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fandoms-in-law · 4 months ago

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Mayfield's Trailer Repairs

Summary: Steve meets Wayne while trying to help repair something at Max's trailer and ends up getting lessons on how to repair things a lot after that.

Author's note: Imagine a happy ending post S4 for these guys, I can't think of one right now.

My Idea for this Fic: Steve should get to bond with Wayne. He finds himself meeting Wayne one day at Max's trailer when he's offered to try fixing something to attempt reaching Max. Wayne offered to as he knows they haven't lived in the trailer park for long.

/\/\

Steve wasn’t the handiest of people. He hadn’t had a father to show him how to fix things, or lived somewhere he’d have to learn to keep things working; but he did want to be.

He’d do everything he could to help his friend and for Max now, that included learning how to fix the things that broke around the trailer.

That was why he was hurrying over to Max’s after a quick stop at the library to ask for any books that might help him fix air con or a water heater. He couldn’t remember which she’d said had stalled. It was a sign of how limited his knowledge was that Steve was still thinking he hadn’t known things other than cars could stall.

“Finally. Steve, when I ask for help, I don’t mean 2 hours later.” Max was complaining before he’d gotten out of the car and was still leaning over to grab the books.

“Well if you don’t want something exploding I thought a book or 2 to check was reasonable.” He retorted. “Now show me the broken thing.”

She’d already turned to do so but span back around, “You don’t know how to!?”

“Uh no. Not exactly in the Harrington playbook. We’ll figure it out.” He huffed, opening the back door of his car to fetch the meagre tools he had found.

“You kids okay?” A man called from the trailer opposite. “Need any help?”

“Please.” Max managed to groan while calling. “Steve knows nothing.”

Steve shot her a look, narrowed eyes and suspicion in them. “Do you even know him? After everything we’ve been through you’re trusting strangers?” He hissed.

“It’s Wayne. He helped us get moved in.” She rolled her eyes as if his concern was stupid.

By this point Wayne was with them, toolkit in hand. “And I told you to ask for help if something broke. Who’s the rich kid?”

“Steve Harrington Sir, Just trying to help since Max called me.” He sighed, already expecting some judgement to be given.

“That explains the books. Better than your folks would’ve done. Want me to show you what to do instead?”

The offer shocked Steve enough to meet Wayne’s eyes, nodding automatically. “Please.”

They formed a pattern after that evening spent fixing the air con unit. Steve would be called first and would try to repair it based on what he’d learnt so far and books he picked up, now knowing which manuals and machines were spoken about when Max called so he didn’t have to borrow so many each time.

If he thought he’d managed it, then he’d head home and Max would get Wayne to double check if she saw him around. She’d usually radio to relay and advice Wayne offered for the next time that fault happened and realising that many of the faults had a guaranteed next time really made Steve see how much just having his house changed how he experienced the world.

The days he couldn’t they’d usually just pop over to the trailer and ask Wayne to come and help if they could see his truck was in, but he did always point out that doing night shifts meant he slept a lot of the day and didn’t want waking to help them.

That came a month after Steve had started learning to repair things from Wayne and he wasn’t prepared to have narrowed eyes suspiciously looking him over. “Harrington? Why are you knocking on my door?”

Despite having images of the boy climbing on dining tables Steve couldn’t remember his name, and after a minute gave up trying to, “Is Wayne around or awake? The heater’s broken at Mayfield’s and I can’t figure it out.”

“He’s sleeping and you just gave me so many more questions to ask, King Steve." Munson asked. Steve decided since that was Wayne’s surname it had to be the boys too.

He nodded, wondering if he could just walk away and ignore those questions, “Right, could you tell him we need a hand when he wakes up, please?”

“The message shall be relayed, my liege, but tell me how dost thou know my uncle? What convinced thou to leave your fine castle and help we humble peasants?” The boy bowed low, teasing grin and curious eyes remaining trained on Steve.

He took a step back, uncertain how to respond and deciding to slowly walk backwards, “You haven’t met Max, have you? Humble is not how I’d describe her.” Thankfully Munson let him go without another reply, just laughing at the comment. Steve just hoped he actually would tell Wayne they needed help since looking through the books wasn’t getting him far.

Wayne usually got slow afternoons when he woke up, relaxing with Eddie if it was the weekend or just reading in his recliner if he wasn’t. He didn’t usually have Eddie hovering around as he got coffee, going to speak and stopping multiple times.

“You going to say whatever’s got you watching me like I’m a stranger or should I guess?” He asked after starting to eat his breakfast.

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a few more times. “Harrington was asking for you. Said he can’t figure out something that broke at the Mayfield’s.” He blurted out eventually. “How the hell do you know the former king of Hawkins High?”

“Just do.” Wayne bluntly replied, speeding his eating a little, “And you didn’t offer to have a look? Eddie.” He knew he didn’t have to say more than use that tone, just watching his nephew shift in place.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s weird he’s here at all.” He protested.

Wayne shook his head, “Help him next time.” He stood having finished enough of his breakfast that he could help and eat the rest later.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asked, a small whine in his voice presumably over not getting to ask more questions.

“To help.”

The Mayfield trailer seemed chaotic when Max invited Wayne in; books scattered on every surface that wasn’t covered in tools Steve had brought.

“What was the banging noise like again? It could be this issue.” Steve was asking, clearly having missed the knock and his arrival, completely focused on the manual in his hands.

“Well now, I’d prefer to hear that for myself. A minutes run shouldn’t cause more damage.” Wayne answered easily, forgoing any greeting.

Steve brightened, looking up at him, “Wayne, thank god. I can’t figure it out and this is confusing me more.” He held the manual up.

“Well that’s all in mechanic speak so it would do. Let’s have a look.” Wayne shook his head. He knew how to understand manuals now, but was pretty sure Steve was a few years out from figuring that out.

Eddie hadn’t expected Wayne to start occasionally mentioning Steve now. He’d accepted that Dustin, and occasionally Lucas and Mike, would sing Harrington’s praises but realising that his uncle was somehow taking on a teaching role to the other boy was difficult to comprehend.

Still, when there was a knock a few weeks after the first time he’d seen Harrington in the trailer park, he knew that he had to help this time, or Wayne would actually say more over his insistence on helping.

“Harrington, Wayne’s asleep.” He stated, not waiting for anything else to be said and instead turning to grab their toolkit.

Steve leant around the door to reply, “Oh, well can you – what?”

Eddie huffed out a breath to make it clear this wasn’t the most willing action he was making. “I’m leaving a note and coming to help. He’s taught me this stuff for as long as I could hold tools.”

“Thanks, are you okay if I watch and help or would you rather I head home?” Steve hesitated as Eddie walked over to the Mayfield’s trailer. Apparently he wasn’t as oblivious to the strangeness of his presence as Eddie had presumed.

“Please do. I want to know this man my uncle thinks needs a role model.” He snorted, knocking on the door and getting a dubious look from the red-headed girl who opened it.

She looked past him to call, “Now who’s trusting strangers for no reason.”

“He’s Wayne’s nephew. That’s enough reason to trust him for me.” Steve countered, before glancing at Eddie. “This is who you tried calling humble? She only gets worse if you know her better.”

It was a point definitely well made Eddie learnt, managing to argue with the kid as much as he answered Steve’s questions while repairing the air con.

“He’s Wayne’s nephew. Let us help him.” Max stated, cutting through all of Dustin’s rambles trying to convince Steve to help Eddie based off his own knowledge.

Steve hadn’t actually been arguing with that though. He just wasn’t a fan of the videos getting knocked to the floor and the chances he and Robin could get fired for letting kids access the Family Video systems.

It was meant to be a simple trip, they go to warzone, Steve pops into Melvalds and the chemist for extra first aid supplies and gather back at the stolen van, then someone helps check his injuries and bind them together before they all make plans.

He was not meant to run into Wayne while in Melvalds, and definitely wasn’t meant to have him call over as they both left just after each other. Steve, Eddie and Max all agreed that as much as Wayne would help, he’d also be the one everyone would try to follow for clues over where Eddie was. For his safety it was best to keep him out of everything while they could.

“Steve? You and Mayfield vanished from her trailer too. Are you two okay?”

He blinked at Wayne, wondering how quickly he’d moved to be directly in front of him now. “No.” He honestly replied, not wanting to lie except where he had to. “But we’re dealing with it. We’ll make sure Eddie is fine and his name gets cleared, Wayne. I promise. It’s just a challenge.

Wayne’s eyes tightened, and Steve realised he’d probably said more than he should have. That didn’t seem to matter as the pain from his bat bites made him sway slightly in place and got him looked over again. “You’re injured, aren’t you? Let me check the wounds while you tell me what’s going on.”

“No. You shouldn’t get involved. I wish Eddie wasn’t either but you can-”

“Both my boys are involved so I figure an adult can help too.” Wayne insisted, cutting off the refusals as Steve found himself guided to a truck and helped to sit in the passenger seat, while his shirt was pushed up. He wasn’t sure why that was where Wayne decided to check for injuries but it did get a whistle in reaction, “At the very least cause I got bandages rather than torn up clothes.”

Steve looked down at the remnants of Nancy’s skirt and thought there was definitely a point to be had there, just not in the car park of Melvalds. “Not here. People suck and with them already blaming Eddie treating my wounds could set them after you.” He gave in to the care being offered. It would be nice to have an adult involved again.

“Then give me directions to wherever is safe enough Eddie’s hidden there.” Wayne insisted, moving to the drivers seat and watching him buckle his seat belt.

This wasn’t what Steve wanted to happen, and he had to radio the group so they didn’t panic over him vanishing, but something told him Wayne was probably the best person at first aid any of them knew. Something about Eddie’s everything gave that impression.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #max mayfield #wayne munson adopts Steve Harrington

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theotherbuckley · 6 months ago

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I like you (because you're you) - bucktommy 2K

read on ao3

“Who was that?” Tommy asks, walking up to where Buck’s sat on the couch, phone placed down in his lap. They’d just finished dinner, Buck had cooked a delicious pasta dish that had Tommy coming back for seconds. He’d told Buck how much he liked it, and Buck had promised he’d make it again before his phone started buzzing and he’d apologised before taking the call.

Buck gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His cheerful self from earlier seemingly replaced with a faded version. He has this distant look in his eyes which he quickly blinks away before he speaks. “Uh, that was my friend Connor. He, uh, just wanted some of my medical records.” He waves his hand like it’s no big deal. It isn’t. Not really. His brain is just being stupid, is all.

Tommy raises his eyebrows before frowning. “Why’d he need those?” He questions, coming to sit down next to Buck. He places his hand on Buck’s thigh momentarily, squeezing softly like he just knows that Buck needs a little bit of comfort right now even if he doesn’t quite understand why.

“Uh, their son was at a doctor's appointment, just having a check-up or something, and I’m well— they used my sperm so, you know, they just want to make sure everything is in order, I guess,” he rushes out the last part, desperate to get the words out like if he says it fast enough Tommy won’t even realise what he’s said and it won’t cause any issues.

Tommy’s brows rise further as he takes that in. Buck watches him process, afraid that his life will once again be too much for someone, and they’ll walk out. It’s what people do — when Buck inevitably becomes too much and when they decide what he’s offering, what he can’t give them, isn’t enough in return, they leave.

“Is that— is that a problem?” Buck hates the way his voice wavers as he speaks. Hates the way he can’t hide his emotions at all. He really likes Tommy, really wants him to stick around. He’ll do what he can to make that happen. He’ll make himself more useful so that Tommy won’t want to leave. He’ll—

“No, no, of course not.” Tommy says it like there’s no other answer. Like he can’t imagine anyone thinking that’s a problem. Buck waits for the inevitable ‘but’.

“But.” Buck braces. “But I’m just surprised I’ve never heard of this guy before is all,” Tommy says. Buck exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Oh uh, yeah, we— we aren’t really close.”

“But you donated sperm for him?” There’s genuine confusion in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I guess— he asked. I may not have spoken to him in a while but, I wasn’t gonna say no.”

“You have the biggest heart, Evan. I think what you did is incredibly honourable. How are they doing now?” Tommy asks gently, seemingly comfortable to move the conversation on.

“I’m—I'm not actually sure.” He sighs. “That was the first time they’d called since the birth. And that was only because they needed something.” He laughs at the end like his words don’t speak to some greater insecurity deep inside him. Like it doesn’t hurt that his friend hasn’t talked to him until they needed him.

“Ah,” Tommy says, and Buck can here the judgement dripping from his mouth. He’s not sure exactly what he’s done, but it’s always something. Maybe he should have been the one to check in on them, maybe—

“I don’t think he sounds like a very good friend,” Tommy states.

Buck frowns, he didn’t expect him to say that. The truth is, Buck sometimes wonders that himself. What he lands on instead is that there must be something wrong with him. Because it’s not just Connor who wants things from him and then doesn’t care about any other part of Buck. It’s just how it’s always been. People take, and Buck gives. He gives, and he gives, and it’s never quite enough, but he tries.

“Sometimes I feel like people only like me when I’m useful,” Buck admits in a whisper, letting the words stuck inside his head free. It’s not that he thinks it; he knows it. He knows he’s only worth something when people can use him, and he’s lived with that his whole life. He was born to save someone, and he failed, but that’s his whole purpose even now.

He saves people for a living. He’ll babysit whenever anybody asks, he’ll be your trivia partner when you need to win. He’ll let his friends use him for his sperm. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to. He does. He loves doing these things for his friends because he can. But sometimes it hurts a little knowing that it’s not him that they want. They just… like his ability to do things.

“Evan, I like you. Regardless of anything you can or can’t do. I like you.” Tommy emphasises the you like Buck being Buck is somehow special.

Buck can’t stop the wet laugh that escapes his throat. He shakes his head, sniffles before composing himself. “No, no,” he says, because it’s not true, it can’t be. “But—but it’s okay because I’ll make sure you don’t get bored of my I-I’ll cook dinner, and I’ll do the dishes, and I’ll make sure we always win at trivia and— and I don’t know anything about cars or Muay Thai, but I’ll learn.” Buck’s rambling, the words tumbling out of his mouth in one breath. He needs to make sure Tommy knows that he’ll do his best; even if it’s hard, he’ll be useful because then Tommy will stay, and he really wants Tommy to stay.

“Evan.” It’s that soft voice again. Placating, like he’s talking to a small child. Like he’s trying to get him to listen.

Buck shifts his gaze from the floor to Tommy. He looks sad. Buck wishes he wasn’t the one to make him look like that. He tries to smile at him, anything to bring those soft creases at the edges of Tommy’s eyes back, but his heart’s not really in it.

“Evan,” Tommy says again, locking his eyes on Buck’s. “You don’t need to be useful for me to like you. I like you because you’re adorable. I like you because you’re funny and you don’t care what people think. ‘Who cares’, right?” Tommy chuckles. Buck likes that sound. “I like that you were willing to try again with me, even if you bought me god-awful coffee with it.” Buck lets out a wet chuckle at that. “I look at you, Evan, and I see someone who cares so deeply about your friends. Willing to put your life on the line for others. But it’s more than that, I like the way you ramble about random things you find on the internet, and how you try out 100 different lasagna recipes because you need to find the right one even though you burn half of them.”

“Hey!” Buck says in weak protest. He’s right, though. There’s a warmth in his chest at the fact that Tommy noticed.

Tommy keeps going. “I like how big your smile gets when you talk about Chris or Jee-Yun. I like the way that your cheeks turn the colour of your birthmark when you’re flustered. I just— I really like you, Evan. You could— you don’t have to cook for me every day or give me the answers at trivia night for me to want you to stick around. I like you because you’re you.”

Buck can’t stop the tears trickling down his cheeks. His whole life has been about being useful, and it’s so hard to believe anything different but the way Tommy talks about him. Like maybe he really does see him. “I don’t know how to— I want to believe you but it’s just, every relationship I’ve had has felt like people want something from me. Abby needed help when her mom died, and then she just left. I always felt like Ali just wanted a place to crash when she was in town. I mean, she’s the reason I have this apartment in the first place. Taylor just wanted sex at first, and then she started getting insights into news stories from the firehouse, and she always valued that more than spending time with me. She’d ask me how my day was, not because she cared but because she wanted to know if there was anything worth writing about. Hell, she even published a book about me. Even after it was over, she used me as much as she could.” The tears are flowing faster now, and his voice cracks as he speaks. It’s stupid to get so emotional about this, but Buck can’t stop now. Now that he’s opened the faucet of this insecurity of his, it’s like everything he’s been bottling inside is bubbling to the surface and he can’t stop it.

“And Nat—Natalia,” Buck continues, hiccuping through his tears. “She just wanted to understand my death. Asked me a hundred— a hundred questions about what it was like, and at first, I thought maybe she could actually see me, but I feel like she was just using me for something too.” Buck wipes his face. He’s sure he must look like a mess right now — tear-streaked face, snot dripping down from his nose. Tommy doesn’t deserve to deal with all this. “Sorry,” Buck chuckles, the sound getting caught in his throat. “You didn’t need to hear about all that.”

“Hey,” Tommy says, moving closer towards Buck. He tucks his fingers under Buck’s chin forcing him to look Tommy in the eyes. He holds Buck’s face tenderly in his hand, always so gentle. “You can talk to me about anything, and I will listen, okay?”

“I don’t want to bore you,” Buck says softly, moving to look down at the ground once more but Tommy doesn’t let him get away, holding him firmly yet soft, like Buck’s something precious.

“You couldn’t,” Tommy replies sincerely. “If it weren’t for you, how else would I know that the Australians started a war on emus, huh?” He jokes.

“And lost,” Buck whispers because he can’t help it.

“And lost!” Tommy repeats. Buck had gone on a tangent about it just the other day. He’d gone to the zoo with Christopher, and they’d been having a lot of fun until they stood too close to the fence, and an emu had come up and startled them. Buck had decided in that moment that he needed to find out every single detail about them, which led him to discovering that in 1932, Australia declared war on emus —and then proceeded to lose. He’d met up with Tommy after and rambled about his findings because he thought it was absolutely hilarious. Tommy sat there smiling at him, evidently listening to every word that he said, taking it in and remembering it all.

“I like listening to you talk, Evan. I like you. And I’ll tell you that as much as you need to hear. Now,” Tommy claps his hands together. “Tomorrow, I’m cooking for you. You don’t need to do anything except sit there and look pretty. Let someone do something for you for once. Okay?”

Buck just nods, wiping at his eyes before slumping into Tommy’s now open arms and relishing in the comfort of his boyfriend. He doesn’t quite believe him, not yet. He wants to. It’s just prior experience has moulded his brain a certain way and now he just can’t believe any different. He wants to. He wants someone to like him, to love him, even when he can’t be useful. He hopes that maybe Tommy will show him that that’s possible.

For now, he tucks his head into Tommy’s shoulder, clutches onto him like he’s going to disappear and lets himself be held. Tommy kisses his birthmark like it’s sacred, holds him and tells him he likes him over and over. Buck thinks maybe he really does.

#911 abc #911 fandom #evan buck buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #purple writes #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 show

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writerdream22 · 5 months ago

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requested by: anonymous, I really hope you like this ✨🌻💛

pairing (platonic): Chandler Bing x reader

prompt used: “I told you that I'd never leave you. I'm not going anywhere”

warnings: none. English is not my first language so there might be some grammatical errors a/n: it has been some time since I have either written or posted anything on this platform. This first year of uni has been quite difficult, but I will try to fulfill all of the requests that I have received throughout all of this summer!

feedbacks are always appreciated!

REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY OPEN!

You had lost all your trust in people.

Men in particular.

When you realised that your longtime boyfriend had been "having fun" with one of his colleagues (who he’s told you was just a friend) for six months, you tried to find ways to resolve the matter in the most responsible way.

First, you tried to resonate with the guy, who promptly started accusing you of neglecting him and your relationship and justified his cheating in the most absurd ways.

Even though you had started the discussion with somewhat good intentions, the rage and hatred you felt against who you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with won against your better judgement. So you kicked him and his mistress out of the house, then you threw all of his things and everything he had ever gifted you out of the window.

As soon as the whole ordeal came to an end, you fell to the ground and started crying uncontrollably.

You normally would have called your friends and asked for their comfort. This time, however, you felt the need to be alone and process the whole thing by yourself.

Even though you received quite a few calls, you let them all go to voicemail and cried yourself to sleep for a few days in a row.

A week after the breakup you heard a knock on your door. The person was rather insistent, because even though you were not answering, they kept going.

“Y/n, it’s me, Chandler. Please, open up” your eyes widened as you realised that your best friend was standing in the hallway.

“Go away!” you shouted, as you sat on your sofa.

“Come on, I bought your favourite food. And some coffee. I figured you might need it”

You sat up, and hesitated if you should either open the door or not. Just as you were about to turn the handle, you heard Chandler’s voice again.

“Ok, let’s put it that way” he said “If you don’t open up now, I will break in. And I know how much you like the new wooden frame that you put on your door”.

Your eyes widened. Chandler wouldn’t do such a thing now, would he?

“Yes, I will actually do it, Y/n”. It seemed like he had read your mind.

Needless to say, you pondered your choices and opted to let your best friend in.

“God… you look- terrible”

“Yeah, I know” you scoffed, as Chandler walked through the door “What do you want?”

“I did actually bring you food, you know? And refreshments, too” he responded, gesturing to the plastic bag that he was holding. He quickly reached into it and pulled out a plastic coffee cup.

You softly smiled, taking it from his hands, then put it down on your counter in order to prevent it from spilling onto your carpet.

“The food’s already cold, so we can wait to eat it if you’d like” Chandler responded, to which you responded with a nod indicating that you preferred to eat later.

The two of you sat down on your couch, facing each other. You knew that there were questions to be answered, so you prepared yourself for your best friend’s interrogation.

“So, you and him-” he began.

“Yes. We broke up”

“Because he-”

“He cheated on me with that colleague of his. The one we all met at that party. Rachel had told me that there was something wrong about her, but I didn’t listen” you paused “You, too, had told me that you didn’t like him as soon as you saw him. And- I am so dumb”

Just as you were beginning to recount the whole story, you started crying. Obviously, Chandler immediately hugged you as tight as he could in order to show you that you were safe.

“Shh, I know, I know. He’s a scum” he asserted “And he’s stupid for leaving you”

“You’re not leaving me too, are you?” you sobbed.

You genuinely fear that, eventually, each and every one of your friends was going to leave you because of a particular flaw that you had or because you were too annoying for them. But at the same time, you had known Chandler, Monica and the others for quite some time so if they were truly annoyed by you they would have said so earlier.

“When we graduated college, I told you that I’d never leave you, Y/n” Chandler said, as he held you in his arms and gently stroked your hair “I’m not going anywhere”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course! You’re stuck with me! Now, let’s celebrate this new era of you and not think about the bad stuff, huh?”

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annegrey · 6 months ago

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Two for the price of one

Kelly x fem!Reader x Max

Summary: While you loved both of them, Kelly was the only one you've slept with. And she wants to help you to finally enjoy Max' company. (I kinda suck at summaries.)

Let me know what you think! Without critisism one can't get better! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Your breath was labored, your hands were clutching the sheets to your sides, and there was a soft warmth along your back. A soft chuckle sounded, and a hand grabbed yours. You couldn’t be sure whose hand it was, with the blindfolds, but instead of making you even more nervous, they helped you calm down.

A soft kiss was placed on your neck, then your cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, he knows what to do. I trained him well”, Kelly whispered, and another chuckle sounded, this time from between your legs. “That she did.”

Knowing that Max saw you like that, all spread out and your most intimate parts right in front of his face, made you squirm. And with your right hand clutched in Kellys, you knew the soft touch on your right thigh was Max. And while you loved that man to bits, it still made you suck in a deep breath.

While he had been nothing but considerate, you have always been more nervous when it came to sex with men. You didn’t know why, but while you found men and women equally attractive, you felt more comfortable about yourself and those little flaws that made you human around other women. And Kelly had made it her mission to show you that you had nothing to fear from Max.

Because even though you have been in a relationship with both of them for quite some time, this was the first time Max was included in your erotic endeavors. Simply because you were too concerned with his judgement, which was completely ridiculous. He loved you, you knew that, but that didn’t shut that small voice in your head up.

So Kelly came up with an idea: you just didn’t see him. The solution was just as ridiculous as the problem, but it worked. After Kelly had tied the silk around your head, you had felt yourself relax more and more, the longer everything went on. Even when the second pair of hands and lips joined Kellys, you were able to concentrate on the feeling instead of your fears. You weren’t sure how or why it worked, but that didn’t matter.

And even now, all spread out, all it needed was some kisses from Kelly on your neck and her free hand massaging your breast, and you were relaxing once again. Just to be surprised when you felt a tongue swipe through your folds. A moan was ripped from your throat, and you leaned your head on Kellys shoulder, sighing and whimpering while Max truly started to eat you out.

Two hands, slightly rough, grabbed your hips to keep you still, and only then you realised that you had pushing them towards Max’ face. Your unhappy huff just made your two lovers laugh, and Kelly kissed your cheek again, before her second hand joined her other with massaging your tits. It wasn’t the first time with her, so she knew exactly how to pinch and twist your nipples to make you keen and arch your back.

At the same time she was softly biting your neck, slowly working her way to that one spot that almost instantly made you come apart at your seams. While you were a moaner, making your pleasure known, tonight you were almost screaming with pleasure. Kelly knew exactly which spots to hit, and Max was really, really good at eating a woman out, so it didn’t take you long to feel your climax approach.

“I’m… I’m close”, you gasped, and both of them slowed down for a bit. “You think you got a second one in you? Do you need a break?”, Kelly asked, while one hand was slowly stroking your arm. This was one of the reasons you loved her. She was always so considerate and made sure you were on board with everything before acting. Just like she sat you down not long ago and explained her idea with the blindfold. And right now, she was asking, not truly if you wanted to cum, but if you wanted to continue afterwards. You took a few breaths, you owed it to her, to them, to think about this. And if you were honest…

You didn’t want to stop. You wanted them to make a crying mess out of you, until the silky blindfold was soaking wet and you were to exhausted to move even a finger. So you took another breath, swallowed, and whispered “No, make me cum. Please, I can take it. I need you. Both of you.”

“You’re such a good girl”, Kelly whispered, while Max just moaned and continued to eat you out as if you were his last meal. You gripped the sheets in your hands, not even sparing a thought of maybe ripping them with how hard you were pulling on them and bucked your hips against Max’ hold on them. Kelly even snuck a hand down to your pussy and started to rub your clit, causing your orgasm to crash over you. You didn’t even notice that one of your hands had grabbed Max’ hair and pulled him closer to your core while you rode out your climax.

Only when you were breathing hard, slowly coming down from your high, you felt someone carefully pulling it out. You mumbled a quiet sorry, but Max just kissed your knuckles. At the same time, you felt Kellys lips on your temple, and a hand on your blindfold. “What do you think, should we get rid of it?” You knew what she was asking. Were you feeling comfortable enough to look at Max for the remainder of the evening. Chewing on your lips for a bit, you nodded. “Yes, please.”

@amberpanda99 (told you I would inform you xD) @sassymillenialscorpio

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kingkatsuki · 2 years ago

Text

— when you stand up for him

Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+, v v suggestive, Bakugou’s always having nasty thoughts about you, not proofread.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.9k.

Since you’d started working at Dynamight’s agency you’d found out firsthand how defamatory the media could be. There was often a mixture of positive and negative headlines for all the Pro-Heroes in the top fifty, some more negative than others. Cellophane had been stuck in a messy situation just last week when a saucy text chain had been leaked to the press, the lewd messages accompanied by a rather salacious picture of him in a state of undress. Obviously an attempt by the media to paint him in a bad light, but it actually ended up thrusting him into the top ten.

“He woulda sent that fuckin’ dick pic to anyone that asked.” Bakugou scoffed when you’d told him, grinning at the cheesy headline “Cellophane stuck in a sticky situation.”

But in particular, the media seemed hellbent on making a villain out of Dynamight. A well-known fact that they knew sold papers. His brash personality and fiery quirk made him an easy target for those sleazy tabloids to ridicule. Painting the perfect picture of Number One Pro-Hero Deku, and demonising the Number Two who was always hiding in his shadow.

Of course, the media scrutiny didn’t bother Bakugou much, far used to these words for them to have any real bite. The judgement seemed to have followed him since he was a teenager, and he’d spent the better part of his adult years trying to prove himself through his actions. And although you didn’t know it, your opinion meant far more to Bakugou than a handful of gossip magazines.

It wasn’t unusual for these reporters to call through to the Dynamight agency, especially after a successful mission. Each outlet wanting to be the first to get the scoop hot off the press from the main man himself, but fortunately for Bakugou you were the final roadblock between them and the Pro-Hero.

Most of the time you could weed through the good calls and the bad, finding the best opportunities for Dynamight to showcase himself to the world and add those precious boosts to his hero ranking. Knowing firsthand how much Bakugou hated any kind of interview environment, preferring to showcase himself through his hard work, you were careful with the engagements that you picked. The few he did were always enough to keep him sitting comfortable in second place.

You groaned when you realised who you’d ended up with on the phone, the lead journalist for The Heroic Choice, a controversial tabloid that had just published a rather scathing article about Pro-Hero Welder. And you were certain judging by the “direct” quotes that most had been stretched out of context to fit their narrative.

“Thanks for taking our call,” The voice spoke on the other end of the line, not that you’d had much choice, “Dynamight hasn’t responded to any of our emails, so I thought it best to try and reach you directly.”

“Yes, well Dynamight’s a very busy hero.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“Oh, we’ve heard. We had a very concerned reader call in earlier to tell us that Dynamight almost killed someone again—” You were already seething at the accusation when the reporter continued, “How many totalled buildings is it this year? The budget must be at breaking point by now, or is it less a budget and more hush money for the victims? Almost as bad as a villain, wouldn’t you agree?”

You weren’t sure what came over you in that moment. Some would probably argue that it was the amount of love that you had built inside you for Bakugou Katsuki that made you want to protect and defend him with your life, or it could’ve just been the fact that being his secretary meant you got to see a side of him that no one else was lucky enough to see. The Hero that dedicated so many hours of his life to protecting the city and its residents, putting his own life at risk to ensure that people made it home safely to their loved ones. The countless amount of times you’d visited him in hospital or done a rather bootleg patch up of his injuries in his office after hours. The scars that now littered his body each held their own story of a time where Dynamight put others before himself, and you weren’t about to let some gossipy B-rate magazine besmirch him. Especially to try and call him, the man that would give his life for others, a villain.

So you did what Bakugou probably would’ve done, you exploded.

You weren’t even sure where it came from, certain in the months that you’d been working for Dynamight you’d never once let your temper get the best of you, even with particularly troublesome callers. His personality must have been rubbing off on you, as you continued to argue back and forth with the man on the phone, your voice increasing in power the more he argued back.

The noise roused Bakugou from his mission report, crimson eyes looking up from his laptop as he tried to make out the shouting on the other side of his office wall. Pushing his desk chair back as he dropped his glasses on top of his laptop he made his way towards the hallway, thinking that another person was harassing you for some kind of Dynamight endorsement deal again. Tugging open the door Bakugou prepared himself to tell whoever it was to leave and stop pissing off his secretary but he was shocked to see you shouting on the phone.

“Dynamight is the greatest Hero of our generation and we’re lucky to have someone like him protecting our streets. There’s no telling what could happen if we didn’t have him. Did you know violent crime is down twelve percent since he entered the top ten? And that’s not including the crime syndicates he’s managed to infiltrate in the last three months—”

Bakugou had to stop in the doorframe at the sound of you listing off facts about him so effortlessly. Mouth agape like a fish out of water as he began to wonder who you were on the phone to, and how they had managed to rile you up to this extent.

You hadn’t even noticed him standing there as you continued to berate the caller, asking them whether they had looked up any crime statistics or whether they were just interested in a sleazy headline.

Bakugou didn’t know what to say, standing outside his office as he stared at you between furrowed brows. After hearing shouting outside, he hadn’t expected it to be coming from you, and he definitely hadn’t expected it to be because you were defending him to the media.

It had Bakugou’s chest swelling with pride as he continued to hear you list of reasons why Dynamight would never do an interview with The Heroic Choice, not that he needed you to tell them that. He could’ve easily given them his own list of reasons, the main one being their scathing reviews of anyone other than Pro-Hero Deku. His throat felt dry as he watched your eyes darken as you continued to argue with them on the phone, nostrils flared as he tried to fight the blood rushing directly between his thighs.

God, you were so fuckin’ perfect.

He’d never had anyone defend him to such a level, and it made it even more special that it happened to be you doing it— the woman he was so madly in love with. Even the shy, wide-eyed look you gave him when you noticed him watching you made his heart flutter as you exchanged the last few words with the tabloid over the phone.

You’d been so heated you hadn’t even noticed Bakugou shamelessly ogling you while you were on the telephone, although you were certain he’d heard you. Your voice at least a few octaves louder than necessary, but you couldn’t help it. The realisation you had an audience now dawning on you as you gave your boss a sheepish smile.

“I’m so sorry about that, sir.” You practically gushed as soon as you slammed the phone down, which immediately began ringing again, “It just makes me so mad, they talk like they know you but they really don’t know you at all—”

“Next time, get me.” He rasped, mainly because you didn’t deserve dealing with assholes like that on the phone, but also because Bakugou wasn’t sure if he’d be able to survive you taking another call like that without blowing his load in public. The thought of having to spend the rest of the day in damp boxers had him squirming as he turned around.

“Yes, sir. I know I should’ve, but he made me so angry. I’m sorry.” No matter how many times he told you not to call him sir, you would do it anyway and it did nothing to quell the ache in his pelvis.

“Take five.” Bakugou grumbled.

“Thank you si— Bakugou.” You stopped yourself with a smile as you stood up from the desk hesitantly.

Bakugou practically waddled back into his office, trying to conceal the tent between his thighs from your praise. The overprotective words had his cock throbbing as he tried to calm his racing heart, and it didn’t help you’d said his name. Slamming his office door a little harder than intended as he pressed his back to the hardwood. Eyes screwed shut as Bakugou made a feeble attempt at steadying his breathing, before glaring down at the obvious bulge. Silently willing it to disappear as he prayed you hadn’t seen it.

But Bakugou had left so abruptly with barely a word that you began to worry that you’d done the wrong thing, remembering Creati’s words one evening when she had been visiting the agency. “All press can be good press if you orchestrate it correctly.” Maybe Bakugou really was mad at you for losing your temper on the phone to one of Musutafu’s biggest tabloids, you’d definitely guaranteed another negative Dynamight article about him. Your eyes glancing over to the shut door to his office as you gnawed your glossed lip between your teeth, pondering whether you should knock on the door to apologise. The phone began to ring again as you were making that decision, opting to pick it up and hopefully do some kind of damage control for his important public image. Hoping that the PR team wouldn’t find out just how hostile you’d been on the phone to a company representative. You had no idea that on the other side of the door, your boss was losing his cool because of you, but not for the reason you thought.

About a week later The Heroic Choice ended up posting their scathing article about Dynamight anyway, although it did little to smear his hero rating. Instead the article seemed to focus on his fiery little secretary who was seemingly even more tenacious than his newly appointed sidekicks.

“Dynamight’s secretary even more explosive than him? More on page six.” It was accompanied by a picture of you that Bakugou was certain they’d managed to take from one of your social media profiles.

You’d been so embarrassed when Bakugou had shown you the magazine with a smirk, highlighting his favourite parts of the article which happened to be the direct quotes of you defending his tenacity and altruism.

What you didn’t know was Bakugou had cut out this article and pinned it to the fridge inside his apartment, grinning at it whenever he passed. The picture they’d picked of you was real fucking pretty after all— it wasn’t his fault that it brought back the memories of you defending him every time he looked at it, his cock standing to attention when he remembered how irate you’d looked that day. Somehow it made you even prettier… But of course, he’d never tell you that.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader

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chlobliviate · 3 months ago

Text

Wolfstar Microfic - Muggle

Words: 662

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

“I think I fell in love with a muggle today.” Sirius threw himself on James’ bed.

“The girl who works at that pub?”

Sirius shook his head, “The new guy who works at the record shop round the corner.”

James looked up at him, “Huh, alright. He’s hot?”

“So hot!” Sirius covered his eyes with his arm, “I made a complete twat of myself.

“Well, yeah, you generally do.” James went back to the magazine he’d been poring over.

“Fuck you!” Sirius frowned. “I told him my favourite Beatles album is Abbey Road. Abbey Road, James!” James looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Abbey Road is a good album, a great album, even. But Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt Pepper! My babies, I’m sorry for forsaking you in a moment of panic! He genuinely looked at me so judgementally.”

“Did he tell you his?”

“Sgt Pepper, because he’s perfect.” He groaned. “Well, that’s that. I can never go back there.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” James said. “Just go back and be like ‘hi, I’m a hot mess’.”

“S’pose it worked for you and Lily.” Sirius yelped as James threw a pillow at him. “Maybe I could obliviate him or something.”

“Did you learn nothing at the Healer academy?”

“I learnt how to sedate people, and believe me, it’s really fucking tempting right now.” He shot back. “Does Lily still want to go out later?”

“Yeah, she wants us to go to some muggle place in London. Her mate just moved down here and apparently, we must meet him.” Sirius ‘ooooh’ed ominously. “Shut up, you struck out with a muggle today.”

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Sirius was speechless. As they manoeuvred through the busy pub to where Lily had claimed a table, he followed James blindly. As they got to the table, he finally got a look at Lily’s friend.

“Abbey Road!” Lily’s friend half shouted with a grin, much to Sirius’ surprise.

“Sgt Pepper!” He saluted, and Lily’s friend laughed; a glorious, warm sound.

Lily looked between them, “You’ve met?”

“Please tell me this is who I think it is!” James’ grin was so wide that it looked painful.

“Wait. Abbey Road?” Lily’s mouth dropped open, “Sirius is the—”

“I knew you were judging me!” Sirius sat down opposite him.

“I’ve just never seen someone blurt out ‘Abbey Road’ in such a panicked way before.” He shrugged.

“It’s not even his actual favourite.” James slid into the seat next to Sirius.

A smirk appeared on Lily’s friend’s face as he realised that Sirius had gone straight home and talked about him. “No?”

“It’s top five, but yeah, I wasn’t expecting the question. I may have panicked slightly.” Sirius held his gaze. “It probably goes Revolver, Sgt Pepper, Rubber Soul, Abbey Road, Help.”

“I may have judged him prematurely.” He turned to Lily.

“Nah, you got him pretty much on the money.” Lily laughed, “Sirius, this is my friend Remus from back home. He works in your favourite record shop.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out on my own,” Sirius muttered. “Does anyone want a drink?” He stood up as Lily and James both nodded.

“I’ll help you carry them.” Remus stood up, smiling.

As they walked to the bar, James turned back to Lily. “I take it you had to manage a pining friend this afternoon too?”

“He came round after work like ‘I had the hottest customer today but when I asked, he told me his favourite Beatles album was Abbey Road.’ Like, it pained him, James.” Lily linked their pinky fingers on the table.

“Oh, that’s tame. I got ‘I fell in love with a muggle today.’ And a whole spiel about how flustered he got and why he answered wrong.”

“Wait, Remus isn’t a muggle.” Lily giggled. “He... just didn’t go to Hogwarts.”

“Huh,” James looked over to the bar where the two of them were deep in conversation, “Well, still, I can’t believe they beat you to your own plan.”

#wolfstar #fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #marauders #remus loves sirius #wolfstar microfic

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eff4freddie · 5 months ago

Text

After She Left | Five

Words: 6k

Preparations for Jackson's first ever prom are well underway, and even Ellie is helping out. As Jackson's only teacher it is, of course, your job to run the show and you'd be more than capable if one parent didn't keep distracting you.

Chapter warnings: Illusions to smut, slow burn, angsty memories of being a teenager, 'She' finally arrives. Minors DNI.

A/N: Ok, second act kicks off after this chapter. You'll get a glimpse of what that means now. Hope you enjoy!

Four | Series Masterlist | Six

Your dreams were changing. Used to waking with a chill, the echoes of loss and the face of your sister blurred in the grey clouds streaking across your dreamscape, you’d started to wake now with a warmth, a vein of light. You felt it on your skin like the first spring day out of a long, cold winter. You’d wake trying to grip its tail as it slipped from you.

The prom thing was your idea, and you only half regretted it. You’d had the idea when Isaiah had asked you what school for you was like, so fascinated by the before times, the kids trying hard to imagine classroom upon classroom filled with students all of the same age. You’d tried to explain that school wasn’t anything, really, that sometimes you didn’t even go because it was so boring, and they gawped at you, disbelieving. You felt a little sliver of shame at having wasted it, reminded yourself that was what you were supposed to do at age 14.

You’d mentioned prom, and there had been a ripple of interest throughout the room.

‘So, there was dancing? But it wasn’t the whole town, it was just you and your friends?’

‘Well, there were teachers and parents as chaperones, but…yeah, there were so many of us that it was just each grade. We got all dressed up, we had our picture taken, we had to choose dates.’

‘You went with a boy?’ Celina piped up from the front row, her nine-year-old face scandalised by the idea that you would willingly expose yourself to boy germs.

‘Yeah, well, some girls had boyfriends in their grade.’

‘Did you have a boyfriend?’ someone asked, the judgement almost silent, and you knew without looking that it was Ellie.

‘No, I didn’t. I had a crush on a boy, but it didn’t really…’

You remembered him, even now, an actual apocalypse not enough to erase the shame. You’d let your friends talk you into a promposal, standing in the bleachers as he ran track with an enormous sign that you’d spent far too many hours painting at your bestie’s kitchen table. It had heart-shaped glitter. You were especially proud of that detail.

You hadn’t realised that the entire track team would also see it, that you would need to specifically point him out in the crowd. Never had you imagined that he would dodge away from your finger, pretending to hide behind another boy, dodging your desire for him while his teammates laughed. It was enough to shrivel your heart into coal. You’re not sure you ever recovered.

You said none of that in your Jackson classroom. Instead, you focused on the decorations, that there was always a theme, that you heard the high school two towns over got Nelly Furtado to play live at theirs, but you weren’t convinced that was any more than an urban legend. They had no idea who Nelly Furtado was. You didn’t try to explain.

‘So can we have one?’ Mika asked, finally looking up from his comic book. You hadn’t thought he was paying attention.

‘A prom? Well, I’d have to talk to the town council.’

‘Tommy’s my uncle, I got an in,’ Ellie said, her face lighting up with the power of being connected, such nepotism so rare as the last vestiges of civilisation withered.

The kids grinned up at you, and you realised that maybe this was something they needed. Jackson already did Christmas, blew eggs, painted them with bees wax and dye from mashed beets and honey, and held a hunt on the first weekend of what the town council’s best guess was April. You could get the kids to decorate with paper flowers. It would be really cute to watch them decorate the mess hall, and there was probably some kind of educational value in it, too.

From his post, Joel watched Guillaume and Jonah, his new patrol partner, disappear into the treeline. He watched them, a little nugget of shame festering in the depths of his belly, but mostly – if he allowed himself to admit it – he was happy to have been moved to shifts on the wall. It meant he wasn’t back so late for Ellie, that he could be home to help with her homework or make her help him make dinner, and he didn’t feel so paranoid all the time when he could see the horizon. He didn’t mind the early starts, preferred the quiet up there, liked being able to turn and survey the town as much as the wilds outside it.

If he turned and leaned over a little, up on one foot on the top rung of the ladder, and leaned a little to the right he could make out the path heading up to the schoolhouse. When Billy asked him what he was doing, he explained he wanted to make sure his girl got to school OK. He generally, for the most part, broadly speaking, was referring to Ellie.

Tommy had been nice to enough not to give him shit for it, even after a bloody-nosed Guillaume took it upon himself to point out that Joel was a liability out there. Tommy had appeared on his doorstep the next morning, his brows crowding together, but Joel had spent most of the early morning on the wall, had imagined you lying in bed as he made sure to keep the nastiness away from you, and he was more ready than his little brother expected to hang up his boots.

‘M’getting older, Tommy, we talked about that,’ Joel reminded him, and Tommy nodded.

‘Still the best shot we got, and the best survivalist.’

‘Don’t mean I can’t advise if anyone asks it of me,’ he said. ‘S’not even that hard, just gotta keep your wits about ya.’ He thought for a long moment. ‘Maybe it’s gettin’ harder, now I think about it,’ he conceded.

‘Well, so long as you’re agreeable,’ Tommy said, shuffling awkwardly.

‘What would’ya have done if I wasn’t?’ Joel asked, a crooked grin forming on his face.

‘Would have taken you off patrol, but mighta felt a little bad about it,’ Tommy answered, earnest. Joel scoffed.

‘You’d pull rank, Town Councilman?’

‘Yes’sir, I would,’ Tommy said, no less earnest. Joel nodded at him.

‘Good,’ he affirmed, and saw the way Tommy expanded under the praise of his big brother. ‘You do what’s right for Jackson, always,’ Joel said, and Tommy agreed.

It was cold up there, though, the windchill on his face and his fingertips causing his whole body to tremor in his coat. It was Spring, but it was turning out to be a cold one, not a lot of warmth getting around the mountain. Joel shuffled his feet, trying to get the feeling back in his toes a little. He hadn’t brought his big coat, thinking the sun would be enough to keep him warm, but now that it was nearing the end of the day, the sun disappearing below the mountain ridge, he was counting every minute until he could clamber down and warm up.

He knew you’d be at his place already, working with Ellie at his kitchen table now that the heat had gone out of the day. He was going to try and make his beef stew tonight, had practically begged the kitchen staff to let him have a side of the meat. He hadn’t resorted to violence, but he would have.

He just wanted to thank you for everything you were doing for his daughter. Wanted to nourish your body the way you were nourishing her mind.

Billy called up to him from the bottom of the ladder. ‘Come on down, Joel, night shift’s here.’ Casting one last glance at the treeline, he vaulted down the ladder to rungs at a time.

You’d held a democratic process to determine the theme for the prom, but Ellie had dominated it anyway, either unfamiliar with, or just straight up unwilling to, compromise. As the day grew closer you gave up any pretence of tutoring her, working instead on cutting out yellow paper stars at Joel’s kitchen table.

‘Why does the moon change?’ Ellie asked, one day, and you’d paused for a second. You weren’t sure how bad FEDRA school was by the time she was in it, but that seemed fundamental.

‘Well, I mean, you know we’re a planet, right? That we’re like, a big round ball? Floating in the sky?’ Ellie levelled an impatient gaze at you, and you swallowed.

‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’ she asked, and you thought very hard and very fast.

‘I think you’re brilliant and FEDRA school is terrible,’ you said, diplomatically. She softened, her cheeks pinking up a little.

‘Can’t argue with you there,’ she said, quietly.

‘I mean, how much did they teach you about planets?’

‘Sweet fuck all,’ she said, plainly, and you wanted to tell her not to swear but she was in her own house, and it felt like the horse had bolted long ago in any case. ‘But I read about it as much as I can.’

‘The moon?’

‘All space… being that high up where nothing can, no-one up there who can…it’s just so cool. Were you alive when they landed on it?’

‘Ellie, that was the 60s,’ you complained, waiting for her to do the mental maths and wondering how old she thought you were, or if all adults were just ‘old’ to her, a kind of non-descript age in which you are both responsible for everything and also mere moments from shuffling off into death.

She stared at you blankly. ‘I wasn’t born for another like, twenty years,’ you said.

She nodded. ‘Oh.’

‘A lot of people didn’t even believe we really did land on the moon,’ you said. You picked up another piece of paper, your pile of stars nearly double the size of Ellie’s. She wasn’t being careful, her general distractedness was making her slow.

‘What? But wasn’t it on TV?’

‘Yes, it was, but they said it was faked.’ Her eyes blew wide at this, and you realised she was considering it. ‘Ellie, there’s no way it was faked. There are footprints up there that’ll be there forever.’

‘Guess we’ll never know, now,’ she said, quietly, and you suddenly wondered whether the space theme was such a good idea, after all, whether you were tormenting the kids with something they would never see, never have even the smallest chance to explore.’

‘Ellie…’ you said, but she wasn’t looking at you anymore, concentrating hard on her paper star.

‘It’s ok, it’ll be fun to pretend for the night,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot of pretending, won’t be too hard.’

You wanted to ask her what she meant, who she thought was pretending, but you heard heavy footsteps on the front porch and knew Joel was home. You felt your cheeks flush, your hands picking up a little tremble that make it hard to grip your scissors.

‘Hello, ladies,’ Joel said, and when you looked up, he was grinning at you both from the doorway, his hands criss-crossed over his chest as he leant on the frame. It was a domestic enough moment that you had to fight the impulse to go over to him and welcome him properly, into your arms. Ellie barely acknowledged him, because she was 14.

‘What are we making?’ he asked, picking up one of Ellie’s ‘stars’ and genuinely requiring clarification. You winced a little at it. Perhaps it could go towards the back.

‘Prom decorations,’ Ellie said, and she still seemed a little down. You watched her, carefully, trying to determine if she’d already lit her fuse.

‘Oh, I won’t interrupt,’ Joel said, raising his hands, feeling something in the air. ‘You stayin’ to eat, Teach?’ he asked, and he hoped his voice didn’t make him sound too eager, didn’t give him away.

‘I don’t want to be a bother,’ you said, just like you always did.

‘Oh my God!’ Ellie sighed, throwing her star down in front of her and pushing her chair back. ‘Just say yes, you always end up staying anyway.’

‘Ellie!’ Joel barked at her, and she huffed, her shoulders so high they nearly touched her ears.

‘It’s true, you guys do all this polite bullshit and for what? Just say what you want and then you can get it. It’s not so hard.’

You looked over at Joel, who was staring at his likely hormonal teenager with a perplexed look on his face. You took a second to gather yourself.

‘I would love to stay for dinner, Joel, but one of these days I want you to let me cook for you both.’

Joel paused, considering this. Eyes still on Ellie, who was still quietly fuming, he nodded his head, once. ‘I would like that, Teach,’ he said, his careful tone that of every bewildered teenage-girl-Dad the world over. ‘Ellie, I want you to go wash up before dinner, then I want you to peel the carrots.’

She stood up, stomping to the washroom. You concentrated hard on the paper in your hands, hoping it was enough to stifle your smile.

‘I want to know what the fuck that was about,’ Joel said to you, but smiling.

‘I want to remind you there’s nothing worse than being a teenage girl,’ you replied.

You stood, wobbling on the end of a step ladder, hanging up the stars. Tommy found some string lights and put them up around the mess hall, and Johnny and his assembly of post-apocalyptic musicians set up in the corner. You and Tommy had already pushed all the tables back against the wall to make a dance floor. As you worked, he regaled you with his favourite memories of his own prom, most of which seemed to involve trying to get up the skirt of someone called Tammy Schmidt. She’d never let him anywhere near her, and you told Tommy to his face she was right to do it.

‘You would have been Tommy and Tammy,’ you said, and he started to giggle. Actually giggle.

‘That was the appeal!’ he said, sheepish. ‘I figured it sounded like those made-up celebrity names.’

‘Brangelina,’ you said, and he grinned.

‘Tomammy,’ he replied, and you rolled your eyes.

After everything was set up you went home to get dressed, pulling out a little black number foraged from the bottom of Maria’s wardrobe. She had complained she was never going to get back into it, and you had waved her off. It made you feel silly and out of place and pretty and ridiculous, and you liked the way it swished when you walked. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d swished anywhere. It felt so normal you weren’t sure you could trust it.

When you arrived back at the mess hall the lights had been dimmed, and Johnny and his band were starting to warm up. With the lights down and the paper streamers and stars you could forget for a moment it wasn’t a normal prom, a real one. You felt a surge of pride in your belly, looked around at the tangible good.

You heard the doors to the mess hall swing open, followed by shrieks and laughter and multiple sets of rapidly advancing feet.

‘Oh my god it’s so amazing!’ Mika said, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the string lights, of the smile stretching his cheeks.

‘This is cool,’ Dina said, quietly, up the back, and you grinned. Something in you, some teenage part of you, was quietly relieved.

More kids arrived, some trailed by their parents, and you busied yourself setting up the orange juice and cola station. The kitchen had done little sandwiches and finger food and you wanted to make sure the kids ate, worried you’d send them home on empty stomachs and sugar pinging through their veins. That their parents would never forgive you, and that they would be right.

As soon as the band started up you stepped back, letting the kids swarm the plates and start to dance. You wanted to join them but you also felt a pull back to the edge of the room, kept thinking you were seeing snatches of your sister in the half-light, of you as a girl. You weren’t sure what the feeling was, some kind of melancholic nostalgia, some kind of longing for something that didn’t make sense to you. You’d never even liked prom that much, had mostly just gone because everyone else was. But it was different seeing one from the other side: from the other side of adolescences, from the other side of the end of the world. It felt precious and sad and joyful, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to turn away from it or bottle it up and store it safe under the bed.

You kept wondering if this was what your 14-year-old self ever envisioned for herself, if she could have envisioned anything so apocalyptic at all.

The doors swung open again, and you exhaled the breath you didn’t realise you were holding when Ellie strode in, almost skipping, her face titled up to the ceiling to see all her decorations hanging in the rafters. ‘Holy shit!’ you heard her exclaim, and you cringed a little, trying to avoid the eyes of the parents. You would have to speak to her about that, eventually.

You turned to pour yourself a juice, the acid tingling at the back of your teeth, before you heard heavy footsteps behind you, even over the thrum of the music and of Ellie grabbing Mika and swinging him around the dancefloor.

‘Hey, Teach,’ Joel said, his baritone rumbling out from his chest. You suppressed a shiver.

‘Joel,’ you turned to him, allowing the surprise to show on your face. ‘What are you doing here?’ You were ignoring that he was standing in black suit pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, maybe a size too big, you couldn’t be sure. He’d done his hair, or had made an attempt at it, maybe running water through it and in the humidity of the room it had started to curl. You were alarmed at how distinctly you wanted to lean forward and sink your teeth into his neck, to lave at the skin there, to feel his pulse with your tongue.

You swallowed, the juice catching in your throat and making you splutter. Suddenly Joel was beside you, an enormous warm hand between your shoulder blades as you fought, doubled over, for breath.

‘Easy, easy,’ he was saying, and you wanted to slam your eyes shut and imagine him whispering exactly that as he slid inside you, as he rocked into you and felt your cunt quiver around his length. Jesus Christ, you were going to spontaneously combust.

‘Sorry, went down the wrong hole,’ you said, fluttering your hand in front of your face in the hope it would ward him off somewhat. As you straightened, he let his hand slide down your spine and away just as he reached the small of your back, and you felt your spine arch towards where his touch had been.

Fucks sake, you needed to get it together. You were like some horny teenager at, well, prom.

‘Tommy had something he needed to do at home, something with the baby.’

‘Is he OK? Is Maria Ok?’

‘Yeah, they’re fine, the baby just has a sniffle and I believe Maria’s exact words were “you’re not going out there to watch teenagers marinate in their hormones while I sit at home being snotted on by your crotch fruit”.’

You gaped at him. ‘Maria did not say crotch fruit.’

‘Might have put my spin on that bit,’ Joel said, grinning.

For his part, Joel was watching your eyes so that he wouldn’t look down at your dress, a little black flitty number that came up to your knees and down close enough on your chest that when you leant over trying to get your breath he had to move away to resist the urge to stare at the swell of your breasts, instead coming to stand beside you and placing his hand on your back just to try and keep himself standing. You were so fuckin’ pretty, done your hair all up nice. He wanted to swivel you around, tuck you into his chest and nibble on the nape of your neck, put his nose in your hair and inhale as he flipped that silly little skirt over your rear, letting one hand wonder over your cheeks as he slid further down, cupping and probing, into the slick between your legs.

Christ on a cracker, he needed to get it together. He was behaving like Tommy at, well, prom.

‘Place looks great,’ he said, his voice slightly strangled. You gazed up at him, taking a second to comprehend his words.

‘Thanks, Ellie did amazing work with the stars,’ you said, and you knew he knew you were lying, and you also knew he was a good enough Dad that he was going to let you get away with it.

‘She certainly has her own style,’ Joel replied, eyeing one particularly wonky cutout you had strategically placed in a dark corner.

You turned to watch the kids dance, Ellie’s hair bouncing around her face as she twisted her hips, holding Mika’s hand as she did.

‘She’s really gravitated towards him,’ you commented, and you looked over at Joel just in time to see a cloud pass over his face.

‘He probably reminds her of…’ he said, but then he trailed off, recalibrated. ‘He’s a sweet kid, so it makes sense,’ he finished.

‘Oh, speaking of sweet, Billy loves having you on the wall,’ you said, smiling at him and watching him blush.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, and you swore you could see genuine anxiety on his face.

‘Big Bad Joel Miller helping out? Billy getting to tell you what to do? He’s like a pig in shit.’

Joel could feel the heat on his cheeks and was powerless to stop it. ‘Big Bad Joel Miller,’ he echoed, feeling the words on his tongue, seeing how they tasted. ‘Not sure about that.’

‘You must know there are stories,’ you said, leaning into him a little, goading him a little, wanting to see if you could get him to crack and tell you something about himself.

‘Don’t pay any of that much mind,’ he said. ‘Don’t reckon any of ‘em are close to the truth.’

‘Well, no they can’t be,’ you agreed, quickly, feeling like the conversation was slipping from you and not really knowing why.

‘Not sure there are words for some of the shit I’ve…seen,’ he said, and he saw the shift in your face, the shock before you covered it, and he knew that he’d scared you a little, but there were things he didn’t want to talk about, shit that he’d had to do to get Ellie here, to get her to be able to forget the cost of it all. Big Bad Joel Miller. No one had any fucking clue.

He looked over at you, at the way you had sunk into yourself, and he cursed himself. You were too sweet, too warm, and he’d gone and thrown a wet rag on your fire. If you knew about him you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him. He took a step back, too. You’d made him forget for a second, that he was no good to anyone. Especially not to someone like you.

You were lost in your thoughts, watching the kids again but not really seeing. It wasn’t even what Joel had said, although you felt the way he was pushing you away, and you went willingly. It was that as he spoke you realised, finally realised, what the feeling was that had been pulling at you all night.

You were fucking lonely. 14-year-old you might have been OK with the QZ stuff, with what you had to do to survive, with keeping your sister alive along as you could, with making sure her death meant something, even just until they cleared her body away. 14-year-old you might have even been OK with the teaching, although that would take some convincing. But the fact that you were alone, that you were nearing 40 and hadn’t ever really loved anyone other than your family, hadn’t ever really had anyone love you. OK, so you hadn’t married Jonathan Taylor Thomas, in the circumstances maybe for that you got a pass. But that you weren’t with anyone, that you had wanted love for yourself and never got it, that you had wanted to belong in that most specific way and you hadn’t, hadn’t ever really come home. 14-year-old you was screaming and howling and gnashing her teeth. You’d failed her, failed the both of you.

You were horrified to feel a tightness across your throat, the heat building behind your eyes. You needed to get away from all these people, needed to go and pity yourself in peace.

‘I just need some air,’ you said, barely above a whisper, pushing past Joel with your face turned away lest he see your eyes growing redder and wetter by the second.

‘Teach…’ he called after you, but you were gone, heading straight to the door, not seeing Ellie turn to follow Joel’s voice, to see you making a break for it, turning back to him with her hands in the air.

Joel felt his stomach drop, staring back at Ellie with panic written all over his face.

‘What did you do?’ she mouthed to him, and he shrugged, helpless. He’d pushed you away, had shut you down, had been rude and cruel and cold. But he had no idea how to mouth that to his teenage daughter across a dance floor. ‘GO AFTER HER’ Ellie whisper-screamed at him, and it jolted him, got his feet moving before he’d even given it another thought.

You were standing under the awning a couple of paces from the door, leaning on the railing and sucking in the chill of the air. You realised when you heard the door swing open that you’d cornered yourself, cursed yourself for getting all your years in the QZ.

‘Teach,’ he said, and you hung your head. ‘M’sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

‘Wasn’t you, wasn’t that, I just…I needed to breathe for a second.’

Joel paused, watching the way your shoulders rose and fell, sharp and insistent, as you gathered yourself.

He took a step forward towards you, saw the way you flinched and turned away, and stopped, deciding instead to sit on the steps, giving you space but not too much, distance but enough that he could reach out for you if you wanted him to.

‘I did a lot of things to get here,’ he said, after a while. The hair stood up on the back of your neck. ‘I ain’t ashamed of ‘em, I’d do ‘em all again to keep her safe, you understand?’ he asked, and you nodded, still with your back half-turned. ‘Never regretted getting her here, both of us, to safety and to family.’ You nodded again. You knew all of this, had lived all of this, but you didn’t stop him, couldn’t turn to look at him, just let him talk because you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. ‘What bothers me, Teach, is that Big Bad Joel Miller might be too old to do ‘em again.’

You felt a pull towards him, turned your body to peer at his face. He was staring down main street, avoiding looking at you, too.

‘What if I can’t keep her safe?’ he asked, almost to himself. You swallowed, moving towards him, sucked into his gravitational pull. As you sank down beside him on the step, he shuffled to make room for you, but you didn’t want distance, leaning further over so that your shoulders touched. He was so warm even in the chill of the night. You wanted him to take your hands and blow warm breath onto them, smile and put them on his chest to warm them even though the cold of your skin stung him.

‘She’s so capable, Joel,’ you said. ‘You did that. She’ll keep herself safe, soon.’

‘She’s just a kid,’ Joel said, but he wasn’t attacking, just stating a fact.

‘I wasn’t much older on outbreak day,’ you said, simply.

‘Lotsa girls her age weren’t so lucky,’ he replied, quiet.

Blood smattered all over a pink and purple tee-shirt. Curls caked in blood and mud. He swallowed.

‘I know that,’ you said, after a while. Joel watched your face. He saw that it was true, that you knew.

‘S’what was it, if it wasn’t me being so rude to ya?’ he asked, after a long silence that would have made his bones itch if he’d been sharing it with anyone else but you. You shied away a little, and he watched as you started to recede. ‘Hey,’ he said, reprising the conversation from the night at the kitchen table. ‘I want you to tell me what’s up,’ he said, and you smiled, faintly, recognising what he was doing.

‘Prom, I guess. Memories. I don’t know.’ You paused, tried to form the words. ‘It’s all about promise, isn’t it, being a kid and being in high school and doing all of these…rites of passages. There’s an assumption about how things will go. We all make ‘em, made ‘em. Guess it’s hard when they didn’t come true.’

Joel nodded. He wanted to pull you into his lap and rock you, gentle and soft in the night, feel your warm breath on his neck as you pushed your fingertips through the buttonholes of his shirt.

‘Most of the time I’m OK,’ you went on, trying to repair it, slink back under your shell, your slimy snail body suddenly exposed to the elements.

‘Everyone’s OK til they ain’t.’ Joel said. He turned to look at you, swivelled his body to yours so that your knees rested against his. His eyes were so deep and dark in the streetlights, his brows saddled as he petitioned you. ‘I don’t mind it, Teach. You can be all of it with me.’

You felt your heart gallop in your chest, heat suddenly in your belly.

‘So can you, Big Bad Joel Miller,’ you told him, smiling but earnest, wanting him to believe it was true. ‘I’ll take whatever you got,’ you said.

There was a moment, Joel knew, when he could pull back from it. That this was that moment, when he could turn away from you, could crack a joke or make some excuse to head back inside. Could get up and bolt for the gate, swing it open and face whatever demons were out in the darkness so as not to have to face his own. He knew this was the moment of no return, for him.

He looked down at your lips, painted red for prom and so soft, so plump. Your skin soft and glowing so gently in the light. How many more times was he going to have to resist you by porchlight? How many times could he?

‘Joel…’ you whispered, edging yourself closer to him, leaning in without even really thinking about it, watching him mirror you and Joel knew the moment had passed, that your little whimper of his name was branded on his chest, that he would parade it around town for you, would bare it to anyone who wanted to lay their claim.

Your hair was soft, so soft, in his palms as he pulled you into him, his lips crashing into yours, your mouth opening to welcome him, tongue dancing across his. He groaned, from deep down in his belly, for the want of it, for the way his tummy flipped at his first taste of you.

You were pretty sure you were dead. It was the only explanation. But if this was heaven then so fucking be it, because Joel was cupping your face in his hands, and his kiss was insistent and gentle and he was guiding you through it, teasing you open as you felt the hinge of your jaw creak under the pressure of your want for him. You weren’t sure you were breathing. You weren’t sure you cared.

He was pulling you closer, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you into him, the weird angle meaning both sets of knees were in the way. You considered vaulting over the top of him, riding him on the steps of the mess hall while a bunch of teenagers supposedly under your charge danced under paper stars, but you had the wherewithal to hold back, to pry yourself from him, to lean your forehead on his and catch your breath.

Granted, you didn’t have a lot of experience. But you’d never had a kiss that felt like that.

‘Teach,’ Joel said, so quiet and just for you, and you could hear that he was out of breath, that his chest was heaving, that he was fighting it back just as hard as you. He lifted his head and gazed at you, the look of naked desire on his face such that you wanted it to be photographed, painted, hung in a gallery and studied by future generations.

Then, alarms. And yes, you thought, that felt about right. Everything had just shifted off its axis, after all, it made sense that the universe was now screaming.

Except it sounded weirdly familiar. Kind of like the one that you pulled when there was a problem at the gate.

You turned your head down main street as you saw the flood lights come on. You were up, Joel just behind you, as you and your little swishy dress headed towards it, front doors ripping open around you, men and women pulling on jackets over their pyjamas, arming themselves for war.

‘State your business!’ you heard Billy yell from the top of the gate, his rifle trained at a hard angle just beneath him. Jesus, they were close, you realised. Nearly right up on the iron.

You couldn’t hear the reply, vaulting up the ladder without thinking, without a weapon, leaving Joel to defend the gate.

‘State your business!’ Billy called again, and you came up beside him, peeping over the edge to report back on what you could see. There were three of them, that you could see from here. You scanned the treeline, the floodlights turning the trees into fingers scratching harsh at the night sky.

‘Where they come from, Billy?’ you asked, and he gestured with his head over to the right. You picked up the binoculars and scanned.

‘Can’t see any others,’ you reported back, going to the other side and holding up three fingers to the crowd.

‘We’re just passing through,’ the man called back, ‘saw your lights and thought…we’re injured.’

‘Injured how?’ Billy called. You could hear murmuring beneath you, a plan being hatched.

‘One of us is a woman. We were ambushed. They took everything we have, nearly took her but she got away.’

You peered down over the gate, could see that a woman was indeed holding her arm in a sling, her face pale. She was wavering, like she was ready to collapse.

You heard footsteps on the ladder, felt it sway the wall as Tommy appeared beside you.

‘Whatdya reckon?’ he asked you, his eyes focussed but his breath coming in short and fast.

‘They’re telling the truth so far,’ you said, ‘best I can tell.’

You stepped out of the way, Tommy taking your place at the wall while Billy stayed fixed, his gun unwavering from the strangers.

You heard a gasp, a kind of choking shock. ‘No fucking way,’ Tommy said, and you peered over his shoulder again, trying to figure out what he could see. ‘Shauna?’ he called down, the woman’s face snapping up to him, a shaky hand covering her eyes to make him out.

‘Tommy?’ she asked, as though she was dead and found herself at the gates of heaven, surprisingly less gilded than expected. You swallowed, saw Billy’s hold on the gun waver.

‘Open the gates!’ Tommy called, before turning back to the strangers. ‘Hands up and come forward slowly, I’ll meet you there.’

‘Who is that, Tommy?’ you asked him, grabbing at him as he made to hurry past.

‘It’s Shauna,’ he said, his face pale and disbelieving. ‘Where’s Joel?’

‘Who the fuck is Shauna?’ you asked, every nerve ending screaming.

‘She’s Sarah’s mom,’ he said, before he disappeared down the ladder, calling for Joel as he went.

‘Who the fuck is Sarah?’ Billy said to you, his gun lowered but eyeballing the group all the same.

You had no idea.

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rebouks · 1 year ago

Text

Brynn: You are much more silent than usual today-.. are you going to miss me?

Wyatt was going to miss Brynn a great deal, but telling her that seemed harder than it ought to be, so he said naught instead.

Brynn: You are not comfortable being happy?

Wyatt squinted, something Brynn had learnt he tended to do when she was on the right track.

Brynn: Maybe you should not fight yourself.

Wyatt: Maybe you only know I feel that way because you’re the same.

And as she tended to do when he was right, Brynn dodged Wyatt’s comment.

Brynn: Do you think I stay, if you asked me to?

Wyatt: I don’t think you want me to ask that.

Brynn: No, I don’t…

Wyatt: Do you want to stay though..?

Brynn: I not sure it’s a good idea to leave home-.. not for a man I spend only a few weeks with.

Wyatt’s brow creased, though he quickly rearranged his face; she had a point, whether he liked it or not.

Brynn: Does that hurt your feelings?

Wyatt: No…

Brynn hummed and tugged on Wyatt’s hand, forcing him to stop and face her. It was obvious he was lying. He wanted to know whether this was just a holiday fling to her, or something more, but every time he even thought about doing so it felt like someone had rammed cotton wool down his throat. He’d promised himself he’d be more honest, but it wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped…

Wyatt: What exactly would you be leaving behind? I doubt you’ve exactly made anything for yourself there-.. not with Gael’s arm to cling to.

Wyatt instantly regretted being so blunt as Brynn frowned slightly, a flash of sadness darting across her features.

Brynn: That is a cruel thing to say, no?

Wyatt: Maybe-.. though I’ve a feeling I’m right, so I’m not taking it back.

Brynn narrowed her eyes, he was right, of course. She had nothing of her own in San Myshuno. Everything she owned, down to the clothes on her back, had been paid for by Gael. She’d never thought about leaving before, she had everything she ever needed, technically-.. but spending time with someone who wasn’t afraid to interrogate her about such matters finally made her question her innermost protests, rather than burying them.

She didn’t like Gael, she didn’t like his friends or his apartment, she didn’t want him to propose, didn’t want to marry him, didn’t want to carry his children. It wasn’t ever supposed to be permanent; she wanted a life of her own…

Wyatt: Well?

Brynn: I not argue with you on my last day here.

Wyatt: We’re not arguing, are we?

Brynn: Exactly!

Wyatt ran his hand through his hair and sighed, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He needed more. He was desperate to know how she felt before she left, desperate to know how she’d gotten herself into this situation, whether she wanted out or not. He thought she did, but for once, he wasn’t sure of himself.

Wyatt: I just meant-…

He huffed as Brynn leapt on his back with a chuckle, that was the end of that then. He’d never realised until now how socially inept he was with women-.. no, intimacy; but Brynn didn’t seem to mind, maybe she could relate. He was willing to bet she knew what he was struggling with. It almost seemed as though she were goading him into being honest, like he craved to be.

Brynn: Let’s find somewhere nice-.. if you tell me what you meant, maybe I tell you a story.

He shook his head and snorted, amused; that was definitely what she was doing, wasn’t it?

Wyatt had done a lot of terrible things over the years. Amongst countless other felonies he’d taken more than a few lives - some with his bare hands - but no crime he’d committed had ever caused his heart to beat as erratically as it did now. Against his “better” judgement and despite his pounding chest, he’d held Brynn close and told her how he felt.

He told her how much he’d enjoyed spending time with her, how pleased he’d be if she stayed, and how curious he was about her situation back in San Myshuno. Brynn had softened upon hearing his words, appreciative of his honesty; and in return, she’d told him how she and Gael met…

Brynn hadn’t left Del Sol to begin with, choosing instead to remain employed by Varius, which had eventually been taken over by new management. Never embroiled in Ashton’s more nefarious business ventures, the casino and its franchise hadn’t suffered much, remaining completely operational as a result.

Gael was in town for family and work, hauled to the top floor by some of his rather more enthusiastic associates. Clearly uncomfortable, she’d taken him aside and entertained him in a different manner-.. she’d clocked him eyeing a handsome waiter surreptitiously, felt him recoil from her touch; he might’ve fooled his colleagues, but he hadn’t fooled her. Enjoying an easy night full of free drinks and cheesy jokes, she’d thought nothing of his proposition to attend an upcoming event with him the following weekend.

The event Gael had invited her to was a wedding – his brother’s wedding – and Brynn had suddenly found herself referred to as his girlfriend. She’d thought it quite funny at the time, what an odd man, paying an erotic dancer to pose as one’s partner. The money was good though, and it was much more enjoyable than working in some stuffy club, even one as fancy as Varius.

But as things do, one thing led to another and before Brynn could second guess herself, she’d agreed to move to San Myshuno and stay with Gael permanently. Genesis had seen her arse about Brynn’s newfound source of income, her friends Ace and Robert had moved away, Del Sol was smoggy and garish, held memories she’d rather forget; why wouldn’t she move back to San My? She’d have her own room in a spacious apartment, she wouldn’t have to work, Gael said he’d pay for her to finish school; it seemed like a good idea at the time, like she could have whatever she wanted.

Except she couldn’t. Gael was a controlling - albeit kind - man, terrified of being discovered by his peers. He told her where to go and when, what to wear, what to say, and how to act. He’d take her phone from her if she’d get distracted at one of his precious galas, force her to attend wellness retreats with his colleagues’ insipid girlfriends and wives whilst he and his friends smacked tiny balls with silly sticks, drag her on family vacations to hot countries where she’d get accosted by mosquitoes and prickly heat.

He’d bemoan her lack of enthusiasm when she wasn’t her usual self, but it’d been so many years that Brynn didn’t even know who she was anymore. He’d felt guilty then, promising she could pick their next destination; that it’d be just the two of them, no pretending.

Brynn had never imagined bumping into Wyatt again, but she’d often thought of him, wondering what he’d done after that fateful phone call. She’d almost felt proud of him, in a way-.. it wasn’t easy to turn against your upbringing like that, against your friends, against yourself. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt and he hadn’t taken it for granted, which was more than could be said for a lot of men she’d trusted in the past.

Having landed herself in hot water more times than she could count over the years, Brynn had learnt to be wary of her gut, but she couldn’t deny being drawn to Wyatt; she admired the change in him, despite the fact he seemed unaware of it himself. It was freeing to spend time with someone who didn’t expect her to act a certain way, someone who knew where she’d come from and what she’d been through, yet didn’t appear to judge her poorly for it. He’d done terrible things and so had she; it was nice, being on an even playing field for once.

Brynn had subsequently returned home more disheartened than ever, completely uninterested in her so-called life with Gael. She’d hoped Wyatt would call, hoped she’d get a taste of that freedom in her self-imposed cage, hoped something would magically change. But it hadn’t.

Wyatt: So, you’re not happy anymore?

Brynn: I am very happy here, with you-.. but that scares me.

Wyatt: Why?

Brynn: Because it means I have to confront the fact that I am not happy at home, and that is something I have never done before. I always find someone to take me in, but is always with conditions, I am never free-.. never happy.

Wyatt: Are you safe at least..?

Brynn: It is painfully boring, sharing a home with Gael, but he is not exactly aggressive.

Wyatt scowled; not exactly? That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he ought to strangle-..

Brynn: I not want you to get involved, I think I would like to do something on my own for once.

Wyat: Okay…

Brynn: I put my foot down and leave, even if it means I have nothing. I not want to run to anyone else, including you.

Wyatt: That’s why you don’t want to stay?

Brynn nodded, it would’ve been easier to tell Gael to stuff it and stay here, but that was what she always did; fall into someone else’s hands. Being with Wyatt was different though, it made her want to choose him because she wanted to, because she could, not because she needed to. If that meant she had to throw everything away and strike out on her own first – even though she had no idea how to – then so be it.

Though he was glad to know the truth, Wyatt was less than thrilled with Brynn’s plan; but she craved true freedom, and after everything she’d endured – in part due to his own transgressions – he figured he owed her as much.

Wyatt: I won’t stop you then…

Brynn: This is why I love you-.. you help set me free in the end, like I to you.

Wyatt: You love me?

Brynn: You love me too, no?

Wyatt dipped his head in agreement. He wasn’t sure how it’d happened so quickly, but there wasn’t much point denying it any longer.

Brynn: Say it…

Wyatt: I love you too.

Brynn: Is not so hard, right?

Wyatt scoffed quietly and shook his head.

Wyatt: I don’t know-.. I’m sweating.

Brynn: [laughs] Ew-.. me too though.

Previous // Next

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims story #forever in between #fib #wyatt shaw #brynn franz #hnnnnng #lookit them.. telling the truth to each other n talking properly n shit #maybe they've been replaced by aliens 🤷‍♀️#there's so much to unpack here..#but i think the two most important things are that wyatt actually allowed some real gods honest emotion to come outta his mouth #for the first time in like forever..#and that even if we don't agree with brynn - past future or present - she should get the chance to decide her own fate for once #and he GETS it #;-;#this is why she cried on the mountain.. cos for the first time in forever she felt free #stood on top of the world like that she realised she's the captain.. n even if jumping off the ship is scary #maybe she'll find some land #u kno #maybe even a slightly reformed wyatt too ¯\(°_o)/¯#bwuhh #neway.. u asked for this essay so i hope u enjoyed it 😆

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distort-t · 2 months ago

Text

ANGST DIALOGUE.

“I didn’t ask for your help, I don’t need your help, matter of fact—why are you even here?!”

”Why can’t you just stay away like I asked?”

”You make things a lot harder than they need to be, you know?”

”I want to feel the love you say you have for me—where is it? I don’t see it, I don’t feel it, is it even there or are you playing me like everyone else?”

”Please.. just stop.”

”I don’t understand you. You put on this act, you pretend like you’re okay, but I see it more than anyone. You’re breaking and you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

”Don’t lie to me.”

”Was it worth it?”

”Please, don’t hurt me more than you already have.”

”I am not fragile! You walk on eggshells around me and expect me not to notice?? The glances between each of you, the hesitation—I see it all! And I hate it!”

”I’m not your pet, you don’t control me. I can do what I want. Do you know how freeing it is to realise I don’t have to go to you for everything?”

”There was a time where I begged to be treated with respect, I will never go back there.”

”In exchange for what? What are you sacrificing that could possibly be worth it?”

”Don’t leave me.” “You know I can’t stay.”

“Please—I know I’m broken, I know I’m damaged, I know I’m not worth a lot—“ “And this is my problem with you! You can never be kind to yourself, can you?”

”You took everything from me.” “And I enjoyed doing so.”

”When will the hurt stop?”

”I only wanted you to love me.”

”You’re insane if you believe I’m going to give up on them.” “But it seems they’ve already given up on you.”

”I’ve tried. Really, I have, but you don’t want the help—so I’m done. I wanted to help you, to see you get better, but I’m not sticking around to watch you destroy yourself.”

”Oh, give it up! You are a pathetic excuse of the person I first met.”

”I stopped believing you would save me a long time ago.”

”How do I know what love is when I never even got it from my parents?”

”You don’t scare me.” “Oh you poor thing, I can see you trembling in your skin.”

”Give up on me.”

“I loved you, a long time ago.”

”I’m not ready to have this conversation.”

”I don’t wanna see you.”

”You hurt me, tear into me until I’m exposed, and you want me to forgive you?”

”I want the best for you, but I don’t want to see it.”

”I’m broken. You broke me.”

”I don’t wanna die.”

”I did everything for you! I did everything you asked of me, I did my best—“ “It wasn’t enough.”

”Maybe if you tried harder, they would still be alive.”

”Your judgement is clouded.” “It’s not—“ “Your love will blind you, believe me. It’s ironic how similar we are.”

”Leave me—I’m only gonna slow you down.” “No way! That’s not an option right now.”

”Have a good time finding peace knowing that I died in your arms hating you”

”It wasn’t your fault.” “You can’t possibly say that.” “I know what they would have wanted, and I know that not wanting you to blame yourself is up there.”

”Give me a break.” “The only break you will get is when you’re dead!”

”I just want my mother to love me.”

”Why did it have to be you?”

”Don’t give up on me.”

”They were right about you.”

”You want someone to love you but you can’t even love yourself. How is that meant to work?”

”Cut the bullshit! You are wasting away in a sea of regret, shame, and self-loathing that you are starting to lack everywhere else. You don’t have the privilege to grieve, not now and definitely not here.”

”How can I hate you when I see parts of myself in your soul?”

”I was kind once. I didn’t have this everlasting hatred towards the world as I do now. Shocking, right?”

”They died because of me, nothing can change that.”

”What else do you want from me? I have already given you everything I am.”

”I wish you would look at me like you look at them.”

—

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hiro--aoki · 7 months ago

Text

TWD Incorrect Quotes from my classmates

Tw: contains swear words, mention of sex, use of slut and maybe some other offense things, idk

Michonne: Because your minds are still developing you want to….

Y/N: Do drugs!

Michonne: Take more risks…

Y/N: Nah…

Michonne: A risk is any unsafe action or stupid, thoughtless and careless behaviour.

Carl to Y/N: Literally me.

*Coughs that sound like an erupting volcano*

Abraham: My tummy hurts.

Michonne: Can you name three risks?

Merle: Sex with no protection!

Carl: A gun with no safety on!

Y/N: Having a forehead as big as Merle’s!

Deanna: So, we have codes A, C and D.

Rick: Why not code B? Where’s the B????

Aaron: B-cause.

Glenn: You should b- ashamed of yourself…. I’m not funny

Maggie: You’re not funny

Deanna: So, code A stands for….?

Daryl: Ass!

Eugene: Acceptable!

Aaron: Yeah *fistbump*

Y/N: Nerd!

Deanna: What about code C?

Maggie: Coffee.

Eugene: Calculated!

Deanna: Yes! How about code D?

Abraham: Deez nuts!

Sasha: Dangerous!

Carol: Destructive!

Deanna: Yeah! You guys concern me!

Y/N: Ron, shut up you acoustic monk.

Glenn: Guys I accidentally wrote relationhips instead of relationships.

Carl: Y/N, has relationhips.

Y/N: What’s that supposed to mean?!?!

Y/N: Carl, has a shirt that says ‘ Roblox is life’ shirt, and he said it suits me.

Negan: Feel how soft my water bottle is.

Simon: Stop stroking your water bottle like that!

Michonne: What’s something that was legal, but was a destructive decision?

Merle: Weed!

Enid: I wanna jump off a cliff.

Y/N: I wanna kiss a 12 gauge.

Enid: My dad jumped out of a plane without a parachute…

Carl: My dad is a plane.

Andrea: My butt hurts.

Dale: *Gives strange look*

Andrea: You’re looking at me like you wanna fuck me.

Dale: What?

Shane: Ha!

Dale: No, I actually didn’t hear.

Amy: Real.

Negan: Did you wash your ass today?

Michonne: So, tell me an example of a safety risk?

Merle: Your mom

Michonne: …and some conatin cannabis

Judith: These gummies tastes funny.

*Watching a budget direct ad and Captain Risky comes on*

Jesus: Smash

Ron: Bro’s him

Daryl: I mean he has all the skills

Carl: Bluds the main character

Y/N: You look like a potato

Dwight: You look like a trash can

Y/N: Nuh uh

Dwight: Yeah uh

Negan: Dwight, keep working *Lightly caresses the shovel Dwight’s hand*

Y/N: Stop!

Dwight: Stop it I don’t like it!

Y/N: Yes, we are Sluts

Rosita: Sexy Ladies Under Tonnes of Stress

Y/N: I can’t make a decision that big, I can’t even tie my own shoes!

Enid: Please tell me you’re joking.

Y/N: I’m not, I tie them like a three-year old! Let me show you!

Enid: No, no thanks…

Y/N: Watch my feet! Watch my shoes. *Ties laces with two loops*

Enid: Ew *visibly cringes*

Carl: …I just asked if you wanted pancakes or waffles….

Glenn: Look how much funny shit we said today.

Daryl: I can’t it’s too black

Glenn: Ayo?

Daryl: I meant too dark!

Y/N: Nah!

*Glenn adjusts lighting*

Daryl: Now it’s too white!

Y/N: !!!

Daryl: Too bright! Too bright!

Negan: BALLS

Y/N: Gotta rizz ‘em with the ‘tism

Negan: I’m a Savior….save ya mom!

*Carl and Ron carrying a log*

Enid: For a second I thought that was in their ass’s

Y/N: I want them up my ass

Enid: What?

Y/N: What?

*Truck passes*

Daryl: Awww yeah, listen to tha’

Y/N: I can smell the air…

Daryl: No shit, sherlock!

Glenn: Don’t judge a book by it’s-

Eugene: Erm actually, it’s in the human instincts system, for us to make a quick judgement on a person appearance to determine whether they are friend or foe.

Y/N: Oooh, did I appear friend or foe when you first saw me?

Eugene: Well, when I first encountered you, you looked like you couldn’t hurt a fly, but since then, I have realised my mistake and have grown scared of you.

Rosita: He’s scared of everything…

Eugene: Not pickles!

Beth: What song do you wear?

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p0orbaby · 2 years ago

Text

Dead Plate

summary: Natasha can’t cook. You love to let her know. She loves to be told.

warnings: suggestive but not explicit, language, slight sub!dom vibes? probably some terribly incorrect cooking terms in there

a/n: someone suggested chef!reader ages ago, so here’s something small

word count: 1.3k

“You’re doing that all wrong”

The sound of your voice caused Natasha to jump. So much so that the wooden spoon she was using clattered against the side of the pan and onto the floor.

“Sneaking up on someone in front of an open flame is dangerous, you know”

“Well it’s not as dangerous as what’s going on in that pot” you countered as you looked over her shoulder with a grimace.

“I’ve followed the recipe you wrote down! So if it’s bad then that’s on you”

“Right. Because apparently I said that spoons and whisks where interchangeable”

She was about to answer when she read your now food covered notes, and did in fact find she’d been using the wrong utensil all along.

“You could’ve picked an easier one for your first try. Even the best chefs struggle with a roux from time to time”

All Natasha could do was pout and cross her arms over her chest in defeat.

“Hey, don’t pull that face” you said as you tied your apron around yourself. Getting ready to either salvage the food or start over entirely. “Come over here and help, you can be my sous chef”

“Do I have to?”

“Ah, that’s not what we say now, is it?”

A shiver ran down her spine at your tone. Assertive. Commanding. Sexy as fuck.

“No. Chef”

“That’s what I thought. So come and stand over here and help”

“Yes chef”

Natasha washed her hands in the basin and promptly stood next to you. The few extra inches you had on her had her craning her neck upwards. Waiting patiently to follow any instructions you’d give her.

“You’ve added too much flour. So we need to add more milk. Can you measure two tablespoons and pour them into the pot for me?”

This time selecting the appropriate utensils, she did what you asked. Just as obedient as a trained puppy. Always wanting to impress.

“Perfect. Now we'll turn the heat down slightly, and I want you to stand in front of me at the stove and whisk until there's no lumps”

She wasn’t listening. She was looking at your hands, your forearms. The way they tensed as you turned the gas down.

“Earth to Natasha '' you promoted, smirking at the absent expression on the redhead's face.

“Sorry”

You took her wrist, pressed the whisk into her palm and maneuvered her so her back was touching your front. Caged in. Trapped.

“You know how to whisk, right? Or do you need me to assist you with that too?”

Without a word, Natasha lifted her hand and placed the whisk in the pot and started moving it back and fourth with speed. Bubbles being created in the milk at the repetitive motion.

She felt your hand at her elbow the next second.

“Too fast. Be a little more gentle” you whispered in her ear.

So she slowed her pace. Focusing on your breath against the skin of her neck and the pressure of your hands as they squeezed at her waist.

“Good girl. See how it’s getting thicker? Means you’re doing a perfect job”

“Thank you, Chef,” she breathed.

“Now, what else does the recipe say?” A rhetorical question as you reached around her form and picked up your own notes from the kitchen counter. “Cheese. Did you grate it already?”

She nodded.

“Words, Natasha”

“Yes chef. I left it in the refrigerator”

She missed the feel of your body against hers as soon as you stepped away. And the chill of the air from the fridge made her shiver. Goosebumps appearing on her skin instantly.

“And the macaroni?”

“I was going to boil that after,” Natasha admitted slowly. Realising her mistake as soon as you mentioned the other key ingredient.

“Oh dear, Natasha. You really did fuck up didn’t you?”

Your voice wasn’t judgemental. Not really. She knew you were playing, but that made the whole thing even more enjoyable. Your normal carefree attitude replaced by one of assertiveness with hints of superiority.

She probably loved it all a little too much.

Loved the way you tutted at her forgetfulness. Loved the way you moved around the kitchen, brushing past her with intent. It was all very calculated. She knew that. But she relished in the attention all the same.

“You need to do better, Natalia. Your job requires you to be well fuelled. And that means learning how to cook. I may not always be around to help you”

Her legs clenched together subconsciously at the insult. How you made her feel so weak she never knew. It was a stark contrast to why she was like outside of the house. Being a criminal lawyer meant she had to be stern, level headed, even ruthless sometimes. That all flies out the window as soon as you call her names, or roll your eyes at her incompetence at simple tasks.

“I can cook” Natasha’s response was merely just for show. She couldn’t cook. Unless you call tv dinners or oven chips cooking. Which you naturally didn’t. Her ex did the cooking and with him gone, she was left to dine on meals that were mainly made up from the colour beige.

Until you, that was.

“Sure you can sweetheart. If you could, I wouldn’t have to hold your hand while you tried and failed to make this now, would I?”

She shook her head. Bashful and innocent as you drained the water from the pot of now cooked macaroni.

Wait. She can’t have been ogling you that long surely?

“Do you need my help to stir it together or are you up to trying not to make a mess?”

She grabbed the spoon you’d held out for her and your response was to slide her between you and the surface once again. Marble digging into her hips deliciously as you lent forward and placed your chin on her shoulder. Fingers kneading softly at her sides.

“See, you can achieve what you want if you use your brain a little” you encouraged softly as she stirred the pasta into the sauce. “Mac and cheese now, beef wellington next”

“I think I’ll leave the cooking to you” she decided as she dipped her finger in the pot and licked the excess off. Moaning in joy at the flavour.

She went to dip her finger back in so you could have a taste, but you grabbed her wrist, nails almost digging into her skin, halting her movements.

“Don’t you dare put your hand back in there. Wash your hands or use a damn spoon”.

Her breath hitched. “Yes, chef”

You moved away from her again, but this time you smacked her behind as she shimmied up to the sink. Your action was relayed by a squeal from and an out of character glare at you from over her shoulder.

All you did in response was lean smuggly against the frame of the door again. Relishing in the fact you could turn her to jelly with a few harsh words.

“That was fun”

“Was it? All you did was insult me”

“All's fair in love and war. And I didn’t hear you complaining. You’re hot when you’re flustered”. There it was again. The heat that ran through her body at your backhanded compliments. “And you’d look even hotter flustered and naked”

She’d play along. “Is that so?”

“Oh I’m positive. Wanna find out?”

“Sure”

“What was that?” You shouted as you turned away from her and started ascending the stairs.

“Yes chef”

“Better”

Natasha almost melted into a puddle on the tile floor beneath her when you caught her gaze and tilted your head in the direction you were headed, prompting her to follow.

The mac and cheese could wait until after she’d worked up an appetite for something that wasn’t you.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x chef!reader #chef!reader #natasha romanoff fluff #fluff #natasha romanoff smut #smut

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