#i wrote like a whole paper on this in college and I still have more to say

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[rosenclaws]

Different Side of the Track || 50's Greaser!Logan smut

summary: All your life your parents had created the perfect image of their daughter that you were forced to fit into but when you went off to college and came back with a degree they were nothing but ashamed. Claimed that it wasn't a ladies place to be educated like that. So why not ruin their good family image even more and sleep with the older hot and mysterious man with a motorcycle.

warnings: MINORS DNI, SMUT, fem!reader, breast play, doggy style, rough sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, borderline abusive family, sexism, harassment from a group of assholes, violent Logan.

wc: 4.6k

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a/n: It's my birthday! So to celebrate I wrote this fic because I couldn't get the idea out of my head and god he's hot. Also I didn't really try to do proper 50's talk because I'm lazy and I cannot handle all the research jaldfk;s. This ended up a little angstier than normal, as my fics usually do lol. The ending isn't my favorite but I tried im sorry asdfjkl. Okay anyways I really hope you like it!

You truly hated this town. College was a breath of fresh air and while it wasn’t always easy, it was better than home. You got your degree, proudest day of your life. Even if your parents didn’t show up. Even if you had to smile in the picture by yourself, watching everyone else celebrate with their families. Your parents never understood your want to go to college.

You thought they’d be proud but if anything they were ashamed. They think that a woman pursuing higher education was unladylike. That a woman's place was to stay at home and take care of the kids. They were embarrassed of you, refused to acknowledge any of your achievements.

You wished you could have stayed in your college town but then you got the letter. Your grandmother had passed and you needed to come home. You were heartbroken. Your grandmother was the only one to support you, and helped you when you worked countless hours at the diner to pay for it. She celebrated when the acceptance letter came in and she gave you the biggest hug when you left.

Coming home was a no-brainer, needing to be here for her funeral but now you’re stuck at home with your parents and life is miserable. You were counting down the days until you could get out of here again. You spent as much time as you could out of the house.

Going to work, dreaming of another life. Doing literally anything you could to stay out and away from your parents. That’s how you found yourself here. Taking midnight shifts at the diner to stare at the man sitting at the counter.

Logan. It was sewed onto the patch on his jumpsuit. You don’t even know his last name but you do know that you want to know everything about him. He worked at the mechanic shop right across the street. He was dark, brooding, mysterious. He didn’t talk to anyone. Just ordered one black coffee and sat there with the paper. This was a small town and you had never seen or heard of him before.

“You’ll catch flies if you don’t shut your mouth there pumpkin.” You feel a hand on your jaw and you swat it away. Betty, your coworker was grinning like a madwoman. She was a sweet old lady who has worked at this diner for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Oh hush.” You look down at your order sheet. Sketches of your patrons fill the empty sheets. Mostly drawings of Logan.

“I don’t blame you sweetheart, he’s a dreamboat if I’ve ever seen one.” She sighs dreamily as she looks at him.

“Who is he?”

“Not sure, rolled into town one day. Plenty of rumors, though, say that he was an army guy. Some say that he’s running from the law.” You gasp at the idea.

He couldn’t be a convict could he? You’d never met anyone like that. Though, you feel yourself grow curious instead of fearful. Your whole life you lived in the perfect world. Perfect family with a lot of money and a perfect reputation to uphold. You got the perfect grades, had the perfect friends and still your life felt anything but perfect. You craved something more, needed it. You couldn’t live the rest of your life as someone's housewife. That wasn’t your dream.

“Looks like he needs a refill..” Betty nudges your arm and pushes you forward. You eye the apple pie sitting in the case and steal a slice. No better way to get a man to talk than give him pie right? Clearing your throat you head over and put on a smile.

“Hi Logan.” He looks up from the paper with his usual stony face. A beat passes and he doesn’t speak.

“This is for you, on the house.” You place the pie down in front of him. You shift nervously in your spot as you pour coffee into his cup. He’s never told you his name, does he think you’re a freak or something?

“It’s on your uniform, you know. Your name.” You wince at how horribly awkward this feels. He looks down.

“That supposed to be me?” He grunts out. You tilt your head in confusion before following his gaze. Your guest checks with drawings all over them. Drawings of Logan. You slam your hands down and stuff them in your pocket.

“No! I mean, yes but it’s nothing. Just drawings I. I’m sorry.” Logan just looks at you and you walk off in shame.

Mentally kicking yourself as you sulk back to the kitchen. Betty takes over serving him as you silently wait on the remaining people. By the time your shift is over your back aches and you’re still replaying that moment in your head.

“See you tomorrow Betty!” You say as you put on your coat.

“Hold on dear, this is for you.” She hands you a napkin and winks. Confused, you open it up to see messy handwriting. 

Thanks for the pie doll

-Logan

Logan has come by every night since then. Ordering one black coffee and you sneak him whatever pie is left. Sometimes it’s apple, other days it’s pecan. Today’s pie is pumpkin. Just in time for the fall season. He’s still a man of few words but he’s always polite. Pays and says thank you with that handsome voice of his. You’ve gathered some information on him. Mostly from the town gossip.

The group of boys, greasers who would often come by and cause a ruckus, idolized him. He drove a motorcycle, fixed cars, and smoked like there was no tomorrow. In some weird way he’s become their parental figure. Not that he really gave a shit but he worked with them at the shop and he took care of them when he needed to. He strolled in again today. This time he looks at you and throws you a wink. It’s a little routine the two of you have now. Not much talking but it’s nice. You think you’ll be able to get him to open up soon enough.

“Thanks doll.” Logan says as he sits on the worn stool. You hand him his coffee and pie, already prepared just the way he likes it.

“So, do I get to know your last name yet?” He smirks and takes a sip of his coffee.

“How about you fetch me a napkin first. Then I’ll think about it.” You roll your eyes playfully and he smiles. The door jingles and you hear the sound of obnoxious laughing. You look up to see the jerkiest looking boys you’ve ever seen. They wore letterman jackets that seemed too small and talked too loud.

One of the boys, a blonde guy who seemed vaguely familiar whistles at you. You hold back a scoff as you walk over to their table. They’re looking you up and down with a gaze that makes you shiver. Absolute jerks.

“Hey sweetheart, why don’t you be a good girl and get us some milkshakes.” You clench your jaw as you jot down their order.

It dawns on you that you know exactly who that guy is. David Scott. He was in your high school class. Quarterback, the popular guy every girl in school wanted, and the worst human being you’ve ever met. He was nothing but a no good bully. It seems fitting he’s never truly moved on from this town as he was dumber than a bag of rocks. Logan catches your eyes as you head back to the counter. Preparing their order and trying to tune out their annoyingly loud voices. Before you head back with their order you top off Logan’s coffee.

“You know drinking this much caffeine can’t be good for you.” You say.

“And yet you’re still serving me.” He shoots back. You shrug your shoulders and smile, he’s got you there.

“Hey! You done serving grandpa over there.” Logan growls and his grip tightens on his cup.

“Ignore them, they’re nothing but a bunch of idiots.” You say under your breath. You bring the tray of drink over and set them down.

“Anything else?” You ask through gritted teeth.

“Nope.” David whispers something to his friend before moving his hand and spilling his shake all over you and the floor. His friends burst out laughing and you bend down to clean up the mess. Counting down the seconds until they leave. You’re too focused on cleaning to hear David whisper to his friend.

“Watch this.” You hear the stool fall and suddenly you’re pushed to the ground.

“Get off me!” You turn around and see Logan holding David by the collar of his shirt. Teeth bared and a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Logan!” You scramble to your feet as he shoves David into the booth.

“Think you’re funny bub? You’re lucky she’s here or I’d beat you to a pulp.” He growls, eyeing his friends who are now cowering in fear. You stand stunned as Logan seems to command the room.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to scram or I’ll make good on my promise.” He rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit and grins. You’ve never seen a group of boys in so much panic.

“And don’t forget to pay.” Logan says with a smirk. They throw down more than enough money and bolt out the door.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.” You say softly as Logan seems to calm down.

“Fuckin’ idiots.” He shakes his head and gently pushes you away from the mess.

“Broken glass doll, gotta be careful.” Silently the two of you clean up the mess, him scooping up the glass and you cleaning the table.

You watch carefully as he handles the glass, watching to make sure he doesn’t cut himself. You see a piece of glass slice his hand and you hurry to the back to get a band aid. However when you come back the cut is gone, maybe it was just strawberry? The clock strikes 4am and the new waitress comes through the door, relieving you of your duties. He waits for you to clock out and walks you out the door.

“Thank you again Logan.” He just shrugs and lights a cigarette.

“Let me walk you home.” He offers and you accept. The walk is silent as you head to your home. You eye his cigarette and he notices. He holds it out to you and you take it. Taking a puff and immediately coughing it back up. Logan chuckles as he takes it back.

“Never smoked before?” You shake your head and he just smiles. Figures.

You’re much too sweet to have done anything bad. Just looking at the houses around him he knows that you’re as high society as they come. When you reach your house Logan stands on the sidewalk, watching as you walk up the driveway. You look at your door and then turn around to hurry back to Logan. Leaning in you kiss his cheek and he almost drops his cigarette.

“Bye Logan.” You bite your lip as you slowly walk back. As you walk through the door you hear him call to you.

“Howlett, my last name is Howlett.” 

Your sweet night with Logan turned sour the minute you woke up. Your parents were down at the breakfast table. Scowling with disappointed looks on their face. Oh great what else is new.

“You need to quit.” Your dad says and you laugh.

“What?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is for us to tell people you’re working at a diner? You come home smelling like smoke? It’s insulting the family!” Your mother hisses and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You knew they were cruel but to hear those words from your own mother. It hurt.

“I am an adult, I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“As long as you’re living here you do. Now go down and tell them or I will.” Your father stands and stares you down. You feel so fucking helpless. It’s true. You’re stuck here and the money you’ve saved up isn’t enough to get out of here just yet.

You storm out of the house, letting the tears fall once you’re out of their view. The walk to the diner is miserable. You don’t want to quit, you like your job. Tears fall as you tell your manager, apologizing and leaving with your tail tucked between your legs. You hated this. You longed to be free and now you’re trapped at home.

Sitting on a bench outside of the diner you let yourself cry. Not wanting your parents to see any sign of weakness from you.

“Hey, everything okay doll?” You look up and see a blurry Logan from your watery eyes. He’s got grease and oil on his face and suit. Wiping his hands with a rag.  You shake your head and Logan sits next to you.

“My parents made me quit.” He scoffs in disbelief.

Oh Logan knows all about your father. He wasn’t sure until last night but once he saw your house he knew exactly who your family was. Flaunting their money and status to spit on those lower than them. He serviced your fathers car a few times. Adding pointless upgrades. On the bright side he charges him double and your father doesn’t even bat an eye.

“That’s bullshit.” Logan says angrily. You’ve told him about your life. How disrespectful your parents are. How stupid they can be, anyone should be proud of their daughter getting a degree but they think it’s shameful. You’re smart, pretty, a real perfect girl.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say in such a defeated tone.

“You can always spend time at my work, don’t know if it’s the kind of place you’re used to hanging around but-” He gets cut off as you lunge at him. Hugging him tightly as you seek comfort in his arms. He freezes but slowly places his arms around you. Your perfectly crisp and clean dress was now dirty by his hands but you don’t care.

“I owe you so much Logan, you’ve been a real life saver.” You don’t want to let go. He’s toned, even with the jumpsuit over him. He’s strong and his arms are so warm and welcoming.

“Don’t worry about it doll, can’t stand to see a pretty girl like you so upset.” You lean up and kiss his cheek again. He grins as you scoot closer to him. Suddenly he pushes you back. You’re confused until you see your father pulling up next to the diner. Oh god did he see anything?

“You quit?” He asks, glaring at the dirt on your dress.

“Yes. I quit.” You say unhappily but he doesn’t care. He shifts his eyes to Logan.

“What happened there?” He says accusingly, you know your father wouldn’t hesitate to threaten Logan despite Logan being much stronger. It’s the egotistical nature of him.

“She fell, I caught her.” Logan lies so easily. Your father hums and drops it to your relief.

“I need you to look at my car tomorrow, something’s wrong with the brakes.”

“Got it.” Logan says casually and you can see your father roll his eyes. He drives off leaving the two of you on the bench.

“Say, why don’t you come by with your father tomorrow. I’d be happy to show you a few things” Logan offers, a flirty tone to his voice.

He walks off before you can respond, needing to get back to work. You throw the idea around in your head as you head back home. There’s no denying that Logan is hot. Really hot. He’s everything your parents hate. Lower class, older, doesn’t care about their status. It would drive them insane if you started to hang around a guy like him.

Though you don’t want to just use him to get back at your parents. You really do like him. It’s a win win in your head. Smiling to yourself you already start to pick out your outfit for tomorrow.

Ready to cause a little chaos. 

Your father didn’t understand why you wanted to come with him but you gave him so stupid excuse and he bought it. Your father pulled the car in and threw the keys at Logan. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes but Logan does it for you. Despite Logan being much more knowledgeable about cars, your father still talks down to him. It’s rude and classist and you hate it.

“I’d like to stay, you know, make sure nothing goes wrong.” Your father scoffs but leaves you be.

“He’s real lucky I don’t punch his lights out.” Logan mutters as he pops the hood of his car.

“I’m really sorry, you don’t deserve that.” Logan shrugs. He’s used to it by this point.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about me.” He leans over and kisses your cheek.

He wipes off a seat for you to sit on and you watch him work. There’s something about the way he moves that’s just…attractive. His muscles strain in his jumpsuit, sweat drips down his face. And the noises, god the noises. The grunts when he moves something heavy. Then he does the unthinkable. He unzips his jumpsuit, taking off the top half and tying it around his waist. Leaving him in just a white tank top.

Now you really have a show. You don’t know how much time has passed and you don’t care. Slowly the garage empties as people head to lunch until it’s just you and Logan. Logan can feel your eyes on him. In fact he loves it. Your cute face is staring at him like a piece of meat. He can see you shift on the leather stool. He can smell how bad you want him. It’s desperate, almost pathetic how badly you want him. He stands up, making sure to flex his arms as he sets down the wrench. 

“You alright doll, you look a little hot?” Logan feigns concern as he steps closer to you. Placing his hands on the workshop table. Caging you in.

“I’m okay.” You eye his chest shamelessly, eyes traveling down to the bulge in his suit.

“Yeah? I don’t know…” He slowly takes your sweater off. Leaving your arms bare and your cleavage on show for him.

“I’m not sweet doll, not gonna treat you like a good girl.” He growls in your ear and you whimper. Oh you need him bad.

“I’ll break a sweet thing like you, but something tells me you want that.” You grab his face and smash your lips to his. It’s messy and dirty, teeth knocking against each other as you fight for dominance. Logan slips his hands under your dress, lifting you up to the workbench and stepping in between your legs. Your hands are locked in his hair. Tugging hard as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth. His hands rip your dress at the top. You gasp as his lips trail down your neck leaving sloppy wet kisses until he reaches your boobs.

“Fuck.” He squeezes your chest roughly, purring at the feeling of them in his hands.

“So cute.” He says with a wink as he leans down and bites your nipples roughly. He promised he wouldn’t be nice and he meant it. He shamelessly grinds his bulge against your wet panties.

“Dirty girl, letting a no good mechanic touch you like this. What would your daddy say hm?” He taunts as his hands move to slip up your dress. Pulling your panties down and stuffing them in his pocket.

“Who fucking cares?” You spit out as you grind your hips. Soaking his suit with how wet he’s made you.

“Oh, pretty girls got a mouth on her.”

“Just hurry up!” You whine as you slip your hands under his tank top.

Lifting it over his head so you could get the view of his muscular body. He unties his jumpsuit and yanks it down, letting his hard cock free. To your surprise he picks you up and brings you to your dads car.

“Turn around.” He lifts your dress up and bends you over the hood of the car. His hands run across your ass, squeezing and admiring the view as he slowly grinds his cock along it. The tip of his dick slides in and you moan.

“Yeah, feels good doesn’t it doll.” He says cockily as he renders you utterly speechless.

The stretch is unbelievably amazing as he bottoms out. You whine as you feel every vein, every twitch of his cock inside of you. He’s so big. Everything about him is big. His presence, his arms, his cock. He was just big. He barely gives you anytime to adjust before fucking hard into you. Your hands claw for anything to hold onto. The hood of the car is too slippery so Logan just pins your arms behind your back instead.

“Naughty, naughty girl.” Logan huffs as he leans down to bite your ear. His pace is relentless. Pounding the words right out of you.

“Letting me fuck you on your daddies car.” He puff his chest out proudly. He’s tearing you apart on your asshole fathers car. Making you moan his name as he desecrates his car.

“Feels so good Logan. Oh god!” His cock hitting that perfect spot in you every time. Over and over. It’s unrelenting. You involuntarily shift your hips. The pleasure becomes overwhelming.

“Where are you going doll? I’m not done with you yet.” He lets go of your hands and grabs your hips, pulling you back on his cock with a bruising grip.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You beg wildly as you move your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Not planning on it.” He tilts his head back in pleasure as he pounds into you. He feels you clenching tightly around him. Your legs are quivering under him. There’s grease smudged all over your body, your face.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the windshield. You’re completely disheveled, hair a mess. Makeup smeared and clothes torn. You look absolutely filthy and you love it. You can see Logan’s abs flexing as he thrusts his hips. His hands run up your sides. Taking you by the shoulders to slam you back on his cock. A weak cry leaves your throat with every thrust. Finally you break. A desperate, strangled moan as your body quakes. Shaking and rocking you right to your core.

“That’s it doll, I’ve got you.” He leans down and nudges his nose into your neck. Kissing softly as his thrusts slow just for a moment. Letting you breathe. You’ve never felt more happy in your life.

Logan kisses the side of your head as his hips grow sloppy. Chasing his release and savoring the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing him. With a loud groan he pulls out and finishes on your ass. Your eyes close as your body feels like it's melting. You can barely stand. Logan wipes you down with a clean rag, loving how fucked you appear to be. 

“I got you.” He gently picks you up and brings you to a bench. Laying his clean jacket over you as you will your legs to stop shaking.

“You alright?” He’s got a devilish grin on his face as he redresses himself. Somehow it’s like he’s back to normal while you’re wrecked.

“Perfect, oh my god you’re amazing.” You lean back into the bench and sigh happily.

“What the hell is going on here?!” You shoot up and see your father storming towards you angrily. You’re a mess and you don’t think Logan can lie his way out of this one. He’s angry. Really angry.

“You are nothing but a disappointment and you have been ever since you were born! A disgrace to the whole family! To the town! Doing such horrible things with the likes of him.” He snarls as he points at Logan. You’re stunned into silence.

“I have the right mind to never let you out of the house again you ungrateful little-”

Logan steps in front of him and he tries to hit Logan right in the face but fails miserably. You gasp as Logan pushes him against his car. You watch as boney claws shoot from his hands. Your father squirms in fear as the tips of his sharp claws grow closer to his neck.

“Shut the fuck up.” Logan growls.

“You’re a real fucking dick and a sorry excuse for a father. If I ever see you come near her again I’ll fucking kill you.” He lets go of your father and watches as he runs away. Yelling about mutant freaks. Logan turns back to you, a cold look settling on his face when he sees your face. Now you know his secret.

“You’re a mutant.” You say in awe. To his shock you reach out for him instead of running away.

“I am.” You admire the claws, how amazing.

“Beautiful.” His mouth gapes open as you pull him closer.

For once someone is looking at him like he’s normal, like he’s not a freak of nature. He longs for this but he knows your dad won’t go down quietly. He’ll tell the whole town.

“Look doll, you’re too good for this town. You’re too good for me.” He brushes your cheek softly.

“I can’t stay here anymore and you need to go home. Pretend you never met me. You’re a smart girl and you have a bright future ahead of you.” Logan takes his hand away and walks away.

“Logan!” You throw off his jacket, you're limping slightly but you refuse to let him go. He’s quick on his feet, already shedding his work clothes for his normal ones. A leather jacket thrown over his tank top. His motorcycle is out back. He’s got a backpack already packed and ready to go. Like he was waiting for this moment to happen.

“Take me with you!” You stand in front of his bike.

“What?” He asks in disbelief.

“Please, I hate this town. I have money saved. I can help but please don’t leave me.” You move closer to him, taking his hand in yours.

“I can’t live like this anymore, Logan. I’d give it all up to be with you”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s not your choice. It’s mine so please, take me with you.” He wants to say no. To leave you here. It would break your heart and his but it’s what's best. But a part of him wants to be selfish. He could protect you, he could take care of you. But he fears you’d regret it eventually.

He’s overthinking and you can tell. You grab his jacket and kiss him gently. He groans as he slips his arms around you.

“Please.” You beg softly.

“I can’t promise you the life you’re used to.” He warns but his resolve is slipping.

“I don’t care.” He sighs and kisses you again. It’s becoming addicting. You’re completely addicting.

“Hop on doll,” He throws his leg over the bike and waits.

You waste no time jumping on behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he revs his motorcycle. You lean into him and smile. He stops so you could say goodbye to Betty and grab a bag of clothes. He waited at the door, a grin on his face as his claws were proudly shown off to your parents.

Then he drives. Away from your horrible family and the horrible town. Your future is uncertain but with Logan, you’re confident things will work out.

He’s all you need. 

[littlexdeaths]

strange love - s.h.

king steve harrington x loser fem reader

everybody wants to know, if we fucked on the bathroom sink…

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: underage drinking (everyone is 18+), mean!dom steve, steve is a major asshole, public sex, light degradation kink, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, steve makes reader cry, some good ole’ angst

a/n: this is a reworking of my first steeb fic i ever wrote on my old account. i hope you enjoy xx. and thank you to @stveharringtn for looking this over and hyping me up. ily cherry 💕

based on strange love by halsey

word count: 2.4k

You shouldn’t have come to this stupid party.

And you wouldn’t have, if Steve hadn’t practically begged you to make an appearance. It was only going to lead to more heartbreak for you, having to watch him flirt with every girl in the room. The night would end with you going home alone, wondering why you weren’t good enough to be on his arm.

Despite all that you go anyway, your heart severely outweighing the logical side of your brain. You even made sure to wear your best dress, hoping it would capture his attention. But the male didn’t glance your way the entire night, and you felt utterly defeated.

Why you didn’t leave after an hour of being ignored is beyond you, a small part of you still holding out hope. Leaning against a wall in the hallway you watch with disdain as your classmates drunkenly grind on each other. It was one of the last parties of the summer before college classes started, and everyone seemed to be making the most of it.

Everyone except for you.

“This was a stupid idea,” you mumble to yourself, glancing down at your drink with a deep sigh.

Swirling the now lukewarm beer around in your cup, no longer interested in people watching. Drunken laughter pulls you from your sulking, watching in utter annoyance as Tommy attempts a keg stand in the middle of the living room.

A large crowd has surrounded him, giving you the perfect opportunity to find Jonathan and leave.

However, feeling a piece of paper being slipped into your hand stops you dead in your tracks. Your eyes searching for the source of the note. A familiar flutter starts in your lower belly as you catch sight of him, the male now halfway up the stairs. You quickly unravel the crumpled page to find a few words written in his messy script.

You immediately crumple the note in your palm, downing the rest of your beer before you make your way up to the second floor. Despite the large and somewhat confusing layout, you navigated the dark halls with ease. As you knew the male's house far too well now, having found yourself in his bed more times than you liked to admit.

This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it was only meant to be a one time thing. To get back at your cheating asshole of an ex-boyfriend, Troy. After finding him tangled in the sheets with Vicki Carmichael at a party quite similar to this one. All because you weren’t ready to have sex with him. As much as it stung, a bigger part of you was incredibly relieved.

Something never fully cliqued with him, and deep down you didn’t want him to be your first. Troy and Steve were very good friends, and played basketball together. So it seemed fitting to ask Steve to be the one to take your virginity. Telling yourself it would royally piss Troy off, knowing you’d give it up to Steve and not him. But the truth is you’d always secretly had a thing for Steve for years.

That was your real reason, not that you’d ever admit it.

Steve was more than happy to fulfill your wish, not knowing your motive behind it. But what neither of you expected was that he would keep coming back for more. Once he had a taste of you, he couldn’t get enough. You had him wrapped around your finger, without even realizing it. However you both made a promise to keep the whole thing a secret, any plans of revenge now being thrown out the window.

Now that you weren’t dating Troy you had gone back to your quiet loser status, which you much preferred anyway. But Steve couldn’t have that ruining his reputation, so instead of arguing you went along with it. Agreeing to a secret friend with benefits relationship, despite knowing you’d want more. Feelings aside it didn’t stop you from hooking up with him multiple times a week, which brings you back to the present.

Your breathing was labored, partially due to the hand covering your mouth. You could hear the bass of the music from outside the bathroom door, so there was no need to be extra quiet.

But with Steve it was a necessity… especially in such a public place. Where anyone could press their ear to the door and figure out what was happening.

You found yourself bent over the bathroom sink, Steve fucking into you with such a ferocity it made your knees wobble. He had barely let the bathroom door shut before he was on you, tugging your panties down your legs. Tugging his shirt over his head, not bothering to take off his jeans in his impatience to have you.

“God, you’re such a little tease you know that? Wearing this fucking dress, getting me all worked up.” He growled in your ear, whimpering against his hand as he pounds into your soaked heat.

The male is gripping your hip so hard you know he’ll leave bruises behind, but the harsh action only turns you on more. Knowing how desperate he was to have you, made you putty in his strong hands. Your own hand drifts between your thighs, finding your bundle of nerves and encircling it with your fingertips.

Glancing into the mirror in front of you, you watch his face as he continues to ram himself inside you. His honey brown hair sticks to his forehead, no longer styled in the perfect swoop he had it in before you entered the bathroom. His dark eyes meet yours in the reflection, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he watches you intensely.

“Hm, look at how pathetic you look honey… letting me use you like a whore.” He grunts, leaning in closer and tugging on your earlobe with his teeth, “But you like that don’t you? You like being my whore?”

You find yourself nodding, unable to speak. Partially due to the hand still covering your mouth, but you knew even if it wasn't there it wouldn’t have made much difference. The male had fucked any logical thoughts from you at that point.

But you can’t deny the way your body reacts to his words, your walls tightening around him at the mere mention of belonging to him… and him alone. Something Steve doesn’t miss either.

“That’s cute, baby…” he chuckles, letting his lips graze along the exposed skin of your throat. “Glad she knows exactly who she belongs to.”

Tears of pleasure blur your vision, mascara streaming freely down your cheeks. Your fucked out reflection stares back at you as he continues to pound into you from behind. Hooded eyes drift to gaze at him once more, seeing how his mouth falls open in a moan as you continue to pulse around his cock.

His sun kissed skin was beautifully flushed, his days spent as a lifeguard at Hawkin’s community pool were treating him extremely well. It made you want nothing more than to leave a trail of dark bruises along his freckled neck— effectively marking him as yours.

But you knew that couldn’t happen, he wouldn’t allow it. His reputation as the town’s local biggest player was far more important to him than you could ever be. At least that’s what he wanted you to believe.

You watch in awe as his head tilts back, exposing more of his throat to you. His adam’s apple bobs as he moans, fighting the urge to push him against the wall and taste the sweat that’s coating his skin in a glossy sheen.

Steve just looked so pretty like this, on the edge of release. While you had witnessed it many times now— part of you still was so mesmerized by him.

You can feel your orgasm bubbling up inside you, continuing to rub your clit faster. You cry out against his hand, the whimper of his name now muffled by his palm. Your eyes nearly roll back as your orgasm crashes over you. But Steve doesn’t let up his pace, your knees almost buckling as he fucks into you harder.

“I know you can cum harder than that honey, do. it. again.” He growls lowly in your ear, dropping his hand away from your mouth.

Quickly knocking your own out of the way to continue rubbing your overly sensitive clit. You’d barely come down from your first high before he had you hurtling towards another one, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with acute precision.

Your eyes meet once more in the reflection, a cocky expression crosses over his features as you feel yourself falling over the edge again. Gripping the counter with both hands, biting down harshly on your lower lip to stop the scream that wants to escape your lungs.

In your euphoric state you don’t notice the way Steve’s eyes watch you possessively, pride filling his chest knowing he’s the only man who has ever seen you like this. The only man to ever make you feel this way, and he planned on keeping it that way. Selfish as it was.

The blissed out look on your face is the thing that finally breaks what little composure he had left. The male burying his face in the crook of your neck as he paints your inner walls with his release. Stilling his hips at your deepest point, in an attempt to keep his cum buried inside you.

Steve’s secret way of marking you as his.

As both of you attempt to catch your breath, the sounds of the party carry on as if nothing happened. When Steve finally releases your hips, you grip tighter onto the counter to support yourself. Knowing your knees were far too wobbly to keep you upright. A soft whimper leaves your lips as he slides out of you, suddenly feeling empty. In more ways than one.

The male is quick to tuck himself back into his jeans, roughly pulling your panties up your legs. You can feel his cum beginning to pool in the lacy material, the dirtiness of it makes your body feel hot. You let out a shaky breath, turning to face him as he finishes tucking his polo back into his levi’s.

“Wait a few minutes before you come back downstairs, yeah?” Is all he says before he’s slipping out of the bathroom, running a hand through his tousled locks.

The door closes softly, and that familiar feeling of shame washes over you again. You shouldn’t be surprised by it at this point, as your little hookups always ended the same way.

With Steve thoroughly pleased with himself, and you all alone.

You can’t stop the moisture from flooding your vision, carefully sitting down on the edge of the tub. Gripping the hem of your dress in your fists as you ruin whatever makeup was still left behind. Shoulders shaking as silent sobs rack through your chest.

In that moment you made a promise to yourself, you wouldn’t let any man— especially someone like Steve fucking Harrington make you feel this way again. It wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it.

You continue to let the traitor tears fall for a while before returning to your feet. Glancing back in the mirror you barely recognized yourself, your usual bright eyes were dull, bloodshot and puffy. The little makeup you had done was now smeared across your cheeks. With a frustrated sigh you attempt to collect yourself before returning to the party.

Cleaning the black streaks from your face, adjusting your rumpled dress until you looked somewhat presentable. Taking a deep breath you finally leave the safety of the bathroom, descending the carpeted stairs on shaky legs. No one pays you any mind as you make your way back into the sea of people.

But what you find in the living room feels like a punch straight to the gut.

Steve is on the couch, another girl already straddling his lap with her tongue down his throat. His large hands that were previously gripping onto your hips were now splayed across her bare thighs. Inching higher and higher up as she tangles her fingers in his hair. You can only stand to watch for a moment longer before bolting out of the room and into the kitchen in search of another drink.

Thankfully the room was almost empty, except for a familiar brunette who was sipping on a can of Pepsi. You don’t say anything to him, grabbing an open bottle of vodka off the counter and bringing the rim to your lips. Enjoying the familiar burn as you greedily gulp down the clear liquid at an alarming fast rate.

Jonathan looks at you concerned, immediately rushing to your side in an attempt to grab the bottle from you. You quickly dodge him, shoving him away with a dirty look.

“Jonny stop! I’m having fun, see?” You roll your eyes before dramatically taking another large swig. Your best friend had seen you drink plenty of times before, but never like this. He knew you well enough to know there was clearly something wrong.

Before you can go back in for another drink he grips onto the base of the bottle, wrestling it from you with a grimace. Before slamming it back onto the counter, making you wince slightly at the sound of the impact.

“That’s enough now. I think I should take you home.”

His tone is stern, but laced with worry. You find yourself pouting in response, a small hiccup leaving you as he sighs. The only reason Jonathan was even here in the first place was to be your ride, he hated these parties. And he especially hated Steve Harrington.

But he was your best friend, and he would’ve done anything for you. And right now anything consists of getting you home before you do something stupid, “Fine dad… take me home then.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes at your childish behavior before wrapping his arm around your waist to help guide you through the house to the front door. The vodka you had just chugged was definitely starting to take effect, as you stumbled alongside him. Now suddenly a lot more grateful for his help.

What you don’t notice in your tipsy state was a pair of honey eyes watching you both from across the room, jaw clenched in jealousy as Jonathan helps you out into the warm summer night.

[angelcakestarlet]

salvatore

richie jerimovich x reader - richie makes carmy regret hiring the cute young waitress

wrote dis quick, messy, nd did not look over it but enjoy! :>

"so um look, natalie is going to be training you this week alright" carmy informs you as he sifts through a pile of papers scattering his desk. "you ever serve before?", "for a few months yeah, it's been getting me through college so" you twiddle your thumbs nervously. the restaurant was certainly... intimidating? going to school in chicago you had stopped by a couple times for lunch or drunk off your ass after the club. even while slurring your words you could remember how fucking good that sandwich was. even if most of it was puked up in the bushes out front.

"yo, cousin!" an abrasive voice comes stumbling through carmy's office door without warning, "sugar is out here telling me some bullshit about you hiring servers? look we don't need that shit. a sandwich comes out i fucking hand it to them, boom. why are you gonna pay some dipshit to do it for me?". you turn around to face the loud voice, being met with a tall, tan, buzzcut typical line cook with a deep accent. "jesus fucking christ, one of these 'dipshits' is standing in front of you richie." carmy yells back, obviously pained to have you witness that. "ah shit-" richie steps back to get a full length view of you, taking you in. his gaze felt like an intrusion. "i'm sorry, doll, richie jerimovich." he envelopes your hand in his calloused and rough one, introducing himself. "you know what i'm sorry, cousin, anyone with a set of eyes would hire her too" he snickers, with his hand still atop yours he takes his eyes away from you to acknowledge carmen. "cousin, get the fuck out, you fucking creep!" signaling for the door. "oh my god" richie sighs dramatically, "i'm stating the fucking obvious alright, you need marcus to come in here to tell you the same thing? yo, marcus!" carmen rushes to shove richie out the door, "i'm sorry, i couldn't help myself! look, you're beautiful, sweetheart!" he lets out one last compliment. you giggle to yourself and the man making a spectacle of himself.

carmen shuts the office door and sighs, rubbing his forehead with his tired hand. "i'm sorry, he's... he's a fucking jagoff." you appreciate the apology, but having worked in a restaurant has you accustomed to the snickers and comments from line cooks and customers alike. most of the girls usually brush it off, leaving them disgusted and a distaste for the job for the next few hours. but, your guilty pleasure has become using it to your benefit. free food from cooks, more money from tips, etc. you're sure you could work richie to your benefit just the same. "don't worry about it, he seems... nice" your ease settles carmy and he snickers, "you could say that i guess".

you follow natalie around the restaurant for the next few hours as she takes you through the front of the house and back, introducing you to everyone and all the standards. when five o clock hits, she lets you go, handing you an apron, a t-shirt. and a name tag. thanking her and setting out to find the back alley for a quick ciggy. you find richie lighting a cigarette in the dimly lit alley, "can i bum a cigarette?" you sit down beside him, smelling the smoke clinging to his shirt. "its your first day and you're asking me for shit?" he looks over at you and you notice his evident wrinkles, veins in his neck, and tired eyes. "pretty please?" you look up at him, turning your whole body to face him with a sweet smile on your face. he rolls his eyes playfully, "you know what you're doing huh?" he says as he pulls one more cigarette from its box. "open." you scrunch your eyebrows, confused at his request. his eyes shift to your lips, taking two fingers and tapping your cheek signaling for you to open your mouth. "come on," you separate your lips and he places a cigarette between them, lighting it swiftly. you feel your cheeks get warm, from the cigarette or from his words you don't know (yes you do). "thank you" you say quietly, still stunned a bit. "you know you're gonna ruin that sweet face smoking" he coughs through the lit cigarette. "oh are you telling me what to do now, richie?" you lean back, eyes entranced by the way his hands make the cigarette almost look like a lollipop stick. "a girl like you is probably looking for someone to tell her what to do, sweetheart". as you're trying to figure out whether that just pissed you off or turned you on, carmy bursts through the back door. "cousin, what the fuck are you doing?! we need you in the kitchen, now please! and leave the new girl alone, jesus" carmy yells as richie stomps on what's left of his cigarette and puts his hands up in defense. "i'm coming, fuck off. it was a pleasure, babe" he shakes your hand and makes his way inside. you peer at the closed door, listening to the muffled argument carmy and richie have in front of it. great first day.

[edmunsonss]

Love Letters to Future Selves

Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN! Reader

Summary: Eddie finds a letter that he was never supposed to read.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Swearing, kinda angsty??, it's also overly dramatic and not proofread because I just wrote this in class (sorry professor!).

A/N: I don't know what this is but I had the idea sitting in my lil idea dump, so yeah! I hope you like it :)

•:•.•:•.☾☼☽•:•.•:•.

Air hits your face as you stand there, alone, overlooking the city from your small apartment’s even smaller balcony. Ever since you arrived to New York, standing out on the balcony at night and looking at the lights that illuminate the buildings all around you is something that brought you comfort. Now it’s just a poignant reminder of the decisions that have brought you there.

You still remember the day the letter arrived in the mail. Eddie was there with you, sitting on your bed as you both tried to complete your English Lit assignment. It was one of the first times in your whole High School experience where you could genuinely say homework was enjoyable. Even Eddie seemed to be enjoying it, more involved in a project than you’d ever seen him be.

Your mom called your name, told you there was mail for you, which immediately made you look at Eddie.

“I think I’m going to be sick, Teddy.” You wished it was a joke, but you had genuinely felt your heart fall to your ass at her words. You had been waiting for that letter for months at that point.

“It’s going to be fine,” Eddie reassured, “There’s nothing to worry about, my little valedictorian.”

Eddie had never cared much about school, as demonstrated by the fact that by next fall, he would be a three-time senior at Hawkins High. He would have never imagined that he would end up becoming the biggest nerd in school’s best friend. Life was funny like that sometimes. Now there you were, about to escape Hawkins and go to college while Eddie stayed behind.

“Okay, okay.” You mumbled, anxiously playing with the ring on your finger, “I’ll just go get it before I throw up.”

You ran into the kitchen and basically yanked the letter out of your mother’s grasp. After mumbling out a quick apology, you went back into your room and shut the door behind you.

You stood there for a few seconds, back pressed against the door. It felt as if the purple envelope in your grasp was mocking you, like it knew the letter inside of it would change the course of your life.

“Well, open it!” Eddie laughed and secretly wiped the palm of his hand on his ripped jeans, just as nervous as you were.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You went and sat by his side once again.

“NYU.” He whispered. Your dream school ever since you were a little kid, the dream he had seen you chase for years.

You messily ripped the letter open, blinded by pure excitement. Everything went silent for a few minutes, you swore you even stopped hearing the Metallica record that had been playing.

Eddie read the letter with you, slightly craning his neck to look over your shoulder. The next thing he knew, you were screaming out of pure joy. He barely managed to catch the words admitted… Tisch School of the Arts before you threw the piece of paper into the air.

He treated you to a celebratory dinner that night. With the little money Eddie had, he took you to your favorite diner and let you ramble on and on for hours about everything you would do once you were in New York.

When the time came, Eddie was the one who helped you get settled into the apartment you would be sharing with two of your classmates. He helped you decorate your room and stayed the week before school started. You explored the city together and he made sure to take the subway to Tisch with you every morning until you had it perfectly memorized. You also took him to watch West Side Story and insisted on going to George’s for breakfast, just like your family did when they visited the city. It was probably the most magical week of your life.

Back then, you had been afraid of the distance pulling you apart from each other, but Eddie killed your fear with every call he made and letter he sent. You would even visit each other on holidays and it would almost feel as if nothing had ever changed.

You were still living inside that illusion until about an hour ago. You had just gotten back from class and figured it was a good idea to give Eddie a call before his show at the Hideout, craving to hear his voice. Neither of you had been able to talk over the phone that whole week and all you wanted was to hear how your best friend was doing.

You dialed his house number, which you had memorized as well as if it were your own. What you didn’t expect, was for someone else to pick up the phone on the other side.

“Munson residence,” Spoke a sweet voice. You frowned, what the fuck?

It definitely didn’t sound anything like Eddie’s voice, or Wayne’s. It did sound familiar, but you couldn’t put a face to the voice.

“Hello? Anyone there?” She said after a beat of silence had passed. That’s when it dawned on you. It was Emily Richards.

WHAT THE FUCK? Emily was a cheerleader, one of the nicest ones of the bunch, sure, but that still didn’t explain what she was doing at Eddie’s trailer. It surely wasn’t for one of his deals or she wouldn’t have picked up the phone.

“Uh… Ah… Hi,” You mumbled awkwardly as you anxiously toyed with the telephone cord. You told her your name, “I’m Eddie’s friend.”

“Oh! It’s so nice to finally meet you! Eddie always speaks wonders of you. I’m Emily, his girlfriend.”

You felt your jaw go slack at her words. They almost seemed to repeat themselves in slow motion inside your head… His girlfriend. Panic invaded your mind as jealousy crept into your heart and punctured it with a knife, but why?

It was perfectly fine for Eddie to have a girlfriend, right? Right? Millions of questions swarmed your mind, from thinking why he never told you about her, to wondering where this blinding jealousy came from if you were just friends.

“I think Eddie’s in the shower.” She said, abruptly putting a stop to your train of thoughts, “But I can tell him to call you back if you want.”

“Uh, that’s-that’s alright, I’ll just call him another time. Thank you though… It was nice meeting you.”

You hung up immediately after that. You’ve been out in the balcony ever since, sulking for God-knows-what reason. You fish around your pocket for the clove cigar you know you’ve got somewhere, but before you can even find it, your roommate, Tessa, walks into the apartment.

You turn to greet her, only to find she’s already looking at you with eyebrows raised. A sigh almost escapes past your lips at her expression. Tess hasn’t been your roommate for long, yet she seems to pick up on every time you’ve had a shitty day just by taking a look at you. In your opinion, it’s fucking insane… Slightly scary too.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault you chose the balcony as your ‘I’m miserable’ spot.” Tess goes over to your tiny kitchen and you can see her shuffling around until she comes across the box of cookies that has become part of every deep conversation you have with her.

You spend most of the night sitting on the couch, talking about Eddie. Tessa is clearly unaware, but when you stir close to the topic of your jealousy she makes you question everything you thought you already knew about where you stood with Eddie. You still think about it as you lie in bed and stare blankly at the ceiling.

“I don’t understand him,” She had said, “Why would he cheat on you?”

“Cheating? Who said anything about cheating? You do know Eddie and I were never dating, right?” You reply. Tessa raises her eyebrows as she shoots you a questioning look.

“Friends with benefits then?”

“No,” You laugh. “We’re just… really close. I mean, we’ve basically known each other our whole lives. Eddie’s my best friend, nothing more, it’s how it’s always been.”

“Babe, I really don’t want to be pushy here but… does Eddie know he’s just your friend? He’s smitten! I swear he looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass.”

She then asked the question that kept you up the rest of the night, “If you feel nothing for him, why are you this upset over him getting a girlfriend? You can lie to me all you want, but you can’t lie to your own heart.”

You teased her for how cheesy her words sounded, but deep down, the question left you with more doubts than you’d like to admit.

You’re more than aware that there was a time where you did have feelings for Eddie, but a long time has passed since then. Back in your freshman year of High School, you had awkwardly tried to shoot your shot on at least three occasions, only to be turned down every single time.

It hurt at first, but you eventually got over it, because your friendship with Eddie was far more important than your romantic feelings. Yet, there seems to be where the lie is, isn’t it? To think you actually got over it. If that is the truth, then your discovery shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

So, as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, you come to the realization that your feelings for Eddie have never gone away. No, you are in love with him. Shit!

The thought startles you out of bed in an instant. A million thoughts buzz around inside your head and you cannot imagine a way in which they will quiet down on their own, so you do what you’re best at, you write.

You sit at your desk for a long time and write out a letter for Eddie. A letter you know he will never read because you find it unfair that you’ve decided to write something like this when it’s already too late. So you just use it to write all the feelings you’ve bottled up for years, then, you bury the letter somewhere inside your closet, never to be found again.

TWO YEARS LATER

Eddie

A smile illuminates Eddie’s face as he listens to the soft purrs of the cat perched on his lap. His fingers comb through her soft fur while his eyes are focused on the TV in front of him.

He’s been trying to keep himself busy until your classes end for the day. There are still a few boxes of stuff waiting to be unpacked, but Eddie wants to get your permission to do so first, knowing the only empty space left in the room is in the closet, which still has some of your stuff.

After Tessa moved out once she graduated and Eddie finished High School, he had moved to New York to help you keep the apartment you loved so much. The salary paid by the bakery wasn’t cutting it anymore and month by month you struggled to gather up enough money to pay rent.

Eddie had gotten himself a job at the bar downtown to help out. You’d insisted on him taking the biggest room and despite his refusal to do so, you had already moved most of your things into Tessa’s old room, claiming it was the least you could do for him after he left so much on pause back in Hawkins just to be with you.

After a while of watching TV, Eddie finally hears you open the door and turns to look at you as you walk in. The cat on his lap jumps down and walks over to you after stretching out her body nonchalantly. Eddie pouts and mumbles a barely audible “Hey… come back.”

Your shoulders sag as you pet her soft fur, then lazily drop your bag by the door and change your shoes. Eddie watches as you head straight for the coffee maker. A big yawm escapes your mouth and you rub your tired eye.

“Hi Teddy,” You turn your attention to him once the coffee starts brewing and offer him a smile, which he gladly returns. He can’t help but think of how adorable you look in your fluffy white sweater and the pair of bunny slipper that are keeping your feet warm. He’s no stranger to this sight, you’ve had more sleepovers than Eddie can count. Yet, the desire to wrap you in his arms and cuddle you is still present.

“I see you’ve met Storm.” You say, looking at the cat brushing her body against your leg.

Eddie straightens up ever so slightly and wiggles his legs like a little kid to stretch them out, “I didn’t know you guys had a cat.”

You laugh, “She’s the neighor’s, actually, but she likes sneaking in through the balcony sometimes. Don’t let her get too close to your hair though, she’ll chew on it.”

“Isn’t that like a sign of love or some shit? Pretty sure Henderson said that once…” You shrug and finally pour yourself a cup of warm coffee.

You cradle the cup on your hands as gently as if it were your most prized possession, “Wouldn’t know, Teddy. Anyway, I’ve got some homework to finish, but feel free to tell me if you need anything. We can go get dinner once I’m done too.”

Eddie hums—basically moans—in delight at the idea of food, already picturing the delicious pizza he’s going to be eating later, “Ugh, yes please. I can’t stop thinking about Joe’s pizza.”

“I told you it was better than Wade’s.”

“Woah! Nothing’s better than Wade’s.”

“Keep lying to yourself. It stopped being good like… years ago, it’s the nostalgia talking.” You argued and picked your backpack back up, making a beeline for your room.

“Hey, sweetheart, before you go. Is it okay if I move some of your stuff out the closet?”

You shrug once more, “Sure, knock yourself out, Eds.”

•:•.•:•.☾☼☽•:•.•:•.

Eddie has spent almost a whole hour organizing the closet and he’s sure it’s only a matter of minutes before he goes utterly insane. He’s never been the biggest fan of cleaning, especially not when the only thing in his mind is what he’ll eat when he’s done.

His dark eyes scan over the next box and he can’t help but let out a deep sigh at what he knows is inside. An “in need of sorting” label is messily written on the side of the cardboard box, which contains some of his records and some things Emily gave him during the months they were together.

It’s been over a year and a half since they broke up and he’s over it, but even then, he isn’t exactly thrilled of having to sort through those things. As much as he likes to deny it, Eddie still feels a slight pang of guilt in his chest when he thinks of her.

He decides to move the last box of your stuff out of the closet instead. It looks small, which makes Eddie assume it mustn't weigh too much, so he picks it up, not putting much care in supporting the box from the bottom.

He quickly realizes his mistake when he picks it up and it is as heavy as if it was filled up with stones. He huffs and watches helplessly as the bottom of the box gives out and all its contents end up scattered on the bedroom floor.

Eddie doesn’t give it much thought before he kneels down and folds de box closed again, securing it with some tape he sees lying around. He starts picking up your stuff and dropping it in the box. It’s mostly school papers, Eddie notices, the weight coming from a few pocket-sized books.

His fingers brush over a folded piece of paper. Eddie doesn’t mean to snoop, but he can’t help but notice that at the top of the pages Dear Eddie is scribbled in your handwriting.

He thinks it’s probably a letter you meant to start but didn’t finish, which wouldn’t be too unusual given how busy you are with school. That’s why it comes as a surprise when he unfolds the paper and sees it’s filled with your writing. The With love at the bottom an indication that you did finish writing it.

Eddie sees no harm in reading it, after all, it’s addressed to him, right? So he plops down on the floor and shimmies around until his back is resting against the bed.

Dear Eddie,

It has always amazed me to think of how much you’ve changed my life. I still remember the day I met you, do you remember it too? You walked into the classroom wearing a shirt that was a few sizes too big for you, fingers tightly holding on to Wayne’s hand. You were so reluctant to let go, but you eventually did and sat on the only empty seat left, which was right next to me. The rest is history.

Eddie smiles as he reads. He remembers that day too. You don’t mention it in your letter, but at the time, you had greeted him with a bright smile, which had reassured him everything would be okay despite everything.

*I hold the memories of every moment we’ve spent together close to my heart. They remind me of how lucky I am to have you in my life. Maybe I’m getting too emotional, but you’ve done so much for me all these years. Like that time I was upset because my parents were going to miss my first play, so you made Wayne, Gareth, Jeff and Grant go with you so I’d have people cheering me on in the audience. Or that other time when I was practically shitting my pants out of nerves a few days before my Tisch interview so you made us go on a road trip to Indianapolis to “*calm my nerves” as you’d said.

There are obviously thousands of other times where you’ve been my knight in shining armor, despite me saying I don’t want one. Truth is, I want one if it’s you behind the armor. Is that a cringy thing to say? Maybe. I don’t know.

I found out about Emily just a few hours ago. I keep wondering why you didn’t tell me about her when I went over to visit for Thanksgiving break. I’m glad you didn’t though, because you can read my expression annoyingly well and I’d be afraid of you finding any traces of dissapointment on it. Keep in mind I’m not disappointed in you for having a girlfriend, it’s great actually! You deserve nothing but happiness because you’re nothing short of an amazing human being, whether you believe it or not. I fear my state of dejection would have been my own fault ‘cause of something I didn’t say.

I feel the need to say it now because I’m stupid and I’m selfish. That’s why I don’t really plan on sending this letter out. I can’t be unfair and burst into your mailbox with my confession right after I’ve found out you have a girlfriend. I just wanted to write this out because I don’t know what else I could possibly do with all this love I feel for you. Which is actually funny if I think about it, because if it were about anything else, I would have already called you so you’d knock some sense into me, but I can’t exactly do that right now, huh? Not when it’s about this. Not when I don’t want you to know.

But yeah, Teddy, I love you. I love you so much more than a friend should. I always share my secrets with you, but I think I’ll keep this one to myself. I’m sure you know already though, I asked you out like three times in freshman year, I wasn’t exactly the most secretive about it back then, huh?

Eddie has to stop reading right then and there, both to collect himself and wonder what the hell it is you’re talking about. Eddie’s sure he’d remember you asking him about because the one thing he’s dreamed of for years is taking you out on a date. He’s always fantasized about how he’d drop you off at home and kiss you on the porch like they did in those boring romance movies you liked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried, in fact he had asked you out on several occasions during freshman year too! You rejected him every single time.

Now that he has time to think about it, he comes to the conclusion that all along you’ve just been morons. Two lovesick morons. He figures it’s time to fix it, but first he finishes reading your letter.

Whether you know… or don’t, I’m not sending this letter. Even if I were to, it isn’t cohesive enough, or whatever. My creative writing professor has made me become obsessed with writing everything perfectly, it’s fucking exhausting, not like it matters right now anyway.

I don’t really know what else to say other than: I fucking love you and I hope it’s the only secret I ever keep from you.

With love.

There’s a deep sense of longing in his heart, accompanied by nostalgia as he remembers growing up with you by his side. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he knew just how lucky he was to have you in his life, had never taken it for granted in fact.

In hindsight, a lot of things make sense now that he knows what you felt back them. Eddie can’t help but think of a particular Friday night, the week before Halloween.

Eddie had his eyes on the road, but otherwise, his attention was fully set on you. Hellfire’s yearly Halloween campaign had just finished and, per tradition, he was driving both of you to the trailer so you could have a scary movie marathon.

Ever since the campaign ended, you had been catching him up to what went down during the brief time window where you didn’t see each other that particular day. Much to his dismay, you were telling him about how Christian Adams—some guy from science class—asked you out on a date after first period.

“My first date! Can you believe it?” You shouted over the music playing loudly inside the van, “I’m kinda nervous, Teddy.”

He tapped his fingers on the steering while as he stole a quick glance in your direction, “Who was the date with, again?”

You groan, “Eds! Don’t start falling asleep on me, dude. It’s with Christian Adams, you know-”

“Ah! The idiot who told Harrigan two plus two was five?” A throaty laugh escaped past Eddie’s lips, you rolled your eyes.

“It was stupid, wasn’t it? I thought I’d seen it all when I heard you say Thor was a Greek God.”

“You absolutely cannot compare my honest mistake with that shit! I’m about to be a super senior and even I know basic math.” You guffawed at his comment and shook your head in pure amusement.

Eddie parked the van and you walked into the trailer, still laughing a bit. Wayne, who was sititng on the kitchen counter with a bright blue cup in hand, looked at you.

“Hey, old man,” Eddie greeted his uncle lovingly and gave him a side hug.

“Hi Wayne!” Your best friend gave your hand a gentle tug and gestured to his bedroom.

You playfully swatted his hand away and took a moment to open your backpack and grab the mug that was securely wrapped in layers of newspaper and paper towels. Both men watched with interest as you peeled each layer of paper away to reveal a beautiful mug decorated with a detailed drawing of a deer.

“I got this for you! From Colorado.”

Wayne gave you a small smile, which for someone like him was basically the equivalent of a toothy grin, “Look at that boy, should take notes from them.”

Eddie pouted jokingly at his uncle’s words and turned to look at you, “Where’s my souvenir?”

“It’s in my backpack, Teddy. Shut up.”

“Make me.” You furrowed your brows and turned to look at him, only to find him looking back at you with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You suck.”

He pulled you towards his bedroom once again and this time you didn’t put up any resistance. Wayne watched it all unfold and sighed, “You kids are going to be the death of me.”

•:•.•:•.☾☼☽•:•.•:•.

You had been in Eddie’s room for almost an hour at that point. Wayne had already gone to work and Eddie was busy writing down something on his DnD notebook.

Your fingers plucked at the strings of his beloved guitar, which you had insisted on not hooking up to the amp.

“So… Why did you say you were nervous for that date?”

“Well, what if he wants to kiss me?!”

“You kiss him back if that’s what you want.”

“I’ve never even kissed anyone before, what if it’s gross? What if I suck?” By that time, you were pacing around the room, Sweetheart long forgotten in Eddie’s bed. This was a topic you had discussed with Eddie countless times, but it was never something that was the cause of actual concern, until that moment.

“I heard somewhere that pretty people are good kissers, so you must be amazing at it.” You stopped dead in your tracks at his words. You knew he was probably kidding, but that didn’t stop you from feeling your cheeks heat up at his compliment.

“Ha. You’re so funny.” You replied in a dry, sarcastic tone. A beat of silence passed before you spoke again, “We could always test that theory though.”

From his expression alone, you knew he couldn’t tell if you were serious—you were… Kinda. You thought that your crush on Eddie wasn’t much of a secret at that point. You’d asked him out when you were younger, but you had never been so direct about it.

There was a glint of mischief in his eyes as he stood up walked towards you. For the first time in years, you felt nervousness crawl into your heart. For as long as you could remember, Eddie had been your safe place, you always found solace in those warm brown eyes of his, yet at that moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if your stupid comment was about to ruin everything.

Eddie’s fingers grazed your face as he cupped your face. He was intimidatingly close by that point. You let your hands wander to the curls that sat right below his shoulders. That naughtiness in his eyes was long gone, replaced by a tender look.

He took that last step needed to close the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours in a timid peck that couldn’t have lasted longer than a few seconds.

The brief contact gave you enough confidence to kiss him one more time. You let him guide you and quickly realized just how correct it felt to have his lips on yours. There was nothing but pure joy in your heart as you enjoyed the feeling of having him close.

Much to your dismay, Eddie eventually pulled away. He said nothing for a few moments that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then, he let out a breathy laugh and spoke, “Well, theory confirmed. That was… wow… you’re totally ready for your date, yup.”

Back then, Eddie had noticed something in your expression shift after the comment he’d made, but you’d left almost immediately after, which left him no time to ask. When you saw him Monday morning, you acted as if nothing had happened and told him all about your date with Christian. He had been hurt, but now he understood how much of an idiot he was for that comment and how he had hurt you too.

In his own defense, Eddie was genuinely convinced that you had no other intention behind your comment. He actually thought you wanted to practice kissing for a date! WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT!

Eddie stands up, doubt planted in his heart like a poison, but he isn’t going to let that stop him, not again. He firmly holds the letter in his hand as he walks down the hallway to where your new room is. His hand trembles as he raises it up to knock.

He doesn’t even need to knock again before you open the door, a confused look on your face, “Since when do you knock?”

“Since, uh, now… I guess.”

You smile at him, “Well,that’s a mi—”

The words die down in your throat and your smile vanishes as you notice what he’s holding.

“Oh.” Is the only thing you manage to say before tears start welling up in your eyes.

Eddie can see your temptation to close the door on his face, but before you can do it, he musters up the courage to speak up, “I found it by accident while cleaning out the closet. Why didn’t you send it?”

Your lip trembles as you find a way to answer his question. “How could I? I had no right. I spent years hearing you talk about how you wished someone would give you a chance to show them you’re so much more than stupid town gossip. I wasn’t going to ruin your chances of that happening, not when you had someone so perfect by your side.”

“I always had—still have someone perfect by my side. You.” Eddie watches as you shake your head and tears start falling freely down your face.

“You can’t say that, Teddy. You can’t give me hope.”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your body and pull you close, “I never told you why I broke things off with her, did I?”

You shake your head against his chest, “I broke up with her because I kept comparing her to you. I kept hoping to find at least half of what I have with you. I know it’s wrong, but you’ve changed my life. You know every little thing about me and you’ve never loved me any less for it. You care so much about me, about Wayne. It’s you, always been you and I wish I could have had the courage to say that I love you sooner.”

“You love me?”

He cups your face with the same gentleness as he did that one autumn night, “So much more than words can express.”

“Kiss me then.”

“As you wish,” He says with a lopsided smile and lets his lips meet yours.

Eddie feels a heavy weight lift from his chest at the feeling. The kiss is so tender yet full of so much passion, caused by those bottled up feelings you have shared all this time. The way you hold each other makes him feel like you’re both trying to say every feeling to that single kiss, and it’s truly magical.

When you pull away, Eddie is met by a sweet smile and your kind eyes, “I love you to.”

It’s a funny thing how everything has played out, or at least it is to Eddie. For two people who understand and share things with each other, you’ve sucked at sharing one of the most importat things of all. That you love each other. For this reason, Eddie can’t wait to make up for all the time he didn’t spend showing you how much he loved you.

[fordpinesthemanyouare]

Ford x Fem!Reader

Math Assistant Pt.1

Summary: Ford needs himself an assistant, Stanley makes an online post for him and BOOM there you are, coming to meet him for an interview at the diner.

Warnings: Erm... this is a nothing sandwich I THINK. Please let me know if I should add something

A/N: My brothers in christ please this is my first fic that I wrote on a whim, I had an idea and I started writing. I have never written fan ficiton in my life so pls be nice... also who up wit dey werm to Stanford Pines HOOBA HOOBA!!!!! Okay also I want to write SMUT for this so imagine this is like the really really really long winded plot to the porno. K thanks bye read if u want or dont i dont control you.

——————

Ford shook his head at Stanley who was seated in front of a new computer now placed in the living room, “I’m still confused on why we should be posting the ad listing “online” rather than the local paper, or putting up flyers around town.” Ford used air quotes for emphasis, he still found the whole idea strange, he liked the computer for being a tool he could use to further research. He didn't like it so much as a vessel for finding candidates for a job he was offering, the thought that he had no idea who was communicating with him unsettled him a bit. Especially knowing the kind of work he was going to be having this future assistant… well assist with.

“Because yer never going to find someone with the qualifications yer asking for in this town” Stan looked over his shoulder at a crossed arm Ford. “Hiring someone for a summer job who has a PhD in Application Math, whatever that means-“

“Applied Mathematics, Stanley” Ford interrupted.

“Whatever it is you're not going to find that here, you and fiddleford are probably the only people in this town to actually have a college degree” he said with a chuckle, turning back to the computer. He was clicking around on some website that Ford had never heard of, let alone just recently finding out what the internet was. “I'm setting up a job listing on some of the local college websites, ya know for people that are studying or just done studying”. The clicking of the mouse and the typing of keys continued as Ford ran the motion through his head, overthinking perhaps every outcome of Stanley posting that job listing. Ultimately though Ford knew he was right in that, no one with at least a degree in Applied Mathematics was going to be residing nearby.

“Just please be careful about the information you include in this job posting, try to keep it minimal as possible. If they ask more questions about specifics you can let them know that I can explain in person.”

Stan looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows slightly downturned with a smirk rising on his face, “I didn’t realize you had hired me to be your assistant, you're going to have to cough up if you want me to do this for you”. Ford groaned in annoyance of his brother, “Stanley you know I don’t know how to use any of that”.

“Exactly why you're going to want to have me help you out with this”, Stanley moved his arm to drape across the back of the chair he was in, looking more directly at him. “That’ll be twenty dollars”, he held out his hand expectantly at his twin. A beat of silence passed between the two as they had a small staring contest, both men’s brows furrowed at the other.

Ford finally reached for his back pocket after he felt he had glared at his brother enough, he slipped a twenty dollar bill from the leather wallet and practically slammed it in his hand before walking in the opposite direction without a word. While Stan on the other hand, was more than beaming when he saw Ford’s hand fall to his back pocket, Stan half shouted as Ford strode out of the room.

“You’ll thank me later when I find the perfect candidate!” He laughed as he said it and returned to more clicking and typing around the website.

Ford returned to the lab to finish up some things before the kids were scheduled to get there later in the month. When they returned from the long months at the ocean, Ford wanted nothing more than to work on something in his lab again. He loved feeling the anticipation of a project becoming something, but of course he knew he could easily get carried away. After Dipper and Mabel left last summer, before Stanley and him were going to head out, he had made a major discovery while working in the lab. He had discovered an atom that was capable of recreating a direct clone of itself and in as many atoms he could count. He continued to work on the project until Stanley was practically dragging him from the house to leave to sail around the world.

While sailing towards one of their final destinations at the end of the trip, Ford finally opened up to Stanley about his worries of falling into the same pits as before. He was worried that he would become too involved, as he already felt himself doing as they were leaving for their trip. He also desperately needed some alone time from Stanley, but he didn’t mention that to him while they were on the boat.

“What if you hired someone to help you with the project?” Stan had offered a possible solution, while he had sat in the boat looking at Ford who was deep in thought over his dilemma. “I mean obviously the last time that happened, it wasn’t great either…” He trailed off after the look on Ford’s face became apparent, regretting the thought of his old college friend.

“I know the last time wasn’t great” Stanley pushed forward, “but maybe if you have someone hired to help with the smaller stuff. Things like using the calculator or something, whatever the small stuff even is to you” he said the last part under a fake cough which earned him a glare from his brother. However, the idea wasn't… terrible, Ford thought. He pondered over the possibilities of having someone helping him out, along with having the two kids upstairs to bother him. If he were to have someone who he didn't have to know that well take on most of the minor details, the equations and such, he would be able to prioritize the best parts of the project while also having time for his family. At least, that’s what he had hoped for when Stanley initially offered the idea.

“That could be a good idea…” Ford said after taking several moments to ponder the possibilities. “I would need someone who could do advanced mathematical equations, with room for equations that could possibly extend what they know…”. Stanley just looked at him deep in thought, wondering how there could be that many things to think about, the answer seemed clear to him.

Back in the lab, Ford could hear Stanley groaning loudly about some ‘unknown error message’. He continued to monitor and take note of the atoms under his advanced microscope for a while, waiting until Stanley had further news of any postings. He wondered what his new assistant would be like, if they could have the same passion for knowledge and understanding as he does.

———

A few days had passed, Ford falling into old habits quickly, holing himself up in the lab for hours upon hours. The only time he was seen over the last 48 hours was to grab more coffee from the kitchen, he caught naps in between work, falling asleep over his piles of scrap paper filled with numbers and letters. Ford had not anticipated how much mathematical reasoning was going to follow the atom cloning discovery, he was falling behind on moving forward with more discoveries on the atoms, but over hundreds of miniscule details that needed solving kept him at the desk. Stan walked down on the 49th hour of Ford’s lock down in the basement, opening the door noisily and making as much noise as possible on the way down to let him know he was on the way. Ford was scribbling away on the nth page of scrap work, crossing out failed attempts of solving equations as Stan broached the lab floor.

Stan awkwardly cleared his throat at Ford when he didn’t turn around, even though Stanley was sure to have made enough noise on the way down. Ford turned his head over his shoulder, his body seeming to not want to move from the space it had cramped into. He raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, as if asking ‘What? Im busy’. Stan gave a huff of annoyance before starting,

“I have about 3 applications that I thought were worth looking over, most of the idiots who applied didn’t even have math degrees. All they see in the listing is free housing and they flock like birds trying to claw their way in” he said with a slight chuckle. He strided over to Ford’s desk, as Ford leaned back finally interested in what Stan was saying. He took the papers from Stanley and began to look over them. He began thumbing through the few resumes, looking over each one carefully noting that all three people had at least some qualifications in mathematics. He looked up to Stan and gave him a tight smile.

“I appreciate you getting these for me, I’ll reach out to the ones I feel are qualified.” A beat passed between them, Ford paused for a second wondering if he should just return to work at this point or if Stanley had something else since he hasn't made any move to leave.

“I think the one on the bottom will be the best fit.” Stan said with a certain look in his face that Ford couldn’t place, as he turned to leave. Ford looked at him as he walked towards the stairs with a questioning look on his face, wondering what could have led his brother to place a preference on one of these resumes even though he didn't know what applied mathematics was. As Stan trudged up the stairs Ford called to his brother,

“I'll be sure to look at that one, thank you Stanley.” Which made Stanley pause and turn to look at Ford, a distant smile on his face as he nodded and continued up the stairs. Ford turned back to his desk and pulled the resume on the bottom up to the top, the header in nice bold letters a fine print used, he noted.

Y/N YL/N

He also took note that this was the only two-page resume offered to him, with the education list taking up most of the room. Several universities/schools were listed and his eyes read over the names and degrees that followed. He read all the way to the bottom where it listed your highschool with graduation dated in 1999. He noted this person was in their early 30’s with several bachelors degrees in several sciences, two master’s degrees in statistics and biology, and of course a Ph.D in applied mathematics. The latest graduation listed was University of Oregon masters program in statistics for April, which he noted it was now early May noting it would be fresh on the mind. He moved your resume to the back of the small stack, looking over the first two he skipped over, and honestly he wished he saved yours for last. The first two were jokes compared to the advanced knowledge you listed, he set the first aside after noting that the education list was no longer than a paragraph, and the second resume didn’t take long to set aside either as his eyes raked in the many spelling errors.

He read over your resume again looking for a way to contact you to set up the interview. He noted the phone number and email in the corner of the first page, and made to move upstairs to the kitchen phone. As he stood up however, his muscles almost molded into place from sitting at the desk, stopped him from moving further. He groaned as he began to stretch himself out, thinking about how he couldnt wait to stop looking at math problems for hours on end.

Heading back upstairs he reached the phone and quickly gazed at the microwave clock, 3:49 pm. He was glad it wasn’t later than five, as he picked up the corded receiver and began to punch in the numbers. The phone rang a few times before your voice fluttered over the phone, “Hello?”. Ford cleared his throat awkwardly, “Hello! Yes, is this Y/N YL/N? Oh it is, great, this is Stanford Pines calling about a job posting for the assistant position. I was hoping to set up an interview to discuss further details of the position.”

“I was just wondering if I would hear back from this offer,” the light voice on the other end laughed a pleasant laugh a little before continuing, “I’d love to join you for an interview regarding the position, I’m free anytime, anywhere this coming week and the next.”.

Ford offered a time for tomorrow at the local diner, which he provided the address to. The voice on the phone wished Ford a great rest of his night and that they would see him tomorrow. Ford wished them the normal pleasantries he hated to conduct while making mundane phone calls such as these. He was slightly relieved to find you weren’t completely strange, at least right off the bat. When he hung the phone back on the hanger, Stan suddenly spoke, causing Ford to jump from the lack of warning.

“So did you end up going with the one I said?” Stan looked smug as Ford met his gaze, knowing damn well he scared Ford on purpose. Ford rolled his eyes after he settled after the slight scare,

“Unsurprisingly, as you could probably assume. You shouldn’t have even bothered with the other two. One only had a few community college classes under their belt.” Ford turned to make more coffee, he figured he would stretch his legs now as he was planning on working on some more equations before the meeting tomorrow. Stan gave a hearty laugh, “She’s also quite the looker, surprised me when I was pulling resumes”. Ford gave his brother a look as he asked, “Can’t you make your picture anything you want online?”. He remembers when they got the computer last time the kids were here, Dipper had shown him how he had his profile for online DD&MD. He absolutely didn’t understand it, but Dipper assured him this summer he would teach him. Which would benefit him from not having to pay Stanley anytime he needed something done the modern way (this was not often).

“Yeah but this was on a college website, everyone has their picture I think. It looks all like student ID’s… Oh don’t look at me like that! I looked at all of their profile pictures. She just happened to have the best looking picture.” Stan finished with a shrug and a laugh. Ford had looked at him like he was crazy for looking through all the people who applied profile pictures before feeling the need to ask, “You did give me recommendations on experience, not looks correct?”.

Stan shook his head, “I know you would kill me if I passed on a math nerd over an actual good looking girl” he laughed, turning “I'm going to head out gotta meet some people, don’t wait up for me.” Stan said as he was walking out the door, grabbing the keys as he slammed the door. Ford shook his head and decided to take his brother's word for it, his mind replaying what his twin mentioned, “quite the looker” as if that could have any effect on anything. Ford thought he didn't care much at all for how a person appeared as long as they could solve these problems that's all that mattered, and maybe that they were decently pleasant to work with. He couldnt help but reflect back to the phone call, your light and airy voice filling his ear with pleasant sound, at least you didnt have a horrible voice and he could probably get used to hearing that voice more often, he thought. Ford filled his cup with coffee and headed back downstairs not giving the interview tomorrow much more thought than your voice on the phone.

—————

A/N: Yay I did it!!! yeah so what if its a nothing sandwich?? Didnt i literally say that before hand.. hope you enjoyed if ya read! <3

[srvbryn]

heyy, I was the one that asked if you're taking requests and I'm so happy you are!!

Could I request Luke x reader, where reader stats sending him some anonymous notes (just small things to avoid being obvious) and ends up getting kinda sad when Luke is considering almost every girl in the camp except her, and the ending can be whatever you like

Hope you're comfortable with this! 🥺

Also, if you're up to make tags with anon identification can I be 🫀anon? (It's so I can find the answers to my asks faster, but it's okay if you don't want to 😊

Hope you have a nice day 👋

Luke Castellan. Secret notes

𐙚⋆.˚ Luke Castellan X f!reader (no mention of Godly parent)

Summary: "I've always admired you" He used to be the sweetest boy in camp, but now he's known as a traitor.

𐙚⋆.˚ light angst, THEY USED TO BE FRIENDS but then idk shit happened man, Luke actually like reader BUT he thought reader didn't like him so he spend time with different girls everyday to ignore his feelings lol, this shit take a whole different turn LMAOAOA

A/n: THIS ONE IS SO BAD - this writing shit block hit hard 😭😭 I barely have any ideas , I'm sorry if this one is BAD 🫀 anon 😔

“For what it's worth

I did love you

And I could have said it a thousand and one times

But I wanted nothing more than for you to hear

To understand and to represent all that it meant

And I would say it again

To make it a thousand and two I do still love you

And it sure still does sound sweet

For what it's worth

I understand you

Maybe as far as you want me to

Maybe even more, but I do

And the consequences of understanding you

I didn't know would be love

Love unabashed and irreplaceable

Love that can't be replicated

A flame that didn't need to be fanned

Because how can you understand the beauty of a rose

And leave it in the garden...”

Maybe knowing it has thorns?”

Eighteen-year-old (name) has her future all planned out - spending the time at Camp Half Blood and move out of the place; attend college near the city; spend the summer in Spain.

The second I close my eyes, the memories play, and I find myself back at the beginning.

He used to be the sweetest boy in camp, but now he's not. It was sweet how he would respond to girls smiling at him. He was kind, the type of man you would want in a relationship.

He's literally the personification of a fairytale man, the way he walks the way he talks.

He's flawless.

i. The first time I secretly gave you a note

I got some paper and wrote down my feelings for him. This is the first love letter I've ever written, and the first I've sent to Luke.

When I was finished, I went in without anyone noticing, folded the paper, inserted it through the slit, and pushed it inside.

You sigh with relief. It was dumb; seriously, a love letter? He's the most gorgeous and strongest swordsman in the camp, and the only way you can confess is through an anonymous love letter??

It was sparring time, and you really enjoyed it because you could admire Luke Castellan.

What you didn't expect to see was an Aphrodite girl batting her eyelashes so hard while staring at him. She's going to fly with that eyelash of hers, you thought to yourself.

But she has courage, and you admire her for it.

Lover girl: 0

Ms steal your man (#1) : 1

Luke Castellan was still awake that night, looking at the moon, as is his usual routine, which no one knows about.

Reading the notes he found inside his locker,

"Dear Luke, I've always admired you since the first time I saw you. - ♡"

It was short, but not meaningless, because it was the first time someone gave him something to remember.

Lover girl: +1

Ms steal your man (#1): +0

ii. 14th February - I hate you

It would've been nice if your crush noticed you. You would be lying if you said you didn't hate valentine the most.

Inside her cabin, (Name) couldn't shake the sting of loneliness on Valentine's Day.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she imagined Luke enjoying the company with other cabin girls. "Why does he always choose them over me?" she questioned, her heart heavy with unspoken emotions.

Meanwhile, in the dimly lit hallways, Luke laughed with the others, blissfully unaware of (Name)'s pain.

"Luke, why not spend some time with (Name)?" Annabeth suggested, sensing her sadness. Luke brushed it off with a casual remark, "She's fine on her own."

Back in her cabin, (Name) clenched her fists, whispering to herself, "I'm always on my own." She tried to distract herself, but every attempt failed. The distant echoes of laughter outside only intensified her solitude.

As the night deepened, (Name) heard footsteps approaching her cabin. Hope flickered, but it dimmed as she realized it wasn't Luke. A gentle knock echoed, "You okay, (Name)?"

Tears streaming down her face, she replied, "I just wanted to spend Valentine's Day with someone who actually cares."

iii. I should hate you

"You should've seen (Name)'s face," one girl giggled, recounting a previous encounter. "She's such a mess."

Deep in her heartache, (Name) wished Luke would notice her suffering. "Am I not enough?" she wondered, dealing with the harsh reality of his neglect.

The cabin's walls appeared to close in as the weight of unspoken words pressed down.

Luke's laughter echoed through the night, a stark contrast to (Name)'s silent sobs.

She craved his presence, his understanding, but he remained blissfully ignorant. "I thought I meant something to him," she murmured, wiping away tears.

iv. Thank you, Annabeth

The evening sun cast a warm glow over the tranquil lake as (Name) joined Annabeth, Percy, and Grover.

Laughter and chatter filled the air as they settled by the water's edge. Annabeth, with her piercing eyes, couldn't help but notice (Name) seemed distant.

"Hey, (Name), you've been quiet. Everything okay?" she asked, concern etched on her face. (Name) sighed, her gaze fixed on the water. "Yeah, just thinking about stuff, you know?"

Percy, ever the perceptive one, chimed in, "You can talk to us. We're like family."

Grover nodded in agreement, "Totally, (Name), we're here for you."

As they enjoyed the lakeside atmosphere, Annabeth couldn't ignore (Name)'s glances toward where Luke was chatting with another girl.

She approached (Name). "Look, (Name), it's been going on for a while now. You can't keep avoiding this. You should tell Luke how you feel instead of sulking every time he talks to someone else."

(Name) tensed, her expression guarded. "It's not that simple, Annabeth. Luke and I are practically strangers."

Annabeth crossed her arms, her voice gentle yet firm. "You're like an older sister to us, and we hate seeing you upset. If you don't tell him, you'll always wonder 'what if.' Trust me, it's better to know than to wonder."

The words lingered between them, and (Name) mulled them over as they decided to take a dip in the lake. The water was cool, and the moon reflected on its surface as they swam.

Percy splashed water at Grover, starting a playful water fight. (Name) couldn't help but smile at their antics, but her thoughts still lingered on Annabeth's advice.

As they swam back to the shore, Percy asked, "Come on, (Name), join the fun! Don't let your worries ruin the evening."

(Name) hesitated for a moment before giving in, and soon laughter echoed around the lake as they played and enjoyed each other's company.

v. Realization

Luke's curiosity got the better of him when he noticed (Name) sneaking into Hermes Cabin.

As he approached her, he had a furrowed brow and a puzzled expression on his face, and the pile of small love notes in her hands revealed the secret he had unknowingly discovered.

"(Name), what are you doing here? And what's with all these notes?" Luke said.

Her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and nervousness. "Luke, I... um, well, these notes are for you. I've been leaving them hoping you will read them"

Luke's eyes widened in realization, understanding crossing his features.

Luke said teasingly. "You're the one behind these notes? Why keep it a secret?"

Glancing everywhere but at him, you replied "you hangout with different girls everyday what makes you think I have the courage to confess?"

Luke's expression softened as he processed (Name)'s confession. The air between them thickened.

"You don't have to hide, (Name). Your notes brought joy to my days. Knowing it's you only makes them more special."

vi. The prophecy

“Luke—”

“Good-bye, Percy. There is a new Golden Age coming and you won’t be part of it.”

He slashed his sword in an arc and disappeared in a ripple of darkness.

The scorpion lunged.

I swatted it away with my hand and uncapped my sword. The thing jumped at me and I cut it in half in midair.

I was about to congratulate myself until I looked down at my hand. My palm had a huge red welt, oozing and smoking with yellow guck. The thing had gotten me after all.

My ears pounded. My vision went foggy. The water, I thought. It healed me before.

I stumbled to the creek and submerged my hand, but nothing seemed to happen. The poison was too strong. My vision was getting dark. I could barely stand up.

Sixty seconds, Luke had told me.

I had to get back to camp. If I collapsed out here, my body would be dinner for a monster. Nobody would ever know what had happened.

My legs felt like lead. My forehead was burning. I stumbled toward the camp, and the nymphs stirred from their trees.

“Help,” I croaked. “Please . . .”

Two of them took my arms, pulling me along. I remember making it to the clearing, a counselor shouting for help, a centaur blowing a conch horn.

Then everything went black.

Oh gods, "Annabeth-" (name) voice breaks the silence.

"I know (name) I know" She replied.

...

“You idiot,” Annabeth said, which is how I knew she was overjoyed to see me conscious. “You were green and turning gray when me and (name) found you. If it weren’t for Chiron’s healing . . .”

The room was quiet when Percy told them the story.

It was quiet for a long time.

“I can’t believe that Luke...” Annabeth’s voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and sad. “Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him.... He was never the same after his quest.”

“(name) can you believe what he just did?!” Annabeth said.

"I don't.. but seeing Percy like this oh my gods... I'm so sorry Perce"

Maybe I was dumb for not noticing you were plotting to betray us.

See you on the other side, Luke Castellan.

[silenttale22]

PRETTY LIKE YOU |JJK|

IDOL!BF!Jungkook x Chubby!reader Genre: Fluff, slight angst, suggestive(at the end) Warnings: curses, past/current low self-esteem, insecurities, avoiding, reader is a lil bit stupid, some sugar daddy theme(but not really), Word count: 5k Note: Hi there! As I won't be able to post another MHBTW chapter, I don't wanna leave you without nothing soooo, here's my Gguk`s fic I wrote when 'Seven' came out. I supposed to post it much earlier but kinda lost it in my drafts <sorry>

Since you were in middle school, thinking about dating anyone seemed to you as something impossible. Always being insecure because well…you didn't look like someone who got the attention of the whole school. And yeah you could be loud and funny sometimes around your group of friends where…of course were also boys.

Handsome boys you used to have crushes on but the thing with any of them, who found their place deeper in your heart, became only a friendship and you couldn't even imagine it in a different way. 

Does it break your heart? At first, sure, but with the passing time you just get used to it, bottling up the emotions and just keep explaining to yourself that this is how the world is going…if you're bigger, not really 'cute' with your behavior, and despite tight clothes you prefer the baggy ones - your chance of having a boyfriend is zero.

That is why when you finished your school education, life seemed much different. Even after all these high school or college years, it was still so hard for you to change your way of thinking and your habits of pushing yourself into a corner with doubt that you could get someone's attention…and what even more - make someone to fall for you even a bit, was lingering to you without the change. 

So when one day, the principal from your department in the work office came up with the plan that you are the one - ideal person to be sent to deliver important documents to one of the biggest studios in South Korea, you never thought that everything would turn upside down in a few hours. 

When you arrived, the people who were supposed to take over the documents from you must have stayed late in meetings that had been going on since morning, so you spent a good few hours sitting at the reception desk looking at the wall or at the phone, as you couldn't just left the paper in the reception. Occasionally moving your gaze to the papers you had begun to memorize.

But when, out of nowhere, a group of young men with smiles on their faces walked through the main hall where you were already sitting half-asleep, you found it difficult to take your slightly blurry gaze away from the gentle and pleasing to the eye figures.

By pure coincidence, one of them met your gaze, and as an even wider, even more, charming smile came to his lips, you felt your cheeks begin to burn through the sudden rush of emotion. 

Your cold-as-usual hands quickly found their way to cool your warm - probably reddened - skin and you tried to push the brief attraction out of your head as quickly as possible when you looked down at your spilled thighs on the leather couch. You got up from it quickly, smoothing down your trousers and trying to collect quickly the documents in your folders, a number of which you had with you.

It took you a good 15 minutes to disappear into the toilet, but as you reached it you were still trying to calm the sudden euphoria that had erupted in your chest over a silly little minute exchange of glances. You felt like a childish teenager who had managed to get any interest in her object of admiration for the first time. 

However, could you even call it "getting interest"? A simple exchange of eye contact, no big deal. Yet it succeeded in confusing your mind.

At that moment, your head did not necessarily overthink the whole "escape" plan with precision. Because, again - how could you have known that when, right after leaving the restrooms and exiting the corridor leading out of the room, he would be standing leaning against the wall? The one you were trying to get away from as quickly as you could.

But the boy, unfazed with dreamy eyes, waited patiently holding a few sheets of paper in his hand. Another plan come up quickly, you thought - trying to walk past him unnoticed.

 Maybe this time it will work out for you?

His hand soon reached over your shoulder, making you come face to face with the most beautiful being you could ever meet. 

"You dropped this getting up from the sofa" he said with a friendly smile after staring into your eyes for a moment, pulling a paper towards you that must have fallen out of your bag 

"Oh, thank you," a quick nod and you were about to pass his figure when once again a slender hand covered in tiny tattoos blocked your way.

"Will there be any chance of us seeing each other again?" his question knocks you completely out of your right mind, so for a moment you stare dully into his face, not knowing if it's all a stupid joke, or if you're dreaming and your head is making up some sick scenario, or if it's all true after all..." Hello? You there?" his hand waves in front of your face, bringing you back to reality.

"I-I don't know. I don't think so," you mutter under your breath rather than answer him, but the boy without even waiting pulls out his phone with the keypad on in your direction

"Maybe then there's a chance to get your phone number and know your name?" You can't resist his smile and his deer eyes begging for any kind of contact so you tap a few numbers into his mobile phone, saying also your name, and the boy almost with jumps wanted to leave your figure when this time it was you who stopped him with your hand

“But, wait! Can I at least know your name or something?"

"Oh, right. Sorry,” he chuckled quietly “I'm Jeongguk." 

“Nice to meet you then” You smiled at him and even your constant insecurities disappeared for a second.

And from day one the two of you used to text almost all the time. It was hard for you to take your phone away sometimes because it kept buzzing every freaking time. 

At first, you were excited because damn, he was still interested in you. You felt like you never did earlier. Being especially happy that you're not being judged by the way you look.

It seemed as the both of you had so many topics and it more than once made your heart flutter. You finally met someone who understood the rules of your favorite games or was eager to learn the new ones just because he wanted to know more about the things you like. And you could listen to him talking about new songs, choreographies, or when it was enough for his career being mesmerized by the sound of his voice and excited about every little thing…It happened that you even listened to the latest news from the motorization world, which Jeongguk seemed really fascinated by.

And it made you really happy. 

Happy that you already have someone like that. Even if it was only for a while, only by phone…because what's the point in planning any meeting if you know very well that it will only bring the end of this friendship forward? Your head was always filled with this damn lack of confidence, so the thinking that maybe it would be better to end things sooner will be better. 

You couldn't imagine the picture of yourself right next to Jungkook, you just couldn't.

It's hard to think about the possibility that people won't judge you…and what's even worse…that they can judge Jungkook, why would he ever suffer in any way because of your looks?

And yeah, despite every nice feeling you had inside, after a while, for a person like you - not used to this kind of constant attention, especially from someone like Jeongguk…his messages started to irritate you a little bit. Even if they still made you happy at some point, something seemed not right. He seemed clingy to you, in some way maybe even annoying…and with passing time it became too much. 

Or you just thought it was too much…

That's why at first your phone was in constant silence mode, often ignoring the texts all along, pretending that you're busy…with work, with home stuff, with everything. Of course, sometimes you answer, from time to time trying to swallow down the enthusiasm filling you inside. Especially trying to calm down so often pounding heart inside your chest when a boy comes up online every freaking time when you send the shortest answers you could come up with. You've been sometimes answering with a dot or...emoji only, swallowing down the hard knot tightening inside your throat.

Eventually, you stopped answering at all. Knowing that he will just stop after some time because yeah, you're nothing special. Easy to replace. And you really thought that you were right when the phone stopped buzzing at every possible moment. 

You thought that you're life would be filled with the same old silence as earlier. 

However, the moment when the messages stopped popping up, an even heavier feeling dropped onto your chest. A silly longing for someone you barely knew began to embrace you with tight arms, and at certain moments you've been kind of cursing yourself a little. Because why do you feel so bad about the decision you made on your own. You may have made it under the influence of negative emotions flooding your head, but it was still yours.

With each growing feeling of guilt in your chest, you were soon reminded of who you were. What do you look like with your extra back rolls, extra scars, or stretch marks from growing too fast in some places. You run your hands over your cellulite-covered thighs and guilt turns to self-disgust. And then you realize how you sometimes behave, often interested in 'what's masculine', not really keeping your nose in fashion magazines or surfing the internet to find sales on new beauty products.

So the mere fact that the boy let it go shouldn't surprise you. 

And yet it did hurt a little. 

It was one of the next days when your phone was lying without any sounds in your bag. You were leaving the office late at night, and through an intense week at work and the previous weekend without sleep, your body was heavier than bags filled with grain. Your eyes were closing by themselves through being irritated by the light, so when you left the building lit by fake lighting, you felt quite relieved.

When you closed them for a short moment, you felt a sense of comfort. As you took one step after another with your eyes closed, you hit an unfamiliar object with a stronger impact. But it was softer than a pole, and yet was still hard and delicate to the touch under your fingertips. Only after a moment did you realize that it was the material of someone's shirt, and a sudden embarrassment crashed all over you. You jumped away quickly almost losing your balance, but strong hands grabbed you by the waist again pulling you close in a just as smooth manner.

"Am I that scary?" Your eyes widen as you hear the familiar voice that has lulled you to sleep more than once through your headphones, and your gaze drops to the tattooed hand clutching tightly at the fabric of your shirt.

"I-no, I mean, you.." is what you began to lose yourself in your own words through which you eventually let out only an annoyed huff, but the familiar hand begins to caress you with a thumb where it still safely keeps you from falling. 

You feel the warmth spreading from this place and for a brief moment you feel so good, so different...but the thought that he's only doing this out of pity, and inside he squirms with disgust because has to hold someone like you, makes you want to push his hand away and get as far away from here as possible.

“I thought something bad had happened. You stopped responding so suddenly” you swallowed saliva heavily, avoiding his gaze, hearing that worried tone.

Because you knew that if you put an eye on his face, not only would the sense of guilt eat you up, but the fear that the lingering self-sense of inferiority would grip you even tighter, cutting off your access to oxygen. There was always this agonizing dread inside, every time you found yourself surrounded by pretty people. And Jeongguk in special was a pretty person. A person who could nevertheless intimidate the other one.

“I just simply wanted to get out of the way quicker,” you muttered, feeling that it wouldn't do any good at all, but then again, sooner or later the boy would get bored anyway, right?

There was no point in dragging this out.

“What the hell? Getting out of the way? What are you talking about?" this time you laughed meekly at his tone of voice, full of wonder, perhaps in the full sense of sadness.

He must have been not only a good singer but also an actor

“Jeongguk I know how I look. And it was really nice of you to, like uh, that you wanted to... talk to someone like me, but I don't need attention out of pity,” you said, finding the courage to look him straight in the eye.

And you soon regretted it, as the sparkling gaze scanned your face with all possible stars. A knot tightened in your stomach by the way with which Jeongguk looked at you with a twinge.

"Did you actually think my messages were...pity?" The boy tried once again to look you in the eye, but this time you avoided that look at all costs  "I barely have time to look at my phone, and even more rarely I look at the messages.. but with you I did because I wanted to. I wanted to get to know you and with each another conversation I wanted even more"

"But, why?"

"Because you caught my eye, and well, now I can even say that I like you. Even if you played with my feelings a little. I wanted to get your attention at all costs. I wished that all the planned meetings were going to happen. Because I found in you someone who understands me. Who isn't just looking to get laid for my money." your brow furrowed, still feeling an uncomfortable tightness in your chest

"It doesn't make sense."

'Maybe for you. It makes a lot of sense to me, so if you doubt so much that my care and attention...Is caused by genuine affection, then let me prove it''

"Huh? What do you mean"

"I want a chance from you. I want to stay by your side until you kick me out yourself. There won't be a day you're disappointed in me. Every day of the week, every month...I'll do anything to make you feel good about me. Break my heart if you want to, but for now, let me be with you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And from that day on, your heart didn't stop beating faster for Jeongguk even for a moment, and just like he said, he really did. There wasn't a day that the smile on your lips wasn't dancing because of him.

You can't lie, it was hard for you to get used to him at first. It was very often that your boy would shower you with some kind of gifts with every single meeting. As he couldn't understand that his time was completely enough for you.

That for you, it was enough to hold his hand in yours. To feel his fingers touching you softly when the two of you were out, assuring that he was right here. Staying up late at night, when he fell asleep tired on your tights (because it's the most comfortable pillow ever) just to watch his relaxed face and stroke his hair gently as he pouts adorably then.

 It was enough for you to watch him playing on the console, pretending that you're reading a book behind his back, sometimes even knowing the plot of the game better than he does and helping him with quests. That's why, from time to time, he was pushing his head back and catching you staring so both of you giggled at the end. 

It was enough to just have him. Nothing more was needed.

But even if Jeongguk knew that very well, because that was one of the reasons he fell for you more and more, he wanted to spoil you. Wanted to give you everything as he promised. And sometimes it was hard for him, to buy you something that reminded of you so so much, just to be scolded by his girlfriend as you never really wanted this gift. This expensive gifts, because when he came home one day with handmade paper flowers for 'his beautiful girl', your face lit up and you were about to cry. 

Because that was one of the most genuine things someone did to you. He spends time making these flowers…thinking about you all the time while doing it. It made your heart flutter. Most of the things connected with this boy did.

"I don't want your money Jungkook, so please stop with these expensive gifts," you said once, as he came home with another necklace for you

"That my love, so just accept it" he huffed with a pout

"Koo, it's too much. You have to stop buying me stuff. I love it but I love you more, okay?" your hand gently brushed his cheek as he whined quietly

"But I want my baby to be happy"

"And I am more than happy when I'm with you Bun"

But does it change anything?

Yea, for a week so you could have another damn gift. And as time passed, you kind of got used to it. You knew that this is just one of the ways Jungkook showed his affection, but sometimes you wished to snap his head off because damn it feels so much like you'd have a sugar daddy or something like that. But in that case…it was enough that you're just here with him.

Promising your boy that he's not letting you down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Gguk," you said when your boy with a smile came inside the room hiding something behind his back when you've been lying down on a couch.

As he didn't even answer, you closed your eyes with a loud huff as a sign of being ignored and tried to play cool as his heavy steps could be heard around the apartment. Your nose twitched as it was reached by the faint scent of his cotton perfume. And this time you heard giggles coming closer but you tried to brush it off just like Jungkook did and fight with a smile dancing on your lips.

Quiet music played from the TV so you could relax after a whole day in the office, where never-ending phone calls were so often ripping your head apart. Not going to mention filling out all of the boring documents, every time the same, and all it did was hurt your eyes. But it was your job. Even if you couldn't bear it sometimes. 

That's why you needed this calm time at home. When your head could finally rest. Where you could change your formal clothes into a big Jungkook hoodie and sniff it every time when the unknown stress lingers on you. But as much as you needed it, you needed your boyfriend's arms around you too.

And as for your wish to be fulfilled, a shadow falls on you, and as eyes open wide, his face hovers over. Now, miserably losing the fight, when a smile appears on your lips. And firstly boy hovers even more over you, brushing gently your hair so after that a soft peck lands on your forehead.

But as he hears your giggle, making his heart go crazy, Jungkook can kiss it more than once, making you laugh. And he'd love to do that over and over again just to make you happy like that. And yeah, he's only starting as he slowly goes down with warm lips, touching your cheeks and lips making you giggle again and again as he tries to reach your face fighting with the couch backrest. Often losing his balance and falling a little bit stronger on you.

"Hello to you, my pretty Sunshine," he said pinching your cheek, and finally only looked at you from a small distance 

"Hi Bun, tired?" you asked seeing his a little miserable face but he only sent a small nod.

"I swear, you look the prettiest in my clothes" you laughed, as he began to play with the strings of the hoodie

"How the recordings are going?" he smiled now, still standing behind the backrest hiding one of his hands behind his back

"Good, it was good. But I missed you sooo...."

"Googie" you chuckled when he took his hidden hand to see the bouquet of sunflowers  "Aish, boy I told you to stop," you said but couldn't resist seeing him pout so you got up to peck his lips with a smile and a quiet thank you.

You took flowers from him to put them into the water but it wouldn't be a normal day if Jungkook's arms weren't wrapped around you so you were walking with extra weight...but what a sweet weight.

"You know, I was there and they are just as pretty as you so, I had to."

"Yea, yea. You had to," you rolled your eyes playfully just to be gently stabbed with his fingers, which made you whine as you tried to free yourself from his arms

"You not going, I missed you"

"Gguk, you need to eat"

"'m not hungry"

"Yeah, and later the fridge will be empty." you turned around still in his embrace, and brushed your fingers through his long hair falling on his forehead "Put your ass on the chair"

"But..." he begins with a pout

"You can sing for me" and knowing that this will bring a smile to his face again, arms around your waist loosen to let you go as the melodic voice of your boyfriend filled the apartment with random songs interrupting the giggles from time to time when you tried to dance to the melody he was making.

Even if at first you thought the boy would actually listen to you and just keep watching the whole time, Jeongguk changed your mind quite quickly.

After a couple of minutes or so, he was standing right next to you, asking meekly what he could help you with. Oh, and just try to get him out of the kitchen...his body would hover quickly over yours and a low whine with tiny kisses would escape his lips. So this time too, you let the boy peel the vegetables or just stir the noodles every now and then when you really needed to focus on the recipe. 

And maybe in front of him, you pretended to be annoyed a lot, or even angry that he was circling around under your feet stealing your kisses, or tickling you gently when he found an opportunity to go behind your back. But you both knew that if you really were you wouldn't have that small smile on your face, and you yourself wouldn't sometimes reach out to him with the gentle touch on his arms.

"As you already know... we're in the middle of shooting a video for that song you heard" he begins, as the two of you sat finally down to eat

"Seven days a week, or something like that, right?" the boy snorts with laughter as you lift your head from above your plate, a bit dirty at the corners of your mouth, that Jeongguk doesn't hesitate to brush clean

"Mhm, precisely correct"

'Mm, that's good, right? You said it's going good”

"Yeah but, you know…as the lyrics say…" your facial expression changes for a short while and you quickly try to mask the shadow of worry with a small smile.

"There's someone with you in the music video, right?" he nods quickly, and a hum leaves your lips.

"Yeah, a girl" you chuckle, recognizing the tone of his voice. Knowing that he's already anxious about this chat.

"Well, looking at the words in the song that's the whole point, am I wrong? And I heard something from people when I've been last time bringing you cookies, so yeah…we can say I knew" 

"The cookies were from you?!" You rolled eyes and tried to joke some more about that only to push away the uneasy feeling sitting hard on your chest. 

You really didn't want Jungkook to be extra worried about your stupid growing anxiety at this point, so you wanted to play it cool. And it wasn't even along the lines of you being angry at him. It's just simply the fact that a slim, beautiful actress has to spend so much time with him face to face concerned you because it's not hard to fall in love with pretty people.

For as long as you have been with Jeongguk as your boyfriend, there has never been a time when you doubted his feelings. Whenever a shadow of uncertainty ran across your face, it was soon caught and soothed with tender gestures, which the idol lavished you with. But what could you do, that habits from the past so easily returned to you?

"Sun, I know you. And I know you can be…" almost as if he knew what kind of thoughts were running over your head. The tattooed hand quickly grabs yours, doing circles with the knuckle on it, 

"I'm fine Gguk, don't worry' bout me. Just do a great job as you always do. It's fine, I promise." You send a smile and continue eating. "Hope Hybe found this actress to be the prettiest one so ARMY could be happy" you added, feeling his eyes on you

"Then you should be the one starring in it" You rolled eyes again, and sent a quick look at him to see his shiny but nervous eyes

"Bun, I said it's okay"

"But you're sad."

"No, I'm not" you cut it, as you continued to eat your food, ignoring his eyes on you.

And of course…he huffed like the offended child, always knowing better so the rest of the dinner was silent. 

"You coming lie down with me?" a question fell from your lips, as the dishes were put into the dishwasher and both of you headed to the bedroom.

"Can I?" He asked, making you to look at him with disbelieve

"Better question, why wouldn't you? Thought I'd feel the strong arms of my man this evening" and his face lit up immediately but as quickly is felt sad again.

"I let you down" he mumbled, and your happy expression fell down

"What?"

"With m/v" pout decorated his lips again, and the sadness overcame you again. The soft sight left your lips, as hand reached to hold his.

"Oh, Googie. What are you talking about? I told you I'm fine. Of course, it will be a bit hard for me to know that my pretty boy is recording with some pretty girl, but you never let me down. I trust you, okay? Don't even say that you let me down ever again."

You came closer to him and grabbed his pouty face in hands to squish it adorably and kiss the sadly twisted lips. Your eyes met and again you could see the small stars shining inside his espresso-brown ones. 

"I love you" words came out as you nuzzled nose with his.

And it was enough for Jungkook to pick you up just to fall together on the bed a minute later so he could hide his head in your neck, slipping his hand through the hoodie to stroke your belly gently with his fingers. Squishing the skin a little bit harder from time to time, just to massage it after it.

"Damn you're much better than this stress relieving toys," boy said, after squishing your skin one more time

"'sxuse me?" you gasped with a rough voice, looking down at his hidden face, feeling his hands freeze on your belly. You were about to snap his hand off but he was quick to hold you tighter and look at your face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it in the negative way you probably thought. I mean that your presence soothes me down, and just laying like that means everything to me" he explained fast, and you caught hardly anything but as Jungkook's hand again began to caress skin, a soft huff left your lips

"Yea, yea…" you murmured, feeling his eyes on you

"And the fact that I'm freaking addicted to your skin its the other point" you groaned, trying to hide face into the sheets but as a laugh left Jeongguk's lips, you couldn't not look at his face, as the wrinkles decorated his small nose making you leap with joy inside.

"So…" he began again, making you look down at his face now pressed to your boobs. Your fingers were playing with dark, messy hair and a hum encouraged him to speak his mind "Should I talk to PDnim and get you to the M/v?"

"Googie..." you giggled as he rubbed down his nose onto your chest and looked at you with doe eyes

"What? The lyrics will match better. Your waist is the only one I kiss, and your lines are the only ones I wanna trace" you snored at his words, but couldn't deny it didn't make everything inside explode with an amazing feeling connected to love and care.

"Yeah, and I hope I'm the only one you leave with afterglow" you pondered quietly, so the giggle came to ears as an answer

"Wanna check?" his brow snapped as he came even closer to your face, and rubbed his nose softly on yours 

"Maybe?" you smirked and it was enough for him, as rosy lips peck your skin with tiny kisses, with each successive one assuring how important you are to him.

[queserasora]

JEAN KIRSCHTEIN X FEM READER | NSFW WORD COUNT: 4.5k CONTENT WARNING: profanity because Jean has a tiny bit of a potty mouth, lots and lots of groping, dry humping, alcohol consumption (would it be a fic I wrote if they weren't drinking to some degree??? i think not), nipple play, lots of teasing, jealous possessive jean likes to do a lot of biting and marking, even if frankly he has no right to be jealous, he is a HYPOCRITE, that should be a warning, also jean does whatever he wants then acts like he did nothing, so another warning, he throws dishes in sinks and breaks them, another warning, the man breaks every domestic law and rule, i will fight him A SUMMARY: Jean and Y/N are in a marriage of convenience, and have been for several months. There is no reason for feelings to be involved, but when someone decides to hit on Y/N at the gym--Jean has to come to terms with emotions he has no power to control.

An arrangement of convenience should always remain that: a convenience.

Four months had passed since you first walked through his door, carrying very little in your arms. When he had asked you about the rest of your possessions you had smiled—tight lipped, abashedly, almost secretive. I didn't have much to begin with, you had said. I'll just consider this a fresh start. It had always been this way. He had met you in college, as you walked down the corridor with your head in the clouds, carrying photocopies from course books you couldn't afford.

His chest was solid when you ran into him, papers scattering into the air like tinted flower petals reminding you—one by one—that you didn't belong at that school, no matter how hard you tried. He still remembers the hole on your slip on shoes, and the way the peek of the purple sock teased him. He still remembers the flush on your cheeks, the watery pathetic look in your eyes as if you had been holding back from crying all day long. He still remembers the way they laughed at your patched up backpack, and how you held your head high.

And he remembers the way it filled him with fiery rage, how it consumed him and prodded him to want to burn the whole establishment down—just like now. He watches quietly as he sits upright on the bench. His fingers curled into fists, gripping so tightly his clipped fingernails threaten to piece skin. There's a man next to you, smiling down at you with a lecherous sheen to his eyes. Jean does his best to sit still, to stretch his arms above his head and not picture himself ripping his eyeballs out. His hand touches your elbow, and Jean stands up, reasoning yelling in the back of his mind to grab his attention.

The contract flashes through his mind's eyes, taking precedence over his anger.

An arrangement of convenience should remain a convenience. Your lives were meant to be lived in privacy, without the meddling interference from each other. Those were rules strictly discussed and agreed upon. Jean's mouth twists into a scowl at the memory of his signature, neatly scribbled at the end of the paper—the same one that he kept a copy of in the drawer of his nightstand.

You had every right to entertain that idiot if you liked—even if Jean thought he looked like he couldn't count past ten. You had every right to smile back, the way you did, and laugh at whatever joke he had just said. You had every right to live a life away from him, as long as you came back home every night, to sleep in your own bed, in your own room.

He grabs a towel, and sprays sanitizer on the bench, finding cleaning his own sweat infinitesimally more productive than to focus on the bitter jealousy gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Jean knows he has no leg to stand on, no right to stride up to you and swat his hand away. He has no right to feel cheated, or uneasy—to feel like you're being tugged away from his fingers.

But he does, so he spins in place and walks towards you, feet slamming down on the gym mats—muffling his anger. He tries to think of excuses to give, something or anything that would make him sound less pathetic than he felt. He is within earshot when he hears you.

“No, I won't go with you,” you say flatly, your gaze is pointed as you blink. “I'm married,” you tell the man. Jean is surprised when he feels your hands on his bicep. The way your fingernails softly dig into his flesh remind him that this moment is real. It's not just another fantasy that plagued him at night while he laid in bed skin slick with his own sweat. This was you, standing your ground. This was you, holding on to him.

At the moment it didn't matter whether he was just an excuse for you to push away unwanted attention. Jean stares the man down who looks appropriately abashed before his mouth twists in anger. Jean feels his own mouth water. The words are cocked on his tongue but you're pulling away, leading him towards the exit and down the stairs. They fizzle and die out in smoke with every step taken.

He had hoped the heat of the shower would wash it all way. His hair sticks to his forehead under the shower head. Eyes closed, water running over his skin, he tilts his face to the ceiling in hopes that thoughts of you would evaporate from his mind and follow the steam away from his body. Instead, you envelop him in your heated cloudiness. He sees the band of your sports bra digging into the soft flesh of your torso. He can picture, in annoyingly perfect detail, the sweat that clung to the small of your back, the way drops drifted lower until they disappeared into your spandex. The same spandex that had made him uncomfortably tight in his gym shorts when he saw you bend at the knees for a squat.

Jean stays in the shower long enough for his fingers to prune. He stays until thoughts of you turn hazy, less significant. When he makes it out of the shower with wet hair, a towel around his shoulders he sees you coming out of your room, and into the kitchen. His eyes track your movements, a predatory hunger prowling inside him like a caged animal. Jean coughs into a closed fist; a sad attempt at composure. Your curls are wet, soft ringlets sticking closer to your skull than he is used to. He is used to seeing them wild, and bouncy, swaying with every move you make—but this sight isn't unappealing either.

Your pajama shorts are, frankly, a bit too short for polite company. Jean tilts his head in barely restrained admiration as you move towards the fridge and bend over to reach for something in the back. Ass cheeks taunt him as they peek out from under the legs' hemline. Your white t shirt is snug over your chest, and see through enough he can almost picture every detail on your bra.

Jean swallows thickly and drops himself on the couch—the same spot he always occupies as you cook.

It's where he can watch you the best. It's usually innocent, almost pure but tonight Jean feels filthy as he takes in your silhouette. He can't stand the sight of your hair, the way you keep brushing it away from your face with an impassive hand. He can smell your shampoo—imagine it. He had smelled it enough times when you got too close; the scent of coconut and vanilla. He is irritated at how accurately his mind can recall it, how he can recall the back of your neck and how badly he had wanted to kiss it then. Jean licks his lips.

He wanted to kiss it still. Badly.

Jean is still irate when he sits down for dinner. His body is tense from the constant clenching of muscle. His jaw hurts, but he chews anyway, not wanting to appear ungrateful. Your mouth; however, is treacherous. A sinful siren leading him to murky waters. You wrap it around each morsel, and around your fork, as if he was made of wet paper; wafer thin. Jean swallows his desires with a swig of wine. He did not often drink, much less wine, but you had insisted; another month in faux marital bliss.

You had a strange sense of humor he couldn't help but entertain. It pissed him off to no end.

The wine is sweet on his tongue, and he wonders if it's the same for you as you throw your head back, determined to get every last drop in your glass. Your tongue dips around the rim of it, throat exposed for his devious eyes to take in. Jean shakes his head, pretending his brown hair is in the way of his eyes. In reality, he's trying to shake your hold off his mind. He's trying to dislodge the imagery of that man at the gym running his tongue up the column of your throat. Jean blinks, a heat over his eyes as he finds the hollow of your neck, and fights the urge that blooms inside of him.

He wants to kiss you there, on the soft flesh that connects your shoulder and neck. He wants to follow up the trail to just under your ear, and he wants to mark you time and time again; a signature left on skin drawn with blood and teeth.

Jean bites down on his last morsel of dinner and barely misses his tongue. He is nauseated by his own desires. He thinks there might be something innately wrong with him and the way he wants to pull you up to the table and rip your clothes off, so he can fuck you before the desire kills him first.

He thinks he hears your voice saying his name in ecstasy in his ear, loud and clear, so he slaps his hand on the table in an attempt to make a louder sound. His blood rushing to his ears, beating against the walls of his sanity, threaten to drown out your voice.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, brows drawn together in confusion. Jean shakes his head, and smiles—soft laughter following his gesture.

“There was a mosquito,” he lies with ease, wiping an already clean hand with a napkin. He sees your eyes narrow, and sees doubt peek from behind the brown in them but he ignores it. Jean had bigger, bolder things to worry about—like the sudden erection in his pants. He moves his hips in the seat, trying his best to adjust himself under the table without using his hands. It doesn't work. It especially doesn't work once you have decided you're done with entree of the night and move on to dessert.

Strawberries had never seemed like a poisoned fruit before but Jean starts to question reality when your white teeth bite down on the bright red flesh of one. Juice spills over your bottom lip, a faint red that trails down your chin. You hurriedly bring up a hand, collecting the drips on the crook of your palm. Jean breathes out noisily through his nostrils, a rogue hand going to his crotch where he palms his erection. To adjust, he lies to himself, to push it down in a way that would not pain him, but the stroke of his hand only reminds him of what he is missing.

Your fingers—the ones that grasp another berry and another berry. Your lips—the ones that suck the whip cream right off the red tip of another strawberry.

His breathing is barely controlled, and he feels heat slide up his neck and face; lust filled fingers seeking to gauge his eyes out. The same eyes that refuse to let you go. They follow you as you move to carry dishes to the sink. He doesn't know when he does it, but he stands up nonetheless, as if he is tethered to you by an invisible string. He follows you into the kitchen, his own empty dishes in his hands.

“You know,” you start, placing the dishes in the sink. You're full, and content, but it wouldn't be right to finish dinner without at least bickering once with Jean before bedtime. Also, it helped to ease the tension that flooded your body at the feel of his presence. He was standing closely behind you. Too close.Enough to make your heart race. “Since I cooked dinner yet again, the least you can do is do the dishes.”

You turn around, determined to laugh your way out of this situation. Jean's arms are around you, plates clattering in the sink as he drops them in haphazardly. The noise is sharp and it fills your ears as Jean's mouth clashes against yours. There's a gasp in the back of your throat, one you swallow promptly when he pushes against your lips. The kiss is tight lipped, forceful. His hand is searing against your skin where he grips the back of your neck, thick strong fingers digging into your flesh. His free arm curls around your waist, and he pulls you in close, crushing you against his wide chest. A flush blankets you when you feel his hard on press against the softness of your belly.

Jean thinks he might suffocate. His shoulders stiffen as he keeps his mouth on yours, trying to weigh your reaction. He thinks he should wait for a sign from you, anything that will grant him access to the inside of your mouth to find the tongue that teased him time and time again earlier. He thinks he should practice patience but the scent of your breath heavy with the sweetness from the white whine threatens to intoxicate him; to strip him from whatever meager remains of inhibitions populated his mind and body.

Your eyes flutter open and close. There is heat at the pit of your belly. You're aware of this feeling making you tremble. You're aware of the embarrassing throb between your legs, the tell tale sign of rushing blood in a state of arousal. Your body wants his, and it only makes his erection all the more evident. You're not sure if you should return his kiss, but you find yourself pressing tighter against him, eager to see what would happen if you wiggle in his embrace; tease him just a tiny bit.

As you slip your hands over his chest, your lips break away. Jean slots his mouth against yours, his tongue slipping in between your sweetened lips. In a rare moment of tenderness, Jean brushes his tongue against yours, urging goosebumps to run their course over your brown skin. You gasp in his embrace, and it was all the incentive he needed. He didn't have to think anymore. He could just take.

So he claims your tongue as his—sucks on it with greed he tried to hide with pretenses and lies. His hands go rogue, they act recklessly as they smooth down your back and grasp fistfuls of the tender flesh of your ass. Jean sucks on your bottom lip, groaning as his hands keep moving. They slide over your hips, and over your belly until they find your breasts. He is nipping at the corners of your mouth, mumbling things you don't catch while he kneads your tits. You are too preoccupied by the building wetness between your legs to care about the words he's trying to say. From experience, you know it's nothing important. Jean had the innate ability to talk the most crap when you needed him to the least.

You don't respond, and it upsets him. So he pushes you against the sink. You cry out as the edge digs into your backside. Jean picks you up by the waist and places you back down on top of the edge of the sink. You mumble something about the faucet and Jean reaches around you, blindly as he is sucking on your tongue, to move the faucet around—anything so you'd stop complaining, so you'd stop interrupting him. Your taste floods his mouth; strawberries and wine, a combination he knows he'll never be able to recover from now. Your tongue marks him everywhere it touches, tattoos of memories digging into the skin of his jaw, down the column of his throat.

His fingers are tangled in your curls. Jean grunts when you bite down on his neck, tugging at sensitive skin. He pulls you close, tightly, as if that would help ease you under his skin. Your mouth is unforgiving, and Jean lets you go as you suck on the hollow of his neck, feeling his grip on you becoming elusive. He can't contain you or this heat slowly building in the kitchen. You are an arsonist and he is an abandoned building, too tempting, too lonesome and swallowed by darkness for you not to set on fire, to not stand back and watch as the flames eviscerate its foundations into dust.

So you dig your teeth into his skin, time and time again in your path for revenge. You leave a mark for every smart quip he threw your way, for every time he laughed sarcastically at something you said. His hand slams on the door of the cupboard above you. You look up, startled, eyes clouded with lust. His dark lashes obscure the flame behind his eyes, but you see the glistening saliva on his bottom lip, and the flush of his cheeks. You see his chest rising and falling, hear the rattling of his breath and in that moment you know that Jean Kirschtein is a beast barely contained.

He is a hunter seeking to be reformed but salivating at the chance of one more kill.

His body is trembling, fighting the urge. You look so decadent underneath him, trapped between him and the kitchen sink. Your neck is marred by angry teeth, and a hungry mouth. His mouth stretches into a lazy lopsided grin. That had been his doing, and he should feel no satisfaction. He had no right and no reason except that he just wanted to. Just like he just wanted to pull your shorts down, and push your panties to the side and fuck you right there and then, on the sink, with the dirty dishes behind your ass.

A newfound breath in his lungs he goes back to your mouth, a stupid moth to a burning flame. In his mind, somewhere small and dark, he knows he should stop kissing you. He knows he should end things here before they become more complicated, before you hate him in the morning. He knows this, but his body no longer belongs to him. He thinks, in agony and in lust, that maybe it belonged to you now as you slip your hands under his shirt and run your nails down his back. He hisses into your mouth, a small groan reminding him of his hardened cock. Jean thinks of pulling away but the moment his lips are not on yours, he sees that man again—that fucking ugly face smiling down at you. If your tongue is not in his mouth he thinks about him, kissing you. If his tongue is not pressed flush against the pulse of your neck, if he's not feeling your erratic heartbeat reminding him of the throbbing of his cock—he thinks of that bastard, running his hands all over your body, pulling moan after moan from you.

He groans again as he kisses you, too much teeth and tongue, too much passion to the point you cry out when he bites down too hard; he tastes blood as he licks your bottom lip in apology. He must have lost his mind, he thinks, as he licks it again and again until he can't taste copper anymore, until you grow softer, more pliable in his embrace.

His hands are under your shirt, fingers slipping under your bra. You cry out as he pinches hardened nipples. His tongue is back on your neck, and he kisses over the marks already left, and sucks where he thinks it is too light; not stark enough. He signs over them, again and again, as he twists his fingers, causing you to moan.

“Jean” you breathe out, your trembling hands going to his wrists. You hold on to them loosely, as he continues to tease your breasts. You bite down on a whimper, and almost lose your resolve when he looks down at you through his dark and thick lashes. “Why are you like this?” Suddenly, she wanted to add, but Jean's hands are relentless. His gaze is unwavering as he watches you squirm under his touch. In all honesty, he wanted to tell you. He wanted to confess the times he had thought about you this way, responding to his touch so eagerly that he'd wake up in a sweat, aroused by the ghost of your scent in his sweatshirt.

Still, he couldn't tell you. Not now. Maybe never.

“Service,” he pants out, brushing his thumbs against your nipples. You arch your back at his touch, a soft lewd song humming in the back of your mouth. “Consider it a service for you making dinner.”

He pushes his hips against yours as he curls his fingers around your throat. His hold on you is tight, almost suffocating. You gasp both at the feel of his erection, mercilessly rubbing against your heated cunt, and at the pressure he builds with his fingers. Your eyes flutter close, another soft moan filling your mouth. Jean thinks he's at his limit, but he ignores it. He pushes past it with every thrust of his hips, seeking out every sound you can give him; every moan, sigh, and whimper he can collect. He stores them in the back of his mind for later, for when his bed feels cold and empty.

A heat swirls at the pit of your stomach. It goes around in circles, tighter and tighter each time. You're familiar with the sensation, enough that it makes your toes curl in anticipation. You gasp and shout, holding on to Jean with one clammy hand. Your other shoots out behind you as you shout in surprise when one particular thrust rubs against your sensitive nub just right.

“I'm gonna cum!” you yelp as his face comes towards you. He's chuckling in your ear, and your hand moves again without you realizing it—your body's own way of trying to ground itself from the flight of ecstasy. Your fingers graze metal, and you hear the running water. Your breathing is harsh against your own ears. Jean is laughing again as you feel him reach around you. You feel something wet and cold splash against your back and you jump in his arms.

Jean pushes against you, one hand clamped tightly around one hip. “Easy, you'll fall off,” he says against your temple, a small smile stretching his swollen lips. You dig your nails into his shoulders, wanting to bring him back to the more pressing matter. You had been so close and he had slowed the speed of his hips, causing small jittery motions of your body every time your oversensitive clit received friction.

“Why did you stop?” you ask him, but his eyes are unfocused. His jaw is set, and he looks everywhere but at your eyes. You feel his gaze on your mouth, and your neck. You feel him staring at your chest. He is reaching around you, holding his hands under the running water. He brings them towards you, and slides them over your chest over and over until it soaks through your t shirt. Your bottom lip is trapped between your teeth as you watch him. He is laser focused. The sight of white teeth pushing down on a berry colored bottom lip shouldn't be so arousing. You consider suing or at the very least writing a strongly worded letter, affronted at how wet it made you; wetter even.

It was starting to become embarrassing how much you craved him at that moment. You whimper when he wets his hands again, and slides them under your shirt. They're cold against your overheated back, fingers unclasping the bra. You narrow your eyes as he expertly reaches through your sleeves, pulls down the straps with your help, and tugs the bra off from the front—as if he's done this before, many many times.

You don't want to think about it. In fact, you hate that you are, even as your nipples are erect. You bite your tongue in hopes of staving off petty jealous things you want to ask and say. You don't get to expend too much energy in that endeavor. Jean never ceases to surprise you, and he commands your attention by grasping your breasts over your t shirt.

His mouth hangs open as he watches, amazed at the sight of the brown areola peeking through the wet fabric; translucent and teasing. You feel you should say something now, while you still can but the words never make it out. His mouth is back on you, on your breasts as he sucks on the nipples through your shirt. His kisses are gentle at first, testing, exploratory His curiosity becomes hungrier, slightly feral. Jean feels himself go blind as he sucks on your nipples, teeth grazing the t shirt until his own skin prickles from the sensation.

You egg him on, thrashing in place, seeking out his hips time and time again with yours. He feels your wetness through your underwear and straight through your shorts. He groans as he sucks loudly, his hands finding your ass. He brings you closer to his hips, moves them against you, feeling sickeningly satisfied with himself. It is him that's making you unravel, and it is him that has you here in disarray, shirt soaked through with a mixture of water and his saliva.

And it is his hair, your fingers tangle up in, and it is his name you call out when you cum, time and time again.

When you come down from your high, when your hips stop moving so viciously against his throbbing cock, Jean finds the will to pull away. He stands away from you, a small amount of drool oozing down his chin. He wipes at it casually with the back of one hand. His gaze is heavy, and his face is flushed in a way that makes you self conscious of your own.

“I'm gonna rest for a bit,” he tells you as he takes another step backwards. Your eyes flit from his face, to his abused bottom lip. You can't help when it drifts lower, to the obvious bump in his sweatpants. Jean turns away from you, and starts walking away from the kitchen and down the corridor towards his bedroom.“I'll do the dishes later, so don't fucking touch them,” he says as he pauses midway to twist his torso. His finger is pointing at you. You're enthralled by the way he frowns at you, at how casually he has changed the subject, as if he wasn't desperately rubbing his cock against you seconds ago. “That's my job, okay?”

He leaves you on the sink, the water running behind you. You startle and jump to turn it off, a shaking hand grasping the metal knob tightly. You try to ignore the slick sensation between your legs, how cold the shirt felt against your hot skin. You try to ignore the sick feeling taking over your chest, and how uneasy you felt now that Jean was gone. Now that his mouth and his hands weren't goading you into orgasm, your mind felt slightly clearer.

You shouldn't have done that.

An arrangement of convenience should remain that: a convenience. Entertaining this, whatever it was, would only make this complicated; a messy inconvenience. You set your jaw, and your convictions and decide that tomorrow morning, when your mind wasn't clouded by the phantom kisses Jean had dropped on your skin, you'll have a serious talk with him.

Lines needed to be drawn clearly in the dirt, in blood, or whatever it took.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

A few weeks after #MeToo exploded on the internet, an old friend and I did what so many women did during that time: We got on the phone and finally began to acknowledge what had happened to us. My friend shared a story of hers from college. Back then, we’d all just considered it a “bad date,” but she now recognized it as sexual assault. She also shared that at nearly every single job she’s had since college, a boss or co-worker has sexually harassed her.

The month before our conversation, I had published an essay sharing my own experience of sexual assault while traveling abroad. Like my friend, it was not my only experience—it was one of many. But I’d only included the one, because in the early stages of #MeToo, the idea of sharing one assault story still felt risky. The idea of sharing more than one felt culturally impossible. My friend agreed.

“As a woman, you’re only allowed one #MeToo moment,” she told me. “After that, people begin assuming the problem must be you.”

Out of the many celebrity #MeToo stories told in the past five years, only a handful have acknowledged the experience of multiple assaults. In an HBO documentary, Alanis Morisette spoke about repeated incidents of statuatory rape that happened when she first entered the music industry, all of which “fell on deaf ears” when she tried seeking accountability. In her memoir, Selma Blair wrote about a teacher who sexually assaulted her, as well as the many men who raped her in her 20s. In an interview with Dazed, Amber Rose said, “I cannot even count how many times a famous guy touched me inappropriately.” On a social media post during the Kavanaugh hearings, Tatum O’Neal wrote about her multiple assaults: “It was not my fault when I was 5, 6, 12, 13, 15.”

Stories that emphasize the ubiquitous nature of assault are vital in a world that so often focuses on one dramatic episode, with visceral details of the violation and an easily identifiable villain. This amplifies the false idea that assault is just a singular, horrifying incident—when in reality, many of us experience it as part of a larger, more insidious culture.

Once a person is assaulted, research shows they’re more likely to be assaulted again, a phenomenon called “revictimization.” Around 50 percent of children who survive sexual assault reexperience it later in life, and even a single incident of sexual assault in adulthood can increase the risk for it to happen again. As psychologist A.E. Jaffe and her colleagues wrote in a 2019 paper on revictimization: “Perhaps the most consistent predictor of future trauma exposure is a history of prior trauma exposure.”

Why would this be? In lieu of a good answer for it (more on that in a moment), we often blame victims themselves. We easily justify these statistics by suggesting that anyone who has survived multiple incidents of violence must be asking for it—either by acting promiscuously, hanging around too many shady men, or getting themselves into precarious situations. One survivor I interviewed told me that though she received some form of victim-blaming in response to all three sexual assaults she experienced, she noticed a stark decrease in support each time it happened again.

“After the second and third, some people began saying, ‘What’s happening in your life to attract that?’ or ‘Do you have enough awareness to know when men want to harm you?’ ” she told me. “One person even asked why I was ‘trusting men so much.’ ” Another friend who experienced multiple assaults went through a similar line of questioning, only with herself. “After so many times, I began asking myself, ‘What is it about me that brings on these experiences?’ ” she said. I told her I ask myself that question all the time.

In his essay “Spectator” for Roxane Gay’s anthology on sexual assault stories, Not That Bad, Brandon Taylor wrote about his best friend telling him she was beginning to think she was “just the kind of person this stuff happens to.” For a long time, that’s what I believed, too. As a travel writer and a single bisexual woman, I figured that at some point, I’d pay the price. Eventually, I’d have to face some element of physical harm—wasn’t that the obvious trade-off for attempting a liberated life? To me, survivorship—more than resilience, bravery, or strength—often felt like resignation.

But in some cases, it’s exactly that resignation that influences repeat assaults. While there’s no conclusive evidence as to why revictimization happens, we do know that normalizing assault can contribute to future harm. If a survivor has not internalized their experience as exceptionally traumatic, they are less likely to advocate for themselves, or demand accountability if it happens again. If they, like me, accept violence as an obvious fact of their lives, then when it repeats, they don’t seek the support they need to process and heal from each experience.

In an article for Psychology Today, psychotherapist and clinical social worker Keith Fadelici called this a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence.” The trauma continuously gets downplayed as victims attempt to normalize their assaults, which helps them feel more in control. “This dissociative process is a common symptom of PTSD,” Fadelici told me. “And can also later make survivors less capable of detecting risk by numbing the fear that is supposed to trigger alertness to danger.”

Oppression also plays a significant role. Those with marginalized identities are more at risk for experiencing assault in general, and thus more likely to experience it again. LGBTQ+ people are four times more likely to be assaulted than the general population (bisexual women and trangender people also are far more likely to experience assault than gay men and lesbian women). Rates of sexual assault for Indigenous women are three times higher than non-Indigenous women, and Black women are much more likely to experience assault than white women. Neurodivergent people are 11 times more likely than neurotypical people to be victims of violent crimes.

“If this is coming up repeatedly with one individual, it might be because that person is within systems and structures that facilitate assault more often,” said Jaffe. For those of us living with any of these identities, we normalize violence because living under oppression is consistently violent. In order to survive, a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence” is necessary. We train ourselves to get used to it, and move on.

After #MeToo, I began reading and rereading the legal definitions for rape and sexual assault to make sense of what had happened to me. Any sexual contact that occurred without consent constitutes assault? Any sexual contact that included penetration without the other person’s consent constitutes rape? The criteria felt almost too easy. Under these standards, I had been raped twice, and assaulted several other times—all stories I had not yet fully internalized, and was not yet ready to tell. Dozens of legal crimes had been committed against my body, but that idea felt so unfathomable I hardly knew what to do next.

In the three years after publishing that first story, I experienced more incidents, and I still don’t know what to call them. I don’t feel comfortable firmly declaring them as “assault.” I don’t like how it connects so deeply with an oppressive legal system, and how it automatically connotes some excessive form of violence. Even today, it seems too strong and rough a word for how these episodes played out: often with little physicality, with only brief conflict and polite turns toward quick forgiveness, until weeks later when I’d unpack the severity of what had happened. As I began sharing more of these stories with close friends, I would catch myself saying “technically” before saying “I was assaulted,” acknowledging the semantic disconnect I still felt. This hesitation is common among many survivors: As one 2019 meta-analysis showed, rates of victimization increase when participants are asked “behaviorally descriptive questions” about what happened to them, rather than questions that use terms like “rape” and “assault.”

Sometimes, people ask “How many times all together?” I say “six-ish,” a number that captures the amount of experiences that have dramatically changed the way I relate to my body—how it experiences intimacy, how it engages with the world: The one that happened at work, just weeks into my first job out of college. The one at a festival in India. The one while getting a deep-tissue massage. The one at a New York play party. The one so common I learned it has its own name (“stealthing“). The one with a lover I had loved and trusted deeply. The one with another lover, a violation that was not sexual but physical and thus, as yet another nonconsensual act done against my body, still felt so connected to all the rest.

And this still does not take into account every time I was nonconsensually touched in public—the men who pulled and grabbed my arms, my back, my butt, my shoulders to try to get my attention on the street—nor the times I’ve been followed, harassed, physically threatened by strangers on the street.

The accumulation of more and more of these events creates a compounding impact, one where each additional incident begins to amplify the ones before. For me and most survivors I spoke to, we are not healing from trauma—we are learning how to exist in a world where trauma continues to accumulate.

Every survivor I interviewed for this piece told me they fully accept the potential that they’ll experience assault in the future. Still, most of them admitted to me that it’s still easier to only share just one story with the world—never the full range of what has happened to them. “When you only have one story, the enemy is the rapist,” one survivor told me. “But when you have several people with a lifetime of these experiences, the enemy is all of us.”

This is what we mean when we talk about rape culture. The first thing we can do to start to dismantle it is to recognize what we’re up against.

[h00nerz]

bodybag!

masterlist | 1k celebration

pairing: kang taehyun x gn!reader (slight park sunghoon x gn!reader)

genre: angst, fluff, college au, sort of academic rivals to lovers, tsundere!taehyun, jealous!taehyun

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none afaik, just taehyun being possessive

prompt(s): #33 — “i can’t pretend anymore.”, #34 — “you’re all i can think about”, #35 — “i am so very in love with you”, #36 — “it’s you. it’s always been you.” & #37 — “i cannot stand you, and yet, i cannot fathom being away from you.”

requested: “okok i wanna send in a request bcs this kind of drabble has been living in my brain and idk if anyone wrote smth like it before but anyway!! lines 33 through 37 would lowk be so good for a jealoustsundre!taehyun where he acts like he fr despises you, but he like overhears u talking abt going on a lil date he gets so upset and mad 🤭🤭 i lowk got this idea from that one video i dont remember where but taehyun held a drink and was talking to the camera and said like " got this for you but that doesnt mean i like you or anything" HES SO 🙏🙏” — anon

authors note: omg heyyy my first time writing for tyun i am so excited!! enemies 2 lovers again bc… yeah. anyways enjoy~~

SO FAR, YOUR JUNIOR YEAR OF UNIVERSITY was proving to be the worst year of your life. You were finally starting to take classes more specific to your major, which meant things were starting to become a lot more serious. You didn’t have time to work anymore, and even though you had spent the whole summer leading up to the start of the semester working two jobs to have enough money for tuition, you were still barely managing to scrape by. 

Worst of all, though, was Kang Taehyun. 

Kang Taehyun was the bane of your existence. You had first met as freshmen at your university, in the same philosophy course, and you had immediately despised him--or rather, he despised you, and your hatred was just reactionary. It didn’t really matter, though, all that mattered was that he was a menace that made your life ten times harder than it needed to be. 

After that semester, you thought you’d never have to see him again. But, of course, fate had different plans for you. It turned out, Taehyun was pursuing the same major as you, which put you in multiple of the same classes by the time your junior year rolled around. By that point, it had been nearly two years since your last encounter, so you’d hoped he’d grown just a little bit since then. But, of course, he hadn’t.

Kang Taehyun had a vendetta against you that he wasn’t quite ready to let go of. 

Your last class of the day had finally let out, which meant it was time for you to head to the library. The night before, you had stayed up late pulling an all-nighter, and you really were not looking forward to another afternoon filled with studying, but if you wanted to make this deadline, you had no choice. 

With a sigh, you stood up from your seat, and were overcome with dread when you recognized a head of pink hair approaching you. “Not today, Taehyun. I am not in the mood.” You grumbled as you stuffed your laptop into your backpack, purposefully making sure not to even glance in his direction. 

“Yeah, obviously. You have a late night or something? It looked like you could barely stay awake the whole lecture.” He laughed at you, and now you finally looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “Jesus! You look like you just stepped off the set of The Walking Dead!” He exclaimed. 

Horror overcame you, as you realized just how bad your dark circles probably looked. “Shut up! I don’t look that bad!” You snapped at him, zipping your backpack shut so aggressively the zipper nearly broke off. “Even if I did, though, this is the face of someone who’s about to get an A on our midterm paper. So, ha.” 

Taehyun rolled his eyes, trailing after you as you exited the lecture hall. “Please. When I got Kai to review my paper, he said it, and I quote, ‘brought tears to his eyes’. It was that good. And I don’t look half as shitty as you do.” 

He was right. He didn’t look shitty at all. In fact, that was the most infuriating thing about Kang Taehyun. Even though he had shown time and time again that he had an ugly personality, his physical appearance was the opposite. Everything about Taehyun was perfect. His recently dyed hair, that was so fluffy atop his head it was reminiscent of cotton candy. His dark brown eyes that were simultaneously adorable as well as mysterious and inviting. You knew he worked out, he talked about it all the time, and it really showed. You hated him for being such a repulsive human inside of such an attractive body that must have been crafted by the gods themselves. 

“Probably because staring at his laptop screen and trying to decipher whatever bullshit you were spewing dried out his eyes.” You suggested. As you walked, you felt a yawn bubbling in the back of your throat, and as hard as you tried to suppress it, you were unsuccessful. 

“How late did you stay up last night? Really?” Taehyun asked, raising an eyebrow at you. For a brief second, you thought you saw a flash of something different, a flash of something human in his pretty brown eyes… But, you shook your head, positive that you had been imagining it, and sure enough, it disappeared.

“That’s none of your business.” You were quick to snap, quickening your pace in hopes of getting away from him. Instead, though, you ran straight into someone else, and knocked a couple of textbooks they were carrying onto the ground. 

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” You immediately started apologizing, bending your knees so you could start to pick up the books. When you glanced forward, you felt your cheeks redden as you realized you had bumped into the Park Sunghoon, and the Park Sunghoon was looking at you with wide eyes. 

Park Sunghoon was, like, the star of your campus. He was the captain of the school’s extremely famous ice hockey team, which made him basically a celebrity on your campus. That combined with the fact that he had a face only someone blessed by Aphrodite herself could wield. So, for that perfect face to be just inches from your own right now has your stomach doing somersaults. 

“Oh. Hi, Y/N.” Sunghoon greeted you, and as the two of you finally stood, you blinked at him. 

“You—how—my name?” You stuttered out, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. 

He furrowed his eyebrows together. “We had a class together last year, remember? You always sat in the row in front of me.” 

You slowly nodded. “Oh. Yeah. I’m surprised you remember that.” 

“How could I forget? You know, I always thought you were really pretty, Y/N.” He smiled at you, revealing his fang-like teeth, and you swore your heart stopped. 

There was loud coughing behind you, and when you glanced over your shoulder you were surprised to see Taehyun was still standing there. He was watching your interaction with Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, like he was contemplating murdering the ice hockey captain. You wondered if they had some kind of rivalry with one another, or maybe he was just irritated by him for the same reason he was irritated by you: just because.

You jerked your head to the side, trying to gesture for him to get out of there, but he stood in his place and looked as though he had no intentions of leaving. 

Deciding to ignore him, you looked back to Sunghoon, and flashed him a shy smile. “Really? You do?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him. 

He nodded. “Yeah, really. Um, I’ve gotta go, but if you wanna get coffee sometime…” His voice trailed off, as he pulled a marker out of his backpack. You thought your heart was going to literally beat out of your chest when he uncapped the marker and started writing on your wrist. “There’s my number.” He grinned at you, and you watched in awe as he backed up and walked away. 

Once he was out of earshot, you turned around to face Taehyun, a big smirk befalling your lips. “I guess Park Sunghoon is into The Walking Dead!” You announced triumphantly, like you had just beat him in a game of sorts. 

He didn’t react, though, still wearing the same, ticked off expression from earlier. 

“What? What’s your problem?” You furrowed your eyebrows, and suddenly he snatched up the same wrist Sunghoon had just written on. “Hey! What the hell?”

“I need to talk to you.” He said in a low voice. 

“Then let go of me and let’s talk!” You hissed, trying to break free of his grip, but he wouldn’t let go.

He shook his head. “Not here. Follow me.” Unfortunately, he didn’t give you much of a choice, as he started dragging you through the great big hallway of bustling students. Eventually, he found an empty classroom and pulled you inside, shutting the door behind the both of you.

Finally, he let go of you, and you immediately stepped away from him, reaching up to rub your sore wrist. “What the hell was that, Taehyun?!” You demanded, practically spitting in his face. 

“I told you. I need to talk to you.” He repeated himself.

You rolled your eyes. “So then talk! I have places to be, I don’t have time for this!”

“Oh, like coffee with Park Sunghoon?” He spat, his voice laced with venom. 

“Maybe! Doesn’t matter, because who I hang out with is none of your business!” You jabbed a finger, and he once again caught hold of your wrist, holding you in place. 

“Listen to me, Y/N. I’m only going to say this once.” He warned you, and although you wanted so badly to fight him and get out of that stupid classroom, you were also desperate to hear what he had to say. He let out what sounded like a sigh of defeat, and he hung his head loose in front of you. He mumbled something unintelligible, and you raised an eyebrow. 

“What did you say?”

“I said I can’t pretend anymore!” He exclaimed, and the sudden outburst caught you off guard as you took a step back. 

“What do you mean…?” You asked quietly, but there was a small part of you who knew the answer to your own question already. 

He let go of your wrist, reaching up to run a hand through his strawberry colored hair. “You know, Y/N… I can’t stand you. And yet…”

“Yet…?”

“I can’t… I can’t fathom being away from you.” His pretty brown eyes finally gazed up to meet your own, and you realized his face had become almost as pink as his hair. Your own cheeks started to heat up at the sudden confession. “Ever since our first class together, you’re all I can think about. Y/N…”

He took a step closer, and you didn’t know why you didn’t back away. Instead you stood still, allowing him to gently take your hands into his own. “As much as it pains me to admit it… I am so very in love with you.” 

You blinked at him. “Y-You are?” You whispered, and he nodded. Kang Taehyun, the pretty boy who had been tormenting you in your classes, who you swore you hated, was in love with you?! It sounded made up. And yet… It made a lot of things start to make sense. 

“Which is why you can’t go out with some idiot like Park Sunghoon.” He pressed.

You frowned. “He’s not an idiot!” You snapped at him, finally gaining the sense to pull your hands from his. “And--And you can’t just spring this confession onto me! You’re probably just trying to distract me because midterms are happening, and--and you want to be the top of the class!”

He rolled his eyes. “No, Y/N, I don’t--”

“Yeah! And you’re just going to--to pretend you love me, and then get me to realize my own feelings, and then right when I start to fall for you, you’ll rip my heart out of my chest, and--” 

Before you could finish your ramblings, Taehyun was cupping your face and connecting his lips to your own. You let out a soft gasp in surprise, frozen for a moment, because Kang freaking Taehyun was kissing you. This was absolutely not what was supposed to happen! But… Something about it felt so right. It was like your body had a mind of its own as you relaxed under his touch, kissing him back with as much passion as he had offered you. 

He pushed you forward until you stumbled back onto one of the desks set up in the classroom, and you gasped again when his hands slid under your thighs to lift you up onto it. Your fingers laced themselves in his pink hair, which was surprisingly soft for having been recently dyed. He was kissing you hungrily, like you were his first meal in days, and he couldn’t get enough of you. 

He was kissing you like he was in love with you. 

After what felt like an eternity, he was forced to pull away from the kiss to catch his breath, and you found yourself chasing after his lips. He smiled down at you, and you felt his fingers brush against your cheek as he gently tucked a loose strand of your hair away. 

“I’m not lying to you, Y/N. This isn’t some cruel trick to make you fail. It’s you. It’s always been  you.” 

You smiled. “You really mean it?” He nodded. “Hmm… I’m not sure I believe you… I think I’m going to give Sunghoon a call…” You lifted your wrist to look at the numbers, unsurprised to see the ink had smeared after Taehyun dragged you into the room.

The color drained from his face. “What? Are you serious? I confess my love, and--and you’re going to call Sunghoon?!” He stared at you in disbelief. 

You tried your best to keep a poker face, but were unable to fight back the laughter for very long. “I’m joking, idiot! Holy shit, you should have seen your face!” You began to cackle loudly, but Taehyun was quick to shut you up with another kiss. 

Maybe the rest of the year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

permanent tag list: @jakeshands @therealhyunjingf @exohclipse @ttyunz @naveries @mazeinthemoon @luvsoobs @n0-thisispatrick @arizzu @dewyboi @yeonboy

[brairslair]

FEEL BETTER? ˗ˏˋ P.B.P ´ˎ˗

“all you have to do is ask”

confident!peter parker x shy!gf!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.0k

REQUESTED: no requests are open! fandoms: marvel, stranger things, harry potter (any era), scream

WARNINGS: fem reader, shit writing, established relationship, peter and reader are implied to be in college/uni, SMUT (18+), very little plot tbh, heavy praise kink, softdom!peter vibes, fingering (f!rec), very light nipple play, SUPER slight dacryphilia if u squint, peter is talkative, not proofread and written instead of sleeping, lmk if i missed smth!

A/N: is it 8am? yeah. did i just spend the last two hours writing this mess? also yeah. enjoy!

ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARE 18+ remember to like, comment, and reblog to support my writing!

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Six hours. That’s how long it’s been since you showed up at Peter’s front door. Six hours spent right next to him, talking to him, touching him, and yet you still find yourself longing for more. Even now as you sit between his legs, back to his chest, his hands kindly twisting at your hair, your thoughts have you squirming in your seat.

The two of you had set up this study date a few days back, anticipating the opportunity to spend time together (without sacrificing your grades). Unfortunately, you were having a hard time focusing on schoolwork.

No matter how much you tried to focus on your paper, you couldn’t stop your mind, and your eyes, from wandering. You caught yourself staring at how pretty his hands looked as he hurriedly wrote down equations, admiring how cute he looked sitting crisscross in his plaid pajama pants and science pun t-shirt, how his voice sounded just slightly deeper when he was concentrating, or how soft his lips look right now. You actually thought you were going to lose it when the praise “Good job, babe. This looks perfect!” fell casually from his lips while reading your completed assignment, sealing it with a kiss to your temple.

You felt like you were going insane, but the thing is, so was Peter. You hadn’t seen each other for nearly three weeks prior to this study date, outside of passing in the halls or a quick call before bed. Between you trying to prepare for a major presentation coming up and Peter’s multitude of responsibilities, neither of you had much energy, let alone time, left to spend on anything else.

Of course, you love everything about Peter, unconditionally. That includes his web-slinging alter ego. However, it can get a little frustrating having to go weeks on end without being able to hold a conversation with him. Especially when all people talk about is the amazing spider-man, listening to girls fawn over your boyfriend for hours a day, and feeling just as fangirl-ish. You found yourself daydreaming about him to pass the time, acting like a schoolgirl with a hopeless crush.

Seeing him again after so long with so little contact is like a wake up call for your senses. You'd been so buried in your studies that you didn’t even realize just how much you missed him until you knocked on his front door.

- “Are you okay?”

Your thoughts dissolve as Peter draws your attention back to the present. When you snap back to reality, you’re immediately reminded of what caused the spiral of daydreams to begin with. You can feel the warmth of his body behind yours, the contour of his toned chest pressing against your back. You feel your whole body heat up.

“Mhm, I’m great!” you squeak out, internally wincing at the shakiness in your voice. Your usually bright and vibrant tone is completely gone, replaced with something resembling more of a whisper than anything else.

Safe to say, Peter isn’t buying it.

His best guess is that you’re upset about something that happened today. Maybe stressed about the presentation you have coming up. He knows it sometimes takes you a while to open up, so for now, he decides to let it go. In an attempt to settle your mind, he slides a hand down your arm to lace his fingers through yours.

Unfortunately, it does the exact opposite. The innocent action leaves a trail of goosebumps behind and makes your breathing pattern pick up ever so slightly. You can only hope that Peter doesn't notice.

He does.

“Are you cold?”

You shake your head, taking deep breaths to steady yourself. “No, I’m alright.” Loosely translated, means I actually feel like I’m burning from the inside out.

“Do you not like the movie? We can change it if you want to watch something else.” he offers sweetly, leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. “You’ve been all spacey for the past half an hour.”

Your breath hitches, feeling like you’ve been caught red handed. Of course he would notice. He may be a little oblivious sometimes, but when it comes down to it, Peter knows you better than you know yourself.

“The movie’s fine.” You struggle a bit to formulate a response, feeling your whole body heat up like a furnace. To evade the silence, you stutter out a weak, “I was just… thinking?”

You immediately want to light yourself on fire, deciding the silence would have been better.

“Thinking about what?” he asks. Not prying, just curious. “Must be something pretty important. Your heart is beating a mile a minute.” He softly laughs at his own words, causing you to shrink into yourself. He’s not laughing at you, but it definitely feels that way.

You fidget with Peter’s fingers in your palm, eyes locking on the movie as nerves wrack through your body. “It’s nothing.” You speak so quietly, he’s thankful for his enhanced hearing.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” you can practically hear the concerned furrow in his brow as he brings your still interlaced hands to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses to each knuckle. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

His patient and caring nature never fails to make you fall more and more in love with him, if that’s even possible.

Then, as if you weren’t enough of a mess, what really does it is when Peter leaves the faintest kiss to the base of your neck. A gesture meant to signal patience and understanding towards your “anxiety” only causes your thighs to squeeze together against your will, and before you can think enough to stop it, an airy, barely audible whine escapes the back of your throat, so soft it could pass as a sigh to the average ear.

Nothing about Peter is average.

He stills against your skin, causing your eyes snap open in horror as the realization hits you. Manicured hands immediately cover your face to shield you from the embarrassment.

They don’t stay long as Peter wastes no time in reaching up to gently pry your hands away. You feel like you could burst into tears at any moment from the sheer shame and frustration.

“Hey, hey-”, he holds both hands gently, rubbing sweet circles to soothe you, “No need to be embarrassed. You can talk to me.”

You don’t move your gaze from your lap.

“Come on, beautiful. Look at me.” He asks so gently that you comply before you can even think otherwise. His eyes are soft and kind, looking at you with all the love in the world. He makes you feel safe.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about? Hm?”

You blink up at him owlishly, feeling like there would be a question mark floating over your head if you looked up.

“That’s why you were all spacey? You were thinking about me…” he leans his head down, lips grazing your collarbone, “kissing you?”

Your breath catches.

"Or, maybe..." your eyes are glued as he moves his hand from your hold, delicately trailing it down your stomach, past your hip, and slowly down to the inside of your thigh. So close to where you’ve needed him for the past three weeks. “-you were thinking about me touching you?”

Your heart rate picks up by a tenfold, and Peter can hear it hammering in your chest.

Waiting for a response, he’s met with nothing but your heavy breathing. He carefully digs his fingertips into the doughy flesh of your thigh. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to touch you?”

Another airy whimper tumbles from your lips, reluctantly nodding in response to his questions, needing him too badly to care about the shame you feel at your neediness.

Peter smiles, rewarding your response by trailing his sweet kisses up your neck, taking his time to feel you shiver under his touch. His warm lips finally reach the shell of your ear.

“All you have to do is ask.”

He resumes his attack on your neck, now bolder in his movements as he licks and bites and sucks at your skin, trying to find the spot that makes your eyes flutter shut.

Caught up in the feeling of his warm mouth against your skin, you don’t even notice as he hooks your ankles over his, slowly spreading your legs wider and wider, until your skirt rides up your legs.

Peter smiles against your skin when a shaky sigh reaches his ears, your hips bucking up in sync. He’s found it. Peter focuses all of his attention on that spot, nipping and sucking at it until you’re sure he’s going to leave a mark. The hand on your thigh squeezes gently every time you move your hips, and you have to chew on your lip to stop the mortifyingly desperate sounds from spilling out.

“Is this what you had in mind, baby?” the words rumble against your skin, sending a chill down your spine, “Is this what you needed?”

Your hips buck again at that, pouting with the hope that he takes the hint. You feel your body melt into him when his tongue darts out to soothe the fresh mark he’s left on your neck.

Of course, he does get the hint, but there’s no way he’s letting you off the hook that easily.

He inches his hand higher and higher up your thigh, slipping underneath the pretty little skirt he had bought for you as a gift a few months ago. You tense in anticipation.

“What is it?” amusement evident in his tone as he asks you. He loves that he gets to be the one that makes you this needy. “Come on, baby. Tell me.”

You almost sob in frustration, not wanting to say it out loud, but the ache between your legs is becoming unbearable.

His hand barely brushes against your panties, making your chest tighten as you suppress the urge to grind into it.

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

You can’t handle it any longer.

“Please!” You all-but shout, free hand grabbing at his arm, “Please touch me, Pete!” You cry out, already sounding wrecked and he hadn’t even really done anything yet.

Peter beams at how vocal he had gotten you, leaning his head further down to meet your lips for the first time since you got here all those hours ago. It felt like drinking water after being stranded in a desert for days. You missed the way his lips felt. The way they tasted. You crave more.

Then, he mutters two words against your lips that manage to make your hazy brain short circuit.

“Good girl.”

Your groans are pathetic, being swallowed by Peter’s tongue as he rocks his palm against you through your pretty pink panties.

He can’t help but laugh a little, giddy at the sounds spilling out of you at even the lightest touch of his hand.

“Is that better?” he asks, breaking away for air. “This what you've been daydreamin' about?” He already knows what you really want, he always does, but he wants to hear you say it one more time. Just one more confirmation and he’ll give you anything you need.

Now that your mind is so clouded with pleasure, you don’t give it a second thought. “More-” you can’t barely get out a sentence between mewls, “Please, Peter, I need more-”

Before you can say another word, he’s pushing your underwear aside. Your head falls limp against Peter’s shoulder as he gathers your slick, dragging it up to finally circle your puffy clit.

Without his mouth to drown them out, your moans flow freely from you, drowning out the long-forgotten movie playing in the distance. Peter goes back to kissing your neck, deciding to mark every area of your skin that he can reach.

“I’m sorry, baby.” he soothes, nipping at the skin right under your jaw, his own heartbeat jumping at every noise he pulls from you, “Bet you’ve been achey all day, huh?”

You nod your head, barely registering his words as pleasure rolls through your body.

He lets out an almost mocking “Aww, honey…” as you buck your hips against his fingers, “Been so patient for me, huh? Waiting all day for me to make you feel good?”

“Mhm” mixed with your pants, words tumble from your mouth without a single thought to how eager you sound, “Feels so- ohhh… sososo good-”

All you can think about is the way Peters rough fingertips feel absolutely euphoric as he swirls and flicks at your clit, and how his lips sear every inch of your skin, and how his scent and his warmth consumes and takes over every thought floating around in your blissed-out head.

“You sound so pretty-” he peppers hot kisses across your shoulder, “Making so many pretty sounds…”

Peter bends his legs a little, which in turn, bends yours. The move spreads you out just a little bit more, but its enough to send little shockwaves of pleasure through you, making you jolt and gasp at the feeling.

Peter loves the way you look when you get like this. Skin sticky with heat, eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open in bliss. He thinks you looks like a goddess.

Your moans start to sound more and more like a plea, hips grinding against Peter’s fingers subconsciously as you feel the heat slowly taking over. You need more.

“Peter, pleaseee-“

“Shh, It’s okay.” his fingers glide down to your entrance, coating themselves with slick, “I’ve got you, pretty girl.”

Your eyes practically roll into your skull as he slips two fingers inside of you with ease. The stretch feels incredible, and you can’t help but squeeze the hand that's still holding yours, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Oh my god-“

Peter kisses back up until he reaches your lips again, grinning as you can barely reciprocate. The gentle nature of his kiss makes your head spin and your core clench around his fingers.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

You feel your lashes begin to collect tears at the overwhelming feeling pulsing through you. This has been building up for weeks.

“Always so good for me.”

Achey little noises spill from your lips onto Peter’s, breathing labored and heaving as the only thought filling your head is Peter Peter Peter.

Then suddenly your mind goes completely blank, gasping back a choked moan as your body goes limp, jaw slacking against Peter’s deep kisses. Your whole body feels like it's buzzing with electricity, and your head feels static in the most amazing way.

Peter pulls back for a moment to watch your face scrunch up in ecstasy, as he rubs against your spot over and over and over again. “There she is.” he coos, admittedly a little proud of himself, and you’re too fucked out to pick up on the mocking tone. He watches in awe as you start to fall apart.

“Takin’ my fingers so well, baby.”

You start to clench tighter around him, using your free hand to grip his wrist like a vice. Peter goes back to kissing your open mouth, sucking and nipping at your bottom lip as you pulse and twitch under his touch.

Panting turns back into whimpers which turns into tears as Peter massages your walls just right, hitting all the right places and stretching you out sooo perfectly.

You can feel pressure building up rapidly in your stomach, back arching up as your body starts to shake from the intensity. Peter shifts so he can watch the way your hips chase his fingers and your chest heaves for air.

“You’re so close, sweetheart. You can do it.” he praises, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, “Almost there-“

The knot keeps winding tighter and tighter, and whiny begs and pleads start to pour out of you. Lots of “Oh my god, Pete“ or “Please” and “So good-“

Hand over yours, Peter glides your intertwined hands up your body and over your arched ribcage. He slides your hands under your his t-shirt, using his thumb to push your smaller one back and forth over your peak, a long chant of mumbled Peter’s tumble from your kiss-bitten lips.

“I know, baby, I know.” he consoles you, copying the pouty tone of your voice, “Just feels too good, huh?”

You nod your head frantically, still not catching onto the the tease, only caring about chasing your release.

He presses his lips to your ear, “Waited so long for this, honey. You deserve to feel good.”

He pumps his fingers a little bit faster.

“Gonna make you feel so good-“

You start to grind your hips up again, gasping when his palm rubs against your clit with each thrust.

“Pete-” the knot is getting tighter, “Oh my god, Peter- I’m…“ and tighter, “I’m gonna-”

“Let go for me, babe.”

Thats all you needed for your vision to go white hot, mouth falling open with a silent scream as stars dance behind your eyelids.

“There ya go”

“Just like that, pretty girl”

“Let it all out, baby”

He peppers kisses on your burning skin and slows his movements as he works you through your high. As you come down from it, your body goes limp on top of him, a lazy smile stretching on your lips. Peter can’t help but smile too, chest swelling in satisfaction that he was the one who put that smile on your face.

You wince a little as he slowly pulls his fingers from your core, eyes following as he brings them up to his lips to clean them off.

“Feel better?” this time you can definitely hear the cockiness in his tone, smacking him weakly on the arm. “Shut up.”

You turn around just enough to kiss him. This time, it’s slow, and careful, and loving, and you have to pull away and bury your face in his chest to hide the lovesick look in your eyes. Both of you burst out giggling, and Peter can't stop himself from wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you as close as possible. He’s missed you more than you could possibly ever know.

As relaxation coats you like a warm, fuzzy blanket, you shift your weight to get comfortable.

“Ah, don’t-“

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, hissing at the sudden pressure and gripping your hips to keep you still. “Can't do that...”

Now it’s his turn to get flustered.

His face goes beet red as you jump up in confusion. When you look down, you notice a painful looking bulge in his jeans. Your stomach twists with the knowledge that you did that to him.

You weren’t the only one who’s been touch deprived.

“Oh! Sorry…” you giggle a little at the accidental stimulation, looking back up at Peter with a playful smile of your own. “Your turn!”

______________________________________________________________

part 2??

[leonardcohenofficial]

Hi Maddie! Are you willing to talk a little about your PhD journey? All I know is you write a really big paper but I imagine it involves more than that

absolutely! the requirements of a phd will definitely range depending on both your field and subject of your research, but typically involve taking courses that allow you to gain general but high level knowledge of the area on the whole, passing some type of qualifying exam that shows you’re prepared to complete your dissertation, and then writing the dissertation itself, all in a process that can take between typically three years (this seems very short but is fairly common outside of the USA) to a decade. in my program people typically graduated in five or six years; i myself took six years to finish everything up

for my program i took classes in a wide variety of areas, most of which were not directly related to what i wrote about for my dissertation, but all of which were extremely beneficial in 1) learning in areas outside of what i do, 2) helping me feel more prepared when teaching those subjects as part of my TA duties, and 3) allowing me to develop deeper critical and theoretical knowledge that helped me with writing the dissertation itself. i was also really happy that i was able to take classes outside of the theatre department (in the music and literature departments; though the lit class i took was a film class lol), which made total sense given my research is so interdisciplinary. the biggest thing i learned about my research throughout my time is that i very much live in the performance studies world (vs. theatre or drama) which is helpful framing given i write and teach about such a wide range of performance and media forms. my dissertation was much more a performance studies/musicology/american studies project than a Theatre™️ project, but i had a committee that really encouraged me to think across multiple disciplines with my work (and i also got to teach both theatre and film classes, which is pretty cool)

i also really appreciate that my program also gave us so much experience teaching! i taught every single quarter and many summers during grad school, which (while exhausting) not only gave me a ton of practice to build up my own pedagogical approach but made my CV pretty competitive as an early career scholar when applying to jobs. i don’t think i would have gotten multiple tenure-track interviews while still finishing my dissertation had i not had so much teaching experience (as instructor of record!) on there. i also am really grateful that my department also really cares about encouraging phds’ practice within and beyond the department, so i was able to dramaturg and/or direct ten shows within my department on top of a ton of outside gigs at the major LORT houses in town (which was also a really big deal)

the actual dissertation writing process sucks. it’s exhausting and thankless and even if you have a really amazing committee (like i did <3) it is extremely stressful and i do not know ANYONE who has reported a smooth and easy dissertation writing process LOL; however i had really good people on my side (friends, family, colleagues in the department and in arts and humanities in general at school, my faculty, my coworkers at the record shop, etc.) who were so supportive and my biggest champions as i was taking on this massive project. it was a lot but in all honestly even though it took so long, it was not the most difficult academic work i’ve ever had to do (that badge of dishonor goes to the horrendous process of getting my international baccalaureate diploma, which was so awful it led me to go to hippie college with no grades no tests and no majors LMFAO). i am super proud of my dissertation—if anyone wants to read it i’d be happy to send the link!—and even though there are plenty of sections i’ll rework for when i submit it to academic presses for publication, i am really pleased with the work i did and i think that it provides new and (imho) exciting scholarship about topics that i find really meaningful (many of which i’ve loved since i was a kid)

all of this to say, if people have phd, grad school, research, or otherwise related questions or want to chat, please hit me up! always happy to talk about this stuff / offer my very humble advice about any stage of the process <3

[mycolorscheme]

tw suicide i guess but it's from a research viewpoint mainly and also abuse within the nest. also this connects to the sunshine court bear with me

i wrote this whole essay a year ago on suicide clusters in schools and it was focused on high schoolers but a lot of my research came from adolescents as a whole and some of my sources were about college students and i learned a lot about how different factors can create suicidal behavior such as academic pressure, athletic pressure, etc and the combination of many factors only exacerbates this which is all pretty self explanatory but suicide clusters is the phenomenon of when a couple suicides leads to a domino effect of suicides and suicidal attempts. a mainstream pop culture example would be heathers (except the initial suicides were murder coverups) but on a more local scale this happens at a lot of schools and my high school was an example of it. part of why this happens is because it is (unfortunately) common for people to have suicidal ideation and tendencies, but once someone around these people commits suicide, it begins to feel like more of a tangible reality. in addition, being in an environment where even one suicides or death has occurred can often be very depressing and soul crushing and horrible and decrease people's mental states further.

as someone who did all this research and wrote a 10 page paper on this stuff, reading the sunshine court was incredibly interesting. these ravens are ultimately so traumatized and brainwashed beyond belief. they do not realize that they have been indoctrinated and have been part of a cult and they spent so long without being able to talk to anyone who could tell them how messed up the nest is.

like. they were not able to communicate with their families from the day they entered the nest. they were living on 18 hour schedules. they did not leave the nest unless necessary or interact with people outside of their team or ever really seen sunlight. that is beyond absolutely insane.

and their king, riko, kills himself (ironically also in a murder coverup, bringing it back to heathers). and then they are sent home to people they haven't talked to in years. and they don't know how to adjust back to normal life.

so of course they are lashing out. and it does not surprise me that they are trying to end their lives.

and then another one of their teammates kills themselves. and then another one. and then another one tries but is found before it is too late. and it creates this chain of suicides because what do they have to live for if not their team. they are a raven though and through, and even after they graduate and leave the nest, they never really leave. so they all get placed in suicide watch.

and then they are called back for the next season. and that is the worst thing that could possibly have happened to them in terms of their mental health. to make matters worse, they have a new coach who i cannot imagine they will instantly trust. and at the same time, their old coach that they were probably so frightened of but felt like they needed is nowhere to be found. and to add on, the entire power structure of the ravens has been dismantled, and they will all fight to be at the top.

and yes a lot of them are horrible people but a lot of it is a byproduct of the environment they were forced to survive in. some were already violent while others turned to violence when it became needed. they need time to heal and to process and to come to terms with the fact that what they endured was not normal. that playing a sport at a collegiate level, even for the chance to go pro, should not mean completely devoting your entire life to the sport and nothing but the sport. that it is crucial for their mental wellbeing to experience life and relax and have fun and eat junk food every once in a while.

and while i'm so glad jean is out of there and is able to start healing, my heart goes out to the ravens who are still stuck in the nest. because yes, they have the choice to leave, but they do not have the mental capacity to even realize that that is an option.

but i hope in the next book we see them slowly start to break. that the summer they had returning to normalcy alerted something inside of them deep down that what the nest is and how the ravens operate is so fundamentally wrong and so, so messed up. and i hope that the new coach isn't a bastard. but i don't have high hopes about that. to be completely frank.

all in all, the phenomenon of suicide clusters is a big issue, and i hope that at least one person found it interesting to read about the sunshine court and the ravens through the lens of suicide clusters. if you ever need mental support, there are more resources now than ever. your life is worth so much more than you could ever even comprehend. every little dot on this planet makes a difference. i love you all.

[cowgurrrl]

Some way some how Joel and reader in lftl are able to take each other back to their homes from before. For closure and memories. They both are just two people who miss their babies. And now they get pictures and cards from their homes. Another little piece of Sarah and Jane to go back to jackson.

Hello do you have access to my wips I was literally working on this!! I wrote this more about reader going back to their last apartment because @hier--soir has an amazing fic about Joel going back to Texas and it's absolutely gorgeous <3 anyways, I hope you enjoy!! this made me CRYYYY

Never Grew Up With You

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: Jesus Christ I haven't cried at a fic like this in a LONG time I'm genuinely exhausted

Summary: "To never see her face again is what grief is." — Euripides, translated by Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides aka this ask [1.5k]

Warnings: talks of Jane, memories, oh it's so sad

It's eerie being back in that town. It's empty, but the remnants of Outbreak Day linger in the streets— decomposed bodies, crashed cars, craters where the bombs hit. You recognize bits and pieces. The downtown area which used light up with Christmas lights and smell like funnel cake during the winter months. The church where you lied on the application form so Jane could get into daycare. Your apartment building. You stop in front of it, Joel at your side, and look up at it. 

It looks smaller than you remember it like maybe you romanticized the shithole after so many years of living in a worse shithole. Only a few windows still have glass, and you catch faded curtains flapping in the abandoned apartments. "Mommy, look!" Jane had yelled that day so you could catch the jets flying over the building. You were standing in the same area you are now. Your heart clenches, and Joel seems to feel it at the same time.

"Are you sure bout this?" He asks, and you nod. "I'll be right here with you the whole time. We can leave whenever you want." You don't answer him. You just take a deep breath and start walking toward the stairs—bullet holes and rusty, dried blood line the path up to your third-floor apartment, but other than that everything is the same. There's even still a flyer on the bulletin board advertising an apartment-wide potluck set the week after Outbreak Day. Jane wanted to go. She said her friends were going and she wanted you to meet them. You said you'd think about it.

When you reach the top of the stairs, you find your apartment door still open and immediately regret not closing it. What if there's nothing left? What if it's been raided? What if it's all destroyed? You push yourself forward until you're over the threshold and back into the life you left behind. The body of the runner who burst into your apartment that night is still there, grey and all but dust at this point. Dirty plates sit in the sink. Jane's kindergarten homework has slid off the table and onto the floor, her scribbly handwriting boring holes into you. You pick it up despite it having boot marks and ripped edges and stare down at how she wrote her name. Joel doesn't say anything, but he squeezes your shoulder and lets you know he's there.

Together, you silently move through the rooms and salvage whatever you find. In your room, you find ratty old clothes from 2003, medical textbooks, and a file full of important documents shoved under your bed. Among the papers are your tax forms, a copy of your college diploma, and Jane's birth certificate— the only physical proof that she was ever here. Jane Eloise born April 7th, 1998, to you and no one else. Somehow, the glaring absence of Matt's name on her birth certificate still makes your stomach turn. You find a few more keepsakes before moving to the living room.

Whatever might've been there has been taken or destroyed by whoever's been in the building in the last twenty years. The blankets and pillows that once lived on your couch are gone. Your TV has been smashed in. The shoes Jane always left in the middle of the floor have disappeared, probably taken by some other parent who was desperate and was too scared to think of the child who left them. You're about to walk down the hallway to the bathroom and Jane's room when something crunches under your foot. You look down, and all the air gets punched out of your chest. As gently as possible, you bend down to pick up the shattered picture frame and stare at it. 

It was a picture taken by a friend at the county fair. Jane is on your right with a half-eaten blue cotton candy in her hand and a water bottle tucked under her arm. Her hair is in a braid, and there's a big blue stain on her Princess Ariel shirt, but she looks happy. You're both smiling big, the reflection of the colorful carnival lights shining in your identical eyes. Everyone always said she looked like Matt, but you can clearly see your features reflected back to you in this picture. God, how could you have forgotten about the way her eyes crinkled when she was happy? Or how she leaned into you in public? Or how young you both were?

"What's that?" Joel asks as he walks over to you, and you meet him halfway to show him the picture, unwilling to hand it over just yet. It takes him a minute to realize what he's looking at, but when he does, he looks up to catch you staring at the picture. "'S that Jane?"

"Mhm,"

"She's beautiful," he says, and you smile. "Is that cotton candy?"

"Yeah, it was her favorite. Practically begged me to buy it for her. I'm pretty sure I overdrafted my bank account just to get it."

"How old are you in this photo?" He asks, and you furrow your brows as you think. 

"Uh, Jane looks about three or four, so I was, at least, nineteen."

"You look happy."

"And tired," you say. Both things are true, but you can't ignore the bags under your eyes or your horribly fitting clothes. You were struggling. You were alone. You were so incredibly ill-equipped and felt the weight of the world on your shoulders. And Jane... Jane is none the wiser. She's smiling. She's fed. She's loved. She's happy. Maybe you were doing a better job than you thought you were. "You know she wanted to go on the Ferris wheel?" You ask, and Joel raises his eyebrows.

"That little?" He asks, and you laugh, nodding.

"I said the same thing, but she was so determined. So, my friend got us tickets to go on it, and we went, just the two of us. But when we started going around, she started getting really scared about the height and how fast it was going. She buried her head in my arm almost the whole time, and I was stressed that she was miserable and we had wasted my friend's money, and I was so fucking tired," you say. "But when we stopped at the top, I told her to look at the sky, and she did. I pointed at the different stars and talked to her about the moon, and she calmed down. I don't know if I distracted her or if she realized how big the sky was in comparison, but when we got down, all she could talk about was how close she got to the moon. After that, we'd go out every night and look at the stars. Even snuck out of our QZ shelter after the Outbreak."

"D'you get caught?" 

"Once. I knew a FEDRA guy, and he let it go. We never got caught again." You haven't thought about Owen in years. You don't know if he's dead or alive. You don't even know if he remembers you. You're not sure if you want to know. 

You grab a few more things from her room: a teddy bear, a few shirts, and a picture of you and her on the day she was born. Being in her space again makes your head swim, and you want to stay here forever and leave as soon as possible, all at the same time. Eventually, after combing through every nook and cranny you still know, you do leave. You say a proper goodbye to the first home you shared with Jane and the memories you made there. You're silently grateful to the apartment for holding so many treasures you would've otherwise never gotten back. 

You don't know why, but you trace your steps back through one of your old routes. Joel is silent beside you and lets you lead, knowing you would never do anything to endanger him. You recount stories as you pass certain buildings or paths; he listens and asks questions about her and your shared life. Before you know it, you're on the same hill overlooking the QZ. The one where you hid with her when the Outbreak first happened. The one you sat down on and sobbed after Adam died because you had to pull yourself together before reentering. The one you buried her on. 

The tree holding her has gotten bigger, its limbs stretching to the sky and the leaves a brilliant green. Seeing it thrive makes you smile just a little before you pivot and start walking to where you know she is. The sight of a fresh bouquet on her spot stops you in your tracks and makes your breath catch. All these years, you worried she would go unremembered under that big oak tree. You worried she was alone and scared. You worried and worried and worried because that's what any good parent does. The yellow flowers protecting her prove your worries wrong. You take a deep breath and grab Joel's hand before walking over to her. 

"Hey bug," you start, fighting your tears, "This is Joel. He’s Sarah’s dad and he’s my… he’s my best friend." You squeeze Joel’s hand and take a shaky breath. "He takes care of me and I take care of him. So, you don’t have to worry about Mommy being lonely, okay? I’m gonna be just fine. You don’t have to be scared for me. I've got my people here just like you've got your people there. So, you just rest and I'll be okay." Now, you're really crying and there's no stopping it.

"I love you. I hope leaving didn't make you think otherwise, but I came back. I'll always come back because you're my baby. You'll always be my baby."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha

[wannab-urs]

Build Me Up, Buttercup | Professor!Joel Miller x Student!Reader

Summary: Reader confronts Dr. Miller about her grade in his class.

Warnings: Not much yet. Reader is of legal age, no less than 22 but not specified, she's about to graduate college. She’s an English major. This is grumpy x grumpy. Lots of snark, eyerolling, etc. Not-Quite-Enemies to Lovers. And no she doesn’t blow him to get a better grade! (I would, but reader is classy). 

Word Count: 1.1k

Why Do You Build Me Up

(Buttercup)

Dr. Miller’s Foundations of Architecture class was supposed to be a fun elective for you. You could learn a little more about architecture, something that has always been a mild interest for you. You like pretty buildings and you think it’s a cool subject. It’s your last semester of college and you deserve to take something fun to fill in that last elective requirement. 

You certainly were not supposed to fail the fucking class.

“He’s so rude, Cooper,”  you tell your friend. Coop looks up at you over their laptop, red curls springing in every direction and glasses sitting on the tip of their nose. They’re feigning interest while they hammer away at some graphic design assignment.

“One time he made a guy who said he liked 432 Park Ave leave the class. Like just kicked him out for the rest of the day! I mean that building is awful, but still!” Coop heaves a sigh and shuts their laptop. 

“Is this that hot professor you told me about or is it the one who always wears really weird outfits?” 

“No! The weird outfits guy is my Chaucer professor,” you choose to ignore the first half of that question. “I have words for him too, actually. He keeps-”

“Focus! Why are you failing Arc?” 

“His essays are insane! Like, this is not English class, my guy, why are you grading me so hard? I’m literally an English major! You’d think my writing would be more than acceptable for a freshman level class.” 

He had given you a D on your paper about gothic architecture. You’d chosen to write about the Santa Maria del Fiore in Italy and he took off THREE letter grades because they finished the construction in the neo-gothic style… which you had made a whole section of your paper about. It’s perfectly valid. It’s not like he really gave you much to go on. 

“Did you follow the prompt? Sometimes your brain takes you places the question didn’t exactly call for…” they give you a knowing look. 

“This isn’t a fanfic writing challenge, Coop, I can follow a damn prompt. He doesn’t give us anything to go on at all for these essays! Or for anything else, really.” 

He is the least verbose professor you have ever had. It’s honestly kind of refreshing for a man to not love the sound of his own voice, but you’re also paying him to teach you something. 

“The essay prompt was literally ‘Gothic Architecture’ and the guidelines were ‘12 pages, double spaced, due March 19th.’" You drop your voice into its lowest register, mimicking Dr. Miller's deep baritone. "And that’s what I wrote!” Someone shushes you from behind a bookshelf. You’re getting a little over excited, borderline yelling in the library about this infuriating man.

“Have you tried going to his office hours?” God why are they always so reasonable?

“Have you tried going to his office hours… No. I have not. He’s rude, remember?” 

“Just try it! What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“He could drop my paper down to an F.”

“And you could report him for unfair grading practices. Go. Shoo,” Coop starts pushing your books toward your bag. 

“Fiiiiiine,” you relent.

Twenty minutes later you find yourself standing in the doorway of his office. Dr. Miller is sitting behind a large wooden desk. It’s very neat, the only things on it a computer, a picture frame turned away from you, and a stack of books. Dr. Miller has one of the books open and is writing something in a notebook, brow furrowed and tongue poking out between his lips. 

“Dr. Miller?” you ask hesitantly. 

He doesn’t look up from his work, just lifts a hand vaguely in your direction for a second and keeps writing. You roll your eyes and look around the office. There are bookshelves lining the walls with architecture textbooks in neat rows. A few covers of Architectural Digest are framed on the wall. Is he in those?

Your eyes land back on him. He’s wearing a dark grey Fleetwood Mac shirt that looks old as hell. The collar is stretched, revealing a bit of his chest. Your eyes trace a line up the column of this throat… He has a nice neck. 

You had called him your hot professor at the beginning of the semester, regardless of how you felt about him now. There’s just something about that fluffy bed head he always has, like he couldn’t be bothered to run a comb through it. And the scruffy beard laced with grey he doesn’t seem keen on trimming. And the way his mustache frames his pouty lips. And his prominent nose that looks straight out of a painting. And okay that’s enough. 

“Dr. Miller, I need to talk to you.” 

“M’busy,” he mumbles out, still not looking up from the textbook. 

“Okay, well it’s your office hours, so technically you have to talk to me.” 

“Technically, little miss, I don’t have to do anything.”

“Excuse me? Let’s not speak to grown women like they’re children, sir.” Is he fucking for real right now?

He closes his notebook and looks at you for the first time since you walked in. Probably the first time all semester. He kind of pauses when he sees you, hopefully realizing he isn’t talking to a freshman. It wouldn’t make the little nickname okay, but it would make more sense at least. 

He looks you up and down and his jaw ticks, “Sit.” His eyes flick to the chair in front of his desk. You drop your bag on the floor and slide into the seat. “So. What can I help you with?”

You take a deep breath. “You gave me a D on my last paper.” 

He just stares at you. 

“And considering our prompt was all of 8 words, I think- I know I met the requirements and that I did a good job. It was thoroughly researched, structured well, copy and content edited, and turned in 2 days before deadline. I would like an explanation-” 

“Enough,” he cuts you off. “I don’t have to justify my gradin’ decisions to you.” 

You let out a frustrated puff of air. This man drives you insane. “Dr. Miller, I’m a senior. I took this class to fulfill an elective requirement and because I like architecture. I would like to understand what is so egregious about my writing that you would have me fail a class in my last semester of college.” 

He considers you for a moment, meeting your eyes. He lowers his brow, screws up his mouth from side to side, like he’s thinking hard about something. “I’ll reread it.” 

Not I’ll reconsider your grade, but at least it’s something. “Thank you.” You grab your bag, moving to leave, and he stops you. 

“Wait!” You pause, arching an eyebrow. “What was your name again?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Seriously? I’ve been in your class since January. Figure it out.” 

You storm out, slamming the door behind you.  

A/N: This will be my first series! I'm really excited to try some actual characterization and plot, which I've never really played around with before. Constructive criticism in my DMs is always appreciated <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @wednesdayday, @whoiscaroline, @goldenhxurs, @northernwindd, @djarinxore, @worhols, @amanitacowboy, @silkiers, @4ueijos, @livinxdeadxgrl, @serenaxpedro, @huffle-punk, @elvn011, @thepriceofpepper, @lexic-22, @sunshinebtrfly, @strang3lov3, @virgogaia