#jeans route is just weird

[cloudcountry]

i don't like how ikevamp is pulling the "he's naive! he's actually really kind!!" card when they talk about jean and how he hurt mc. and i don't like how the mc just totally blew off the danger she was in when jean bit her. i don't like how they totally glossed over the TRAUMA of being bitten by a vampire when you didn't consent to it. i don't like how the mc is trying so hard to get to know jean without ANY reasoning behind it because it makes it so hard to want them to get closer. (like if he saved her from attackers like what happened in will's route, i could understand it. but jean was the person that she needed saving from, so it makes no sense.) i feel like this route could have had a very different start and still ended up on the same "teaching jean how to write" storyline without confusing the players or making them resent the love interest.

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[ckret2]

Chapter 66 of that fic about human Bill but he's not in this chapter so forget about him: Ford and Dipper go cryptid hunting!

This is pretty much a standalone chapter so if somehow you stumbled on this without seeing the rest of the fic, u can just, read it by itself as a standalone Dipper and Ford adventure. It's funny. Promise.

####

The camera turned on to reveal Dipper, illuminated sunset orange and cast in heavy shadows, holding the camera out at arm's length. "Welcome back to Dipper's Guide to the Unexplained, anomaly #175: the Fremont Nightwigglers!" He held up a paper title card in his free hand. "I'm Dipper Pines, and today I'm honored to introduce our special guest star—" he turned the camera around to focus on Ford from behind, "—the one and only Dr. Stanford Pines, PhD times twelve—"

Ford laughed self-consciously. "Dipper, nobody's going to recognize my name outside of a few highly specialized academic fields—"

"—the scientist who developed the Theory of Weirdness—"

"That paper isn't even ready for peer review yet, and I can't take all the credit—"

"—and the coolest dimension-hopping monster-fighting mystery-investigating great uncle in the world!"

Ford paused thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll take that one."

"Tonight, we're on the trail of the Fremont Nightwigglers." The recording cut to CCTV footage from a much higher-budget cryptid-hunting show (which Dipper had recorded by aiming the camera at the TV). The footage showed two marshmallow-like creatures that seemed to consist solely of heads, long legs, and feet—smooth, ghostly white, and featureless except for black eyes. They wore denim jeans that covered their bodies from ankles to waists, and their legs seemed to bend jointlessly, like an octopus's arms or an elephant's trunk. "These weird armless creatures have been seen up and down the west coast states, leaving behind a wave of jeans thefts at clothing stores; but by the time local law enforcement has ruled out any human suspects, the true culprits are always long gone."

The recording cut back to Dipper, who'd taken the lead so he could turn around the camera and aim it at both himself and Ford. "Based on investigative research done by Dr. Pines in the 80s, we believe the Nightwigglers have a migratory route several years long that passes through California, Oregon, Washington, and Canada. More research is needed to find out if they travel as far as Alaska or Mexico. Locals believe each Nightwiggler creates an individual burrow around a communal gathering spot to hide in during the day, and at night they assemble in the communal spot to travel or forage in nearby towns."

Ford threw in, "Based on what the townspeople told me about their habits, they've been in Gravity Falls much longer than usual. It typically takes them a week or two to pass through the area, but this year there have been sightings for more than a month. Perhaps we'll find out why."

"And thanks to a hot tip from an in-the-know local"—the recording cut to a few seconds of footage of Wendy proving she could do a handstand on the split-rail fence around the Mystery Shack—"we know which assembly spot they're currently camping around! Tonight, we're trying to get the first deliberate footage of a Nightwiggler..." Dipper lowered the camera and turned toward Ford, "Hey, what'll we call a group of them? A flock? Herd? Meeting? If we're the first investigators to officially document the species, we get to come up with the name , right?"

Ford considered the question. "What about a wobble of Nightwigglers? Since their legs are so... wobbly."

"Sure, that works."

"Is this really your 175th episode?" Ford asked. "I've missed quite a few."

"Ye—well..." Dipper lowered the camera. It recorded his shoes as he walked. "So far I've got a list of 175 anomalies I want to do an episode on, but I've only recorded and posted thirty-something. I think you've seen them all except the two I've done this summer." He sighed. "I'm... kinda disappointed by it, honestly."

"Why? You should be proud of your work so far! You're the only person in the world who's caught footage of the Hide Behind."

"By accident."

"Because you learned how to identify its call, chased it through half the forest, and were prepared with the right equipment to record it. That wasn't luck, Dipper—that was your hard work."

"I guess," Dipper said grudgingly. "I just... wanted to have a lot more produced by now."

"Wh—You started these last June? That's about one every two weeks. That's a very impressive output."

"I made most of them last summer, I hardly did any over the last school year or this summer."

"You've been focusing on your studies, that's good."

"Yeah, but what about this summer? All I've done so far is borrow some of Robbie's music video footage to make an episode about zombies and record some footage I haven't edited yet about Pacifica's alpaca thief. I didn't even get any footage of the haunted doll crane game before it disappeared. Most of the time I've been just... hiding in Soos's room playing Bloodcraft: Overdeath"—(under his breath Ford muttered "Blood-craft over death?")—"or hanging out with Wendy and her friends, or helping Soos with the Mystery Shack, or just trying to avoid..." He trailed off, suddenly conscious of the camera still aimed at the ground. It had started recording footprints drying in the mud after the recent rain: soft indents like the pads of paws, but with no distinct toes, about the size and length of human feet. Dipper lifted the camera to better record the trail they were walking down.

"Well... there's nothing wrong with taking a break during the summer," Ford said. "Especially considering that your last summer was... quite a bit more exciting than most kids'—"

"That's just it!" Dipper said. "Last summer I did so much! I investigated your disappearance, I filled half of your third journal, I helped stop the apocalypse, I wrote a book with Mabel about solving mysteries and doing fun stuff, I recorded like twenty Guides to the Unknown... Compared to that, this summer I feel like I'm—falling behind."

"Falling behind what?"

"I don't know. But—I just—I... feel like..." He trailed off with a frustrated sigh. "I don't know."

Ford offered, "Maybe, like you're not living up to your own potential?"

"Yes! That's it," Dipper said. "I'm not trying to grow up too fast, I'm just worried I'll grow up before I've done all the stuff I'm supposed to do now. Like I'm already running out of time."

"Hmm..." Ford let out a long, thoughtful sigh. "Dipper, I'm probably the wrong person to be giving this advice, considering that I'm not exactly... the paragon of moderation when it comes to pursuing professional ambitions. But—remember that you're only thirteen. Right now, you don't need to be worried about graduating valedictorian and starting up an anomaly-hunting show and doing groundbreaking research into previously-unknown strange and wondrous creatures," Ford said. "You just need to focus on graduating valedictorian first. That's all I did with my high school years, and after that I still managed to rack up multiple PhDs before age 30. You've got plenty of time!" He said this with the confidence of a man who didn't realize having his life derailed by a manipulative alien villain was the only reason he didn't burn out hard by 1984. "Outside of that, just... worry about being a kid."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. Thanks, Grunkle Ford," Dipper said. "I keep worrying, though. I keep thinking, what if I'm wasting all my time on stuff that... just... doesn't matter? What if nothing I'm doing is actually important?"

Ford was silent a moment. "That's... a very existential question for your age. How long have you been worrying—"

Dipper hissed, "Grunkle Ford!" He jerked his camera up. "Is that fire?!" There was a faint orange glow in the distance between the trees.

"I think it is!"

Dipper whispered, "That's where I found the Nightwigglers' abanadoned campsite last time!"

"Did you see any signs that they knew how to start fires? Remains of a campfire?"

"I didn't notice anything."

"It could be a Scampfire..."

As quietly as they could, Dipper and Ford edged through the trees, Dipper all the while pointing the camera toward the light, until they found a narrow gap between two trees from which they could peer into the clearing.

There were three or four dozen Nightwigglers milling about in little clusters. Several had lit torches—sturdy sticks with the ends wrapped in fabric—which they carried by sticking the ends of the torches into their jeans' pockets.

"Dipper, look at the tops of their torches," Ford hissed. "Is that shredded denim?"

The camera zoomed in on the nearest torchbearing Nightwiggler. "I think so."

"We already knew they wore clothing—but they can make tools, too? How advanced are they..."

Ford trailed off as the clustered Nightwigglers separated, spreading out evenly into several rings. As the camera recorded, they began emitting a synchronized muffled humming; and then they began dancing, kicking their legs and turning in circles together. "Whoa," Dipper whispered. "Is this some kind of ritual?"

"What's its purpose?" Ford whispered back. "Recreation? Religion? Some sort of cultural event—?"

"Hold on. I think I recognize the song."

Ford and Dipper fell silent, watching in silence as the dance repeated a couple of times.

The Nightwigglers were doing the Hokey Pokey.

"Fascinating." The camera lurched sideways, and then turned toward Ford. Ford had stolen Dipper's journal from out of his vest pocket and was hastily taking notes on a blank page. "I had no idea Nightwiggler culture was so influenced by human culture. An hour ago, we didn't even know Nightwigglers have a culture. When could they have observed and learned the Hokey Pokey? It's not exactly a nighttime dance—do they spy on humans during the day?"

Dipper said, "What if we learned the dance from Nightwigglers?"

Ford stopped writing, looked up, and stared at Dipper, mind blown.

Dipper jerked the camera back toward the Nightwigglers as they filed out of the clearing. "Hey! Where are they going now?"

Dipper and Ford waited until the last Nightwiggler had left; and then they quietly followed.

####

After several minutes of silence except for the sound of footsteps, Ford said, "Are we headed toward Mabel's Fault?"

Dipper groaned. "I got enough of this place last week."

"Agreed." 

"Hey, you know Bill said we should rename it 'Bill's Fault'?"

Ford huffed. "Did he really? I don't believe it."

"Yeah. He tried to play it off like, 'oOOoh, I just want creEDit—'"

"That sounds like him—"

They came to a stop as the camera spied the Nightwigglers standing in the clearing around the fault, then they quickly moved off the path into the brush and crept closer. "What are they doing?" Dipper asked as they inched up to the tree line.

"I don't know—they're packed too tightly together for me to see."

"I've got an idea. Hold this." The camera bounced as Dipper passed it to Ford, who watched as Dipper climbed up one of the pine trees around the clearing. 

"Careful! There aren't a lot of low branches that can hold your weight."

"It's okay, Wendy showed me how to do this." Dipper held out his hand for the camera.

Ford passed it up to him. "What do you see?"

The camera foused on Mabel's Fault. "The Nightwigglers closest to the fault are taking off their jeans, ripping them into two separate legs, and... tossing them in the fault? Have you ever heard of this?"

"Never."

"Like a dozen have done it so far."

"Perhaps that's why they have to steal so many pairs of pants? But why..."

Dipper gasped. Tiny Nightwigglers had begun squirming out of the fault, each wearing a single denim pant leg, crawling around like inchworms with half the pant leg trailing behind them. The bigger Nightwigglers picked up the little ones with their feet and swaddled them in the excess fabric. "They're—I think they're baby Nightwigglers! Coming out of the fault!"

"Amazing! Is this how they reproduce?" Ford asked. "Is that why they travel the west coast—are they following the San Andreas Fault and the volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest?"

"Maybe that's why they've been in town so long," Dipper said. "Mabel's Fault wasn't here the last time they passed through."

"We'll have to find out what other towns they stay in the longest. How far is Fremont from the fault line—?"

"Hey," Dipper said, "A bunch more Nightwigglers took their jeans off. They're tying them in a circle." One of the torchbearer Nightwigglers knelt down and bowed forward, setting the jeans ring on fire; and it was tossed into the fault. The Nightwigglers that weren't carrying infants formed a circle and began Hokey Pokeying toward the fault.

"That definitely looks like a ritual," Ford said, "but why? To celebrate the births...?"

The ground rumbled. Dipper gasped and slipped several feet down the tree before he caught himself. When he refocused the camera, Mabel's Fault was several feet wider, and a fiery glow was rising up from within.

An enormous Nightwiggler, fifteen feet tall, climbed out of the fault. It wore a crown of flaming denim and tattered pants formed by stitching together many pairs of decades-old jeans. The Nightwigglers bowed down.

"Good lord," Ford breathed. "What is that? Did they summon it, or—or was it always down there?"

The giant Nightwiggler watched regally as its subjects danced around it. As they spun around and completed another repetition of the Hokey Pokey—that's what it's all a-BOUT—the giant punctuated the end of the dance with a ground-shaking stomp.

Dipper lost his grip on the tree. He and the camera crashed to the ground with a yelp. 

"Dipper! Are you alright?!"

"Ow... fine, probably just bruised."

The camera caught Ford kneeling to help Dipper sit up, and then Dipper grabbed the camera again as he stood. He pointed it back at the clearing.

Every single Nightwiggler, babies and giant included, was staring at them with wide black eyes.

Ford said, "Uh oh."

The giant let out a bellow like a muffled hunting horn.

The Nightwigglers charged.

Dipper and Ford ran away through the brush, screaming.

####

Dipper pointed the camera at his face. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks and arms were covered in small branch scrapes. "Still works," he reported to Ford.

"Great," Ford said. "That thing's hardy."

The camera jerked as Dipper tried to set it on a tree stump.

"Well, we got away with our lives," he said. "But... not without some losses."

He got the camera settled and backed up. He was wearing his vest zipped up around his hips like a skirt. Ford's trench coat was conspicuously buttoned up, and his legs were bare between his coat and boots. They both looked sheepish.

Ford said, "We've acquired some invaluable anthropological data, though."

"I'm calling this investigation a triumph," Dipper said.

Ford offered a hand. "High six!"

In the background, a skinny-legged Nightwiggler wearing Dipper's shorts darted through the trees.

####

(It's about time Dipper get a little personal attention. Hope you enjoyed and I look forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!)

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Day 328, it's Turkey Day in the US and I have not participated on account of my family did that on Sunday XD So I've got a two-for-one deal for y'all today! I finished up Suspicious on Tanis's expression sheet, and decided I didn't want to tackle another one because I've been itching to work on that Ikemen Vampire fanart that I started awhile ago. Y'all, it's hard to match art styles XD Especially in the planning/sketching stages, which I'm gonna be in for a hot minute here. Jean's pose needed fixing, the MC's needed tweaking, and skirts are illogical pieces of fabric that defy the laws of physics. But it's looking good so far!

I'll be honest, one of the main reasons I've been itching to finish the art is because I want to include it when I upload the two-part fic I've been writing. Yeah, sure, I could post the fic, it's done and ready to go, but it won't be complete without the art imo. But! I really want to share!!! So the first 190 words are under the cut :) Content warnings for depression and suicidal ideation.

"In that case, will you kill me, here and now?"

"In that case, will you kill me, here and now?"

Jean's words echoed in my head as I placed the tip of his saber against his heart, my other hand on his shoulder to brace myself. The darkness in his eyes, so thick since the festival, swirled and eddied, a miasma of despair and grief and pain.

I knew that miasma. I'd clawed my way out of the fringes of it years ago, fought my own darkness with everything i had. But I had never been mired so deep.

The stench of death had never clung to me so tightly.

"You're sure this is what you want?" I whispered to the darkness behind those eyes, hoping I could reach the spark of life in them that was Jean. I couldn't see it, that spark, but I knew it was in there somewhere. I knew it, because I'd seen it before, and I'd seen it because I had so painstakingly brought it out over these past two weeks.

Jean didn't answer with words, simply reached out to curl his hand around mine—and repositioned the saber for a cleaner, surer strike.

[diorctrl]

MUSIC BANK HOST : idol!enha x idol! reader

𓂂 ˳ enhypen maknae line genre: idol au, fluff, different scenarios warnings: intentional lower case, hyung line

kim seonwoo ( 김선우 )

୨୧ 𓂂 ˳ you’re apart of formis_9, you’re also sunghoon’s little sister. you’re the youngest of formis and it’s been a known thing that you have crush on sunoo but everyone just brushed it off as the “little sister having a crush on big brothers friend.” thing but NO you were sure that you were going to marry this man but he never payed you much mind but he obviously knew about your little(HUGE) crush on him every one knew so he wasn’t fazed when he was told that he would be your mc partner, he would just have to do his normal routine of completely ignoring your advances but this time it was different.

“sunoo oppa..” yn trails off looking up at the older boy, he looks at you confused because it was obvious that you were going off script, “you look handsome today, you always look handsome but you look extra handsome today.” she flirts leaning close to him, sunoo’s face heated up slightly because you’ve never been this bold before but the only that he could do was flirt back so it doesn’t throw the mood off and from that day it became your dynamic when you were mcing, you guys would flirt like crazy in front of the camera to the point that it seeping into your regular lifestyle to the point that sunoo has been wondering if he should finally give you a chance (HE DID!)

yang jungwon ( 양정원 )

୨୧ 𓂂 ˳ you’re apart of new jeans, and just like jungwon you were on the younger side but was you were the leader of the group. with that in thought jungwon had immediately taken a liking towards you even though you’ve never interacted but he was interested in you because you both had something in common (+ you were insanely pretty in his opinion) but with you guys never interacting jungwon was shocked when he found that you yourself personally asked for him to fill in for your mc partner that would be away because in his mind you didn’t even know he existed but little did he know…

“you did so good today!” you exclaimed smiling big at jungwon as you guys wrapped up filming, your smile made his heart flutter a little and he smiled softly at you and thank you. “I knew you would do good, that’s why chose you.” you said, making pride grow in his chest, “really?” he asked. “yeah, you’re my bias in enhypen,” you say nudging him causing jungwon’s face to heat up, “and you are pretty cute as well..” jungwo felt like he was on fire, “you think im cute?” he asks like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world. “yeah,” you said with a nonchalant shrug, “and I also would like to hand out with you more.”

oh how lucky was he.

nishimura riki ( 西村リキ )

୨୧ 𓂂 ˳ you’re apart of baby monster , riki was first introduced to you through the introduction that yg posted for the series of the groups journey, he immediately took a liking towards you and your dancing it was obvious that you were going to be his bias if you debut with the group, he routed for you secretly the whole time and his members never mentioned the new group that was being formed so he thought he was the only one that knew about you untill he heard jake on the phone with someone who sounded awfully like you and riki being the curious person that he was asked the older member who he was talking to and his mouth dropped when jake said that he was talking to his cousin about the new episode that yg uploaded. riki couldn’t believe it yn was jakes cousin and if there’s one thing he knew is that he had to use that to his advantage to get to you and he definitely did by stealing your number from Jake’s phone and texting you a weird pick up line and one thing lead to another and BOOM you’re his girlfriend. one thing that shocked the work is how fast you got an mc job after debut and that yg actually let you be an mc for music bank just a few weeks after debut and you were soooo popular which meant you were on high demand, everyone wanted a piece of the new it girl and riki had to sit there at watch.

riki scowled at his screen as he watched some boy from a group flirt with you as you interviewed them did they have no manners? oh how he wanted to just jump through the screen and cause havoc. “hey!” he jumped when his door opened to reveal you walking over to his bed in more comfortable clothes from the ones you were wearing this morning, he took a look at you before turning around burying his head in his pillow not even looking up when he felt the weight in of you laying on his back, “what’s wrong?” you asked putting your chin on his shoulder, he only responded with a muffled nothing. “Come on I know something is wrong.” you say making it known that you’re not going to give up making riki let out a sigh, “I don’t like how these guys are acting towards you, flirting with you as if you have a boyfriend.” he says frowning when you let out a small giggle, “oh, so you’re jealous?” “I’m not- yeah I am.” his response makes you laugh even more, “riki, you don’t have to worry about those boys, all I care about is you.” “really?” “really.” you respond softly causing a smile to break onto his face, “now come on let’s go get food.”

[mouwrites]

I wish I could go on a date with Nina :( but I might make a part 2 of this if you guys want :3

Creepypasta/MH - Dates With Them

Characters: Nina the Killer, Jeff the Killer, Tim/Masky, "Ticci" Toby

Nina the Killer

I feel like you have a good mix of types of dates with Nina

Some of them are super impromptu; like she'll pop her head in your room and tell you to be ready to leave soon

And then you'll head out for ice cream or to the mall or smth :)

But she also likes to plan things sometimes, particularly romantic things

Like picnics or romantic walks at night

Or, if you're also crazy, midnight murder sprees <3

She always seems to have the perfect outfit for whatever occasion though

And, if you're dating her, so will you

She would have showered you with enough gifts (and taken you to the mall enough times) that you also have like. the PERFECT outfit for a specific occasion

So neither of you really have to worry about what to wear

But Nina still does; specifically when it comes to planned dates

She'll fret over what to wear for at least a day, having long private fashion shows in her room until she finds the perfect one

She's always super confident in whatever she wears, practically beaming when you meet up to get going :)

And she will combust if you mention her outfit; she knows she looks great, but to hear it from you is just <33

Ofc she always compliments you too!!

But for more casual dates sometimes she will stop you like "ok you are NOT leaving the house like that. come on, I'll help you pick something that actually suits your stunning beauty."

No you don't have a choice when that happens ^

Dw though, she'll pick something nice that you both like and that fits your aesthetic :3

Jeff the Killer

Dates with him are always a surprise

In many ways...

There's no way to know what he's planning or when he's planning it or if it's even planned at all

Like, sometimes you'll just be out for a walk and he'll say:

"This is a date btw."

"What?! You could've told me beforehand, I would've worn something nice..." >:/

And he just laughs, because he thinks you're still gorgeous in your hoodie and jeans :)

But another way that his dates are a surprise is because his concept of a "date" is so broad and obscure

One time he literally just took you to look at this old truck that crashed in a creek

That was it. That was the date. You walked a short distance and just looked at the truck for like 45 minutes

Jeff rarely plans his dates ahead of time

The most of a head's up you're going to get is a text saying "dinner at 8"

(you got the text at 6)

("dinner" is most definitely either McDonald's or some trashy two-star hole-in-the-wall buffet)

Needless to say, Jeff isn't very romantic in the traditional sense

But for all his weirdness and un-romantic date planning, he still loves every second he gets to spend with you

He loves that you're beautiful in whatever you're wearing, he loves that you laugh at whatever lame joke he makes...

Maybe that's why he doesn't feel the need to do something showy... you're already perfect when you're casual :)

But he's also just lazy and kind of a dirtbag

Tim/Masky

Dates with him are rare

Unless you're the one planning them; he's not going to be the one initiating them in most cases

He just doesn't know how to plan a date

And he's nervous he'll get it wrong :(

But at the same time, sometimes he just really wants to go out and do something with you

So sometimes he'll ask you out for a meal, or for a drive

Something pretty quick and casual; something easy that's hard to screw up

It'll seem impromptu, but in reality he would've been planning to ask you for days at least

You guys definitely have a few favorite diners, or some scenic routes to drive

Honestly that just makes it even easier for him; he'll just shoot you a text:

"Dino’s tonight?"

And ofc you'll say yes; you both love Dino's :) (or whatever little diner)

If and when he does do something romantic, it’s rarely as big as a whole date

Like he’ll get you flowers or smth, but it’s super rare that he’ll take you on a really romantic date

But sometimes he will :o

And he’ll dress up and act a perfect gentleman, complimenting you, getting you little gifts, holding your hand…

It’s like he’s trying to make up for all his un-romanticness in one night

And maybe he is tbh :(

“Ticci” Toby

Toby just likes spending time with you; it doesn’t really matter what you’re doing :)

As long as it’s at least vaguely interesting to him, he’s cool doing whatever

So oftentimes he’ll be the one asking you what you want to do for dates

He doesn’t really have a set “date night” for you two, but he tries to have one every now and again

It’s usually when he has an idea that he decides it’s time for a date night

(Or just when he feels like going on a date with you)

Sometimes he’ll see a cute date in a movie (or when stalking “people watching”) and decide he wants to try it with you

Especially if it looks like fun, like a paintball game or trying a crazy new restaurant

But he also likes the sappy stuff, like a home movie night or stargazing

It ends up being pretty boring for him, but the way his heart races when you hold his hand is more than enough to keep him on board :)

Toby likes to do romantic gestures, no matter what kind of date you’re on

At first it was only because “it’s what people who date do” (stuff he saw in movies)

But he found himself actually enjoying your reactions, so he made a habit of doing those kinds of things

Getting you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, kissing your hand, pulling out your chair for you…

(grinning wildly at your subtle reactions all the while)

It almost makes him seem like a gentleman

But then he’ll spend the date yapping about the most unhinged shit and you’ll be reminded that he’s. Like that

But hopefully that’s what you’re really into if you’re dating him :)

Thank you so much for reading! Take care duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hey so I have a kinda weird request, you have the right to ignore this of course.

How would Beidou, Yae Miko and Jean react to object of their love would say that they see them like their older sister (basicaly friend-zoneing them)

hi hi! sorry it took me so long to get to this, it took me a bit of sitting on it to get a good response formulated! sorry for the wait :3

Warnings: this post contains yandere-themes, including kidnapping, love potions/drugging, mentions of conditioning/brainwashing, mentions of Stockholm syndrome, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Beidou:

She’s understandably crushed by this, while she encourages the members of her crew to behave like family and considers them as much, she wants you to see her as more. She’s already an older sister figure to others, she wants to finally mean something more to someone.

Beidou takes a few days to collect her thoughts, skilly avoiding you and holing up in her quarters on the Crux as she contemplates her next course of action. She might be crazy and reckless sometimes, her history can speak to that, she isn’t one to rush in without a plan.

She emerges with a new confidence, her usual swagger in her step as she confronts you once more. She tells you that she wants to take you on a trip and to pack your bags, enough for a few weeks. And no, you can’t decline.

“C’mon Doll, go get packing, an adventure awaits us.” A chuckle follows her words, her hands waving you off in the direction of your home. She follows behind you, helping you gather your things and carry them back to the Crux.

Beidou doesn’t tell you where she’s planning to take you, and the crew’s lips are equally as sealed, but the sudden shine in her eyes, the extra bit of stretch to her grin, and the way she can’t seem to keep away from you, all tell you that it’s certainly going to be something interesting.

Beidou decides to take you on a fairly long goose chase. While she claims you’re headed in the direction of one nation, you’re actually headed in the other. It takes a long while before you notice that you don’t really ever seem to reach a destination, just stopping in at small harbors and cities to restock food and supplies before setting off again. 

Her plan was essentially to trap you on the ship with her, have you sleep in the captain’s quarters with her, and spend every moment you physically could with her. She wanted you to become reliant on her presence, to want her around the same way she wanted you around.

It’s a fairly shaky plan that relies mostly on you developing some form of Stockholm syndrome, but she’s insistent it will work. It has to. She needs you.

Yae Miko:

While she can understand where you’re coming from, it also frustrates her greatly. Of course, she’s very good at not letting it show, but she didn’t spend all this time doting on you and loving you like no other just to be seen as a sister.

She doesn’t let the sudden news interrupt your relationship though, if anything she’s just more insistent in the little ways she loves on you. A hand on the small of your back when you two walk together, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear for you, the little things. Little things that she wants to make your heart flutter like how you make hers soar.

The longer it takes to win you over the more frustrated she gets, her centuries alive could not grant her enough patience to put up with this. But she remains cordial, acting as if everything is ok and normal. Until she can’t keep up the act. 

“Just hold still darling, it hurts less that way.” Yae smiles as she watches you struggle against your rope bindings, she knows they aren’t comfortable and don’t feel the greatest, that the rough rope bruises and chaffs your skin, but it would have to do for now. She can’t trust you to be free just yet, after all, you haven’t proven your love and devotion to her.

Yae jumps into the drastic route of kidnapping, keeping you confined in a place that only she and a select few others are aware of. She’s with you all day every day for the first week or so and after that, the hours vary. She does still have duties to uphold at the Grand Sakura Shrine after all.

When she’s with you though, it’s time spent conditioning you into new behaviors and mindsets, making you dependent on her and her love to even function. If you cannot open your eyes and see that you do love her, then she supposes she’ll just have to show you herself.

When she’s not with you, you’re given some freedom to explore the strange area, but nothing too grand. You’re kept confined to a room, a door the only break in the walls, with basic decorations and furniture. Yae didn’t spend too much time decorating, she didn’t want you getting too attached to this place, after all, she plans to take you back home someday.

Jean:

Jean is possibly the most understanding about all of this. Not only is she already an older sister, but she’s also a leader and considered like family to a lot of Mondstat. This isn’t to say she’s not upset by this though, it hurts her deeply.

Deeply enough that she spends a few days burrowed in her office, drowning her aching heart out in mountains of paperwork. Eventually, Lisa lures her out with the promise of helping to change your mind, which Jean is hesitant to do.

She respects your decision and your choices, but she simply can’t imagine life without you. So it’s no surprise that she does accept Lisa’s help, who in turn recruits Albedo.

It doesn’t take long for Lisa and Albedo to come to a solution. Between their combined knowledge and power, creating a love potion was simple. Unorthodox sure, but Lisa was confident it would work, nobody would even know. Albedo was in it merely to see how one responds to being under its effects.

Jean is hesitant to give it to you, her hands turning the bottle over and over in her hands as she considers whether or not she wants to do it. There’s a small part of her that feels guilty about it, about taking such a large part of who you are from you, but the large part of her is dying to hold you in her arms, to leave kisses all over your face, to properly call you hers.

It’s almost startling how easily she finds herself giving it to you, inviting you over for some tea to apologize for her absence and her reaction to your rejection. Everything about it feels so normal, what reason would you have to believe your drink has been spiked.

When you take the first sip and it tastes funny should’ve been the first sign something was wrong, but at Jean’s insistence that she was sure she had made it right, you settle for taking another sip, eventually finishing your whole cup. A smile graced Jean’s face when she saw you set the empty cup down.

It didn’t take long for the effects to set in, after all, you’d consumed quite a bit. Seeing you looking at her like she put the stars in the sky like she was the greatest person you’d ever met, melted all of Jean’s doubts. Screw feeling guilty, Jean was happy you finally loved her back.

[rogueddie]

Steve groans at the sound of his alarm, batting his hand around the side table until he hits it hard enough to shut it up. He gets up, rubbing his eyes as he moves to the bathroom on autopilot.

He's not just tired, he's exhausted. But he always is at Christmas. He struggles to get enough sleep at the best of times but, since Dustin would kill him if he's late, Christmas is the one time he has to wake up early. It's miserable, every year. The motels only add to his suffering.

As he's washing his face, he freezes. He quickly rinses his face, prodding at the skin. There's no lines, no wrinkles, no crows feet. He doesn't even have his beard. That's when he notices his hair. His hand shoots back, grabbing at the longer strands at the back of his neck.

He hasn't had his mullet for at least 30 years. Not since 1989.

Hurrying back to his room, he nearly recoils. He'd forgotten about the plaid walls and curtains. But he quickly brushes that aside, quickly looking around for anything out of the ordinary. He wishes he could just pull out his mobile, sure that Robin would-

Robin!

He darts down the stairs, to the main phone. But is immediately reminded of how bad the old phones were. He can't remember what Robins old number was and he's sure the one he does remember will be wrong. And it's not written down anywhere either.

But it starts ringing, just as he starts walking away.

"Hello?" He says, struggling to keep his voice even.

"When will you get here?" Dustin asks. "You said you'd be up by now!"

"Dustin, oh thank god, I'm so glad to hear your voice," Steve sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Something really fucking weird is going on with me, dude."

"Weird? Like... Upside Down weird?"

"What? El shut- or has... what year is it?"

"1985. Are you ok? What's going on?"

Steve laughs, high and hysterical. "Uh, well... when I went to sleep last night, it was still 2021, so... no. I'm not ok."

"Are you being serious?"

"Unfortunately. Wait, 1985... that means-"

"No! Don't tell me!" Dustin yells so loud that Steve has to pull the phone away from his ear for a moment. "You can't just tell people what's going to happen! You could change the future!"

"Good!"

"No, not good! You might be trying to make things better, but you could make them worse. Especially if you actually tell people what's going to happen. You need to be subtle."

"Subtle, right..." Steve looks towards the door, pondering. "Right... uh... I'll see you later."

"What? Steve-!"

He hangs up before Dustin can continue to scold him, hurrying up the stairs and throwing on the first clean polo and jeans he finds. His old trainers are at the bottom of the stairs, just as remembers them being- they'd lasted decades before they fell apart, even though they'd always been loose and worn enough that Steve could slide them on, even though he keeps them tied.

It takes him a while to drive to the trailer park. He takes a wrong turn, completely forgetting the way. It's been so long since he's been in Hawkins and, even then, he wasn't familiar with this route.

"Um, hi, sir," Steve says, trying to smile when faced with Eddies uncle. He's not sure if he was always so stand-off or if Eddies death did that to him. "Is- is Eddie home?"

He grunts, eyeing Steve. "Gimme a moment."

He shuts the door, but he doesn't leave Steve waiting for long.

Eddie is the one to open the door. He gently pushes Steve back from the door, gesturing for him to follow him. Steve jogs to keep up with his fast pace, too busy staring to pay attention to how tense he is.

"Alright, what do you want?" Eddie sounds annoyed. Impatient. He's glaring at Steve and crossing his arms.

He looks amazing.

"Right, sorry," Steve shakes his head. "Sorry. Uh, this... ok, there's no way I can say this without sounding insane, so I'm just gonna say it, alright?"

"... Alright?"

"Chrissy Cunningham is going to try and buy from you in March. I don't know what she asks for, but if it means you bring her back here, don't. Just- sell her some weed, whatever you can carry on you. Don't bring her back here."

"She your girlfriend, or something?"

"No. God no. I just... something bad will happen. I'm sorry, I know that's... I sound stupid. But please, please," Steve can't help but step forward, grabbing Eddies hand. "Please don't bring her back here."

"Ok, alright, I won't sell to her," Eddies eyes are a little wide. "Jesus. I'll take your word for it."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

Eddie stares at him for a moment, raises a brow. "Is that it? You, uh, gonna let me go now, big boy?"

"Oh! Right, sorry, yeah. Um. Merry Christmas?"

"Yeah," Eddie laughs, starting to head back to the trailer. "Merry Christmas."

Dustin yells at him for an hour straight once he drives to his house. He's red in the face by the time he finishes and looks one wrong word away from hitting him. But Steves already done what he wanted to do, he won't change it now and he won't tell Dustin what he said so he can either.

But he does tell Dustin the time to start paying attention. Without Eddie to get them on the case, they won't figure out how to save Max in time. He doesn't tell Dustin anything either, just the date of Chrissys death. He wishes he could think of a way to save her, but his mind runs a blank. And Dustin won't let him ask him. And Dustin refuses to leave him alone long enough to ask anyone else.

By the time he goes to bed, he's happy to think that he's done enough. Though, like Dustin, he wonders what will happen next. If he'll stay in 1985 or wake up in the changed future. Wonders what that would mean for his past self.

He wakes up warm, comfortable, and well rested. Someone has their arms around his waist, pressed fully up behind him, light kisses trailing up his neck, along his jaw.

Steve hums, yawning. "Who's 'at?"

"Morning to you too," the person behind him snickers.

Curious, Steve turns. He freezes, eyes wide. "Eddie?"

"Who else would it be?" Eddie smirks, but that slowly drops, realization dawning on him. "You were just in the past, weren't you? Wait- shit, no, hold on, do you remember anything past that?"

"I don't- ow!" Steve squeezes his eyes shut, head throbbing. "Fuck. Ow, fucking... shit."

"What? What is it? Baby, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," Steve whines, clutching at his head. "You were dead but you- got a job at the record store?"

"Oh, ok, this is good," Eddie curls his arms around him, pulling him close. "This is good. Dustin said this might happen. It's the conflicting timelines or whatever. Your timeline catching up with the new one."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I just know that, like, you might have two sets of memories- or your original ones get forgotten, or something. But this... this is good. God, Stevie, the idea that you'd forget this current timeline..."

He tries to think of what might have changed, new memories or old ones he can't recall. It just makes his head hurt. "How long will it be until I, like... remember everything? I barely remember the 86 with you alive."

"Who knows. Weeks, maybe? Might always be confusing. But... um. I died? Was that... why you were so adamant that I didn't sell to Chrissy?"

"Yeah, it- it got you caught up in the, uh... stuff."

"The Upside Down? Yeah, I did get caught up in that. Hard not to when your town suddenly rips apart. So, what, I originally got caught up earlier?"

"Right at the start. You, uh... you died to save us."

"Now I know you're lying. I'm not one for the big hero moves, that's your job."

"Shut up," Steve snaps. He lifts his head so he can glare. "Shut up. You were a hero. You were- you are. You- you-"

"Hey," Eddie wraps him up in his arms, one hand coming up to brush through his hair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, Stevie, I'm really sorry. I'm ok though, yeah? You made sure of that. It's ok. I got you. I've got you. We're safe."

Steve sniffles, grimacing at the snot he leaves on Eddies top. The sight brings forth vague, distant memories- his but also... not.

"You do this a lot, huh?" Steve asks.

Eddie smiles, cupping his face, thumb brushing some tears off his cheek. "Yeah. It's not always easy, but I'm always here."

"Oh, wait... have I missed Christmas?"

"Just the day. Dustin remembered that you said 2021 so... we all wanted to wait. We're doing Christmas today."

"Really? Why?"

"Mostly because they wanted to be here, just in case. You made us promise, too."

"Just in case?"

"In case you forgot, baby. We don't know what you changed. Sandy is going to be very disappointed- she was excited to meet you again."

"Sandy?" Steve frowns, but the memory almost immediately hits him.

A baby, premature, and so small that she was barely bigger than his hands. Dustin's face, wet with tears but so proud, introducing the baby to Uncle Steve.

"Oh, Sandy," Steve whispers the name with reverence.

Eddie kisses him, almost desperately. He pulls back fast though. "Sorry, that was- fuck, Stevie. You're really remembering."

He sobs, startling Steve. "Woah, hey, Eds."

"Sorry. Fuck, we prepared so much but it... God, Steve, I don't think I'd be able to handle it if you never remembered again."

Steve presses a small, hesitant kiss to his cheek. "I don't think you'd have too much to worry about."

"Yeah, that's great," Eddie laughs. "My husband would've found me attractive even with amnesia."

"We're married?"

Eddie groans, flopping onto his back. "Of course that's what gets you excited. Time travel? Too boring for Steve Munson! Where's the adventure? But marriage?!" Eddie gasps dramatically. "Oh my, mister, that sounds mighty exciting!"

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the love of your life, stop being mean to me."

"Oh, don't go pouting at me like that, big boy. Even you should know that I have no self-restraint."

"Promise?"

[tmwcs]

heethans reaction if h/n posted revealing bikini pics with y/n on insta???

Warnings: yandere theme, slight bit of non-con turned dub con implied, choking, use of force, punishments, fingering, cursing, pet names, think that’s it.

A long day of classes. The weekend was too short as the first day of the week already drained you. How you wish tomorrow was Friday already.

“Hey y/n.”

A calm voice catches your attention up head and you recognize that deep tone and accent. “Oh, hey Jake.”

He smiles someehat mischievously as he walks in your direction. “What’s up?” You nervously smile as you route up your question. The expression on his face told you of his awareness in something that you felt as if you should know of.

“Nooooothing. Like your picture on IG. Maybe you can tell H/N where you got that swimsuit.” He speaks and stares down, but never pauses in his steps. He continues to walk past, unlike yourself, where you were caught off-guard by his words and stood still for a moment trying to figure if the slight bit of sarcasm was intentional.

You head out to meet with Heeseung at the curb, as usual. There he stood, leaning backs against the front passenger door with his arms crossed, his head angled at a downward tilt, allowing for his cap to cover his features. Some things will never change.

“Hey babe…I had a weird conversation with Jake just now—“ your mind snaps into a blank slate as you try to process the sudden jolt of movement that gripped you by the neck. Twirling you around, you found yourself being the one leaned up on the car, while being forced to fare directly into his eyes. His plush lips make contact with yours as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip before breaking in and coating your entire mouth. “Bad girl.” He growls against youc barely breaking the kiss and allowing for you to catch a breath.

“W-what? I—“

“You what?” His voice antagonizes your unfinished sentence as he squeezes your throat. You let out a small gasp for air as you reach up, desperately trying to feed your fingers in between his in an attempt to loosen them. “H-Heeseung…”

“Can’t breathe baby?” Once again his words come off laconically. He propels a look of playful malice as he lets out a scoff through that wicked smirk. Kissing you once again, his tongue movements are much more aggressive. He finally releases the tightness of his hold, yet still has his palm wrapped around you. With your body being re-introduced to oxygen, your caught offguard when his free hand shoot’s down your jeans and feeds itself through your panties. He does not leave you any room to configure what was going on as he plunges his fingers inside you. “Time to feed Ethan.”

His dark expression turns murderous as you witness the switch on his personality. Unsure of what brought on this animalistic behavior, you beg him to give closure.

“W-what did I do wrong?”

He scoffs as he continues to violate you in the open parking lot, completely aware that no one was around to witness his volition, although you knew better than to figure that it wouldn’t have changed anything had there been eye witnesses present.

Biting down on your neck, he darkly chuckles against your skin, pinching it against his teeth. Taking his hand out from your jeans, he fishes it inside your satchel and pulls out your phone. Presenting it to your face, he lightly taps the screen against your collarbone. “No more social media for you.”

Leaning forward, he presses his nose in and rests his forehead against yours. “You just had to go and show off what’s mine. You trying to make me angry?” The smirk on his face flares sarcasm as you see past the smile and see nothing but anger. The way he grits his teeth was enough to nearly make you urinate your own jeans. “I—that wasn’t mean to—“

He cuts you off once more as he shoves you in the backseat. Nearly flinging you in, he straddles on top, restraining every bit of your movements. Pinching your chin, he forces you to face forward. “Don’t move.” He issues.

You knew better than to disobey. He was already mad, and considering he was Ethan now, doing anything more against his demands would only cause you pain. He’d make you pay for it all.

You felt him tighten his belt around your head, enforcing you to clamp down on it with your teeth. Oh no…

“Bite down, darling.” He says as he props himself on his knees, groin pressed against your buttocks as he stations your legs to rest around his waist. Undoing his jeans right before you, he smirks deviously. “Better the belt, than your own tongue, in which case I’ll bite it for you.”

Your eyes grow extremely teary as you brace for what is about to come. He smoothly pulls your jeans off, along with your panties. Rubbing the nub of your clot with his thumb, he fishes out his lengthy member and pulls his own jeans down just enough, until the waistband rests against his upper thighs. Slapping the tip against your swollen lips, he aims the head of his cock to hit your clit dead center. You whimper and jolt, all to his pleasure. “Let’s have some fun, hmm? I know i will.”

His words stamp your ears as you feel the sting of his swollen head pushing in. Without any four play, you weren’t exactly prepared to take in his member so suddenly. Your body hadn’t had the chance to lube up.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll be wet here in a sec. And you don’t have to be in a bathing suit to enjoy riding the waves this time. Ethan’s got you.”

[strangelittlestories]

Here in the end times, it feels like everyone got a little weird.

That'll happen, you know? In a city of bondage rooftop pirates, predatory psychic business suits, and tacticool kindness cults; in a world where the sun's gone all high contrast, low brightness; in a time where isolation is a synonym for safety ... let's just say the 'Overton Window of Normality' has shifted.

Yep, when the light broke, we all got a bit strange.

All except for Simon, that is.

Simon is perfectly normal. Simon is swell. Simon still stops by Nero's for a coffee in the mornings and the Coffee Mafia *serve him* (I think just out of confusion).

Simon goes into his co-working space three days a week. Sometimes he works on his screenplay. Other times he goes through long-dead databases and de-duplicates records. If you ask him why, he'll just say that he gets tired of working from home all the time and needs a change of scenery.

Simon keeps a spreadsheet to track the good places for salvage in London-in-Darkness. He has different tabs for foodstuffs, fuel, clothes, makeshift weaponry, and a dozen other useful categories. He sorts them according to quality, abundance, known predators, level of contrast corruption, and convenience for his commute. Ask him to show you his v-lookups sometime.

If you haunt the high buildings like I do, then you'll see him sometimes, scuttling about in his scruffy converse, jeans and hoodie. If he sees you see him, he'll wave.

It's not that the various predators, gangs and high-contrast memetic hazards avoid him, exactly. They continue their usual routes; their patterns of search, destroy and throw-a-wobbly. But somehow they just ... miss him. He'll be overlooked or have a miraculous lucky escape. Occasionally, he'll get captured for a few days and spend the time working on his yoga routine, before the next localised burst of spectrum distortion gives him a chance to scarper.

You might be tempted, if you run across him, to join Simon.

You might hear him say things like: "Why don't we pool our resources" or "Let's catch up sometime" or "I've set up a mini golf course in the Tate Modern, if you fancy it" or "Do you want to listen to some Bruno Mars? I think I have one of the last unscratched CDs."

I urge you: do not listen to him.

He means you no ill will. Simon is *normal* and *nice*.

But nice is not kind. Normal is not benevolent. And sometimes, people overlook that the world will hurt those less lucky than them without really thinking about it. And it is *normal* to protect yourself in that way. It is *nice* to gloss over difficult things.

Simon lives a live that is orthogonal to the rest of us. His plane of existence is ever so slightly out of sync.

Yours isn't.

He is a last unchanging remnant of a world that was.

You aren't.

If you meet him, you will want to follow him. His is a world of order and predictability, of self-care days and flexi-time, of secret film screenings and hidden menus in bougie coffee shops. You will be enchanted by the way he talks about getting plenty of natural light, the way he complains about his commute, and how he still tips twelve percent.

But I beg you: do not heed his Simon song. For it is the song of Bruno Mars and you will be dashed on the funk rocks.

Don't go with him, the world that keeps him safe does not exist anymore.

And when I see Simon scuttling through the streets with a new friend, I am sometimes glad that it is gone.

[penvisions]

for the record {a joel miller oneshot}

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, brief F!Reader x F!OC

Summary: The longer, more dangerous patrol routes around Jackson are designated to you and one Joel Miller. You both have an understanding with each other, talking wasn’t the biggest concern for either of you, but being confident in each other was. He wasn’t a bad friend in your scavenged life, but then again you were beginning to think you didn’t want to be just his friend...and that’s got you more than a little sexually frustrated. 

Word Count: 6.3k (idk what happened, y’all)

Warnings: oh lord, okay: implied f/f attraction, implied f/f smut, use of sex toys, masturbation, language, pet names, p in v smut, sexual frustration, pining, mutual pining, reader is a hot mess, no use of y/n

A/N: okay, so this took a wildly different route than i anticipated? but i kinda like the way it turned out. I’m sure some scenes seem disconnected or the characterization doesn’t flow throughout but i got tired of reading and re-reading the entire thing and said ‘eh, it’s as good as it’ll get’. please let me know what y’all think?

Your hands released the hold they had on the lapels of his shirt, moving lower to rip open the snap buttons on his shirt to expose the top of his chest. He didn’t give you the chance to explore as he took your hands in his own and guided them to feel the hard length of him through his jeans. “This what you wanted, what had you so goddamn irritable all those weeks before?” He taunted in your ear, his warm breath on the side of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He twitched underneath your hands, and you felt your underwear dampen even more.

ao3 link || main masterlist 

“Ngh, it’s not working.” You whined pathetically, your body shaking on the bed. You were on your knees, face down on your pillows and turned to the side as your hands reached back to hold a pulsing toy to your center. The tingles you were feeling were almost what you wanted but they were weak, not building just fleeting jolts of pleasure teasing you. You felt like a fool with your ass canted in the air, knees spread to give you easier access to your folds, the toy gripped too tight in your hand. With a huff you let yourself crumple to the bed, the sheets making weird lumps underneath your form where it was bunched up from your fidgeting.

Your morning was not going the way you wanted at all…

-

“Would you shut up.” You couldn’t help the sharpness of your voice. You were so frustrated, everything getting on your nerves. Joel hadn’t meant to push you buttons but he just was. He was a decent friend, though he could be a better one to some people, to his family. He looked up from where he was tethering his horse to the post outside the barn. His gruff, no nonsense attitude getting on your nerves all throughout the day despite normally being able to work with the man. His offhand remark about needing to get home soon and the way he nearly rushed ahead of you with his horse finally being the last straw. As if he was the only one who had shit to do with the rest of his day.

He looked up from the worn leather in his hands to see you tying off your own horse before going over to the woman who watched over the horses with measured steps. He wasn’t sure what he said to illicit such words from you but he didn’t let them get to him, he could ignore you just as you had ignored him most of the day. It was a mutual clashing of gruff nature that happened from time to time.

The woman was listening to you talk about how you were worried about Peaches having stumbled over some rocks in the river you passed over on your patrol, suddenly nice and friendly after being surly and quiet the entire route. The woman was watching the way you brushed your hand over the neck of the horse, running your fingers through the mane to work out the tangles.

Joel took in the way your hands lingered over hers when she offered you a brush to work the bigger knots out. The bloom of color on the woman’s face had him looking to your face where a small, knowing smile had graced your lips. You leaned closer to her, bringing her had with the brush to where your other one was tangled in the horses mane, “There’s some tension right about….here.”

Joel was mesmerized by the way you were interacting with her, he had never seen you so forward. The flustered giggle from the woman who had your attention that sounded in the air was a good enough sign to shove off. The heat in your eyes another as he glanced at you one last time was another. He was struck by the way his mind supplied the word beautiful as he took in the way you filled out your tight jeans and simple white tank top, allowing for your tan to be seen by anyone around. Your hair was mused from beneath that damn wide brimmed hat you wore to keep the sun out of your face on patrol, the deep green of it looking good paired with your long curls pulled into a braid.

He walked off, trying not to let his gaze rove over you in a way that could be described as lingering.

A few hours later, after his shower and a small nap, as he sat on his porch with a cup of coffee. He was enjoying the quiet of the waning day, the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon when your front door opened just a few yards away. The woman from the stables lingered on the porch, her hands in her pockets as she spoke in a hushed tone. You were barely visible from his vantage, though he could see an arm leaning against the frame of the door and your long locks loose as you nodded before saying something that had the other girl blushing bright red before leaving. Once she was down the street and out of view you moved to sit in one of the chairs you had out on the porch.

You ran your hands roughly down your face, a deep sigh falling from your lips. You knew you should go back inside and put proper clothes on if you were going to be out here, anyone could walk by and see you in your sleep shorts and the bralette you had worn underneath your tank top earlier. Bruises from the day littered your skin, two newer ones blossomed red on your collarbone: a telltale sign of how you spent your afternoon.

You had managed to make sure one of you had a good time, the girl too inexperienced to return the favor. But she had been such a pretty little mess begging for your touch that it hadn’t been a complete failure. The pleasure from spending a few hours in bed with the woman simmered just beneath your skin, the breeze sweeping through the valley Jackson resided in bringing goosebumps out on your limbs.

You felt eyes on your form, and you turned to look at the house to your left, the one on the right had yet to be assigned to anyone. And of course, it was Joel Miller out on his porch, staring right at you. His hair was tousled from sleep, a lax air about him as he seemed to still be getting his bearings after his slumber.

He was in a t-shirt and sweatpants, the shirt trying its best to contain his arms as he cradled a steaming mug in his large hands. Not breaking eye contact, he brought the mug up to take a sip, his lips curling over the porcelain and catching your eye. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he lowered the mug to rest on a knee, his tongue peaking out to catch an errant drop of whatever he was drinking.

Before you could even register it, you were up out of your chair and making your way down the three steps to your porch. A bare foot had just stepped into the grass when the small figure of Ellie popped through the front door, a holler about dinner being ready loud from her as she brandished a wooden spoon at Joel. He tore his eyes from you, all his attention focused on his daughter as he stood.

Your eyes watched as he did so, the sweatpants doing either the devil or god’s work you weren’t sure. The thick fabric made his figure look broad, his thighs strong as he stood, the waistband was low on his hips. But it was the unmistakable bulge you had seen as he stood up that had made your mouth go dry and your skin buzz. With an embarrassed huff you turned on your heel and ran back into the safety of your house.

You could not believe you had just been about to jump Joel Miller. The man had been minding his own business on his own porch. In broad daylight. You needed to handle this, it was getting out of hand.

“Do you mind giving Joel a hand today? He needs-“ Tommy approached your spot in the dining hall, mug of steaming coffee in his hand and a loaded plate that he placed beside you.

“I do.” You cut off the chipper looking younger Miller man, not meaning to sound so mean towards him.

“Uh, well, I can’t help him today and-“

“Tommy, I can’t work with him today. You had me with him on patrol yesterday.”

“Did y’all get into a fight or somethin’? You’re normally so willing to help around where it’s needed and you two get along better than most.” He set down the fork he was using to eat with beside his plate before giving you his full, concerned attention. It was breakfast time in the dining hall, you had just walked in to get a couple fruits before disappearing for the day but had decided to sit at the absence of a particular older man.

“Just need the day to myself.”

“….everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’ve just been…a little short with everyone lately.”

“Everything’s fine.” You stood abruptly as you spied a broad figure making its way to you and Tommy, not even thinking about how you hadn’t even touched your own plate yet. You scrambled over the bench seat and took off out the door before Joel even set his plate down on the other side of the table.

“Well, alright then.” He huffed as he settled in for his meal.

“What’d you do?”

“What the hell are you goin’ on about? I didn’t do a damn thing to that woman.”

Tommy watched his brother over his mug, bringing it up to take a sip from it. He watched the way Joel turned to watch your form disappear through the front door. Brows furrowed and a frown settling in place.

“She didn’t even let me finish asking her to help you out today before she was sayin’ no and then she saw you comin’ this way and took off. Something happen on patrol?”

“She was huffin’ and puffin’ all day but seemed fine once we were back in town. Chatted up the girl at the stables just fine.”

Tommy took a bite of his food, pensive. Joel stabbed his fork into his own food, it was way too early in the day to be dealing with whatever was going on you.

Neither brother saw you for a few days. You had traded the rest of the week’s patrols you’d been assigned in exchange for the coffee you hoarded in your cabinet. People willing to make the trade even if you didn’t give them reason as to why. You had holed up in your room, taken root in your bed and just wallowed. You were fully aware of how pathetic the whole situation was. But you couldn’t face Joel or the nice girl, Stella, from the stables.

The patrol this morning was early, early enough to avoid one of the people you were avoiding. Unfortunately, the trek to Teton village was one that select people were allotted. It was an overnight one, the longest and one of the most dangerous. You and Joel being the only people without time restrictions due to other responsibilities around the town. You were just finishing up saddling up the two horses and led them outside as Joel approached. As he made his way down the street, you mounted up, ready to get the day started. If he was surprised to see you or that you had done up his horse for him, he didn’t show it as he took the reigns you held out to him.

He nodded at you, his fingers brushing up against your own as he did so. You pulled your hand back as if you had been burned and clicked to get your horse moving.

“Hey, just wanted to check in with ya,” Joel looked over his shoulder toward you, your horse was trailing behind his. The morning was quiet, the sun had risen completely and the forest was quiet. “Normally you’ve gone on about somethin’ or other by now but you’ve been sulking. Somethin’ wrong?”

“Just don’t feel good.” Was your gruff answer, unwilling to entertain conversation. You didn’t know why he was so concerned, somedays it was just like this. Either he had too much on his mind or you did and there was an understanding about it. You didn’t expect him to direct his horse to stop, making you do the same. He turned a bit more to face you in his saddle, brows furrowed in worry. His big brown eyes held a little too much emotion as he gazed at you. Your body deciding to take whatever it could from him, and you felt yourself get slick at his attention.

“You can tell me what it is, maybe I can-“

“It’s girl stuff, leave me alone.” You clicked to signal your horse into movement, going around him and continuing on your way. You shifted in the saddle, the friction of the seam of your jeans making you feel a little crazed and you tried to adjust.

The rest of the ride up to the cabin had been going okay… until a group of four raiders has decided to ambush you and Joel. It had been a quiet moment, just trekking through the woods when a shot rang out and your horse began bucking. You had tried to keep balance, but the creature was hurt and panicked. When you had tried to climb down you had been tossed a bit. You hadn’t been off the horse for a second before two men had come out from the trees and grabbed you, two more going for Joel on his horse. You had tried not to scream, but you were positive terror had taken over you as their hands had gripped you in places they had no business touching under the guise of retraining you.

He had killed every one of them, in such a quick and efficient way. His chest had been heaving with his actions, arms roped in veins where you could see the skin of his forearms, his hands clutched tight over the handle of a blade and a gun. His hair had gotten wild, waves that would surely turn into curls if it were longer in disarray from someone trying to choke him out. There was blood splatter along his neck and up on his cheek and you practically flinched when he placed the weapons back where they belonged on his person and leaned down a bit to reach a hand to you.

“Don’t- don’t touch me.” You stuttered as you backed up, palms up to keep him at bay. You were past anger and frustration, it was only ever going to get you so far. You were feeling desperation crawl like ice through your veins. The only thing that would bring warmth back to you was his touch, but it would light a fire in you that you weren’t sure you were strong enough to fight off.

“What are you goin’ on about? You afraid of me now?” He stayed where he was but brought his hand back to rest on his hip. “You seen me in action before.”

Maybe it was the way his eyes were dark in the shade of the tree canopy or the thrill of having taken out a threat. Maybe it was the way he always looked so goddamn good up on a horse, his thick thighs looking strong and sturdy as he guided the animal across the terrain. Maybe it was the way he was standing, one leg slightly popped out, hands on his hips and head canted down to gaze at you, an eyebrow raised in a slightly teasing manner.

Maybe it was the way you were on the ground, hands holding you up as your legs were spread out before you from your fall. Chest pushed out slightly from your shoulders holding you up, heaving as you tried to catch your breath. You felt desire hot in your entire body as you stared up at his broad form, his shadow falling over you. You licked your lips and were about to tell him off again but something flared in his eyes and-

“I’m not afraid of you, I wanna fuck you!” The words rushed out of your mouth before you could even think.

Joel didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare at you. You were sure your face was flushed a deep crimson; it was certainly burning enough to be. Your skin was alight, your entire body humming as the words had crawled their way from where they had dug themselves deep in your middle, had been consuming you from the inside out. They had been fleeting before but decided to make you their new home and filled every nook and cranny of your body, not giving you a moment of rest since they had solidified. You don’t know how long they had been forming but you didn’t really want to find out how long they had been whispering over your skin, your mind.

When he finally moved, you flinched. Even though he walked away from you and mounted his horse, your body pressed further into the dirt. He didn’t so much as glance at you as he guided his horse back the way you had just come, abandoning the rest of the patrol as he headed back toward town.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Tommy’s voice was booming as the man descended from where he had been keeping watch atop the gate as you entered through back into the safety of town. “I’ve been waiting for you all fuckin’ day since my dumbass brother got back! He made it seem like the raiders got you.”

You were quiet, gently walking beside the injured horse and guiding it back to the stables. You felt completely rejected. You had been left on the fucking ground after being ambushed. Injured in more ways that just physical, you ignored the frantic panic of the man following after you, demanding answers from you. And you knew it was petty, you knew it was unprofessional, but you couldn’t help it. You were shutting down, back to how you had been when you first arrived. It was better to be alone. You’d learned your lesson.

“Are you gonna answer me? You both broke protocol and scared the shit out of everyone! Please just say something, anything!”

“Finished patrol. Ran into raiders two miles from the cabin. Your brother got injured and turned back. I cleared the cabin, there were a few infected. Took longer traveling because Peaches is injured. I’ll fill out a report.”

“He said you got thrown off your horse and they dragged you away. Said he tried everything but had to come back.”

“If that’s what he said happened, then that’s what happened.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your brother is a piece of fucking work, do not put me with him again. So help me, I’ll pack up and leave if you make me work with him in any capacity from here on out.”

You could tell your harsh words stunned him; he had stopped in his efforts to follow your gaited movements. You continued on to the stables. You explained in clipped words to Stella what had happened to Peaches, ignoring the way her eyes were lingering on you and her hands kept brushing against your own.

You stalked away from the interaction, legs heavy and your entire back hurting from where you had landed after your sudden dismount. You could tell your whole left side was already bruised, scrapes having bled into the fabric of your flannel and stained it for anyone to see. You pulled your hat lower over your brow when you spotted an all too familiar figure on the porch of the house next to yours.

You felt a heavy gaze follow you as you passed the house and made it up the short walkway to your porch. Your foot faltered as you picked it up to ascend the few steps leading up to your own porch and front door. Your foot didn’t land, the front of your boot collided with the step and your body fell forward.

You couldn’t help the pained yelp that pushed itself from your throat as your back pulled from the effort to throw your hands out to catch yourself.

You don’t know how he managed to close the distance so quickly or why, but Joel was suddenly hovering over you, hands helping to hold you up. His fingers were spread wide to not put too much pressure on any one spot, he had seen the blood and dirt marring you the second the commotion had stopped earlier on the trail.

“Leave me alone.” You pushed his hands from you, ignoring the way they sparked electricity on your skin over where they rested on your shirt. You stood back up, leaning heavily on the railing and practically pulled yourself up the steps.

“Look-“

“I said leave me alone. You made it clear how you feel when you left me on the fucking trail.” You moved as fast as your body would allow you up the steps and through the front door. You slammed it in the pinched face of one Joel Miller without a second thought. You leaned back on it, chest heaving as you realized tears had sprung up once again. A sob wracked your body and you brought your hands up to cover your mouth as more followed.

You didn’t just want him to fuck you. You wanted him.

You were put on different patrol rotations, Tommy taking the longer and more difficult routes you had fallen into with his older brother again. You were paired with younger people, those who were new to patrol, or had less experience and needed to be with someone who could make better decisions. It was easy to go into training mode and give them the run down, tell them the way things need to be done and why. It didn’t give you time or energy to think about anything else. That happened when you were safely back at home in the confines of your room.

Stella, bless her heart, still lingered when it came to you, her smiles quick and her voice chipper. But you just returned her attention with polite smiles and tips of your hat. It was late, the sun dipping down below the horizon as you closed off Peaches pen, who had made a full recovery from a few weeks ago.

While a sigh, you directed your route toward the center of town. You hadn’t been out in weeks, opting to keep to yourself if you weren’t on patrol. The help you had been lending to the Miller brothers and their building had ceased. Neither of them had confronted you, Maria had dropped by a few times to check on you. You had been cordial, offering her coffee it was the morning or dinner if it was the evening. She seemed content to just share the space with you, taking what you could give even if you were quiet or only made small talk concerning those you were training.

A drink sounded nice tonight, maybe a meal you hadn’t made yourself.

An hour later you were pleasantly tipsy and dancing in the arms of one of the younger patrolmen. He had nervously asked if you could teach him some steps to impress the girl he had his eye on and the alcohol in your system had you saying yes before you could think better of it.

A few songs later and you were pulling Stella from where she was at a table with her friends up into your arms and guiding her through some faster steps. She was all giddy laughter, bright smiles, and wandering hands. You leaned in close and murmured apologies to her and asked if she was okay with just being friends, genuinely apologetic for how you had been treating her. With a parting kiss to her cheek, you set her back with her friends and took off toward the door.

You settled on the bench that was a little ways from the door and pulled a rolled cigarette from where it was tucked into the ribbon that wound around the base of your hat. You lit it and took a long drag, unaware of the door opening behind you. You were so lost in thought that you nearly jumped out of your skin when someone plopped down beside you, their knee knocking into your own.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Nah, just me. But you’d think I’d be the devil with the way you been ignoring me”

No. No no no. Not that voice, that deliciously low southern drawl. The cigarette fell from between your fingers, landing on your thigh to burn a hole through the denim and smart your skin.

“Fuck!” You scrambled up, brushing frantically at the singed fabric to get the heat out. The liquor decided at that precise moment to take you over from pleasantly tipsy to uncoordinated tipsy and you stumbled over your feet. You landed hard on your ass, hat falling to the dirt beside you. When you looked up, Joel Miller was staring at you with an amused smile. It was a soft look on him, his eyes glittering in the lights hung up around the square as he looked down from where he remained on the bench.

Embarrassment flared hot over your face, the scene too close to the last time you had really interacted with the man. But this time he wasn’t borderline glaring at you. He was casual, relaxed, surely he was tipsy too. To be interacting with you, to be so easy going with you. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, if he hadn’t been tucking tail to run at the sight of you, you were doing so when you noticed him.

“I’ll walk you home, was callin’ it a night anyway.” He seemed to temper for a moment, brow furrowing as he contemplated his next words. “My entertainment for the night decided it was time for the show to end.”

Your waning flush darkened again, at the insinuation that he had been watching you dance the whole night. You don’t know what compelled you to take his hand when he offered it to you this time, as he stood from the bench and leaned over your still fallen form.

Maybe it was the way he was trying, the way he was talking as if nothing had happened, that you hadn’t totally ruined the tolerance boarding on friendly acquaintance you both had found in each other since day one. Maybe it was the way he picked up your hat and placed it gently back on your head, because he knew how important it was to you. Or the way that his hand was so warm as it clasped over your own.

Maybe it was the way that this is how things went with you, someone did something stupid or fucked up in the heat of the moment and it wasn’t talked about after some time and things went back to being okay.

Maybe it was in the way it seemed he almost missed you, or the way that you certainly had missed him.

“Stubborn girl, let me help you.” His voice had turned husky as he closed you in between his broad chest and the door. His warm hands came up and wrapped around your trembling ones, taking the keys from you with ease. He leaned forward a bit more, his hips connecting with your backside as he unlocked the door. He didn’t turn the knob or go to push it open, just breathing in the scent of honey and vanilla that mingled with the twang of whiskey on your skin.

“It didn’t bother me, what you said.” He seemed hesitant to bring the event of all those weeks ago from the middle of summer to the present. It wasn’t how either of you dealt with things, opting to push things deep down and ignore them until they didn’t really matter in the face of everyday issues. His hands were clenching in a pattern at his sides, his tick for when he was nervous. “For the record.”

“Figured you didn’t want me around because it did bother you, that way you didn’t have to deal with me anymore. You made it clear you don’t feel any way about me.”

“Is that why you been ignorin’ me?” Joel’s smoldering gaze watched as you lifted the hat to rest on a hook by the door, there was something behind his eyes you couldn’t quit make out when you turned back around to face him. “Because that’s not the case and you know it. You’re one of the only people in this town that doesn’t make me feel pushed or pressured to be anything. You let me just be me, even if I’m not the best a lot of the time.”

“Leave me alone,” The same last words you had spit at him all those weeks ago fell from your lips again unbidden. You weren’t even sure if you meant them anymore. But if you repeated them, maybe he would realize you meant the opposite. You didn’t intend for your voice to lilt the way that it did but of course he caught onto it. The way you didn’t deny anything he just confessed to you. It made him feel a little brave, it made him take a step closer to you. You mirrored his movement, your body crowding the back of the couch.

“You weren’t the only one with who was frustrated, darlin’. Had to see you take that poor girl to bed only to get nothin’ out of it.”

A weird whine sounded from you as his words brought the frustration of not being to find release for weeks now back to the forefront of your mind. Your skin buzzing with the intention behind his words.

Maybe it was the liquor in his system or the liquor in yours, but the room became charged almost as if a switch had been flipped now that you both understood the other. Your eyes dilated at the move he had taken toward you, your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip. He took another step and felt himself harden completely in his jeans as his nerves lit up. You weren’t really telling him to leave, and he really wanted to find out what you tasted like after all this time.

“Well would you look at that, you went from all riled up to whinin’ in two seconds flat.”

“Shu-shut up!”

“Oh darlin’, you’re all bark and no bite right now.” To emphasize his point he leaned over you and placed his hands atop the back of the couch, caging your body between him and the piece of furniture. You didn’t move an inch, every muscle in your body locked up as the heat of him standing so close. The smell of him so close. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you were sure he could hear it in the quiet of your living room if the soft grin on his face was any indication.

Your eyes were trained on his own, the taunting glint you saw had you moving before you even realized.

Your hands shot out to grip the lapels of his damned, snug denim shirt and you pulled him down enough to sink your teeth underneath his jawline. He let out a guttural moan as his hands flew to grip the flare of your hips tight, body pressing into yours and pinning you to the back of the couch from the waist down. You soothed the bite with the flat of your tongue before moving sucking kisses down the column of his throat. Your hands released the hold they had on the lapels of his shirt, moving lower to rip open the snap buttons on his shirt to expose the top of his chest.

He didn’t give you the chance to explore as he took your hands in his own and guided them to feel the hard length of him through his jeans.

“This what you wanted, what had you so goddamn irritable all those weeks before?” He taunted in your ear, his warm breath on the side of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He twitched underneath your hands, and you felt your underwear dampen even more.

You could only nod as you captured his lips with your own in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue tasted of whiskey as he licked into your mouth. Your hands quickly relieved him of his belt, the clinking of it drowned out by the heavy breaths…

“F-uck…you’re takin’ me so well,” He used the momentum of resting his forearms down by your head to grind his hips into you. The head of his cock sent a cascade of white pleasure over you as it stimulated your g-spot.  

“’m close, Joel, please.” You begged, you begged for the release that was so close, that was coiled so tight in your middle it was bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. He continued to grind into you, his lips coming to press sucking kisses along your collarbone. He bit down hard and it sent you over the edge as the pain sparked low in your core. Your muscles tensed, you could feel yourself clenching him tightly where he moved inside you, working you through your orgasm. A stuttered sound rumbled deep in his chest as his grinding turned into fast, hard thrusts.

He hauled you up, bringing your blissed out form flush against his chest as he sat up on his knees. You whimpered as you felt another orgasm build at an alarming rate. You clenched your knees around his waist and moved down against him, chasing it as he continued to chase his own. His hands were on your hips almost painfully tight, where he helped to pull you down as he thrust up into you. The sound of skin on skin was loud in the room, the bed frame creaking as you both took what you needed from each other.

“C’mon, give me another, sweet girl,” He curled his arms underneath your armpits to rest his palms on your shoulders and used them to bring your hips down to meet his with even more delicious friction.

“Haah, Joel, I- I can’t.” You dug your nails into his own shoulders, pulling a growl from him as the feeling went straight to his cock buried deep inside you.

“You were so desperate for it for so long, yes you can, give it to me sweet girl,” He snaked a hand down to rub two fingers over your clit in small circles. You choked on a moan that ripped from your throat as white spots danced across your vision. The clench of your third orgasm milking Joel’s out of him. His hips stuttered as hot ropes of his release filled you up, some of it dribbling down his length where it began to leak out of you. 

He moaned at the sight, resting his forehead against yours as you both panted.

An alarm blaring had you beginning to stir, the sheets tangling around you as you twisted to reach for the clock on the bedside table. When you flopped back on the bed facing away from it, your bleary eyes feel on the already awake form of Joel. His eyes were serious as he watched you settle back into the bed. He almost looked wrecked and that had you shooting up on your arms and moving as close to him as possible.

“What’s wrong?” You brought your hands to cradle his face, fingers brushing underneath his conflicted eyes.

“You were still on the ground and I just… I just fuckin’ left you there without a word.”

You felt your chest thud at the pain of the memory, the one that plagued your restless nights as summer had droned on and waned. It had faded to a facet of life, something that had once happened. Sometimes it was heavier than others.

“…it wasn’t the best reaction.”

“That’s one of the worst things I’ve done since comin’ here.” He confessed into the crook of your neck where he had buried his head. You just tightened your arms around him, comforting him as he worked through it. His voice cracked on his next words. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I’ll carry that with me until I die.”

You both laid there, wrapped up in each other and whispered words of apology to each other. For the things you’ve done to each other to the things that have happened to each other. Comfort turned into promises and promises turned into kisses.

After getting showered and dressed, you walked to the stables together. Sharing a thermos of hot coffee, the steam rising to keep your faces warm in the face of approaching autumn. You were mid laugh when Joel raised his hands to cradle your face and pepper kisses over your face, stopping right there in the middle of the street in the early morning. Chuckles in between kisses had your heart racing in your chest.

When you both rounded the side of the stables there were already two horses saddled and a waiting Tommy at the gate to the outside pen beside it. He crossed his arms and walked passed you two with a simple, “Y’all are fuckin’ idiots. You know that?”

[dancingtotuyo]

3. pick up your clothes and curl your toes

Woman | Joel Miller

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settle into a routine.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (Reader is 42, Joel is 56). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: swearing, talks of & references to grief, death (child and spouse), and suicide. Anxiety. Reader has a panic attack. consumption of alcohol. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. SMUT. Explicit sex (P in V). Unprotected sex. Oral Sex (F receiving). Let me know if I missed anything.

Note: THANK YOU TO MY BEAUTIFUL BETA READERS @planet-marz1 @pamasaur & @kajashe

Words: 8926

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

Joel Miller is going to hell in a handbasket. He already was, but this is the seal on the envelope, the pretty red ribbon tied neatly around it. He felt relieved that your husband is dead. What kind of person feels relief over someone’s misfortune? Their grief? A bad one. A person headed straight for the gates of hell. 

He lets out a huff of air, staring at the spinning ceiling fan. He tries not to think of you across the street, laying in bed in that fucking matching pajama set, but with most things the harder you try not to think of them, the more it’s at the forefront of your mind. The picture of your legs in those shorts jumps to his mind. He remembers those fleeting charged moments from tonight. Desire stirs in his gut drifting downward. 

He groans, flipping onto his stomach. He buries his head in the twenty-something-year-old pillow as he takes deep steadying breaths. He won’t do this. It can’t happen. You’re a friend. A connection to the past. A connection to his Sarah. He’s not gonna fuck that up. 

He falls asleep definitely not thinking of you and that fucking pajama set. Pictures of you definitely don’t invade his dreams. Joel Miller can only see you as a friend, and friends don’t do the things he does to you behind his eyelids. 

The next evening, Joel finds himself hardly waiting on his steps, worried he missed you until you step out tonight in jeans and a sweater. For that, he’s all too grateful. A smile stretches across your face. He stands his lips tipping upward as he meets you in the middle of the road once again. 

“Howdy, neighbor,” Joel says. 

You push back the small shiver that runs down your spine. You chalk it up to the lower temperatures. “Look at you, adjusting to the Jackson way of life.”

“Learnin from the best, Sweetheart.”

The chills hit again and you chalk it up to the chill. Spring is breaking through, but winter still clings to the darkening air. You settle in your route. The crunch of Joel’s steps is familiar next to you, comforting even in the silence between the two of you. 

It’s Joel who speaks first tonight. “It’s weird,” he says. He’s more eager to talk tonight.  “Being here- safe. I keep expectin’ raiders to ride in or infected to pop out.” He looks over at a small cluster of trees. 

“It takes a long time.” You watch the sun creep down, closing the gap between it and the mountain tops. “I’m not sure when it happened but one morning I just realized I’d stopped looking over my shoulder or listening for footsteps.” 

“It happens though?” He asks. You catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes. It barely peeks through the weariness he wears like a badge. 

“Eventually.”

“Not that I ever thought it was an option, but I’m not sure I wanted to find peace- to be still like this again.”

You cock your head to the side, but you don’t have to shed a word for him to tell you more. 

“Spending life on the run was easy. Always lookin’ toward the next haul, the next run. Didn’t leave any time for thinking.”

You nod. You understand from the other side. You lived alone for years, wild, haunted by your friends, rattling around an empty house with only your thoughts and memories. Somehow, you’d found peace here, a family even. 

“What about now?” You ask. 

On good days, you can push back the when of it all. When will the world take another person from you in a new way crueler than the last? When will your son’s innocence be stripped away? When will it be you who’s taken? On the bad days, you shut yourself in your room, only to be dragged out by Carter’s small voice or Maria cooking in your kitchen. Today is an especially good day. 

Joel studies the horizon. He takes in a hawk riding the air currents. It all mingles together in his chest: the grief, the joy, the pain, the acceptance. It’s hard to put words to it. “It still hurts. Can’t even say it hurts less… but I don’t fight it anymore. I think making room for someone else helped.” 

You bite your lip. A pang shoots through your heart. You fight to push the door to your heart closed. You can allow him to exist in your life, but anything more than neighbors is too much. You think you feel the door latch, but you don’t catch Joel’s foot wedged in the door jam. 

“How did you and Ellie cross paths?”

Joel spends the rest of your walk recounting his and Ellie’s adventures across the United States. You find yourself hanging on every description. You didn’t travel a lot before the world ended. Your parents had been die-hard Texans. You weren’t sure your dad had left state lines before meeting your mom. There were the yearly trips to your grandparents' house in the mountains surrounding Jackson, one trip to Disney World in 8th grade, and you’d gone to Mexico for spring break your junior year of college. That encapsulated your traveling days. 

After Joel tells you about Silver Lake, he stops in his tracks. You look back at him. He’s staring at the darkening horizon again. His eyes gloss over. “When things like that happen- I find myself relieved that she’s not here- that she doesn’t have to go through it- do all the shit we do.”

You suck in a breath. In some ways you understand it. As a parent who willingly brought a child into this world, you often wonder if it was the right choice or just a selfish one. You nod. 

“And then I feel guilty all over again. Because I would give anything to have her next to me, and see her smile. I mean, what kind of parent is relieved their child isn’t alive?” 

You give the words a minute to roll through your head. You’re not sure of the best words because there really are none, but you pull from your own experience. 

“I think that’s the reality of being a parent in this world. You feel guilty if they’re here because the world is fucked up, but you feel guilty if you’re relieved they’re not.”

Joel makes eye contact with you. “Bein’ around you makes me feel closer to her.” 

Joel is not sure where the confession comes from. He barely talked to you before last night and hasn’t seen your face in 20 years, yet the words just slip out. Something in him says you’re safe and he thinks maybe, he might just have room for you too. The air between you charges like it did the night before.

It sends a hum of electricity through your veins. It’s one you recognize all too well. It feels good and exciting, the thrum of desire, but it’s dangerous. It’s something you cannot afford. You look away, breaking the connection, but mellowing currents still wrack over your body in waves.

“You raised a really great kid, Joel.” You force a smile. “and the world fucking sucks.” You kick at the dirt as everyone’s faces flash behind your eyes. 

“You helped.” 

Your head snaps back up, confusion on your brow. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true.” The memories flood to the surface- the ones you forget exist in the depths of your mind drowned by years of survival and trauma. “You helped her with all that stuff I was too awkward to boys, her period, shopping for her 7th grade banquet. I would’ve sent her in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.”

“I don’t think Sarah would’ve let you do that.” You manage a laugh. You appreciate Joel’s attempts to make you feel better even when he’s hurting. There’s a beauty to the way sadness and laughter coexist in the space the two of you create. 

Joel shrugs. “I’m just saying, you helped. A lot. Even if you don’t realize it.” 

“You should give yourself more credit.”

“So should you,” he says, eyebrows raising. 

You fight against the smile that wants to sprout on your face. He’s just as stubborn as you remember and probably more. 

As your walk draws to an end, you find yourself searching for anything to draw it out. You watch him walk up his porch steps, desperate to keep him in the street with you but his door shuts before you find the words. 

Joel joins you the next night and the night after that, and the night after that it rains. You catch the disappointment, trying to let it go. Carter won’t settle, too intent on watching the rain hit the window. After 30 minutes, you give up, pulling a light sweatshirt over his head. 

“You wanna sit out on the porch?”

Carter nods and you kiss his forehead. You see the sleepiness in his eyes, but you don’t have the energy to force him to sleep tonight. He grabs his two toy cars following behind you. You pull the blanket off the couch, opening the front door. 

“Oh my god.” You jump, heart rate spiking for a second. Carter runs into the back of your legs, promptly falling to his bottom. 

Joel Miller stands in front of you with a sheepish look on his face. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You turn around, picking your toddler off the floor. “You just hanging around on stranger’s porches now?” A grin starts to crowd the edges of your smile. 

“I’d hardly call you a stranger, Sweetheart.” Joel grins. 

That familiar feeling begins to seep through your chest, making you feel like a college student and not a woman in her 40s. Before it can completely overtake you, you push it down, clearing your throat. 

“I don’t think you’ve gotten the chance to meet Carter yet.” You nod toward your son.

Carter waves. “Hi.”

Joel smiles back at him. “Nice to meet you, little man.”

Carter holds out his toy cars for Joel to admire. Joel’s eyes glance over the faded and chipped paint of the old Hotwheels. “Those are very nice.” 

Carter looks toward you with a big grin. He’s a kid of few words but big expressions. You smile back with a nod and he slides out of your arms.

“He wouldn’t go to sleep so we came out to watch the rain.” You hesitate a minute, but the pull of Joel’s familiarity wins out. “You’re welcome to join us. The porch swing is a little rickety, but it does the trick.”

“I was hoping you’d want some company.” Joel pulls a bottle of dark liquor from under his arm. You notice his rain-damp hair and shoulders for the first time. A few droplets slide down his curls.

“You getting used to me, Joel Miller?”

“You could say that.” He cocks his head to the side, smirk playing on his lips. 

You turn your head so he doesn’t catch your own grin, but he does anyway. Spreading the blanket on the porch for Carter to play on, you disappear inside grabbing a couple of glasses. 

When you come back, Joel is on his hands and knees with Carter, both making race car noises with their lips. It knocks the wind from you, and you brace against the door frame. You’d imagined this lost moment a thousand times. Sometimes you swore you could see Gabe sitting on the floor with Carter, the proudest smile on his face, but this is real and it’s not Gabe. 

Carter makes a screeching noise, learning them from some racing movie they showed a few weeks ago, crashing his car into Joel’s. Joel makes his cart flip over and combust into flames. Carter laughs. There’s a piece of your heart that seems to mend, and another that seems to break. Gabe feels further away, a more distant past. Yet, you’re focused on what’s in front of you. 

When Joel catches you watching, he smiles, says something to Carter, and rises to his feet. It feels like a scene from a movie where you don’t hear anything, but the single look is the most significant part. 

Joel says something, taking the glasses from your hands. His lips move but you don’t hear him. His back is turned before you realize it, shaking your head to wake up your senses. “Sorry- what did you say?”

Joel chuckles, pouring a couple of fingers of whiskey into each glass. He hands one to you. “I said, I’m getting too old to get on the ground like that.”

You accept the glass, letting the liquid warm you. This feels so easy, too easy. It sends warning bells through your head, but you don’t want to deal with them. They're too easy to push away in Joel’s familiar presence. 

“You didn’t have to.” You move to the end of your porch, easing onto the swing. 

Joel’s eyes inspect the old swing with years of training before he decides it will hold for one night and settles next to you. “Nah- it was fun. I haven’t played cars in a long time.” 

You take a sip of the whiskey to hide your grin. 

“He doesn’t look a thing like you.” Joel teases. 

“Spitting image of his father.” You laugh. “Gabe always said his genetics would win out. I can only imagine the gloating I would’ve heard from him.” 

“He never knew him?”

You shake your head. “Gabe was infected while out on patrol when I was 7 months pregnant.” 

You leave it at that. You don’t expound on one of the darkest times of your life, and Joel doesn’t ask. He’s being trained for patrol now. He knows a bite earns you a bullet in the head and your body burnt to a crisp. You sip from the glass, taking a little too much whiskey. It burns away the tears. 

“I don’t know how you did it,” Joel says. You turn to meet his gaze, eyebrows raised. “Survive out here all those years alone. I wouldn’t have made it.”

“You did.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, I had Tommy and some friends along the way. And that almo- it wasn’t enough.” 

He turns away subconsciously presenting his profile. You catch the scar on his temple. You’d never given it much stock until now. It hits you like a brick to the chest. Your fingers drift toward it, brushing over the old wound. 

“After Sarah died- I didn’t see much point in going on.” His eyes land on yours again. Your fingers stay. “I flinched when I pulled the trigger. Missed”

He searches your eyes for judgment but finds none. He’s certain all he finds is understanding, a silent assurance that you know that hopeless feeling too. 

Your fingers edge toward his hairline. The rain seems to fall heavier around you, creating a mist under the overhang, but it all seems far away with Joel Miller right in front of you. You’re both still, scared to spook the other, waiting for a sign you refuse to give yourself. 

“Joel!” Clumsy footsteps clamber up the wooden steps to your home. Ellie appears with a lopsided grin and soaked hair. “You’ll never guess what I traded for, morherfucker.”

The tension snaps away until nothing. The space on the porch swing is seemingly greater than ever. 

Joel raises an eyebrow at her, arms crossed over his chest. 

Carter looks up at the intruder, taking stock before returning his attention to his cars. 

“Oh, what? Did I interrupt something?” 

“No,” you say, possibly too fast. You don’t leave time to consider what was potentially interrupted. You latch on to Ellie’s joy instead. “What did you get?” You ease back, casting Joel a teasing look. He doesn’t look your way this time.

“I knew I liked you, Nurse… er- Lady.”

Joel opens his mouth to supply your name but you beat him to it. “That’s me, Nurse Lady.” 

Carter points at you. “Mommy.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eye. “I’m not calling you that.” 

You laugh. 

“What did you get, Ellie?” Joel asks, a little more give in his frame than a few seconds ago. 

Ellie pulls a big, atlas-looking book from under her damp sweatshirt. “It’s pictures of space! Ones I haven’t seen before!” 

“Space?” Carter’s head shoots up and a smile spreads across your face. 

“Yeah!” Ellie exclaims, opening the book toward him. “See! Isn’t it cool?”

Carter ventures toward the new person carrying a book of great interest to him. “You like space too?”

He nods, watching with wide eyes for a few more pages, and then grabs Ellie’s hand, pulling her toward his blanket. “Sit.”

She listens and Carter climbs into her lap. “More.”

Ellie laughs. “Sure thing, bud.”

You go to tell Ellie that she doesn’t have to listen to the two-year-old. She can take her book home and enjoy it in peace, but you stop yourself. Something tells you that Ellie wouldn’t stay if she didn’t want to. She reads the words in the book with the same fascination that shines in Carter's young eyes until he falls asleep. 

Joel stays next to you, the swing creaking rhythmically, the moment hidden away from the rest of Jackson by the cover of rain and a setting sun. 

You and Joel go back to walking the next evening. 

A couple of days later, Maria sits at your kitchen table when you come in from your walk with Joel. A steaming cup of tea sits in front of her and another caddy corner from her. You furrow your brow. The last time she’d greeted you with tea was when she told you she was pregnant. This welcome was usually reserved for serious conversations. 

“Carter wake up?” You slide into the chair, taking the mug into your hands. 

“No, just wanted to talk to you. It’s been a couple of days.” She eases back, hand resting atop her swollen stomach. 

“I saw you at the clinic this morning.” You raise an eyebrow.

Now 7 months pregnant, you’ve monitored Maria and the baby closely. Tommy and Maria are so excited. You see it in their eyes every time it comes up. You’re trying your hardest not to let your fears cloud it, but you won’t be able to make it if something happens to Maria. 

“We haven’t really talked though. Not since Sunday at dinner and Tommy has the guys over for Poker tonight.”

“You miss me after 3 days? I thought I was the codependent one.” You smile up at her with a laugh.

Gabe would have called it a sparkly smile. Maria clocks it immediately, and it stays, lingering across your features. She gasps. She’s seen nothing but glimpses and flickers of it since his death and now here it is on full display.

“Did I grow a third head or something?” 

“No, just haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

“Like what?”

“Happy, Smiling.” Maria tilts her head to the side. “I thought I was imagining it this morning. Tommy mentioned it too.” 

“I smile.”

“Not the sparkly kind.”

You pause, heart clenching at the thought. You know it’s what Gabe would have wanted. He loved your sparkly smile- given it its name. It feels like it should feel wrong for someone else to bring that out of you, but it doesn’t. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy. 

“This have anything to do with your new walking partner?” Maria says over the lip of her mug. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You feign innocence, looking out the window. Joel’s porch light glows across the road. Your wedding band is cool against your fingertips as you twist it. A smile pushes against the borders of your lips. 

“You act like your route doesn’t cut directly through town and past everyone’s houses 3 times.” 

“We just walk together, Maria.” 

She raises a suggestive eyebrow. 

You roll your eyes. “Just walking.”

“More than walking is okay too.”

You cross your arms. “I thought you didn’t like Joel. It was all I heard about after he came through the first time.”

“He’s my brother-in-law. I have to try.” Maria bites her lip. “And he grows on you.”

You sigh trying to push away the thoughts that crowd your restless mind. Your attachment to him is beginning to feel inevitable like you never stood a chance because it had always been there. A holdover from before. It reminds you of the way you and Tommy bonded when he came to Jackson, that invisible tug from a former life tying you together, but there is something different with Joel. The all-encompassing crush from your early ears creeps up like a blush. You won’t say it lingered, but you know something is forming now as much as you try to ignore it. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you motion around you. “Building a life with someone just for the world to rip it all away.”

“That’s not-“

“Not what, Maria? You know it will happen.”

“Might not.”

“Might happen tomorrow.” You square your shoulders. Joel goes on patrol for the first time tomorrow. It’s a short shift for him to get the lay of the land, but so was Gabe’s. you’re terrified, and you’re terrified to admit you’re terrified. 

She stares into your eyes with a still determination searching for any cracks to slip through as your impenetrable walls rise back up. All evidence of the sparkly smile is gone, erased from your face. Maria sighs, slowly rising to her feet, her cup of tea dried up. 

The two of you say nothing as she moves about your kitchen with easy familiarity. She’s moving slower these days and for good reason. It eases your anxiety to know that she’s listening to you in that department. 

She sets her cleaned mug on the dish wrack, drying her hands with a towel. You sip on your tea letting it warm you from within. It does nothing to ease your racing mind. 

Maria’s firm, caring touch lands on your shoulder, drawing your attention up toward her. You know she can see it behind your eyes. It’s that same wild look she saw in you when she met you. You can only hold her gaze for so long until you have to look away. She can see too much in you. 

Maria squeezes your shoulder. Her hands slide around your shoulders as she pulls your reluctant frame closer to her. She’s warm and comforting like a well-worn sweater. When her warm breath hits your temple followed by the soft kiss of a concerned parent or older sibling, you let your eyes flutter shut and inhale deeply. Your body relaxes as your sympathetic nervous system accepts the easy pressure of her embrace and your mind seems a little more quiet. You lean to the side, temple pressed to your best friend’s forehead. 

“I’ll see you at Sunday Dinner,” Maria says. She’s using her soothing mom voice, and it works. 

“Okay.”

She gives one more squeeze before releasing you. Your hands wrap back around the mug, searching for the warmth you lost. 

Maria grabs her coat. “Oh, I invited Joel and Ellie too.”

You snap your head around. Maria wears a knowing grin but gives you a shrug. “They’re family now.” 

You roll your eyes. Maria’s laugh is the last thing you hear before the front door clicks behind her. Silence falls over your home. When a tear falls from your eye, you swipe it away, stuffing down all the feelings rising to the surface. 

The next evening, Joel isn’t on his porch when you come out. The worry you’ve pushed down all day bubbles over before you can stop it. Your heart beats in your ears as you stare at Joel’s front door, hoping, praying it opens. In the minutes you watch for him, you beg the world for a sign that Joel is okay, nothing happens. The house is still with no signs of life. 

Anticipation melts to dread. They haven’t gotten back yet. That can only mean bad things. The same resolve hits you over and over. You can’t let this happen, not again. Stepping into the street, you try to go on as usual. Same path. Same pace, but the further you get from his front porch, the more you fight against the tug pulling you toward it- toward him. It wraps tight up your ankle like a vine. You think you can snap it with enough force and distance. 

Instead, it climbs your leg further, piercing through your stomach. It constricts around your lungs like a snake and its branches encircle your heart. Your breathing quickens and shortens until you can’t see more than 2 feet in front of you. You can’t do this. Can’t let this happen. Your fingers bite into a tree as you stumble forward, grasping for stability. Bark digs under your fingernails. A sob releases from your throat, the one that sounds otherworldly but you’re all too familiar with, and you realize it’s tears that blind you because you refuse to give the world another person to tear from your arms, yet you fear you already have. 

A warm hand lands on your back. You whip around in a fury of tears and ragged breathing. He recognizes it instantly. It’s the same look he used to see every time he looked in the mirror. He sucks in a breath and takes a step back. 

You think the space will make it easier to breathe, but the panic sets in deeper. You don’t want him to go. It’s not fair. You thought you were stronger, but it only took days for Joel Miller to demolish the walls you worked so desperately to build. He had pinpointed the weakness in them as if he’d built them himself and came in swinging. 

Your hand shoots out, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. You’re a dear in the headlights, unsure if you should flee for your safety or stay and get hit by what’s coming. 

Joel’s hand slowly covers yours. It’s warm. It settles your breathing. His heart beats under your palm a little faster than his calm demeanor lets on. 

You sniff back the tears. You realize you were so focused on the traps underfoot that you didn’t realize you walked right into the mouth of one from the very beginning. The moment you leaned into Joel’s familiarity, it snapped shut with no way out. Joel cautiously reaches out, swiping away the tears on one cheek. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he wipes away the others.

It’s a spacious trap. There’s room to roam around. You don’t feel confined, and Joel is in it with you. 

“I don’t have to walk with ya tonight.” His voice is quiet. His eyes are soft and understanding. “I understand if you need some space.” 

Despite offering you space, he squeezes your hand tighter and leans in, and godamnit, you like it. 

“No.” You shake your head. “Stay. I like the company.” 

His brow furrows. “You sure, Sweetheart?” 

“Yeah.” You nod. His shirt eases back around his chest now crinkled from your grip, but your hand stays. “Believe it or not, I enjoy having you around.” 

You force a smile. 

“Yeah…” He smiles softly. “Me too.” He takes a step backward. You ignore the soft pang in your chest at the increased distance. 

You and Joel settle back into the path as you have the past two nights, but he’s closer tonight. His shoulder brushes yours every so often. He keeps the conversation light. He doesn’t ask about your anxiety attack. 

At the end of your walk, Joel’s arm slides around your waist pulling you against his chest. Your breath catches as his other hand slides across your shoulder blades leaving a trail of fire behind it, landing at the base of your skull. He comes over you like a wave, heavy and disorienting when it hits but peaceful once it settles. Your eyes close, resting your head against his chest. 

His fingers knead slowly at your skull, releasing built-up tension. Sparks ignite low in your belly. You don’t try to extinguish them this time. 

“Sleep well, Sweetheart.” 

You swear you feel his lips on your forehead, but he’s gone before you have time to consider it further, back behind his door leaving you to wrestle with that moment all night. 

On Thursday morning, Joel works in the barn fixing the big swinging door when Tommy strides in. Joel is so focused on his craft, the long-forgotten feel of wood beneath his touch that he doesn’t catch the grin etched on his younger brother’s face. 

“What’s going on, big brother?” Tommy says with a prying tone.

“Can you hand me that hammer?” Joel says, sweat beading his forehead. 

Tommy chuckles, handing it to Joel. 

Joel turns an eye toward him. “You’re in a good mood.”

“A little birdie told me something.” 

Joel lifts an eyebrow. He doesn’t have time for Tommy’s antics. There’s a door to fix and he knows his brother gets more joy drawing things out. Joel does not. “What?”

“Oh come on- you have to guess.”

“Tommy, since when have I played along with your games?”

Tommy sighs. “Buzz kill.” 

Joel chuckles.

“Rumor has it, you’ve been walking around with a certain babysitter.”

Joel’s face falls stoic. “She’s not the babysitter anymore.” He sets down the tools with a sigh “What’s it to you?”

“Oh come on, Joel. Is that why she’s been smiling so much lately? You giving her a reason to smile?” Tommy grins.

Joel looks at Tommy through the corner of his eye. “You askin’ me if I’m fucking your dead buddy’s widow?”

It flashes across his face, the pain of losing someone so close before his smile is back in place. Joel doesn’t have time to feel bad for it. 

“Not to sound crass, but he’d be happy if you were.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Joel lets the tool drop to the ground, giving in to Tommy. 

Tommy sighs. “When I came to Jackson, she smiled all the time. Reminded me of when we’d get back from a job and she and Sarah were up to no good.” Joel’s nods. He’d felt the same pull toward you. “Gabe- he kept her smiling. I know we’ve all been through some dark shit, but she went at it alone. Since his death, her smiles have been few and far between ‘til now. He didn’t want her to go back to how she was before. Told Maria that much.”

“Maria?”

“Yeah, they were out on patrol together when he got infected.” 

Hit stomach hit the ground. If Maria was with Gabe when-  “Shit,” Joel breathes. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah…” Tommy says but doesn’t let the silence linger. Gabe’s demise is still a sore subject for him. “Gabe, all he wanted was for her to be happy, for her to smile. You’re doing that, and it’s a big deal.”

Joel hopes his brother doesn’t catch the stutter in his breathing, the way his thoughts drift back to you. He doesn’t need anyone’s permission. You’re grown adults, but it’s there. Gabe wanted you to be happy- they all want you to be happy and somehow, he’s one of the people that does that. Tommy’s not judging him at the possibility of being interested in a woman 13 years his junior. If anything, he’s encouraging it. Joel feels easier and lighter. In it all, he realizes just how much he wants you. 

The following evening, Joel is almost embarrassed at how quickly he clocks the missing gold band on your left knuckle. His mind races with possibilities. He knows you don’t wear it when you work at the clinic, but he hasn’t seen you without it outside of the clinic. Granted, the only time he’s noticed was on your walks. Did you forget it? His heart leaps a little. Did you do it on purpose? And you’re wearing those damn matching pajamas again. The same ones that got him here in the first place. 

There’s something in the air tonight. The hairs on his arms stand on end. He walks closer to you. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable or make things weird, but the whole time his eyes keep drifting back to your bare knuckle. What does it mean? And he wants to know if you feel the same. 

He can't feel the way your skin burns, heat exploding like fireworks across your body blooming and fizzling one after another. You’re tempted to pull him off your beaten path early, dragging him in front of the whole town across your threshold after just the first lap, but you resist and spend the next lap wondering if he’s walking closer tonight, talking slower tonight. Even the timbre of his voice seems to change, conveying the burning need of desire. Still, you hesitate to confirm it. Maybe you’re wrong about it all. What if you’re wrong about it all? 

Joel follows you to your porch tonight. Maria’s suggestive remarks fill your brain. More than walking is okay. It puts out any doubts filling your head. You glance up at Joel, you read it in his expressive eyes. Eyes you’ve come to know so well. You’re fighting the fire blazing its way through your body with logic and reasoning. Neither is good at fighting fires, and your limbs burn with desire.

Joel waits at the bottom of your porch steps. You rest against the support beam watching him with a careful eye. 

He gives you an easy smile. “I enjoy our walks.”

He makes no moves toward or away from you. He’s leaving this in your hands. You’re not naive. Just sex in this world comes with its own set of risks. It requires trust in a world without STD testing, treatment, and contraceptives. You’re still well within childbearing age. Maria’s pregnancy is a constant reminder, but you trust Joel. You always have.

He stands at the bottom of your porch steps, hands in his pockets as you lean against the support beam. He’s staring at you with that look you’ve caught glimpses of this past week but it’s on full display now, burning into you like a raging wildfire. 

You tip your head up, catching a glimpse of the moon under the awning. A smile plays on your lips. You’re buzzing like you’ve spent the evening sipping on cocktails at the bar. “I shouldn’t tell you this- but here we are.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. “Tell me what?”

His voice is smooth and bold like a cup of morning coffee. You can taste it on your tongue- bitter but full of life. You laugh to cover up the embarrassment flooding to the surface, but you feel alive for the first time in a long time. You wonder if he’s seen the desire in your eyes too. You know it’s been there. You want him, and you intend to have him tonight.

“I had the biggest crush on you in high school and college.” 

Something about putting the words out there doesn’t seem as embarrassing as it did 5 seconds ago. You’re a grown-ass adult and that was 20 years ago. Joel chuckles and you join him again, laughing under the moonlight like he’s dropping you off after a first date and you’re playing with your keys. 

Joel’s boots hit the first step, hand gliding over the worn railing. “You did? Must’ve done a damn good job at hiding it.”

“Or maybe you were just blinder than a bat.” 

“Were you trying to make moves on me then?” Joel comes up the second step. His body heat is just out of reach. 

“No. Wouldn’t have been appropriate. I knew that much.”

Joel rises to your level. You can smell him now- pine. It's one of the three scents you can trade for in this town. You didn’t imagine differently. Joel didn’t strike you as a Lavender or Lemon kind of guy. His hand rests above your head as he invades your space. You feel his body heat close in. You stand straighter, meeting his searing gaze. The air is thick between you as your breathing deepens. 

“And what about now? Would it be appropriate now?” 

His voice is low and husky. Just how you imagined it would be all those years ago, but you still catch the hesitancy in his eyes, the restraint pulling at his throat. It sets a fire burning across your skin.

You step back, ducking out of his space. You miss his proximity immediately. You catch the slight embarrassment that flashes across Joel’s face. He looks around nervously like he didn’t just read the situation completely wrong. You feel almost bad as your hand touches the door knob and you look back at him.

“Are you gonna come in?” You open the door. He looks relieved. “I think the neighbors are gonna talk, but I’d rather keep them talking than put on a show.”

You turn your back to him crossing the threshold. You try to calm your beating heart. His boots are heavy on the porch. Before you can comprehend it, the front door shuts. The hardwood presses against your back, and Joel’s hands rest against the door on either side of your head. You feel the heat radiating off him, but he doesn’t touch you. Your hands hang in fists at your side refusing to touch him first. You meet his wild gaze. 

He leans in and heat rushes through your body settling in your core. You squeeze your legs together and wonder if he catches it. You tilt your chin up to meet his lips. They come so close but circle just out of your reach. His hot breath hits your ear making your toes curl. You want to fuss at him. You almost do, but resist. You’re wet and he has yet to touch you. 

“Tell me this is okay. Tell me you want this.” He’s still hovering, refusing to touch you.

Your head turns to meet his gaze. He thinks he’s doing something wrong. “Joel, I’m a 43-year-old woman, not some naive-”

“Tell me.” There’s a force behind it, a desperation. 

You look at his eyes, blow wide with lust. It shortens your breath. Your limbs feel heavy with need.

“I want you.”

He surges forward, lips crashing into yours. Your teeth nash against each other, but you don’t care. Threading your fingers in his thick curls, you pull him closer, craving him. Desire pumps through every ounce of your being.

His hand settles over your hip slipping under your pajama shirt. Your nipples harden as his hand glides over your skin, going up until he cups your breast. His thumb circles over your clothed nipple and you gasp into his mouth. He smirks pressing you further into the door. Your leg instinctively hooks over his hip and his hard cock presses against your core. 

“Joel.” You moan, moving your hips against him.

A moan falls off his lips as he sucks on your bottom lip. “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

He moves to your neck. His fingers wrap around the back of your thigh guiding your other leg around his waist. He squeezes your breast again and your legs squeeze around him. He bucks into you. 

Your head falls back granting him further access to your neck. You need to be out of your clothes. You want Joel out of his. You don’t care if it’s here or in your bedroom or somewhere else. It needs to happen and it needs to happen soon. 

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. There’s an urge to rip it open and let the buttons scatter across the floor like you’d seen in movies, but you don’t. Resource management is still essential even in the throws of passion. 

The first two pop open. He’s sucking on your neck, nipping like a herd dog. “You tryin' to mark me, Miller?” He pulls your Texas draw out like honey.

He doesn’t respond, teeth grazing your collarbone, making you gasp. His hips jut forward and his name rolls off your tongue. 

He pulls up your shirt, groaning when your sports bra comes into view. He’s not getting you out of that while you’re against the door. It’s like you can read his mind. “First door at the top of the steps.”

He glances up the staircase behind him. You think he’s gonna let your legs drop to the floor and drag you up the steps. Instead, his fingers dig into your ass. Before he can lift you away from the door, he realizes you’re not wearing underwear under your thin pajama shorts. 

“How long have you been walkin around without panties, Sweetheart?” His cock brushes over your core. You’re sure you’ve left a wet spot on his jeans by now. 

“How long have you known me?” It’s out of your mouth before you have time to think it through. Your cognitive function has been reduced to one goal: getting Joel Miller into your bed. 

Joel considers the implication. For a split second, you think it might make him bolt. Remind him that he knew you as a teenager, but he groans, leaving you putty in his calloused hands. He presses hot, open-mouth kisses on your neck. Your fingers tangle in his hair to keep his mouth on your flesh. His hands adjust under your ass and he’s carrying you up the steps. 

It doesn’t matter how fit survival made you, going up the steps with the extra weight of a toddler was hard enough, much less your entire body. It’s far from effortless on Joel’s part. He gives up on the third step. You applaud his efforts through your laugh. 

“Come on, old man.” You wink, dragging him behind you up the remaining stairs. 

“Who you calling old man?” He growls, crowding behind you. 

He kicks your bedroom door closed and you pray it doesn’t wake your sleeping child. 

You pull off your shirt. Joel backs you onto your soft mattress. Before you have a chance to catch up, his fingers are in the elastic of your flimsy pajama shorts sliding them down your legs in haste. Letting them fly across the room. Your bra joins them in quick succession. 

He’s crawling over you so slowly, eyes raking over your bare body as he does. You burn under his gaze and he’s still not touching you, not in all the places you crave. 

His jean-clad thighs push against yours, spreading your legs slowly. They’re rough against your thighs, but in the way you love. You reach up, allowing your fingers to play in his hair again. He pushes into your touch, eyes fluttering closed as his lips leave soft kisses over your palm. 

His hand starts on your hip. You push into his touch a soft moan vibrating in your throat as you bite your lip. You’ve always loved the feel of your hips being touched. He chuckles, sliding his hand up your sternum. He comes just under your breast before ghosting his fingers back down. He repeats the path but this time with his lip. They leave a fire burning across your body in their wake. You watch him under heavy lids and low hums. 

He doesn’t stop under your breasts this time. His tongue slips out as he makes it to your nipple, going over it with one smooth swipe. It pulls a sweet gasp from you. He repeats the process with your second breast. You roll your hips as his name rolls off your lips. 

He groans nipping up your chest again. Your hands roam up and down his back. You catch the faint catch of scarring every now and then, but it’s all a part of Joel. It tells his story and you’re a part of that now. If it’s just tonight, that’s fine. If it’s more- you won’t think about that. 

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, pulling you back into the here and now. He doesn’t slow down as he ascends your throat crawling higher and higher until his lips are on yours. Your fingers are in his hair. He slides his tongue into your mouth and his hand over your breast, tweaking your tight nipple every third interval. 

You push your pelvis against his. You’re slick and desperate for relief, and his jeans are still on. 

Joel chuckles, squeezing your breast as he devours your mouth. Your hands make their way down his chest to the fly of his pants. You pop open the button before Joel pulls back. You try to capture him again, but he slips away.

You want to whine and throw a temper tantrum. “Joel.” You fuss, pupils blown wide. 

He chuckles deeply. “I know, Sweetheart.” 

He brushes over your hips with his fingers dragging them down your thigh. Before you can spread your legs for him, he pushes your knees up revealing your slick cunt. 

You expect more teasing, for him to lean in and pull back right away, but he doesn’t. He leans in, nose running through your wet folds. You moan out his name trying desperately to get closer to him. 

His hand drags down your stomach, spreading your lips. He eased down again, dragging his tongue through on his second journey. 

Your moans grow louder. You tug on his curls. When he pulls your clit between his lips, your legs snap, trapping his head between your thighs. There’s a tug in your stomach. Joel continues to work the sensitive bundle over and over and over. Your pleas turn to encouragement until they’re no longer words at all. Please. Yes. Yes. More. More. More. The sounds marry together with your body, an extension of sensation until warmth spreads throughout like water soaking through a paper towel across your entire body in a crescendo long laid dormant. 

Joel works his way back up your body with hot opened mouth kisses as you pant, catching your breath. Your fingers brush across his back in smooth trails. He shivers against your touch. 

“So beautiful.”

Heat races toward your cheeks as if the previous minutes weren’t worthy of that. He smiles, dipping down to touch your lips. 

Your hands work toward his waistband. You shove his pants down as best you can. Joel tuts your name softly but helps in your pursuit. His pants and underwear fall to the floor, his cock standing tall. You ogle it like it’s water in the desert.  “Someone’s eager.”

“Wanna take care of you too.” You pant, still fighting for breath. 

Joel's head falls back. “Fuck, not to tonight, Sweetheart.” His hand tangles in your hair. 

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw and then another and another. “I’m not gonna last long tonight and I wanna make sure I get the chance to be inside you.”

It is the damn truth too. Joel hasn’t been with anyone in almost a year. He hadn’t had the chance for much other relief while traipsing across the western states either. His body is only starting to come down from the constant alertness and tension that came with being on the outside. 

You spread your legs out, your dripping pussy on display for Joel. He swallows, crawling over you. You hook a leg over his waist. Joel takes his time, igniting small fires over your skin. You whimper with impatience, making him laugh. 

“Please, Joel.”

“So goddamn impatient for me.”

Does he know how goddamn patient you’ve been? That this picture embedded itself in your mind 25 years ago? A picture you labeled never gonna happen. 

Finally, he eases into you, slowly, like he’s savoring it. Watching his eyes roll back in his head confirms that he is, sending shivers down your spine. You force your hips toward him, forcing him further into you. You’d forgotten the satisfying stretch of being wrapped around a man. Your moans tangle with Joel’s as he enters you fully, sweat forming across your abdomen.

His fingers intertwine with yours on the mattress. His eyes lock with yours, sending more shock waves across your skin. Your walls clench around him of their own volition. He falls forward with a hiss, catching himself on his forearm. “Fuck, Sweetheart. It’s been a long time. I ain’t gonna last if you keep doing that.”

You squeeze his hand and trail your fingertips down his chest and stomach. He shudders at your touch. It sends another thrill, another wave of electricity straight to your bones. You squeeze him again, and he gasps. You’ve forgotten what it was like to have this effect on a man. 

“You gonna fuck me, old man?”

He groans, burying his face in your neck. Hot breath spreads across your skin in an uncontrollable blaze. Finally, his hips rock against yours, setting sparks off where his skin connects with yours. You moan, arching your back and baring for skin for him to consume. He nips at your neck and collarbone, teeth scraping behind. Your breath catches and Joel notices. His eyes sparkle down at you with mischief. 

He nibbles at your ear lobe. “I’m going to keep that tucked away for later.” and then he picks up the pace, pulling out and pushing in over and over. Your stomach clenches at the promise of more. More than one night. Nights. You shut your brain off there. Any further and you’ll spiral. 

You focus on the thrust of his hips. In and out. In and out. Your hands land on his hips, thumbs caressing the skin there. A bead of sweat falls from Joel’s brown. His lips land on yours again. You can tell he’s close, the tension of your orgasm building. 

You slip a hand to your cunt, reaching for your clit. Joel smacks your hand away, replacing it with his own. “That’s my job, Darlin.” 

Your nipples tighten. Your walls clench around him, your head swimming with incoherent thoughts and words as the sweat builds across your flushed body. Joel barely touches your clit before you’re crying out, muscles tightening before releasing with pleasure. It crashes over your body like much-needed waves after years of drought. 

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, pulling out of you completely. 

His lips connect with yours, soft and tender this time. His calloused hands cradle your face as small cries come from your mouth as words still fail to form. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He kisses your forehead, pushing back your hair until you come back down. 

Your limbs tingle and your body buzzes with a relaxing energy. You’d forgotten what the high was like- the comedown. You feel lighter than you have in months, years even. A smile begins to spread across your face, the bubbling of laughter in your chest. You run your fingers through Joel’s hair and he smiles back. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really.” But the soft rumble of your chest continues.

“Is that so?” Joel’s crow’s feet crinkle making your heart clench. He presses another soft kiss to your lips, another to your forehead. 

“That’s so,” you hum with contentment. 

He chuckles. “We should get you cleaned up.” 

Joel eases off the bed, entering through the open door of your en-suite bathroom. You take a second to appreciate his bare form before your gaze travels to your own body. Your brain finally registers Joel’s warm semen, sticky across your stomach. 

You send up a prayer that Joel had the wherewithal you didn’t in the moment. You’re almost embarrassed how long it took you to realize he finished on your stomach. 

Joel steps back into the room, washcloth in hand. “Thank god for modern amenities.” He winks at you as he sits on the edge of the bed, bringing the warm cloth to your stomach. 

“I’ve got it,” you say, pushing Joel’s hand away as he tries to clean you up. 

“I don’t mind cleaning up after myself.” A smirk plays in his eyes but flickers away when you don’t reciprocate. 

You lean away from him, shoulders tensing. “I prefer to do it.” 

His fingers glide over your bare thigh as you wipe away the last of him, setting the cloth on your nightstand. Goosebumps raise in salute with each of his motions. Your back rests against the headboard as you both sit in naked silence. 

Not a word passes between you. His fingers continue across your thigh. You watch him, his profile, his fingers until the anxiety sets in. Your stomach twists in knots. Your frame is rigid. You pick at the sheets, unable to look Joel’s way. 

He knows it. He feels your walls go up before you can’t look his way so he withdraws his hand, collects his clothes- all but the flannel lying downstairs- and kisses your forehead. Then he waits. 

He’s waiting for you to look at him. His eyes watch your profile, burning it until you can no longer bear it. You push back the tears, meeting his eyes. 

He smiles softly, understandingly. “Same time tomorrow?” 

Your stomach clenches and turns in a ball of excitement and dread. “Same time tomorrow.”

With the reassurance, he kisses your head for a final time. “Sleep well, Sweetheart.”

Then he leaves for the night like you told yourself you wanted.

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

When It Rains [Javi Peña]

My entry to @undercoverpena April Showers Challenge that I discovered randomly after talking to @pedroschka about wanting to write something similar. And while, Jo kinda closed the challenge, it's still officially 30th of April where I am, so, voilà.

pairing: javi peña x reader

w/c: 1,5K ish

warnings: mild cursing but it's just a fluff, overall safe to read, Javier experiences love at first sight should be warning on it's own but oh well.

Javier Peña hadn’t thought that it might rain. But then again, no one in this city ever did.

And yet, as if to mock him, the rain finds him anyway. A shower of rain bullets as though the skies themselves were at war, drenching the thirsty asphalt and showing no mercy to anyone caught beneath its relentless assault.

Seeking refuge under the narrow awning of the closed fruit vendor across the offices, Javier's fingers, jittery with nerves, fumble through the cold to pull a cigarette from its nearly crushed pack. It is soggy and limp when he finally manages to do so, yet placing it between his lips feels like a minor victory, pathetic as it seems. His attempts to light it, however, fail miserably—the wind, too cruel, mocking his weak efforts with gusts that make the flame dance and die before it could catch.

Defeated, Javier stuffs the ruined cigarette back into its pack. Crans his neck upward, staring into the relentless downpour of the dark, wet sky, and curses again.

Javier knows it’s late. Absurdly so—the kind of late reserved for ghosts and the lost, and standing there, shivering slightly and with his patience fraying at the edges, Javier feels like neither. Because all he feels is longing to go home. Where, within the confines of his four walls, he can find some semblance of peace, even if it often feels like little more than a stage for his unrest.

But home seems like a world away tonight, his jeep abandoned around the corner on a street now succumbing to rising floodwaters.

And he knows he has no need to be out there, exposed and weary—a quick sprint across the street and a shove through a door would land him back in the bullpen. Yet, the thought of returning to that fluorescent-lit purgatory makes his skin crawl. The oppressiveness of it all—the endless paperwork, the sprawling maps of drug routes stretching across his desk like an atlas of despair, the corkboard plastered with faces that seem to mock his distance from the resolution he so desperately craves—repel him far more than any storm could.

“Hey!”

Cursing louder than he intended, Javier’s hand is quick to reach for his gun, tucked into the waistband of his jeans. But then, his eyes meet yours and he hesitates—not out of fear, but surprise when you grin at him and shuffle closer, lifting your umbrella to cover both of your heads.

And then you smile—soft, tentative, yet disarmingly warm. It hints at something brighter, something warmer, and for a moment, Javier finds himself wondering how it would look fully unfurled, in its most radiant form.

He blinks the thought away at the same time as you speak to him again. “What are you doing out here?”

Javier bristles at your voice, tinged with concern, and then makes a gruff noise as he sizes you up. “Who the hell are you?”

His reaction makes you look down at your shoes briefly, as if trying to shield your disappointment from his harsh gaze. “Oh, I guess you don’t remember me?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Well, yeah—I guess…,” you trail off with a shrug as you look back up at him. “Intel Division,” you quickly supply, deftly producing a lanyard with your DEA credentials from beneath your yellow windbreaker. “We work—”

“—I know what Intel does,” he interrupts brusquely. And Javier knows that his tone is more abrasive than necessary, but something about you, your hideous yellow coat, and your behaviour is strangely disarming. He isn’t sure if he finds it weird, scary, or if it’s turning him on. So, in order to compose himself, Javier nods to himself. Wishes he had a cigarette he could smoke. Lastly, he asks, “You new around here or something?”

“Nope,” you reply, your smile returning briefly. “Been here for a few years now.” You stop as if trying to figure out your next words. “We usually have briefings together, so I thought you’d—well, nevermind. Why are you here?”

“We do?” Javier asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“We do, what?”

“Have briefings together?”

Your answer is a nod. “Yeah. I often sit across from you.”

At this, Javier’s expression changes slightly, and with a mix of embarrassment and perhaps a tinge of frustration crossing his features he looks away from you. Then, with his brows knitted together, he glances back at your face—his brain sifting through his mental directory of mugs and names, quickly finding none that match yours.

You chuckle.

“It’s fine, seriously, don’t sweat it,” you reassure him with a gentle voice, “I know I’m not that memorable,” you joke, waving your free hand around your face, but Javier only frowns at that. But, you ignore him, tucking your exposed hand back into the pocket of your jacket. “So, why are you out here?”

Javier sighs. Runs a tired hand over his face in a frustration that never quite went away. “My car—didn’t look like it’s going to rain this morning.”

“It never does here,” you supply mirthfully. “Where did you park it?” Javier doesn’t answer, but simply waves his hand towards the general direction where his jeep sits. “Great. Let’s go then.”

“Where?”

“To your car,” you grin up at him, gesturing in front of you.

—

Unlike Javier, you seem almost indifferent to the storm, your demeanour unfazed by the downpour. Yet as a particularly heavy cloud bursts above, Javier can’t help but note the slight falter in your steps, the struggle to hold the umbrella over both of your heads against the rebellious wind.

“Here, let me hold it,” Javier declares more than offers, his hand reaching to take the hold of your umbrella before you can protest. And even though it’s a simple gesture, the brief hand contact sends a subtle, warm jolt through him—a sensation that lingers unsettlingly long. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you breathe out, returning his gaze.

Javier quickly looks away.

The outline of his jeep materialises in the distance, a dark silhouette against the hazy veil of rain, but the journey to it feels overwhelmingly long. Javier's mind attributes the stretch to the silence between you, an oppressive, stifling thing that seems to thicken with each step. And even though he has never been one for small talk, he finds himself wanting to fill the void, to somehow bridge the gap, but he struggles to find the right words. And the ones he finds disappear before they could form into coherent sentences.

"It's okay," you say softly, your voice cutting through his reverie, as if sensing his discomfort. "We don't need to talk. We can just walk."

So walk you do, until at last you arrive at where his car is parked, the lone steel frame glistening with a slick coat of rain. What follows is an awkward moment as Javier’s hands pat down his pockets in a frantic search for his keys.

"Fuck, I'm really sorry," he mutters, relief and frustration mingling as he finally feels the metal contours of the key in his grip.

A dismissive wave from you and a brief smile of his later, you step back to give him room to open the door. As smooth as possible and avoiding any more rain on his neck, Javier slides inside, shivering as his body stills against the cold seat. Then, he glances up to voice his thanks, only to see your figure retreating—silhouette melting into the rain, causing him to feel a sudden tug at his heart—an unfamiliar sensation that’s filled with a sudden, inexplicable reluctance to let you go just yet.

Thus, Javier finds himself cranking down the window with haste. “Hey!” he calls out; sharper and louder than intended. But, it makes you stop and turn; look at him, and Javier’s heart skips for just a beat as he offers a tentative smile, propelled by a rash impulse. "Come on. This rain isn’t letting up anytime soon. Let me at least get you somewhere dry."

You hesitate for a second, your gaze drifting to your shoes for a moment before meeting his eyes again. And then, with a small smile, you’re nodding and making your way back to him—the umbrella hardly more than a token shield against the rain.

With soft words of gratitude, you settle into the passenger seat, and Javier simply nods—a brief, uncertain smile flickering across his lips as he starts the engine. The familiar silence envelops the space between you again, yet this time it carries an odd comfort. One that Javier appreciates more than he cares to admit.

But while the quiet lingers, Javier’s mind races, sifting through memories, briefings, and faces of informants and colleagues—none of which align with yours. It’s frustrating and he hates it, thus, he finds himself stealing glances—once, twice, pulled by something beyond his control.

It's only when a red light forces him to a stop that he finally gives in to the urge to speak. “I’m Javier… Javi,” he says, as if to reaffirm his identity and anchor himself in familiar territory. “But, you probably know that.”

Glancing back at him, you give him a small, knowing smile. "Yeah, you were the topic of my first briefing when I transferred here. Also, you don’t need me to remind you that you've got a reputation."

Javier chuckles, raising an eyebrow. "Hope it's a good one."

Your smile only widens to the exact point where Javier wants it, confirming that it’s, in fact, unabashedly beautiful—just as he assumed.

"Depends on who you ask, I guess. Men think you're a hero. Women, on the other hand, not so much."

A moment of strange panic flickers through Javier, but you sigh contentedly, your gaze drifting back to the misted window, deliberately steering clear of that particular rabbit hole—at least for now.

"Look," Javier starts again, his voice a blend of confession and curiosity, "I gotta admit, I'm drawing a blank here, and I’m usually better with faces." He pauses when you wave him off, but then persists softly, "No, really—I should remember. Especially those pretty eyes like yours."

You snort, giving him a look that mixes amusement with mild rebuke, but he just winks, finding himself strangely comforted by your dismissal of his compliment.

"You’ll live, Javi," you tease before finally telling him your name. And Javier repeats it, savouring the way it feels on his tongue, a subtle pleasure tingling through him as he acknowledges how much he likes the sound of it.

Pausing briefly, Javier steals another glance at you. “There’s a little place not too far from here,” he suddenly starts. “Open all night. Their food isn’t half bad, and the coffee’s strong. Thought we could head over for a bit, to dry off? Unless you’re not up for it.”

A moment of hesitation flickers across your face before a smile emerges. "Sounds good. I usually can’t sleep anyway... but only if it's not out of your way."

Something inside Javier’s stomach kicks. A gut-punch of pleasure that lines his insides with warmth that he doesn’t bother to dismiss. “It usually is, but I feel like going out of my way tonight.”

—

tags: @pedroschka, @itscolleenhere, @idontcareihavenoidea

[soapyblubbles]

⋆｡˙ 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 ˙｡⋆

pairings: prongsfoot x pureblood!reader

summary: sirius and james take it upon themselves to show you how to play a fun muggle game.

warnings: dubcon, drugging (aphrodisiac), power imbalance, threesome, degradation, praising, petting, dumbification, naive/gullible reader (reader doesn’t know much about muggle world which makes her naive in that sense.)

a/n: the way i never post what I say i will… this came to me as i was watching something where a group played truth or dare. anyways sorry for the abrupt ending..

“Are you sure this is how you play the game?”

James tuts, pushing you back into his chest and sloppily pecking your cheek. About three rounds ago, Sirius had dared you to sit on James lap and the curly haired boy has refused to let you up ever since.

“Of course princess, we’d know best wouldn't we?”

“I guess… It’s just- you guys keep making me go.” You frown when the both of them laugh.

“Hush now, puppy. It’s my turn.” Sirius, who’s sitting in nothing but his boxers (courtesy of James), gives you a menacing grin as he spins the empty bottle.

You wait with bated breath watching as the bottle lands in the empty spot to the right of him. Already you know what Sirius is going to say before he opens his mouth, his dark eyes locked onto you. “Truth or Dare?”

“No fair!” You whine slightly, fighting the urge to cross your arms. “That’s the third time in a row!” Every time the bottle landed in an empty space they’d claim it was your turn. Saying things like `well you could be sitting there if you weren’t in James lap’ and then, when you attempt to move off of his lap you are promptly stopped.

At this point, you’re just following along with whatever they say because you know they have more experience in muggle affairs than you do. But if you were being completely honest with yourself, this was starting to get a bit ridiculous.

Muggles are so weird.

“How many times do we have to explain this to you?” Sirius grumbles distractedly, rummaging through the pockets pulling out an unlit cigarette from the pocket of the discarded jeans next to him.

“Princess. We’ve already told you twice.” James scolds lightly. You frown. The weight of both their eyes boring into you makes you fiddle with the hem of your shorts unsurely, before ultimately, you decide to go with the safe route. “Truth.”

Instantly, Sirius' face twitches into a devilish smirk. “Is it true you’ve got nothing under your shorts?”

Your mouth falls open and instinctively, you try to cross your legs. James hands stop you before you can, squeezing your thighs gently. He rests his chin on your shoulder to peer at you expectantly, Sirius doing the same as he lets out a puff of thick smoke. “Well? You have to answer the question princess.”

“I- um..” You can’t answer. Can’t even think as James starts to knead your skin gently, traveling higher and higher the longer you take to answer.

James chuckles softly at the flustered look on your face. “I think the poor thing needs us to help her.” Before you can utter a single protest, Sirius is getting up, hovering over you while James uses his grip to place your legs around his thighs.

Sirius rests his muscled arm above you, trapping you between James and him while his other hand starts to play with the bow on the band of your shorts. “I guess I’ll just have to check for you.” You let out a slow breath, your eyes becoming lidded as his fingers trail lower and lower.

Without breaking eye contact, he hooks his fingers behind the flimsy material separating the two of you and lets the back of his knuckle drag lightly over your cunt. “None.” He whispers softly.

Your mouth opens in a slight pant.

Sirius revels in your attention, briefly flicking his eyes down to hum appreciatively. “Just as expected.”

As quickly as it happened it’s over, Sirius goes back to his spot across from you and James lets your legs close with a simple movement of his hands. The only sign that anything happened at all is the uncomfortable feeling between your legs.

“My turn.” James grabs your chin and turns it towards him. He whispers your name gently. “Truth or dare.”

You blink, not even noticing that he didn’t even spin the bottle this time. “T-Truth.”

They both shake their heads in exasperation.

“You can’t pick truth twice in a row, puppy. Everyone knows that.” Sirius rolls his eyes, looking bored.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Sirius mocks. He huffs when he sees the way you pull your lip between your teeth. “Don’t start crying on us now puppy, aren’t you supposed to be a big girl?”

James tisks. “Pads, don't be mean to the little thing. She doesn’t know any better.” He rubs your hip reassuringly and you relax in his embrace, basking in the comfort he supplies.

“Fine, just hurry it up then.” Sirius mutters, rolling his eyes.

“I dare you to…” James trails off, humming in contemplation. From behind you, he shares a sly smirk with Sirius as a sudden thought comes to both of them. “I dare you to drink a glass of whatever we choose.”

In an instant, your questioning voice meets their ears. “Why-“

“Ah-ah. Them's the rules pup.” Sirius quickly interrupts. “You either do it or get punished.”

James bows his head down until he’s close to your ear, “Which will it be, honey?”

“I think I’ll just drink.” You whisper.

“Good girl.” He kisses the side of your mouth, lingering a second too long before he sits back, smiling smugly at the bashful smile you give in return.

Sirius reaches for one of the bottles by the end of his bed, hiding the label from you before you can read it. “No cheating.” He raises a brow and nearly empties all of the contents as he fills your cup to the brim.

He saunters over to you and James, and suddenly you’re aware of his bare chest. His toned abs that're still on full display. You look away as he stands in front of you, heat rising to your cheeks at his brazeness.

“Drink up.” Sirius lifts the glass for you, swatting away your hands when you try to take it from him.

The drink is thick, and sickeningly sweet. It coats your tongue in honeyed goodness as it slides down your throat to settle in your gut. Beads of the addicting ambrosia dribble down the side of your mouth and before you can move to wipe it away, James is there. Licking up your neck in a tantalizingly slow manner, savoring every bit of the sugary droplets he can.

You’re not even halfway through the glass before you start to feel it. Your whole body starts to get warmer and you try to push it away, head falling back on James shoulder. “What’s happenin’ to me?” The words are slurred as they tumble out of your mouth and a sudden burst of heat, then pain shoots straight to your core.

You moan, hips bucking up of their own volition. “Hurts so bad.”

“What hurts, puppy?” It’s Sirius who speaks up first. Staring at you in a way that makes your stomach twist violently.

“My-My..” Tears spring to your eyes as words seem to fail you.

James hushes you softly, pushing away a stray piece of hair that falls into your face, and tucking it behind your ear.

“What do you need, baby?” He asks kindly.

“Need you to touch me.” Your skin burns and somehow you know that the two of them touching you will make it go away. When neither immediately moves to do so you whine, crawling out of James’ lap so you can face him.

“Please, please, please…” You’re practically in tears, clutching at James’ sleeve and desperately trying to get him to touch you.

James coos, lips forming a soft pout. “I would, but you haven’t finished your dare yet.”

You quickly straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your foreheads together. “Please Jamie. Please? I’ll be so good. So good for you…” You trail off, muttering to yourself as you start peppering kisses along the side of his neck in attempt to persuade him.

James lets out a quick breath, eyes darting to Sirius. You barely notice, continuing to mumble sweet nothings in his ear.

“Suppose, we can make an exception, huh Prongs?”

James lets out a breath of relief, tapping your sides. “Have’to take your shirt off first, okay honey?” He lets out a strained groan, hands coming to your waist to stop you from where you unknowingly started grinding on his already hard bulge.

Frantically, you rip off the offending material, grabbing James palms and placing them on your bare chest.

“Fuck.” He lets out a broken whisper, leaning forward to catch your nipple in his mouth. He sucks harshly and you mewl, hips starting back up again now that James’ firm grip can’t stop you.

Sirius’ voice pierces through the haze that seems to have been placed over the two of you. “No bra either? You really are desperate.”

He threads his hands in your hair and tugs on it harshly. A moan tears its way out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

His dark eyes narrow. “Just me?”

You shake your head as much as you can, pulling James closer to your chest. “Jamie too.”

[whats-her-quirk]

Secret Oath Chapter 5

last || m.list || next

➷➷➷➷➷

marco bott x fem!reader

18+ mdni

word count: 5k

chapter warnings: mentions of underage drinking, sexual innuendo, brief bi panic, reader sits in a shopping cart and conditions her hair

a/n: made it in just under the 2 year mark with a new update. guys...

♪ farewell andromeda (welcome to my morning) by john denver

➷➷➷➷➷

When you’re not chasing grade schoolers from place to place, there are only so many things to do at camp. After hiking, swimming, reading, and just generally hanging out around a campfire in your free time, you tend to get a little desperate for a change of pace. With a little planning ahead, Ymir has secured everybody a night off for a Wal-Mart trip, and by the end of a long week, the idea of hitting up the only nearby grocery store is genuinely as exciting as a ticket to Disneyland.

Camp Shiganshina is at least fifteen square miles from anywhere, so walking to town is out of the question. You spend dinnertime trying to figure out the carpool situation, and it turns out not everyone is coming along. Bertholdt twisted his ankle playing basketball, so he’s staying in the cabin for rest, ice, compression, and elevation on Nanaba’s orders. Eren and Mikasa also decline for unknown reasons, but they’re always weird like that, and only Jean seems disappointed. That leaves seven of you, and there’s only one vehicle in the parking lot that can fit that many passengers.

Erwin is surprisingly chill with the idea of letting you borrow the company van. “Why take two cars when you can all fit in there?” he reasoned when you, Reiner, and Hitch went to ask him together. “There’s no sense wasting your gas, and you’ll be safer if you all stick together.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll make sure everybody’s taken care of,” says Reiner, flexing so hard you hear a thread snap in his t-shirt.

Erwin laughs, big and exuberant and sincere. “Of course! You have my trust.”

After running back to the cabin to toss your wallet and other necessities in a bag, you meet in the parking lot outside the mess hall. Erwin and Miche are leaning against the front of the van chatting while everyone loads up. Hitch dances her way over to them, holding out a hand to Erwin. “Keys, please!”

Erwin dangles a keychain as old as the vehicle itself above her palm before quirking a thick brow at her. “You are not to go over 55 miles per hour on the state route. You are not to exceed 35 on the side roads. And everyone wears their seatbelts. Understood?”

Perhaps startled by his serious tone, Hitch dials herself back. “Yes, sir.” He smiles and nods as he drops the keys in her hand, and she scuttles away to the driver’s seat.

Miche nudges you with his elbow. “Will you text me when you get there safe?”

You roll your eyes, hiding how sweet you find it. “Whatever, dad.” He makes a face at you. You stick out your tongue.

“Hey loser, you got bitch seat,” Ymir calls for you out the sliding door of the van.

You whirl around. “Historia is the smallest, why can’t she sit in the back?”

“We drew straws or something, I don’t know. Got a problem with that?” You’re used to the sass, but when she nods her head to the back of the van, it clicks. Marco and Jean sit on opposite ends of the third row bench seat—of course the middle is reserved for you.

You squeeze your way between the two bucket seats in the middle row, making sure to step and lean on Ymir as much as possible as you climb over her, just to be annoying. Tucking your bag between your feet, you manage to wedge yourself between the boys, shoulder to shoulder.

“Cozy,” you chuckle.

Jean reaches for the handle above the side window, making a little more space between you. “It’s not that far, at least.”

You pat behind both hips looking for your seat belt before you realize Marco is sitting on it. You start to reach for it, freezing only inches from his ass. “Uh, Marco. Can you scoot—”

Marco looks down where your leg is pressed against his. “Oh yeah! Uh…”

He twists as far as he can, already buckled, trying to lift his hip out of your way. You reach under him quickly, but your knuckles definitely drag across his back pocket. You click your buckle and then sit stiff as a board, hyper-aware of the fact that you fully touched his butt.

“Jesus Christ,” Jean mutters, sending you and Marco into a fit of laughter as Hitch backs out of the parking spot.

The first several minutes of the drive are spent messing with the music. Ymir shouts for Reiner to switch over to the radio, but every time he tries, it switches itself back to the tape deck after a few seconds. The cassette won’t eject, so your options are a John Denver single or silence.

“Leave it, this is a great song!” Historia begs. Neither Ymir nor Reiner will say no to her, but at least it’s Take Me Home Country Roads.

You’re a little embarrassed at first, but Marco nudges you after the first chorus. “Come on, I know you know the words. Everybody knows this song!”

You can feel your cheeks burning. “You just wanna make me sing.”

“Maybe I do.”

Historia is already singing, and when you start, so does Marco. Jean pipes up, and so does Reiner, and soon, everyone is belting the chorus.

There are only two songs on the cassette, and the B-side must have been less popular, because nobody knows the words to it. The van quiets down, but Marco still hums along. When you give him a surprised look, he blushes.

“My mom loves John Denver. I recognize the melody.”

It’s funny when Take Me Home repeats and prompts a second singalong, but by the fourth time the tape flips over, no one is singing anymore. Hitch turns the volume down to a faint rumble, and before long, you pull into the nearly empty parking lot of the Wal-Mart.

You stumble out of the back seat, thankful to stretch your legs after being crammed in so tight. You shoot off a text to Miche, letting him know you made it to the store with no casualties, to which he replies k thx kid. You could truly gag.

“Do we need a cart?” Reiner asks as you approach the giant sliding doors.

“Better get a couple,” you reply, pulling one from the stack. You know you want to buy snacks, grab a couple packs of Gatorade, and probably beg Ymir to get you some alcohol to smuggle away, and you’re not carrying all that around by yourself.

“Is there, like, no one here?” Jean asks, stepping through the second set of doors. “I swear it feels like it’s closed.”

“Relax, there are other cars outside.” Ymir rides her cart past him like a scooter, pumping her foot for a few paces before jumping on the bottom rail and gliding down the center aisle.

“What do we need to get?” Historia asks, scrambling after her.

“I’m heading for food and drinks,” you announce, pointing your cart toward the grocery section. Marco and Jean drift that way along with you.

“I need another pair of flip flops,” says Hitch. She and Reiner start to head the other way, where you’re sure she’ll find much more than just a pair of flip flops.

“I’m out of shampoo,” says Historia.

“And I want one of those things that you can make a grilled cheese with over the campfire. Everyone get what you want and then meet back at the pharmacy. And…go!” Ymir takes a running start, then rides her shopping cart out of sight as you head for the groceries.

You lose Jean somewhere around the Pop Tarts.

“Where did he go? Wasn’t he just behind us?” Marco asks, pushing the cart beside you in the beverage aisle.

“Either he wandered off or he’s looking for us just as fast as we’re looking for him.” You stop to heave a twelve pack of purple Gatorade on the bottom rack of the cart, making the whole thing rattle. You try to hide how heavy you’re breathing as you reach up toward the top shelf for another multi-pack.

“Want me to get those for you?” Marco asks.

“Sure, grab a pack of blue ones, please.”

Marco loads them under the cart for you, then takes the handle with a smirk. “Woah, this is super bottom-heavy now. Gonna need to counterbalance with something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Counterbalance?”

Marco chuckles. “Just get in the cart. You know you want to.”

“Ride in the cart? What am I, five?” You scoff, fully pretending that you don’t want to take him up on the offer.

“If we’re going to find Jean before Ymir destroys the pharmacy out of boredom, we gotta pick up the pace.”

You poke him in the chest. “Sir, you are being especially wild tonight.”

“Must be the fluorescents.”

Marco holds the cart steady while you flop inside the main basket. It’s a tight squeeze, but when you dangle your feet out of the front, it’s almost comfortable. Once you’re situated, Marco pushes you down a few more aisles while you point out the snacks you want, and he piles them on top of you. 

Armed with fruit snacks, cheese crackers, and a bottle of pre-made margaritas to make Ymir buy for you, Marco zips down the dessert aisle and grabs three boxes of Little Debbies. ”Guilty pleasure” he says with a bashful shrug. “I swear I’m not going to eat them all in one sitting.”

“I didn’t assume so, but hey, no judgment here.” You shrug, motioning at the mountain of snacks in your lap. You’re not terribly concerned with eating clean and healthy every day this summer, especially not when you’re sweating buckets and trudging up and down the hill all day anyway.

Marco laughs. “Maybe when I was sixteen and super active. But now I think that would end me.”

“Oh?” You can’t help it—you’re insanely curious. “Were you a jock in high school?”

Marco rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I’d say that, but I played hockey for a long time.”

While you’d spent many afternoons daydreaming about him in football pads or tight baseball pants, something about the thought of Marco in a hockey uniform just makes sense. “Oh wow, hockey’s a big deal where you’re from, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, in Minnesota, it’s super popular. A lot of kids start playing pretty young.”

“Do you still play? I’ll admit, I don’t really know anything about hockey but I think it looks pretty cool.”

“I play on the university’s club team during the school year. We travel and play against other schools, but we’re a step below the official team. It’s fun, but none of us are going pro, you know?” Marco’s cheeks turn a strawberry pink, his eyes falling to the shelves of cereal boxes beside him. “Maybe you can come to a game sometime.”

“I absolutely will. I want to see you body check someone.” You’re giddy just thinking about it.

That makes Marco laugh. “Maybe if you’re lucky.”

You round the corner of the next aisle and finally find Jean with a tub of pretzels under one arm and a case of Red Bull under the other. He notices you laughing and riding in the cart, and he gives you a look.

“Um. Where am I supposed to put these?”

“Here, fine, but you have to help me get out.”

“Don’t crush my zebra cakes!” Marco pleads.

Jean puts down his snacks and pulls you up out of the basket while Marco holds onto the cart, making sure you don’t get dumped out on the floor. Once Jean’s stuff takes your place, the three of you head for the pharmacy.

You find Ymir in personal care, waiting with the cart while Historia picks out hair products. Their basket is full of sheet masks, candy, a fleece blanket, and four of those sandwich irons Ymir wanted. When you pull up next to her, she invites herself to poke around in your cart.

“Are you feeding an army?”

“No, just stocking up.” Shooing her hands away, you slide the booze into her cart. “A gift from you to me.”

“Wow, ok. How presumptuous.” She fakes a scoff, but you know she doesn’t mind or care.

“Oh. I thought you wanted me to get that for you,” Marco says. “I guess it doesn’t matter who buys it but—”

You don’t really intend to cut him off, but you’re surprised. “I didn’t think you were 21.”

“I wasn’t… until last week.”

“Marco!” You can’t stop yourself. It just comes out.

“What?”

“Was it your birthday last week?”

Marco looks nervous. Almost frightened.

“Yeah.”

You push the cart out of the way to get closer. “Your twenty-first birthday?”

“Yeah?”

“And you didn’t tell us?” You’re yelling. You’re in the middle of a practically deserted Wal-Mart Superstore at 11 o’clock at night, and you’re yelling.

“Oh my god, yes,” Marco laughs, incredulous. “I didn’t want anybody to make a big deal about it. Now please calm down before you get carded and we all get in trouble.” He’s right, you’re causing a scene, and it makes your own cheeks burn. You don’t intend to forget about this, though.

“Well shit,” Ymir quips. She reaches for the margarita bottle and shoves it into Marco’s hands. “Then you can buy the lady her liquor.”

“Yes ma’am.” Marco puts the bottle back in your cart.

Ymir pretends to gag. “Do not call me that.”

“Hey, kids!” Hitch sails by into the next aisle, waving, Reiner hurriedly following her with their nearly full cart. You all follow, rounding the corner before you realize you’re congregating in front of the contraception. It shouldn’t be a big deal—you’re adults, after all—but it’s not easy to be totally mature looking at a wall of condoms, especially with this group.

Hitch picks out a box of ultra thins, remarking, “For me,” as if you all really needed to know. Then she reaches for a box of magnums. Just as soon as you start to raise an eyebrow, she declares, “And for Bertie.”

“He wanted you to buy him condoms?” Reiner asks, sounding genuinely dumbfounded. Meanwhile, Marco looks pointedly at the tampons on the opposite side of the aisle, and Jean snickers like a complete dork.

“No,” Hitch smirks. “But he told me Annie is visiting next week. Gotta make sure he’s prepared.”

Ymir scoffs. “Fucking gross that they package those in gold like your jumbo dong is some sort of prize.” Then she reaches up to one of the higher shelves, asking nonchalantly, “Hey, baby, do you want warming lube this time? I think we’re almost out.”

It’s the kind of deeply intimate detail she normally has no problem sharing, but almost as soon as she says it, she freezes.

Reiner loudly clears his throat. “Who are you talking to?”

Nobody moves.

“Um.” Ymir rocks on her heels. Her eyes jump from person to person, searching. “Uh, Jean—”

Jean snorts. “Not even—”

“Ew. You’re right, that’s disgusting.”

“She was talking to me, Reiner,” Historia explains calmly. “Ymir is my girlfriend.”

Reiner barks out a laugh, but it fades quickly. He seems to realize she’s not joking just as Hitch and Jean fall apart, giggling. You have half a mind to abandon all your snacks and go hide in the van, you’re so secondhand embarrassed. You should never have gone along with this. 

Ymir crosses her arms proudly and leans against Historia’s side, though you’re not really sure if Ymir is winning or losing her own game anymore.

Hitch, pulling herself together, pats Reiner on the back. “Let’s go check out so we can get out of here.”

Fixing his own face, Reiner stammers, “Yeah. We should… yeah.” Almost tenderly, Hitch puts a hand on the front of their shopping cart, steering Reiner toward the registers as he follows behind.

Historia’s hands drop to her hips, and she gives Ymir a look. “Are you happy now?”

Ymir shrugs. “Pretty much.” Huffing, Historia takes off with their cart.

“Meet you at the front, baby girl,” Ymir calls.

Marco, his face beet red, reaches for your cart, but Ymir blocks one of the front wheels with her foot.

“Hold on, birthday boy.” She grabs a basic box of condoms and pushes it into Marco’s hands. His fingers don’t close around it—he drops it on the floor like it’s on fire.

Ymir snatches the box and shoves it back at him. “You’re gonna need these, trust me,” she snorts, and that familiar, overwhelming urge to smother her washes over you.

Marco, cheeks burning, flaps his lips a few times, but no words come out. Slowly, like he’s thinking hard, he puts the box back on the shelf.

You look away, your stomach dropping. You get that he’s embarrassed—Ymir is crossing a lot of lines—and it’s not like you didn’t pack a box of condoms in your suitcase, so you’ll have some if you need them. But now, you just want to get out of here because if you let yourself think about it for one more second, it’ll hit you all at once that Marco is just a really nice person who was never actually flirting with you and doesn’t like you back. 

You allow yourself one last glance over your shoulder to see if Marco is coming with your cart before you go lay in the road and wait for traffic.

Your breath catches when you see him drop a black and gold box, identical to the one Hitch picked out for Bert, into the cart.

Screaming in your head, you power walk past the checkout. Marco will have to pay for everything because there’s alcohol in the cart, so you wait by the exit like an idiot while trying to act casual, but really, how can you? You’ve only thought about Marco’s dick print a few hundred times, and those condoms practically confirm that he’s really and truly packing. And you want it. You want him so bad—

“Ready?” You blink and Marco is there, everything bagged up and ready to go.

Ymir walks by behind him, silently mouthing, “Jumbo,” and you don’t know whether to thank her or kill her where she stands. You hope neither registers on your face.

In the parking lot, you help Marco load the bags into the van. Now you’re the immature one, wondering which bag the condoms are in, whether they’re touching your Gatorades. You hope to god he bagged them with his damn zebra cakes so you don’t have to negotiate some kind of awkward, presumptuous handoff. He’s definitely smart enough for that. Of course he is.

When you buckle in for the ride home, it’s quiet in the van. Only Hitch talks over her shoulder to Historia about the big game of flashlight tag that Moblit and Hange have organized for tomorrow night. Ymir yawns heavily, and you’re pretty sure Jean already nodded off with his head against the window.

Reiner is silent in the passenger’s seat—if he’s not back to himself by tomorrow, you’re rounding everyone up to apologize. It was mean, what Ymir did to him, and you’re all pretty complicit. But sometimes Reiner bounces back from his moods miraculously, and sometimes he doesn’t. You’ll just have to wait and see what you’re dealing with in the morning.

The John Denver tape plays softly from the speakers. Beside you, Marco hums along, his long legs crammed in behind Ymir’s seat. Just as the silence is about to cross from uncomfortable to unbearable, Marco slowly but deliberately reaches out, lightly covering your hand from where it rests on your knee.

You curl into his side, and he starts to sing a little louder, just enough so that you can hear.

“Welcome to my evening, the closing of the day. I could try a million times, never find a better way.”

Before the drive earlier, you’d never heard this song. Now, upwards of six repeats in, you know at least some of the words—enough to mumble along a little with him. The chorus is familiar by now, an easy refrain of la la las that everyone who’s still awake can jump into.

Even if it’s a little awkward, at least you’re all either singing or snoring.

It wasn’t long ago that Marco told you that he felt safe with you. With your head on his shoulder and your hand wrapped in his, you’re sure you feel the same about him.

-

Before your first alarm goes off the next morning, you wake to the hushed sounds of Historia chasing Ymir out of bed. You can’t make out any clear words, just whispering and grumbling, but after a minute or two, the bed creaks. You roll over and crack an eye open just in time to see Ymir pull on her shoes and slip out the door.

You try to snooze a few more minutes before your alarm goes off, but it’s fruitless. Everyone is starting to rustle themselves awake, so you figure you might as well just get up and shower. Quietly, you gather your things and head out.

You pass the lodge on the way to the showers, where you spot Ymir on the upper balcony, sharing a porch swing with Reiner. They rock slowly, overlooking the hill that leads down to the lake. Good. As stubborn as Ymir is, you’re almost positive she’s up there apologizing. You hope he’s not taking everything too hard. Sometimes his feelings can be too big for him.

You leave them be and take a slightly longer shower than usual, your mind drifting back to Marco and the way he held your hand. You make sure to really take your time conditioning your hair and scrubbing down with your scented body wash. It’s silly, but you feel like you’re right on the precipice of something with him, and you want to look as nice as possible for it. As if it’ll last in this humidity. 

It’s a quiet morning when you return to the cabin to get dressed. Mikasa is already gone to do the wake-up calls (with Eren, because he can’t be trusted to get up on his own, let alone rouse everyone else). You expect a subdued breakfast. Maybe everyone who was at the store last night does.

Marco meets you at the front of the mess hall holding two styrofoam coffee cups. You’re getting used to the sight, but as you sit down next to him at the table, you see Jean already has his first cup. Marco hands his second cup to you.

“Oh, thank you. Does it–”

“Two sugars,” he says, and your heart squeezes. You try not to take it as a marriage proposal.

Glancing around, you don’t see the one person you were worried about. “Does anyone know where–” you’re about to ask, but you’re interrupted by a shockingly loud voice at the other end of the room.

You’re used to Erwin’s startling morning announcements. What you’re not ready for is Reiner standing at the fireplace next to him, smiling with all his teeth, shouting, “Good morning!” to the campers instead.

The campers look up, and Reiner doesn’t even have to give instructions. He simply points to the left side of the room, takes a big breath, and starts singing the first part of Down by the Bay, off-key but with heaps of enthusiasm. Erwin, pointing to his side of the room, comes in quickly with the echo, and the campers erupt. They’ve been working on the song in Nifa’s music lessons since the first week of camp, and they’re thrilled to sing it as a giant group.

You lean your chair back on two legs to ask Ymir, “What did you say to him?”

She simply shrugs over the bowl of cereal she’s already poured herself. “Don’t look at me. You know what he’s like at the asscrack of dawn. I didn’t say anything.”

“Liar,” you tease. She sticks her tongue out at you.

For all intents and purposes, Reiner does seem fine. But you saw the look on his face the night before. You can’t help but worry he’s just putting on a mask. 

You could send in a professional to get all the details from Reiner. Unfortunately, Hitch is posted up next to Erwin with a thermos of coffee, so she’s not going anywhere for the foreseeable.

Instead, you scurry up to Reiner yourself after breakfast and steer him out into the parking lot. “Hey. Are you ok?”

Reiner chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “What do you mean? I’m great.”

When you give him a look, he sighs. “All right, listen. Yeah, I was kind of messed up last night. But I thought about it, and I talked to Ymir this morning. The whole thing was partially my fault anyway.”

“Huh?”

“Deep down, I always knew the two of them had something going on. I didn’t know they were actually dating, but I ignored the obvious signs on purpose. I think I was just trying to distract myself from…” 

He kicks the dirt, eyes cast down. “You know what you said about those snaps Galliard was sending me?”

 “I remember.” You’re careful to answer evenly, as excited as you are about where you think this is leading. You don’t want to freak him out.

“Well, I sent some back. And it turned into a whole thing. Because I think I like it.” Reiner hesitates between every sentence. “But instead of thinking about how that made me feel, I wanted to flirt with someone else. A girl. Because I don’t have to think as much about that.”

You give his shoulder a squeeze. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But you know, if you want to flirt with boys too, you can.”

Reiner clears his throat. “Is that… ok?” He asks so earnestly, it almost breaks your heart. He’s not asking if it bothers you; he’s asking for reassurance. For someone to give him permission.

“Yes. And if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. Or Ymir. Or Jean, or anyone. Nobody is going to be mad at you. I’m pretty sure Porco would be thrilled, actually.”

Before you can take another breath, Reiner wraps you in a bear hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you wheeze. “But you’re kind of crushing me.”

Reiner lets go, laughing. You both know you need to get moving to your next activity block. Reiner skips a few paces ahead, turning backwards to face you. “Gotta go. I have a wiffle ball game to win.”

“Go get ‘em!” Yeah. He’s going to be ok.

-

When the late June sun sets over the hill, you meet Hange and Moblit at the back door of the lodge. After making sure all the campers have a working flashlight (thanks to Hange’s messenger bag full of spare batteries), Moblit lays out the rules, and they’re all off into the dark to chase each other around.

It’s your job to hang around the perimeter of camp and make sure none of the campers go out-of-bounds into the woods or by the lake. With your own flashlight pointed down at the ground, you walk the path just past the tree line. When you hear a rustle in the leaves, you flick your light up, ready to point some little feet back toward the lodge.

Instead, you find a certain tall, broad, and dorky counselor stumbling out of the trees, the leg of his jeans caught in a prickly bush.

“Please help,” Marco chuckles.

While he points his flashlight at his ankle, you crouch down and shake his pant leg free.

“Thank you.” You can just make out his outline in the dark, shaded by the trees, but you can hear in his voice how hard he’s smiling.

“Any time.” You realize how close you’re standing, how much electricity hangs between you as you laugh awkwardly. You’ve never felt this alone with him before. You want something. Anything.

You lean a little closer, and he lingers, not pulling away. A hot wave of breathlessness washes over you, and you rise onto your toes, one hand ghosting over the back of his neck.

“Marco,” you whisper.

His flashlight hits the ground. Both of his big hands rest on the small of your back, and he pulls you in, capturing your bottom lip with his mouth, urgent but soft. You can’t help yourself. You throw both arms over his shoulders and squeeze, pressing your body against his, so close you can feel the pounding in his chest.

He gasps before deepening the kiss, letting your tongue slip past his lips. There’s nothing to say as you hold on a little too desperately, wrapped up in each other in the dark.

When you finally break apart, Marco is trembling. “I really, really like you.”

“I really, really hoped so.” You press one more light kiss against the hint of his collarbone that peeks out over the collar of his t-shirt.

Peals of laughter and flashlight beams from a few meters away startle you, and you hop back as a few campers chase after each other on the other side of the trees.

Marco retrieves his flashlight, and you wish you could see how hard he’s blushing. Instead, you give his hand a little tug. He laces his fingers between yours and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Come on,” you tease. “We should pay attention.” You have the rest of the summer to figure this out. Right now, you have a job to do.

➷➷➷➷➷

last || m.list || next

[queenimmadolla]

Idk if you’ve answered this or not but what are Penny, Wayne and Maples interest/special interest? Like was Penny into the 90’s/2000’s boy bands? Was Wayne into trains or dinosaurs or something real niche like garbage trucks and was I’m assuming Maple was born in the late 90’s was she into Hannah Montana or even metal music that you and Eddie cater to until they just decided one day it wasn’t cool anymore and moved on 😅

I want to thank you. Because you just reminded (I had to consult my timeline for this verse to answer it) that Penny was born in the late 80s, so she got to endure the late 90s and y2k as a teen. She would have been the same age as Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff when they feuded omg!!!! And with a famous dad?? She can interact with y2k royalty!

ANYWAYS, to answer your question, YES! She was a big fan girl of the Backstreet Boys as a preteen! Was begging her parents to go to concerts all the time, learned the choreography, she was obsessed and, as delusional as 10-13 year olds get over boy bands, she was proud of it. And DREAM. She’d love that girl band so much. As a teen, she loves most of the bands of the 2000s like Fall Out Boy, Green Day (they reached the height of their fame that really elevated them in the 2000s—thats not up for debate), Sum41, Evanescene, Linkin Park, Good Charlotte, Pussycat Dolls and she’s a fan of singers like Beyoncé, Britney Spears, Mariah Carey, etc. She doesn’t really like the pick-mes of the 2000s. Sorry, Avril.

Wayne didn’t have any real niche interests dinosaurs or trucks. By the time he could develop niche interests, Goosebumps was a thing, so i imagine him going the mystery/horror route. And because of watching and reading Goosebumps, he develops an interest in weirdly specific things just as the main characters of the show do. To make it short—whatever he watches he makes his whole personality for a good couple of months.

And you’re right about Maple being born in the late 90s! She was 100% a delusional fan girl too, LOVED The Jonas Brothers, Hannah Montana (but she loved Miley Cyrus more), fucking radio Disney, Jesse McCartney—oh my god, she was born around the same time as me so she’s going to go through so many horrible fashion and fan phases. The shrug, the skinny scarf, the weird layering of dresses over jeans. One Direction. God, Eddie has to endure a lot with her but if his babies are into something, then he encourages their enthusiasm, helps them indulge in it by buying them CDs and merch, goes to concerts with them—he’s a good fucking dad. Even if the two of you get whiplash with how often they switch up their interests. And lucky for you and Eddie, she’s a Beyoncé stan, so she exposes him to fantastic music just as he introduces her to the music he grew up liking in the 80s.