the Humanities and Social Sciences building and check for a fourth time, Sociology 101 room E142 Professor Harrington.

The room is much bigger than you thought, chairs and desks circling the podium at the front of the room. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the room was only half full of other stressed out looking students preparing for their day ahead. You decide to pick a seat towards the middle of the room to not look too eager.

As you’re getting your laptop and books out of your bookbag you hear footsteps walking into the room and the girls behind you immediately start giggling and whispering to each other. You look to see where they’re looking hoping they aren’t making fun of you, you see them biting their lips and looking at the front of the class. You follow their eyeline and your breath hitches.

Where your sociology professor should be standing is an Adonis, he has thick honey brown hair, peppered with grey, that frame his handsome face. His skin impossibly sun kissed like he’d just come back from a tropical island and not living in Hawkins, Indiana. He smiles nervously at the class; his smile is warmer than the sun despite his nervousness, warming you from the inside out. He’s wearing a white button down covered by a navy blue sweater, a pair of grey slacks and black high top converse.

“Ahoy folks! Are you guys ready to set sail on this vast ocean called Sociology with me? I’ll be your Captain Professor Harrington!” he claps his hands, his eyes waiting and hoping for a response.

The girls behind you giggle and a few other students around the room follow suit, he sighs contently. He goes onto explaining the syllabus and assignments for this semester. The class flies by, he’s easy to listen and pay attention to, sure his looks help but he seems genuinely interested in what he’s teaching. Which is a breath of fresh air, you diligently take notes, making sure not to miss anything. Before you know it, class is over and people start packing up their things.

“Oh class before I forget, if any of you are commuters, come get a parking pass from me unless you want a ticket.” he announces to the class, most of the class you assume living in the dorms hurry out of the room.

“Because not only are we charging students tuition we are also charging students just to park on campus, capitalism at its finest folks,” he snorts, shakes his head, and walks to his desk leaning against it.

After finally putting all your things away and checking where your next class is you head up to him. Just being near him makes your heart beat a million miles a minute, like your unworthy of being in his presence let alone so close to him.

He smiles warmer and wider as you stand in front of him, “Hey what can I do ya for?” he asks brightly.

“Oh, uh, I just need a parking pass if that’s okay,” you say quietly.

“More than okay my dear!” he declared. You blush at his words while he picks around in his desk drawer for a parking pass. His nose scrunches up in frustration as the digging becomes hastier and more urgent.

“I coulda swore I put em in here… or did I leave them in my office?... shit,” he breathes.

You giggle at his disorganization, and he looks up at you embarrassed, you wondered how a man who looks like how he does could ever be embarrassed about anything. The girls who sit behind you would agree.

“I promise I’m not usually this discombobulated.. just uh first days always come sooner than I think.” he chuckles

You nod knowingly at him “No worries I can always get it tomorrow or something.” you say waving his worries off.

He looks up at you through his glasses relieved “Really? That- that would be amazing. I would go grab them from my office, but I don’t think I have enough time to before my next class.” He studies you for a second like he’s actually looking at you for the first time.

“What’s your name again hun?” he says casually, as he opens his computer and types on his keyboard.

Your heart flutters at the continued use of nicknames, you take a second to study him again before you respond. He’s hunched over his desk, typing and clicking away on his computer like he’s searching for something. His eyes crinkled at the edges with age, memories of many days smiling and being in the sun. You notice his freckles that adorn his face and neck that you couldn’t see during class. If you had it your way, you’d take your time to count them all to try and make sense of his godly beauty. And his hands.. his hands look so strong effortlessly gliding across his keyboard.

You must have taken too long to answer because he looks up at you expectantly and raises his eyebrow and smirks. You shake your head slightly trying to regain your composure.

“S-sorry first day jitters, my heads a bit scrambled,” you confess to him. You tell him your name quickly, you hoped that your cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt.

His eyes softened a bit and nodded and continued to type on his computer for a couple more seconds before turning to you again.

“I emailed campus security to let them know that it’s my fault you don’t have a pass and if they do give you a ticket just bring it to me and I’ll sort it out for you, okay?” he states and steps away from his computer to face you again.

“Oh wow thank you so much Mr. Harrington, I really appreciate it!” you chirp

His face scrunches up at the name, and chuckles, some of his honey brown hair falling in front of his face, his hand ready to catch them and put the strands back in place. You were mesmerized.

“Uh Mr. Harrington is my father, call me Steve er Professor Harrington works to if you don’t want to be on a first name basis.” He says kindly

“Oh well thank you regardless…Steve.” his name sounds foreign but good on your tongue. You stare at your shoes and then realize that you’ve been in here looking at your professor for far too long.

What the fuck were you thinking? He probably thinks you’re insane but is too nice to say so.

“Ya of course,” he dismisses you easily.

“Anyways I don’t wanna keep you, have a good day,” you apologize.

"You too Y/N,” he calls, as you head out the door, glad that your back is to him so he can’t see you blush again just because he said your first name.

“Get it the fuck together.” you mutter to yourself as you walk aimlessly out of his classroom.

The rest of the day goes without a hitch, you find yourself actually excited for the upcoming topics in your classes. You’ve never given yourself the opportunity to properly nerd out about the things you’re interested in.

You finally get back to your car after all your classes and groan at the sight of a ticket stuck onto your windshield.

“Fuck…” you whine

Too tired to get it taken care of today you drive home and plop on your bed. Even though your classes were super interesting, it was very mentally draining. Extra draining because you’ve tried to force your brain to focus on classes and not think about your sexy sociology professor.

Was he this nice to all his students? Did you catch him eyeing you up while you were talking or were your eyes playing tricks on you? You keep trying to reassure yourself he is just really nice. But his hands… his smile…

You groan and rub your hands against your face trying to shake all the whirling thoughts out of your head. You force yourself to think about literally anything else, then your tummy rumbles. You haven’t had time to grocery shop considering you had just moved in yesterday and your fridge was completely empty except for some bottles of water and condiments.

Your phone buzzes next to you on your bed, you open it and smile.

“BITCHHHH I MISS U COME OVER! You’ve been in Hawkins over 24 hours & ive gotten radio silence from u! ur presence is being requested in the munson household immediately!

P.S Bring food my dad is starving me over here”

“At your service m’lady, cheeseburgers good?” you respond quickly

“ur a life saver babe<3”

Your mind drifts away from your professor and the ticket that is burning a hole in your bookbag. This place already feels more like home than any time you’ve ever spent where you were born. You missed your best friend so much. Violet Munson has been your ride or die best friend for as long as you can remember. You two became friends when you were sitting alone in the lunch room one day and she came and sat right down next to you and you two have been inseparable ever since… that is until her dad decided to move her back to Hawkins to be closer to family after the divorce right before freshman year. You had been crushed getting your best friend ripped away from you like that, but then you guys made the pack to get out of dodge when you could, and now you’re here… in Hawkins,Indiana.

You change into comfy clothes and grab some cheeseburgers, fries, and onion rings from the only burger joint in town and headed over to the Munson residence. You’ve never actually been to her house before because your parents never allowed you to visit after she moved away, so you two mostly kept in contact over constant texts and lots of facetiming.

Pulling up to her house you were more nervous than you thought, you hadn’t seen her in so long and hoped things wouldn’t be awkward. You turned off the ignition, grabbed the food, and went to open your door when you heard a scream come from the front of the house. You lift your eyes to see your best friend jumping up and down on the front porch in her pajamas. Violet had long bright purple hair and thick black eyeliner, kind eyes, a wide smile, and an infectious laugh.

“YOU’RE HERE YOU’RE REALLY FUCKING HERE HOLY SHIT!”

You laughed and dropped all the food in the front seat of your car and ran to meet her in the middle of her lawn and tackled her to the ground. You hugged her tight, squeezing your eyes together wishing the tears at the corner of your eyes to go away.

“Vi I missed you so fucking much.” you whisper

“Awe babe I missed you too.” she shares

You both get up off the grass and you grab the food and head inside. You set the food down in front of the tv like you used to do when she lived closer to you. You sit down on the couch and while she grabs plates. You sigh deeper into the couch, everything was just picking up exactly where you two had left off, you were gonna be okay. You smile quietly to yourself and then head to the kitchen to help her bring everything into the living room. You decide to watch a new horror movie that just came out, the two of you always bonding over everything creepy and spooky. You let Violet tell you about her partner Quinn, who she met a few years ago and was head over heels in love with.

Then the front doorknob jingled, and you heard the familiar thud of heavy boots.

“Ho- holy shit is that Y/N?!”

You turn to face the familiar voice at the door. “Hey Mr. Munson, long time no see!” you breathe.

Fuckk… when did Vi’s dad get so... hot?... what the hell is wrong with you today? First your sociology professor and now your best friends DAD?!

He grins widely at you just like his daughter, he shrugs out of his boots and walks into the living room.

“I got you a cheeseburger on my way over, still like double meat and cheese on your burger?” you question.

Mr. Munson puts a hand over his heart and falls into the love seat next to the tv.

“You remembered, I’m touched sweetheart.” he beamed.

“oh yeah no problem at all!” you blush.

“Well I’ll let you guys catchup, don’t need me harshing the vibes, Vi’s been nonstop talking about you coming to Hawkins  a month!” he chattered

Out of the corner of your eye you see Violet roll her eyes at her father.

“Dad no one fucking says “harshing the vibes” anymore or at all, you’re aging yourself old man,” she chortles

Mr. Munson chuckles and puts his hands up in the air in surrender “Alright alright I’m leaving, if you guys need anything I’ll be in the garage. Thanks again for the burger Y/N!” he says kindly holding up the burger in one of his large tattooed hands.

You beam up at him happy to help, and this time you get a good look at your best friends dad. He’s aged so much better than you could ever imagine a man with Mr. Munsons lifestyle to ever age, the expression aged like fine wine captures it perfectly.

His brown hair still wild and curly as its always been but tied up into a low bun at the base of his neck. Only difference is the now visible little grey streaks that run through random curls. He has more laugh lines at the side of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Still wearing his normal garb, black jeans with loads of rips, a band tee with a leather jacket. His chocolate brown eyes still full of mischief and debauchery. His nose ring ever present but you spy a few more additions to his tattoo collection, specifically a new neck tattoo and a few more on his hands.

Fuck his hands… wait you have to answer him. Answer him before it’s weird that you’ve been staring at him so long.. you’re really on a fucking roll today.

“It was my pleasure Mr. Munson really,” you gush.

He gives you a wink that goes straight to your core and vibrates in your bones and heads to the garage.

Violet didn’t seem to notice how flushed you were, eyes still on the screen, interjecting at random times when a scene looks to fake or when the blood splattering doesn’t look real enough.

After the movie the two of you head upstairs to Vi’s room, she wanted to show you her new additions to her every growing crystal collection and a few polaroid pictures of her and her partner.

“They literally make me feel like a princess I feel so lucky, for our 3 year anniversary they gave me these black tourmaline pentagram earrings, aren’t they so cute?!”

Your heart fills with warmth, Violet has always been loud and unique, you are so happy for her that she found someone who accepts her for who she is and loves her for it.

“That’s really sweet Vi, i'm so happy you have them, and that they treat you so well,” you grin.

“Thanks… what about you though? You’ve always been very singular… looking to change that any time soon? You deserve to be happy babe, even if it just means getting laid you deserve to get some. You’re a fucking catch dude” ,she compliments

“I mean you know I had a thing with Dylan for awhile before he got back with his girlfriend...” you murmur

“Oh COME ON, you know that’s not what I mean, not some assholes rebound!” she insists

“Vi I don’t have a line down the block like you used to have, you’ve got that whole hot sexy goth girl shit going on, I’m just me.” you babble and point to your gorgeous best friend

“What about Tom? You were with Tom for a long time what happened with him?” she asks obliviously.

“Fuckin cheated on me,” you sigh. Re-living your lack of romantic endeavors to your very not single best friend being up there in the top 10 most pathetic things to date.

“Oh fuck that guy, how fucking dare he!” she sneers while she tries to light the perfectly wrapped blunt in her hand.

“Shit I think my lighters dead, can you go ask my dad if he has an extra?”

You nod and head downstairs and search for the door that leads to the garage, finally you find the door you’re looking for and the image in front of you almost makes you audibly gasp.

Mr. Munson has a cigarette between his lips hes strumming along to some metal song that he’s humming the tune to, occasionally sucking in smoke and blowing out the side of his mouth. His head bobbing to the tune of the song completely in his own world. He’s beautiful.

You look at the way his fingers move to the beat and strum the strings on his guitar, mesmerized by how pretty they are. You can see all the calloses on his hands from all of the years of playing.

Your hand moves without thinking and knocks on the side of the garage door, getting Mr. Munsons attention.

“Oh shit, hey honey, ya need something?" He questions

“oh yeah sorry, Vi’s lighter ran out, and we were trying to light a blunt, you got an extra?” You ask.

Growing up, Mr. Munson had always been the more laid back between Violets two parents, letting her test the waters herself allowing more than the normal parent would. But as long as she was being safe and not doing any hard drugs he was mostly lenient with her. Not that it mattered much now that she’s grown.

“Uh yeah I probably got one around here somewhere, come pop a squat while I look.” he gestures to the chair beside him.

Your legs wobble while you move into the garage, it smelled so uniquely of him. His leather jacket draped over the back of his chair, smoke in the air, and metal music playing lowly in the background.

His space made you feel at home, the garage door was open so you could see the sun setting in the sky, and the metal music is weirdly comforting. You find yourself tapping your feet to the beat.

Eddie went to his truck looking for an extra lighter and your eyes wander to his guitar. You can tell he really cares about it, its clean, the strings look freshly changed, and recently polished.

“Oh yeah she’s a beaut isn’t she?" He observes proudly, leaning against his car with a new found lighter in hand.

“Yeah really pretty Mr. Munson,” you remark.

He smiles at you, “Here ya go, I don’t know how much juice is left in it.” He hands you the lighter, for the few seconds your hands connect you see how much bigger his hands are than yours, it almost makes you topple over in your chair.

“Thanks,” you reply. You grab the lighter with your hand and put it in your pocket and push out of the chair headed back into the house.

“Were you always this shy?” he asks inquisitively.

You turn around to face him confused by his question, you never really considered yourself shy, it just takes some time for you to come out of your shell.

“Shy?” you reply. fidgeting with a loose string on your sweatpants, your lips in a fine line.

“Yeah..you just seem.. shy or sad maybe, you doin okay?” he presses

You sigh hard trying to find the right words to explain the last few years and what would be appropriate to share with your best friends dad. “I’m fine really, just a long few days.” you share and smile to try and make it convincing.

He clicks his tongue and you know that he doesn’t believe you, your heart sinks. You never want to put your sadness or hurt onto anyone else, you’re a big girl and you can handle it on your own. You change the subject to the empty beer glass on the table in front of him, “Need another beer?” you ask

“Read my mind darlin, thanks,” he replies.

You head to the kitchen to grab him his beer and head back to the garage to bring it to him. When you get back he’s back at it strumming on his guitar in his own world, you wish for a second maybe you could just sit in his little world with him, it’s quiet and peaceful, no thinking required. You set the beer on the table and turn to head back upstairs.

“Hey Y/N, if you need anything or even just to talk I’m around, I know I’m not Violet, but if you need another friendly face, I’m here.” he smiles warmly at you.

Your heart melts, of course he’s the sweetest man in the whole world. “Thank you Mr. Munson that really means a lot,” you blush. Thankful to have one more person in this town on your side.

You close the door behind you and rush back upstairs hoping Violet doesn’t notice how long you’ve been gone. You hear voices and giggling on the other side of the door,

She’s on the phone with Quinn.

“She’s returned! Come here I want you to meet Quinn!” she exclaims. You breathe out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, no excuse necessary. Your friendship with Violet has always easier than breathing. You spend the rest of the night smoking weed and talking on the phone with her partner, glad to have the distraction from your recent interaction with her dad.

Did he really mean what he said? Or was he also just being nice? I guess he kind of has to be nice to me, being his daughters best friend. Plus he’s so out of my league, a man like him would never go for a girl like me, right?

Only time will tell.

No Pressure Tags!: (Just tagging some mutuals I thought might enjoy!) ** If you wanna be tagged in the next fic lemme know**

@untitled74745 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @munsonology @lesservillain @tlclick73 @dukesmebby @cozyquinn @rowanswriting @succubusmunson @teddyeyeseddie @lofaewrites @chaoticmunsons @ryan-waddell11

[charmedreincarnation]

Hey angels! I’m still on break but I wanted to show you guys how powerful the law is, and how it’s in effect with everything even when we don’t notice!

Here’s everything I’ve manifested in this year alone !

🌸70,000$ in school scholarships. My tuition does not even cost that much so most of it will be coming back to my credit card shortly

🌸an older sister. I’m the oldest child in my household, and as any older sibling knows it’s so hard. You have to lead, yet have no one to look up to for advice yourself. Anyways my dad got in touch with his old wife, and my mom who was once reluctant to let my half siblings in my life, now encouraged it! My older half sister is literally just like me. We now FaceTime, she defends me when I’m scared, she buys me stuff all the time because she has hella money, and I go to her apartment for sleep overs. I am very lucky and happy to finally have the older sister I’ve always wanted.

🌸an old friendship! I remember in 2020 I was friends with this girl and we were both super depressed, had similar circumstances, and were into manifesting+astrology. I’m sure she’s one my twin flame, and the friendship ended over the dumbest thing ever. Anyways for a year I used dumb methods like the 333 method, sp methods to get her to text me, stuff like that. I ended up giving up but earlier this year I was thinking about her, yanno just wondering where she is. She sent me a heart felt apology the next day. I manifested her without even trying!

🌸All As in school without trying.

🌸losing weight the more I eat. Y’all I’m 5’5 and 112 pounds, yet I eat like an Olympic gold medalists. I don’t even eat healthy and knowing myself.. well that’s something that’s not going to change lol. Anytime I would eat a lot, I would just say the more I eat, the more I lose and the healthier I am…and I never gained a single pound. Only lost! Don’t worry I’m still healthy and my doctors say I’m in a healthy range still, so as long as that continues healthily I’m fine.

🌸my family winning the lottery through the void state. I won’t say specific numbers but it’s in the 7 figure range, and was my first void success! I’m going to keep manifesting and exploring the void to have more stuff in the future!

🌸(dumb) but clearing my name in the unique situation. i remember just affirming the truth always comes out and she got exposed a few hours later. aside from the hate from her anons, I left the situation unscathed for the most part 😮‍💨

🌸not having seasonal depression this year. I did not manifest my depression or anxiety away for personal reasons, before anyone starts! But due to the combination of manifesting and just having a better overall life, it honestly did not affect me much this year.

🌸getting results from subliminals without even listening to them. I left my subliminal era a couple of years ago, and I don’t really use them anymore. But sometimes I come across a really cool one with dope benefits, and I want to use it bc.. why not lol. But I don’t really like listening to them, so I just wrote down that I can listen to it once and after that my brain memorizes the sequence and it works it out repeatedly even when it’s not playing and I’ve definitely noticed results.

🌸manifesting my best friend’s cancer away! I already made a post about this, but this was my favorite manifestation of this year.

🌸every single one of my shifts

🌸so many free things!

🌸and so much more, but these are my favorites!

[debonairprincesposts]

If you have requests open I'd love to request a Lucifer x reader angst. When he finds out they're dating Charlie, he gets too protective and ends up scaring them away. After seeing how upset she gets when the reader breaks up with her because of him, he has to try and patch things up.

Thank you anon for this wonderful request! I thrive on angst. Ask and you shall receive! Mostly.

Anyway! Here is your Lucifer x reader angst.

Hope it’s to your liking-

Enjoy (。•̀ᴗ-)✧

It’s finally happening. Charlie was finally going to introduce her partner to her dad. She just hopes that he doesn’t hate (Name) as soon as he sees them.

“Calm down, Char! I’m sure it’ll go great- I mean, how bad could it be, right?” You tried to comfort Charlie. Not like you were any better. You were just as nervous, maybe even more. You were going to meet the king of hell for heaven’s sake!

“No- you’re right! There’s no way he won’t like you! You’re like- the nicest person I know! He’s bound to take a liking to you-,” Charlie says, pacing around the hotel lobby. Nobody was present at the moment, she told everyone that she was gonna have an important meeting with her dad and had Vaggie request that nobody be present in the lobby at that time.

Knock knock

He’s here! Already?! You just hope that everything goes well and he ends up liking you. Charlie would be pretty upset if he didn’t. You would too-

“Charlie! So good to see you again!”

Lucifer said as he basically crushed her in a bear hug with a grin.

“G-Good to see you too, dad!” Charlie wheezes out as she hugs him back.

He lets go as he walks into the lobby, “So what is this important thing you wanted to show me, Char Char?”

“Uhm- dad, I just wanted you to meet someone really important to me, so- Uhm,” She drags you over by the shoulders, “meet (Name)! My lover!” Says Charlie with a nervous smile.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir!” You extend your hand for a shake, Lucifer grabs your hand with narrowed eyes and a strained grin as his grip on your hand tightens to a painful degree. “Likewise.”

Awkward silence…

“Alright!” Says Charlie with a clap to clear the awkwardness, “Why don’t you two get to know each other while I go get us some drinks.”

You look at Charlie with a pleading look to not leave you alone with her dad, because you know for a fact you would’ve been dead ten times over from the way he’s glaring at you if looks could kill.

Charlie gives you an apologetic smile as she quickily makes her way to the bar in the lobby.

“So,” He suddenly says, startling you, you turn to look at him. The way he’s looking at you tells you he’s displeased that you’re in a relationship with Charlie , “What are your intentions with my daughter?” Distrust clear in his voice.

Sweat drips down your temple. You take a deep breath, “I love her, sir. I want to try my best to make her happy like she does with me.” You say with a shaky smile.

His eyes narrow even further than before, “I’m not buying it. You’re a sinner! The only reason you’d be down here is if you did some really terrible things. Why would a terrible person like you want to be with Charlie. What is your plan exactly? Are you trying to exploit her kindness? Steal her money? Her life?”

He’s basically glaring now.

Your eyes widen as you immediately go to deny all the things he said, “What? N-No! I would never- I love Charlie! I wouldn’t ever do anything like that!”

“Bullshit!” Venom drips from his voice, he’s actually really starting to scare you now. Charlie, where are you?? “I want you as far away from my daughter as possible. Do you understand?”

“But sir-,”

“I said- Do you understand?” His eyes flash red as his horns slightly peak from under his skin.

“O-okay-,” you say dejectedly as you try to keep your tears at bay.

“Wonderful!” He goes back to normal as if he didn’t just basically threaten you, grin wide and everything, “I’m sure you’ll be gone by tomorrow morning, right?” He says with a threatening grin. “And Charlie better not hear a thing about this, clear?”

“Crystal.” You say as you look away to hide your tears.

After Charlie comes back with the drinks, you excuse yourself to the restroom to wash your face.

Charlie shoots you a worried glance. You flash her a small smile as you pass her.

“You didn’t say anything mean, did you dad?” Charlie shoots her dad a suspicious look.

“Pfft- What? No- I would never!” He lied as he took a sip of his drink, “They’re just the sweetest person ever! Good find Charlie!”

Her eyes sparkle as she heard what he said, “Right? They’re so nice to me too. They make me breakfast in bed practically everyday! Oh- and help with managing the hotel when I’m not here too! And their massages are the best! I love them so much!” Charlie continues going off on a tangent about all the nice things you’ve done and such.

As Lucifer listens to her talk, he starts to feel a bit guilty about how he treated you earlier but erases that thought from his head. He needs to keep his little apple pie safe. No matter the cost.

(Name) never returned to the lobby after that. Lucifer decided to excuse himself deciding that it’s gotten late and that he needs to attend to his “kingly” duties tomorrow. Charlie goes to the bedroom to find (Name) already asleep. So she goes to bed too with a smile on her face. In her mind, her dad and her partner liked each other. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

The next morning, Lucifer gets a call from Charlie. She’s sobbing, barely getting her breaths out as she tells him that you broke up with her.

“Why would they break up with me!” She sobs, “Was it because of me? Because I did something?-,”

“No Charlie! Definitely not your fault. Maybe they left for a good reason?” He says unsure of himself.

Charlie pauses on her end, “Did you do something, dad?”

“O-Of course not, sweetie!-,”

“Dad, please!”

“…” Lucifer is at a loss. He didn’t know Charlie would be this devastated. “I’ll go find them and talk to them for you, okay apple pie?” He settles.

Charlie sniffles, “Really?”

“Really! They’ll be back with you in no time! Not a problem at all! So just- stop crying, okay? Please?” If he needs to go find that sinner his daughter likes then so be it.

“Okay,” Charlie says, “ But please- don’t say mean things to them okay?”

“Of course, sweetie,”

They both hang up.

Lucifer messed up bad. He didn’t mean to make Charlie that upset. He needs to find that sinner, and convince them to go back to Charlie. He just hopes he didn’t scare them too much the last time they both talked. He needs to fix this.

You moved back to the little apartment you had. It wasn’t much, but at least it was a roof over your head. As you head out to try find a new job, Lucifer pops outta nowhere making you take several steps back.

“Hey there! Mind having a talk with lil old me?” He says with an expecting grin.

You were scared for your life. You already did as he asked so why was he here?!

You shakily smile as you answer him, “Of course, sir.”

His grin widens as he opens a portal to a cafe of sorts. He leads you inside to a private booth. He motions at the seat infront of him, gesturing you to take a seat. He calls the waiter over, orders you both drinks then you settle in silence as the waiter leaves.

He clears his throat, startling the crap out of you. “So,” he says awkwardly, “How are you today?” He asks as he tries to start small talk.

“Fine,” You reply.

He winces at your dry response.

“So uhh- Charlie sounded pretty upset this morning when she called me,” He says as he fiddles with his fingers.

You were too scared to say anything really. You already knew Charlie was going to be upset, but it’s not like you had much choice in the matter.

He was gauging your reaction to his words. You seem to be just as upset as Charlie sounded on the phone with him earlier. You look like you are close to tears.

He sighed as he finally got his thoughts together, “I’m sorry.” He says looking at his lap, seeming completely ashamed of his actions.

Your head snapped up fast enough to give you whiplash from hearing him apologize. Apologize? He’s apologizing? To you?? The King of Hell is apologizing to a lowly sinner like you?!

“I shouldn’t have done what I had. I should’ve gotten to know you better before judging you immediately.” He finally looks up from his lap to look at you to find you sat then completely frozen with a shocked look on your face.

“You love her, don’t you?” He asks you with a hopeful expression. He smiles in relief when you nod with a soft ‘yes’. His smile softens when he sees how tense you are, you look like you’re ready to bolt at a moments notice. He grimaces on the inside. He shouldn’t have been that harsh. He judged you too early. “How about we try to get to know each other for a bit. You are going to be my child in law sooner or later, aren’t you?” He takes a sip of his drink with a grin.

Your eyes glisten with tears of relief. Lucifer panics a bit at the sight of your tears before you explain that it’s just tears of happiness. He calms down at your explanation. The fact that you’re crying tears of joy over knowing that you could still be with Charlie made Lucifer change his mind about you. You might just be what Charlie needs. He hopes that Charlie can forgive him for what he did.

Negative thoughts aside! He needs to get to know his daughter’s partner better! Properly this time.

Help your favorite author by buying them a ko-fi!

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 16

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, references to sex and sexual acts (but nothing is explicit), drinking, longing, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to pregnancy and hormones

Jake’s Apartment, Coronado, almost 13 years ago

“Fucking rain,” Jake mumbled, navigating his truck into the closest parking spot he could to the front door of his apartment complex. Beside him, wrapped in a beach towel and soaked to the bone, Buttercup giggled, watching the rain stream down the windshield.

“It’s fine, baby.” She reached over to run a soothing hand through his damp hair. “Not even you can control the weather.”

“Maybe, but I promised you a picnic and now I’m a man who can’t keep his promises.” Jake parked the truck and looked at her. “I never break my promises, Buttercup.”

“Shh, baby, I know,” she grinned at him, gently running her nails over his scalp and the back of his neck. “But nothing says we can’t have a picnic in your apartment.”

“With what food?” Most of the food he had prepared had been opened and gotten rained on when dark clouds had moved surprisingly quickly over the ocean and released their downpour upon the unsuspecting beachgoers. “The only thing that didn’t get ruined is dessert.”

“So?” Buttercup giggled at his forlorn expression. “Our little ones are kinda craving one of Daddy’s grilled cheese sandwiches now anyway.”

At that, Jake’s expression melted. He still couldn’t believe it. Twins. He was gonna be a dad to twins, and what was even better? His Buttercup was their mom. They had found out less than a month ago, and yet everything had changed. All his extra cash was going towards finding a house for them, save for the money he had tucked away for this special occasion. He’d put in all the necessary paperwork with the top brass so that they could do their damndest not to deploy him around her due date and afterwards. Jake Seresin had never thought about being a father, but now that it was happening, he was going to do everything in his power to be the best father he possibly could be to the two little lives he and Buttercup were bringing into the world.

“Alright,” he sighed, reaching down to grab the umbrella he had stashed there. “I suppose I can do that for Mama and our nuggets.”

“Mama and our nuggets thank you, Daddy,” she grinned, moving to open her door.

“Wait, wait,” he huffed, sliding out of his truck and racing over to her side to open her door, popping the umbrella open so that she wouldn’t get any wetter than she already was. “There. Now, let’s get inside before you melt, sugar.”

Buttercup groaned. “That was terrible, baby.”

“What? I’m gonna be a dad. I’m allowed to make dad jokes.” Even six months ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead making lame jokes like Rooster or Payback, but Buttercup really had changed him.

Shaking her head, Buttercup grabbed the picnic basket and followed him into the apartment complex, leaning into his side as they rode the elevator up to his floor.

Once safe inside, both raced to get changed. Buttercup grabbed one of Jake’s Navy T-shirts and a pair of his gym shorts before going into the bathroom to change and fix her hair. Once the door closed completely, Jake took the small velvet box out of his jeans pocket and put it safely on the dresser before changing into a pair of grey sweatpants and a gym tank, then safely tucked the box into his pocket again.

“Darlin’, I’m gonna go get started on those sandwiches!” he called.

“Wait!” Buttercup emerged, looking playfully disappointed in him. “House rules, baby. You need me with you.”

He grinned and wiggled his fingers at her. “C’mon then. Those babies aren’t gonna wait all day.”

Buttercup followed him into the kitchen where he gently lifted her onto the countertop next to the stove. He kissed her once, twice, then bent to kiss the barely there bump of her abdomen, before gathering all the necessary materials to make grilled cheese.

As he cooked, they talked. About everything. The babies, work, her brother, his family, their friends. Jake couldn’t remember a time he had talked so much, laughed so much. He’d always reveled in his solitude, excepting maybe Javy, who had been with him for so long that he wasn’t an intrusion to his peace. But Buttercup made him crave her presence. He could barely make it through a day without her, and he had no clue how he would manage when he was deployed again. He wanted to be around her always, which was partially why he had that velvet box in his pocket.

Jake plated up the sandwiches and, before he could warn her, she had scooped one up and taken a big bite.

“Hot!” she screeched. “Hot, hot, hot!”

Jake couldn’t help but laugh. “Every time, darlin’. You do it every time.” He waved his hand in front of her mouth, wafting away the steam.

“And every time it’s worth it,” she grinned at him, and he felt something shift in his stomach.

“Oh yeah? What else is worth it?”

She tilted her head quizzically but shrugged. “Taking showers with you even though it takes us twice as long to get ready. Getting up with you at freaking balls a.m. so you can head to early morning flight exercises, just so I can get my morning kiss and see you before you leave for the day. Putting up with your stubborn, arrogant ass because that stubborn, arrogant ass is so damn fine.” She giggled as she spanked him lightly. “I don’t know, Jake. Everything about you and me feels pretty damn worth it.”

He swallowed down his nerves, his stomach feeling as thought he had just hit Mach speed. “Yeah? So worth it that you might want to do it forever?”

Buttercup blinked at him, tears welling in her eyes. “Are you asking?”

Hand slightly shaking, Jake pulled the velvet blue box out of his pocket and held it at her eye level. “Buttercup, I think I’ve loved you since the moment you tapped me out at the 32nd Street Naval Station four months ago. Ever since that day, you’ve made me a better man. I’m a better teammate because you taught me how to deal with people and put my ego aside. I’m a better aviator because I want to come home to you. I’m a better friend because you’ve shown me what true friendship is. And I hope I’ve become a man who deserves you not only now, but 50 years in the future when we’re both old and grey. I’m not asking you this because you’re carrying my babies. I’m asking you this because I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me. So, darlin’, do you think it would be worth it to marry me?”

To her credit, Buttercup didn’t even look down at the glimmering diamond ring shining in the box. No, her tear-filled eyes were trained solely on him, filled with love and wonder.

“Yeah, baby,” her voice trembled. “I think marrying you, Jake Seresin, would be so worth it.”

Jake laughed, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. Now wasn’t the time to cry. “As you wish, darlin’.” Jake pulled the ring out of the box and fitted it onto her finger with a deep kiss, everything else fading away.

Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

“You want to go back?” Buttercup couldn’t keep the panic from her voice. She’d been relieved beyond a shadow of a doubt when she had discovered that Jake had retired from the Navy, that Charlie had her dad home with her 24/7/365. But he wanted to go back? She shook her head. She should have known better than to trust that he was home for good. Jake loved flying, more than anything else in the world. He only gave it up because Charlie was a baby. Now that she was older, he could go back.

“Buttercup, please…”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted to go back?” she asked sharply, finally turning around to meet his stare.

Jake felt a flame alight in his chest and he shot back, “I didn’t think I owed you an explanation.”

Buttercup blinked, shrinking back from him slightly to lean against the counter. “You’re right…” she whispered. “After the divorce, you don’t owe me anything. We only owe everything to our children. Do they know?”

Jake sighed, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “No, they don’t know. Nobody knows.”

Buttercup’s chest felt like it was going to cave in, though from grief or anger, she wasn’t sure. “Right…great…”

Jake took off his baseball cap and fiddled with the brim in an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability. “Look, I didn’t mean what I said. You deserve an explanation, I just…” his voice trailed off, and Buttercup suddenly had a vision of a teenage Jake, trying and failing to get himself out of trouble with his parents. She wasn’t used to fumbling, nervous Jake. She was more used to brash, bold, arrogant Hangman. She had fallen for both sides of him, but now the shyer, quieter side of him was just in her way.

“Just what?” Buttercup tapped her foot impatiently. “You just didn’t want to tell me? You just didn’t think I’d care?”

“I never thought you’d find out!” he nearly growled, slamming his hat down on the counter and stepping towards her, not as an intimidation tactic, she realized, but so that she could see the earnestness in his eyes. “Yes, I put some feelers out to see what it would take to go back in six years. Why? Because in six years, Charlie plans to go to California to study veterinary medicine. When Charlie graduates high school, Rooster is planning on moving to Austin and opening his own restaurant. Javy’s already got college recruiters sniffing around. Not the players, but him. They want him to go coach college level ball if the Cougars keep doing well, which they will because he’s a damn good coach. Louisiana State is keeping their eye on him, and he’s pretty keen on going. Within six years, this place is gonna be empty, and it sure doesn’t need me to run it. Cathy and Cliff, our ranch managers, do a better job of running the joint than I ever could. All they need me for is signing the checks.” Jake’s chest heaved. “You’re across an ocean giving TED Talks and having your books turned into movies, and I’m sitting here on my ass, twiddling my thumbs. Flying is the only thing I could see myself doing again, so when I met General Beaumont on the golf course, I mentioned it to him. He told me to talk it out with his daughter, Savannah, and that if she thought I was worth his time, he might be willing to pull some strings and get me back in.” Jake’s eyes were wide, almost begging her to understand. “I don’t regret retiring when I did. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Hell, I’d do it sooner if I thought it meant keeping our family together. But now…I don’t know, sweetheart, when I was faced with the prospect of being an empty nester, I panicked. I don’t know if I want to go back or what I’ll do in six years, but I didn’t want you to find out until I was sure, and I sure as hell didn’t want you to find out through Simpson.” Jake met her gaze, the forest green sparkling as they revealed to her how sincere he was being. “Can you say something? Please?” he murmured, taking a step closer.

“I…”

“Mum? Dad?”

Buttercup nearly groaned in relief. Jake had just laid everything bare at her feet, and she didn’t know how to respond, though she knew that she had to, so Abby’s interruption was a welcome relief.

“Yeah, babe?” she called back, peeking around Jake’s shoulder to see her daughter standing at the French doors, Charlie a few feet behind her.

“We want to go in the pool again, but Reuben and Maryanne said we needed to ask you for permission first.”

Buttercup sighed, but it was Jake who responded. “Sure thing, kiddo. I’ll be right there to watch you.”

Abby nodded, peering at them suspiciously before closing the doors behind her.

“Jake, I—”

“It’s alright, Buttercup,” his grin wasn’t as wide or as bright as it had been in the recent days. “Just promise me we can talk about this later?” She couldn’t help but nod. “Alright. Thank you. I’ll go keep an eye on the kids, okay?”

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ll clean up the mess we made so that nobody slips and breaks their neck.”

“Thank you.” He nodded and left, swinging the double doors closed behind him as Buttercup grabbed a towel and crouched behind the island.

Her mind was spinning, and she forced herself to take a few calming breaths, just like her yoga instructor always told them. Jake wanted to go back to the Navy…but he didn’t. He said that he would’ve gotten out of the Navy earlier if it would have kept their family together, but he hadn’t. He didn’t seem to know what he wanted, and who could blame him? They’d been forced into this situation by two blackmailing almost-12-year-old girls. It wasn’t like he had looked her up or she had searched for him. Perhaps if they had sought each other out, it would feel different, but, as it was, she didn’t know how to feel either.

Buttercup sighed and continued mopping up the remnants of their water war when she heard the double doors click open.

“…would you just slow down and talk to me?” That was Javy’s voice, more desperate than she had ever heard him.

“Talk to you about what?” Natasha’s voice was a mere hiss.

“This! Us! How you can’t even look me in the eye? How you’re so angry I’m a little surprised there’s not legit steam coming out of your ears right now? Take your pick!”

Natasha growled in frustration. “Of course, I’m angry! You fucking proposed to me while I was lying, half blind in a hospital bed!”

“I was trying to show you that I was all in!” Javy huffed. “Your career was coming to an end, we’d talked before about how scared we both were of something bad happening, and I wanted to show you that I’d stick with you, no matter what!”

Natasha scoffed. “We’d only been hooking up for like three months! What made you think that asking me to marry you was a good idea?”

Javy was quiet for a moment. “Is that all it was to you? Hooking up?”

Buttercup heard the telltale sound of Natasha’s feet shuffling on the hardwood. “Well…yeah? Because that’s what it was, right?”

Javy loosed a scornful chuckle. “Wow…sure, Phoenix. If that’s what you want to call it, then fine. We were only hooking up.”

Natasha scoffed again. “Well, what would you call it? We never went out.”

“Because we were always going out as a group.”

“Well, we never said we were exclusive.”

Buttercup could practically hear Javy roll his eyes. “We spent every moment of every day together, Phoenix. I’d say that’s pretty exclusive. And I never saw you take anyone else home with you on our night’s out.”

“What? Were you stalking me, you creep?”

“I noticed everything you did because I was so fucking in love with you that I couldn’t stand it!” Javy shouted. “And I was clearly an idiot for thinking that we were on the same page!”

Phoenix’s breath stuttered in the silence. “Y-yeah, well…if you loved me so damn much, then why did you disappear after I turned you down?”

“Oh, forgive me for taking a few days to lick my wounds,” Javy’s sarcasm bit into the air the way the floorboards were biting into Buttercup’s knees and palms. If they didn’t quit arguing soon, she was going to need to stand, and that would just lead to more questions that she didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to answer. “You said no, screamed at me to fuck off, and went AWOL the second they discharged you. You didn’t even come to Mav’s funeral. I got the message loud and clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. Besides, Jake needed a hand with Charlie, so I followed him back here, just like you followed Buttercup to London.”

Natasha went quiet for a moment before murmuring. “Bob brought me to London. I wasn’t doing too hot on my own, depressed and shit after the accident, and Bob got worried, so he dragged me to London with them. Got me and Buttercup help and helped take care of Abby.” Natasha sniffed. “I woulda called once I was feeling better, but I figured you hated me, so I never bothered.”

Javy sighed. “I get it. We can’t change the past…but do you think you can stop biting my head off?”

“Yeah…okay.”

“Thank you…” Javy’s flipflops squeaked against the floor as he started for the door. “And Buttercup, you can get up now. Jake and the girls are looking for you.” The doors clicked shut and Natasha sighed before leaning around the island and leaning down to offer her friend a hand.

It was a testament to their friendship that Natasha didn’t comment on her predicament, instead opting to ask, “You good?”

Buttercup sighed as she stretched to her full height. “No. You?”

Natasha sighed and grabbed a beer. “Fuck no. Now c’mon. Your girls want s’mores.”

Despite the earlier argument, Buttercup’s sides hurt from laughing and her cheeks hurt from smiling by the time the sun started to set, bringing with it a rain shower that sent them all running into the living room. Hondo and Cyclone bowed out then, as did Penny and Amelia, both duos having early flights home in the morning. Payback and Maryanne ushered Richard and their daughter, Peggy, back to their cabin not long after, both kids yawning their protest as their parents bade their friends goodnight.

Rooster had drifted over to the piano at some point and was playing a soothing melody that matched the peaceful ambiance of the room. Javy and Buttercup were chatting quietly in the corner, while Jake, Fanboy and Natasha had convened on the couch.

Charlie and Abby were flaked out on the floor, watching the rain lash at the windows. Things had been weird ever since their dad had come back outside to watch them in the pool. He’d seemed quieter than normal, maybe even a bit sad, and when their mom had come out, she’d acted the same way. Now, they were in separate corners of the room, and that just wouldn’t do.

Charlie elbowed her sister lightly and nodded over at Rooster. The message was clear: Follow my lead.

“Hey, Uncle Roo…”

Rooster gazed at them over the rims over his glasses. “What do you want?” It wasn’t said unkindly, but it was said in a tone that screamed, “I know you want something so spit it out”.

“What was that song you used to play to help me sleep?” Charlie smiled sweetly.

“Why?” Rooster furrowed his brows at her.

“Well…you used to play it at the Hard Deck, right?”

Rooster nodded and Abby jumped in. “Don’t you think it would be fun if you played it right now? Y’know, for old times sake?”

Rooster’s gaze flitted between them. “Whatever scheme you two are trying to pull, I ain’t buying it.”

“No scheme!” they chorused, fingers crossed behind their backs. “We just thought it would be a nice way to end the evening.”

Rooster rolled his eyes and shifted his fingers, not believing them for one second, but they were his nieces and he was their uncle. If he wasn’t willing to do stupid shit for them, who was he supposed to do it for?

He banged out a few notes with practiced ease and started to sing. “You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain!”

The adults immediately perked up, Javy cheering as Natasha and Fanboy started to sing along. Charlie and Abby raced to the carpet, dancing to the playful melody. As they twisted in each other’s arms, they could see their father peering hopefully in their mother’s direction, but she kept her eyes resolutely on her daughters. That is until a few beats later, when Buttercup glanced over at Jake, who was cheering along with Natasha and Javy. The girls sighed again as the song began to fade to an end too soon, but Rooster clearly had the same idea they did. He finished Great Balls of Fire with a bang before transitioning into something quieter, more romantic.

Javy and Fanboy “oooohed” loudly while Natasha shot Rooster a knowing look before elbowing Jake in the ribs.

Chuckling to himself, Jake stood and strode over to Buttercup, holding his hand out to her. “C’mon darlin’,” they heard him murmur before pulling their mother to her feet. “For old times sake.”

Buttercup found herself folding into Jake’s embrace like she had never left it. They’d always fit together like two puzzle pieces, his hand feeling at home at the base of her spine and her head fitting perfectly into the space between his neck and shoulder. His breath in her ear was the white noise she had been missing from her life, and tears welled unbidden in her eyes. This is what she had always wanted for herself. A sweet man (stubborn and arrogant as all hell, but kind in his soul and always towards her), children she adored, friends who were more like family, a career she loved. She’d had it all and thrown it away, and now she was getting a taste of what life might have been like if she’d been able to keep herself together.

She felt so safe in his arms. She always had; from the moment they had met. Even when everyone around her was telling her she was moving too fast with him, it had never occurred to her to slow down or stop. She’d felt safer with him than she ever had in her life and knew he would never hurt her. And to his credit, he never had. She’d gotten pregnant so quickly and he had never balked, never once taken a step back to consider things. He had only embraced her, proposed to her, planned their life together…and she had thrown it all away. She had been the one to hurt him. And now he was holding her so tight, like she was the most precious thing in his life, so willing to open himself up to be hurt again. It made her chest ache with longing to just take that step and let herself be safe with him again. But how could she? They wouldn’t be the only ones to get hurt this time. The girls…how could she be selfish and risk potentially hurting them?

She sighed and burrowed her face into his shoulder as they swayed, feeling him tighten his grip around her waist. She could allow herself a moment of selfishness. One dance wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Damn Rooster, Buttercup thought to herself as she tossed and turned in her bed later that night. He had just had to go and play the song they had danced to on their wedding night. It hadn’t even been a song they had picked; it was just the first slow song that had played at the bar they had gone to after Elvis had declared them married. Now she was too keyed up to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jake holding his hand out to her, asking her to dance. His face, his eyes, his smile all haunted her as she tried to rest.

They had been so happy when they got married, despite it being a shotgun wedding in Vegas. She’d been so elated to be Mrs. Seresin that she had practically floated around for weeks after. But then reality just had to set back in, and with it came deployments and work and arguments and baby appointments and then her post-partum depression, and it had fallen apart as quickly as they had built it.

Buttercup rolled over again with a groan and thumped her pillow. She was just making herself upset. She needed to calm down. Perhaps she had been in England for too long, but she felt the need for a cup of tea. Tea was good. Tea was soothing. Tea would send her to dreamland where she wouldn’t bemoan all the mistakes she had made with her ex-husband.

Buttercup slid out of bed and slipped on her slippers before treading quietly out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen, where a dim light was shining. Peeking her head in, she saw Jake rummaging around in the fridge.

“Oh,” she murmured before she could stop herself. Without Nat and Maryanne there to bust her chops about it, she could admit that she was enjoying the view of his bare sculpted torso, his ass and thighs clad in a pair of gym shorts. He hadn’t changed much in the last decade. He still had the chiseled muscles and toned arms and legs. Perhaps he was a touch softer in places from age, but Buttercup certainly wasn’t complaining. It looked good on him.

“Hey Buttercup,” Jake greeted softly, well aware that it was 3 a.m. and the rest of the house was sleeping. His eyes roamed over her softly, taking in the oversized T-shirt and boxer shorts she wore, and he gulped. How was it possible that she looked better in this sleep ensemble than she had in her bikini? That wasn’t how that was supposed to work, and yet, for her, it did. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She shook her head, crossing her arms over her torso, all too aware that she was bare under her shirt and that parts of her sagged more than they did 12 years ago. “I was gonna make myself a cup of tea.”

A chuckle escaped Jake’s lips unbidden. “You sound like a real Brit, you know that?”

She felt blood rush to her cheeks in embarrassment, but shrugged and said, “I’ve been there for over a decade, Jake. Besides, if there’s one thing that the Brit’s have gotten right, it’s that tea really does cure everything. Insomnia, bad news, a bad day, heartbreak, awkward run-ins with an ex.”

Jake nodded slowly, a small understanding smile creeping onto his lips. “I’m having a bit of insomnia myself, but I was going to use the good ol’Hangman cure instead of tea.” He showed her the stack of cheese, butter, and sliced turkey that he had gathered in his arms. “Care to join me?” He laid the products on the counter and pulled a fresh loaf of bread towards him while Buttercup stared, mouth watering. “Buttercup?” He grinned at the look on her face.

“I haven’t had a grilled cheese in…well, probably since you made one for me,” she admitted in a quiet voice, remembering how his sandwiches were one of the things she had craved most while pregnant.

“Well, now that just won’t do.” His smile was teasing as he nodded his head towards the countertop. “Why don’t you take a seat and keep me company while the master gets to work?” Buttercup moved towards one of the island stools, but Jake shook his head. “C’mon now, darlin’, you know the rules.” He patted a bare patch of countertop space next to the stove. “Gotta have you close to keep me company.”

She felt her skin go hot to the touch with hesitancy and embarrassment. “Jake…don’t you think we’re both a little old to be sitting on countertops?”

Jake looked at her with fond exasperation and patted the countertop again. “There’s nothing old about us, darlin’. Besides, you don’t want me burning our sandwiches because I keep turning around to talk to you, do you?”

“Easy fix. Don’t turn around to talk to me.” She leaned against the island and watched him roll his eyes at her, trying to figure out how to get his way. Beautiful, stubborn pain in the ass.

“How am I supposed to do that when you’re so damn beautiful in my old Top Gun shirt?” he smirked, recognizing the logo now that she wasn’t cloaked in shadow. Buttercup could have sworn her heart stopped. She hadn’t even realized that it was his old shirt. At some point in their marriage, it had become her shirt and she had never stopped using it. Not that she would admit that to him. Nor would she admit that, in the early days of being divorced, she would wear it to sleep just to feel like he was wrapped around her.

He stepped closer and held his hand out to her. “C’mon, darlin’. I don’t bite.” He gently led her to the countertop and wrapped his hands around her waist, lifting her to perch on the edge of the marble. “There. Perfect,” he murmured, those green eyes of his tracing over the plains of her face with a small, sweet grin pulling on his lips.

“Jake…” she felt like her insides were on fire, and she didn’t know if she was calling for him to put out the fire or fan it to make it hotter, brighter.

“It’s okay, darlin’.” His voice was soft and honeyed, so unlike the voice he used with his friends and family. That was a voice that had always been reserved just for her. “Relax with me, just for an hour.”

Damn her inability to say no to him. “Get to work, Masterchef.”

His grin lit up his whole face and he took a step to the left to be standing in front of the stove again. In easy, quick movements, he had six slices of fresh sourdough bread spread out on the stovetop, buttered on one side and waiting to be assembled. Buttercup couldn’t help her giggle when she realized he was using cheap plastic wrapped cheese slices, and he flashed her a grin.

“C’mon now, Buttercup,” he admonished, his long fingers deftly unwrapping the cheese. “You know this shit melts better than anything else.”

“I know,” she giggled. “It’s just funny for me to think that you’re running this million-dollar enterprise of a ranch, I’m an award-winning novelist, and we’re eating the cheapest cheese imaginable.”

He grinned, turning a dial on the stove and pulling down a frying pan from the rack overhead. “How do you know it’s a million-dollar enterprise, Buttercup? I never told you that.”

She shrugged, watching him put the first slice of bread in the pan, then a slice of cheese, two thin slices of turkey, another slice of cheese, and then another slice of bread. Quickly, the smell of burning butter and toasting bread had her stomach growling. “I may have looked it up. The girls told me you lived on a ranch, but I wasn’t expecting something so grand, so I figured you had to be making a lot. I’m an author. I’m curious about the facts. Sue me.”

He chuckled, flipping the first sandwich over and listening to it sizzle. “I would’ve told you if you asked.”

“I know. I didn’t want to sound like some sort of gold digger.”

“Is it possible to be a gold digger if you’re already divorced?”

She shrugged, eyes tracing his flexing muscles as he flipped the sandwich again. “You might’ve thought I was after child support or alimony or something stupid like that.”

“Nah, I know we’re pretty even keel on finances anyway.” He flipped the sandwich once more and murmured softly, “Grab me a plate from the cabinet behind you?”

Buttercup hopped out of her seat and opened the cabinet, grabbing a plate and holding it out for him to place the sandwich on. “You want a beer?”

Jake nodded absentmindedly as she moved behind him, a gentle hand on his back so he wouldn’t back up into her. She grabbed ketchup and a beer out of the fridge before strolling back to his side and hopping back up onto the counter. The second sandwich was sizzling away when Jake sighed contentedly. “When was the last time we did this?” he murmured, eyes casting sideways to look at her, so damn beautiful in the dim light.

“3 a.m. grilled cheeses and beer?” She held the beer out and he twisted the cap off, tossing it to the side before taking a sip and handing it back. “Jesus…” She cast her mind back, sorting through all their memories, the gleeful and the painful. “Probably when I was pregnant. Before you got deployed.”

He remembered then, the night before he got the news that he was deploying while she was pregnant. She’d woken up in the middle of the night, absolutely ravenous for both him and food. After satiating her first need in bed, they had wandered into the kitchen of their brand-new house together, where she had perched on the countertop in just his t-shirt and watched him make grilled cheese sandwiches in just his boxer-briefs. He’d sipped on a beer while she drank Ginger Ale and they laughed and talked and ate and, when they were done the sandwiches, he had taken her again over the kitchen table before they had stumbled back to the bedroom, satisfied and deliriously happy.

A wistful ache bloomed in Jake’s chest at the memory. He absentmindedly rubbed at it as he plated up the second sandwich and started on the third. “That was a good night,” he sighed. “I’m glad we had that before it all went to shit.”

Buttercup sipped their beer and nodded. “Me too.” At the time, she’d been convinced that they could live in that happy bubble for the rest of their lives. She knew better now. “It wasn’t all bad after though, was it?” She handed him the beer again.

Jake sipped thoughtfully. “No…I guess it wasn’t. We had me coming home, the twins being born, and a few good months before…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, so passed the beer bottle back to her. “But that was the beginning of the end.”

Buttercup sighed. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

She shrugged. “Saying it like that makes it sound like an inevitability. I don’t think it was. If I had just kept my shit together, we probably would’ve made it.”

“It wasn’t all your fault though, Buttercup.” Jake took the beer bottle and drained it in one gulp, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. “I was an asshole. I expected you to just follow me wherever I ended up, and that wasn’t fair. You were right. You deserved to be able to follow your dreams too, and the kids needed more stability than that. I just didn’t want to admit it because that would mean admitting that the way I grew up wasn’t ideal. It was all I knew, and I was a stubborn jackass for not admitting that I was wrong.” Jake saw her gaping at him out of his peripheral and laughed. “Javy forced me to go to therapy after about six months of me trying to strong arm my way through the whole single dad thing.” He shrugged and plated up the final sandwich, clicking off the stove and turning to face her. “Who knew?”

She chuckled under her breath. “Who knew…” She picked up the fresh sandwich and took a bite.

“Careful, it’s gonna be—” Buttercup muttered a muffled curse around the bite of bread and cheese, steam billowing from her mouth. “Hot.” He couldn’t help the laughter that poured out of him. “Some things never change.” He started fanning his hand over her mouth as she chewed on the sandwich. She had never been able to resist taking a bite too soon after the sandwiches came off the stove.

“I’m okay…” Buttercup gasped as she swallowed the steaming sandwich. Jake was still laughing, the sound reverberating in her chest like the sweetest bell.

“Was it at least worth it?” he grinned, picking up one of the cooler sandwiches and leaning against the counter beside her, so close her legs were brushing his.

“You’re still the master,” she mumbled through a full mouth, bringing a bright smile to his face. “Don’t tell Rooster I said that, though.”

Jake rolled his eyes and bit into his sandwich. “Bastard would probably put grilled cheese on the menu of his restaurant just to spite me.”

“Doesn’t mean it would be as good as yours though. Nothing beats a Hangman grilled cheese and beer at 3:30 in the morning.” His answering grin was strained slightly, and she swallowed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Jake, I’m sorry I went off on you about wanting to rejoin the Navy. It was none of my business.” As loathe as she was to admit it, it was true. It wasn’t any of her business because they weren’t together.

But Jake was already shaking his head, hand covering his mouth as he spoke through a mouthful of sandwich. “No, you were right.” He swallowed and gave her a wan grin. “You deserved to know, even if nothing was going to come out of it. You deserve to know where your daughters’ father is, even if…if we’re not together.” He had to fight back the words he truly wanted to say: Even if we’re not going to get back together.

The thought had been on his mind ever since he saw her drinking at the pool cabana, Savannah be damned. Seeing her had been a shock to his system, in the way that a defibrillator shocks your heart into working properly. And now, after a week of being in close quarters, he didn’t want it to end. He felt good around her. Better than he had in over a decade. He was happier, the girls were happier. Family dinners and pool parties and Friday night football games had all become brighter, more meaningful moments in his week. He genuinely liked being at home, working on the ranch, co-coaching with Javy when she was around. All the dull, mundane aspects of his life had taken on new meaning with his Buttercup around, but she hadn’t given him any sign that she wanted it too.

“I get why you would want to…” Buttercup tore the last sandwich in two and handed him the bigger half. “It’s not easy to think about life six years from now, when the girls will be off to college or university or whatever they want to do with their lives. But you’re more than just an aviator, or a rancher, or a football coach. You’re more than just a father too. I wish…” Buttercup swallowed nervously, but pressed on, needing him to hear her since she hadn’t been brave enough to say the words 12 years ago. “I wish you could see what I see, Jake. Beyond the stubbornness and prickish vibe you like to give off, I wish you could see the kindness. The way you care about people makes them care about you, respect you. You inspire loyalty and you make people want to follow their own dreams by showing them what bravery looks like. I…I never would have published my first book without everything I learned from you about going after what I want. I just…” She pushed past the tears clogging her throat. “I just wish that going after what I wanted hadn’t cost me you.”

Jake was there in an instant, cupping her cheeks and wiping away the few tears that had started to fall. “Hey, hey…shh, darlin’, you’re alright. You…” He sighed and let his hand slip down to rest on her neck, feeling her pulse quicken beneath his thumb. “You’re so much more than a mother, than my wife. I wish I had been able to see it, admit it, before it cost me you. If I had just pulled my head outta my ass, then maybe…maybe we’d still be together.”

Shaky hands landed on his shoulders as she rested her forehead against his. “Falling apart wasn’t inevitable…we both fucked it up. I really wish we hadn’t.”

He shifted, heartbeat quickening as his nose brushed hers. “Buttercup…” He could feel the heat of her skin under his palms, the way her heart was racing, the soft floral scent of her perfume toying with his nose, and it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

“Jake…” Her fingers toyed with the short blonde strands at the back of his neck as he pressed her closer to the cabinet, his hand dropping from her neck to her waist to tug her closer.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, nuzzling along her nose and breathing in that floral scent that had always driven him mad.

Buttercup opened her eyes slightly, taking in his golden skin and green eyes and everything that she had missed so deeply. She knew he was giving her an out, letting her walk away and protect herself, but she wanted to continue being selfish. Just for a few more minutes.

“Kiss me before we’re interrupted again, Seresin.”

A low groan rumbled through his chest as he lurched forward, lips clashing against hers in a desperate, needy thing. Years of missing her and a solid week of pent-up passion consumed him as his arm around her waist tightened, dragging her so close there wasn’t space for even air between them.

Buttercup gasped at the feel of him against her, every inch of his hard body against the softness of hers. Jake took advantage, slipping his tongue into her mouth and nearly groaning at the warmth and taste of her. Buttercup tugged his hair lightly, maneuvering his head so she could kiss him harder, deeper. His hand left her cheek and pressed against the cabinet to balance them both.

Desperation and longing and frustration poured off of them in waves as they clutched each other closer, kissed deeper, hands roaming. Buttercup couldn’t help herself as she traced a hand down his chest and abs, a thrill running through her as she touched what she had been admiring all day. Jake’s hand was just creeping beneath her shirt when she pulled away with a gasp.

“Fuck,” Jake groaned, hand on her waist pressing her closer again. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be,” she mumbled against his lips, sneaking in a small kiss before pulling away again. “Just…don’t want anyone to catch us.”

Jake moaned at the very thought and, in one move, had her bundled in his arms, her arms and legs wrapped around him as he kissed her again and carried her down the hallway to his bedroom.

Buttercup didn’t let herself think beyond one fleeting thought as Jake’s bedroom door swung closed behind them. One night of selfishness wouldn’t hurt anyone.

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[sparklingcid3r]

ik we get ponyboys perspective of wut happened to darry after his parents died (most literally the book) but wut do u think was sodas perspective of watching darry before their parents died as the most popular guy in school/going to college then essentially have to become and be stuck as the one thing darry most obviously did not want to be (stuck in tulsa/ not gt college)

darrys life is underrated tragedy fr

Before I get into this complete devastation I want to direct you to this post! Not exactly the same, but it made me want to walk into traffic 🥰

So anyway, this was super interesting to consider. I imagine Soda definitely looking up to Darry as the stud, the golden child, literally just the coolest guy ever. He had Soc friends, he had greaser friends, and could square up with pretty much anyone who was dumb enough to want the equivalent of a baseball bat to the jaw.

And on top of that, Darry was on a one-track train out of Tulsa, heading out to college soon. In Soda’s eyes, Darry had everything and he was real damn happy with it.

So when all of their lives just crashed around them, Soda obviously had his own problems to deal with before he took notice of anyone else’s. But when his own dust settled and he could see a little more clearly, the change in Darry was definitely obvious. For the first month or so, Darry was just kind of numb. He went through all the necessary proceedings stoically, robotically, never let Soda in on anything regarding child services or the state or boys homes. Sometimes, when they were sitting at the table trying to eat Darry’s best efforts at recipes from their mom’s cookbook, and Pony was too stuck in his own grief moving his food around the plate with his fork, Soda watched Darry get a blank look in his eyes, like he’s staring at something that doesn’t exist, completely detached from reality.

(Soda’s always known that Pony and Darry are more similar than either of them think. Just not in the good ways.)

And for a little, it happened often. Darry comes home from work and sits down in their dad’s recliner, and Soda’s watching the television but in his peripheral he can see Darry drift off to someplace else, and all he can hope is that it’s someplace better.

Soda noticed all the little things. He didn’t smile to himself, didn’t laugh, didn’t tell Pony or Soda to put out their cigs around him, because it didn’t much anymore if he breathed the smoke in. He didn’t talk about his day more than a dismissive wave and that it was fine, he didn’t go out in the evenings.

Darry was against it the entire time, but Soda dropping out of high school seemed to be the thing that officially made him grown in Darry’s eyes. Darry finally pulled him aside when Pony was asleep and together they went through their grocery list, Darry teaching him how to shop cheap, but he always kept things like the bills far away from Soda’s eyes. Soda offered Darry money from the DX, Darry took it, and their lights stayed on and water kept running, but Soda doesn’t know what’s really going on with the numbers. Only Darry does.

Soda knows he’s always been protected by Darry. Since they were little, and even months ago, if Soda ever had any issues with anyone, Darry had his back. Soda didn’t think he was naive about much of anything, but he realizes pretty quickly that Darry will never let anyone have his back the way he does everyone else. Sure, Darry can lean on him, but he’ll be right back to the grind the second he can.

Seeing Darry go from wearing his college sweatshirt into town to his battered work clothes and tool belt placed a guilt in Soda’s heart that he couldn’t ever shake. The worst part was that he never complained about it, not to them. Soda’s beyond grateful to Darry, he’ll never make up for it for as long as he lives. But at the same time he just wants his brother back, and he knows it’ll never happen.

The more I write about Soda the more I love him, ty for helping give my guy some justice🙏 (i hope this is kind of what u wanted to hear abt, sorry if i just yapped in ur ear abt nothing lmfao)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for calling a (now ex-) mutual a stingy asshole?

So to start, I (NB20) am in a pretty rough situation, I'm facing homelessness soon, transphobia at home and work and my hours have been getting cut resulting in me making even less money that can sustain me. I have a toyhou.se forum post up stating I have emergency commissions open to help me out and to please support me if you can. This is where the situation begins. I have a mutual on toyhou.se who I'll call Apple (MTF22) I talk to sometimes to the point I'd say we are friends, not super close but friends nonetheless. She made a bulletin telling people about my commissions and to please comm me if they could which I'm very grateful for since I did get a few customers from her because of that. The thing is, a few weeks later, she made a bulletin talking about how happy she was so many commissions she bought were finished around the same time and posted all of them with the artists tagged in the post. It was honestly... quite a few, I'm talking like 9 pieces of art of her fursona and even a custom vtuber model she got of her sona. I was going to reply all happy for her, but it made me think... how much did she spend on those commissions?? So I went through all the artists socials to find their commission prices and came to a total of fucking $385!!! More than half of my current goal I'm trying to make through commissions to stay out of homelessness!! So I messaged Apple saying since I saw she bought a few commissions if she was interested in buying a comm from me. She replies saying "Ohh! I'd love to <333 but im just not in a place to buy any more comms right now :< sorry >.<!!" So I casually reply really? because it seems like your in the perfect place to help me out after already spending over $300 in commissions. She tells me she's sorry and really wishes someone would be able to help me out but she just wasn't that interested in my art or a custom to which I tell her she could've easily donated to my ko-fi which I have always had since she clearly has money to spend? To this, she straight up IP blocks me. So still fucking annoyed, I vented in a discord server I share with a few friends from being in a few shared CS together, saying how annoying it is rich assholes like her would drop half a thousand for a picture of their fursona but don't even blink twice at their so called friends. anyway, one of my friends takes a look at Apples th profile and notices she has a new bulletin up and sends me a screenshot, but anways the bulletin reads like "hey!! just saying, but please dont come into my dms acting like you know my financial situation better than i do, just because i buy a lot of commissions doesnt mean im made of money! and please dont think that me commisioning artist 1 means i hate artist 2? thats so weird, thanks!!!!!" and seeing all their subscribers just kissing her ass pissed me off so i made my own bulletin that just stated "i thought it was pretty fucking weird to know how bad ur friend's situation was and to go buy a bunch of comms instead of buying a comm from or even throwing a buck to help me out? like yeah im gonna think i know ur situation better than u, you stingy fuck!!!" Anyway, she mustve been block evading (which I reported her for) since she unblocked me, took a screenshot of my bulletin, then went on about how she lived in an abusive household; her dad had thrown her into a sink and chipped her tooth, bruised half her face and scarred it pretty badly. She bought a bunch of commissions immediately afterwards in a panic to make herself feel better, paying everything with her savings. Which to me.. isn't an excuse. Ive been hit and abused and still found scraps of money to pull together to give to mutuals who need it and Ive been bumping my own post like crazy and she had literal weeks to donate or comm me. Not to mention Ive had exmutuals of hers come to me saying that shes never donated anything to them either despite advertising their posts but always had money for plushies, comms and other crap, meaning Im not alone in thinking shes a stingy asshole. This is getting long, so here, tumblr AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[wambsgansshoelaces]

hiii could you maybe write something about a first kiss with roman roy? I feel like he’s so unpredictable that it could be fluffy or angsty 💖

Vending Machine Oreos

Roman Roy x Reader

oneshot

anon I’m so so sorry this is so late!!! I hope I delivered though :( please let me know what you think and enjoy x

honestly I’m kind of worried because I’ve been struggling with life and my writing’s been suffering because of it so I’m really sorry if this seems unrealistic or rushed or just bad. I hope you guys like it anyway!!!

Word Count: 2.215k

“Roman!”

“What?” he snaps back, not bothering to look up from his desk.

“You’re going to make us fucking late! Come on!”

“It’s not even- oh, fuck, you’re right.” He abruptly gets to his feet, slamming the lid of his laptop shut, and hurries out of his office, you not far behind.

Working at Waystar was certainly an experience. You like to say Logan Roy made you see red, and it’s a sentiment you know Roman shares. When you stop and think about it, you suppose that you’re making way too much money to actually care. Besides, Roman Roy is easy on the eyes. It’s not like all of him was so horrible. If you were honest with yourself, you never really thought he was such a bad person. He was kind to you, in his own neurotic way, and made sure all of his work was done on time. You actually find him kind of endearing, and you both happen to get along extremely well.

“Is the car outside?” he asks, pulling his coat on.

“It has been for ten minutes,” you say back, ushering him into an opening elevator.

“Why do we have to do this again?” he mutters to you in question, glancing at you sideways as you slide into your seat next to him in the car.

“Because your dad wants us to mingle,” you say bitterly. “Some new hotshot piece of shit to impress.” He sighs, turning to stare out the window and watch as New York blurs by.

The event building is large and lavish, the epitome of modern day architecture. The entire thing is floor-to-ceiling windows, and the interior does not let you down. This is the corporate version of a party. You’d spend the night milling about, pretending to listen to half-assed pitches while Roman fucked with all of the corporate jockies he hated. Logan had asked you in person for you and Roman to go. Something about the mind games he was playing with rivals and the fact that a Roy needed to be present at these kinds of things.

You and Roman get your coats checked, and you’re guided into the ballroom. The room is already bustling and half-drunk, and you mentally steel yourself for the next few hours. The two of you get roped into a mind-numbing conversation about stocks and bitcoin, so much so that when you look over at Roman, he’s staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

“And what about you?”

You don’t realize the question was aimed at you until after it hangs for a few moments.

“Sorry?” you ask, returning your attention to your peanut gallery of what’s only men. You notice Roman doing the same.

“We were talking about the whore houses,” an older one chortles, immediately causing your face to sour. “We were wondering if we would see you there. What with the job performance and all.” He laughs, a loud, gaudy sound that makes you want to vomit.

All of the heat rushes to your face. You are by no means bad at your job. But despite your confidence and your skill, you can’t help how disgusting you feel.

“I speak for all of us here when I say nobody would really mind if you were,” another, younger one chimes in. You all but gag. You throw a glance at Roman, pleading, but he looks just as uncomfortable as you are. Disappointed, you realize you’re not going to get any help from him.

Without saying anything, you turn on your heel and calmly make your way out of the ballroom. You feel like ripping your skin off. Maybe then the feeling of those eyes will get off of you then.

You stroll through the halls, trying to comfort yourself. You don’t expect it, but after your second lap around the complex, you find Roman at your elbow, reaching out to take you by the arm.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something,” he admits. “That was disgusting. They’re disgusting. I’m really sorry.” He pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, rather unconvincingly at that.

Roman makes a face at you. “We both don’t believe that.”

“Really. It’s fine. I should’ve just made a scene so we could leave,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood, change the tone. Roman gives you his signature pout, refusing to take your word for anything. He’s worked with you for long enough to be able to sense when something’s wrong.

“Oh, come on.” He leans in towards you conspiratorially. “Wanna just ditch? Pretty sure I saw a vending machine while I was chasing you around. You walk way too fucking fast, by the way.”

He sets off down the hall, fishing his express card out of the zipper pocket of his dress pants. You follow, catching up so that you’re walking side by side. “You keep a credit card in your pocket?”

“Debit.” He hands it to you, and you hesitantly take it. He pats himself down, rooting through his other pockets. He fishes out some paper money and unfolds it. “Hey, look, five bucks.”

The card is sleek and impossibly expensive. You grip it tightly. Even though you don’t really know how you’d lose it, you don’t think you’ll know what to do with yourself if you do. “Do they even have vending machines in places like these?”

“Yeah, ’course they do. Saw it with my own eyes, anyway. Just told you,” he replies, letting you press the card back into his hand. He turns it over in his palm absentmindedly, eyes flitting about. “They just charge triple ’cause they know nobody’s checking the price.”

You both walk together for a short while, Roman getting a bit frustrated. He tells you that he was ‘just fucking there’ before a comfortable silence stretches, him focused on finding the damn thing. You don’t have to wait too much longer. “Hey, look, there’s an entire row,” you say, pointing.

“You know it’s fuckin’ crazy ’cause these aren’t even the ones that I saw earlier,” he mutters to you. “You like spicy chips?”

“Oh, you don’t need to get me anything,” you tell him after you process what he said. He sighs, turning back to the nearest vending machine.

“Cool. You’re getting Oreos.” Roman takes the crumpled five dollar bill and tries to smooth it out against the machine’s glass. You don’t think it’s going to help. That thing looks like it’s been through hell.

He presses a few buttons and inserts the bill. The machine eats it, and the small screen above the keypad flashes the word ‘PROCESSING’ in red, blocky text. You watch as the curly thing keeping the treats in the machine unfurls, pushing the sleeve of cookies forward, before it shuts, the cookies hanging on to the gadget instead of dropping so that you could get it.

“I feel like that shouldn’t be possible,” you say quietly.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says back. He bangs on the glass, and the sleeve sways. But nothing happens. Roman glances towards you. “Is this real? Are we in one of the most expensive fucking office buildings in fucking New York where the vending machines are holding my fucking Oreos hostage?”

You shrug, then fish out your wallet. “Here, put another five in,” you suggest, offering him another five. He pushes your hand back towards you, making a face, instead inserting his card into the machine. Again, a sleeve of Oreos gets pushed out. The previous ones finally fall from their position, but get stuck on the slot immediately below it. The same thing that happened with the first one then happens with the one just bought.

“This can’t be real,” Roman says incredulously. “Help me out, will you?”

He squeezes himself in between the vending machine and the wall, somehow managing to tilt the entire thing forward. You brace your hands on the front of the thing, keeping it from tipping all the way over. Carefully, you jerk your arms up, trying to shake the cookies free. A couple of tries later, a strange smattering of THUDS sound, spotty and horribly nonrhythmic. Roman peers out at you from his little nook, eyebrows raised.

You manage to get the machine back upright so that he can shuffle back out into the hallway. As you get your first glance through the glass, it’s painfully obvious a lot of what was once in the machine is now at the bottom for you to take.

“All this for only ten bucks is pretty good if you ask me,” you say, smile playing on your lips.

“Thank fuck this company is cheap in their manufacturing,” he murmurs back, grinning. He leans his back against the machine once you both hear footsteps approaching. The young man who’d made that gross fucking one-liner. Even though you have no proof, you get the disgusting inkling he was looking for you. He slows his pace when he sees you, and you do your best to school your face into neutrality. He stops entirely, opening his mouth to say something, look of confidence plastered over his face.

“Fuck’re you looking at?” Roman snaps, arm coming to drape across your shoulders, hand going to cup your jaw. He tilts your head up, quickly crashing his lips against yours. You’re surprised, but not even the slightest bit opposed. You grin into the kiss, and you can feel Roman smirking. He pulls back only slightly, glancing sideways at the other man. “What, you into voyeurism or something? We’re having a moment, shoo.”

You can’t help but laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth to trap the noise, and you watch the guy scuttle awkwardly away. Roman’s fingers stay on your jaw, brushing gently up the expanse of your skin. Without thinking, you lean back in and deposit a peck on his lips. He returns the fleeting kiss as he can, head then following yours back when you pull away to press his lips back to yours.

The kiss is deep, tender, needy. In between kisses, he murmurs praise. ���You know you’re thirty times the employee any of those dipshits ever will be, mm?” Another lingering kiss, his hands drifting to your hips to turn you towards him. “And you’re so fucking attractive. Thank fuck this is finally happening. I think my staring at work was getting creepy.”

As his fingers travel to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, you pull back enough to be able to kiss up his neck. You line kisses along the underside of his jaw, and he lets out a strangled noise. His free hand cups your hip, squeezing gently as his face flushes with pleasure.

He turns his head to take your lips with his again, sighing happily into your mouth between kisses. Your hands are now braced on his chest, and your heart flutters.

“Did it really have to take this to get us to make out?” you ask, smiling giddily, rubbing a hand over his pecs.

“Maybe, maybe not. Another few weeks without you and I probably would’ve lost it, anyway,” he admits to you. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Roman pulls away from you entirely, disentangling your limbs from each other. He stoops down to the output compartment, your previously won treasure forgotten in the heat of the moment. He pulls out a bag of chips, sitting down with his back leaning against machine. You go down and settle in next to him, sitting as close as physically possible. He tears open the bag before winding an arm around you, keeping you close, holding the bag so that it’s easily accessible to the both of you.

“What’re we going to do with the rest of it?” you ask, cheek pressed to his shoulder so you can rest your head against him.

“Planning on taking it with us.” Roman chews a bit, swallows, then dots kisses across your forehead. “Hey, wait, your Oreos.”

He twists to reach into the compartment behind him, roots around for the bit, and turns back around to hand you what got you into this mess in the first place. You tear open the sleeve, then offer a cookie to him. He pops one into his mouth, fat smile plastered on his face. You have to admit, you enjoy seeing him happy. Roman Roy’s smile does things to you. You mirror his expression as you gaze up at him.

He plants another kiss right onto your lips.

It’s a bit of a struggle to transport all of your loot to the car an hour later, but thankfully, nobody’s around as the two of you carry all of the junk across the building.

The drive back, you sit practically on top of each other, giggling and munching all the way.

Neither of you waste any time as the weeks go on. You start going out, and you find yourselves spending more time in each others’ offices.

One morning, a few months after you’ve made things official, you step out of your office to come face to face with a vending machine.

All that’re in it are bags of Oreos, and a small sticky note pasted to the glass with a sloppy heart drawn onto it.

[guiltyasdave]

say you'll see me again

epilogue • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: 789 (it's a smol one)

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, somewhat unhealthy relationship dynamics (in the past), daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks big time), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, angst, but also... nice things :)

a/n: co-written with my angel @joelscurls, i love you <3

this is me officially saying goodbye to these two babies and i'm extremely emotional about it. i loooooved writing this story, it has brought me so much joy, it's my favorite thing that i've created and they really mean the world to me.

this story has received so much love and i'm beyond grateful for everyone who has read, liked, commented or reblogged <3 i hope you like this ending as much as i do.

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’ masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

No one’s there to cheer you on at your graduation ceremony, no one to sit in the audience and clap when your name is being called and you walk across the stage. You didn’t invite anyone. 

A small part of you, the part that still feels like the 12 year old girl who thought that her father would love her if she only tried hard enough, had hoped that somehow he would know anyway. Would show up to surprise you. 

It’s less of a surprise that he didn’t. 

When you accept the certificate with your name on it, it gives you a grim sense of satisfaction. You’ve done it on your own. On your own terms, with your own money.

Your father had all but thrown you out of the house after seeing you leave on the security camera footage mere hours after he’d declared that you were grounded. It’s been a challenge, adjusting to the lack of his financial aid, getting by entirely on your own. It also felt like freedom, like you were finally able to breathe. 

You swallow down the bitterness that stings in your chest and rises up your throat when you watch your classmates, your friends, surrounded by their families. Proud smiles, hands on shoulders, long hugs. Fueling a longing that’s been there for as long as you can remember. It wouldn’t have been like that with your father anyway. 

You’re better off like this, with the person who, despite his insistent claims, is the one who actually brought you to this moment: Yourself. 

The buildings of the town you were raised in are surrounding you, a familiar backdrop as you make your way down the street. You don’t know why you felt the need to come here. Maybe you had to visit one last time, after leaving in a panicked rush, too hurt to dare to look back. Maybe you can say goodbye now, and your mind will stop torturing you with questions of what could have been, daydreams of scenarios that you wished had turned out differently. Maybe you can clear out the remains of the battlefield that it turned into, and finally make peace with it. 

You had wished to be able to hate David. Hate him for not wanting you, hate him for pushing you away. Hate him for the way he changed you, for showing you a connection that you haven’t been able to feel with anyone else. But you never could. 

It’s not hard to understand in hindsight, why making you leave seemed like the right thing to do for him. Looking back, you think that it actually was. Though that never made losing him hurt any less. 

If anything, you wish you could hate him because the fact that he did the right thing makes you want him more. 

The door shuts behind you and your eyes adjust to the dim light of the bar. Your shoes are sticky against the ground. It’s a far cry from the country club you used to go to. But you’re also a far cry from the girl who used to go there. No black little designer dress on your body, no expensive heels clicking against the floor. And no fear. No fear of being ignored, no fear of being talked down to, no fear of having to make yourself small. 

You’re free to be yourself, now. 

You walk towards the counter, hop up on one of the stools. It scratches against the wooden floor, mixing with the faint sound of rock music playing from a speaker in the corner. 

There’s movement beside you, the silhouette of a man caught in the corner of your eye. The drum of his fingertips against the counter. 

“Evening.” 

The wave of a memory builds up in your mind within moments, flooding your every thought. The smooth rumble of his voice. The shape of his face when you turn towards him. The strong nose, the hard line of his jaw, the permanent pout on his lips that you can still feel against yours when you try really hard to remember. The deep brown shade of his eyes that still means safety to you. 

When thinking about him, you had always pictured him somewhere new, somewhere you couldn’t reach him. It seems silly, now that he’s right here, like a piece falling into place. Of course he’s here.

Your lips pull up into a smile. No shyness, no worries of doing something that you shouldn’t. 

“Hi.”

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” he echoes back the first words you’ve ever spoken to him. He remembers, just like you. Just like he said he would. Your smile grows wider. 

You’re free to be yourself, now. 

...i'm trying really hard not to cry right now. if you enjoyed this, please consider letting me know <3