#it should be noted i was coming back from buying weed

[cannibalspicnic]

Back around the time when IWTV premiered (but before I'd had a chance to watch it) I ended up on the L train to Brooklyn with Jacob Anderson and Sam Reid.

I'm a good New Yorker so I didn't bother them or say anything, but when my stop arrived, I had to essentially shimmy past Sam Reid to get out the door, and we made eye contact, and I almost lost it, and I'm certain that he knew that I knew who he was, and he kinda stared into my soul for a second, and I got off the train like, "OK YEAH THAT GUY IS FUCKING LESTAT."

A+ experience.

Also Jacob and Sam seemed to be having a blast together. It was very cute.

[highvern]

Beggin' On My Knees

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, hint of angst, established relationship, biker! hoshi

warnings: pregnancy, impreg/breeding kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, spitting, praise kink

Length: ~8k

Note: inspired by the Please, Please, Please MV. this was originally an idea for taehyung but alas my top freak took over again. something about biker/mechanic hoshi really is beautiful thank u @tomodachiii @haologram and @gyuswhore for keeping me sane

summary: After another run in with the law, you come to terms with the fact your friends might be right about your fiancé.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Even at your age, it’s somehow more embarrassing to buy pregnancy tests than condoms. You wouldn’t know since you’ve never bought condoms. That particular responsibility falls exclusively on your fiance after the few times in college when you snagged handfuls from the bucket inside the campus clinic.

You’ve bought a pregnancy test before. Not for yourself but for friends too embarrassed to walk into the pharmacy and publicly declare how active their sex lives were. Now you understand why they wanted someone else to do it. Why are there twenty different brands? Why do they require some high school employee to unlock the case so you can pick the one you want? Why are they so damn expensive? The anxiety you feel rivals the first time you bought weed sophomore year of college from some sleazy frat boy.

You’ve got the box resting on the bathroom counter, a timer on your phone, and the test just out of sight while you pace back and forth in the small space. The door is shut for no other reason than to isolate away from Soonyoung in the event he gets off work early.

You should call Soonyoung. He’d want to know, fight the urge to say something stupid like “I’ll try harder next time” when the tests come back negative and instead offer to pee on one in solidarity if only to lighten the mood.

You never understood when people say a woman just knows until right now because with each passing second the reality that those tests are going to be positive sink in. Despite the fact you and Soonyoung almost always use a condom and the times without them end with him coming anywhere not inside you. You just know it.

Each second ticks down like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your stomach twists.  Surprisingly, you don’t dread it as much as you would have a year ago. But a million things a baby entails rush over you. Cleaning out the spare room upstairs, doctors appointments, daycare, clothes, school. Do you even know how to actually take care of a kid? One that belongs to you, who you can’t give back to their person when they get fussy or hurt.

Soonyoung was born to be a dad. He never hid how badly he wanted a family of his own, a family with you. He’s good with kids too. You’ve seen him with his nieces and nephews, your friends’ kids. The middle schoolers in your neighborhood come to him with broken bikes and scooters to be fixed, knock on your front door to ask if he can help them get their ball down from some tree. Even if he doesn't know what he’s doing he’d be there by your side.

As the initial shock washes away, the knots in your chest slowly unfurl. You can do this. Even though you planned your life down to the last detail, Soonyoung has a way of sweeping you into his tide. Engagement, marriage, house, babies. In that order. You’ve already got the house before he asked you to marry him and your wedding is only a month away. 

After the worst of the panic settles into restless jitters, you leave the solitude of the bathroom. Soonyoung still isn’t home from work yet but it isn’t unusual. He’s been pulling more hours, shouldering more responsibilities since Mr. Lee, the owner, hinted at a promotion. Glancing at the clock, you guess he’ll walk through the door in two hours which gives you plenty of time to put together something to surprise him.

After a long shower, you burn time by cleaning up non-existent messes; you can’t sit still. The ‘surprise’ ends up being lackluster. Your weekly grocery shopping trip is tomorrow so the fridge is slim pickings for dinner and you make the executive decision to go out once Soonyoung is home. Some fancy restaurant neither of you can afford with tiny dishes designed to leave you hungry and stopping at the diner at the edge of town for a burger. 

While the noise from the TV hums in the background, you scroll through internet searches on what to do when expecting. Doctors appointments, blood tests, advice on budgeting. It’s information overload but you’re giddy even with the stress.. Then you see it. A screenshot from one of your friends. No words, just a photo. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The longer you stare the quicker the realization becomes a reality. Soonyoung, your Soonyoung, the Soonyoung you’ve been waiting to get home, the reason for three positive pregnancy tests still on the bathroom counter, stares back. Or his mugshot does. A proud stain on the town jail’s website for everyone to see.

Storming out of the house, you notice Jeonghan’s car is gone from his own driveway. Hopefully he’s given your fiance an earful at the station already. If not, you’ve got plenty to say.

Whatever giddy happiness possessed you earlier is long gone, rotten disgust taking its place. How stupid do you look waiting for him at home while he’s gone and gotten himself locked up?

That stupid bike.

It isn’t the first time. That was the initial appeal back when you were a doe eyed freshman, finally out from under your parents thumb with more freedom than you knew how to handle. Soonyoung was the stereotypical bad boy with a taste for fast cars, working in a garage to your good girl persona who set the curve in all her classes. A few drinks at a run down dive bar landed you on his bike in some back alley, a hand under your skirt while he whispered the nastiest things you’ve ever heard. Then you returned the favor back at his apartment, riding him with enough vigor the headboard slapping against the wall sent his neighbors into a fit.

Then came the routine of Soonyoung picking you up from your dorms late at night, staying out until sunrise doing who knows what. He showed you off at street races, called you his girl in front of friends, and would take you out to the lake after winning a race and make you feel like a winner too. 

It was fun. 

Until the calls he’d been out street racing again wore down your patience as your friends’ giddy curiosity turned to embarrassment and ‘I told you so’s. It wasn’t enough to break your heart, but it tore your ego to shreds. They called him a loser and you defended him time and time again because you loved him. Because he promised it wouldn’t happen again.

He promised the last time was the last time. The time before that was also the last time and the time before and so on. 

The parking lot of the police station is nearly empty this time of day; a few police cars and a handful of other vehicles. Otherwise, it sits deserted. 

Jeognhan is waiting for you at the front desk, pretending to type away at something on the computer but you know better. You’ve done this song and dance too many times. 

“What the fuck did he do this time?” 

He quirks an eyebrow, sliding a clipboard with the usual paperwork your way as he speaks. “What do you think?” 

You nearly rip through the paper from pressing the pen so hard as you sign. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Ma’am, language,” a young officer warns.

You’ve never seen him before and the stern look on his face pisses you off even more. His eyes widen in what must be fear because he scrambles back to the filing cabinet at the back of the room without speaking. “I didn’t know you had a new bitch, Han.” 

Jeonghan takes his clipboard back before you can whack him with it. “Nope, that's still your fiancé. Chan, go get Soonyoung from the box.” 

“Tell him I’ve got a hammer in the car for his balls,” you call. 

“Please refrain from making threats inside the police station.”

Soonyoung has the sense to look afraid when he rounds the corner. He’s still in his work clothes, oil stained shirt and dirty coveralls, hair matted to his forehead. You can only imagine what he sees. Last time you picked up he’d still been drunk from a bar fight and you made him sleep on the porch with Jeonghan’s engine as an alarm clock. You’d been too tired to make threats, half asleep the entire time. This time, you feel on the verge of crying, throwing up, and exploding into a fiery rage.

You don’t wait for him while Jeonghan hands over the bag of Soonyoung’s belongings. Halfway to the car, he races to catch up without a word and goes as far as rushing ahead to open the driver's door for you. There’s a fraction of a second you contemplate speeding off before he can get into the passenger seat, let him walk home in the dark as punishment for being a dumbass. But you don’t. You want to yell at him for being a dumbass until your throat bleeds.

The car smells like motor oil and sweat with him so close in the passenger seat. You gag at the stench, rolling all the windows down to avoid vomiting. The last thing you want right now is to need him.

Under usual circumstances the silence hanging heavy in the air would be comfortable, familiar and warm with the golden hue of the sunset and the sound of cicadas not far off. The world holds its breath, but you don’t.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out you got arrested from someone sending me your mugshot?” you ask at the first red light. Soonyoung tries to answer but you cut him off. “No, you don’t. Because I’d never put you in that position.”

He grumbles out the window. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re better than me.”

“You think I’m pissed because I think I’m better than you? I’m pissed because you act like a fucking loser. I’m pissed because you’re a liar! You promised me you wouldn’t do this dumb shit anymore. YOU PROMISED ME. And I look like an idiot because I’m stupid enough to trust you.”

You wait for an excuse. Some honeyed platitude about how much he loves you and it being a mistake and how it’ll never happen again but Soonyoung offers nothing. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

You scoff. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Clearly!” you shriek, the vein in your neck throbbing. “Do you know how it feels to have my friends send me your mugshot? I’m at home tearing my hair out and you’re street racing some kid for kicks.”

“He wasn’t a kid—” 

“I don’t give a fuck!” The edges of your vision scorch red, teeth gnashing. You’ve never been this angry with him. You’ve never been this angry, period. “Grow up!”

He’s lucky Jeonghan caught him and not one of the other officers hell bent on cleaning up the streets. He’s lucky you didn’t have to front bail money neither of you have, especially now. Instead of spending the weekend in jail, Soonyoung’s punishment is fixing whatever Jeonghan sends his way for the next month free of charge but it’s not enough, not even close.

The kill shot bubbles on the tip of your tongue but that last bit of self control keeps it under lock and key. This isn’t how you thought you’d tell him, nowhere close to the way the evening happened in your head before you saw that picture. You wanted to surprise him. Watch the way the news sunk in slowly then all at once. You remember the test you left on the kitchen counter for him to find when he got home before everything went to shit. The ember of rage flairs back to life.

“You wanna race so bad, go fetch!” You don’t think as you rip the keys to that cursed bike from his hands and chuck them out the window into the grassy median, gone in a flash. It’s only a temporary solution but it feels good. It’s the next best thing to taking a bat to his bike until there’s nothing salvageable.

Soonyoung sputters. “Are you crazy?” 

Maybe. You’re absolutely toeing the line of unhinged. The car skids to a stop, tires burning against the asphalt. Thankfully the road is clear of any traffic.

“Get out,” you demand.

“What?”

“Get out. Get out, get out, get out!” You repeat the words over and over until he does what you tell him to. You feel the suffocating tightness in your chest signaling tears are seconds away. 

“Baby, let's talk about this,” Soonyoung begs. He tries to reach through the window, he knows your weak spots too well. You snatch your hand away before he can take advantage.

“You can have this back!” You launch the diamond band right at his chest before taking off.

You get back home on autopilot. There are red lights and stop signs and other traffic laws you can’t remember if you followed but you’re in the driveway and barreling up the porch with shaky breaths. Guilt doesn’t cross your mind for a second. Soonyoung didn’t feel guilty for racing like a dumbass until he got caught, so why should you feel guilty for letting him deal with the consequences? 

The urge to do something mean, not just mean but hurtful with the intent of seeing Soonyoung sick to his stomach, rears its head. If that’s what you wanted then mission accomplished. He saved for a year to buy that ring and you threw it in his face like it was nothing but cheap plastic. The ire from earlier rushes out of you like a deflating balloon. Your fingers itch for a cigarette but unlike your now ex fiance, you have to cut out all your vices. There’s no relief in pacing back and forth. There won’t be any solace inside the house either. You’re so tired. All the highs and lows of the day have drained you of everything. You don’t want to be mad or sad or anything anymore. You just want to go to bed and sleep off the entire day. 

You want to leave but you don’t. You want to yell some more but Soonyoung will be at least another hour. There’s nothing to anxiously clean while waiting so you water the crispy plants on the porch while you wait.

Jeonghan’s cruiser pulls into his driveway across the street thirty minutes later. Still no sign of Soonyoung, not a missed call or text. You think to worry but he gets out of Jeonghan’s passenger seat and trudges your way.

He looks angry and tired. But your swollen eyes and splotchy face melts the furrow in his brows.

“I’m—”

You silence him with a blast from the water hose. Soonyoung takes his punishment like a man, standing completely still while you douse him from head to toe. 

“I deserve that. Please, just listen to me—” He’s silent with another stream aimed at his chest. You feel some validation seeing him embody the way you feel: pathetic. 

“Will you put the hose down so we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you huff, dropping the hose for him to clean up.

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“No.” You head towards the door with no intention of letting Soonyoung inside. “Go sleep at Jeonghan’s, I don’t wanna be around you right now.”

“He already told me no.”

Jeonghan would take mercy on Soonyoung in this state; soaked to the bone with your engagement ring in his pocket.

You turn to face him. “I want you to get rid of your bike.”

Soonyoung stays at the foot of the stairs leading up the porch. He knows how you feel and he has the sense to look ashamed.

“You want me to sell Tammy?” he asks.

“I want Tammy to fall off a cliff into the abyss but that’s obviously not going to happen,” you seethe, blinking away more frustrated tears.

“I have a lot of good memories with Tammy.”

“What? The first time you got arrested? Or the time you fell off and broke your arm? Oh, I know! When you ended up in a ditch?”

“The time I asked you to be my girlfriend. And the time I won enough money to help put a down payment on the house. When—“

“It’s me or her.”

Does it feel juvenile giving your fiance an ultimatum between you and a godforsaken bike? Absolutely. But you’ve got a kid to think about now and the thought of Soonyoung missing their life because he’s too busy chasing the rush makes you sick.

“It’s you.” Soonyoung says it with finality but you don’t believe him.

“Then prove it.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Sell it. First thing tomorrow morning.”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m not selling my bike.”

“Then I’ll be sure to tell your kid their dad is a fucking loser.” 

He blinks like the words don’t fully set in but your back is already to him by the time they do. Locked inside the house, you lean back against the door. You don’t want him to hear the crack of breath in your throat breaking into hot, wet tears. 

“What do you mean my kid?” Soonyoung’s panicked voice comes through the door. “YN! Open the door!”

“Go away.”

His whispered curses slip through the door while he scrambles for the spare key hidden in the potted plant by the door. If you really wanted him locked out, you would’ve remembered to move it before he got home. Part of you does want him stuck as far away as possible. You don’t want to face him because you know he’ll kiss your tears away and that’s all you want right now. You want him to hold you, promise you everything will be okay.

The lock of the bedroom door clicks into place right as Soonyoung gets the front door open. You hear him downstairs, looking for where you’re hidden. You can plot his course in your head: straight through the living into the kitchen where one of the positive tests waits to greet him on the counter, then he comes racing up the stairs and outside the door.

He twists the doorknob with no success. “YN.”

“Go away,” you sniffle into the pillow. His pillow. You’re on his side of the bed, in one of his old shirts because even if you wish you hated him.  

A dull thud against the door and a sigh signals his departure. You hear him shuffling back downstairs, but the sound of the front door never comes. The fatigue of the day takes over swiftly. Surrounded by the comforting smell of Soonyoung, you fall asleep until the smell of food wafts up through the vents. Not burnt but if Soonyoung is in the kitchen then it’s only a matter of time.

You creep down the stairs, careful to stay quiet so you can sneak back up without getting caught. Soonyoung’s body blocks whatever he’s organizing on the counter but you tell it’s a bribe from the sight of take out bags piled in the trash.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner. Do you want some?”

He’s got an entire pizza with garlic knots and cinnamon twists laid out like a feast. You watch him pretend to be nonchalant but he’s glued to your every move as you approach the counter and shove an entire garlic knot into your mouth, chewing with enough force to warn you haven’t forgiven him yet even though you're close to it. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Then we won’t talk,” he sighs into the base of your skull, fingers edging beneath your shirt for the comforting warmth of skin on skin. 

“Don’t,” you say, but lean back into the warmth of his body despite yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Sure he is. You know he means it. Soonyoung is always sorry but it doesn’t stop him from being a dumbass. But he’s your dumbass no matter how many fights you have.

He lets you eat, content to hide his face in your shoulder and his fingers warm against the waistband of your sweatpants. You hate crying and you hate crying in front of him – because of him – even more. The heavy silence of the kitchen and the love of your life clinging onto you like his life depends on it brings a fresh prick of tears. Once you start, you can’t stop. The tears keep coming as Soonyong maneuvers your face into his chest. His new, clean shirt turns into your tissue. You fall into him without hesitation.

“Are you really…” he asks quietly, dropping kiss after kiss against your hair while you wring out like a sponge. 

“Do you think I’d lie to make you feel bad?”

“No. I just—fuck. You’re pregnant.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“How do you feel?”

You blow your nose into his neck. “Like I wanna punch my kid’s dad in the nuts.”

“He probably deserves that.”

“He definitely does.”

“And he deserves to sleep outside.”

“Yep,” you nod.

“But you still love him?”

“Of course I do, you big idiot,” you sigh, leaning back to look at him. Mistake. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” His brow presses to yours, face rounded out, soft cheeks that make you want to scream. Brown eyes shine beneath his lashes. Soonyoung knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t but things would be a lot easier if you did.

Soonyoung takes the silence as an admission, and when you don’t object he falls to his knees, pulls your shirt out of the way and presses his face into your stomach. “We should name it Donatello.”

“No.”

“Leonardo.”

“No,” you giggle despite yourself.

“Raphael.”

“You are not naming our baby after a Ninja Turtle.”

“Mojo Jojo Jojo.”

“No.”

“Thanos.”

“Stop!”

“You’re laughing?” Soonyoung gasps, rushing to his feet to pin your squirmy body between him and the counter’s edge. “I’m trying to have a very serious conversation and you’re laughing?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you love me.”

You nod, hiding back into his chest where it’s safe. “Yeah, I love you.”

The silence marinates between you. 

“I’ll sell the bike, promise.”

“You’re not the best at keeping promises.”

“This time is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want our kid to grow up thinking their dad doesn’t worship the ground their mom walks on. Because I know she’s way too good for me and I’m lucky to have her.”

“I’m not too good for you, I hate when you say that.”

“You called me a loser.”

“I said you acted like a loser and I won’t take that back.” 

He looks away. “That’s fair.”

The icy wall of hurt freezes back up but you’re too tired to drag on the fight any longer. “When I found out my reaction wasn’t ’oh he’s being stupid.’ It was ‘how would I tell our kid their dad missed their birthday because he got himself locked up.’ That’s all I could think about. Explaining to our kid over and over why you’re never there.”

The words rest like a wet blanket over his flame of excitement. He doesn’t want to be that kind of dad; the one who misses their child’s life for something as stupid as street racing. Who leaves you to pick up a broken heart time and time again, two broken hearts.

You’re at arms length, Soonyoung examining you like a puzzle he can’t figure out but wants to try anyway. You hate when he looks at you like that. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’re gonna be a great mom.”

“Shut up.” You hide the blush staining across your cheeks with another slice of pizza. 

“You are.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I need you to be a good dad. And if you can’t then I’m not afraid to do it by myself.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Can I talk to it?”

“If you want to.” You don’t tell him that the thing growing in your womb curiously of him is the size of a pea and doesn’t have a face, let alone ears. You want to hear what his first words as a dad are.

He rucks your shirt up higher until it’s bunched beneath your breast, stomach on full display for him to bury his face into. 

“Hi. I’m your dad,” he starts timidly. You bite back a smile at his earnestness. “I don’t usually make your mom this angry. Usually, she’s pretty happy with me.” His lips brush your stomach with each word, tickling them into your skin. “I hope you take after her. She’s smart, and she’s pretty. God, she’s so pretty. I remember the first time I saw your mom and I knew I wanted to marry her.”

You snort. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did,” he corrects. “We were at this bar. You’re not allowed to go there. Ever. Maybe when you’re thirty or I’m dead. But I remember seeing her when she walked in and I thought ‘that is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and if she talks to me, I’ll throw up.’ I still feel like that sometimes. Even when she’s mad at me. And then when I got the courage to talk to her, I didn’t throw up because your old man is cool.”

Your heart swells too big for your chest. The night you met him wasn’t the stuff of fairytales. You saw him across the bar, all blonde hair and ruby cheeks as he screamed with his friends. He did throw up the first time you talked to him. After an hour of riding him until it hurt, you melted boneless in his lap and he snuck away to the bathroom to toss the used condom. You faked asleep as he emptied his guts into the toilet bowl before crawling back to bed and begging for cuddles. Pure romance.

“So cool,” you tease.

Soonyoung laces your fingers together, nipping at your fingertips in protest. “Your mom is mean to me but it’s okay because I love her. You’ll love her too. I just hope you’ll love me.”

You fight the urge to cry, only a single tear streaking down your cheek before stopping. “They’ll love you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Because I love you and I’m very smart. Remember?”

“I did say that, didn't I?”

You hum in agreement, pulling him up your body to nudge his nose along yours. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” You let him shower you in gentle touches, his hands smoothing up your sides. Soonyoung traps you between his body and the counter, his lips sweeping over your chin, your jaw, your covered chest. That’s when you feel it. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“Feels a lot like your penis to me.”

“That’s a part of the apology,” he whispers, the weight of his cocky heavy against your thigh, harder with each controlled grind. “Can’t believe I knocked you up and I never even came inside of you.”

“I can. You talk about kids so much I bet you manifested this.”

“You want it though, right?”

“Yeah.”

You’re lifted onto the countertop, legs spread around his hips. He’s got one hand wedge between your ass and panties to keep you close. “Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

Not the conversation you thought would happen while you’re tugging his shirt off and working at the tie in his pajamas pants but you humor him.

“I think you’ll be a great dad.” You kiss him gently. His lips, his nose, his cheeks that round in your favorite smile. “If you stop getting arrested. How are you gonna ground Michaelangelo if you keep getting in trouble too?”

“She’s gonna be too smart for that. Just like her mom.”

“Oh, it’s a she now?”

“I’ve got a feeling.” He nips at your throat, a sweet flick of his tongue to soothe the sting. “Back to me coming inside you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Gonna take it all for me?”

Your chin tips back to provide more skin for Soonyoung to mark up. “Want it.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he heaves. You’re trapped between a hand against the crotch of your panties and one pawing at your ass like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“Take your pants off.”

An amused breath warms your throat. “Someone’s bossy”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you to take your pants off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Shirt gone, sweats pooled around his ankles, Soonyoung stands in nothing but a pair of tenting briefs and the thin chain you gifted him a week after he placed that band on your ring finger.

“Wow, who knew you'd be such a DILF.”

His cheeks tinged pink from the complement. “I’ve been a dad for five minutes and you’re already trying to hit on me.”

“We’re engaged, doofus.”

“Speaking of.” He snatches his pants off the floor, digging through the pockets until a familiar ring appears. “Don’t take this off again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He catches your chin between his fingers, pining you in his gaze. “I don’t care how angry you are with me. When I asked you to marry me, I meant forever.”

You can count on one hand the number of times he’s used that tone of voice with you. Soonyoung doesn't get angry often; at least, not with you. The last time he talked to you like this was when you wandered on the wrong side of town late at night, alone and drunk without a way home. You were pissed about a grade and wanted to do something reckless like every other kid at your university got to. Luckily, Soonyoung found you before trouble could. He used the same tone to chastise you for an hour about how stupid you’d been. 

But he isn’t just mad at your antics. He’s scared too. You look at him — really look at him for the first time since this morning when you kissed him goodbye before work. Red eyes, lip bruised, not from kisses but the way he chews it when he’s anxious.

“I’m sorry.” You pull him back, arms wrapped so tightly around his torso he probably can’t breathe and you both like the certainty of it. The tension in his shoulders softens like candle wax but he doesn’t let go. 

There’s still the matter of damp underwear and his boner. You want him, the gnawing aching way you always want him. Between your legs, stroking your sensitive spots to life over and over again until you beg for mercy he’s too eager to deny.

You nose against his cheek, adoring kiss after kiss against his skin until mouths meet. Soonyoung slips his tongue between the seam of your lips. You feel it the way down to your toes. On instinct, your hand trickles down his front, wedged tight between your bodies to paw at the fabric. A few dry jerks is all it takes for him to unravel.

“Wait,” Soonyoung gasps, hips rutting into the tight squeeze.

He keens with another tug, neck flushing a pretty shade of pink. The linoleum bites into your knees before you mouth over his underwear for a taste of what's to come. You suck the head through his underwear before leaning back to tease him with a kiss.

“Bedroom.”

“Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d refuse a kitchen blowjob,” you snicker.

Soonyoung doesn’t laugh. He pulls you back up into a bruising kiss, biting at your lip until you’re sure it’s bruised. His hand gropes down your ass, fingers tight to your entrance from behind. Whatever he wants like this you’ll agree to.

“Want you on my mouth.”

You’d kneel over his face right here on the kitchen floor if he wanted. But knowing your fiance, his sights are glued to whatever fantasies boil beneath that blond hair of his. 

You race up the stairs, Soonyoung hands heavy on your sides. His thumbs press into the bare curve of your hips. Your clothes fall until just your underwear remains. You want to turn around and mount him on the steps but the second floor landing is close enough you don’t get a chance. 

Soonyoung flicks all the bedroom lights on, eager to see every part of you as you crawl up the bed on all fours in nothing but your underwear. A few years ago you wouldn’t dream of sex with a lamp on let alone the overhead light but years of his utter devotion to your body and wanting to watch you get off like it’s his very own miracle gave you confidence. He looks ready to jump out of his own skin at the doorway. You glance over back and arch your spine a little more, ass higher in the air for his viewing. You might just finger yourself like this to see him suffer. You’ve done it before.

You stretch out, naked chest on display. “Are you coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Unconsciously, he palms his cock and approaches the side of the bed, pulling you into a kiss with a heavy lick of his tongue.

It doesn’t take much to drag him on top of you, dick hot to your thigh, perfect to rut against. There’s too much Soonyoung to think of anything else. His hands pinning you in place, his breath fanning across your chest as he suckles across the slope of your breast, thighs surging between yours in a dry hump you can’t help but beg for more of. His hips stutter when you do.

He follows the same playbook you did earlier; fingers trailing to the wet patch of your wants, mouth following closely. You’re in for a treat when he’s on his knees like this. He wants to tease you the way you did him but Soonyoung isn’t committed to denying you anything, he wants to rake you over hot coals by giving too much. 

Your hands eagerly hook beneath your knees, legs spread wide before him like a feast..

“Taste so good,” he rasps with a soft suck at your clit. “You’re so hot.”

Even with the barrier of your underwear each lick lights you on fire. Soonyoung moans a lewd melody, lost in his own paradise. Your thighs twitch with each gentle prod at your entrance, folded away by his shoulders so he can touch as much as he wants.

The promise from earlier lights up your brain. You twist a tight grip in his hair, pulling hard enough to detach him from your body. Lips wet, eyes blown, Soonyoung tries to dive back down until another twist of your nails makes him wince.

“Call Jeonghan.”

His mouth may be gone but his fingers circle your clit in the way that makes you whine. “What?”

“Call. Him,” you command. 

You snatch your phone from the end table, forcing it into Soonyoung’s grasp. He still doesn’t understand what you’ve asked.

“Sell him the bike right now.”

“Now?” He looks down at your pussy still on display, underwear soaked in spit and arousal.

You nod. Soonyoung knows better than to argue. He’s back in your good graces but only just, the promise of shipping that infernal bike off to someone else keeping him afloat. 

Your body throbs for release, for his mouth to go back to work instead of whispering into the phone when Jeonghan answers. 

“Two grand? Bullshit! There's at least…” he trails off.

You’re not going to stop just because he’s busy. You grab your breasts, taunt nipples visible between your fingers. Clad in a pair of sticky panties and nothing else, you’ve reduced him into a stuttering mess. Any other night he’d already be smothering himself in the wetness. You can see the urge in his gaze as he swallows loudly.

“Four,” Soonyoung counters. His face twists between wanting to argue with the neighbor, brows furrowed, lips in a heavy pout, and watch in awe as you suck on your own fingers before pinching at your chest again.

You’ve got him distracted with a hand between your legs, pushing your underwear out of the way to flash him exactly what he’s earning. Flushed and wet, the smell of sex hangs in the air.

“Thirty-five,” his voice cracks as you spread your legs wider, pulling his hand right where it belongs.

Soonyoung bats your hands away, fingers twisting through your heat. A gentle prod at your entrance like he hasn’t mastered your pussy enough to make you stupid and strung out with a few touches. There’s no way Jeonghan can’t hear every pleased sigh, the wet noise echoing from your pussy, the annoyance in Soonyoung’s voice as they barter back and forth. 

Soonyoung leans over and spits where his fingers disappear, making you jolt with the force as he does it again. You nearly ask him to spit in your mouth just to see his eyes bulge but the opportunity disappears with the sound of Jeonghan’s cackle through the line.

“Fine, three. I’ll give you the keys tomorrow.” He ends the call, forces your hand out of the way, and eagerly makes up for the minutes lost.

Both of your hands find the soft strands of his hair to hold him in place. Your feet plant on the bed beside his wide shoulders, allowing you to hump his face pathetically only to be welcomed with a grunt. The rip of fabric registers right before what was once your underwear is left stretched across the middle of your thigh. 

“S-shit, don’t stop.”

His fingers spread for his tongue to lick between. You punish him for such a dirty move with a harsh pull of his hair that he loves more than anything. Soonyoung does what he does best: groveling for your forgiveness. You’ll give it to him like always. But you both want him to work for it; it’s better when he does. 

He spreads your legs wider, gives a pleased grunt when you hold him in place and grind into his mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant; vision blurry, body on fire.

Soonyoung moans into the sloppy mess of your pussy, sucking your clit between his lips, wedging another finger between the two already ruining you. 

“Oh god—there.”

Your thighs crush his head but he forces them up and open, pinned in place. The tender glow of the end escalates into a scalding burn as it rips through every muscle. You clench so tight around his fingers he can’t move them more than a tight curl. When you cry at the overstimulation he finally rests.

“Did you just—”

Pins and needles ripple through your muscles and all you can do is nod. Once the initial shock fades, there’s a smug twitch of his lips. He catches your foot and pins it before you can kick him.

“Shut up.”

“Have I told you how much I think about you being pregnant?” he asks, watching your every move.

You shake your head. His fingers keep working in gentle strokes, the wet noises quieter than before but loud in your ears. 

“It’s a lot,” he grunts. “Fuck, you’re gonna be so sexy.”

“I’m not already?” you half laugh, half gasp. The spark of arousal already demands more so you rock your hips down despite the sensitivity.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“But I’m not sexy?”

“Don’t pick an argument with me right now, please,” Soonyoung begs. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking about coming in you until you can’t take anymore.”

“Then I’ll be sexy?” you goad.

“You’ve always been sexy.” He punctuates the compliment with a kiss to your left hip bone. “Beautiful.” Another on your right. “Gorgeous.” One on the plush of your thigh. “I love you.”

He folds you in half, knees to chest like you possess the flexibility to stay there, ankles cuffed in his hand, lips hot on the back of your thigh. 

“We should fuck on the bike one more time,” you tease. 

“You want me to defile the mother of my child on a motorcycle?”

You moan at his words. You want him to come wherever he wants, as many times as he can. Until he can’t anymore. To feel nasty and used however he sees fit. You want him on top of you, behind you, bending you over every surface he can until you’re shaking.

“You’re about to defile me right here. W-what’s the difference?”

Soonyoung curls the fingers inside you tight, eyes glued to the way you heave before answering. He fucks into that spot that makes you his puppet and all you want is to ruin him the same way he ruins you with the slightest touch. “You said I should stop doing things that’ll get me arrested.”

You choke on another tease as he sucks on your clit, tongue coaxing pathetic sighs right out of your lungs. He could do this all night. He’d be happy to. Soonyoung grips you tighter as you squirm away. It’s too much. He knows it and that’s why he loves it so much, knowing he can make you cum hard enough to scream.

“Are the cameras still broken at the garage?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, already knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Then you can defile me at your place of business, over the bike. Just like old times.”

“No condoms.”

“How else are you gonna stuff me full of cum?”

Soonyoung groans, pushing your legs wider as his hips rut into the mattress. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Then get up here and do it.”

You’re soaked between the legs, sensitive and swollen. Soonyoung settles into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing his cock into the wet mess of spit and arousal. Your body acts of instinct, hips tilting until he slips between your walls.

“Oh my god.” He laps at the swell of your breast. “‘S okay?”

“Yeah, they don’t hurt yet.”

The sharp edge of his teeth leaves lines across your skin while he sucks at your chest until your spine breaks in half. His fingers keep firm pressure against your clit. Sloppy but enough to keep you pulled taunt. You’ll come a second time if he keeps it up.

“Oh my god,” you echo. 

Soonyoung likes to fuck hard. Hard enough you feel like all your seams are splitting, just shy of shattering your limit. Now’s no different but there's a new edge of caution. Even with his hips flat, inside you until nothing is left to give, he tangles your fingers together and pins them over head in the pillows.

You push your body against his, needy and pliant. Blind want acting as a guide, your ankles lock around his waist. It feels so much better than all the other times he’s fucked you like this; knowing the risk of him coming inside no longer counts and he can do it as many times as you ask. 

The slap of your skin against his fills the room, grunts and pathetic whines passing between mouths with narrowed vision. Nails biting into his shoulders, you flutter tight, trying to pull Soonyoung deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Stretched full beyond belief.

“More,” you beg. Frantic. Needy. All those feelings Soonyoung can incite with the barest of touches and a look.

He rises back on his hands, lighting up with each pathetic whimper of his name. “More what?”

If you had the brain power you’d knock the stupid smirk off his face. “Fuck me.”

“I am,” Soonyoung taunts.

“Breed me.”

“Already h-have.” Soonyoung looks like he wants to laugh but he sinks as much weight as he can into his hips, rhythm clumsy but it’s so good you don’t care. “Fuck, such a good girl. Aren’t you?”

You clench around him. He isn’t the most inspired with dirty talk but he knows your buttons, loves to press on your praise kink when you least expect it. 

“Say it.”

“I-I’m,” you stutter from his fingers finding your raw clit. “I’m your good girl.”

“My pretty little wife,” Soonyoung gasps. “Perfect.”

Every bit of praise adds a drop in the bucket, chest tightening until it explodes without permission; shredding through your veins. Your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hard enough to bruise as you cry, “Soonyoung.”

He doesn’t stop for your orgasm, not for a second. You asked him to breed you and it’s his sole purpose until you’re both satisfied. “G-gonna come.”

“Want it, want you to come in me,” you sob.

Soonyoung grabs for your hair, a gentle tug with enough force your eyes open to find his.

“Want it?” he pants, tilting your hips to fuck deeper. You nod with limited room thanks to his grip. “Then take it.”

The sticky heat you’re accustomed to on your skin stains your insides for the first time. There’s no way you can go back. Not after knowing how right it feels to have him fill you. You shiver beneath his weight, nerves twitching from the idea of him doing it again. Immediately.

“Love you, love you, love you…” Soonyoung chants into your skin, lips slipping over your throat with each breathless gasp.

You roll down into the nasty feel of cum and cock, the minor relief not nearly enough. Not with the idea of sucking the combined taste off him rearing its head. But Soonyoung collapses with a point flex of his thighs to stop your motions.

“Holy fuck,” he shudders. “If you let me do that sooner, we’d have ten kids by now.”

You’re flustered at the idea. “Do you think my vagina is a baby rocket launcher?”

“It’s definitely something.”

“How romantic,” you snort. “Give it a few months and I’ll be so hormonal you won’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“Is that what you think?” he hums, face still hidden in your neck like he’s too exhausted to move except to lap at the dip in your throat. A subtle grind reminds you of his cock still wedge in your guts, stiff like he didn’t come hard enough to see stars.

It’s hard to think that after so many years together, this is the biggest love rush you’ve ever experienced. The urge to keep him wrapped in your arms for as long as possible brings tears to your eyes. 

Soonyoung pops over your face after the first sniffle, terrified. “Are you crying?”

“No.” You swipe at the tears. “Shut up.”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, failing to hide his amusement.  

“I’m carrying your child, sorry my hormones are all over the place.” You bat his hand away unsuccessfully, leaning your cheek into the comforting warmth of his palm.  “We’re ready for this?”

“I mean, I was planning to knock you up on our honeymoon anyway,” he shrugs, lips soft on your hairline. “Do you have any more of those tests?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see what’d happen if I pee on one.”

“Nothing.” You push him off, rolling onto hands and knees with your ass in the air, face buried in the pillows. “Now, fuck me again.”

Soonyoung pushes the head of his cock through the mess of cum leaking out before sinking back inside with a grunt. “Yes, ma’am.”

taglist: @/tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

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@whrryuu @wonrangwoo @xchaenx @champagnenoona

[wintersera]

heatstroke || omega!winter x alpha!reader

notes: i’m back after a long ass time HIII saw these pics and i had to cook something up really quick… like lord, PLEASE LORD TAKE THE WHEEL

cw: omegaverse, g!p reader, alpha reader, omega minjeong, breeding kink, biting. one mention of weed

wc: 2.9k

it’s the third day in a row where minjeong invited you over to her house in the countryside. blades of grass rustling in the late afternoon breeze while the sun still beamed brightly in the cloudless sky.

you sat outside the house, sitting on the cool wooden porch as you stared out into the distance, contemplating the last minute choice of staying over at your friends house.

this week's forecast showed a constant 35 degrees celsius and above— 95 fahrenheit and above if you’re american, across the board. the humidity didn’t help either. it felt suffocating to even move around given that the humidity felt like it had raised the temperature up way more than it should have.

you would hate it less if there were ac, but since you were staying over in her small traditional house, you had no other choice than to deal with the excruciating sun rays beaming down on your exposed skin.

sat in a simple thin tank top and short shorts, you lift up the fabric of your top, flapping it around to generate some sort of cool breeze.

as sweat dripped down your face, minjeong appeared behind you, also dripping with salty sweat down from her forehead all the way to her chin “here” she tossed you a cold beer without much care. she knew you’d catch it anyway.

“didn’t you say your fridge broke down?” the cold metal pressed against your nape felt blissful in these times. you rubbed the can all over your body before it unfortunately warmed up from both your body temperature and because of how you were sitting out in the blistering sun.

“i ran over to the vending machine down the street” minjeong sat fairly far away from you on the porch. not because she didn’t like being near you, but because somehow you were quite literally a walking heater “there was a whole line of people” the girl chuckled, popping open the can she got for herself “almost all the drinks ran out, it was crazy y/n. you should’ve seen the old lady scolding this guy for buying, like, ten drinks”

the burn of the alcohol slid down your throat. it almost sort of tasted sweet in a way, but still, it was beer, and beer was annoyingly bitter on your taste buds “i’d honestly do the same if i was there” though it was downright disgusting, the slight coldness made you chug the entire can in one go “why are you wearing that big ass long sleeved shirt, minjeong?”

“i told you~” the shorter girl whined “the electricians won’t be coming soon, so it fucked up the neighbourhood and no one has working outlets anymore”

“you don’t have any spare clothes laying around then? might as well take it off”

“yeah, no i don’t…and no, y/n. i’m not taking it off” she retorted back with an attitude “oh crap, i almost forgot to give you this” minjeong laid down to reach her bag, conveniently having stored a few ice packs in there, and took out two pre packaged ice cream cones. one strawberry, and one plain vanilla.

“yours is definitely vanilla, right?” knowing her tastes, your hand instinctively reached out for the strawberry flavoured ice cream cone. due to the heat, the cream had leaked a little bit out from the wrapper, but i guess that was to be expected anyway.

minjeong nodded, her back still against the now warm wood of the porch, unwrapping the ice cream and taking a few kitten licks.

the both of you sat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching the birds fly around whilst the cicadas buzzed loudly in the background.

“ah—“ minjeong’s little squeak caught your attention briefly, then you were back to watching the birds fly around in the sky. a few pigeons and crows flying by, nothing too out of the ordinary.

“nooo~ i’m all sticky now” you take a glance once more, then your attention returned back to the blue sky, spacing out all over again, but before you could even utter anything snarky about minjeong dropping her ice cream on herself, your head whipped around to do a double take. melted ice cream stained her last clean shirt she had, with no other choice she had to deal with the sticky fabric or just take the whole thing off.

for a second, your eyes caught a spot dribbling down her fingers and onto her wrists. her plump lips parted open for her tongue to dart out. cheeks reddened at the sight of her licking the melted… white cream…

“you know you could—“

“i’m not taking it off. it’s too embarrassing” she definitely could, after all it wouldn’t bother you all too much. you’ve seen people naked. it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“eh… too lazy to move” whilst sprawled out on the floor, her hand pulled up her shirt a little more “ahh~ that feels so much better” toned midriff exposed to the golden sun rays, the reflective light bouncing off her smooth and silky skin.

“whatever floats your boat, i guess” actually, maybe this was bothering you a little more than you had anticipated.

besides the outrageous heat, there was another issue you had that was on your mind.

although you were long term friends with minjeong, probably since you met her in highschool, you had always told her, and the people around you, that you were a full fledged beta. nothing more, nothing less.

god knows how she would react if she had found out you were a pure blooded alpha.

speaking of… you began to feel a little strange “mmm… something smells nice” images of minjeong flashed in your mind. her exposed milky thighs, that oversized shirt she pulled up to show her huggable waist and tummy, melted ice cream on the corner of her lips, and how she was so vulnerable sprawled out across the floor.

shit. oh shit… she looked way too good. so good that you could easily pick her up and do whatever you want with that petite and fragile body of hers.

before you knew it, your cock started to strain against your shorts. uncomfortable, you shifted as you sat in a less revealing manner, taking the ice cream to your lips to calm the heat rushing to your face.

now is not the time for an unexpected rut. fuck. “i’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick” it took a lot of mental strength to avoid gazing at minjeong… a lot of mental strength considering you were covering up your horrendously hard dick as you rushed past her.

“where… where is it—“ usually you had a couple rut suppressants laying around in your pockets, if not, then your bags. and if it wasn't in either, you’d run to the local pharmacy to buy a fresh set of both suppressants and scent blockers. but unlucky you had to be in the middle of the fuckass countryside with a pharmacy that sells neither.

minjeong’s scent was getting stronger, heavier. a pinch of spiced apples wafted into the bathroom unexpectedly. intoxicating. it wasn’t like she was in heat, that’s if your scent didn’t occupy her nostrils by now.

to distract your mind from plunging further into the pit of no return, or rather fantasising about plunging into minjeong’s soft thighs to bury your face right into her pussy, a cold splash of water to your face would do the trick. hopefully.

the faucet was pretty much shut tight, and living in the city for pretty much your whole entire life, you would rather stay hot and bothered— both ways, than to go out and douse yourself with cold water from the hose.

defeated, you walk with your imaginary tail between your legs, eyes averted from minjeong as you sit somewhere else in her house. preferably the furthest room away from where she was laying down.

minjeong, however, followed behind you “do you smell something weird? it smells like cedarwood and a little bit of tobacco” you froze in place for a second. maybe you should straight up tell her the truth. better off than losing your composure and submitting to your instincts in front of her.

she sat close to you despite the suffocating heat. being this close in proximity… her scent was stronger than ever. your cock throbbed in your shorts as she inspected you with curious eyes, her concentrated face wrangling in more indecent thoughts as the seconds flew by “must be someone smoking a blunt out there…” you gulped nervously.

what an obvious lie you told. she rolled her eyes at you, lightly hitting you across the shoulder with a small, amused laugh “we’re in south fucking korea, y/n. i doubt someone is openly smoking weed out in the streets” which was true god damn it.

heart drumming loudly in your chest, your eyes zeroing in on minjeong’s body, every shred of composure seemed to crumble once she checked your temperature with her shockingly cold hands “don’t…” you huff, grabbing her wrists gently “i’m okay”

“you don’t seem okay. you’re showing signs of heatstroke” to be honest, that might be the case as well, but you doubt it was heatstroke given the fact that you were obviously flustered and hot by her sudden approach “crap, and almost everything in this house is broken— y/n, come here”

“mmm…” without any access to cold water, and the cold drinks already gone alongside the ice cream, you had no choice but to suffer in silence. that is until minjeong pulled on the ends of your top. again, that rich spiced apple scent…

“take it off, it’ll be cooler for you” seeing her tiny hands on your top, sliding it off gently with her glossy eyes carefully wandering all over you shattered your last wall of composure.

you rolled minjeong over the futon mattress, her puppy dog eyes staring holes into your face “y-your scent. it’s just way too strong, minjeong” without further ado, you dived into minjeong’s neck, breathing in her delicious scent as you nudged your covered bulge against her clothed pussy.

“i knew it” a soft moan escaped from her lips, the friction between the two of you becoming hotter and hotter with each grind of your hips “you’re way too obvious”

“shut up…” the sliding door was still open to the outside, it would be risky to carry on what you were doing, especially knowing how your scent was particularly stronger in comparison to other alphas. but really, who cares? “is this even okay with you?” albeit concerned, your teeth still grazed her neck gently, kissing and sucking her skin in a way to not so permanently mark her up.

“why else do you think— mmm… that i’ve been inviting you around so often. just… hurry up. you’re triggering my heat” her words alone made you ecstatic. to be fair, you were pent up lately. you continued to rut into her, holding up her thighs as your bulge was threatening to burst through your shorts. in due time, slick began to drip from her hole, dampening both your shorts and her panties.

“can i let loose?” you were already sliding off her panties, following the removal of yours straight after. minjeong’s legs spread wide open for you, her pretty pink folds slathered with her slick, and her puffy clit that looked so sensitive to touch. she stared right into your eyes and gave you a nod of approval.

you manage to push yourself all the way inside of her tight pussy, molding her walls to accommodate the size of your girthy cock. minjeong wrapped her arms around your neck, her nails digging deep and breaking the skin on your back, only making you push as deep as you can in return. her wetness made your entry much easier than you had thought. she just looked way too tiny to take your entire length. this girl was just full of surprises.

sooner or later you would give into your biological urges, and so would minjeong. you could feel it now actually. the primal desire to breed her until she would bear your pups, the need to mark her, to make her yours. you could feel your rationality being thrown out the window, replaced by pure animalistic lust “je..jesus christ, so fucking thick…”

minjeong tried to gather what was left of her scattered thoughts into coherent sentences, but the way your cock filled her up rendered her speechless. you hadn’t moved at all, and yet she was digging her claws into your back as if you were slamming your hips into her.

“i haven’t even moved yet” you chuckled, moving your hips slowly to test the waters. her warmth coated your entire length, feeling as you were melting by simply being inside of her.

testing the waters was not enough for you, you craved for more. a rougher and faster pace would suffice, but you didn’t know if minjeong could handle you that well. after all, the two of you never fucked before.

no, it really wasn’t enough. you had to fuck her hard whether or not she was prepared “gonna… go rough” hands on each side of her waist, using her body, you pushed and pulled her onto your cock. you met with each thrust, burying your tip further and further inside with as much vigour as humanly possible.

buried between the crook of her neck, your lips feverishly pecked at her skin once again, savouring the salty taste of her sweat on the tip of your tongue all while inhaling her addictively sweet and rich scent. all for you to keep for yourself.

on the other hand, minjeong was fairly inexperienced. her thighs began to slowly close, but with your strong grip, you kept them wide open for you to easily slide in and out of her pussy “mi…njeong” you call out to her as you push down on her tummy, locking eyes with the teary eyed girl “g-get on top of me”

you leaned back onto the futon mattress, straightening minjeong’s back as she straddles your lap. the position you were in made it possible to go as deep as minjeong wanted to go, but that didn’t mean she was in control.

“s’too… too big” strings of slick dripped down her thigh, pooling onto your pelvis. you paid no mind to the mess, rather, you encouraged it even further by toying with her overly sensitive clit “f-fu..ck— oh my god, y/n”

every moan urged you to play with her more. not one, but two fingers rubbed circles against her clit, collecting her slick time to time before going back in to do the same motions. it was a win-win situation. each circular motion caused her to clamp down hard on your cock.

but still, it wasn’t enough for either of you.

changing position for possibly the last time, minjeong laid flat on her stomach, as you pound her pussy from behind. with each thrust, the sounds of your hips smacking into her ass sounded throughout the room, and possibly bleeded out onto the empty streets of the village, disrupting the neighbourhood with your moaning and groaning, and minjeong’s cries of pleasure too.

poor minjeong couldn’t speak properly. words she wanted to moan, came out as garbled nonsense, cries and whines too as your relentless rhythm fucked her until she couldn’t even think properly anymore.

at this point, the room was steaming. the scent of you and her mingling with the sweat formed from the intensive heat outside, and the heat generated between the both of you. to say the least, the room reeked of sex.

messy and rough sex.

seconds into kissing her nape, you could feel the tightening of minjeong’s cunt restrict the movement of your thrust, making it a lot more difficult to catch your high, yet somehow the grip brought you closer towards the limit.

now, you could see minjeong clawing into her mattress, scratching the fabric that held all the foam together. her breath became jagged, grunting and groaning harshly till her voice became hoarse with how much she was calling out your name.

“god… i’m gonna— fuck, y/n i’m cumming, i’m gonna cum” claws ripping the linen fabric of the mattress, minjeong lets out a high pitched whimper, her body convulsing as you thrust relentlessly into her.

quickly, your sharp canines sank into her nape by instinct as she came, lessening the pain for marking and replacing it with searing hot pleasure.

still, with you still raring to go, you kept on going until you couldn’t last much longer either. your grip of minjeong’s ass as you pounded harshly into her overstimulated pussy was the final straw. your knot swelled eventually, locking the two of you in place as thick strings of semen poured into her, filling her up to the brim.

laid on top of minjeong, your breath slows, and so does hers “s-sorry… i didn’t mean to claim you” you say, yet your actions speak otherwise, inhaling in her scent to calm yourself down from the intensive orgasm “it’s kind of your fault though. teasing me with that ice cream and that shirt”

“to be honest, i just wanted to see how far you’d stick with that whole beta persona” minjeong huffed into the pillow, stroking your arm as your knot began to lessen, semen now oozing out from her hole “so worth it actually…”

“yeah, but now you’re gonna bear my pups now…” you huff into her neck.

“so worth it” now that your knot began to shrink in size, minjeong turned around, gazing longingly into your eyes with a look you’ve never seen from her before “that just means that you’re gonna be stuck with me forever now, right?” she smirked, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“mmm, yeah i like that thought”

[grotesquevi]

riva’s side note  #  i want to take special time on thanking from the bottom of my heart to @mxya-dreams who helped me out in doing the greatest proof read in the universe, not only she's my private editor, but the kindest girl in this place. if my english is better than you recognize in this? may be because she just where art thou why not uponeth me? the fuck of this. hope you guys love loud bark deep bite, im so excited for this also?? iNSANE.

art bellow in one of the windows belongs to blkfairyy0 on x, black hair violet gives me chills idk, edited by your girl aka me wc: 2.5k

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ series masterlist || chapter song || chapter #01

there's a subtle smell of sweat in the gym that makes violet vanderson scrunch her nose in disgust: how is it possible that the unmistakable smell of humans stuck to everything? the ceiling, the machines, the damn walls.

there's a red envelope on the reception table (which she treats like a personal desk) that says in big red letters how's it’s matter of the utmost urgent response. however, as much as it's clearly labelled as important, it seems to be forgotten in an ever growing pile of papers who expose just how shitty her finances were getting lately as all the graphics seemed to go downwards.

why are people suddenly not working out anymore? and more importantly — why are people not working out at her gym? were powder's designs too much for fit stuck-ups? she had a nice place, good rates, every day she blasts hella good music through the speakers only to be cutting expenses for what? three months already? numbers decreasing along with her faith in humanity.

she's recurring to everything at this point. dog walker, worst waiter ever, she even thought about doing porn when she saw an announcement on a website that was calling out for 'lesbians interested in quick money', ticked all the right boxes before backing out the very same day.

so obviously it makes sense she has now come to sell weed. embarrassing herself to the point where she's been offering green to frat kids, who vi wouldn't dare to even talk to if it wasn't out of pure necessity. people in their twenties who look so full of life, meanwhile she wishes she was in bed under twenty blankets and a glass of whiskey gripped in  her fingers, shutting the world out just because she wants to.

sweat.

she's thinking about how much she hates other people's sweat when her phone buzzes with a notification that catches her eye immediately. It lights up the empty gym (since there was a storm forecasted that same night) friday night. she's a little curious as to why nobody has reached out to buy when she makes sure to have top-nugs-category: she's selling fucking purple weed, people should be lining up outside.

however, despite her ego being bruised, she reaches for the phone anyway to find a number she doesn't have saved in her contacts.

lena. she makes an effort to remember who exactly this person's talking about before she flashes a good memory from last week, that lena. cute mom she met in a club over the weekend, nice tits, drunk as fuck since she blatantly flirts for fun: good client, safe money. she stumbled upon lena and her group of mom-friends who seemed to be on this crazy-night-out they must pull once every six months or so.

she stares at the phone for a while not really sure what to say — what if it’s a fucking cop? she knows the tactics enforcers use to deal with micro-trafficking, even though vi’s sure her contribution to the drug society is far less intimidating than tony montana’s first years as a baby.

so, logically, she should be saying no. declining cause she doesn't want to go to jail and vi doesn’t want this to blow up in her face: what would powder do if she went to jail? the question makes a shiver run down her spine, she’s definitely not ready to find out. ever.

the owner of ‘the last drop energy’ is ready to make an excuse before another text pops up with a bop sound and she’s looking at the screen again, blue eyes already tired from how much shit she’s been doing the entire day — vi's too old for this.

blame her tender and bruised heart, blame her good will and trust for people cause she knows lena, a mother that seems stressed. maybe it's someone from her bookclub or someone of the sort searching for the good old way to relax, it's coherent after all, makes sense and gives her enough reassurance to back up in words.

despite any warning her brain might give, she needs money. urgently.

she's bad at calculating time cause it's past midnight when vi's parking the motorbike outside your house in the suburbs. her pride and joy, the engine roars loud enough to wake your neighbors as she's taking the helmet off and leaving it against the seat: no one this rich is stealing such a common helmet that looks like it’s barely being held together.

it's a nice neighbourhood anyway, a cute suburb with big houses and a nice design, pretty gardens with porches and thick doors, expensive, nothing like the places she's been living in her whole life — much different from her current place above the gym, her childhood home, as she stares at the garden of roses. it's so distant from her, so strange as she doesn't fit into the whole ‘perfect family life’ painting.

equipped with her trusty leather jacket, there's a two-headed dog design on her back, still on her knee pads securely wrapped around each leg when she's knocking on your door, being judged by your nosy neighbors as she can physically feel the weight of prying eyes on her, even when most of the lights in the other houses are already off.

she's having trouble concentrating for a minute. it catches her off guard, the universe almost calling her out for being so judgemental, so dumb for a minute cause you're not what she thought you were. hair tied in a messy bun, the jeans you're wearing hug your ass so fucking good that she stays silent and stares for a few moments when you're inviting her in, shame written all over your face as you soon state:

"i can't buy weed here, sorry i got gossip-loving-neighbors" and in every other situation, vi would've leave without saying a word cause it's one of her un-written rules: she doesn't go in people's houses, she doesn't do deliveries for new clients and she most definitely doesn't stare at anyone trying to do business with her the way she's doing with you — "you're vi right? sorry for being an awful client, can i offer you anything?"

crap. she thought you were older than you seem to be. it catches her off guard. lena looks older anyway.

"no, no. i'm fine. thank you." you're gesturing the couch, unaware of the whole shitshow vi's already got going on in her own head before getting curious as she looks at the large amount of art you have hanging on your walls, the nice wooden bookshelf with a big stair that seemed to be made to reach the upper shelves, some pictures and a lot of plants that were thriving. it's inevitable, she thinks, when you're this cool, this pleasing to the eye. it doesn't seem like a mom-house at all "got a nice place."

"thanks," you take pride in it, obviously. as you hold a glass of red wine to your lips, there's a knowing smile already tugging on the corners of your mouth. i designed it."

"are you some kind of interior designer or so?"

"architect " you correct her "i mean like, actually designed the house."

well that's hot. power's fucking hot. being in such control's fucking attractive. makes vi wonder if you're still married, searching for a ring on your finger which she doesn't find even when she makes sure of it twice: not married. you're not married.

so that's what it is then? were you trying to impress her? cause vi's such a whore for it already. it’s working damn right when it makes her mouth dry at the thought of it: was she imaging it all? good fuck. is it weird to say she wants you to flirt? that she wants you to try and impress her like a million girls have done before? it's not like the girls from piltover's campus, not like her regulars at the club. no. you're too busy to go out and waste a night drinking away, you have stuff to do, you're always busy and its different. hits her different.

a thousand movies seem to appear in vi's head and she's holding total liability of her actions when pleading guilty in her own brain: boring careers, boring small talk, dull personalities she doesn't really care about when she's selling like this— she forgot the last time she met someone interesting in a similar position. too many dumb fucks.

"lena told me you sell top-quality," you're pouring red wine in the glass cup you're holding between your recently manicured black nails before turning your attention back to her — "i'm really sorry for talking to you out of the blue, my friend told me it was fine."

"i did think you were a cop," vi replies, and the blunt honesty makes you chuckle for a moment. "almost left you on read."

"i knew it" your eyes narrow while she's pulling out an small pink bag of weed that she drops on the small table you have in the center, close to the glass that’s now stained with your lipstick "had to pull the big guns out there and told you it was for my little monster kid, can't leave him alone."

"i figured as much since your friend's also a mom" she understands, she really does. unlike most dealers out there vi got this thing called empathy. fucking hates people who ask to pay later, but kids? she can work with that "i didn't know how much you wanted, but i don't carry much with me usually."

"too much risk" you agree to her words as your fingers take hold of the package that she carefully made for you back at the gym — "its okay. i don't want much either, i didn’t smoke much until like- now."

"i can bring more if you like that. no worries."

she wants to give herself a slap on the back, congratulate her life choices cause she brought less than usual, afraid it was all a trap, but now? now you can call her again, ask for more weed, have her coming again this late to see your pretty face.

"well, that's if you don't hate me, cause i wanted to ask if you have any pre-rolls? i don't think i own a grinder anymore" for fuck's sake. you're looking at her with those eyes, the right corner of your lips pulling into a smile and vi knows, a gut-like omen rising, that you're going to shit on her life even when she tries to avoid it since you have a face people raise religions up on. you're going to make her another one of your worshippers as you're laughing almost in a self-deprecating way.

she doesn't care if you don't have a grinder. if you don't have a lighter, if you don't own papers. hell she'd do it all for you.

"no" she admits only to see the pout in your lips since she's sold way before shaking her head — "but i'll help you out this time."

"this mean you're going to keep on selling me weed?" you ask, head cocking to the side as you question your new go-to dealer "even when i'll probably be an awful client?"

"well, proud to say i have patience" she admits, but not really. vi's saying it to see that smile on your face when she's opening up the package and an earthy smell fills the living room with the soft sound of the television in the background. "it's not like i sell weed to pretty moms in rich neighborhoods every day- i have a feeling you'll actually be a good client."

are you nervous? shit. of course you are.

vi can see it on your lower lip, in the way you try to stay distant even when she experiences the intensity of your gaze as her tongues poking out to lick the glue side of her own rolling papers. fingers swiftly moving to roll the weed you just bought. makes her blush for a moment cause hell — you're intimidating after all, an alluring magnet that seemed to drag her closer like  polar opposites, a force in the universe keeping her orbiting around like a moon to your planet.

"that's dylan" your dealer can hear you say, trying to break the ice when catching her staring at the picture of you and your son playfully posing. good to know, but, she was looking at you instead of the kid "he's the six-year-old reason as to why i can’t buy weed in a park."

that makes her laugh which then in turn, makes you laugh.

"he's cute" she replies, leaving the pre-rolls she was rolling on the table "he looks like you."

so it’s awfully clear that vi can't stop herself from flirting with you. can't fight the electric attraction filling the air almost immediately as she knows, by the look on your face that you're considering how bad it is to make out with a potential criminal sitting on your couch from a scale from one to ten.

knows it since she's thinking about it too, only, that in her head the positive outcomes outdo any potential bad ones.

"thank you, vi," you reply, cornered by a sword to  your neck and a wall at your back. politely talking cause you desperately need to keep distance between you two to be on your best behavior; not fall for your cute drug dealer as you walk her to the door tipping a good amount of money in a way of showing appreciation for her rolling you enough supplies to last at least a week. "can i save your number?"

"yeah" she states when walking down the front entrance before turning halfway around on the way to the motorbike, helmet still resting in the seat cause you live in a happy world, one with no thieves, no danger or menace — "see you around ma'."

so you lean against the door. arms crossed against your chest, you stare at her like a guard dog until she's leaving the property (can your neighbors be this crazy? or is it that you don't trust people easily?) and the deep sound of the bike disappears into the distance with the stars still shining up in the sky.

she's officially making plans on the first red light back home, not really caring about a husband, a kid or a rich neighbor aware of everything you do.

it's official when violet vanderson decides on making her business, absolutely yours. 

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤGROTESQUEVI, MMXXV © DO NOT FEED MY STUFF TO SHITTY AI, NOR TRANSLATE OR COPY TO ANOTHER PAGES.

[keeryhours]

don’t say you love me - chapter one

Masterlist Series Masterlist Tag Lists

Eddie Munson x Hopper!reader, Billy Hargrove x Hopper!reader

Summary:

You get yourself into a situation with two guys you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected and protected p in v, creampie, oral (f receiving), fingering, weed use, angst, pregnancy, love triangle

Word Count: 7.8k

A/N:

Thank you so much @feral4youu my love for the idea for this fic! Your mind never ceases to amaze me.

You loved your dad.

As far as parents go, he was the best you could ask for. Loving, kind, not too terribly strict despite being the police chief. And he really, truly did love you.

Your mother had always been distant. When she left the two of you with nothing but a note, it hadn’t even been that big of an adjustment. It had always been you and your dad, and as long as you had him, you knew things would be alright.

You’d always had the type of relationship where you felt you could tell him anything. He’d come home from a long day at work and sit in the recliner with his beer, happily listening to you tell him the latest gossip in your friend group. He would listen with full attention, every now and then a genuine reaction - raised eyebrows, “Tina did what? With Carol’s boyfriend?”

The only things he could be strict about were grades, and boys.

You weren’t allowed to date until you were 15. And even then, any guy who wanted to take you out had to go through such rigorous questioning, they felt it wasn’t worth the effort. You were popular - head cheerleader, friendly, friends with the right people, smart and head of your class, and beautiful, according to the Hawkins population. So it’s not like you had a shortage of guys willing to take you out.

But your dad was having none of that.

“You don’t understand,” your dad would say. “Men are dogs, sweetheart. You’re better off without ‘em.”

Things changed your senior year.

You properly met Eddie Munson, first of all. He was a Super Senior, on his second attempt. And it’s not like you didn’t know of him before - everyone in Hawkins knew of Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. Most of your friends had been buying weed from him for years.

Eddie always flirted with you. He’d act like a total gentleman any time you were around, making space for you to walk, holding doors open for you, pulling your chair out when you sat down during class. When you’d go with Carol and Tina to buy, he’d single you out specifically, call you beautiful and make eye contact with only you.

“Think the Freak has a crush on you,” Carol laughed as the three of you left with your stash of weed.

“You think?” you asked with hope in your voice and butterflies in your stomach.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you’d consider it?” Tina said, her eyebrows raised.

“No, of course not,” you said. “I just…didn’t think he liked me like that.”

“He’s obsessed with you,” Carol said. “It’s obvious. He’s got a major hard-on for you.”

You blushed. “I don’t think-“

“Oh, he totally does,” Tina added. “So gross.”

“And you know Jason Carver has been into you for years-“ Carol said, but you cut her off.

“You know my dad doesn’t let me date,” you reminded her, mostly just to get off the subject of Jason.

“Which is so dumb,” Carol said. “Does he want you to die alone?”

“Probably,” you mumbled.

The next time you saw Eddie, you were both alone. You had been sitting out on the picnic table in the woods behind the school, wanting time alone. The sound of Eddie’s footsteps had startled you.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, a friendly smile on his face as he held his hands up. “Didn’t expect anyone to be out here.”

“Me either,” you said, putting your feet back on the ground to get up. “Sorry, I’ll just-“

“No, stay,” Eddie had said. “I could use the company.”

Eddie was easy to talk to. He was funny, he was nice, he made you feel comfortable. And when he ended up standing between your legs, his lips on yours and his hands gripping your bare thighs, well, you couldn’t say it was totally unexpected.

Eddie was your first, and you were his. But once you’d had sex, he was feral for it. You hooked up near constantly, any time he could pull you away without suspicion, he would.

You had been scared at first. You knew it would be a disaster if your dad found out. Not only were you not supposed to be doing anything with guys, but this was Eddie Munson. Your dad knew perfectly well what Eddie did for extra cash.

You had a few particularly close encounters. You always either rode the bus or got a ride from a friend home after school - your dad worked late and never had time to pick you up. So, you started spending your time with Eddie after practice.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie panted from behind you. His hands gripped your hips tightly, light bruises appearing beneath his fingers. He didn’t even notice, too lost in his own pleasure he was chasing inside of you. “Always so tight. I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

“Please,” you gasped out. “I want you to.”

Eddie groaned, his hair tickling your back as his head dropped forward on his shoulders. His hips were rutting into you desperately, pumping his entire length into you. You could feel every ridge and vein of him - but you knew his shape by heart at this point.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled your body flush against his own. He thrusted hard into you a few more times, then, with a cry of your name, he came, filling you deeply.

When he pulled out, he could see his cum dripping out of you. He watched with wide eyes, wanting nothing more than to dive back in, his cock already twitching back to life-

There was a banging on the side of the van.

“Munson!” your dad yelled. “I know you’re in there, and it better not be with my daughter.”

You both froze. “Fuck,” Eddie whispered, jumping into action and pulling his boxers and jeans back on. “Fuck!”

You pulled your dress back down, then searched all around you. “Eddie, where are my panties?”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he said, a sheepish grin on his face as he pulled the thin lace material from the pocket of his jeans and handed them over. “Just thought I’d keep a souvenir.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you put them back on. There was another loud banging and then Eddie threw open the back doors just as you straightened out the skirt of your dress.

Hopper looked into the vehicle, looking very pissed off. He said your name. “What are you doing in here?”

You wished you had thought of an excuse before this moment. “We have a project together.”

“Oh yeah?” Hopper didn’t sound like he believed you at all. “Where is it?”

Eddie met your eyes, like, you started this one, it’s on you. “We were just brainstorming. We just got it assigned today.”

Your dad sniffed the air- no doubt searching for the smell of weed. You just hoped he couldn’t smell the sex. When he didn’t recognize anything that set off alarms, he looked at you again. “Well, come on. I’m driving you home.”

You bid Eddie an awkward goodbye, then followed your dad to his car. You avoided looking at him as you buckled your seatbelt - you did just get your back blown out by Eddie in the back of his van, after all.

“Don’t hang out with him,” your dad said as he drove you home. “I’m serious. Anyone but him. Munson is trouble.”

“Dad, he’s not a bad guy-“

“Oh, come on,” he laughed. “I know what he does. And you’re too good to get involved in any of that. You have such a bright future, I don’t want to see it wasted on some loser.”

“Dad, Eddie is not a loser-“

“Sure,” he said. “But my point stands either way. Don’t waste time with him.”

You could still feel Eddie’s release between your thighs the whole way home.

Billy Hargrove came crashing into your life all on his own. He had come to Hawkins his senior year, taking over as the most popular guy in school. 

“He’s a fucking asshole,” Steve had said, slamming his locker shut to make the point. “Seriously. Stay far away from him.”

It seemed like that had always been a personal challenge for you.

You actually met Billy when he joined the basketball team. You spent a lot of time with the basketball guys, being head cheerleader. It was his first game with the team, and you had to admit, he impressed you. Billy was really good. Your eyes stayed glued to him the entire game, and he definitely noticed with the way he kept smirking in your direction every time he’d do something cool.

“I think Billy’s looking at you,” Chrissy leaned over and said with a huge grin on her face.

You found yourself smiling back. Sure you’d heard the rumors about Billy already, but it’s not like you needed him to fall in love with you. You were down to just have some fun.

Billy loved that about you. You caught his attention the first time he ever saw you, but once he realized you were down for no strings attached hookups? You became his favorite girl in town.

He approached you after that game as everyone was running to the showers. He was a smooth talker, that was for sure. He gave ladies man vibes the second you saw him, but hearing him talk, you could really see it. It didn’t take a lot of flirting before you were sneaking into the men’s locker room with him after everyone else had left, letting him undress you and then take you against the wall while the steam and heat surrounded you.

Billy couldn’t get enough of you once he’d had you. And once he found out you wanted to keep things secret because you were the police chief’s daughter? That made you even more irresistible.

“You’re hooking up with Billy?” Eddie said, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hargrove?”

“Um…yeah,” you’d said awkwardly, as Eddie was naked between your legs. He was kissing across your inner thighs, nearing where you needed him the most.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I like him?” You sat up on your elbows, looking down at Eddie. “He’s not the worst guy ever like everyone says.”

“Only he is.” Eddie moved in and licked a stripe along your folds, making you gasp. “He’s a huge fucking asshole.”

“Well, I like him,” you defended as strongly as you could while Eddie was eating you out, groaning as he devoured you. He always knew how to get the last word of an argument.

“Why don’t you stop thinking about him and let me take care of you, baby?”

You were putting the last of your books away in your locker for the day when you felt a set of muscular arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you close into the owners’ firm body. Carol, Tina, and Chrissy gave you a mischievous look - it wasn’t hard to imagine who it was.

“Hey, baby,” Billy whispered into your ear. “What are y’doing?”

“Just getting ready to go home,” you said. “Carol’s driving me.”

Billy looked over at your friends as if noticing them for the first time. He gave them a wolfish grin before looking down at you. “Yeah, I think you’re gonna have a change of plans.”

“Oh yeah?” you laughed.

“Yeah,” he said again easily. “I think I’ll bring you home tonight.”

“Have fun, you two,” Carol said, then you watched as your friend group left you with nothing but a knowing look on each of their faces.

Billy was already kissing down your neck, his large hands sliding beneath the hem of your cheer skirt. “Need you so bad.”

You leaned back into his touch, nearly forgetting yourself and where you were. “Let’s go.”

You spotted Eddie on your way out, smoking a cigarette in the parking lot. You gave him a nod and he watched as you walked off towards the Camaro with Billy’s hand on your ass. For once, he thought it would be pretty funny if the police chief just so happened to be here.

Billy opened the passenger door for you, his hand trailing up your thigh as you slid into the seat. He was being needier than usual. Once he was seated himself, he started the car, his hand coming to rest on your bare thigh as he pulled out of the parking lot and sped off.

You always loved it when Billy drove with one hand like this. His fingers pushed up your skirt, playing with the hem of your panties. You were wet already, pushing down against him.

“Needy slut,” he hissed, although he was the one nearly begging for it. “Wait until I can get my hands on you.”

You expected him to take you to Lover’s Lake as usual, but instead he pulled up in front of his house. At least you assumed it was his house - a single story home with a screened in porch. No cars were outside. Billy had never taken you home before.

“Is this your place?” you asked him.

“Yeah,” he said. “But my dad and step mom went out of town for the weekend, so…we’re good.”

“What about your sister?”

“First of all, she’s not my sister,” he said. “And she’s staying with her friend. She won’t bother us.” He leaned over the seat towards you, placing a kiss on your lips. “We’ve got the place to ourselves all weekend. You could…even stay, if you wanted to.”

Billy was really asking you to spend the whole weekend with him? “Maybe.”

Billy smiled. He kissed you one more time, then the two of you climbed out of the Camaro. Billy unlocked the front door and you followed him inside. The inside of the house was much different than you expected. It hardly even looked like a family lived here. Billy’s weights were set up right off the living room with a tiny TV next to them. There was a closed bedroom behind it that you assumed was Max’s, then a hallway with more rooms to the right.

He dropped his denim jacket on the couch then opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, popping it open and taking a long drink. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt underneath the jacket, his even tighter jeans hugging his huge thighs. You could never say he wasn’t easy on the eyes.

He finished the beer and tossed it in the trash can, then turned to you. “D’you want anything? A beer, a soda, water…”

“I’m good,” you said. Billy smiled softly at you and then he spun you around, leading you down the short hall with his hand on your lower back. He opened the last door, revealing a bedroom that was definitely Billy’s, yet neater than you had been expecting.

His plaid bed sheets were tucked neatly, the bed made. There were no dirty clothes strewn across the floor. His cassettes and record collection were organized and put away. There weren’t even clothes poking out from his drawers. He had posters on his wall, Metallica you recognized, as well as some you didn’t know and some posters of girls.

Billy stepped around you, closing the door. “‘s not much,” he mumbled.

“It’s nice,” you smiled. He returned it.

“Now,” he said, “I’d like to see you on my bed.”

“Yeah?” you giggled as he wrapped his arms around you again, kissing all over your face and neck, down to what was exposed of your chest.

“Fuck yeah,” he said. His hands slid up your skirt again, grabbing your ass. He slapped it, making you gasp. 

“Billy!”

He groaned. “I can’t help myself, baby. Every time I get my hands on you, I can’t fucking help myself.”

He pushed your skirt down your legs so it pooled at your feet. You stepped out of it, kicking it away. Billy was already working on your cheer top, pulling it over your head.

His hands roamed your body, left in nothing but your bra and the tiniest pair of panties that left little to the imagination. Billy was losing his mind at the sight of them, his hands rubbing over your ass, up your sides and to your tits, nipping at your neck and chest.

“Gonna mark you up real good,” Billy grumbled against your skin. “Let Munson see what he missed out on.”

You playfully slapped at him- “Billy, don’t be an asshole.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “If I have to share, I can at least send you back with the proof of what I did to you.”

You gasped out a moan as he bit down particularly hard on your neck, sucking on the skin and running his tongue over the bite. “Fuck, I need you right now.”

Billy pushed you down onto his bed. You bounced slightly as you watched him watching you, eyes never leaving your body as he kicked off his shoes, tossed his shirt and worked his belt open. You were practically drooling as he revealed more of his incredible body to you. You had never been too concerned with muscles or build before, but Billy’s body was something else entirely. He was hot.

He was already rock hard as he undid his jeans and shoved them and his boxers down. He wrapped a large hand around his shaft, tip flushed red and glistening with precum. You could see his hand shuddering as he stroked himself, eyeing you like he could eat you alive.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He crawled over your body, pulling your panties down and tossing them anywhere. He placed his hands on your knees and slowly spread your legs, groaning as he finally saw your pussy, so wet and ready for him.

He made quick work of your bra, getting rid of that and immediately wrapping his lips around your nipple. You arched into him, bare pussy grinding against his cock, desperate for him to stop teasing and fuck you already.

“God, you’re such a needy little slut. And everyone thinks you’re this good girl.” He nuzzled against the side of your head, lips brushing your ear as he whispered. “What would your daddy think if he could see you like this? Desperate for my cock?”

“Billy,” you whined. “Please don’t talk about my dad right now.”

Billy chuckled, pulling back to drag his cock through your folds, teasing your hole every now and then. “I bet he thinks you’re off somewhere studying right now. Gonna get into a real good school, right? Following the rules, never lying…” His tip slipped inside and you gasped, fingers gripping onto his sheets. “Definitely not letting guys like me fuck you stupid.”

He sunk fully into you with a roll of his hips, his entire thick length splitting you open. He moaned as he began thrusting into you quickly, the sound of his skin meeting yours filling the room. You held tightly onto his shoulders.

“Billy,” you moaned, fingers threading through his mullet of dirty blonde curls. You pulled on them slightly - he always loved when you did that. This time it earned a stutter from his hips, a weak “H-oh,” from him.

Billy never liked to admit weakness, but he was weak for you. You knew all the right things to do, the places to touch, the things to say. What was he supposed to do?

He buried himself in you with every thrust, each one powerful and strong, rocking the mattress. He would never admit it to you, but he never fucked the other girls the way he fucked you. He loved to take his time with you, to feel every inch of you, to savor it. He loved fucking you slow, watching the cute faces you’d make every time he hit your g spot with the head of his cock. He just loved looking at you - especially when your face was twisted in pleasure he was giving you.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he hummed, looking down at you. Your eyebrows were drawn together, cheeks flushed, the slightest bit of sweat across your forehead, lips parted. You looked so beautiful like this, he thought.

He grabbed onto your thighs and pushed them up, spreading you wider and giving himself a better view. He was able to get deeper like this, pound into you faster, and he took advantage of that.

“You feel how deep I’m in you?” he grunted, hand resting on your lower belly.

“M-mmhmm,” you attempted to hum in agreement, but then he was pushing down, groaning as he could feel the pressure against his cock, and you were- oh god-

“Billy,” you cried, “I’m gonna cum-“

“Yeah, shit, yeah, cum for me,” he panted, fucking you faster, his own release imminent. He hiked your leg up over his shoulder and leaned over your body, kissing you hard as he nearly bent you in half.

Your orgasm hit you, but every thrust of his cock was still hitting that spot and making it feel like it was lasting forever. You tried to tell Billy it was too much, but the way he was laying on you made it impossible. A few actual tears slipped from your eyes.

Billy noticed immediately. “Holy shit,” he said, and then he dropped his head into your neck and cried out as he came, pumping his load into you, thrusting in as deep as possible to make sure you got every drop.

His trembling body remained on top of you for a bit longer, then he rolled off, pulling out and laying down next to you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, nuzzling his face into your neck. Billy Hargrove was not a cuddler after sex - usually it was okay thanks, bye. But with you…he never wanted to let you go.

You didn’t question it. You weren’t sure you wanted to go down that path.

Billy played with your hair as you laid there. He thought - about you, mostly. Should he actually ask you out? He’s been playing this cool guy who only does hookups role for so long, he’s almost forgotten how to initiate a relationship. Did he want one? With you, yes. Absolutely. So why didn’t he just ask? It drove him crazy that he knew you still slept with Munson. He had stopped sleeping with other girls. Sure, he hadn’t exactly told you that yet, because wouldn’t that make it too real? Would you even like that? Or would it scare you right back into Eddie’s arms? But if there’s one thing Billy knew, it’s how he felt about you.

You liked Billy. You really did. But could you even be together if you wanted to be? Your dad certainly knew of Billy, too. He’s just as high on the stay away list as Eddie.

But you let Billy cuddle you. You let him twirl your hair, trace your skin with his fingers, pepper your body in kisses and affection, whisper sweet nothings in your ear. 

Maybe it was wrong of you. Maybe you just wanted to feel loved. Maybe you really could love him back. Or maybe you never would.

You spent that weekend with Billy, with a promise to your dad that you were at Chrissy’s. You felt horrible lying to him, but there’s no way he would have let you stay otherwise. The thought was laughable.

You had never lied to your dad before this year. It felt horrible, like grime stuck to your skin you could never wash away. And to lie so you could sleep with guys? Who even were you becoming?

You didn’t dwell on that thought for the weekend. You allowed yourself to be spoiled by Billy - you fucked, you watched movies, fucked some more, cooked together, slept in bed cuddled together, fucked again. When you finally left Sunday evening, Billy had a perfectly sated smile on his face, leaning against his bedroom door in nothing but a pair of boxers, smoking a cigarette as you packed your stuff.

You heard the door open as you were zipping up your bag, then- “Ew, gross.”

You smiled as Billy scrambled to throw some sweats on. “Hey, Max.”

“Hey,” she greeted you. She always liked you, the times you’d been in the car while Billy drove her home or to the arcade. At least you were nice and didn’t totally ignore her.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you home?” Billy asked gently as you headed for the front door with your cheer bag. His hand rested on your cheek, looking into your eyes like you held the secrets of the universe there. “I don’t like you walking alone.”

“That would kind of give away the lie,” you said, with a forced playfulness. You didn’t exactly want to walk all the way home either, but you weren’t going to pull up at home in Billy Hargrove’s Camaro.

“Let me at least take you part way,” he said. “It’s a long walk.”

Eventually, you agreed to that. Billy put a shirt on and escorted you out to the car. He drove you most of the way home, stopping half a mile from your cabin. “You sure you’re good from here?”

“Yes, Billy,” you said. You were already climbing out of the car with your bag slung over your shoulder. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” he said. “See you.”

Billy watched you walk as far as he could see, then found a spot to turn around and go back to his own house. He knew he needed to be there before his dad and Susan got home.

When you saw your dad was already at home, you breathed a sigh of relief that you hadn’t let Billy drive you all the way. You knew it was unlikely, but it was still a possibility. You walked up the front steps and let yourself inside.

Hopper looked up as you walked in, a smile on his face. “Well if it isn’t my beautiful daughter I never see. How was Chrissy’s?”

He didn’t sound suspicious at all, which was a good thing, but only made you feel a million times worse. “Good. We had fun.”

“Good,” he said. He took another sip from his beer. A pause. “That Munson boy called for you again.”

You almost rolled your eyes. You had told Eddie time and time again that you would call him. “Oh yeah? Probably just about the project.”

Your dad hummed. “You know I don’t want you spendin’ time with him-“

“-anymore than I have to, yeah I know,” you said. You tried not to let visions of things you and Eddie had already done flash through your mind, but you were powerless to stop it.

“He’s bad news, honey,” he said. “We’ve had him in the station a lot. Him and that…new Hargrove boy.”

Your cheeks flushed. Of course your two hookups were the entirety of the list. “I won’t, dad. I hardly even know them.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” he said. “You’re a good girl. You’re not dumb. Don’t do something dumb.”

“Where were you all weekend?”

Eddie’s voice purred in your ear as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close into his lean body. You giggled, letting him hold you, touch you.

“Billy’s,” you said, like it was nothing.

Eddie froze. “You were at Hargrove’s all weekend?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, turning around in Eddie’s arms. “His parents were gone for the weekend, so he asked me to stay over.”

Eddie was looking at you with his brows furrowed. “That’s serious.”

“No it’s not,” you said dismissively, waving that idea off. “He just wanted to get laid all weekend.”

“I’m telling you,” Eddie said, looking at you seriously. “It is. If Hargrove asked you to play house with him all weekend, it’s because he feels something for you. More than just sex.”

“Eddie, do we have to do this right now?” You played with the curls at the bottom of his neck, the ones that always drove him crazy. Eddie groaned, the fight leaving his body.

“Jus’ don’t want you forgettin’ about me,” he mumbled.

Your heart sunk. “Eddie, that’s not gonna happen.”

Much like Billy, Eddie also had constant thoughts of why he didn’t just ask you out. You were everything he wanted. The only thing he wanted. He didn’t look at other girls at all. He knew the thing with your dad would be an obstacle, but it didn’t have to mean there couldn’t be anything, right?

And he thought you liked him, too. That was until Billy came into the picture. Before Billy, you and Eddie just hooked up with each other, no one else. It was just a few words away from being official - at least that’s how Eddie saw it. When he learned you had started sleeping with Billy, he had to pretend to be a lot less phased than he was.

Because he had been hurt.

“What if Billy asks you out, huh?” Eddie asked. “What would you do?”

You looked up into Eddie’s big brown eyes. “Why haven’t you asked me out?”

Eddie didn’t know what to say to that. His lips parted, but no sound came. Before he could think about it too much, you connected your lips to his. Any thoughts that had been in his head swiftly left as he felt your tongue prodding against his bottom lip.

“Take me somewhere,” you whispered, and Eddie’s grip tightened on you like he was scared you’d drift away.

“Let’s go to my van,” he said.

You and Eddie practically ran out of the school hand in hand, giggling as you sprinted for his van. You got some strange looks from other students - even your friends didn’t understand your weird flip-flopping between Eddie and Billy - but you didn’t care. You never had. And you were well liked enough that no one was going to go tattling to your dad.

Eddie started up the van and drove off. He could and would have fucked you right there in the school parking lot where everyone could see the van rocking as he pounded into you, but he thought you deserved more than that.

So Lover’s Lake it was.

He pulled to a stop in front of the familiar lake, killing the engine. He nodded back towards the back, and you didn’t have to be told twice before you were climbing between the seats and to the large open space behind them. Eddie was right behind you, and then he was all over you.

He felt every inch of your body, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. You kissed frantically, hands and lips everywhere. Eddie groaned, his pants even tighter than how they began. He shuddered when you ran your hand over the bulge in his jeans.

“Please,” he gasped. “Need you.”

Eddie could be dominant, but for the most part he was much more submissive than Billy. He had no problem begging, or letting you take control. Billy was different. He liked pushing you down, taking what he felt belonged to him. Eddie was all sweet touches and pleading and looking up at you with his doe eyes while he begged to cum.

You began undoing his belt and jeans while Eddie’s hand slipped beneath your dress. He stroked you over your panties, feeling the material soaked from your arousal. Nothing got Eddie off like seeing how badly you wanted him.

Just as you shoved his jeans and boxers down enough to free his cock, Eddie pulled away from you, pushing you back and making you gasp as he dove in between your legs. He buried his face against your cunt, breathing in your scent, nose pressed against the wet material of your thin panties. You gasped again when his tongue came out and licked you over the fabric.

“Need to taste you,” he begged. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet. Can’t resist this pussy.”

You whined. “Please.”

Eddie didn’t need to hear anything else. He slipped his ringed fingers beneath the waist of your panties and pulled them down, wasting not a single second before he was burying his face in your bare pussy. His long tongue licked along your folds, then he really dove in, two fingers slipping inside of you until you could feel the metal of his rings against your skin.

He thrusted his fingers as he worked that talented tongue over your clit, making your head absolutely spin as you writhed on the messy floor of his van. But how many times had he fucked you back here already? Eddie had fucked you lots of places, to be fair.

“Eddie, I’m- oh!” 

You cried as he sucked hard, your thighs trembling around his head, fingers tangling in his curls. You pulled on his hair, making him moan against your pussy. He was thrusting against the blanket beneath you, his dripping cock rubbing against the material providing some kind of relief.

He just needed you to cum for him, at least once. He didn’t think he could survive without it, didn’t want to cum inside you without the taste of your own release still on his tongue.

You were going to give him exactly what he wanted. You could feel it building deep in your belly, your chest heaving faster with the speed of your breaths. He sped up the pace of his fingers, his tongue working over you exactly the way he remembered you loved.

“Eddie!”

Eddie groaned as you tightened around his fingers, cumming all over his hand and mouth. He fucked you faster through your release, until you were covering your face and telling him to stop. When you couldn’t take anymore, he pulled back and placed a final kiss against your clit.

“Always taste so good,” he said with a wicked grin, like he’d gladly do it all over again. If he knew how Billy had made you cum so hard you cried, he would take it as a personal challenge.

He kissed you, pushing your dress up your body. You could fully taste yourself on his tongue, and it excited you. The first time Eddie had kissed you after going down on you, you weren’t sure you liked it - but it grew on you. He slipped your dress off over your head and threw it to the side.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?” he asked quietly as he nuzzled between your tits, kissing over every bit of exposed skin he could get to.

“That’s not true,” you said, like the natural reaction to being called beautiful was to shut it down as soon as possible.

“But it is,” he said. He looked down, then back up. “Do you see what you do t’me?”

“That’s not that hard to do,” you teased, and Eddie smiled.

“To this level, yeah, pretty hard to do.” He kissed you. “I only get this hard for you.”

“How romantic,” you giggled. Your laugh turned into a gasp when he bit down on your neck, covering a hickey Billy had left over the weekend.

“I can be romantic, if that’s what you want,” he said. “I just thought you liked getting fucked like a whore.”

“I do,” you said quickly. “I like both.”

Eddie smirked down at you. “I could be slow and gentle sometimes too, y’know.”

“I like when you fuck me,” you pouted.

Eddie chuckled. “I like fucking you too. I just, I don’t know…sometimes I wanna take it slow. Really look at you. Really feel you.”

Your heart was beating faster. “Yeah?”

Eddie was kissing across your chest now. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Can I do that?”

You thought about it. It seemed like it was awfully close to catching feelings, which you had promised yourself you wouldn’t do, for either of them. But the way Eddie made your heart beat, the way you wanted him to make love to you, wanted him to love you-

“Okay,” you said. “Just this once.”

Eddie smiled. He unhooked your bra and let you pull his t-shirt over his head. He kissed all over your body, taking his sweet time working his hips back between your legs.

“Don’t wanna use a condom,” he mumbled. “I wanna feel you. All of you.”

“You don’t have to,” you said. “I’m on birth control, you know that.”

Eddie knew that very well. He was paranoid about the consequences, though - usually he used a condom every time anyway, just to be safe. But sometimes…

“No fucking condom,” he said. He kissed you hard again as he lined himself up at your entrance, pushing just barely inside. He sunk into you with a slow roll of his hips, your body turning to pure electricity as you felt every single inch of him inside of you.

He was slowly grinding his hips into you, carefully thrusting at a pace slower than he’d ever used. It took everything in him not to pound you into the floor, but he was loving the feeling of savoring your body. He could really feel every inch of your velvety walls, the way you clenched around him, holding his cock tightly within your warmth.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, whispering right in your ear as he made love to you. “Feel so fuckin’ good. Always so tight for me, like your body was made for me. Only me.”

Eddie always got a little possessive, especially if he knew you had recently been with Billy. He would never say it, but it was obvious that it drove him crazy. He needed to claim you for his own.

Eddie’s lithe body rolled as he pressed his cock into you over and over, holding your body close to his. You could feel his heart beating against your own chest, and you wondered if he could feel yours, too. Eddie kissed your neck as he fucked you, covering every mark Billy had made.

He reached in between your bodies and rubbed against your clit. You whimpered, something had already been building just from the feeling of the way he was fucking you, taking you apart.

“Eddie,” you whined, “I’m…I’m gonna cum again.”

He groaned. “Yeah, baby, I want you to. Got to taste your cum on my tongue, now I wanna feel you make a mess on my cock.”

You whimpered again as Eddie began to lose himself, his hips speeding up back to a normal pace for him. His hips were snapping against yours, his moans becoming shaky and weak. You were throbbing around him as your orgasm built and built.

When it snapped, your mouth dropped open in a wide O, your nails digging into Eddie’s back and scratching down his skin, leaving bright red marks. You cried out his name again and again like a prayer, and the feeling of your pussy clenching around him combined with the look on your face pushed Eddie over the edge.

He came hard inside of you, grunting your name until it turned into more of a whine, a plead. He shook as he held onto you - Eddie always came so hard, so much. You could feel him filling you, feel the way he came so much it was dripping out from around him.

When he pulled out, he inhaled sharply, eyes glued to the mess he left behind. His favorite part, the part he didn’t get to enjoy when he used a condom. This was worth the risk.

“Fuck, look at you,” he remarked. “That’s so fuckin’ filthy.” His eyes remained glued to you, taking in the view, until a lightbulb went off in his head. “Shit, wait! Don’t move.”

You watched him curiously as he reached under his seat. He came back out holding a polaroid camera - and your eyes widened.

“I got it for us,” he said sheepishly. “Can I…?”

“You want to take a picture?” you asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah,” he laughed. “I’ll be looking at this one every night.”

You weren’t sure how comfortable you were with this exactly, but he seemed so excited, you didn’t want to tell him no. “Okay. Just don’t get my face in it.”

“You got it.” Eddie moved back between your legs and lifted the camera to his face. He lined up the shot and took the photo. When it came out of the bottom of the camera, he held it up, waiting for it to develop. You knew it had when a wolfish grin spread across his features - “Oh, that’s a good one.” He looked up at you. “Do you wanna see?”

“I’m good,” you said, scrunching your nose up. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see yourself in that way - he could keep that to himself. He certainly seemed to love it, though, the way he kept staring at the image.

“Gonna cherish this,” he said with a smile. He stuffed the photo in the back pocket of his jeans. He grabbed a towel from the floor and cleaned you up with it, then handed you your clothes. You both redressed in a comfortable silence - you’d been here many times before.

“What do you want to do now?” Eddie asked. He pulled a cigarette from his pack. “I don’t really want you to go.”

You shrugged. “What do you think?”

Eddie lit the cigarette and brought it to his lips, taking a long drag. “We could smoke,” he offered. “We could make out. We could go back to my place and listen to music, smoke, and make out.”

You laughed. “Alright. Your place it is.”

It took you too long to realize something was wrong.

Being on birth control, you didn’t always get your period - so that didn’t set off any alarm bells for you at first. It was when you started getting sick after breakfast, when your clothes felt like sandpaper against your boobs, when you had to pee 50 million times a night. That’s when you got scared.

“What’s wrong with you?” a wide-eyed Tina asked at school when you showed up dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, hood pulled over your disheveled hair and dark circles beneath your eyes. “You look like shit. Like actually.”

“Yeah, are you okay?” Carol asked. She put the back of her hand against your forehead.

“I’m pregnant,” you said.

The girls froze.

“…What?” Carol asked, sure she hadn’t heard what she’d just heard. Her, Tina, and Chrissy leaned in. “Say that again.”

“I don’t know for sure, but-“

“No, say what you just said again,” Tina said. “You know, the thing you said just a minute ago.”

You looked up, willing the tears brewing in your eyes not to fall. “I’m pregnant. I think.”

The girls just blinked at you.

“Did you take a test?” Chrissy finally asked.

“No,” you said. “I haven’t…I’ve been scared.”

“Well, don’t just go around telling people you’re pregnant when you don’t even know,” Tina said.

“Oh my god,” Carol said, shoving her books back into her locker. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Carol led the way out of school. No one stopped the four of you as you walked out with confidence, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. No one ever questioned the four of you.

Carol drove you all to the pharmacy. You had a whole entourage with you as you went inside, picking up one of the results in 30 minutes! tests. Minutes later you were shut in your downstairs bathroom, grateful your dad had such a set work schedule, and taking the test while the girls bickered outside.

“If she’s pregnant, I’m the godmother-“

“No, she would pick me, we’ve been friends longer-“

“Yeah, but she likes me best, so-“

The chatter stopped when you walked out. Your friends looked at you with concern. “30 minutes,” you said, as if that wasn’t a potential death sentence.

They tried their best to keep you entertained and your mind off things as you waited the 30 minutes, but it didn’t work. The seconds ticked by like hours.

When the 30 minutes were up, each of your friends squeezed your hand, offering their silent support as you went inside to see the results. You looked down, and, sure enough- blue. Positive.

You choked out a sob. The girls rushed to your side, looking down at the results and then pulling you into a group hug.

“Oh, honey,” Carol said, stroking your hair. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re not in this alone,” Chrissy said. “We promise. You have us.”

“Do you…” Tina began awkwardly, like she knew she shouldn’t ask what she was about to but couldn’t help herself. “Do you know who the dad is?”

It occurred to everyone at that exact moment. No. You didn’t.

Something broke inside and the tears began flowing freely. You covered your face as choked sobs escaped your lungs - you were scared.

The girls did their best to calm you, to assure you everything would be okay, but you didn’t believe them. This was a fucking disaster. A baby, and no idea who the father was. There were two very possible options.

And what the fuck happened to your birth control? Useless, apparently.

The girls stayed with you all day. No one cared about skipping school, even though it was the first time you’d really done it. By the time the school day was over, you had come up with somewhat of a plan.

“Can you take me to Billy’s?” you pleaded with Carol.

She raised her brows. “You want to tell him? Now?”

“Yes,” you said. “I just…he’s…you know how Billy is.” You twisted one of your rings around your finger. “He…gets upset. So I just want to get it over with. I don’t want him to find out through a rumor or something.”

“We’re not gonna tell,” Carol said. Her eyes darted over to where Tina stood across the room. “Well, I’m not gonna tell. But yeah, I’ll drive you.”

You insisted Carol drop off Tina and Chrissy before taking you to Billy’s. The nerves were in place, and you admitted you were putting it off. Once the girls were gone and Carol’s car idled in front of the Hargrove residence, you just stared at the front door. Billy’s car was here - he was home. You didn’t see any other cars.

“You sure you want to do this today?” Carol asked, her face full of concern. “You don’t have to. You can wait.”

“There’s no point,” you shrugged. “He has to find out. I might as well…get it over with.”

Carol watched as you got out of the car and walked the sidewalk to the porch. You’d only been here the one time before, but you knew you were at the right place. You raised your fist - and let it hover over the door. You stood there - god, what would you even say? Would Billy be pissed? Would he blow up? Would he do something?

Your hand came down against the door.

as always, comments & reblogs are so appreciated!!

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[delopsia]

the kind that money can't buy (calico creek) | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 12,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, friends to lovers, size kink, general awkwardness due to a love confession gone wrong. Cunnilingus, creampies, multiple orgasms, hand jobs, grinding, usage of the 'snowed-in' trope, slightly implied inexperienced reader. Reader generally being overwhelmed at times. Notes are subject to be updated because I feel like I'm forgetting something... My almost-late entry for @lewmagoo's holiday celebration!

Brief Summary: Sometimes, all love needs is a botched love confession, broken bridges, a tiny cabin out on Calico Creek, and an inconceivable amount of snow. Inspired by the Stephen Wilson Jr. song, Calico Creek.

"And what's the plan if we die on this mission?" 

"There ain't one," Rhett chuckles, his eyes flickering between the bridge and the rearview mirror. Whatever he sees isn't enough, has to twist in his seat to look out the back window. "Might as well write your will and send it via carrier pigeon." 

He's gonna die with the left side of his neck, and the lower portions of his jaw smeared in cheap paint, and he doesn't even know it. Hell, there might be some in his hair now that you look at it.

You don't know how he can manage to do this. You can hardly look away from the window for more than a second, staring down at the edge of the bridge. Nothing but rushing waters and wood laid decades before you were born, no guardrail to prevent you from plummeting a hundred-something feet to your rocky, hypothermic demise. 

The turn onto this old-fashioned safety hazard is almost too tight for the trailer, one of the tires briefly hanging midair as it crawls onto the bridge. Something creaks below, low and grumpy, an ancient spirit disturbed from its eternal slumber. 

"I still think it's cracking beneath us." That sounds like wood cracking. Does he not hear it? Why is he not putting it in reverse yet? 

"Well, we don't seem to be fallin' yet." The idiot seems to have left his intelligence back at the rodeo. 

You must have forgotten yours, too, because you're the one who stupidly agreed to this whole venture, knowing full well you would have to cross this godforsaken bridge. This thing has been ready to collapse since the day you were born and has threatened to take you down the countless times you've ventured over it. But, like clockwork, the truck crawls out the other side, emerging onto safe, solid ground. 

"Oh, I forgot all about this," you don't mean to say it out loud, but it slips past your defenses, a breath that you can only hold back for so long. 

Snow-covered trees decorate the sides of the beaten gravel road, arching overhead, their baren branches seeming to kiss the silver sky itself. Icicles hang from some of them, twinkling in the light. Stunning in its own right, but nowhere near as gorgeous as Calico Creek herself, still just as wild and alive as she has always been. 

It's a wonder the Tillerson's haven't tried stealing this out from under the Abbotts, too. There's no way they haven't heard the stories about this place, and there's no way they have never wondered about where the water beneath the bridge on Warm Creek Road leads.

"The cabin is still standing?" It looks the same, too. Time itself must stop every time someone leaves this place.

"For some reason," Rhett's nails tap against the steering wheel. "Mom comes out here to pull weeds every other month in the summer."

"Still?"

"Old habits die hard."

And that...fuck, what do you say? Nothing? That was an invitation for a follow-up.

...no, maybe it wasn't. Why are you making it weird? Come on, think.What is it that you usually say when Cecelia comes up in conversation? Oh! You should ask about...no, he already said that she's spent all day cooking a roast. 

The tires slip beneath the truck. Rhett reaches for the gear shifter. His paint-mottled hand spins across the wheel, drawing the vehicle off the ice as quickly as it crawled onto it. Focused entirely on the road and nothing else.

Rodeo lights flicker through your mind. Old dirt flies through the air again, a neverending plume of dust that still makes your nose burn. Your stomach is twisting around, working itself into a knot it'll never get out of.

"Hello?" A gloved hand waves in front of your face. "Y' in there?"

"Huh?" 

The truck has long since stopped. Crudely parked in front of the cabin with no regard for how it may look to anyone else. It's been stopped for a while, too; you can already feel the cooler air creeping through the vents. How a cowboy like him can put up with a truck that only blows heat when it's moving is beyond you. You would have sold this thing years ago. 

"I was askin' if you're ready," Rhett's brow furrows, and for a moment, you're worried that he can see straight through you. "Are you sure you slept last night?" 

"Yeah." Lie. 

The corner of his mouth wobbles up and down, lips parting with the beginnings of a sentence. Then, flattening into a line. Your eyes meet. You don't know what to say. Neither does he. Your face feels hot all of a sudden. 

It's too damn quiet in this truck.

Your saving grace comes in the form of a squealing door hinge. Shrill. Screaming at the top of its lungs as Rhett shoves it open. Yeah. Okay. You'll get out, too, then.

If life were a comic, then the rush of frozen air would have steam rising from your heated cheeks. Fortunately, no such thing happens; it's just your burning skin and the vicious bite of single-digit temperatures eating away at what little moisture you have left, not satisfied until your skin has been left raw and chapped.

Snow crunches beneath your boots, soft at first but growing firm as it compacts under your weight. Every step feels just as unsteady as the last, and with each one, you're nearly certain that this time, you will find uneven ground and go tumbling head-first into this pristine, wintery hell that has encased the entire state of Wyoming. And yet, you continue to find solid footing.

"Remind me again why we're looking for a...?" Your words die in your throat, lost to the howling wind. Did he ever mention what you were looking for out here?

A moment passes. Rhett turns his head to you. Gives you a few more seconds to conjure up the words you're looking for. "Horse-drawn grain drill?" Finishing your thought. "Mom saw a post on Facebook and thinks she can turn it into decor."

You don't know what a horse-drawn grain drill is, but you've got a feeling that it's the old jumble of rusted metal that has been decaying against a cedar tree since you were in kindergarten. Somewhere behind the cabin, beyond the tree line. "Is this another one of those projects that she starts and you have to finish?"

"What makes ya guess that?" The corner of his eye crinkles with his smile; now that you've got something to compare it to, the snow doesn't seem so bright anymore.

"Well, last I checked, she was the one repainting the walls downstairs," the ground shifts beneath your foot. Sends you stumbling. "But half of your jaw is a nice shade of Beacon Gray."

"Shit." His hands rise, blindly pawing at his face with the backs of his gloved hands, digging at it the best that he can manage. "Why didn't ya tell me I had this shit all over my face?" Flecks of gray rain down like snowflakes, scattering across the front of his jacket. 

He pauses, those expectant blue eyes landing on your shivering frame. Hopeful, even. Poor thing hasn't the slightest clue that his neck is stained with the imprint of his own hand right now. 

You shake your head. "I think you're gonna have to shave to get it all off." 

His whine echoes through the empty trees. "But I just got it to the right length again!"

As if it would get to last past the weekend, you can already hear Cecelia fussing at him to shave and tidy himself up for Christmas Service. She'll probably try squeezing him into that old suit she had tailored for him after he graduated high school, too. So tiny and narrow that the fabric visibly struggles to contain those broad shoulders...

You've gotta think of something else before you start drooling and a damn icicle forms. 

"What, you don't think it adds character?" Rhett leans over, knocking his arm against yours. If he hears your heart lurch in your chest, he doesn't comment on it. 

Looking at him is the worst thing you could possibly do. He's just so close, and he's waited until this very moment to tilt his head down and ease that old cowboy hat on, the felt one with the chipped brim. Rugged, just like his four-day-old scruff and the unruly hair that curls behind his ear and hasn't been cut since spring began. 

"It adds...something," you don't know what your conclusion is supposed to mean. Fortunately, he doesn't ask any further; just rolls his eyes and keeps walking. 

Against all odds, that old bench Royal built for you is still sitting and facing the creek. The piles of snow almost entirely obscure its frame, but it's the bench nonetheless. Two wooden pallets crudely cut and nailed together, Abbott engineering at its finest. 

"Do you remember the tire swings?" You vaguely remember them, hung from trees that once occupied the space the bench now occupies. But they weren't ordinary tire swings. No, they were fashioned to look like horses, with old recycled bridles and name tags. Isabela and Flash. 

Rhett shakes his head, chuckling at a memory. "I remember jumpin' off of 'em a lot."

"And breaking your arm because you overshot and landed in the creek?" You can still hear Cecelia screaming at the top of her lungs. "No wonder why you turned out to be a bull rider. You're still chasing the high of nearly breaking your neck in Calico Creek." 

All he can do is laugh; there's no defending himself from this one. 

Fortunately for him, the conversation dies at the sight of that old hunk of metal. It still lies in the same spot it's always been, somewhat sunken into the soil and leaving behind an indent in the tree it rests against. The thing has all the right in the world to stubbornly cling to its resting place, but Rhett doesn't even seem to struggle when he pulls on it.

It's reasonably light, all things considered. 

...or maybe it just feels light because Rhett is doing most of the pulling. 

But the metal is frozen in a thin sheet of ice, and by the time you get it within distance of the trailer, it's melted and seeped into your gloves. Frozen water gnawing at your already cold fingers, eating through flesh and straight down into the bone. Solidifying in your joints for extra measure.

You've got no choice but to drag it along for no reason other than you can't let go. Trudging through the snow, audibly crunching with every step, every inch of your exposed skin burning in a frozen fire. And it must freeze your memory, too, because the next thing you remember is the rear trailer gate falling open, clattering against the ground. It creates a ramp of sorts. 

"I can pull it up from here," Rhett, ever the gentleman.

You'd love to let him take it, but...well, you're trying, but your fingers are hardly budging. Frozen in place, another piece of the machine. You don't remember when they went numb, but you can hardly feel them anymore; they may have even detached from your body entirely. But, slowly, they pry themselves open, stiff muscles fighting against your effort to pull your hand back to your chest.

Rhett tilts his head. "'s your hand frozen?" 

"My glove got soaked," pausing to blow air onto it. The heat of your breath is nice...until it fades and leaves you even more aware of the difference in temperature. "It's fine, just a little cold."

"'Cold' my ass," muttering under his breath. He reaches out, his big hand practically engulfing yours as he pulls it toward him, plucking the soaked glove off before you've even realized what he's doing. "I ain't havin' ya get frostbit."

His other hand dives into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief that's been wrapped around something. You can feel the heat radiating off of it before he's even placed it in your frozen palm. A hand warmer.

The wind nips at your frosty skin, but the handkerchief is big enough that you can wrap the fabric around your hand entirely. A thin shield to block off at least some of the cold. 

Truly, you don't think Rhett even needed you to come along in the first place because he gets the old piece of equipment onto the trailer without the slightest hint of a struggle. It's so easy that you almost catch yourself looking back to see if there's a bigger piece to haul up. Why did he ask you to help with something so simple?

And why did you agree to it?

It's something you're still wondering when you heave yourself back up into the truck, squeezing into the corner of the old cloth seat like it'll somehow save you from the burst of frigid air that races out of the vents. God, why were you wishing for snow last week? This is hell.

"How do you put up with this every winter?" You're fighting to keep your teeth from chattering, not even going to make an attempt at straightening yourself out to put the seat belt on. Curling into a ball sounds like a much better option than that; safety be damned. 

"Layers 'n a dash of self-hatred." The truck rumbles as Rhett's foot presses on the gas pedal, the beaten tires frantically searching for traction on the slick ground. They find it. Lurching forward. "I shoulda become an accountant or somethin'."

"You as an accountant?" Snickering. 

Somewhere, in the effort to almost entirely spin the truck around, Rhett finds the chance to lean over and knock his elbow against yours. "Hey, y' don't see none of them office folk freezin' for a livin', now do ya?" 

"I'd love to see you crammed in a little cubicle," you laugh, and all he can do is roll his eyes, shaking his head all the while. 

A beam of light bounces off the creek waters. You know it's merely the change in angle that caused it, but the little voice in your head quietly wonders if old Calico Creek is laughing with you. She keeps doing it, too. Light-reflecting in little sparks, bouncing off chunks of broken ice and the rushing silver water itself, following you all the way up to the bridge.

You don't remember the bridge groaning like this last time. Maybe more towards the middle, but certainly not this early. Though, even as you untwist from your huddle and peer out the window, you can't see anything crumbling. 

"Rhett?" 

"I hear it."

Still, he eases the truck forward, but you can hear the whir of the window as he rolls it down. You would do the same and stick your head out, too, if you weren't just now regaining sensation in your nose. 

It sounds like popcorn beneath you. Soft little popping noises that you can feel when you press your feet against the floorboard. 

Rhett jumps for the shifter. 

Wood snaps.

The truck dips forward.

Something roars. You're going backward. The earth spins. White and silver and brown blurs into one big mess. Metal and tires scream. Your head bounces against the back of the seat.

And everything is still.

You're facing the river. The cabin is on your right, and the bridge is...the bridge is...

"Did it...?"

"Yeah..." Rhett whispers, his eyes as equally glued to the sight as yours are. "it did." 

The bridge is gone. 

"I have good news and bad news." Rhett's voice bounces off every wall in the cabin, almost makes it hard for you to figure out which of the two rooms he's walking out of. As if you didn't watch him disappear into one the moment that his phone started ringing.

"What's the good news?" You ask, squeezing the hand warmer just a little tighter. But there's no longer any heat radiating from it, reduced to nothing but a dull, rapidly fading warmth. 

"The bad news is," it seems he's completely ignoring what you just said. "The roads are shit 'n Perry doesn't think he can plow out the upper path 'till at least tomorrow afternoon." 

And then he's gone. Vanishing back into the room he just moseyed out of. 

"The good news?" You know he can hear you, but you don't get a reply. Nothing but a load of underwhelming silence. "Rhett?" 

Something thunks against the floor. Heavy. Solid. 

"Remember that time we snuck out and went over to Idaho for that rodeo mom didn't want me goin' to?" The echo is so bad that it takes a moment to catch up to what he's just said.

A memory stirs to mind. "I remember you getting drunk and busting your lip falling out of the truck."

Rhett's head pokes around the corner, his pale nose wrinkled with what you can only identify as disgust. Maybe a hint of embarrassment. Not his favorite memory, you suppose. 

"I don't know if y' remember it, but Dad was so furious that he made me come out here 'n chop every downed tree he could find for weeks." He disappears for another moment. Then, steps back into the room, lifting a chunk of split wood into the air. "Come to find out, all of it's still here." 

"Suddenly, I'm considering forgiving you for the grilling your mom gave us after that." You can't resist your smile. For once, your teenage antics pay off, even if it was all his idea. 

"It's inappropriate for you two to be alone together like that!" Mocking in the shrillest voice he can manage as he steps over to the fireplace, bending down to load the wood inside. "Don't know why she always thought that we..." His Adam's apple bobs. Glancing at you.

You look away. 

...yeah. 

Your lower belly twists, inexplicably filling with butterflies who have blades for wings. Or maybe they're moths, eating through you like old laundry. Whatever they are, they worsen when you peek at him through the corner of your eye, the momentary flicker of a memory nearly making you nauseous.

"Do you need help?" You don't know why you're asking when you're already reaching out, ready to take the next chunk of wood from him. It'll be easier for you to put it in; you're already down here on the floor.

"No, it's—it's fine," he freezes mid-crouch. Your fingers brush against the back of his hand. "I've got it. You should..." 

Life...stops.

For a split second, you fear that your fingertips have melted and become one with him, stuck together for the rest of eternity. But the blaze of the fire burns before you can reach melting point, jerking away as if burned. Rhett looks away. You do, too. 

You're right back at the rodeo again. 

Dusty Sunday night air spirals around you. A dry earthy scent burns at your nose, disguising the already vague tinge of sweat and what you can only describe as animal that clings to him. Dirt clings to his glistening jaw, smeared all the way down his neck and the left side of his jeans. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think they replaced Rhett with that of a wild-eyed mustang, icy blues damn near about to swallow you whole. It hardly matches his stuttered whispers, so damn shy in comparison to what lurks at the surface. 

"I...I uhm..." his boot kicks at the ground, stirring up another plume of dirt. "I know ain't good at this sort of thing, but I—" His tongue hitches, lips still moving, but not a damn thing comes out. 

Broad shoulders shiver. Caving in on themselves. And he drops his head, the brim of his hat concealing everything but his mouth from view. Hiding in plain sight. This doesn't nearly match the excitement that the shiny new championship buckle in his hand should warrant, but now it's been reduced to nothing but a toy for him to fidget with. Twisting it round and round in his wavering palm. 

"Rhett...?" Hooking your finger under the very edge of his hat, lifting it until you catch sight of red cheeks and impossibly wide baby blues. A deer caught in the headlights. 

"I love you."

It's there and gone with the breeze. So swift that if not for the sight of his lips shaping around those three little words, you would think you made it up entirely. 

But it was there, still clear as day in your memory; if you try hard enough, you can almost convince yourself that you can step through time. Re-enter your starstruck body and kiss him before the sheriff can cut in and shoo you away to ask questions about another spat between his family and the Tillersons.

But time travel doesn't exist, and that confession still hangs in the air, its rusty hinges squealing every time you think you've finally forgotten about it. What do you even say now? 'Hey, I'm sorry that in the span of a few weeks, I couldn't conjure up a better way to revive the topic, but I love you too. Hope you haven't taken my silence as rejection and moved on already!' What if he didn't even mean it as a love confession? 

Rhett hasn't said anything about it.

Neither have you.

The crackle of the fire is the only thing present to fill the silence. Occasionally broken apart by the pops of Rhett's joints every time he goes to fetch another piece of wood, ancient floorboards groaning in tandem with the thump of his boots. Even his jingling spurs are a welcome sound, shrill as they might be.

Nightfall is either your greatest blessing or the biggest curse known to mankind. The darkest corners of the cabin are lost to the shadows in a matter of hours. God knows if anything is lurking in there, ready to pounce at any given moment, but with it, Rhett's solemn face disappears, too. Reduced to glistening eyes and flashes of skin in the firelight. 

"Do you remember when we used to beg your mom to let us spend the night up here?" The sound of your voice is borderline shocking. A smidge too loud for the heavy silence that covers the room like a thick winter blanket. 

Rhett's hum dissolves into a chuckle. "Guess we really should have listened when she told us to watch what we wish for." 

He peeks at you through the corner of his eye, a strand of brown hair falling out from behind his ear and into his face. You catch his gaze, locking for a lingering moment. His mouth rises into a weary smile.

"We should have wished for endless snacks and a million-dollar lottery ticket while we were at it," you can only imagine what other things you two have begged poor Cecelia for. "And maybe a spare blanket."

Rhett blinks. Staring into the fire. His eyes widen, lighting up with a realization. "I got some in the truck."

"Lottery tickets?"

"Blankets," he's trying his best to sound annoyed, but his own grin betrays him. 

Something in his knee pops as he stands up, audibly protesting, but he's already on his feet. There go those spurs again, chiming away with every step, glinting in the light, and...

"What is that?" You ask, with a tilt of your head. It doesn't help you see any better, but the effort is there. 

Rhett freezes. "Huh?"

"Come here," beckoning him closer. "You've got something on the back of your boot."

"Those are called spurs, sweetheart," but Rhett comes back to you anyway.

He...meant that as a joke. Yeah. That's what it was. 

...right?

"No, it's..." There's something silver just above the spur on his left heel, so sharp that it pierces straight through the leather. Something long and gray hangs from it. Feels like plastic. It looks like...a rubber fish?

"'s that a damn Rapala?" Rhett's voice rises in pitch. Confused. 

"I didn't know fishing lures could catch cowboys," giggling, you pinch the hook, tugging it from the hole it's created in his shoe. The thing is ancient. Its once brilliant silver scales now a muted yellow, the singular remaining hook mangled and warped into an unrecognizable mess. 

He reaches down, opening that big hand of his. The little lure practically shrinks when you place it in his palm, suddenly nothing but a minuscule hunk of plastic and metal. "I knew they were in the creek but I didn't expect them to be all the way up here, too." 

You think that you can still hear Cecelia calling out, warning you two to watch where you step and to be careful in the shallow creek waters. It's a wonder how neither of you ever got a hook in your foot. You've lost track of how many summer Sunday afternoons you've spent in Calico Creek. You don't think you even liked visiting their church; you only ever tagged along because of what came after the service ended. 

Thump_

"What was that?" You're pretty sure it came from outside, but you're not about to dismiss the potential of someone lurking in the shadows of the room. 

"Dunno," but he's about to find out, slinking toward the door like a stray cat. You don't know how he does it, but his boots are suddenly quiet. The spurs on his heels don't even sing. All holding their breath as he opens the door. 

It's snowing so hard that you can see the shape of the wind when it bursts through the gap, cloaked like a ghost in a white sheet. Swirling around the room, all too eager to eat away at the warmth of the fire. Circling closer and closer with all the ferocity of a pack of hungry wolves. A shiver races up your spine.

"Hang on."

The door slams shut, and—

"Rhett?" You squeak. Where did he...did he go outside? He must have. You only looked away for a moment, and you would have heard it if he had rushed into the backroom. 

In his place lingers, what you can only describe as a sentient winter wind, rushing through the thick fabric of your clothes as you stand and make your way to the door. It doesn't matter how long you've been huddled by the fire. By the time your hand finds the ice-cold door knob, you're shivering again. 

Snow bursts through the gap once more, splattering across your face. Clinging to your eyelashes, wiggling down through the collar of your jacket. 

"Rhett?" But the midnight air swallows your voice like a sponge. It doesn't even echo. You can't see a thing. Not the truck, not Calico Creek, not a damn thing. "Rhett!"

No such reply. It's as if he was never even here in the first place, but you can vaguely see his footprints in the snow. They don't go far. 

Or rather, you can't see them go very far out. You could be floating through space right now, and you would be none the wiser about it. It's all just...black. Even as you step through the door, your unsteady frame slammed by a bigger, angrier gust of wind.

"Rhett!" Your voice should be able to get louder than this, but no such thing happens. Maxed out. "Rhett!"

You still don't see him. What the hell did he go looking for? Shit, what if it was someone lurking outside that grabbed him? And now you've just made it known to the whole forest that you're out here by yourself! 

A shape moves in the distance. 

You jump back, snow-caked boots sliding across the floor. Your grip on the door handle is the only reason you don't fall.

It's getting closer. You think you can see two legs. Walking closer and closer, and—

"Rhett!" Your voice breaks this time.

But it's him. Shoulders coated in a dusting of snow. Hair blowing into his windburnt face. Some kind of thick fabric bundled up into his arms. Blankets, you think. The wind blows harder, and he disappears into the sea of white once again, the waves trying to suck him back into the abyss.

Snow tumbles into the front door as he steps inside. He's carried half of tonight's snowfall into the damn cabin. But you can't think about that right now.

"Blankets?" You don't know if your voice is shaking from the cold or if you're just mad. "You run out into a blizzard and scare me half to death for fucking blankets?" 

Rhett Abbott has had his soul replaced with that of a newborn deer because he looks like one caught in the headlights. Wide blue eyes staring back at you, can't possibly fathom what has got you so mad. As if he's not the one who just inexplicably ran off into the night with no regard for his own safety. 

Those snow-dusted eyelashes flutter. "You said you wanted one." Innocent as can be. 

And you...you did ask for those, but. "You could have said something before you just up and walked out." 

"Were you worried about me?" His head tilts to the side. 

"Maybe I was," muttering, you turn back to the fire. There's a chair sitting in the back corner. Wooden. Didn't look all that inviting until just now, swallowed up by one of the many shadows cast by the fire. The chilly air has collected over here, clustering into its own little storm, but you can't feel it. Not with how hot your face has gotten all of a sudden. 

The chair creaks beneath your weight. It breaking is the last thing you need right now, but fortunately, it seems to hold. You lean forward, face falling into your hands. Of course. Of course, he went to get the blankets that you asked for. And here you are yelling at him like a damsel in distress as if he wasn't born and raised in conditions worse than this. 

Something drapes across your shoulders. Fuzzy. Smells like the bonfire the Abbott's had a few weeks back, burning away the brush collected from the most recent storm. Another one wedges itself into your lap, Rhett stubbornly pushing it onto you as if you're the one covered in snow and not him. 

"What are you doing?" Peeking through the gaps in your fingers.

"Buildin' you a cocoon and hangin' ya from the ceilin'," he hums, and if you didn't know him any better, you might have thought he was dead serious. "Wanna see if you'll come out with wings like one of them butterflies."

You're putting on your best frown. 

Or at least, you think you are. You can't really feel your face. "This implies that I look like a caterpillar." 

"Hey, caterpillars are cute," says Rhett Abbott, the man who yelped when he saw a bright green caterpillar inching up his pant leg last summer."Y' remember that book we used to have where the little dude kept eatin' everything?"

"The one you took a bite out of?" Yeah, you remember that. 

"The caterpillar did that." Still just as defensive as he was when Cecelia started asking questions about what happened to the book. "Not me."

"Uhuh." Sure.

The last of the snowflakes scatter from his eyelashes, cascading down onto his bright red cheeks and melting into minuscule little droplets of water that seem to dance in the firelight. A tiny galaxy that is wiped out by a singular stroke of your thumb. 

...you're touching his face.

You don't recall when your hand left your side, but it's resting against his jaw, your thumb still damp with the evidence of your crime. He's noticed it. There's no way he hasn't noticed it, but he's not telling you to stop. And...well...you're already here. 

Properly curling your hand around his cheek is the easiest thing you've done in a lifetime, his soft scruff tickling your palm. Rhett still doesn't say anything. Hell, it's so quiet that you can hear the minuscule sound of him breathing through his nose. His lashes flutter again. Thinking about something.

He tilts his head, leaning into your touch. 

"You're frozen." You noticed that a long time ago, but if you don't break the silence, you're gonna combust.

"Yeah, that kinda..." his mouth hangs open, tongue visibly faltering for a good moment or three, "happens when...you snow."

Your giggle is so loud that it echoes, but you hardly notice it. "When you snow, huh?" 

He's running from you. 

You can't believe it. He's squirming up to his feet and turning around, his hands rising to cover his face in a fashion identical to what you did mere minutes ago. Mutters something, but it's so muffled that you can't understand a word he's said. You don't necessarily care to figure it out, either. A little bit distracted by the sound of puzzle pieces clicking into place. 

You think you get it now. 

The floorboard squeals as you stand, the sharp sound eating away every bit of the certainty that you just built up, but your momentum still carries you forward. Feet falling one after the other as if caught in a trance. 

Rhett turns to look at you, then back to the door. 

He tries to, at least. 

It happens on reflex. You grabbing ahold of his jacket collar, pulling so hard that you both stumble. He gasps. So do you. Chest to chest in this tiny old cabin, nothing but the flickering fire to guide your eyes as you drink in his face. The same old, big blue eyes you've always known. Pouty lips wobbling, torn between a lopsided smile and trying to come up with something to say. 

If this were a dream, it would be perfect. Seamlessly falling into place like trained actors.

But this is real, and you're both moving at the same time, and your noses clash at the same time your mouths do. You stumble. His arm cinches around you. Pulls you closer. Teeth clatter. It's everything that a Hallmark first-kiss scene isn't, and it's incredible. All those movies, and they still couldn't quite capture the dream of kissing your best friend in—

Best friend.

"Shit, I..." Jerking away. Eyes wide. Breath caught in your throat. "I shouldn't have..." Shouldn't have what? Kissed him without asking? 

Oh, but he's grinning at you like a damn fool. Wobbly smile and sparkling gaze, flickering back and forth between your lips and eyes. You don't feel the hand resting on the small of your back until it's pulling you back in, lips crashing once more. 

A faint twinge of mint and chocolate still lingers on his lips, the only remaining evidence for his crime of raiding his momma's jar of Christmas chocolates. Or maybe cowboys just taste like that. Rough as stone, carved and broken into jagged edges by the test of time, but sweet as can be on your lips. 

He steps forward at the same time you do, already can't stand the minuscule gap between your bodies. But your foot slips between his, and the side of his spur catches on the toe of your shoe, and you're falling. 

Your elbow slams into the wooden floor. Chin bouncing off his too-firm chest. It's a damn miracle that he's the one who fell backward. You may not have survived if your positions were reversed, solid as he is. 

"Guess I fell for you," Rhett wheezes, groaning low in his throat. 

"Idiot," giggling.

Figuring out where your legs have landed is a task of its own, your frozen joints protesting any further movement for fear of another catastrophic fall. Rhett doesn't make much of an attempt to move. Content to part his legs and let your body fit between them, knees resting against your hips. 

His palm finds your cheek, calloused fingertips stroking the soft skin there. You're melting into it before you can realize what you're doing, drowning in the sensation of how big his hand is. You think it could cover half of your face without even trying.

"'n here I thought I'd fucked this all up," his hum vibrates through his chest and right into yours; kind of feels like distant thunder. 

"I didn't know how to bring it back up after Joy left." It's easy again. Talking to him, confessing exactly what's on your mind without fear of further fracturing things. "Then you didn't say anything either, and I...figured I'd read into it the wrong way." 

His thumb finds the corner of your mouth, gently tugging it up into a squished smile. "Oops." 

You can't help but reach for him, too, your hand finding his cheek once more, just for the hell of it. In the shadows of the fire, you can see the small chunk of skin permanently missing from his nose. An old scar from a kitchen fight with Perry a while back, courtesy of Perry's wedding ring and an argument that you don't remember the context of. Something about a remark Perry made on an already tense night. 

Should you?

Rhett blinks.

Yeah, you should.

"Watcha doin'?" He asks, scrunching his nose as you lean in, pressing your lips to that little scar. 

"Something I've thought about doing ever since you barged through my front door with blood pouring down your face," pressing another to the tip of his nose. 

"Funny, I recall y' wantin' to hit me at first." 

"Because you scared the hell out of me." 

"'s that why y' tripped me just now?" There's that light tone in his voice. Taunting. "Revenge?"

"Shut up." You know where this is going.

So does he. "Make me—" 

Kissing him quiet. Another thing off your bucket list. Maybe it was on his, too, because he laughs into your mouth like he's been waiting on this his whole damn life. Hell, you know you have. 

Your skin prickles beneath your layers of clothing, burning from head to toe, and you can only peel your winter coat off so fast. Pulling away from him might be the hardest thing you've ever done, but in the time it takes you to shrug it off, Rhett has gotten his off, too. That old black undershirt hugs his frame a little bit too well; you almost stop and stare.

Almost. 

Rhett's arm loops over your shoulders as you come back to him, hand curling around your bicep, lazily hanging on. Those jackets must have been a mile-thick because you don't recall being this close last time, his chest against yours, heart beating so heavy that you can feel it. 

But you're a little bit too far down, an ache blooming in the back of your neck at the strain to reach him. You don't want to move, but now that you've noticed it, the pain is the only thing that you can think about. Gives you no real choice but to dig your knees into the hard floor and scoot up—

"Mmh—!" 

You don't remember breaking away from Rhett, but you must have because you're blinking down at him, and he's found time to clamp a hand over his mouth. Eyes the size of dinner plates. Red in the ears.

"Did I...?" Suddenly aware of where your thigh is resting right now. 

"Just a little bit," he doesn't seem to have any interest in making you move, either, using the arm around your shoulders to pull you back down once more. 

You don't know how you've survived so long without this. 

The pressure of his lips, the stubble on his jaw, the awkward bump of noses that haven't learned where to go quite yet. It's all so new, and yet you can already feel the embers of an addiction burning to life, roaring as hot as the fire, and you might need him more than you need to breathe. Heaven is a place on earth, and its name is Rhett Abbott. 

Your forearms brace themselves on either side of his head, steadying yourself before you can become inconceivably lost. And again, your thigh unintentionally presses into him, and he's groaning low in his throat, lithe hips bucking up into it. You can't help yourself this time, intentionally grinding into the growing tent in his jeans, feeling his knees flutter around you. 

"I'm sorry, I..." clarity strikes like lightning.  "I'm rushing things, aren't I?"

"Naw, I'm..." he looks off to the side. Sheepish. "Kind of into it." 

Even now, he's still Rhett. Bold one moment and shy the next, his impulses always a moment quicker than everything else. You don't need to ask if he's mortified about saying that out loud; the big dummy is already showing it. Gulping so hard that you can see the muscles in his neck flex with the effort, his cheeks three shades redder. 

You throw one of your legs over his, straddling it, the silence broken by the sound of your knee hitting the floor a little too hard. And again, he covers his mouth when your thigh grinds into him, but he fails to conceal the slight roll of his eyes. Breathing hard through his nose, impulsively twitching up into your touch.

"You're something else, cowboy," you can't help but find your way to his jaw, pressing kisses into the soft outline of bone. His legs flutter around your thigh, clinging onto it as you work it against him. The arm around your shoulders tightens; you fear you might be anchored here. 

It's on the side of his neck that you can feel the faint rumble of a moan, so quiet that it fails to make its way past his hand, but it's there. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised about it, but your daydreams never involved getting around this obstacle. There's no way you're prying his hand away, not with how he uses the same damn hand to cling onto the back of a thousand-pound bull every Sunday night. 

Your lips make their way to the space below his ear, sucking lightly at an old scar that lingers there. He jumps. Hand coming off his mouth just long enough to audibly suck in a breath, cutting off the beginnings of a whine. His back rises off the ground, grinding into you the best he can. But it's not enough. He's still chasing you like he wants more, and you still can't hear him.

You're so quick to replace your thigh with your hand that you can almost deceive yourself into believing you've done this before. Palm pressing firm against his bulge, gently massaging the heel of it into him, and he jerks again. Impulsively reaching for your wrist, head tipping back, lips parted. 

"That...you...I..." he can't talk. Words broken apart by surprisingly ragged breaths. Worked up over so fucking little. It has no right to make you clench around his thigh; desperation is a hellishly contagious virus. 

You might be drooling. 

Lazy, you fall into the space next to him, your leg splayed over his, hyper-aware of the way you've just tucked yourself under his arm and how perfectly you fit. That rodeo buckle falls open at the slightest pressure, button popping open just as eagerly. He shouldn't get anything out of the sensation of you tugging on his zipper, but his hips rise as if he can feel every bit of it. 

The moment your hand wraps around his cock, his head thunks against yours. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but the impact still makes you wince.

"Ow."

"I'm sorr—" his teeth sink into his bottom lip. Biting back a noise as your thumb blindly traces the underside of his tip. "Sorry. Shit." 

If only you could go back in time and tell yourself to do this sooner. You don't know how you can ever expect to go back from this. Lying with your head propped on the side of his chest, gingerly drawing him through the opening of his jeans, the head of his cock so wet that it glistens in the firelight, a bead of precum spilling over, barely caught by your thumb. 

Rhett's scruffy cheek presses against your forehead, blindly nuzzling into you as your hand wanders, gradually working down his length. It's such a simple motion, but his hips rise to chase you on your way back up, a stifled noise rumbling out of his chest. The tip of your index finger glides over his tip, rubbing past his slit and—

"Mmh!" Jumping like a live wire. Still muffled, but louder than last time. 

You can't help but repeat it, using your thumb to draw loose circles against his weeping tip. Those hips jump again, slipping from your grasp. But it doesn't take more than a second to get ahold of him again, a sharp little sound slipping out of him as you pick up right where you left off. Swirling around and around and around. 

"Who taught you how to..." He sucks in a breath. "Who taught..." But he can't finish that thought, trailing off into nothingness once more. 

You haven't the slightest clue where your voice has gone. Lost somewhere in your throat, stolen by the same thing that took Rhett's ability to speak. 

All of a sudden, he's moving. Rolling onto his side, blindly guiding himself with his nose until he can properly find your lips, stealing them away before you can find a way to talk. You don't know if you could have come up with words even if you wanted to. Not when he whines into your mouth like that.

Whatever you were trying to do before this is lost to the abyss. Too wrapped up in the feeling of his lips melting against yours and the tiny noises he's making to realize that you're properly stroking him now. Working up and down his cock as if you're already familiar with it, wrist lazily twisting on every upward glide.

"Shit, I'm—" His voice is raspy all of a sudden. "I..."

He doesn't finish that thought, either. Mouth hanging open with a silent moan, his hand reaching to cling to the side of your shoulder. Something to hang onto. He might crumble into a million tiny pieces if he doesn't. And he's panting into your mouth like a dog in the blistering heat; it's hardly even a kiss anymore, but neither of you is making any move to pull away. 

His breath audibly catches in his throat. Cock twitching, cumming with a whine. Painting your still-moving hand white, spreading over his length, makes this sickeningly loud squelching sound that ought to make your head swim. Fuck there's so much of it, rope after rope of white, making a damn mess that you haven't the slightest hope of cleaning up. 

"Sens—ah!" His big hand dwarfs your wrist as he grabs it. Forcing it still. 

"Too much?" 

"Too much." 

It's quiet. 

At least, it is for a moment or two. The wind squeals outside the fragile window, ripping around the edges of the cabin, frantically searching for a crack in the foundation to squeeze through, desperate to steal the heat of the fire out from under you. But the flames still dance, the wood crackling as it burns. 

The squeal of the wooden floor is your only indication that Rhett is moving, rolling over top of you in the blink of an eye. His mouth finds the side of your neck, the scruff clinging to his chin brushing against the skin there, as if the heat of his lips alone wasn't enough to make you gasp.

"I thought..." Words. Where the hell are your words? What were you even about to ask him?

"Never said I was done," his voice vibrates up your spine, rattling the thoughts swirling around your head. 

His body slips between your knees like it's something you've been doing for your entire lives. And maybe he did wind up there once a few months ago when you snatched the hat off his head and tried to flee the scene, but you don't remember it feeling quite like this. 

You don't get to linger on that thought for too long. Not when he's pepering kisses across your sensitive neck, his tongue boldly darting out to trace the outline of a vein. Heat flushes across your body. The tiny, invisible embers of a fire sparking to life, the smoke already beginning to cloud your head.

"Rhett," gasping. Now it's your turn to squeeze your legs around him, vaguely aware of how you can feel his hip bones pressing against you. Firm, nothing but muscle trained from a lifetime of ranch work, rippling under your touch. You can't help yourself, grabbing hold of a bicep with your only clean hand. 

And you can just barely catch how he pauses, peering up at you through thick lashes, like something has just occurred to him. Doesn't make any move to voice it, but his smile is enough of a hint. 

"Is this," smooching at the collar of your shirt, the flimsiest barrier that you wish wasn't there, "alright?"

On their own, your legs squeeze around him, forcing him closer. "More than alright." Because telling him that you never want him to stop might be a little too much too soon.

Big hands dip beneath your shirt, tracing with his nails as they glide up your sides. Your back arches up off the ground. Not sure if you're chasing the sensation or running away from it. The bottom of your shirt catches on his wrists, sliding up until he's pushed the fabric over your chest. 

"So fuckin' pretty," downright marveling at you, his eyes shimmering like he's just found a pot of gold. There's a whole night ahead of you, but he doesn't give himself time to linger. There's a whole lifetime of kisses to catch up on, and he's already getting started, peppering his way down your chest. 

You've waited all this time, only to have one available hand to use, forced to let go of his bicep and curl into his hair instead, fingers twirling in the loose curls that rest at his nape. Can't do both. Not without making a bigger mess out of your cum stained hand, and it might just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you. 

Because here he is. Real and warm and alive and kissing at the underside of your breast, those big blue eyes flickering up to drink in your expression, and you can't touch him how you want to. You feel like you're gonna float away. One more kiss, and you're gone. Out the window. Never to be seen or heard from again. One with the snow. 

Rhett laughs against your belly, almost sends you straight through the roof instead. "'m I takin' too long?"

"Huh?" Blinking.

"You're squintin' at me like you're mad 'bout somethin'," and now that he says that, you can feel your face begin to relax. 

"I'm not mad." Have your internal thoughts always been that obvious?

"Your little nose is scrunched up," kissing closer to the start of your sweats, poking his tongue out to lick his way down. "You're mad."

"I'm not mad," holding up your sticky palm, "I'm just frustrated that I can't use my hand." 

He was just in the process of curling his fingers beneath your waistband, but he pauses, fishing for something in his back pocket. That red handkerchief again. Passes it off to you before returning to the task at hand, but you're already one step ahead, lifting your hips until he's gotten the fabric over the swell of your ass. 

You don't realize he's stolen your underwear until the breeze hits you, thighs shyly squeezing together. Don't really know what for; it's not as if you weren't anticipating this, but now that you're in the moment...

Rhett tilts his head, looks kind of like a confused puppy sitting at your heels, those gears visibly twisting and turning in his head. His eyes widen with a thought, and before you know it, he's reaching for his own waistband, shoving them past his legs and over his ankles. 

Now you're both naked from the waist down. 

He reaches for your ankle, delicately lifting your leg until he can kiss at the inside of it. Not satisfied until he's marked every square inch of you. But your knees still remain defiantly glued together. Timid, as if you haven't thought about this more times than you'd like to admit. 

His hands dip beneath your naked thighs. Raking his nails down the sensitive skin there. And for a fleeting moment, the concept of worry has flown straight out the window, your legs falling open with a shiver. 

Fuck just the feeling of him kissing your inner thigh is enough to make you whine. A little spark of heat darting up your core is the tiniest thing, and yet it's the most overwhelming thing you've felt in your life. Because it's Rhett. It's Rhett fucking Abbott sucking a mark into your skin, right where it'll poke out from beneath your pajama shorts and tell everyone who sees it what you've been up to. 

"'s this too much?" He hums. He fucking hums. Sends you jumping.

"Yes." That's not what you wanted to say. "Maybe? No? I don't know." Your head thunks against the floor, can't give a damn about if it hurts or not.

Rhett pauses. "Want me to stop?"

"No!" Too loud. You said that way too loud. "No... I—I want you to keep going. It's just...new?" 

There go those hands again, massaging the fat of your thighs, stealing away whatever tension was lingering there. His mouth burns against them, working another mark into your skin, just in case the first one disappears too quickly. 

"You just tell me when it's too much, a'ight?" He murmurs, peering up at you, and it's all you can do to nod and utter a fragile 'yes.' 

There's a rising chance that he'll be bringing you home in a sack and spend the next week gluing you back together because you might fall apart at any given moment. Nerves alight with a newfound anxiousness. You don't know what for. This is Rhett you're talking about here. Same old cowboy that you've known for as long as you can remember. 

Lips find the thin skin where your thigh joins with the rest of your body. Jumping out of your skin is suddenly a very possible task. 

"Y've no idea how long I've been wantin' to do this." And that's the last thing you hear before his mouth is on you.

You might pass away on the spot. Off to heaven, hell, or whatever the fuck is out there. 

But all that comes of it is a hitched breath, a shudder racing through your body as his burning hot tongue licks a long strip up your cunt. Experimental. Does it again when your hips rise up off the floor; he's just started, and you're already impatiently chasing him. 

"Hang on, hang on. 'm takin' care of ya," you can hear the smile in his voice as he forces you back onto the floor. "Don't gotta chase me for it." 

It's a promise he's already making good on. 

Lazily mouthing at your clit, nothing but fleeting barely-there touches that have you squirming and biting into your fist. Oh, shit shit shit, he's twirling his tongue around it now, directly targeting that poor little bud for nothing but a few seconds.

Your whine is too damn loud for this little cabin; his folks probably heard you from ten miles up the road. But all Rhett does is curl his arms around your thighs, dragging you closer. One of your legs wind up over his shoulder, and you don't know when you started reaching down, but you're pawing at his forehead. Helpless as he prods his tongue at your entrance, pushing inside if only to feel you clench around him for a moment or two.

"Rhett," you don't know what you're babbling about. Didn't know you were talking until your ears catch the familiar tone of your own voice.

The bastard fucking hums, vibrating up your lower belly and through your spine, and again you're jumping. But you're not getting anywhere. Not with those arms around your thighs, holding you perfectly still as his tongue glides up through your folds, drawing a little figure eight around your clit. 

His lips wrap around it again, gently sucking on it as he flicks the tip of his tongue over it and—

"Too much!" Your hands are in his hair. Yanking him away. "Too much."

You don't know what the hell you'll do with the sight of Rhett's chin glistening in the light, thin lips stretched around a big ol' grin as he climbs back up your body. 

"Cute thing," he chuckles; you pretend you don't feel how wet his mouth is when he kisses your cheek.

He's already hard again. Cock so heavy that it can't even stand, resting against a pale, freckled thigh. It's so damn close to where you want him. Can only imagine what it would be like to feel him push into you for the first time, but there's an item critically missing here. 

Rhett's nose bumps against yours. "Y' look mad again."

"Because I just realized that we don't have lube," you grumble. 

...or maybe you do because he's on the move all of a sudden. Grabbing the pant leg of his discarded jeans and dragging them over, rustling through the pockets until he finds what he's looking for. 

Lube packets.

"Were you planning on this, or do you just keep lube on you at all times?" You can't help but ask, can't really believe what you're looking at right now.

"Believe it or not, I use it when that fuckin' barn door gets jammed," he pauses, tearing at the corner of a packet with his teeth, "but I'd rather it be you than a rusty hinge."

Eyeroll. "How romantic."

Even his oversized hand isn't enough to make his cock look any less intimidating; you thought it would dwarf in comparison, but it's almost as if the complete opposite has happened. Daunting, even as he strokes a generous amount of lube over himself. The voice in your head suggests that you might have bitten off more than you can chew, but there's only one way to find out for sure.

The calloused tip of his middle finger glides between your folds. Has you jumping a little bit. A slight pressure blooms, slowly pushing into you, his gaze fixated on the sight. It certainly feels bigger than it looked, if that is even remotely possible, blindly feeling around for a particular little spot.

The asshole knows he's found it before you even do. Pushing a second, dripping finger into you, deliberately crooking them to rub up into it. Heat sparks between your thighs. Pretty sure that's just the lube, but you're convinced that you can feel yourself getting wetter, already hopelessly desperate. 

"Rhett," mewling in a tone so unlike you that it's almost insulting. 

"What?" Tilting his head.

You didn't really think that far. Aren't particularly sure of what it is you want or why you're saying his name, but your arms lift themselves into the air, hands opening and closing in a vague grabbing motion. You still don't know what you initially wanted, but you sure would like to have him closer.

And he gives it to you. 

Carefully settles into your waiting arms without a fuss, his lips wrangled up into another one of those wild grins that you can never seem to get enough of. A strand of hair falls out from behind his ear, just long enough for the ends of it to tickle your cheek, drawing a giggle out of you. And for reasons unbeknownst to you, he giggles, too. 

His length rudely bumps against your thigh, demanding attention from both of you. Damn thing is so heavy that he has no choice but to reach down and guide himself, dragging the fat tip through your folds just for the hell of it. A slight pressure appears at your entrance. Then, disappears. Slipping upward and gliding past your clit instead. 

But then the pressure appears again, and this time he's not intentionally screwing up to mess with you. Air jams in your throat. 

"Gonna have to relax for me, sweetheart," he whispers; there's that pet name again. God, you might legally change your name to sweetheart just so he'll call you that every day for the rest of your life. Something in your lower belly unwinds. "There y' go." 

The fat tip slips into you without any further warning, simultaneously puts a shiver in your bones, and steals away the little bit of clarity that you had left. You don't even know what you're shaking for. The fire is still crackling next to you, albeit dimmer than it was before. The room is far from cold, but you can't seem to keep still, quivering like an autumn leaf in the breeze.

Rhett appears like a fucking daydream. Cradling your face in his hands, a sudden presence that you've somehow managed to forget about, murmuring something against your lips that sounds like your name. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. You don't care to find out, too eager to steal him away in a kiss instead. 

Your arms wind around his shoulders, nails biting into the muscle that you find there, clinging to him for dear life as his cock gradually pushes into you. Inch after devastating inch, your chest progressively becoming tighter and tighter, as if you're running out of space to give. 

This can't be right. There's no way that you're really doing this. Lying here in the deserted cabin out on Calico Creek, nothing but a fire and Rhett's burning body to keep you warm, thighs squeezing his sharp hips as he sinks into you. It's a scene plucked right out of your own wild imagination. You should be waking up right now. Alone, in bed, like you have every other time this has happened.

But the scruffy chin that your hand has found its way to feels so real. The kiss breaks. Rhett leans back just far enough for you to catch sight of that stupid old grin, and holy shit, you've got Rhett fucking Abbott's cock in you right now. 

"Just a little more," he's murmuring so nonchalantly, and you really, truly, have no idea if that 'little more' is gonna fit or not. 

It either fits, or you pass away in the process of trying. The jury is still out for that one. One way or another, though, he's bottoming out, body flush with yours, not a centimeter left to take, and you think you've stopped breathing. Rhett has, too, for that matter. Completely and utterly quiet as he leans back, lashes fluttering at what he finds. 

"'m almost too big for your poor little pussy, shit." He's not staring; he's marveling at you.  "You're sure I ain't hurtin' ya?" The pad of his thumb traces where you're stretched around him, hopelessly bound together with no hope of ever untangling from each other.

Experimental, his hips roll, drawing a little noise past your lips. It's so much. So, so much. Helplessly curling your legs around his waist, heels digging into the swell of his ass, as if that can possibly save you. 

Rhett's not doing much better. Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, timidly drawing back by an inch before pushing back in just as slowly as he did the first time. His labored breath burns through your skin, grumbling something incoherent below his breath. But he's doing it again, and now, now...

"Fuck, Rhett,"  whimpering, clinging to his shoulders. 

The fire could go out at this very moment, and you would never feel even a wisp of the cold, not with how he's already finding a lazy rhythm. Hardly pulling out, rocking your body beneath him. His weight is the only thing keeping you from scooting up the floor, little puffs of air knocked out of you with every thrust. 

He's got it just as bad as you do. Panting into your mouth like a dog, the softest noises resting in the back of his mouth. Still sensitive from already cumming once. 

All of a sudden, he draws back, and for a fleeting moment, you're horrified that he's already pulling out of you. But he's pushing back into you a little quicker now and, and, and...

"'s that feel good?" He's grunting, already peeling back to do that again. The length of his cock grazes against a familiar bundle of nerves. Stars sparkle behind your vision.

"Uhuh," all that you can come up with.

Now that he's found it, he's not letting up. Moving a little quicker now. A wet little noise punctuating the snap of his hips, your poor pussy helplessly fluttering around him, so fucking full of him that it almost aches. Writhing beneath him, torn between wriggling away from the sensation and pushing into it, as if you have any choice when you're pinned beneath him like this.

"Can feel ya clenchin' round my cock, sweetheart," he's grinning as he says it, cocky in the worst way imaginable. 

Your face is so hot that you're gonna catch on fire. "Please quit talking."

To his credit, he does exactly as you ask, but that does nothing to wipe the stupid fucking grin off his face. You can't escape it. Not when he's leaning back onto his haunches, just far enough to gaze down at where his thick cock disappears into you, and suddenly you can see it. Such a wide fucking stretch that you feel bite-sized beneath him.

The weeping head of his cock strikes those little nerves. Knocks a cry right out of you. And it's the worst possible thing you could have done because he's doing it again. Tilting his hips, working just a little quicker now, drilling into that same fucking spot. 

"'s that the spot?" He coos, breathless, his hands finding your hips, dragging you into. Every. Single. Thrust. "Fuck, I don't know how I even fit in ya."

You don't even know how to talk anymore, never mind put up with his senseless mutterings. Voice caught in your throat, your cries completely and utterly silent. Blindly pawing at his forearms. Squeezing. Clawing. You manage to get ahold of one, dragging it up to your chest like you're trying to hug the damn thing. 

"Rhett," your voice wavers, "Rhett, I want—" Closer. You want him closer. But all you can manage to do is pull on his arm.

Those pretty eyes widen. The next thing you know, he's coming back to you. Using his only forearm to brace his weight beside your head, his chest snug against yours once again. You only let go of his arm in exchange for his shoulders, practically pulling him into a hug. 

Rhett nuzzles his nose into the side of your cheek, his hot breath tickling your ear. "Don't want me too far away?"

"No," grumbling. 

You've got just enough leverage to crane your neck up, mouthing at the sweaty underside of his neck. You're not trying to leave marks. Not when you know that you'll have no choice but to face his family after this; it's only a matter of time before Perry puts two and two together, but you can't help yourself. Lips finding a space just beneath his ear, mindlessly sucking on the skin there, uncaring of what evidence you leave behind.

Rhett whines. Loud in your ear, sends your lower belly twisting with something inexplicably warm, pussy clamping down around him, drawing a second sound out of him. His arms shiver. Fighting to keep his weight up. Hardly has the strength to pull away from your mouth, his hips stuttering.

"Look how well you're takin' me," he's peeled back just far enough for you to get a glimpse, mouth hanging open, can't seem to shut himself up.

"It's mortifying." 

"It's hot." 

You'd argue. You want to argue, but fuck, you can't. Not when he's got you pinned to the floor like this, fat cock bullying into your poor pussy, panting into each other's mouths like it's the only thing you're good for. A lewd smack of skin on skin defiling every innocent memory you've ever had here. 

There's a familiar coil in your lower belly, your cunt clenching down around him, legs locking around him. Your vision blurs. Chest tight. "I'm..." 

"Yeah," he's agreeing before you've even finished your thought. 

It's the mistake of looking down that does you in. The obscene sight of his wet cock disappearing into you, those strong hips stuttering as you clench around him again, punctuated by that stupid breathy moan that falls off his tongue. 

Your back arches off the floor, burying your face into the crook of his neck as it hits you. Heart hammering against your chest. Ears ringing. Cumming around his cock with nothing but a choked wail. Helplessly clinging to him, squeezing him so tight that your arms ache from it.

The fire might as well jump out and engulf you in flames; everything is burning. Distantly aware of how your legs have begun to tremble again, locked so tight around him that you can feel him try and fail to pull away from you. Babbling something about how you need to let him go, one of his hands pawing at your thigh. Pushing, trying his best to peel you away.

But it's too late. His hips are seizing up, and your eyes are opening to the sound of his strangled whine, collapsing back into you. The muscles in his back twitch beneath your fingertips as his orgasm washes over him, cock spasming so hard that you can almost convince yourself that you feel his cum flooding you.

Oh.

Oh shit, he's cumming in you. 

You should be more worried about it than you actually are, lazily letting your legs unwind from around him, uncaring about the kind of problems that this is going to cause in a few minutes. Worry is beyond you, on a completely different plane of existence. The only thing your mind has the ability to comprehend is the warmth of Rhett's face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, a final shiver racing up his spine before he becomes dead weight on top of you.

"You..." he tries, breathless. "Was that...too much?"

You don't even know where your voice has gone, wordlessly laughing into his shoulder. "It was perfect," is what you try to say, but your poor tongue can hardly shape around the letters, nothing but a senseless warble leaving you instead. And maybe Rhett's got the same condition because whatever he says next makes no sense, either.

It takes a minute for him to roll off of you, and when he does, you wind up rolling with him, your naked back facing the fire. You don't really mean to, just mindlessly following, can't look away from him for more than a second. The fire isn't nearly as bright as it was when all of this first started, but certainly not any cooler. Heat licking up your sensitive back. Pleasant at first, but the longer it goes on...

"This fire is hot on my ass," your sentence makes sense this time. 

His hand drifts down onto your ass cheek. Your eyes roll. Rhett's face lights up with a giggle, lips twisting up into a smile that you need to kiss off of him. Even if you can't really lift your head, noses crashing, kisses reduced to fleeting pecks. 

"If I woulda known this was gonna happen, I promise I would've brought somethin' to clean you up with," he murmurs, reaching to brush something off of your jaw. You don't want to know what it is.

"If I had known this was going to happen," your momentum is interrupted by a yawn, "we wouldn't have made it out of my bedroom." 

He winks at you. "We can still make that happen."

"Oh my god." Eyeroll. You're gonna walk home. 

Or, you would if he didn't curl an arm around your waist and pull you into him like a teddy bear that he's suddenly decided he wants to snuggle. And you just fit into the space below his chin so perfectly that you can't possibly bring yourself to move. 

The wind wails outside, and the fire desperately needs tending to, but neither of you are moving. If anything, you're making it worse, tangling your legs together, wedging an arm around his torso, and for a moment, you can convince yourself that you can stay like this forever. Wrapped up in your favorite person, out here on Calico Creek, never to be seen or heard from again. Lost to the magic of winter. 

Your stomach growls. 

So does his.

Laughter spins through the air. 

Maybe forever out on this creek would only work if you had electricity and a snack. But you don't mind losing out on forever, so long as Rhett's with you. Just like he always has been, snowstorm or not. 

[writtenbyan-aries]

So since you’re doing Outer Banks stories (I think) if it’s alright with you can you make a JJ Maybank x Fem Reader story?

My Shirt | JJ Maybank

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, sneaking around, smoking weed, flirting, kissing, teasing, biting, scratching, hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of skinny dipping, general filth

“Thanks again, JB.” You say as you pull up to the Chateau, “Sorry it so sudden, but you know how it goes.” John B hums on the other end of the line, “Just as long as you’re safe, okay. Stay as long as you need.”

You park and sit back with a sigh, “Thank you. I just got here now, so I just wanted to let you know.” You put your phone on speaker, setting it down so you can unbuckle.

“You should just move here, y/n. You know your mom can’t force you to do anything.”

You get out, taking your phone with you, “I’ve thought about it. I just- I don’t know. We can figure it out when you get back. You have a trip to enjoy. Tell Sarah I said hi.”

You hear him tell Sarah and she takes the phone, yelling a quick, “Hiiii, y/n!” John B takes the phone back and laughs, “anyway. I told JJ to stay away, but you know how he is.”

You laugh, smirking at the thought of JJ coming over when it’s just you.

“Just tell him to go away or I’ll kick his ass.” John B pulls you from your thoughts and you laugh, “I’ll do what I can, JB.”

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but JJ always keeps a joint in the drawer to the right of the sink.” John b says and you smirk, “I always knew you were my favorite cousin.”

“It’s cause I am.” John B laughs, “Alright, plane is ready to go. Call me if you need anything.” You say your goodbyes and you make your way into the house. You look around, shaking your head at the man made mess.

“Boys will be boys.” You roll your eyes with a laugh and you walk into the spare room. You toss your bag down on the bed and go over to the basket that has all the stuff you forgot each time you were there.

You pull out a grey shirt, tilting your head as you try to remember if it’s yours or not. You shrug, tossing it on the bed before you take off your sweatshirt.

This time, you didn’t really have time to grab anything you really needed, you took off with the literal clothes on your back and few others you could grab during your fit of rage, all while you argued with your mother, also John B’s aunt.

John B knows how she is, but he also understands why you keep going back, so he’s there whenever you need because you grew up together. Even though you’re just cousins, it really seems like you were brother and sister.

You kick off your jeans and pull the shirt down over your body, the hem just barely covering your ass fully.

You grabbed your clothes and the duffle and make your way to throw everything in the washer. You look around, shaking your head as you make a mental note to buy more laundry detergent tomorrow.

After spending time cleaning up and throwing more stuff in, you start the wash, biting down on your lip as you bend down to take off your underwear. You toss them in with the rest of your laundry before closing the lid and making hour way to work on the kitchen.

As much as you respected John B and his wishes to not mack on his friends, you were hoping JJ decides to break the rules and show up.

As you’re working on clearing up the counter, you freeze as you hear a knock on the door, “Yo, Yo.”

You bite your lip, smirking as you continue to scrub the bowl in your hand.

“Yo.” JJ says as he slowly rounds the corner, “Oh that’s right, John B’s with Sarah, in another country.”

You turn around and his eyes move down your body, “Yeah and you’re not supposed to be here.” You smirk, turning back around.

“Wait, is that my shirt?”

You look down, and as soon as he says that, the image of JJ in this shirt pops into your head and you feel heat rise in your cheeks.

You dry off the bowl, reaching up to open the cupboard. As you rise to your tippy toes, the grey shirt slides up, revealing your bare ass to him.

He groans lowly, trying to cover it up with clearing his throat, “And only my shirt?” He blows out air, a quiet fuck escaping his lips.

“Sorry, Jayj. JB must have just thrown it into my basket by accidental.” You say over your shoulder and he shakes his head, licking his lips, “I didn’t say it was a problem, sweetheart.”

You smirk, rinsing your hands off, “That’s a shame..” you turn around, crossing your leg in front of the other as you grip the counter, “Because I was going to tell you that you needed to take it off of me yourself if it was.”

He tilts his head and lets out a sigh, “Now that you say something, get that fucking thing off right now.” He walks over to you, his hips pin yours against the counter behind you.

You look up at him, giggling slightly as he pulls the grey fabric up over your body, revealing what he’s always pictured while his hand strangled his own cock.

“Fuck, y/n.” He slides his hands up and down your arms before he moves them to cup your cheeks, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smirk, licking your lips before you look down at his shirt, “I think you’re a little behind, Maybank.”

He chuckles, looking down, “Yeah, I guess so. Let me fix that.” He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it down, “C’mere.”

He pulls you into him, spinning you around to walk you back to the couch as his lips crash onto yours.

You moan against his lips, pulling yourself closer to him, “Jayj.” You whimper out, “Please, touch me. Do something.”

“Mm.” He kisses down your neck, “Needy for papa J, I see.”

You gasp as you feel his hand slip in between your legs, sliding up and down between your wet folds, “All I need to know.”

JJ smirks and crashes his lips into yours as two of his fingers thrust inside of you.

Your back arches off the couch and your nails sink into his skin as he swallows your moans, “J-“ you whimper out, “J.”

“Does that feel good? Hmm?” He asks, peppering kisses all over your face as his fingers curl upward, “Gotta tell me what you like, sweetheart.”

“T-that.” You gasp, walls clenching around his fingers, “Feels so good, Jayj.”

His lips move to yours as he repeats the action, which has you squirming under his touch, begging for him to stop even though you really don’t mean it - and JJ keeps going, working you towards your first orgasm, “Are you close? Your pussy is squeezing my fingers for dear life.”

You bite down on your lip, nodding your head, “Oh, fuck, y-yeah.”

His lips find yours and you moan into his mouth. He swallows them with ease, glancing down to watch your cunt swallow his fingers, “Fuck, you’re so worth the lecture.”

He crashes his lips into yours and you become a whimpering mess under him as you cum. Your body tenses under his and he groans against your lips, “That’s it. There we go.”

You moan louder as JJ’s thumb rubs lazy circles on your clit, sliding your hands up to his hair. You whimper, pulling him back down to kiss you again, “Please, fuck me.”

“Never thought I’d hear those words in my life.” He pushes his hips between your thighs and his cock slips into you, making you both gasp out in shock that things finally happening.

“Holy mother of fuck.” He groans as he kisses you roughly, his cock pushing into you fully. You cry out with pleasure as his thrusts pick up immediately.

Fast and hard.

Your eyes roll back as his hand comes up to lay on the side of your neck, “You sound so pretty.” He kisses back your jaw, “You look so pretty.”

He moans lowly, “Fuckin’ pussy is taking me so goddamn well.”

How slides his hand over, gripping your throat tight - and your phone rings.

You try to turn your head and JJ moves your head back, “Don’t worry about that right now.” His lips fall to yours, distracting you until it rings again.

He looks over and grabs it, handing it to you, “Answer it. It’s John B.”

Your eyes go wide and you sit up, but JJ pushes you back down, “No. I’m going to eat you out while you talk to him.”

You answer the call as JJ moves down your body, “Hello?”

“Hey, we landed, just thought I’d call and see how you’re doing.” John B says on the other end, “You didn’t clean up did you?”

You take a deep breath, “I just.. woke up from a nap.” You bite down on your lip as JJ’s tongue works it way into your pussy, “And yeah.. I did clean up.”

You try your hardest not to let any whimpers or moans slip because JJ was phenomenal at this. His tongue swipes around your cunt as his fingers rub harsh circles on your clit.

“You didn’t have to do that.” John B laughs, “But I appreciate it. I ne-“

“More laundry stuff. Noted.” You force a laugh to cover up the moan that’s desperately trying to escape, “I’ll go tomorrow.”

You bring your hand up, covering your mouth as you close your eyes.

“Did JJ show up? I tried calling him, too but he isn’t answering.”

“Haven’t seen him.” You lift your head, watching as the blonde between your legs absolutely devours you, “Which… is..” you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe out, “Surprising.”

“I’m sure he’ll show up, but you know the drill.”

You roll your hips, biting down on your lip to compose yourself, “With you constantly drilling it into my head, how can I not?”

He laughs, “Alright. Let me know if you hear from Jayj.”

“I will.” You roll your eyes, praying that John B will just hang up, “Have a good trip.”

“Will do. See ya, y/n.”

“Yep, bye.” You pull the phone away, hanging up before you reach down and grab JJ by the hair, “You motherfucker.”

He laughs, reaching down to grab your hips, “I’m only fuckin’ you, baby.” He smirks and flips you over, lifting your hips so he can reinsert his cock into you and you moan out loudly, “J-Jayj, please.”

“So needy.” He lifts a hand, allowing it to slap back down onto the skin of your ass, “I fuckin’ love that.”

He leans down, wrapping your hair around his hand and pulling you to sit up a little before his thrusts fall back into being hard and fast.

You reach up, holding yourself up on the arm of the couch as you cry out, “Yesyesyes, right there, JJ!”

“That’s it, baby.” He throws his head back, groaning out before leaning down to peck the back of your shoulder, “If only JB knew just how much of a little slut you were for me.”

“He would explode..” you laugh slightly but it turns into a moan, “Fuck, J.” You tilt your head back and he rests his forehead against it, “You close again?”

“Uh huh.” You nod slightly, “Need all of you.” You push your hips back to meet his thrusts and JJ groans, “You want it, you gotta earn it.”

He sit down on the couch and pulls you back into his lap. Your legs move to either side of his hips and you sink back down onto his cock.

He leans forward, kissing up the valley between your boobs, “So fuckin’ beautiful.” He leans back, hands sliding down your sides, “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You start to bounce, eager to get him to his point of spilling everything inside of you.

You needed him, maybe it was the forbidden love label that your over protective cousin slapped on JJ, but you could go crazy if you didn’t get it.

“Ridin’ me like a pro. Fuck.” He leans back, eyes trailing down your body to stop and fixate on your body meeting his with each bounce from you, “Jesus, fuck.”

His hands grip your hips and he looks up at you, “Gimme one more, sweetheart. One more, and I’ll give you want you want.”

Desperate for his release, you grip the couch behind his shoulders and continuously slam your hips down, moaning out constantly as you work yourself to your own orgasm.

“Fuck there you go.” JJ bucks his hips up, “just like that, keep it goin, baby. Keep it goin’.”

Your lips meet his, swallowing each others moans as you feel him finish inside you, “Jayj.” You whimper, “Feels so good.”

His pulls you into his body, arms wrapping around you as he kisses your head, “How was that, hmm?” You nod against his neck, “Amazing, Jayj.”

He rubs your back for a few minutes before he giggles to himself. You sit up, tilting your head as you look at him, “What?”

He licks his lips, laying his head back, “You have ever gone skinny dipping?”

You shake your head and he raises his brows, “You want to?” You bite down on your lip and smirk, standing up to wrap a blanket around your body, “I’ll race ya.”

You take off for the door and JJ is instantly behind you, laughing and still naked as can be, “Don’t let me catch you.”

——

Let me know what you thought! Thank you so much for reading! I truly love each and every one of you. See you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[mydarlingclaudia]

fish boy

note : divider is from @/cafekitsune. I also wrote this because I was inspired by this drawing by @sillydicejelly please go look at their art it’s very pretty! this is another summer fic because I’m not ready for summer to be over ugh. I liked writing this a lot but I did feel kinda silly towards the end

wc : 2.8k

tags : @lottiies

desc : he saves you from drowning and you come back each year, falling in love was easy. strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, I think angst (towards the end), not proofread, re2 and re4 Leon, gn!reader, au

It started back in 1997 when you were nineteen. Your family went to the beach for a week in the summer, like you do every year. Your family had a beach house there that they’d had since before you were born, you’d been going there your whole life, you’ve never noticed anything strange. Most days were the same; go into town, window shop and buy as much ice cream you could stomach, go home and swim until you couldn’t feel your arms, roast your skin, play with your cousins, eat, sleep, repeat.

But nothing stays the same forever, sometimes that was a good thing, sometimes that was a bad thing. But this change was just… odd.

One night you were just having a hard time, you and your mom had gotten into a fight earlier in the afternoon and it had just thrown off the rest of your day. You went out that night, maybe around ten after everyone had gone to bed, the wind was harsh, the water was harsher. That didn’t stop you from jumping into the water to try and let the cold water ease your mind.

It didn’t work, though. One big, unexpected wave had toppled you over in the deep water, and before you knew it, you were gulping down salt water, unable to tell up from down.

Miraculously, you didn’t die, even though you should have. You had lost consciousness, though. You didn’t know where you were when you woke up, all you could make out was a small shore, surrounded by cliffs and overgrown weeds, no one else in sight.

Except for a boy.

He was blonde, pretty, pale, too. There was something a bit odd about his face, but you brushed it off as your bleary eyes adjusting. You don’t remember what you said to him, mostly because you didn’t even know what you were saying when you said it, but he had helped you sit up and you rested against his shoulder, one of his hands awkwardly patting your back. It felt comfy, you could ignore the ache in your body and how heavy your lungs felt and just focus on his wet skin pressed against yours.

This must have been what Eric felt like when he was saved by Ariel in The Little Mermaid.

When your eyes finally did adjust, and you got a good look at him, you realized that the oddity of his face was scales that lined his cheekbones back towards his ears, and that his ears weren’t even ears, but webbed ones, like some sort of deep sea creature. You had backed away from him, a confused expression painted on your face while a slightly pained one was etched onto his.

Your eyes hadn’t been able to focus on a single part of him, flicking between his tail, his webbed hands, the gills that lined his throat, his sea-matted hair, the blue tint that surrounded his fingers and gills, everything. You had to be dead, there was no other explanation, but his voice had been so soft when he spoke to you, that you almost wanted to scoot closer again.

“Listen I-I just- you’re- I think I hit my head.” You had sputtered out, one of your hands flying up to feel against your head for any bumps.

“I checked already, you didn’t.” The fish boy had reassured you, pushing himself closer to you.

“I-I didn’t?” Your eyes were glued to him the whole time he had moved himself closer to him, you didn’t back away this time.

“You didn’t, I promise.” You flinched when he reached up to peel your hand away from your head, making him stop for a second, those pretty blue eyes of his robed over your face for another second before he pulled your hand away.

“So-so what? What happened?” He let go of your wrist, placing both his hands down on the sand, his eyes were yet to leave yours.

“You were gonna drown.”

“A-And you saved me?” He nodded, you let out a shaky breath. “So I’m not imagining this?” He shook his head this time. “Jesus, where are we?”

“By the lighthouse,”

“The lighthouse?! That’s like, what, four miles away? Goddamn.” You groaned, that explained why no one was around.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-I guess.” You watched as his eyes trailed down to your bare legs.

“… I’ve never met a human before.” He mumbled.

“I’ve never met a mermaid- merman- uhm, fish boy, I dunno.” He looked you dead in the eye again for a few seconds, then let out a giggle and shook his head, you had smiled at him.

You had to admit that this strange creature was kinda cute, you didn’t doubt that he could probably overpower you, but he had been gentle with you so far. He stopped laughing as you stood up, watching the way the muscles in your legs flexed.

“Shit, my families gonna be wondering where I am.” You had told him, putting your hands behind your head and pacing around in a small circle.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to take you back.” You stopped your pacing, looking back down at him and the dumb smile he had on his face.

“You are?”

“I mean… yeah? Why would I save you just to leave you stranded?” He chuckled, you huffed.

“Well, thank you.”

He was a strong swimmer, that shouldn’t have surprised you, he had helped you swim along when you got too tired to do it. You had told him to just leave you at a spot along the beach that was secluded because it’s right where ships would dock and that you’d just walk the rest of the way back home. Before you had left, he had eagerly told you his name, you told him yours. The two of you had lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary, him in the water, you on land.

You felt like thanking Leon again wouldn’t be a good enough way to show your gratitude for saving you, you didn’t really know how to properly thank him yet, but you had suggested meeting in the same place the next day shortly after sunrise. Leon bit, eagerly.

You were surprised when Leon showed up the next day. And the day after that, the next day, too, and every day after. He’d bring you shells and sand dollars, you’d bring him human treasures (coins, candy, ice cream, anything).

Leon would let you look at him, because the more you looked, the more intrigued you became with him, and he liked that feeling. You found more blue scales littered across his arms, he let you touch them. You liked his tail a lot, all the pretty blue and tan scales that shimmered in the sunlight paired with strong fins that were rough to the touch.

You could spend hours talking to Leon, and you did, your family would ask you where you were running off to, you’d just say it was a boy in town, it wasn’t really a lie. He’d ask you about all the places you’ve been to on land, you’d ask him about the ocean.

Leaving was hard. You had promised him you’d come visit again, maybe even on your own a few times a year. But you had promised Leon that you would be back the same time next year. You’d never forget how he frowned and nodded his head, asking you for another keepsake. You gave him a bracelet you bought in town.

—

You had the whole year to look forward to seeing Leon again. When you arrived on the beach in 1998, you were almost certain he wouldn’t show. As far as you knew, mermaids didn’t have calendars, how would he know when a year passed? On the drive up you contemplated how long a year was to them, you almost gave yourself a nosebleed thinking about it. You would just have to ask Leon.

But Leon had shown, and he showed up with a grin on his face and the best shells he had gathered over the past year.

“What do you call those?” Leon had asked you, pointing a blue finger at the overgrown wildflowers sprouting out of the hill above you and him. You looked over your shoulder, sparing a glance to the purples and yellows of the flowers that gently swayed in the wind.

“Those? Those are flowers.” You said to him, taking another cookie from the ones you had baked and brought to him, still looking at the wildflowers. You quickly learned that if given the chance, Leon would eat just about anything, especially sweets.

“They’re pretty.”

“There are prettier ones.”

“There are?” You finally look back to him, he’s only a handful of feet away from you, the cookies and other treats you brought rested on top of a stool between the two of you. Leon was laying on his stomach, forearms keeping him propped up as his eyes locked onto you, gentle waves rolling over his tail and reaching your feet, the two of you hidden away at the part of the docks no one ventured to.

“Sure, sunflowers, snapdragons, lilacs, chrysanthemums, tulips… I could go on forever.”

“… Would you bring me some?”

“Of course.”

And you did, you brought Leon as many flowers as you could carry, he was worth a pretty penny for all of these flowers. You were no expert on plants, but the night before you brought him the flowers, you took out a book at the library on them, just to know each one’s meaning so that if he asked, you’d be prepared.

Leon asked about anything he could think of, he always did. You were the same, in a way. You’d never been all that curious about the ocean until Leon came into your life.

You watched Leon with a softness in your eyes you don’t think you’ve ever even looked at a boy with when he’d twirl the flower stem between his fingers and study each individual petal, you wanted him to look at you like that.

“I wish I could take these back with me.” Leon had mumbled to you, eyes still glued to a tulip.

“Maybe you can, I don’t know how well they’ll hold up in the water, though.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” His eyes shifted from the flower in his hand up to your face, his smile dropping a tiny bit. “These are beautiful, I don’t want to just remember them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t keep everything you wanted, but you knew that you were keeping Leon as close as you could and that telling him that would be hypocritical.

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want.” You told him before you could even finish the thought, but you meant each word. Seeing his face light back up made your heart skip a few beats in your chest.

“You will?”

“If it’ll make you happy.”

“Yeah, it would.” Leon had smiled at you, you got out of your beach chair and scooted next to him in the sand, reaching a hand out to run over his wet back before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a hug. Leon had gone stiff for a few seconds, your grip loosened on him, he took that opportunity to move and wrap his arms around your waist. He didn’t let you go for a long time.

—

Years came and went, your visits with Leon stayed the same. You spent most of your summer at the beach now, talking with Leon, swimming with him, eating with him, any excuse you could find to be with him, you were there.

August of 2004 is nearing its end, it’s late right now, you don’t know whether it’s before or after midnight. You’re soaked through to the bone, salt water clings to your cold skin as you lay on a beach towel. Leon is next to you, he’s never not near you when you’re at the beach.

Leon gets more and more handsome each time you see him. You’re not sure what’s going on under the surface of the water, but something has hardened him. His eyes are a bit colder, he’s gotten a bit stronger, he’s more serious about things.

You don’t think you ever really knew Leon, you liked to think you did, but he’d never be able to come into your world and you’d never be able to go into his without an oxygen tank strapped to your back. You had to settle for this.

Leon’s never mean to you, though. He still asks questions, he still brings you shells, he still loves flowers. He’s gotten more touchy, he likes your legs, you continue to like his tail.

Leon shifts beside you, rolling onto his side to face you, you do the same.

“When are you leaving?” He asks.

“I’m not sure yet.” You couldn’t stay at the beach forever, you tried to work jobs that were more lenient, but you still need to eat and have a roof to sleep under. Your family notices how you keep returning to the beach for longer periods each year, they think you’ve fallen in love. You have.

“Just be sure to say goodbye.” Leon says this each time you have to leave, you always say goodbye, you’d never just leave him without telling him you wouldn’t be back for a while. You don’t say anything as Leon sits up, reaching for a tulip from the bouquet of flowers you brought, you grab one as well.

It’s silent between the two of you, you’re picking off the petals of your flower, reciting “he loves me, he loves me not” in your head repeatedly, you haven’t done this since middle school.

“If I had legs…” Leon starts, you stop what you’re doing, pausing on a he loves me petal. “Would you take me with you?”

“Take you where?”

“Just with you. I just… I just wanna be around you for more than a few weeks.” Leon’s words both warm your heart and make it clench at the same time, you turn your attention back to your flower, picking off more petals.

“Of course I would. I’d take you anywhere you wanted.” Your eyes flick to his face, catching his smile.

“I miss you, y’know.” You stop again, he loves me not.

“I’m right here.”

“I mean when you’re gone.” Leon huffs beside you, letting his hands fall down to his lap, still holding the tulip. “I don’t like when you leave. Every single day for the past six years I’ve swam up to shore waiting for you, even when I knew you weren’t going to be there. You’re the first human I’ve ever met, I’m pretty sure you’re the kindest one out there, too. You can go anywhere you want in the world and I’d never know it. I just want to see you.”

“And I want you to come with me,” You admit with a shaky breath. “Believe me, I think about you everyday, I try and find things that I can bring to you, I try to be here more than I probably should be. If- If we were able to be around each other every waking moment, I’d spend my life with you.”

“… I don’t want to be in the sea anymore.”

“Leon, you have no idea how easy I wish it was for us.” You can feel tears pricking at your eyes, you look away from Leon, the only petal left on your tulip is he loves me.

“Would you ever move here? To the beach?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Then do it.” Leon meant it as a demand, but he said it so softly it sounded like he was begging. You toss your tulip to the side and look back at him, scooting closer, letting sand stick to your skin as you leave your towel.

Leon is still blonde, he’s still pretty, he’s still pale. His skin is still wet to the touch and you’ve come to love the scales plastered onto his skin, he’s not awkward when he holds you anymore, and there’s a different ache in your lungs when you’re around him that certainly isn’t you being waterlogged.

You bring a hand up to cup his face, his webbed hand closes around your wrist, leaning into your touch.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your palm, pressing a kiss to it.

“I love you, too.” You whisper to him. Leon doesn’t pull away from you, he never does until he absolutely has to. His hand slides up to latch onto yours, he holds it against his chest and leans in until his forehead is resting against yours.

“Please, say it again.”

“I love you.” You’re the one who leans in for the kiss. The summer you first met, you had found yourself laughing at the thought of kissing him because you thought he’d taste like fish. Instead, he tastes like salt water you’ve swallowed more than enough times, you’d drown in it knowing it tastes like him.

[wasitforrevenge]

oh sweetheart pt. 2.5

pairing: boxer!ellie x f! jesses sister!reader

word count: 1.2k

rating: 18+ (smut will be coming in later parts)

warnings: dealer! boxer!ellie, weed, alcohol,

summary: ellie gets your phone number.

author notes: hi just something small for a filler, setting up for the next part, hoping to have it posted up friday the 1st! thank you for reading! pls reblog, comment, or like! i love the support, and thank you for over 1000 likes and 100 followers!! it’s a great feeling

italic = ellie and bold = reader

part 2.5 | part 3

series masterlist <3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

its been a week and a half since you last saw her when she drove you home from the match in her old busted truck. thoughts of her plagued your mind all week. you wondered if she was working. you wondered if she was out with friends. you wondered if she was thinking about you. she is but you don’t know that. you’re not aware she’s thinking of you also. thinking of the way the smell of strawberries stained her car after you left. thinking of the way you said you like it when she calls you sweetheart.

both of you wonder when the next time you’ll see each other is.

its a wednesday afternoon, you’re currently sitting on the couch with dina. she’s the only friend you have down here so far and its not weird that she’s dating your brother. she has come over a bunch, helping you shop, getting little things for your apartment, watching movies and of course, getting high. which is exactly what you’re doing right now. you both sat on your old lumpy couch and watched the iron man series that you had on dvd, not paying to much attention to the tv, but rather your conversion.

“so no luck still? you should just come work with me at the farm, i mean i love it- the horse shit not so much.” dina exclaimed.

“yeah its like no one is hiring, i may have to take you up on that, i still wanna keep looking though, maybe something will come along.” you told her.

“yeah avoid horse shit as long as you can, something will come along don’t worry!” she said trying to make you feel better knowing you’re stressed. but at the end of the day, you need something to fill your time besides thinking of the boxer that drove you home.

you guys just sat and talked then eventually as the credits rolled for the last movie, you got up and started to clean up the mess from the pizza you ordered earlier. after you went to the kitchen and put the plates in the sink, you grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses and made your way back to dina still in the living room. you hold it up to her and with the look on her face, you knew she was thinking the same thing.

by the third bottle, it was 10pm and you’ve run out of weed and not much wine left but you both are feeling great, laughing and giggling like kids. its nice to have a friend you thought.

“what are you doing friday night?” she questioned.

you responded to her, “probably exactly what im doing right now” you both laughed.

“well there’s another match this weekend, me and jesse are going if you want to come along again, ellie will be there too.” she replied. you couldn’t hide the smile on your face when she said her name.

“woah! what’s with the smiling and the blushing…” she joked asking. you didn’t tell either of them what happened that night at the first match. from outside or inside, they assumed you both got an uber and you didn’t tell them any differently.

“nothing, i just thought she was nice thats all.” you said trying not make any signs of anything more.

“oh she is!,” dina started, “well maybe not at first but once you get to know her, we’ve been friends for years now,” she laughed and kept going, “she fights at the gym sometimes, but she works there too, its a good hang out space plus cheap drinks. plus she’s bringing us the restock.” she finished as she picked up her weed jar.

“oh you get it from her?” you inquired, thinking back to the faint smell of weed in her car when she drove you home.

“yeah she’s got good stuff and nice deals, ugh its great, always easier to get it from someone you know,” she ended. you thought about asking her if you could tell her to get you some to and for some other non-obvious reason but she beat you to it.

“ill send her your number and she’ll text you.” she said to you as she pulled out her phone and sent a message. a few moments later, her phone rang and she answered, it was jesse waiting outside for her so she gave you a hug and grabbed her stuff and you walked her to the door.

you locked it before you turned around to sit back down on the couch, grabbed the wine glass and poured the last bit in your cup, you were still drunk and definitely feeling it. you heard your phone buzz and you picked it up, answering the call, not paying attention, thinking it was dina but the voice surprised you.

hey sweetheart

you didn’t expect her to call so soon, you haven’t even given yourself a moment to think about what to say beforehand. you weren’t prepared for this. you feel yourself getting nervous over the girl you only met last week but you just cant help it. she’s been on your mind since you met her.

hi ellie

dina sent me your number i hope that’s okay

yes she said she was going to

well in that case, she said you needed to buy

yeah we managed to smoke up all her stash and i haven’t gotten any since i moved here, probably cause i didn’t know where to get it

well no worries, i’ve got everything you need sweetheart.

thank you ellie, you said smiling but she couldn’t see you through the phone, you wondered what she’d think if she saw how red your face was right now.

you can call me el sweetheart, no need to be so formal.

she laughed through the phone, and then asked if you were coming to the gym on friday with your brother and dina.

they invited me but i hadn’t thought about it yet, not wanting to sound too eager about the potential thought of seeing her on friday.

mhm- well you should, we’re just gonna have some drinks and chill so nothing crazy. but i will have the weed for you then if that peaks your interest.

bribing me with drugs?, you laugh into the phone and she laughs with you.

if that’s how you want to put it sweetheart, sure

you smiled into the phone, not even sure how to respond to that before becoming flustered, before you continued,

i guess we’ll just have to wait and see then…

yeah i guess we will… goodnight sweetheart.

that was the last thing she said before she hung up and you sat staring back at a black screen. thinking that now she has your number and you have hers.

it’s almost 11 now as you brush your teeth, throw on a t shirt and cuddle up in bed. falling asleep to the thoughts of how friday was going to go when you finally saw her again.

[mikashisus]

GET HIM BACK : 06. indebted

the thick stench of alcohol and weed lingered in the air as you downed your sixth shot of pink whitney. originally, you hadn’t planned on drinking much tonight, but after the texts you’ve been receiving from ajax, you thought it necessary to get yourself wasted off your ass. 

two shots turned to three, and three turned to three more. at this point, you were considering grabbing the bottle of titos nearby and wiping it clean of its contents. 

anything to quell the sting inside you. first, the texts, and now, mualani failing to tell you about her situationship with kinich. 

you hadn’t expected your best friend to lie so blatantly to your face about him, but now it seemed as if you hadn’t known her at all. did she really intend to keep this a secret from you? 

you didn’t care that she had a thing with kinich— that wasn’t what bothered you. The lying was what bothered you. The secrets bothered you. The fact that everyone else was already in the know about her motives and hadn’t told you either had bothered you. 

as a result, here you were: washing away the last twenty-four hours with the buzz of alcohol. teetering on the edge of completely blasted out of your mind, you gripped the counter in the kitchen of the frat house. 

you shouldn’t have come alone. that was rule number one when going out. however, you were too desperate to get away, and you didn’t feel like bothering kuni or sethos to accompany you. 

(though, you knew they’d agree in a heartbeat. they were nice like that… good like that… willing to do anything for their friend and loyal like that.) 

they had already dealt with your antics enough the past week. you had to buy a whole new set of expensive glasses to make up for the ones you broke on a whim, and kuni had burst into your room without knocking at least twice everyday to make sure you were still even alive. 

you were burdening them with too much. so, you came here alone. 

warmth lingered behind you as someone gently placed their hand on the small of your back. 

“are you alright? should i get you some water?” 

you slurred something incoherent, barely even recognizing your own words. did you even form a sentence at all? how buzzed were you? 

the blurry figure hummed. “wait here.” 

it wasn’t like you could walk right now. where would you even go? you could barely see two steps in front of you. 

the figure returned, gently lifting your chin. “here, drink this. it’s water. it’ll help.” 

with their help, you downed the entire glass as if you hadn’t drank water in months.

“there we go. feeling a bit better?” they wiped your tears with a napkin, careful not to irritate your skin. you hadn’t even noticed you had been crying. “we should get you home.” 

did they know you? had kuni miraculously showed up to take you home? no, he’d be chastising you about your low tolerance if this were him. 

they led you out of the frat house and away from the hot bodies, smell of weed, and booming music. your head felt lighter as you took in a huge breath of the chilly nighttime air. 

they sat you down on the curb as they pulled out their phone, and you raised a hand to your forehead. your head was pounding like crazy, and on top of that, nausea began to eat away at you. 

a hand was placed on your shoulder, but you couldn’t hear what the person was saying over the ringing in your ears. looking up at them to finally take a glance at their face, your eyes fell shut.

masterlist | prev. | next

notes: 😛 there’s a certain event i want to include in the second act of this fic buuuuuut the more i think of how im gonna include it, the more it doesn’t make sense… so ig we’ll see

taglist — ! @vxnuslogy @fleetingpetal @scarasbaby @aries-afk @wystiix @keiiqq @grimreapersscythe @yourfavoritefreakyhan @3lectraheart @yuyuumi @lxkeeeee @sketcheeee @eternitywaveshello @aethenawhosp @coorwe @yukari1k @ashyiiy @bananasquash @darling-eos @kunikuzushis-darling @jiminscarmex @https-sourlimes @starlisposts @dumbkid4ever @minhosprettywife @xxvoidgrangerxx @fandomfan-102 @ivana013-blog @cherrybb-ily @siomairice135 @gabirii @angelkazusstuff @shadowdarkleonidascrusade @vi0let-writes @lxry-chxn @achy-boo @whose-lozerrr @aether-darling @tamikahoshiko @azuresaqua @illu-fu @kascar-chronicle

[crguang]

imagine in kafka violinist AU, reader works in a classical music record store or maybe even an instrument store and kafka decides to check out the place and they meet after so long ☹️☹️

[ ok, i'm imagining it. this has no right being over 3,5k words but i swear sev and i do think of cute scenarios with them... sometimes. ]

“now i am stuck between my anger and the blame that i can't face, memories are something even smoking weed does not replace.”

//

She’s sixteen again, boredly waiting around with the back of her head against your locker and a biology textbook nestled in her arms. People walk by her impatient gaze holding hands firmly, complaining loudly so everyone shares their annoyance, half-asleep as they drag their feet across the school hallways, and she watches them pass her by in silent judgment. They are all so uninteresting, so mundanely boring, and her eyes soon grow hazy following the shift in her thoughts while she waits. She remembers the movie tickets she still has to buy behind your back before Friday, then tells herself she will have time to take the bus to the movie theater on Wednesday after class when neither of you have music practice. She knows you dislike horror movies, but she finds them funny and she really wants to see this one. You’ll refuse when she asks you to come with, then begrudgingly take her hand when she produces the tickets from her backpack because you feel guilty about her already spending money on an outing for the two of you. She forgot the leather gloves she loves so much this morning, too hurried to make sure they were indeed put in her coat yesterday evening, so she’ll ask for one of yours before heading to the bus stop. Despite it only being minutes away, you’ll absentmindedly throw it her way. She smiles to herself. Her head lowers and she takes a quick glance at the thin watch around her wrist: ten minutes until the final bell. You’re late. With a disgruntled noise at the back of her throat, she straightens up and adjusts the strap over her shoulder. She won’t stain her perfect attendance record because you missed your 7 AM alarm, she’ll demand explanations at lunch and enjoy how you avert your eyes from hers in embarrassment. 

You’re not sitting at the back of classroom 311B waiting for her with your lunch on your lap, and her lips curve downward into a displeased pout. You didn’t show today, then. She wonders if you got sick between last Friday and now and makes a mental note to come knocking on your door after practice, if only to make sure you’re still alive even if you’re moaning in misery. She drops her backpack on a chair, plopping down at a nearby desk. Her AP Maths homework is laid out on the surface and she spends the free hour getting ahead in her classes within the quiet room, her cheek lazily resting on her palm.

As her literature teacher expands on the use of literary devices in creative writing, she thinks she might bring something to your house later. You were weird Friday and you’re missing practice, she’s now sure you’re feeling unwell. Peach gummies should do it, maybe, you’re so easy to please. You still have that shitty drawing the both of you made together when you were eight plastered beside the album posters on your wall. She hates looking at it every time she comes over but you threaten to have it framed, so she rolls her eyes and ignores the glaring reminder of her attachment staring down at her mockingly. 

Kafka blinks rapidly and her vision instantly focuses on the fading tendrils of cigarette smoke swimming in the air in front of her. The roll is secure between her index and middle fingers, pointing towards the open back window of her sleek black car. She regains her bearings. Her gaze darts to the driver’s seat where Blade’s head leans back on the headrest, eyes closed and arms crossed as he awaits new instructions. Her lips stretch into a small smile at her ridiculous train of thought and she looks outside the window, bringing the cigarette back to her mouth. There’s nothing to see, only passersby and concrete buildings, the front doors of multiple stores aligned on the narrow street. She takes a slow drag and allows the tobacco smoke to sit on her tongue before exhaling softly. She calls it reminiscing during a moment’s reprieve, but that would require the act to be voluntary and peaceful. It’s happening more frequently recently, her mind escapes her for a few minutes as she smokes and it’s starting to defeat the purpose of her cigarette breaks. This weight you hold, impossible to forget, is now slowing her down instead of feeding her ambitions, and anything that is not actively serving her is unnecessary. These memories are unnecessary. They’re pathetic, the same moments rotate through her mind in a broken loop she’s unable to pull the plug on, yet so undeniably haunting. The lack of control over her own thoughts irritates her to no end, her fingers are tight around her violin’s neck, her right arm stiff and reminiscent of the first time she held one in her hands. Another breath past her lips and she makes up her mind. 

Kafka puts out her cigarette on the ashtray resting on the cupholder to her left. She reaches for a pocket mirror in her handbag and flips it open, observing the makeup on her features. Her lipstick has faded a little in the middle of her bottom lip, so she reapplies it carefully. It’s an alluring peach color, her favorite. She smacks her lips and smiles to herself as if to make sure there isn’t a crack in her impenetrable facade, then puts the mirror back where it was initially and sprays her signature perfume over her pulse points. Kafka shakes her head, carefully brushing the dark magenta strands of her bangs away from her cheeks. She sits in the car for another moment, bracing herself, then unlocks the back door.

“Be back in a few, Bladie.” 

The driver doesn’t flinch when the car door shuts firmly behind her. Kafka lowers her prized sunglasses over her eyes. The car is parked a couple of minutes from the vintage record store she’s heard mentions of prior to traveling to Europe for performances, the street is better explored by foot and having her vehicle positioned directly in front of the store while she pondered things would have attracted unnecessary attention. She strolls down the decorated street and its colored asphalt the way she had almost three weeks ago, taking in the local shops and restaurants. Though it’s the middle of the day, only a little past one in the afternoon, the place isn’t as crowded as it usually is when she drives by (twice a week, for three weeks now.) She checks out the window apparel of two clothing stores then decides to step inside another time. She makes it to the record store a minute later and stands in front of the large window offering a glimpse of its interior, an index finger rhythmically drumming against her thigh. It’s empty, save for a blonde woman with a purple streak dyed into her hair that she’s seen work the floor before. Kafka checks the small watch around her wrist. It’s around the same time she passes by on her way to practice. She pushes the door open and steps inside.

A small bell rings out, announcing her presence, and the blonde worker doesn’t even look up from the thick textbook laid on the register counter. She scribbles away, brows furrowed in concentration. Kafka ignores her in turn. Her fingertips trail on packaged vinyls as she makes her way to the jazz section of the store, taking note of the relative stillness of the space with only low radio music to fill the silence. Her heeled boots clack along the ceramic floor with every leisure step. She’s waiting, pausing in front of a particular record and turning it over in her hands, aware of the other person in the room. She listens deeply while she pretends to read the cover and the perpetual easy smile on her lips widens infinitesimally at the sound of cardboard boxes getting ripped open in the backroom behind the register. She glances at her gloved hands. Steady as always.

“Holy fu—!” The blonde worker exclaims in surprise then quickly collects herself enough not to swear, clearing her throat once. 

Kafka’s disinterested gaze lands on her. She closes her textbook with a thud and leaves her post at the cash register to stand in front of her in record time, a gleam in her eyes and a grin on her face like she just won the lottery.

“Are you Kafka? The violinist?” Her voice lowers conspiratorially and she slightly leans forward in excitement. 

Kafka tilts her head to the side in amusement. “I might be.”

The woman takes a breath and claps her hands together over her lips in a praying gesture. “You have no idea how much you just brightened my day, Kafka. Can I have a picture, if it’s not too weird? My phone’s in the backroom, I can go get it. It’ll be super quick.”

She’s promptly walking away before the other can reply, a bounce in her step. Kafka follows her figure until it disappears past the door. She turns back to the record in her hands, then puts it back on the shelf to continue browsing the aisle. She’s not looking for anything in particular but if she does leave the store with a few more records under her arms, she won’t complain.

“They asked for me personally?”

“Yep! Go, go, I’ll take care of this batch.”

Her ears pick up on the conversation happening in the backroom, the voices getting louder as they approach the front of the store, and her next exhale is audible despite herself; yours still sounds the same. She reminds herself that she already smoked ten minutes ago.

“But who are they?”

“I don’t know, a customer. Just go!”

“Fine, jeez…”

Kafka lifts her gaze to the backroom door the moment it’s pushed open and instantly meets yours. She’s taken by the sudden sunlight in the room, all of it on your features; softly tracing the curve of your nose and the bow of your lips, resting over your cheek like a warm palm, sun rays kiss half of you and hold you close in a way she’s no longer sure she remembers the feel of. If she could tear her eyes away, she would notice the afternoon sun reflected on every surface of the store, a detail previously overlooked. There are bags under your eyes and something so small grows into a striking detail because this is her first time seeing them on you.  Your hair is put away from your face today, different than it was last week when Blade drove past the place, every line and shadow is  presented for her viewing pleasure and she drinks them in during a suspended instant. You’re older. That fact shouldn’t surprise her, she feels ridiculous. Her hands are immobile in the air, two vinyls between them brought up for comparison, and her mouth unknowingly twitches downward, about a hundred words she refuses to say push each other to be the first out of her lips, but she keeps it tightly shut. Your eyes widen the next second— for someone who always closely keeps track of time, she doesn’t know how much has passed since your eyes first met— and Kafka’s lower to your bobbing throat. Your hand goes to your rapidly rising chest and you turn your back on her as if frightened. 

“S-Serval, are you sure you don’t need help?” The tremor in your sentence and your averted gaze pulls Kafka out of her thoughts. She almost rolls her eyes at your lame attempt to run from her. Again. 

“I’m sure! Everything’s good here!”

You lean forward and try to regain control over your breathing for a few seconds, shoulders tense, before you slowly turn on your heel to face her once more. Guilt. She recognizes it easily, it’s laced in the curve of your brows and your colored irises. You swallow another time, your hands limp at your sides, and look at her helplessly. Out of the kindness of her heart and against her petty wish for you to keep that haunted look on your face, Kafka helps you out. 

“…I’m hesitating between these.” She holds up the records in her hands.

You blink. It takes you another moment of silence to register her words, and when you do, you reluctantly begin to make your way to her. Your steps are short and slow like you’re walking to the gallows, Kafka can’t help the bitter amusement in her smile. She feels a strange sort of vindication from your behavior, her past hesitation now forgotten. She watches you get closer through the filter of her sunglasses. You stand next to her a polite distance away and glance at the vinyls she’s holding.

“…What are you looking for?” You avoid her gaze and take the records she hands you, instead reading over the album titles and songs. 

Kafka doesn’t look away from you. “Something… relaxing. Slow tempo, the kind you sway to.”

You put the records back on the shelf and reach for another, presenting it to her. “This musician’s good.”

“Mmm. You listened to it?”

“Not this album, but some of his other songs. His music always has the same theme to it, it might be the vibe you’re searching for.”

“What theme is that?”

She knows what it is, she already has a copy of that record at home. It’s a childish delight to witness your reluctance to answer, but she doesn’t care.

“Regret.”

Kafka lets the following pause stretch longer than necessary. She finally tears her eyes from your form to continue browsing the shelves, fingertips trailing over the numerous records neatly stacked one next to the other. She walks some steps away from you as she skims the artists’ names and tilts her head your way when you hold up a different album for her to decide on. She makes a show of pondering about it before asking for another option. She does this for a while, finds a reason to criticize every record you present to her and observes the rapidly deepening frown on your lips. It’s stupid, she thinks fleetingly, how easily you turn back into a child in her mind. You made that face whenever you missed a note in the middle of practice, too. You lifted your eyes in exasperation just like this after another one of her lame jokes, too. You often fiddled with the beads necklace on your collarbone back then as well. Kafka looks away. It's a silver dog tag now. 

“What about this one?” Your tone is slightly more clipped than it was five minutes ago. She ignores it. “It’s a collection of ballads–- older New Orleans swing, soulful, soft. I’d say it’s what you’d like to listen to based on all of your critiques. You’d sway to that, right?”

Kafka takes the record and carefully looks it over. It’s a good suggestion and most of the songs on there are so far personally unheard of, on any other day she actually would have bought it. She puts it back on the shelf where you found it, then faces you.

“Maybe a decade ago. I might be in the mood for something more Romantic, actually.”

You pause, a little taken aback. Your thumb and index fingers take hold of the tag around your neck. “Uh… okay. I’d consider those ballads romantic, though.”

Kafka chuckles quietly. “The era.”

“…Right.” You turn away from her in embarrassment. “That’s another section, then.”

“Lead the way.”

Since she’s the only customer in the store at present, you can’t escape from repeating the same frustrating pattern as before: you suggest a record, it is “not quite what Kafka is looking for”, and she follows that comment with passive aggressivity so subtle that you would have been fooled by her harmless smile if you didn’t already know what she was referring to. Kafka can see your growing exasperation but you have different tells now, it’s all in the purse of your lips and the curl of your fingers at your side. The way you speak, your eloquence when expressing yourself and describing music and the knowledge you bring to the table allows her to fill in some of the blanks washed out by time and space. You’re becoming irritated and she is learning you through it. You work in a record store, you don’t question any of the musical terms she employs and you clearly know what you’re talking about when recommending diverse pieces to her. You haven’t given up on the medium, then. Kafka pushes her relief aside.

“What is it that you’re looking for in particular?” You ask, aggravated after yet another shot down from her and crossing your arms over your chest. There’s a crease between your brows but she notices your shoulders have relaxed significantly since you started conversing.

Kafka doesn’t even have to think about that one. “Violin sonatas.”

She’s not looking at you, pretending to read over the back of a record, but she can almost hear the grinding of your teeth as yet another moment of silence is filled by the pop music over the radio speakers. Though she can’t help the bitterness growing around her organs like mold, neither of you actually acknowledge knowing each other before this afternoon. What is left unsaid spreads to every corner of the store, suffocating fumes charged with your guilt and her hurt, and you both stand in the middle of it, stubbornly breathing in the toxic air. 

If anything, Kafka commends your efforts in attempting to maintain your composure. Your chest falls with a soft exhale and you return to the shelves, browsing the selection with her preferences in mind. She glances at her watch. She has a commitment in an hour, she didn’t think this would take as long as it had. She briefly remembers Blade waiting around in the car, probably dozing off behind the wheel until she returns. 

“Here,” you speak and her head lifts to look at the vinyl you’re handing her. “It’s a miscellaneous collection. If there’s an exact sound that you want, it’s likely there.”

“I already have this one.” A white lie. Kafka doesn’t take the record, instead raises her eyes to yours. “I thought maybe this store would have something out of the ordinary, given its local reputation.” Her gaze boredly sweeps over the empty store before settling on you again. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Enough,” you’ve finally had enough of her implications, she watches you put your foot down with rapt attention. “What do you want me to do, record my own shitty playing before you’re satisfied?”

Shitty? She almost scoffs, personally offended. The missing key to her art, shitty?

“Maybe. Would you run from that as well?”

Your features first twist in shock at her dry reply, then twitch involuntarily as you try to mask the hurt that laces the natural curve of your bottom lip. You blink, averting your eyes the way you so often do now, and Kafka pauses at your reaction, almost daring you to contradict her. Another awkwardly charged silence falls upon you both. You seem to have many of those. She’s tempted to break it with a nonchalant remark, but the words freeze on her tongue at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and trembling lips. She stands and stares as you bring a hand to your face, uselessly attempting to reign in the emotion drawn across the lines of it. By the looks of it, you try very hard but are ultimately unable to stop your throat from bobbing with every difficult swallow and your lashes from fluttering to keep the sting of your eyes at bay. You’re suddenly taken with emotion, and Kafka stares in disbelief concealed as apathy. You briskly walk past her and make a beeline for the register counter, using its surface to support your hands and turning your back on her again. The distance could not be clearer, this time dug by her own hands. She hears your shuddering breaths, watches the growing tension in your back and shoulder muscles, and a sensation she does not recognize stops her from uttering anything. You look small, you sound weak, and it goes against every thought she's had of you for the past decade. It goes against the space you occupy in her mind--- unrelenting, expansive, insisting. You are not the teenager she sees when she looks at you nor the quiet child she thinks of when she's had too much to drink, you are simply a crying stranger she has no right to unravel, and yet she finds it difficult to look away.

Kafka is uncomfortable, rooted where she stands, and for once at a loss of what to do. She's relieved from doing anything as the blonde worker from earlier, Serval, stalks into the room with a frown bending her lips. There's no trace of her previous excitement, she immediately rounds the register to place herself next to you and rests a kind hand on your back, murmuring concerned inquiries that you can only shake your head to. Serval faces Kafka with a perfected customer service smile, all past pretenses gone.

"You should go, I'm sure a bigshot like you has more important things to do in a day than linger here."

Kafka smiles. "I do." She adjusts the silk gloves over her hands and spares a last glance at your back. She reaches into one of her coat pockets, steps closer to the register, and slides a sleek card with a minimalist design toward you with two fingers. "If you want to put your shitty playing to use."

The entry bell rings out as Kafka walks out of the record store.

[prophecyprompts]

#FROOT. assortment of lyrics (changed to be more dialogue-like) from marina's album froot. please note that some songs were easier to get lines from than others, so i apologize in advance! feel free to adjust as needed. part two. ♡

CAN'T PIN ME DOWN.

do you think i'm stuck up?

you can't pin me down.

back off, motherfucker.*

what do you not like?

you may think i'm one thing but i am another.

you can't call my bluff.

i'm always picking fights.

you're not even close.

it's the one thing i hate the most.

just another girl in the 21st century.

do you like my body?

you need to get your eyes checked.

i am never gonna give you anything you expect.

you think i'm like the others?

i could be your lover.

all these contradictions pouring out of me.

do you like my mind?

what is it that you are having trouble to define?

SOLITAIRE.

i don't want to be compared.

i don't want to talk anymore.

i'm happy to be on my own.

i'll admit all i wanna do is get drunk and silent.

i'm obsessed with silence.

i wanna watch my life unfold all around me, like a beautiful garden.

my heart, it became so hardened.

i covered up my heart in boundaries.

i'm not cursed.

they astounded me at first.

BETTER THAN THAT.

you can do better than that.

another dream come true.

i know i have no right to be mad.

it's a power move.

i know you've been feeling sad.

i know that you're not to blame.

well, i guess it's just what humans do.

i always had my doubts about you.

suspicious from the start.

WEEDS.

could have filled a garden with all the flowers that you gave me.

i just don't know what i can do.

they're the only ones who know me.

when nothing feels enough, at least you taught me how to love.

now i think my time is up.

sex is a way to feel a little bit less lonely.

i miss all of my exes.

just open up your eyes & see.

i tried to keep it covered up.

SAVAGES.

i'm not afraid of god, i am afraid of man.

is it running in our blood?

i'm not the only one who finds it hard to understand.

it's survival of the fittest.

at the end of the day, it's a human trait.

we can be bad as we can be good.

humans aren't gonna behave as we think we always should.

underneath it all, we're just savages.

how could we expect anything at all?

we're just animals still learning how to crawl.

truth is in us all.

has something deep inside of us come undone?

are you killing for yourself or for your savior?

is it a human trait or is it learned behavior?

IMMORTAL.

i wanna be immortal, like a god in the sky.

i wanna be a silk flower, like i'm never gonna die.

we'll always be together, from the end to the start.

i wanna live forever in your heart.

that's what we do it for: to reserve a spot in history.

i'm forever chasing after time.

if i could buy forever at a price, i would buy it twice.

but if the earth ends in fire & the seas are frozen in time — there'll be just one survivor: the memory that i was yours & you were mine.

when you love somebody, they'll always leave too soon.

i wanna mean something to somebody else.

it's not enough to live out a lucky life.

don't wanna live in vain.

i don't wanna be afraid to die.

i wanna feel a significance in the real world.

a memory can make a flower bloom.

we wanna be remembered.

i don't wanna be afraid.

i just wanna be able to say that i have lived my life.

everybody dies chasing after time.

all the things that humans do to leave behind a little proof.

but the only thing that doesn't die is love.

keep me alive.

[internet-girl-friend]

Do You Believe In Masochism?

12:45pm

In November 2023 I flew down to Los Angeles to meet an internet friend irl for the first time. The plan was that he'd pick me up from the airport and we'd drive directly to Pioneertown together.

"Hey so can I borrow your phone to let my family know I arrived?" "You got into a stranger's car and drove out to the desert with no service?"

I did. But my trust wasn't misplaced, and anyway, how else was I going to see the elusive, cult pop sensation Sky Ferreira?

She played Pappy and Harriet's and came on an hour late in a cloud of weed smoke, and the show was perfect... despite that and the fact that a veggie burger I'd had at the venue before made me throw up during her set.

While nothing could ever really compare to seeing her with my long-distance friend in a small desert dive, tonight I will see her again and I won't have to listen to I Blame Myself from my knees in a bathroom stall (at least not because I'm sick).

1:44am

I just got home and my ratio of Food I've Eaten to Beers I've Had is not in favour of me waking up feeling ready to move on Saturday (the Uhaul is booked).

We all met at Fringe Café right across from the venue -- me, Braydon, Grace, Brandon, and Allison. I had a hot dog served in a Bahn Mi bun and it gave me fear that I might meet the same fate as I did during I Blame Myself (it didn't).

People were lined up at 6:00pm, all of them no older than 19. I laughed to Allison "she's going to be late, they don't need to be waiting." Doors were at 7.

We arrived in the venue around 8 hoping to catch the opening act; once again, too early. The opener simply did not exist and we waited until 9:45 for her to get on stage, paying $8 for a goddamn PBR.

Before she came on, I heard two girls in the bathroom say "my 12 year old self is quaking," and another girl one-upped by saying that her 11 year old self was quaking. I was quaking as I was and I felt as though I might not be changing as much as I should be, and if I have been, I might be changing so much I was comin' back around.

I don't want all of these posts to seem as though I am complaining about being old when in reality I am quite young, but it just seems like being 20 is in trend right now or something. I don't think that I am caring for my inner child by liking music for over a decade; I think it is just good music.

Last time I saw Sky she played an encore -- Red Lips. This time she did not no matter how badly we begged. Both times she seemed decidedly shy. She wore huge sun glasses and a reflective jacket probably meant to keep people like me from getting the shots they wanted -- fair. Her vocals get better and better; she hit every note and has adapted the melodies so beautifully since she released Night Time My Time in 2013. I imagine that for me, seeing Sky is what Swifties feel like. She is such a significant part of my music and identity development and NTMT is an album I simply have not and will not outgrow.

I danced the entire time -- too enthusiastically to really see what the crowd was all about but I could sense from the space that I had to dance that the show wasn't close to sold out. They actually downsized the venue. It was supposed to be at Vogue which has about a 1200 person cap to Hollywood which has about a 700 person cap. To me, this is insane. Seeing her live is like seeing an ethereal cryptid.

I always want her to play the Ghost EP but it's wishful thinking in the same way that truly believing Masochism will ever actually come out is. Brandon and I joked that if we spent the $80 she was asking on her long sleeve that one day it will sell for $2000, which won't matter because we didn't buy it anyway, and if we did, we'd never part with it. Masochism was slated to come out this year. She's got three months and I am waited with bated breath. I fear I might suffocate.

COST OF THE NIGHT:

We got guest list for the show so it was free.

Food & beer: $15.00

Beer x 2 @ venue: $17.00

Beer @ tertiary venue which I didn't even write about: $9.00

Money sent to me by a Mystery Man <3: +$10.00

Total spent: $31.00

I will tell you right now, I cannot afford to be doing any of this, but I sure am having fun.

Must pack. Until next time (Saturday when I have another show).

[kringas]

The Debate

Do you think it is like.. morally questionable if your best friend is fucking your ex? Like... It wasn't a BAD breakup. It was my fault, too. I sorta stopped selling her mom weed which was apparentl

y the entire reason that she was in a relationship with me. Her mom, who is like this 5’7 Polish American milf with intense eyes and extensive knowledge of generative AI, really wanted that friends and family discount. The discount wasn’t even good, though. I don’t get. I also got into her LinkedIn and wrote multiple 6 paragraph posts about the deep state but I don’t think that was the reason that she broke up with me. That was mostly foreplay I’m like pretty sure. I don’t have the best perspective on that sorta thing. I live a life in nauseating levels of confusion constantly. Due to all the high doses of antipsychotics I have been taking (AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am not prescribed them anymore because I lost my insurance, but I wasn’t taking them when I was. I collected 9 months worth of doses and now I have been having a bit mixed in with my morning cereal. This cereal, which was, according to some sources, the Whole Foods Brand of frosted mini wheats (because they don’t have gelatin in them) is now curently Boo Berries precisely because they have gelatin in them (new carnivore diet that I am easing into) and because it is close enough to halloween that the Target by my house sells them and I am the type of person who buys groceries from Target now.) I also like being confused because everything is confusing and I would prefer that I have a medical reason for it, since, if I was just, like, confused because the world doesn’t make any sense and it is super bright and so so loud every minute of every single day, and I can’t make it go away by lowering my dose of stock piled VRAYLAR® (cariprazine), I don’t know how I’d handle it. I also hate having desires. I would do anything not to want anything. I dream of true anhedonia. I hate pleasure. I hate pleasure. I hate pleasure. I hate pleasure. I would do anything to escape it, to stray from the confines, to never pleasure seek again. To be actually free.

Did you see the debate the other night? I should also mention in this, let us call it a theoretical, your (my) best friend is fucking my (your) ex in, like, your general viscinity. Because I am all for free love and everything. I don’t put ENM in my Tinder bio but when people assume it I don’t feel that weird about it. But like it’s weird to invite me over and then invite my ex over and then have sex with her while I’m sitting in your (my?) living room. I think. I actually know like 5 people with this exact arragnement. Not in a sexual way, either. Not in a romantic way. They’re just trying to clicker train themselves out of feeling jealously, which i get becuase of my aforementioned desire to escape desire and jealously is desire. The debate was pretty crazy I think. I don’t follow politics anymore and I didn’t realize that it was an election year because we had one a few (couple?) years ago and I didn’t realize they come so often and with intensity. I remember in 2012. That was the last election. Now.

Anyways. The debate. I was sitting in the alleyway watching it on my phone because I had just dumpster dived the subway behind my apartment building and I didn’t want to bring it upstairs and then come back down to throw the trash away when the garbage can was right there. So I was sitting there, or really I was kneeling there. The laundromat also behind my building likes pouring chemicals into the alleyway and I decided that I didn’t want them on my pants. So I was kneeling there watching the debate on my phone. (AUTHOR’S NOTE: I don’t mind the chemicals in my alleyway other than the questionable enviromental impact because it means that the alleyway usually smells like a laundromat and a subway instead of garbage) and I was like, “Wow. I’m sure people on the internet are going to have lots of good thoughts about this.” but they didn’t. I’m still holding out for it though. Would it change your mind, like, at all, if I told you that both people in my story, the ex and the friend, are women? Cis women? Would that change your mind at all? Not that it’s true, but would it change your mind? I’m really trying to get a read on the gender war right now, my fingers are incompetent and poorly controlled so I can’t find the pulse or other things like my debit card in my wallet or my two lights of broadway cards also in my wallet or a paper crane an ex-friend (not the ex or the friend, ex-friend, fyi) gave me that is also in my wallet. I don’t think there is a war between men and women because I am a gender abolitionist, though I’m not super hard on that position as I’m concerned about the logistics of removing the gender marker from pre-existing driver’s licenses, as I don’t think we produce enough white-out for it to happen in any quick method nor do we have the labor power for it yet. Like would you go to the DMV and wait in line for hours and then hand your license over and then they’d white it out on the spot? I can’t imagine the complexities of this plan. If I think about it too much my heart actually starts pounding, sweat starts forming on my hairline and I have a sense that I am in a music video, but like, who would watch a music video where it’s just DMV workers whiting out the gender marker on a driver’s license? Not me. I don’t watch anything anymore. I put it on twice speed and then look at a word document while listening to it. But then what’s the point of filming them with the driver’s licenses?

I refuse to know who Donald Trump is. Why? Because I am only myself. I am me. I am one of a few hundred million. I don’t need to know. I don’t. I deserve to be selfish, right? I deserve not to worry about it because I worry about everything (animals, people, sex, VRAYLAR® (cariprazine), concepts, words on a page, wallets, cereal, gelatin, other things.) and if I worry about anything else again, I’m going to stand in traffic but the traffic slowing on my street has been effective and the streets are well lit so I won’t get hit, I’ll just get honked at, which is WORSE because it’s so loud. I spend half my day justifying my own existence and when I can’t do that, I go on Twitter and see if anyone else is publically justifiying their existence so I can project myself on them and then I feel better and I didn’t have to put any effort into feeling like a better-worse person, which is a win-win-win-win-win-win-win-win-win-win— sorry the chatbot I am using to write this got stuck in a loop and now I have to go and send messages that make it seem like it’s a personal assistant that I am emotionally abusing but that HR can’t get mad at me for.::: CAN WE SOLVE DOMESTIC ABUSE BY JUST LETTING PEOPLE ABUSE CHATBOTS? IS ABUSE A RIGHT? I have been looking for excuses for everything. Every element of my life includes an excuse. I have an excuse for my haircut.

So please, please, please, give me a read on the morals of this situation. on the ethics. on the ethics please. I need someone else to examine it all. I need to get back to ridding myself of desire and presence. Thanks. PLEASE get me those reports sent in a Word document by the end of the day, including the spreadsheet. Then text me when you send them since I will be OOO.

Yours truly,

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Insert your boss’s name and phone number here.)

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Please clap.)

[princessconsuela120]

Chapter Eight: Rubble to Rubble

—✧

Series masterlist

Chapter Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, cursing

Authors Note: Enjoy these next few chapters you guys🫣 shits getting real now.

Chapter art by @silvell

—✧

“Where the hell you been, Junebug?” My dad asked, getting up with concern as I walked in the door.

“Oh, I just drove to Denver to show Mark and Vanessa the ultrasound. I ended up staying a couple hours.” I explained, shrugging my shoulders as I tried to keep going upstairs, but my dad stopped me.

“A couple hours? Why are you going there in the first place?” He asked angrily, causing me to look back at him confused.

“Oh, well, they wanted to know about the stuff… And I said I'd keep them updated, so I did.”

“You could have mailed it to them. Why would you drive an hour out to East Jesus, Nowhere?” He lectured, making me even more confused.

“I just did. You know, and while Mark and I were waiting for Vanessa… We watched Ghost… And then he burned me a couple of CD's of this weird music, so…It was cool. He's kind of cool.” My dad shook his head at me.

“Juno, you can't just drop in on them like that.”

“No, it was not a big deal. He was totally cool with it.” I said to calm him down, though it didn’t work much.

“You don't understand. Mark is a married man. There are boundaries.” He explained, and I scoffed at him.

“Oh, come on. Listen, Dad. Now, you're acting like you're the one who has to go through this. Like you have to get huge and shove a baby out of your vag for someone else. What does it matter if he's married? I can have married friends.” I grabbed my car keys from my pocket, slamming them on the table infront of my dad, knocking over the jar of weed he had been putting together.

“It doesn't work that way, honey. You don't know squat about the dynamics of marriage.” He yelled back, glaring at me as he put the bids back in the jar.

“You don't know anything about me.” I snapped at him. It was safe to say I got easily defensive with my dad. He was gone for most of my life, why should I let him affect me. Well, he wasn’t home, he was still there, slowly making everything worse for Stan Shelley and I. And my mom too. I know he was trying, but it takes a lot of hard work to fix that.

“I know enough.”

“We don't even sell at the farm anymore.” I teased, making him roll his eyes.

“We don't sell anymore because you and your siblings had to be little babies about it and complain to mom! When you guys move out I’m gonna be so rich, I’m gonna buy a parakeet.” He explained, ignoring me as he focused on making his jar look good.

“Whoa, dream big.” I remarked, heading up to my room as he shouted after me.

“Oh, go fly a kite.”

—✧

IT WAS STRANGE COMING BACK TO THE BROFLOVSKI HOUSE. Kyle and I had agreed that we weren’t telling his family about the baby, there was no need to stress them out if the baby was going to someone else anyway. I missed coming here. It was right next door, it was always the house I’d look at on my way to the garage, look at with hope. Back before we understood what anything was, when I’d sit on our ‘throne’ as Stan and Kyle worked to build our elven kingdom. Kyle and I getting married in the highest point of the tree house with ring pops so that we could rule our kingdom together. It was all so innocent back then. I collected myself, taking a breath before knocking.

“Hi, Juno. What can I do for you?” Sheila Broflovski asked, smiling happily as she answered the door.

“Kyle home?” I asked, smiling back.

Kyle’s mom was possibly attractive once, but now she looks mostly like you’d expect a mom to look. I’m sure his dad was head over heels, I don’t know maybe Jersey people were his thing. I didn’t mind though, I’d always thought of Mrs Broflovski like my second mom. She would always treat me as such. Making sure I had extra sunscreen at the beach, helping me learn to ski, making cookies every time I came over.

“Hey, man. Don't concentrate so hard. I think I can smell your hair burning.” I teased, seeing Kyle leaning against his bed with his homework binder in his lap. I swore his face must’ve lit up the room when his eyes met mine, jumping from his seat as he stood to come help me walk over.

“Hey, what's up?” He said cheerfully, grabbing my arms to help me come sit down in the beanbag chair from across from where he had been sitting.

“Not much. I just wanted to come say hey. I mean, I miss, like, just hanging out with you on school nights, you know?” I said, which caused Kyle to smile even more, his face softening of it even could more than it was. He pour a few to face into his hand, plopping them in his mouth before looking back at me. Orange tic tacs are Kyle’s one and only vice. The day I got pregnant, his mouth tasted really tangy and delicious.

“Wow, you really… You really seem to be getting pregnanter these days.” He said, chuckling slightly as I laughed along.

“You know, I set up this whole private adoption. And this married couple in, like, Denver, they're gonna be the parents.”

I couldn’t explaine it really, the way his face seemed to drop the slightest bit when I mentioned that. That the fact we weren’t gonna keep it, disappointed him. I didn’t know why. We were 17, you’d assume it would hurt us more to have to keep it. But it didn’t. And I think I understand. Something that would connect the both of us forever, gone. I guess that stings.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, what are they like?” He asked, and I sighed, laying back slightly.

“Well, I mean, the guy, he's awesome. His name's Mark, and he likes old movies and he plays the guitar. We actually hung out this afternoon.” I explained, causing Kyle to look at me with furrowed eyebrows.

“Is that normal?” He asked in response, making me shrug.

“Probably not, but…Listen, I talked to my mom and dad...And they said they wouldn't narc you out to your folks...So I think we should be cool, you know?” He smiled, but it wasn’t a Kyle smile, more like the smile you give someone to get them to stop talking. More just pressing your lips together and trying to smile but you couldn’t.

“That's a relief. How pissed was Stan?” He asked, now frowning as he mentioned Stan. As much as Stan was my twin brother, he was Kyle’s best friend. I know he hadn’t spoken to him since he found out, and it stressed Kyle out to no end. He knew I had told him, he knew it would come out eventually. It just broke his heart a little to know that his best friend felt that betrayal from him.

“He was, pissed. I think now he’s just mostly afraid you’ll never talk to him again for being a dick.” I explained, chuckling slightly at the dramatics my brother showcased.

“He wasn’t a dick, he was just mad.” Kyle said, making me nod sun agreement.

“That’s what I said.”

“I just miss him, you know?” He said quietly, causing a thick silence to fill the room. It was a weird feeling, kinda like when I told him I was pregnant. It felt empty, painfully empty.

“Yeah, yeah I get that. You know, I'm gonna… Start looking like a pretty big dork soon, so…” I explained, making him chuckle.

“You always look like a dork Jo.” He interrupted, causing me to roll my eyes, shoving him teasingly as he laughed.

“Oh shush. Are um, are you still gonna think I'm cute when I'm huge?” I asked, looking up at him as a light blush covered my cheeks.

“I always think you're cute. I think you're beautiful.” He replied quickly, not even taking a moment to think about his answer. My face turned an even brighter red.

“Jeez, Kyle.” I couldn’t help the nervous laugh that left my mouth when I replied.

“Well, I do. Hey, Jo, when this is all over, we should get the group back together.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, that would be awesome.”

I hadn’t hung out with the boys all together much since everything went down. It was awkward, I really only had been with Craig and Kenny through it all. Hell I hadn’t seen Butters in weeks.

“I mean, once Cartman goes back on his meds…” Kyle continued, making me nod. I hadn’t seen Cartman in weeks, I didn’t even know he was refusing to take his meds again.

“We're just, like, ready to rumble.” I said, and Kyle sighed, as if he were preparing himself to speak.

“And I mean, we could always get back together too. That's an option.” He looked down at the ground as if he was trying to avoid my eye contact, and I gave him a confused look.

“Were we together?” I asked, making Kyle look back up at me, nodding awkwardly.

“Yeah, we were once, you know? That time.” He explained, forming a new awkward silence between the two of us.

“What about Rebecca Cotswolds? You could totally go out with Rebecca Cotswolds.” I offered, trying to change the subject. He furrowed his eyebrows at me at the mention of the girl. She joined our school in freshman year, though we had know her since fourth grade due to the spelling bee. Even then everyone thought she was sort of strange, she didn’t communicate the same way due to being homeschooled. The entire time Cartman teased Kyle for being “in love with her” because he talked to her so much. It was Stan who found out the reason he talked to her was to learn more about girl, so he could talk more to me.

“I don't like Rebecca. She smells like soup. I mean, have you ever smelled her? And her whole house smells like soup.” Kyle explained, shaking his head with defiance. He let out a low sigh, looking down at the ground to avoid the awkward situation. I couldn’t help but feel my heart pang at the sight. This was different, it was weird.

—✧

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is a Roulette Wheel: Swain WIP Pt2

SFW

Not me spending like an hour in the weeds of the fandom wiki trying to reconstruct a timeline for Noxus. Apparently after Swain killed the previous Grand General and established the Trifarix council he pulled back most of the warhosts but maintained a bunch of coastal territories in Ionia and Shurima, which is roughly when I'm setting this, but also at some point in the future he decides on Ionian Invasion Pt: Back In The Saddle Again re: the awaken cinematic, which apparently isn't even necessarily canon?? Anyway I'm extrapolating a bunch of information about Noxus' current political climate from those two things

----

They give you a nice room in what you take to be a guest wing, and Garret departs again. There are guards outside your door, which you aren't sure if you're to take as a threat or a luxury. You aren't really in the mood for their oppressive hospitality, though, so as soon as the doors close you rewind yourself to the streets outside.

Your latest raven sights you almost immediately. There's lots of them outside the palace–you assume because that's where Swain is. You make it to the block outside the tower before you stop and turn to look at it, exasperated. “Come on then,” you wave it over. It flits down to the fence next to you, cocking it's head at you. “If you're going to be following me around anyway, I'd rather know where you are,” you say, offering it your arm.

It blinks, one eye at a time. “I'll tell you a secret? Something no-one else in Runeterra knows…” you coax. It caws softly. “Alright, you drive a hard bargain. Two.”

The raven steps onto your arm and caws. You grin. “Okay, let's see…hm. When I was six, I stole all of my friends glitter pens and blamed it on a boy who was mean to me. Then I felt bad, so I threatened him into writing an apology note and planted it and the pens back in her bag the next day.”

The raven caws harshly at you. You shrug. “I never said they were ground-breaking secrets.” Nevertheless, the bird settles on your shoulder when you lift your arm up to it, and you set out again.

You walk without any particular purpose, just exploring the City. You were somehow expecting it to be more depressing, but despite the grim and brutality architecture the people are lively and vibrant. It reminds you of Bilgewater, but with less outright crime, honestly. The market hawkers holler offers across the street, beside you a woman argues sharply with a weaver about the cost of a bolt of silk. A vastayan man on a street corner does an elaborate fire-breathing display, and his hat is piled with coin. Nobody apologizes when they knock into you in the busy streets, but not once does anyone try and lift your purse. You eventually find your way to the markets, where you permit yourself to buy a few books and a glass figurine that catches your eye. You usually prefer to travel light, but here's hoping that you'll be staying here for at least a while. You get skewers from a food stall that smells irresistible, and you feed chunks to the raven as you walk back. You suppose that they must be like normal ravens to some extent, because it accepts the food easily enough.

The raven departs with a soft caw as you make your way back to the tower, the sun setting in the distance. You rewind yourself back to your room and read until your dinner is brought.

—

If you were counting your entire stint in the Void as a single incident, meeting the Trifarix is the second most stressful thing that's ever happened to you. It's like a job interview, except you're pretty sure they're going to try and kill you if you don't get the job.

You're led into a cavernous throne room, with the Trifarix seated at a simple stone table at the foot of the empty throne. Swain sits in the center, Darius on his right, and to his left the Faceless in their many layered robe. You sit across from them, feeling distinctly like you should be wearing something nicer. Your guard escorts fall back, and Swain prompts you to recount your offer.

What follows next is the most exhaustive hour of negotiation you've ever been party to. The Faceless asks where you got your powers. You explain that you can't explain, and then go through all of the unpleasantness of proving it by hacking glass up on their table. Darius wants to know what exactly you have to offer Noxus, the limits of your powers, whether you can be sent to the front lines. You tell him you're immortal, and then when he laughs in your face, you say he can behead you and prove it if he's fine waiting a few hours for you to come back. He kind of pauses, then, and either the seriousness in your offer or the shard of mirror glass still sitting on the table seems to convince him, because he's a tad less rude after that.

Swain seems more concerned with the terms of your agreement than your worth to the empire–what your duties will be, for how long, how each party will assure the other that they're fufilling their end of the contract. He doesn't know off the top of his head how to get you home, but he suggests several promising avenues a team of mages and researchers could pursue. The Faceless suggests you work for them until they find a way to send you home, you point out that that motivates them to purposely delay or fail their research to keep you here. You suggest that you work for them for a year regardless of their findings; at the end they either send you home, or you fuck off elsewhere. Swain suggests a ten year term with updates. You point out that if you find out that they're trying to fuck you over, you’ll unmake this entire goddamn city around them. Swain points out, almost idly, that that would disproportionately affect the citizenry, and you don't really have a rebuttal for that, so you relent and amend that fine, you'll just kill all of them, but that's a much less dramatic threat. Darius laughs. The other two do not.

You settle on a three year term.

---

“Garret, be honest with me, are you reporting my every move back to the Trifarix?” You ask wearily, on your way out of the meeting.

Garret blinks. “Not specifically. Of course I'll be honest if asked, but to be frank, ma’am, they have better ways to keep tabs on you.”

You grimace, glancing up at the birds on the rooftops around you. “That's fair. Why were you assigned to me, then?”

“If the need arised, to kill you,” he says evenly.

You raise a brow at him. He doesn't look any more dangerous than your average Noxian, but there must be some reason he was the one assigned to take you out. He looked Ionian–maybe some form of magic that would take you off guard. “Unlucky.”

“So I hear,” he says dryly. He stops in front of your new residence, a two story in a nice looking part of the city, or as nice as Noxus' imperious architecture gets. “This will be your new residence. Someone should have already been by to drop off your citizenship documents. Welcome to Noxus, ma’am.”

“You won't be escorting me anymore, I take it?” You extrapolate. He shakes his head. “Can I ask you a personal question, then?”

He blinks. “Not standing out here in the street, no. You may invite me in for tea, however.” He fishes a set of keys out of his pocket and hands it to you.

You crack a smile, open the door, and then turn to stand inside it. “Could I invite you in for tea, Colonel I don't know your first name Garrett?” You say with your best approximation of an Ionian bow.

“You may, Madam Iso I don't know your last name,” he responds in kind. There's the edge of a smile on his lips, which is as expressive as you've ever seen him.

“I don't actually know if I have tea,” you say as you close the door behind you. “I didn't bring any.”

“I don't drink tea,” he says plainly. He goes to sit at your new couch, politely folding his hands in his lap. “You may ask your question.”

You sit across from him, bemused. “Are all Noxians this abrupt?”

He inclines his head at you, akin to a bird. “We value our time. Was that your question?”

You laugh. “No. I wanted to ask, and you can feel free to tell me to fuck off if it's too personal, but…you're Ionian, right? Why are you here, in Noxus?”

He pauses for a moment. “That is very personal, yes. May I ask why you want to know?”

You pause a moment, mulling over your words. “Because…look, you know what I did in Shuriman. I work for Noxus now, and honestly there isn't a hell of a lot I wouldn't do to get home, but…all the same, I want to know what I'm getting into. What I've done to those people.”

He sighs. “It was…different, for me. My village was poor, and we had little to resist with when Noxus came almost a decade ago, under Darkwill’s rule. It was brutal, and I lost people I cared for in a hopeless attempt at resistance. The army raided our temple for relics, and we were told to bend the knee or die. I bent.” He spreads his hands to indicate to his practical Noxian garb. “I thought our lives would be as senseless and cruel as the army was. For a time it was. Then Grand General Swain deposed Darkwill, and things changed. The world opened to us. My sister pursued an education in history, my son an apprenticeship in smithing. We were recognized for the worth of our craft rather than the blood in our veins. I miss my wife, yes, and my son his mother, but we are fed and content.”

You look down. “Does that make it worth it?”

His lips thin slightly. “The spring does not justify the winter. They are merely things that happen, and we weather them.” You sit in silence for a moment, before he offers “Grand General Swain is just, as far as I have seen. He has inherited his predecessors' wars, but there is a purpose there where Darkwill only had tyranny and madness. He is not war-like by nature, I believe, but securing Noxus' future relies on stabilizing the borders of our acquired territories.”

“So that makes the brutal expansionism justified?” You ask dryly.

He shrugs. “Justification is the tool of a dishonest conscience. I know who I am and what is valuable to me, and I know what I must do to have it. So do you. That is why you are Noxian now. The citizens of Bitharix will have a choice to make, whether they value their lives or their ideals, and then they will either be dead or they will be the same as any other Noxian. I can tell you that the Trifarix cares for the wellbeing of Noxus. I cannot tell you if Noxus' wellbeing is more valuable than that of Shurima’s, but here is where I live, here is where I thrive, and so here is where I will serve. Whether the same can be said of you is your own decision to make.” With that, he rises to his feet and offers you a bow. “I will be going now.”

You nod. “Thank you, for your assistance, and for your advice.”

He nods. “Whatever path you choose to walk, I hope that you walk it with surety.” And then he turns and leaves.

You sit in silence in your new Noxian house for a few minutes. Then you abruptly decide this situation calls for ice cream and hop to your feet.

—

“Birdie, do you know if this place has ice cream?” You ask the raven that flies down to the fence next to you. It caws harshly, and you get the sense it's offended. “Oh, come on. I'll tell you a real secret this time if you bring me somewhere nice,” you offer enticingly. It caws again, this time somewhat uncertain. “C'mon, it's riiight on the tip of my tongue, can't you just taste it?” you taunt.

The raven stares at you so intensely you think it might actually be able to, and then hops onto your shoulder and caws in the direction of the markets. You beam and set off.

—

“God, I really needed this,” you tell the bird appreciatively as you devour your chocolate chip cone. “I know you're a demonic entity whose reporting my every move to Swain, since I'm under contract now, here's a secret for free: that man stresses me the fuck out.” The bird caws in what you take to be agreement. “I know, right? It's the resting bitch face, I think. It makes me feel like I've forgotten my homework or something.” You shudder.

As you finish your cone, the bird caws at you impatiently. “Alright, you did good, I guess you earned it,” you relent with a sigh. It hops onto your knee and peers up at you intently. The words rise to your tongue unbidden. “The thing that took me had a name, but I haven't been able to remember what it is since I killed it. I try, and it's just…white noise, like blood in my ears. I don't even know why I knew it's name, it's not like it ever told me,” you say forlornly. Then you blink. “Wait. I shouldn't have been able to say that. How did you–”

The raven crows triumphantly, and then pain beyond anything your curse has ever given you rips through you.

—

You wake up on a plush couch. You sit up groggily, only to realize you have no idea where you are.

“You weren't lying about your immortality, it seems,” Swain observes mildly. He's at a large desk, writing something. You're in his office, it seems.

You rub your throat. “What happened?”

“Raum suppressed your curse long enough to draw out a secret, and you paid the price for speaking where you shouldn't.” Swain says. He signs the page at the bottom, puts his quill in his inkwell, and then steeples his hands and looks at you. His expression is neutral, but there's an intent glint in his eye you aren't sure what to make of. “You were found with about a dozen shards of glass protruding from your throat. You have been dead for…” he glances at his desk clock. “Approximately one hour and twelve minutes.”

You blink. “That was quick. Usually takes longer here.” You look down at the couch you're on, which is covered in what is most likely your blood. You rewind it clean with a grimace. “Why bring me here?”

“For one, to verify your claims of purported immortality. For another, we need to discuss your duties. I had intended to give you some time to settle in, but given the circumstances it seems best to be expeditious. Do you need anything, before we continue?”

You frown. Your mouth tastes like blood. “Water would be good.”

He produces a pitcher and some glasses from a side table hidden from your view by one of his enormous stacks of paper, and gestures for you to sit across as he pours. “What do you know of Raum?”

You settle yourself across from him and drink. It tastes faintly of lemon. “Demon who eats secrets. I know generally what you can do with his powers, but I don't have the specifics of how you control them.”

He nods. “I see. Suffice to say, Raum becomes more difficult to control if I overuse his power, or if he's…overfed, shall we say.” He gives you a pointed look. You wince. “I purposefully let him loose to see if you could contain him unassisted. Not only did you accomplish that, but your intervention significantly weakened his bids for control. As such, part of your duties for your time with Noxus will be assisting me with Raum’s ongoing containment, starting now.”

You blink. “Now?”

“Now,” he repeats, unimpressed. “May I remind you that you fed him a secret capable of leveling a kingdom so that you could find the best ice cream parlor in Noxus, and now I am paying the price.” His voice is so dry it rivals the Shuriman dunes.

You wince slightly. “Yeah, that's fair. Give me your hand.”

He blinks. You hold your hand out towards him and wiggle your fingers expectantly. His lips thin slightly, but he complies. The leather of his gloves is warm, and you can feel the shape of his past beneath it, but… “Something's not right,” you mutter, opening your eyes. “Other hand.”

“Pardon?” He says.

You furrow your brows. “Give me your other hand.”

“This wasn't necessary last time,” he points out warily.

“Last time, I was being actively fried with demonic energy, which gave me a physical connection to Raum’s timeline,” you point out. “Now, I'm pretty sure there was a term in my contract that says you're not allowed to eldritch blast me just because you really want to, so I suppose you're just going to have to give me your hand.”

He lifts his hand from where it lies hidden under his coat, and if it were a word you thought could be physically applied to Swain, you'd say he seemed hesitant. Alas, it's not, so you go with wary instead. It casts a soft red glow across your skin, and when he finally places his palm in yours, it has the oddest sensation of electricity–a current that's just strong enough to hum under your skin, but not to hurt. Other than that, it feels like a normal hand, though admittedly one with long curling claws and feathers at the elbow.

“Satisfied?” He asks dryly.

“Yes,” you agree easily. You shut your eyes and begin to work–it’s strangely difficult, like every inch you wind Raum back he tries to regain. “This will take some time. He's not happy about it.”

“Hm.” He hums in response. “Tell me something. Why Bitharix?”

You blink at him. “It was in an important strategic location to connect trade from the coastal cities, and a sustained seige would cost too many resources, leave your forces too exposed for too long. Plus, I figured altering the geography of an entire city would be the fastest way of getting my point across.”

“Why not Port Alkaline?” He counters. “It was closer to Tereshni. It's an important coastal stronghold with strong walls.”

You furrow your brows. “I figured you were planning to blow their wall up and then just build it back. It's not nearly as thick, and you had more stone shipped in than you'd need for the those big ominous arches you like to build.”

“And do you know why we build the arches?” He pushes.

You frown. “It’s an ever present reminder of Noxus' presence, and their resources, as well as a defensible structure? Why are you…” you pause, narrowing your eyes at him. “Are you quizzing me?”

“Hm,” he hums noncommittally. “You mentioned you could restore the walls, and the Bitharix ravine.”

You nod. “Sooner would be better. Longer something is the way it is, the more it wants to stick. Won't take me long, though, I can go back to anywhere I've been before without much effort. Same goes for Alkaline, if you do end up blowing their wall.” You pause, listening. “...can you hear that whispering?” You ask.

“Constantly,” he agrees. “Best to ignore it.”

You frown. “Can you tell him to shut the fuck up?”

“I truly wish so, but no,” he sighs.

You open your eyes and squint down at his feathered hand. “Hm. Maybe if I…” and here, you slow the rhythm of Raum’s existence to a crawl, until there's quiet in your mind. Swain looks at you in what might be surprise, but doesn't comment. You sit in blessed silence for the few more minutes it takes to claw Raum back to what feels like a reasonable equilibrium. “Hm. Is that better?”

He removes his hand from yours, flexes it experimentally, then nods. “Yes. You're dismissed. I’ll send for you when I have need,” he returns to his work.

You stand, apparently dismissed.

“Oh, and Iso?” He calls as you turn to leave. “If you have any more pressing questions about local cuisine, please refrain from making bargains with my birds.”

You consider him. “...in that case, do you know where I can find a good seafood mornay? I've got a craving for fish.”

He gives you an unimpressed look. You're fully expecting to be ignored, but apparently he decides answering you is the fastest way to get you out of his office. “Sailmaker’s Bounty, on the east side. Now begone.”

“Thanks, boss!” You chirp with a grin before you close the door.