#i’m gonna have a fucking aneurysm

[carnivorousfairy]

the way i have to choose between making money or focusing on the fact my father is in the hospital should honestly be a fucking crime! LIKE NO SORRY IM NOT EXACTLY GIDDY ABOUT GOING IN AND SLICING FUCKING DELI MEAT FOR PEOPLE WHILE GOING THROUGH A CRISIS

[daxieoclock]

Like. Okay let’s run this down. His stone eye should have a heart-shaped pupil, his eyes are off-center, WHY is the artistic cheek flush that high up on his face, his horns are the wrong shape and weirdly off-center too, that is THE laziest drawn 5’oclock shadow I’ve ever seen, AND WHY THE FUCK DO HIS LIPS LOOK LIKE THAT

My therapist: “you’re safe, badly drawn Wyll can’t hurt you.”

Badly drawn Wyll:

[karmas-void]

There’s no rage quite like a literature student getting a average grade in a writing class

[yellowsubiesdance]

I AM UNWELL

[thrushppelt]

Bluesnow my beloved

[organizechaoss]

I thought I was over my good omens phase but bro, the leaked images and videos coming out today… boy… I THOUGHT I LEFT

[fingertipsmp3]

I really get back from a (1) event and I have to lie in the recovery position for approximately three business days

[tsurugis]

The words “poor Atreyu” came out of her mouth and later when I asked her if she thought he was annoying ever she was like noooo and then said a bunch of nice things about him so I don’t care about anything else actually dkjdhkDKJHDKJDHK

[thundersoothers]

spike, the dog (still derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: continuation of this fic and this thought about john price being a softie for his wife and the dog you found on the side of the road (y’all LOVEDDDDD this, thank u omg)

word count: 0.9k

“We are not naming the fucking dog Gremlin.”

“Pooh Bear.” 

“No.” 

You and John are sitting in the living room, staring at the dog you picked up from the side of the road a few days ago, trying to come up with a name for him.  

Convincing your husband to let you keep the dog was a challenge.  It felt like you were debating with judge, jury, and executioner.  Stakes were high.  He was sitting across from you at the dining room table, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.  His eyes were narrowed at you and his face was expressionless, giving nothing away as you plead your case. 

Somehow, you won. 

So now, here you both are, brainstorming names to replace “Puppy”.  You’re holding the dog in your arms on the couch and John is sitting across from you in his chair. 

“And where the hell did you come up with these names?” 

“I have a list.” 

“You have a list?” 

“I have a list,” you say, “of dog names and baby names.  Every girl does.” 

And then, for just a second, the room stills. 

“Baby names?” John asks. 

A shiver runs up the bottom of your spine and you sit up a little straighter.  You feel the air buzz and John’s heavy gaze on you. 

“Yeah,” you say, glancing at John and then back at the dog in your lap.  “But—Pooh Bear?” 

After a long second, he says, “No.”

“Georgie Banks.” 

“The actress?” 

“Wha— no, fucker, Georgie Banks from Mary Poppins.” 

“… I’ll consider it.  What else.” 

“Ja’Marcus.” 

“My love,” he says, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together, looking at you seriously.  “What the fuck are you talking about.  It’s a dog.” 

“Tra’davious.” 

“I’m making a list,” he scoffs, sitting back again.  “Jesus.” 

“It’s a nice name!” you exclaim.  “What are you gonna name him, Scout?” 

He looks at you.  

You look at him. 

“No.”  Your face drops and you almost shudder.  “No, John, that’s not even funny.” 

“Oreo?”  The corner of his mouth twitches but he quickly steels himself. 

“Stop.”  You hold the dog close to your chest, horrified. 

“Rocky?” 

“No!” 

“Buddy?” 

“John.” 

“We could just call him Puppy.” 

“What is this, Bird Box?  When Sandra Bullock named her kids Boy and Girl?  We can’t just name the dog Dog.  We would sound like neglectful parents.” 

“Your friend has a dog named Cat,” John says. 

“And that gets confusing because she just got a cat.  I think she’ll have to rename Cat.  And by Cat I mean the dog.  Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head, eyebrows furrowed.  What a mess that would be. 

“We could name him after your team…?” you say, the idea popping into your head.  Then, you frown.  “I’m not calling him Kyle, though.  That’s too human.  Ghost?  He is—you know.”  You rub over the dog’s mangey back gently.  “A little ghastly, still.” 

“Riley?” 

“Who’s Riley?” 

“No one.”

You eye him.  “Must be one of your other wives…” 

He ignores you.  “It would inflate their egos too much.  They’re already insufferable enough.  And,” he adds, “they don’t need another reason to suck up to you.” 

“They don’t suck up to me,” you say. 

“Sweetheart,” he says.  “They suck up to you.” 

“A pun with Price?  Uhhhh… High?  Low?  Buy one get one?  Bogo?”  You hold up the dog, as if to present him.  “Bogo Price, son of Mr. and Mrs. John Price?” 

“You think you’re funny,” John says. 

“I think I’m hilarious.” 

“How about Mackie?  For Mack?  Soap’ld love that–Scottish for ‘my son’.” 

“… I’ll consider it.” 

“You did find him near Notting Hill.  Maybe Notting?” 

You shudder.  “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Knotting.  It’s a—I’ll explain it to you later.”  

(By later you mean never.  Explaining A/B/O to your husband who doesn’t have any social media?  And has never heard of the website Ao3?  He’d have an aneurysm and then wonder why you know about it.  And you cannot have that conversation.) 

“What are the characters from Notting Hill again?” he says, scratching his chin. He needs to shave—well. You need to shave him, rather. “We just watched it.  William Thacker, Anna Scott, uh, her shit husband, what’s his name—“ 

“Jeff King.” 

“Jeff King, yeah.  King, maybe?” 

“Look at him, John.”  You turn the dog to face him.  He wiggles in your hands and yips, his tongue falling out of his mouth.  “He’s not a King.” 

He sighs and shakes his head.  “He’s not a King.” 

“What about William’s weird roommate?  Uh, Spike?” 

“Spike,” John repeats slowly. 

You nod.  “Spike.” 

You both focus on the dog. 

“I like Spike,” you say. 

“I like Spike, too.” 

You hum, considering this.  “Spike…”  You narrow your eyes and study the dog closely, holding him tighter in your hands. 

He yawns with a high-pitched whine and then hacks.  

“Jesus,” John mutters, shaking his head. 

“Better than Georgie, Banks, or Mackie?” 

“Yeah,” John says, “look at ‘im.  He’s a Spike.” 

“He’s such a Spike,” you muse.  “He’s gonna be huge, too.  I mean, look at his ears and paws–they’re already too big for him.  Shit, he’s probably gonna be 70 pounds or 30 kilos.” 

“We need to train him.” 

“Yeah.  I can hire a trainer?  Find one online.” 

“I could get a trainer from base.” 

“I do NOT want an army dog.” 

“It wouldn’t be an army dog.  It would be a dog trained by the army.” 

You eye him.  “John.” 

“Love.” 

You sigh.  “Fine.”

“Good girl.”

note: prob gonna make wife!reader and spike a universe/series bc i loveeeee them. I hope you enjoy!!!!

posted 01.02.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[banquetwriter]

CAN YOU DO some johnnie smut with morning sex PLEASE

that would be so hot

୨୧ glory filled mornings ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ SMUT, unedited, wrote this when i had a fever so it doesn’t make sense lol

summary: ʚ johnnie wakes up with an embarrassing situation ɞ

Words: idk lol

SUPPORT ME

An: i’m so sorry u have been absent i’ve genuinely been going through the ringer and i promise i’m making my way through these requests!! also i will rewrite this at some point haha

It wasn't often that Johnnie indulged in hookups. Sure every so once in a while a pretty girl and him would leave a bar together. Nothing was ever that serious with him. He has been on a few dates but nothing ever went anywhere.

This was different. He had to admit you had piqued his interest since he met you at a party. Then again the next week he saw you again. You were one of Corry and Jake’s friends from their traphouse days.

You were so fucking pretty. The way you laughed at almost all of his jokes, even if they weren't funny. When you would lean in to make sure you heard everything he wanted to say. The way you would trace his tattoos whenever he would show you one of them. That's what led the two of you to cuddle in an Uber home.

The two of you drunkenly cuddled on your couch before you kicked him to your bed. Refusing to let a guest sleep on the couch. That's how he woke up to his head pounding and an unfortunate boner.

He felt the familiar feeling and looked down, revealing a small tent in his boxers. Probably from sleeping in a pretty girl's bed all night. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

He rubs his face with his hands as you suddenly enter the room. He quickly covers his body back up with your duvet. “Heyy good morning sleepy head,” you said smiling. You had a medicine bottle and a glass of water in your hands. “H-hey,” he said, feeling his heart beating out of his chest.

“Ugh god my head hurts so bad, I took some Tylenol and I hope that helps.” you absentmindedly said setting the bottle and water down on your bedside table. The pressure of the blanket pressing on his core was definitely not helping his boner, the sight of your short Beetlejuice sleep shorts was also not helping.

Your skin looked so damn soft, the pudge of your thighs spilling out as you sat down on the bed next to him. You were on your phone not even looking at him. It was truly embarrassing just how much his damn brain was fixated on you.

You hugged your knees to your chest scrolling around on your phone. Softly chewing on your nails, you notice that Johnnie has been staring at you for a prolonged amount of time. You lifted your head from your Doordash app to look at him.

He looked flushed, he had ripped his shirt off in the middle of the night so you could see how red his chest was. You quirked your head at him “Dude Johnnie you ok?” you ask, trying not to laugh a little.

“Um yeah I'm fine-” he muttered, scratching his head, his rings and necklaces clinking together. “Dude, tell me what's going on. You didn't blow chunks in my room did you?” you say with a disgusted face.

“No! No- I swear I didn't-” he said sitting up more. Unfortunately, he was cut off by your eyes dropping to his waist. When he sat up the blanket got just a little too low. Johnnie’s raging boner peeking through his skinny jeans was now in full view.

His eyes shoot up back at your face. He couldn't discern your facial expression at all. Your eyes were slightly wide but you didn't look disgusted or horrified or even mildly embarrassed.

Johnnie sure did. He felt like he was gonna die. Right there, right then, with a fat boner in a pretty girl's bedroom. His brain was slowly shutting down from anxiety. Unable to form an apology. Or any thoughts for that matter.

You felt a rush of confidence surge through your body as you stared at the raven-haired boy. “Oh?” you asked, turning your phone off, leaning forward getting closer to Johnnie.

He was surely having an aneurysm. Or maybe he was still drunk and this was just a bad dream. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of your skin. It was going to set him on fire. His head was pounding and he was tired, but at the same time, he hadn't ever felt more awake than he does now.

“I-I'm so sorry. I'm not trying to be some fucking creep. It just happens sometimes I promise it has nothing to do with you.” he stuttered putting his hand in between you and himself.

That was half true. Sometimes morning wood just happens for no reason, the untrue half was that it had NOTHING to do with you. Maybe Johnnie dreamt of you last night, maybe he didn't. All he knows is the scent of you was enough to drive him up the fucking walls.

“Awww really?” you asked in a fiend sad voice. You placed your right hand on one side of his body moving you closer to him. He felt like squealing or squirming or maybe both. This was a horrible situation to be in.

“Yes, I'm so sorry I will leave.” he prefaced trying to pin his body down onto the mattress as you moved closer to him. “There's no need for that, you said it yourself it's perfectly natural. You don't need to be embarrassed.” you purred out. Johnnie's skin was on fire, he could have cried from how hard he was in his jeans.

“I promise it's not about you,” he whispers, trying to save face. “It's not? You don't think I'm pretty Johnnie?” you ask with a pout. You continued to climb up the bed. Your body was so close to his now. Your arms were on either side of his head.

“No! It's not that I think you are beautiful-” he almost shouted at you. “Oh, you think I'm beautiful?” you whispered as you hovered over his neck. He let out a shaky breath as he watched your head dip down to his neck.

He felt like could explode as you slowly started to kiss up his neck. “This ok?” you murmured against his skin, your voice tickling his flesh. “Mhm!” he borderline whimpered out feeling your tongue and teeth grazing his hot skin.

You moved your legs to mimic your arms moving on either side of his body. Your body was on top of his, feeling his boner through his pants. It sends waves of heat to your core. Pressing your clothes clit on his hard-on slowly starting to rub up and down.

It was painful how hard he was. “Fuck please, let me take my pants off.” he moaned out his hands slinking up to your waist and under his shirt. You were quick to take his hands off of you and hold them above next to his head.

He whined out as your display of dominance, bucked his hips up into you. “Keep your hands there,” you whispered while sitting up. All of your weight was now on his crotch. The pressure sent him spinning. You slowly slid your hands on your body taking your shirt off.

He gasped looking at you. He never went after looks always personality but fuck you were so perfect for him. It was hard listening to your instructions. He wanted to grip your sides as you bounced up and down on him.

But he stayed put. You slowly pulled your shorts off as well, it's not like they left much to the imagination. Your dark panties found their way to his body again grinding down on him. His mound pressing into you. “Let me take my fucking pants off,” he whined, lifting his head a little bit.

“God, you are so impatient,” you murmur moving your head down, he sucked in with clenched teeth as you slowly started to pepper kisses along his chest. “Ah fuck.” he whined bucking his hips against you.

“Shush,” you whispered, you continued to suck and pull at his chest skin adorning his body with hickies that matched the ones on his neck. He threw his head back trying to feel any sort of release or pressure.

“Mm, fuck.” He whimpered again he squirmed more under you, his slim waist flexing beautifully. “Johnnie?” you asked moving up above him leaving his marked chest alone for now.

“Yeah?” He panted out, his head still feeling like a jackhammer was bouncing around his brain. “Take your pants off,” you whispered. Your voice was so quiet he didn't hear you at first. A pause between the two of you capturing desperation.

Once the words finally filled his brain he scooted away from you and off the bed hastily ripping the belt he had been wearing off. You flipped on your back, head hitting the pillow.

You hooked your fingers around your panties to pull them down. “No! Don't, I want to.” Johnnie said, holding his hand out. You smirked at him feeling your panties sticking to your body.

He fiddled with his jean button before finally being able to undo it. He yanked his pants and boxers down, his cock springing up and hitting his chest. He crawled up the bed, staring down at you.

You were breathing deeply, gazing into his eyes. Johnnie grabs the blanket, dropping it over himself. His hands find their way to your sides slowly caressing up and down. His head ducked down to your neck.

He returns the favor of the hickies nipping at your skin. Your nails find their way to his hair, scraping his scalp and encouraging him to continue. You moaned out slightly at the contact.

His arms moved to either side of your head, his back flexing to reach every part of you. This time your hips moved up to meet him. “Who is the impatient one now? Huh?” he asked, you could feel the smirk on his lips.

“It's still you.” you teased him, slowly grabbing a fistful of his hair. He whined slightly as you pulled him away from your neck. His dick was resting on top of your stomach. “Johnnie, I need you,” you stated slowly. “I need you to fuck me,” you said, your voice dripping dominance.

Johnnie couldn't help but obey. “Fuck yeah, ok,” he muttered sitting on his knees and moving his hands towards your sides. Finally pulling your panties from your dripping cunt. You spread your legs open for him, his hands pressing against your thigh to stabilize himself.

Hu pumped his cock a few times before lining himself in your entrance. He slowly pushed into you, whimpering feeling your tight walls around him. He leaned down, capturing your lips. He slowly pulled out of you and snapped his hips back in. You whimpered against him.

Your nails found his back, he slowly started to pump faster and faster inside you. You moaned against his mouth scratching down his back. Your long acrylic nails surely leave him bleeding.

He moans into your mouth as he starts to approach his climax. “Fuck fuck I can't hold on for much longer,” he whines. “Keep going, I'm so close,” you whine back to him. He grips the pillows behind your head as his hips snap against yours.

The coil snaps as your walls flutter around his member. Your eyes roll back as you mewl out for him. Your orgasm washes over you like a powerful wave, you squeezed him so tight you pulled his orgasm out of him.

His hips stuttered for a second before continuing to pump in and out of you as white ropes shot to your core. After a few seconds, he stood still before removing himself from you.

You feel him drop to your chest bringing the blanket up over himself and holding you. He snuggled his head into your chest not wanting this moment to be over.

Eventually, it had to be. So to Johnnie’s dismay, he rolled over on the other side of your bed. You giggle as he lets out a dramatic huff. “Mmm fuck.” he mumbles his headache returning. You rolled over as well smiling down at him.

“We should go shower now,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. “Mm later,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you.

The two of you sat with one another for a while. Just resting, tracing his tattoos. Eventually you moved to the bathroom, turning the warm water on. You stepped in letting the water heat your body.

The shower door opened and you turned around to see Johnnie stepping in after you.

[davidisnotmyname]

MAJOR FUCKING SPOILERS FOR THE SEVENTH COMIC (also this post is really long be warned)

Okay I wanted to give my thoughts on the seventh comic because I, a sleep deprived teenager with absolutely no knowledge on comic making or writing, feel that my opinion is logical and good /s

First off, my immediate reactions to the comic:

OH MY FUCKING GOD THATS A CHILD. THATS SOLDIER’S AND ZHANNA’S CHILD. THATS THEIR BABY. WHAT THE FUCK

the second I saw this shit I knew this comic was gonna give me an aneurysm (in a good way).

waitasecond…

THERESTWOOFTHEMOHMYGOD (also im so fucking happy that the joke I see in fan media a lot about Soldier naming his kids stuff like that is officially canon)(also east meets west fans were eating good this comic)

I like that the comic creators have put so much focus on Spy and Miss Pauling’s relationship. Not only is their dynamic great, but it shows that Spy isn’t a heartless jackass and he not only genuinely cares about the people around him, but can and will show it (I mean most of us knew that already but… someeeee people have fallen victim to the temptations of flanderization)

you’re gonna see this come up a lot in my rambling but I fucking love the shit the mercs are doing in the background, their expressions are so funny: Heavy is sick of their shit

Demo is asleep

Scout can’t breathe

Spy is also sick of their shit

Medic (and that godforsaken baby baboon) is sightseeing

Pyro is having the time of their life

and Sniper and Pauling are just trying to make sure they don’t all fucking crash and die

This is irrelevant as fuck (but most of the stuff I say is) but I just wanted to bring up how much I liked the secretary’s design. It’s very pleasing to look at.

They are like ants to me. I want to put them in a jar with holes in the lid and a bunch of leaves and then roll them down the stairs

I know this might not be what the scene is trying to imply, but fuck yeah, lesbianism (also thank god they gave Scout some semblance of character development, they are very cute as friends)

more background mercs. Medic and Pyro in particular have me in hysterics (this comic has so much good shit I can use for my discord pfp). Also Demoman my belemoman

GOD I FUCKING LOVE THE CHARACTER DESIGNS SO MUCH, thank you young Administrator for reminding me that I am in fact gay in every direction. RIP Admin, she served cunt and died

Get that fucking thing away from me

MAKAMI!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! THIS SHIT BELONGS IN THE LOUVRE!!!!!!! THIS IS GENUINELY THE MOST INCREDIBLE PANEL IN ALL OF THE COMICS, I AM AWESTRUCK

Yet again more background mercs. They saw your AO3 history.

okay I was gonna say something but my phone flagged this image as nudity for some fucking reason? What

anyways, as I was saying:

GAY (guys listen it’s canon okay you have to believe me guys wait come back no wait)

also my first thought when I saw this was “heavy is trying to hold him back from doing weird shit to the corpses,” and I don’t care how anyone else interprets it because I am objectively the most correct /j

also looking back at this I’m realizing heavy’s hands are almost the size of medic’s entire torso lmao tf2 isn’t beating the yaoi hand accusations

I’m actually gonna be sick and die oh my god what the fuck is wrong with me

I’m not gonna put all of the panels cuz I feel like it’ll get annoying quick + the image limit, but the whole series of Pauling just standing there as the Admin is cosplaying a Nature Valley Honey and Oats Bar while everyone slowly trickles out of the room just hits so hard and so good. These comics are such a compelling narrative disguised as a series of shitposts and I’m all for it.

MISS P. NAME DROP???!!!!! (Also can we get an F in the chat for all the Francine Pauling truthers)

He is literally her dad I don’t make the rules (also yes I’m aware that it’s stated that he’s her legal guardian literally two panels later so this joke really isn’t funny, but none of my jokes are so what’s your point)

Yet another casual masterpiece by Makami, with the added bonus of the subject being a beautiful hairy old man who’s built like a fucking brick house. Heavy Weapons Guy TF2 I wish you were real. Also bearded heavy goes hard, i need to cook him into a fucking soup oh my god

Hey chat so did you know I’m actually going to be inconsolable for the next three years. Also this is obviously photoshopped we all know his last name is Elbertson (no but seriously I actually started running around my room and rolling on the floor when I got to yet another name drop)

Okay, I need to either say this now or have it fester in my psyche for eternity. That haircut gave me physical and psychic damage when I first saw it. Scout tf2, you’re ugly as shit but that’s honestly poggers, welcome to the club man (also oh my god he looks so much like Jerma I’m screaming, but Jerma isn’t ugly though I promise I would never diss my king like that)

Nobody talk to me

I SAID NOBODY FUCKING TALK TO ME

spy with his granddaughter, he loves her so much but still can’t bring himself to reveal who he truly is. I actually can’t fucking do this anymore this comic is gonna have me keel over and die of a heart attack

That’s it. Get in the fucking wood chipper right now /j seriously though I can’t even begin to explain how much this scene means to me. Spydad was one of the main things that got me so interested in tf2 over a year ago, and seeing him and Scout not only being civil about it, but genuinely caring about each other is everything. I’ve never been one for spydad angst (no shade if you do like it, I just personally prefer happier stuff), so I’m glad that this was the route the comics took with that plot point.

also don’t think I’m not gonna bring up the fucking mask. after seventeen years, we finally have spy’s face. Not only that, but the reveal was done through him giving it to his granddaughter. It’s done in such a casual and sweet way but it’s so impactful. He can be vulnerable around these people. This man, who’s spent his life building up walls around himself, refusing to let anyone through to the point of wearing that stinky ass balaclava everywhere, can now freely live as himself with his son and grandchildren. I’m gonna start eating screws I swear to god.

oh fuck I hit image limit hang on I have a little bit more to say check the reblogs the rest of my descent into madness will be present there shortly.

[mattitties]

Boyfriend, pt 2 - matt sturniolo

you guys asked, so i delivered (hopefully)

part 1 here

I left the party last night feeling on top of the world. I recounted everything to my best friend the second Matt had left and she came back to me.

“I came back from the bathroom and saw you guys totally hitting it off, so I just stood back and watched. I thought he was about to bend you over the bar and fuck you right there,” she told me. 

It’s now the next morning and I’m trying to distract myself and not think about the fact that he hasn’t texted me yet. It’s only 10 AM, so I really shouldn’t be worried, but as someone who doesn’t talk to boys literally ever, I am naturally very worried. 

As the hours pass and it’s now 2 PM, I go into my roommate’s room. “Why hasn’t he texted me? Do you think he was just fucking with me? What if I didn’t give him the right number and he’s now texting some other hotter bitch instead of me? What if I was-” I start to ramble before she cuts me off.

“Oh my god, shut up! It’s been like 14 hours, chill out! He’s gonna text you, and if he doesn’t, he doesn’t. We don’t know anything about him, he could be sleeping still or he could be having a busy day. Take a Xanax or something, good gracious,” she tells me, finishing just as my phone vibrates.

I check it absentmindedly, fully expecting it to be my mom or a spam text, but instead I see an unknown number.

Hey it’s Matt, just wanted to see when your free to hang out?

I let out a shriek and show my roommate my screen.

“Fucking told you!” she says excitedly before her face changes. “Oh boy, he’s one of the fuckers who doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re. You gotta fix that.”

“Oh for sure,” I say, starting to type in my phone.

hey :) i’m free tonight or tmr if either of those work

Tonight is good, I can pick you up around 6 and we can get dinner. How does Boa sound?

“Oh my god. He wants to take me to Boa,” I tell my roommate. I’m just about on the verge of vomiting everywhere.

“Oh fuck yeah! Mr. Moneybags over here!” she cheers.

that sounds great!

Sick, whats your addy so I know where to pick up my gf ;)

I give him my address, turn off my phone, and immediately go to my room to take an everything shower and get ready.

I’m finishing up my hair at 5:30 when I get another text: Leaving now, be there in 15 min. I made reservation for 6

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I was so confident around him last night, but now I feel like a completely different person. I’m terrified I’m gonna be an awkward mess when I get in the car and he’s gonna wonder what happened to the girl he met last night and I won’t even be able to eat I’m so nervous and–

Nope, I’m not worrying anymore. It’s gonna be fine. I triple check everything to make sure I look good, and finally he texts that he’s here.

I grab my bag, go downstairs, and open the front door to our apartment complex, where I’m met with a very familiar face standing next to it. He’s wearing a black short sleeve collared shirt, blue jeans, and a black baseball cap he put on backwards. Man, he looks good as fuck. 

He looks up when he sees me and smiles. “Hi,” he says. “Car’s right there. I was going to come in but then I saw I had to be buzzed into the building and I didn’t know which apartment was yours, so…” It seems that his confidence from last night has lessened quite a bit as well, as now he’s just awkwardly rambling. I find it adorable.

I shake my head and smile. “You’re fine, this is perfect.” I follow his lead to his car, and am surprised when he opens the passenger door for me. “Thank you,” I say as I get in, and he shoots me another quick smile before closing the door and going to the driver’s side. 

“So Boa, huh? You really are trying to show off your YouTube bucks,” I joke.

“Me and my brothers go there a lot, it’s not really that expensive,” he says. 

“Speak for yourself! I was looking at the menu and almost had an aneurysm at the prices!”

He laughs and glances at me. “Well lucky for you, you’re not the one paying, are you?”

We continue our banter for a few minutes before there’s a lull in the conversation. “Do you wanna put some music on? Here’s the aux cord,” he tells me, pulling out a cord.

“Oh,” I say, immediately regretting all my life choices. I am historically NEVER on aux in any situation because my music taste is comprised of Taylor Swift, dad rock, and depressing music. “Um… you may not like my music. We can just play whatever you like.”

He looks at me wearing a tiny frown. “What! You’re the passenger, you get aux. Whatever you play will be fine.”

I sigh dramatically as I plug my phone in and queue Taylor. “Okay, but if you don’t like it, just remember I gave you a chance to say no.” He nods. I watch his face to gauge his reaction as “The Story of Us” starts to play, and I roll my lips into my mouth to hide my laughter when he recognizes the voice. 

“Yayyyy,” he says sarcastically. “I love Taylor Swift…”

The rest of the drive consists of me explaining to him that if he was willing to give her music a try, he would definitely enjoy her music. I was fully expecting him to laugh it off and come back with some smart ass comment about her as nearly every other man does, but he seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. “You’re right,” he told me. “Maybe we can listen together and you can show me more of her stuff!”

I think I fell in love right there.

When we arrive at Boa, the man nearly eats shit rushing around to open the passenger door for me, and walks slightly ahead of me to get the door for the restaurant. Neither of us have any ounce of the same flirty energy we had last night, but there’s no awkwardness at all. I still can’t believe this is happening. The hottest guy I’ve ever seen, he’s a perfect gentleman, we have so much in common, and he’s actually into me? It seems far too good to be true.

“So,” I say when we get seated, “what exactly made you feel the need to come up to me last night? Did I really look that uncomfortable?”

“Oh, you looked like you were about ready to sink into the floor. I mean, in all honesty, I was kind of eyeing you all night but I didn’t have the courage to come up to you, so I guess I sort of used that as an excuse to do something. Plus saving you from creepy guy and all,” he replies.

“Well, thank you, no matter what your reasoning was.” I look around the restaurant. I feel so out of place, it’s disgusting. I’ve only lived in LA for a couple months, so I still feel like I don’t belong, especially when I end up in the same restaurants that people get papped outside of. But somehow, even in a place like this, I feel oddly safe and at peace with a man that I met not even 24 hours prior. 

I’ve never been much of a great conversationalist; if I’m in a one on one conversation, the other person needs to be a rambler for it to not be awkward. But he’s not a rambler, and we both are just so invested in what the other person is saying that it’s somehow a never ending conversation. We have so much in common – our love for movies, Legos, journaling, us both attempting to get back into reading after going so long without it – I feel like I’ve known him my whole life. It’s so refreshing, and it’s terrifying. I know I’m going to fall for him fast. I may be already, but I can’t be. We just met. 

He pulls me out of my trance by repeating his question. “You ready to go?”

“What? Oh, yeah, sorry. Um, thanks for paying,” I smile as I get up. 

“Of course! What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t pay on our first date?” he jokes. 

“Ohhh, our first date? Does that imply there’ll be a second?” I ask as I get in the car.

“Would you like there to be a second?” 

“I mean I guess…” I smirk at him. We’re both looking at each other, smiling ever so slightly. I want nothing more than to kiss him right now, and I’m 99% sure he wants the same based on the way his eyes are shifting focus from my eyes to my lips. I’m about to lean in when –

“I should get you home.”

Oh. I nod. “Yeah… yeah, probably.” I sit back in my seat.

He turns on the car and Taylor Swift blasts through the speakers. “JESUS–” he yells, turning the volume down as we both start laughing. “I know I said you could show me her stuff but let’s take it down a notch, god damn!”

We don’t talk at all during the drive home, but it’s nice. Just the music in the background, and subtle glances between us every so often. When we pull up in front of my apartment complex, he parks the car and turns it off, then starts to get out.

“You don’t need to get out, it’s okay,” I tell him.

“Well I have to make sure you get into your apartment safe, don’t I?” Again, what a gentleman. I didn’t even think people like him existed anymore. I smile to myself and lead the way, taking him up to the 4th floor and down the hall to my door. “I guess this is where I leave you?” he asks.

“Unfortunately, this is where you leave me.” I’m looking up at him, he’s looking down at me. I can tell he wants to say something, and I hope it’s what I think it is.

He opens his mouth, takes a sharp inhale. “Can I kiss you?”

Bingo. I smile and nod, holding his jaw lightly in my hand. He takes my waist with one hand and the back of my head with the other, and our lips collide softly in a matter of seconds. I haven’t kissed many guys, but they’ve always felt just a little off and I never knew why. But this? This feels right. It’s gentle, but our tongues slip into each other's mouths as the kiss grows deeper. I know I need to stop this here, as much as I don’t want to. I give in for a few more seconds before I pull back. 

“I, um… I need to go inside,” I tell him, completely unable to wipe the smile off my face.

“Okay,” he says, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’ll text you, because yes, there definitely will be a second date.”

“Good.” I kiss him one last time before I unlock my door. “Goodnight, Matt.”

“Goodnight.”

———————————————————————

i probably won’t do a part 3 because idk how to keep it interesting from here but if you have other fic requests lmk and i’ll do my best 😚

[sapphiresaphics]

So I woke up to THIS conversation this morning:

So yeah… apparently Zaun = Gaza and Israel = Piltover now. We’ve done it! We’ve linked Arcane to real world politics now! Doesn’t matter that the show was in production nearly a decade before the horrific attack on October 7th, or anything. Doesn’t matter that Christian Linke has said his inspiration was American politics. Doesn’t matter that throughout history conflicts like this have existed for centuries. Nope! Apparently this was all “planned” as an allegory to the war in Gaza from the start!

I’m gonna have an aneurysm….

Is THIS why so many people are unable to look at Arcane’s story as anything other than oppressors oppressing the innocent, and are incapable of looking at the larger nuances and parallels Arcane is taking? They’ve conflated their political ideologies and real world situations to that of a fictional setting?Is THIS why you guys hate the “we must come together to fight a greater evil” ending????

And like… if you’re going to view Piltover and Zaun through such uncritical eyes… then what the FUCK does Season 2 Episode 1 have to say about your beliefs? Cuz in that episode, during a PEACEFUL MEMORIAL, Zaun invades Piltover and attacks and slaughters a score of people. If you are on the side of Zaun does that parallel you being on the side of the terrorists who slaughtered people on October 7th?

Real talk: I had a couple friends and some distant family members DIE in that October 7th attack… They were people I knew. They weren’t soldiers. I can’t even process how ANGRY this person’s hateful and ignorant response to me is right now. Imagine losing a friend in such a brutal way and some rando comes up to you and says you deserve to die because of it. Jesus Christ…

Also, I really REALLY shouldn’t have to say this… but if someone says “Jew” and you hear “Zionist” instead, YOU ARE BEING AN ANTISEMITE. That’s how dog whistles and hateful rhetoric WORKS.

When Caitlyn angrily grits her teeth and says Zaunites are “animals,” that’s YOU when you’re saying “Zionist” to a Jew. Learn the fucking parallels you pieces of shit.

You think you’re being Jinx, but in reality you’re just being Caitlyn. Like the whole POINT of Caitlyn going off the rails is because her anger and hatred caused her to “other” people she should be caring about and protecting. That’s what you’re doing. And you took NO EFFORT to try and learn what my beliefs or politics were because the SECOND I said I was Jewish, you conflated me with the IDF slaughtering children. Fuck you and your ignorant black and white world view!

I’m not surprised this is the level of intelligence and reading comprehension on this website, but I am still disappointed all the same.

Ps: I’m not gonna bring up my IRL politics about the war in Gaza and all that shit after this post, because I deserve to put some distance between reality and fiction. But I needed to get this out there because I am horrified at how this interaction went and you should be too. If anyone wants to come at me for being Jewish and not supporting the war, don’t bother, and If you try to argue about the war with me or on any of my posts I’m just gonna block you.

[yeonboy]

𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 ♡ choi yeonjun. ⇝ teaser

For the past two years, you have been an ordinary—if a bit more stressed than others—college student with a life so normal, it almost falls on the wrong side of boring. And then in the middle of one uneventful night, your college’s darling ace student, ace sportsman, the ace cutie that every girl has a crush on, Choi Yeonjun decides to slip into your dorm room – and your life turns upside down.

❧ choi yeonjun x f. reader | 16+ | college!au ♡ strangers to lovers!au ♡ humor ♡ fluff

❧ words! 1 k for the teaser [~8 k for the entire fic]

❧ warnings! profanity, suggestive language, exams related anxiety, incorrect econ major related discord + and more in the actual fic (:

❧ note! hey, everyone! tho i'm not a fan of teasers without a concrete posting date, i needed to put sth out there for the sake of my brain :// mental health's been on a rollercoaster and writer's block been heavy this spring! i hope y'all enjoy this lil cracked up (and a lil concerning) bite of fluff and anticipate the actual fic!

❧ masterlist | inbox ⁘

Sighing again, you blindly move your hand towards the light switch in the room – only for a hand to wrap around your wrist. 

Wha—

Heart stopping and brain freezing in bone-chilling fear, you unhinge your jaw to let out a scream. But not even a whole second later, a palm is placed over your parted lips and a body pushes you to the wall next to the light switch with an urgent hush whispered in your ear.

“Please don’t scream, I’m not gonna harm you, I just need your help!”

The stranger sounds and feels like a male. 

What the hell is a strange man doing in your very all-girls dorm?

You wanna scream louder, something that this stranger senses because he suddenly presses his body tighter against you, this time dipping his face into the crook of your neck, lips against the shell of your ear when he shushes you.

Okay, now why did that cover your entire body with goosebumps? Of the good kind?

“I’m not a creep I swear, I was just escaping an embarrassing situation and this room was unlocked so I slipped in, please let me explain!”

You try to calm yourself down, taking a deep breath which immediately lets you know that this not a creep actually smells really heavenly. You kinda wanna sniff him again, but catch yourself at the last moment.

Leaning your head farther away to press it against the wall, you narrow your eyes at the short-haired silhouette of the guy that is lit up at the edges due to the light entering the room from the window directly behind him. The hand which held your wrist moves, then, and flicks the light switch.

You immediately squeeze your eyes shut due to the blast of photons across the room, and the stranger slowly steps away from you, very tenderly letting go of your mouth – which had honestly started to hurt a little – at the end. Massaging the side of your jaw, you slowly open one of your lids, and then the other.

Then you blink. And blink again. And nearly have an aneurysm because damn does the campus It-Boy look even hotter up close.

Choi Yeonjun stands before you in his pale orange hair glory, wearing a fitted off-sleeves, off-white sweater. And, shit, are those pearls around his neck? Yes. Yes, they are.

While you’re still hovering in the limbo between shock and awe, the guy launches into a rushed and stuttered explanation.

“Th–thanks for not screaming. I’m… Ugh, I don’t even know where to begin, but like – I – I was trying to surprise my girlfriend who lives in this very dorm, a floor above—you know, where all popular seniors live—and, um, just as I reacher her door I heard sounds of the…sexual nature…echoing inside, so – so I investigated and guess what? My girlfriend is fucking my best friend behind my back!”

Your jaw drops open. “I… what the hell, man?” you whisper, stunned and disgusted. “That’s so awful…”

“Right? And embarrassing.” He shakes his head. Then his eyebrows suddenly fly up. “Oh! I am Choi—”

“Yeonjun, the uni’s ace Senior. I know. Everyone does.”

A faint blush rises up his cheeks, lips pursing as he shrugs one bare shoulder. Okay, damn, his biceps have got some good definition. “Yeah… well. So you know how I was—or still am, I guess—in a relationship with—”

“Kim Yerim? Know that too, unfortunately, all my friends in all the srats are obsessed with y’all.” You give a small sigh. “Her cheating is such a pity.”

“God, I know right? This is gonna be so horrible,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and bites down on his lip.

You snap your fingers in front of his face. “Um, excuse me? Is that all? I’m sorry for you, man, truly, but um, can you leave now? You’re really wasting my very precious time.”

He really is. The only reason why you didn’t flip out yet was because—as embarrassing as it—you were distracted by the guy’s astonishingly good looks. But his beauty isn’t gonna help you pass tomorrow’s exam.

Suddenly regretting wasting the ten minutes that you had saved by ditching Chaeryeong at the convenience store, you clap your hands together and reach for your door. “Great talk! Or not? I guess? See you around, Choi Yeonjun!”

His eyes grow very wide at that and both hands come up to stop you from unlocking your door, before you have even made the move to fully turn around, and—

Oh.

Now you’re caged between the door and both his arms. The same arms with all that muscular definition you just saw up close. 

“Please don’t kick me out. Let me stay here. Please.”

This time it is your eyes that bulge out. “The hell? Why?”

He retracts his hands to brace one of them on his waist and pinch the bridge of his nose with the forefinger and thumb of the other. “I can’t leave…”

You lean away from him. “Dude, if you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on? You’ve come to the absolutely worst person. And if you’re looking for a rebound hook-up… well, could you wait till I’m done with tomorrow’s exam?”

Yeonjun’s face goes from confused to intrigued to humorous. “None of those, actually, but – I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

His wink shoots sparks through you and you immediately purse your lips. “It wasn’t an—okay, then what do you want? My econ exam is tomorrow and I stand to lose all my credits if I flunk this, so please—”

“Wait, econ?” He spins on his heels to peek at your textbook and the slides you had pulled up on your laptop, leaving you gaping behind him. “Ooh, Consumer Behavior? This is a good one. D’you have flash cards? Don’t skip decision roles, Professor Jeon is obsessed with ’em.”

You look at the guy with wide eyes. “Uh—what?”

Looking at you over his shoulder, Yeonjun flashes you a grin. “You’re talking to a 99 scorer in Consumer Behavior.”

— COMING SOON!

© yeonboy 2024 // do not steal, copy or repost. respect your local content creators, kaythanks.

[kinardsevan]

several sentence sunday

i did a teaser of the mini i've finished (but not posted b/c i'm not entirely satisfied with it yet), but @marvelousbuckley tagged me so ofc i have to give you more.

here's what's coming next in it's gonna be alright (piece by piece) [aka the aneurysm fic]

-

“What was that whole speech you gave me,” Evan says softly, tugging on the collar of Tommy’s hoodie to pull him in closer. Tommy leans down over him, placing light kisses over his lips and cheeks. “When they put me under before?” 

“Don’t really remember,” Tommy tells him between kisses. “But you said you were going to marry the hell out of me after all of this, and I’m holding you to that.” 

Evan lets out a small laugh, pulling Tommy's face up enough that he can see him. They stare at each other for a moment as he brushes his thumbs over the tears on Tommy’s face. 

“No goodbyes,” he murmurs, shifting his hand down brushing his thumb over Tommy’s bottom lip. “Because we’re not finished.” 

“No,” Tommy affirms, his voice strained. He sniffs as Evan brushes another tear off his cheek, and Tommy gulps. “I'd do this all over again, no matter the outcome, as long as it meant I got to love you.” 

“Stop,” Evan rasps at him. “Not going anywhere this time, either. I’m coming back.” 

“I know,” Tommy says, trying his best to sound insistent as he presses a kiss to Evan’s thumb. "But I still want you to know.” He pauses for a moment, staring at Evan and biting hard on the inside of his bottom lip as his own chest rises and falls slowly with shallow breaths, trying to maintain his composure. A smile pulls across his face as more tears fall. “Who would’ve fucking thought I’d find the whole damn universe inside of a pair of blue eyes.” 

Evan furrows his brow and lets out a small grunt, pulling Tommy back into him, kissing him roughly. It’s not sweet in the slightest, done out of desperation and hunger, from a need to make sure the other man knows he’s right there with him. 

“You made me whole,” Evan whispers as he presses his forehead against Tommy’s, holding tightly to his face. “I didn’t even know what I was missing, and you lit me up like the fucking Fourth of July. Fuck all those commentaries on drowning and being saved. It was like half of me didn’t even exist until you kissed me. Like-like I was always there but in the dark. And then you, you came along with your stupid helicopter and dry fucking humor about ‘we’re probably gonna die anyway’, and I made sense. I made sense to me. Everything I never understood about why I could never settle, why I never fit.” 

A small squeak comes out of the back of Tommy’s throat as Evan pushes him up enough to see him again. “You found the universe?” He blinks away a tear as he smiles up at Tommy. “I was a shell of who I am now before you. I am who I am today because of you.” 

Tommy shakes his head, always so quick to dismiss any credit turned his way, but Evan’s grip is tight. 

“Yes,” he insists, leaning up off the pillow under his head toward Tommy, drawing his gaze back to him. “You…” He laughs at himself and rolls his eyes. “You met me in the dark, and you fucking lit me up.” 

Tommy stares at him for a beat longer, like he’s questioning whether he deserves the credit of Evan’s statement, and then leans into him, kissing him once more, brushing his hand down the top of Evan’s curls. 

“I love you,” he chokes out between kisses. “So god-damn much. Today, tomorrow, the rest of my life.” 

“Through the universe and across the skies,” Evan whispers back to him.

[passivenovember]

This just fell out of me, team. I hope you enjoy it!

--

Steve’s wearing a sunhat.

Billy spots it on his tromp down the front steps, a nondescript canvas bag balled and clutched in one hand like wilted butcher’s paper, and thinks it could be a dinner plate on top of Harrington’s quaff. A trick of the early morning light slotting an obvious hole in the world.

It’s a sunhat, though.

The bag crinkles in Billy’s fist. Its folds and edges could draw blood. He tugs Steve’s passenger door open with his free hand and settles into the cab. Catches his breath. Says, “Why are you dressed like that?” When Steve only stares at him.

“We’re going to the Farmer’s Market,” Steve says. “It’s a special occasion.” 

They go to the Farmer’s Market every weekend, Billy doesn’t say. Since March, stretching all the way to last summer; off and on while Billy settled into it like a drowned cat, Steve eventually snapping, “We can do this,” Hands on his hips. Jars of pickled vegetables fresh from his little tote bag, glittering on Billy’s kitchen counter. “We can have this.”

“Non FDA regulated vegetables?” Billy had asked, grinning when Steve flushed, turning to dump Billy’s half of the loot into the refrigerator. 

Billy never asked what ‘this,’ meant. What they could have. Thinks he has a decent idea.

“You didn’t need to put a fuckin’ hat on,” Billy says now. Didn’t need to wear that hat. Particularly. 

He’s cute, though. Younger, where its wide, formless brim hides the salt and pepper that’s been slinking up Steve’s temples for the last couple of years, reminding Billy of the decades that rest like rain slickers on their backs. Floppy hats on their heads.

“It’s supposed to be in the low hundreds today.”

“It’s seven-thirty, pretty boy.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Steve says. He throws the car into reverse, but really it’s more a gentle nudge of the gear-shift until the car rolls with gravity into the street. Harrington always driving like a fifty year old man long before he was one. “I read an article that sunscreen isn’t enough anymore,” Steve says bluntly.

“Isn’t enough to what? Keep you celibate?” Billy digs around in his jeans pocket for his cigarettes. The white lighter that Steve had had an aneurysm over when he first saw it.

“No, to stop skin cancer. These days, how the Baby Boomers fucked up the Ozone, you’ve gotta wear sleeves, and sunscreen, and sunglasses, and fuckin’, sunhats,” Steve yanks the lighter out of Billy’s hand before he can spark up. Ignores the punch Billy lands on the one that came, fresh from 1993, with the car. 

America used to be a country. Smoking used to be good for you. 

Steve shoots him a side-ways glance, as if reading his mind. “You’re gonna kick rocks at sixty, Bill. Way you smoke.”

“They don’t make sun hats for lungs yet,” Billy says. The car lighter pops free so he snags it, waiting patiently for the hot-plate coil to catch his cig. When it does, he puts it back. Inhales slowly, peering out the window as the early morning shoots by at 30 miles per hour, a dying star.

He can feel Steve watching him. Now. Always.

“You could stop,” Steve says softly. “Smoking. You’re still young.”

Billy snorts. “Yeah, and you could mind your business.”

“Fuck you, you are my business.”

Billy’s stomach flips. He’s surprised, still, that his guts aren’t knotted and non-functional after all this time. Decades of friendship; career changes and new houses, new wives that slip steadily into ex wives. Kids. One kid. Billy’s. Decades of Steve, worrying about Billy’s diet and nagging at his bad habits, and. Saying shit like that. Flipping Billy’s stomach over on itself.

Billy puffs on his cigarette, rolling his eyes when Steve coughs dramatically into one elbow. He blows a huge cloud, just to be an asshole.

“Dude,” Steve says, leaning away so the car jerks suddenly to the left. 

Billy yelps, jostling against his seatbelt, “Harrington, you’re driving.”

“This is your lungs on nicotine,” Steve says, “A shitty old car driven by a lunatic middle-aged divorcee. Out of control. Veering into a ditch, or–”

“--It’s just a goddamn cigarette–”

“--With every pack you’re killing babies,” Steve tells him. The next streetlight turns gold. Steve runs it. 

Billy hangs on. His heart thumps with every twist and turn of the road. Hawkins races by, a blur of neon green oak trees and dark, supple earth. The grass is burned away in some places. Steve’s ancient car groans in the rising heat, its tires buff their tread against hot pavement.

At the next stoplight, Steve slams on the breaks. 

Billy almost flies through the goddamn windshield. He sits back against car seat leather. He breathes through his nose, counting to ten before he realizes that he’s covered in cigarette ash. His cigarette isn’t lit anymore.

Steve watches him evenly, soulful brown eyes calm.

Too calm.

Billy frowns. “What the fuck is going on with you, man?”

Steve shrugs. 

“It’s just a cigarette,” Billy presses forward, turning in his seat to give this his full fledged fucking attention. “You’re acting like you did when I was moving back home and you thought you couldn’t ask to come. Right before you broke Tommy Hagan’s nose when he said–”

“I know what that asshole said, I’m fifty, not a hundred,” Steve snaps. “I’m not acting like anything.”

“Yeah,” Billy says, shifting, “Yeah, you are. Like that time Alice wouldn’t let you come visit because she was doing that bullshit Home for 40 Days thing after Serena was born,” Billy tells him. He watches Steve’s face. Notices the crack before it happens because they’ve been friends for decades. 

It hurts him. “Steve–”

“I asked to come eventually,” Steve says, voice soft as feather down, neglecting to mention that he didn’t stay in California. “You moved back after the divorce. When Alice–”

“The light’s green,” Billy says. 

“I’m fine,” Steve tells him. “It’s fine.” He breathes through his nose, pawing at the brim of his dorky sun hat like he forgot it was there, for a moment. Like he wants to rip it off. 

Suddenly, with the force of a riptide, Billy misses the wave of Steve’s hair, still impossibly thick even into their middle age. He wants the hat gone, the sun free of all its massive danger. 

“I won’t smoke anymore,” Billy says, “If you want me to stop, I will.”

The moment hangs between them, and then, behind, someone honks.

“I want you to live forever,” Steve admits. Soft. Sweet.

Billy almost breaks in half. Isn’t sure why they’re talking about this now, in a car, on their way to the Market. But that’s what happens when you get older. Every moment like an oak leaf on the wind, slipping like water through clenched fists. 

He frowns, asking, “What about you?” Because. He wouldn’t want to spend forever alone.

“Why else am I wearing a fucking sunhat, Billy?”

Billy’s stomach knots. He opens his mouth to admit that he’s been in love with Steve for forty years, and he’ll always be the kind of man who burps and says the wrong thing and pushes too hard and smokes cigarettes, but. 

He loves him. 

Steve waits. When the second honk comes, he turns away, pulling his shitty old car onto Menard Street without another word. 

Billy swallows love, the movement as familiar to him as their friendship. It tastes like cigarette smoke. He tosses his unlit fag out the window, feeling like the shit hole scum of the earth when Steve reports that 30% of wildfires start with a carelessly discarded cigarette.

There’s a drought, too, Billy doesn’t say.

He should’ve thought it out. But it’s Steve. He only wanted to suck the wound.

–

Steve’s been twitchy for as long as Billy’s known him. It’s worse when he has something to say, when the skeletons in his closet regrow their ligament to stand on knocking knees, banging on the door, asking for an escape. 

Billy’s been around long enough to know that it’s best not to push, even when that’s all he does, all he’ll ever do. But. When it comes to Steve Harrington, things are different. Always. 

“What should we do first,” Billy asks. Knowing Steve’ll talk when he’s ready.

Harrington parks his car, the last in a long line of hybrids and hatchbacks, near the edge of the park. “I’m looking for honey,” He says, voice pulled tight like an out-of-tune string instrument. In a hurry. One wrong stroke and he’ll snap.

“‘Kay,” Billy says. 

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands once they’re out of the car. He resists the urge to lick his palm for a breath check, knowing he’ll find coffee and burnt toast and filmy pink love; tries to stop himself from tucking his shirt into the waist of his jeans, unfurling into the type of man that stops smoking and goes to Farmer’s Markets every weekend because his best friend asks him to. Against all odds.

Billy trots with Steve over the hill and into the market, his heart in his throat. They find the honey booth quickly and wait in line together, Steve tapping out an impatient rhythm on the cobblestone.

“You’re so squirrely today,” Billy says. He claps a hand on Steve’s neck, trying to squeeze out the tension. Wanting to touch him. 

Steve shrugs him off. 

Dick.

Billy rolls his shoulders and crosses his arms for safe keeping, having learned long ago that his hands will gravitate to Steve Harrington if given the chance. Billy aches for a cigarette, squints into the strengthening sunlight, yearning for his sunglasses, sunscreen, a sun hat–

“Lot of Pride Flags,” Billy says gruffly. His palms sweat, tacking unhelpfully to the hair on his forearms. It’s like he blinked, came up for air, and Indiana got progressive.

Steve stiffens next to him, “It’s June first, I think,” He says, hiding something.

“No shit?” Billy turns just in time to catch Steve watching him, a weird look in his eyes. “Should call Serena this afternoon.”

“Let’s go lesbians,” Steve says, a soft, pink smile on his face. 

Billy wants to ask about Robin, even though he just spoke to her on Wednesday when she called to demand how he keeps his tomato plants blooming into November. He wants to grab Steve by the face and say see, I’m alive. I’m here. I have a garden, and a daughter, and Robin remembers how I used to drink shitty Miller Lite and blast Elton John when you went out with girls. She remembers how much I wanted you. I would carve your name into every piece of driftwood that I threw into the quarry because my skin would scar over. Useless. Old and bereft while the driftwood would float forever, dissolving into the earth with your name sheathed in its very matter, bright and evergreen—

Steve buys two jars of honey.

He buys two of everything, at the Market, one for himself. One for Billy. Billy tries not to think about it.

“Where should we go next,” Steve makes room in the folds of his bag for the first of their loot. 

Billy only ever buys books at this thing. He raises one eyebrow, sidestepping a pair of lesbians that send a shock of tenderness down his spine. Heather and Robin in ‘87. He bites his tongue, though, thinking through their usual haunts. “What about the corn booth?” 

Steve loves sweet corn. He’s a cliche, shrugging his shoulders, “Could do that. We could try something else, too.”

Billy looks at him, grinning, “Okay, what do you have in mind?”

“Well. We started with honey.”

“Yeah.”

“The bakery booth is supposed to be out this week, I heard.” Steve hasn’t shut up about the orange-cranberry muffins he got on a lunch break two weeks ago. He shrugs, thinking better of it. Feigning nonchalance. Billy would fall for it if they hadn’t known each other for years. “Or we could go to the book stand,” Steve says. 

Dangling hope in the starched summer air.

Billy startles a laugh, “Already? We haven’t done your grocery shopping for the week.”

“It’s hot, we don’t have to stay long,” Steve says, watching the crowd thrall around them, “You deserve something for coming out with me today.”

“I come out with you every weekend.”

Steve groans, “C’mon, I’m trying to be nice. Either we go to the book stand, or we’re getting muffins.”

“I’m trying not to eat so much sugar,” A blonde boy skitters into the Market lane, turning to grin past the swell of Billy’s shoulder. There’s a pride flag painted on his cheek bone, smeared delicately by the slide of lips. Billy tries to look away, “Gluten, either.”

Steve gapes, “So you’re not eating sugar or gluten anymore but you’ve never met a cigarette you didn’t like?”

The blonde waits in the sunlight, fingers stretched out in front of him until a boy with huge, soft brown hair knits into all his boyfriend’s empty spaces. 

They kiss. 

Billy looks at Steve, flushed. 

Steve holds his gaze. Finally, “Let’s go to the book stand,” He says, catching Billy off guard. Throwing him a bone.

–

Hawkin’s Public Library was forced, a screaming, tantrum filled child, into the new millennium about a month after Billy and Alice divorced and Serena told the judge she wanted to move back home to Indiana. 

To be with Uncle Steve. That’s what she’d said to the judge. “Daddy and me want Uncle Steve,” Billy had noticed how Alice went ram-rod straight at the name. Like she always did, sour by the way Billy and their daughter, both, couldn’t seem to live without him. “We want to go home.”

So, they went. Alice didn’t try to stop them.

Really, home in the textbook sense was always California. Serena was born in Long Beach. She could stand on a surfboard by the time she was two years old and she abhorred the winter, any item of clothing that sat too close to the base of her neck. The smell of barley. None of that mattered, in the long run. 

Hawkins was home to her. Their clumsy, earnest, well loved vernacular to the court’s stuffy, clinical language.

It didn’t matter to Serena that Indiana was a relic in Billy’s history. She had never moved past sleepy summers spent landlocked, running through sprinklers with Max and Lucas’ wheat-fed kids and eating bomb pops in the swimming pool with a slew of found family aunts and uncles, her halo of blonde ringlets crunchy from too much chlorine. 

Even into her adolescence, the only person she let brush her hair straight out of the pool was her Uncle Steve. The only person she cried to was Uncle Steve. The adult she loved most in the world, except her dad. Maybe.

Billy’s own memories of that time were worn thin. Throbbing with heartache, like a damsel who was bound to find her way back home at the end of some terrible, cruel romantic comedy. He ached on the plane ride to Hawkins. Burned when they moved into the new house. Crumbled as he slept alone every night, grateful in tiny, hidden places that Serena had seemed to process her parent’s divorce and their subsequent move across the country before the first box had been unpacked.

For Billy, things weren’t so easily digested.

He needed time to let the guilt swallow him. The sting of hurt to lick at his fingers. Alice and the tattered flag of their loveless marriage paled in comparison to the way Steve had slipped wordlessly into her place.

It almost killed Billy that they were happier, here. That neither one of them had tried to hold on to their life back in California. 

–

Point is, they used to take Serena to the library together.

Billy’s own mom had believed that books were the key to everything. Children learn by watching colorful characters trail their way through the hills and valleys of friendship. They’re introduced to death and loss in the fold of a page, the monochrome glint of words on yellowing cardstock. They learn to let go by watching someone else do it first. 

Really, Serena hadn’t needed the library. Even at that age she was more level-headed than Billy had been in his entire life, but Steve suggested they go, anyway. “We have to raise a reader, like you.” He’d said. As if Billy was the best thing a person could be.

We.

We have to raise a reader.

–

Hawkins Library sells used books at the Farmer’s Market these days. Budget and funding cuts forcing their hand, Billy caught in a violent spell of fifty-cent paperbacks. 

The memory of Serena holding Steve’s hand, trailing excitedly down every aisle. Even the grown-up ones. Scowling when Steve would snatch every book from her hand, spitting they were, “inappropriate for little girls, Serena.”

Demanding to know when she’d be old enough to read anything with vampires in it.

Billy smiles at the memory, heart fluttering as Steve trails in front of him now in his dorky sun hat, calloused fingers dancing over the spines of every book on the Memoirs shelf. 

Without his salt and pepper showing, and if Steve’s face wasn’t furled in concentration so that his laugh lines gouged deeper into the split around his mouth; Steve looks the same as he always has. 

Billy side-steps another pair of lesbians, running head-first into the LGBTQIA+ Romance section. His heart thuds. He looks around, trying to catalog this territory. Pride flags, Cher playing over a pill-sized bluetooth speaker.

The portable shelf has a flier stuck to it. A disco ball with rainbow streamers falling like wet rags from the words Hawkins Community GSA Presents: Queer Prom. Get Your Tickets at the Booth!

Billy turns, heart in his throat. He watches Steve mouth along to the back of whatever book he’s holding. Catches sight of some president, or something, staring nobly through the break of Steve’s fingers. 

Some twink, sandwiched between the next row of shelves, laughs, and Steve looks up. Catching Billy. He deposits the memoir back on the shelf. “You drug me all the way over here and you haven’t even looked at anything.”

Billy swallows the lump in his throat. “What’s going on, Steve?”

“I don’t know–”

Billy rips the flier from the book shelf, thrusting it into Steve’s wide, waiting palms. 

Steve mouths along to the words. Like he did with the memoir. Like he always has, with the instructions on Betty Crocker Cake Boxes, and the confusing swirl of the How To’s for little girl’s play sets, stretching all the way back to the spring of 1985 when he would pay Billy in saccharine smiles to read Kafka out loud. Write Steve’s essays for him.

“Huh,” Steve flushes bright pink across the bridge of his nose. “Get your tickets at the booth,” He says, artfully avoiding Billy’s gaze, “Cool idea. The instructions aren’t very clear, though, there’s so many booths–”

“You said today was a special occasion,” Billy accuses flatly. It’s getting harder to breathe. “You said you weren’t acting weird, but you’re acting weird, and I–”

“--Will you go to prom with me?” Steve says. Then, Immediately, “I don’t want to freak you out.”

Billy snatches the flier back from him, shaking all over. 

“Okay, alright,” Steve swallows, fingers splayed like Billy’s a junkyard dog who’s backed into a corner. Who’ll attack any minute now. “Look, I just. I thought if I was gonna grow a pair of balls, like. If I was ever gonna do this, I should do it here.”

That doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

Steve inches closer, his lined, aging, familiar, beautiful face open like a sunroof. Like a hole in the sky. “Billy,” Steve says, “Ever since I met you–”

“--What the fuck is going on–”

“--Stop, okay? Just. Let me say this?” Steve waits, patiently, for a confirmation. Billy doesn’t move or breathe or blink. Steve presses forward, “Ever since I met you when I was seventeen years old I thought. You were someone I could spend the rest of my life with.”

Someone exhales all the wind in their lungs. Billy. 

Steve bristles at the sound. He pulls inward, seeming to notice that people are looking at them over the bookshelves with the kind of intensity that puts a basketball court under Billy’s feet. That reminds him of how Steve would defend Billy to the world before he got better.

Before he was worth anyone’s love.

“So,” Steve lifts a hand to his forehead before realizing he’s still in the sun hat. He takes it off, “I had a speech,” He tells the sun hat, folding the brim between two fingers. Hair a mess but still perfect. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“I think I’ll pass out,” Billy admits earnestly.

“I’d catch you,” Steve says, so. Billy takes a timid step forward, flinching out of his skin when Steve looks up and says, “I’m in love with you.”

Once upon a time, Billy thought the world would collapse if they said those words out loud.

It doesn’t.

“So,” Billy rasps, wringing the flier in his fist, “You thought. You could ask me to prom?”

“We didn’t get to go to prom when we were kids.”

“You went with Nancy,” Billy snaps, strangling the flier. “You danced. I watched you dance–”

“--We didn’t get to go together.”

“You wanted to go to prom with me?”

“Of course. Billy, I moved to California because I was in love with you.” Steve says, like just saying it out loud points to the bread-crumb trail of what they’ve been dancing around for all these years. Like ah-ha. Checkmate.

Billy sniffs. Something wet on his cheeks. “You left California.”

“Because I was in love with you.” Steve nods slowly, “You. You met Alice, and. I thought–”

“--I can’t go to gay prom with you, Steve.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye, used to Billy’s flair for the dramatic. “Why not?”

“Because,” Billy says, looking around desperately. All he finds are lesbians and twinks weaving in and out of the aisles, caught in their own little crystal-clear worlds, useless. “Because I’m in my fifties. And so are you.”

“The event is all ages,” Steve tells him, bored, “Well. Really it’s for old people. Because we never got to have one.”

And. 

The fact that Steve went to prom with Nancy, that he bought flowers and pinned a satin pink corsage to her dress, holding her hand while they danced under seafoam lights, but it wasn’t what he wanted. 

Who he wanted–

Billy sniffs. Trying to stamp out the fire in his chest. “I have a mortgage and and a tomato garden, and a daughter in New York–”

“--This was Serena’s idea,” Steve admits suddenly. “She’s the one who sent me the information on Facebook.”

Of course.

Billy nods, “You’re wearing a sunhat.” His chest, opening like a springtime rose. Stupid. “You can’t say you love me and then ask me to prom when you’re wearing–”

“I took it off,” Steve says. A smile in his voice.

“I stopped smoking for you,” Bill accuses. 

Steve snorts, “Like you aren’t gonna finish the pack first.”

Billy laughs, and it’s wet-sounding. It rattles in his chest and then bursts into the air between them, somehow pulling Steve across the cobblestone. He pushes Billy’s hair back from his face, fiddling with the same earring that’s been there for forty years. Changed only once, for prom.

Billy looks at him. Catalogs the years, the love that grew like ivy over everything else. He hiccups, “I never thought you’d love me back.”

“Of course I love you back.”

“But,” He says, thinking of how their lives could have been so different, “Why–”

“--We can have this,” Steve tells him, pulling Billy close. “We deserve this.”

Another thing Billy will have to settle into. 

It’s nice. He wants to kiss Steve, so he does, because Hawkins has turned into the kind of place that hosts gay prom, where lesbians and twinks roam freely in their little rainbow outfits. 

Steve licks into Billy’s mouth and they melt into each other, gone soft by the years, and the heat of June. When Steve pulls away, his lips press like stamps to Billy’s forehead, his chin, both eyes, his mustache–

Billy giggles. “We should get our tickets.”

“I already have them,” Steve says.

Billy pulls back, gawking.

“I ordered them online.”

“You know how to order things online?”

“Serena ordered them,” Steve says, shrugging. 

And.

Billy grunts. Wanting to say that he could’ve said no. He’s still himself, after all, smoke free organic or not, but. Steve knits their fingers together, “C’mon,” He says, and Billy doesn’t ask where they’re going next. It doesn’t matter. 

They’ve been in love since they were seventeen. Billy’s just happy that it gets to live out in the open, now. Glittery with pride.