#listen. I just feel like they had something weird going on okay

[hitlikehammers]

POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

[neunnnnnnn]

Things I have experienced after shifting and rating them

Reminder we are different my experience might not be yours!!

1. Disorientation 0/10

-Time doesn't feel real at all after coming back, I would always feel like I'm high of something and the world spins for a few seconds. Afterwards during the day I feel like I'm watching the world from inside my body instead of outside my body. ( Idk if it makes sense)

2. Memories 1/10

-My memory has slowly become worse than I thought. My memories from before I first shifted are blurry and I have found myself mixing alot of memories and confusing events.

4. Dreams 10/10

-It's weird how lucid my dreams are becoming more to the point where I have actually confused reality and a lucid dream where I thought I was lucid but I was actually here 😭 I have also had a lot of vivid dreams.

5. Extraterrestrial 11/10

-Ever since I first shifted I have encountered one physically like in this reality and alot while astral projecting. It was frightening at first but they are okay, they don't bother you unless you want to talk to them. Speaking to them has literally opened my thoughts in ways I didn't realize it would.

6. Relationships

-My relationships have been more better if I might say, both in friendships, romantic wise and with my parents . This is something that I believe because I have gotten better at communicating my feelings and understanding myself better. I am able to actually not judge someone ( because everything is internal) and can easily empathize with someone more easily.

7. Not caring 11/10

-When I tell you my fucks to give have gone out the fucking window. Nothing anyone tells me affects me that much anymore 😭 like don't you know I can just dip out anytime and never return?!?! But yeah I have been caring less and less and it is freeing, letting go of worldly attachments does wonders for your mental health.

8. Sleep 9/10

Been sleeping like a freaking baby!!

9. Music 7/10

This is mostly because I was told that airpods fry your brain and I have been only listening to music through speakers or just the normal earphones. I have also been listening to music less and less. My headaches have been reducing

Again these are MY experiences they might not be the same as yours.

[burytheruby]

HIII CAN WE PLS HAVE P2 OF THE PRICE DAUGHTER AND SIMON STORY??? PLS 😣 THE WRITING IS GOOD AND THE STORY IS JUST *chefs kiss* 💋💋💋 I WANNA SEE THEM LATER ON IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏😞😣🩷🩷💕

I N A P P R O P I A T E I I

the answer is YES I CAN 🙈 thank you everyone for the support! I unfortunately have been crazy busy with the holidays, then my birthday (yay 20!), then back to uni 😭 but I did promise I would come back, and so there will be a tag list for whoever wants to be updated!

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

IN which Captain Price is your father, and he has accepted your feelings for his lieutenant.

OR: late night talks and confessions, your father would do anything to make you happy.

Part 1; you're in Part 2

MINORS Do NOT Interact.

Warnings: age gap, fem! reader, ooc, canon divergent, still learning british slang please bear with me. WC: 1657

English is my second language.

Captain Price had dreaded this day, he never thought he'd see a future where you would come to him and ask him for advice. advice on romance. all because of his lieutenant. damn him. you sat next to him on the couch, shifting awkwardly as you both stared straight ahead at the tv, a game playing in the background. your father's favorite team, you noticed, against the team Simon had mentioned liking himself. almost humorous, Price had noticed the clear tension since your birthday two weeks ago. he appreciated the fact that his lieutenant was being careful, neither acknowledging the very needed—talk, let's call it.

but of course, you were never one to dance around the subject.

"we need to talk," you said simultaneously, it would've been endearing if it weren't for the fact that the talk was not about what dinner would be tonight, or who you thought would win the game playing on the tv, not even about the professor you loathed and couldn't wait to leave her class.

you turned to face your father, fidgeting with the pendant hanging on your neck—the one Simon gave you, of course. your father really tried to not roll his eyes and scoff at the sight, he has definitely given you prettier jewelry—or at least that's what he thinks. you wouldn't tell him you grew out of the heart shaped jewelry; it would break his own heart. after a long, tension-filled moment of silence, you finally spoke, your voice breaking through. "I think 'm old enough to know, dad." you sighed, as if trying to let go of the tension in your body. "an' s'not like we're not conscious of how this may look." you admitted, looking away as you clenched your fists.

yeah, you guessed it would be weird if the man you knew for most of your life suddenly became your lover. age gaps were taboo, especially one such as yours. but who cared? Simon saw you as a petulant, spoiled child until last year—not like he would tell you that, he wouldn't stand listening to your huffs and scoffs of complaints (acting as if he isn't your biggest enabler). that's beside the point, anyway. right now, your focus was on your father, a pensive look on his features as he looked at you.

and then you felt a little guilty when you recognized the tiniest hint of his eyes glazing—just for a second, just enough to ignite concern in you. "m'not getting sent away, y'know." you tried to lift the mood, and he could only smile a little. you were just as awful as he was when it came to comfort, and that was okay. he placed a hand on top of yours, giving a gentle squeeze as his eyes went to your every feature– from the shape of your nose to the volume of your lashes, you were his perfect girl. he often joked he birthed you, something you hated the imagery of no matter how sickly sweet it was that you were his daughter.

"aye, I know." he said, giving a tender kiss to your temple in a moment of vulnerability. his lips lingered there, feeling his heart squeeze and tear at the fact that he knew he had to let go. it was just hard, from the little girl he'd take everywhere, to the woman you were now. your father knew there was no point in trying to change your mind–or your heart, you were dead set on what you wanted. curse his own self. his hand let go of yours, and he pulled away from you. the gears inside his head were turning, the slow but steady acceptance of the relationship between you and his lieutenant.

"he's been less ratty lately," he admitted, his attention turning back to the tv as the opposing team scored. he scoffed, it was as if the universe wanted to mock him. "never heard him make so many bloody awful jokes in just two weeks." Price couldn't help but smile, seeing the rest of the team so distraught–except for Soap, that instigator–was exhilarating to him.

“yeah? m’sure he got ‘em from ya.” you couldn’t contain the smile on your face, seeing as Simon’s team was winning by a landslide. Price cursed under his breath, the hissing sound of the now opened beer brought your attention back to him, the features of your father illuminated by the light of the tv. his eye bags that become more prominent after every mission, the smile lines barely concealed by his mustache connected to his beard. your father hummed in response, sipping on the awfully bitter beer that your father enjoyed. for a picky drinker, he sure enjoyed the most awful you've ever tried.

"princess," your eyes roamed back up to his face, leaning your head on his shoulder with a sigh. with a tiny hum, expressing your attention, he then spoke again. "don't tell him I told you, but Simon's taking a week off duty." your eyes widened at that, then grew to confusion. Simon? Taking a break? That was new. The thought made your heart flutter, smiling subconsciously as yet another cheer could be heard from the tv, but you couldn't find yourself caring enough to see who had scored.

Instead, you checked your phone as it vibrated, a text on the screen making you sit up with an even bigger grin.

"I'll be back by this weekend, let me take you out on a date."

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

"shite," you cursed under your breath. your room was a mess, with clothes sprawled all over your bed and the wardrobe. it was Thursday, just a day away from seeing him again, and not a piece of clothing convinced you enough for the date. too formal? too casual? too feminine? a dress, or maybe jeans? you sighed in frustration, your fingertips softly massaging your temples as you sat on the chair of your dressing table. it's not like Simon puts much effort into his own attire, but this is a date. where are you going, again?

realization dawned as you realized he did not, in fact, tell you what the date would be. you cursed again, getting up only to slump down in your bed. should I text him? you thought, only to discard the idea almost immediately. he was busy, he's a lieutenant dealing with death's doorstep in every mission, and my father, that's enough stress. at the end of the day, all you achieved was to reorganize your wardrobe, and to make dinner for you and your father—if he came home tonight.

waiting in the dining table, poking at your food until the light sound of the keys jiggling and the door opening made your head snap up, finding your father walking in with something inside his duffel bag. "princess, I've got ya a gift from Simon." he unzipped the bag, and inside was a box–a brand box, your favorite to be specific. you gave a quick thanks to your father as you skipped past him, straight to your bedroom to open the box.

"thank you, Simon." was the text you sent immediately upon seeing what the box contained—a dress, of your favorite style and a color that complimented you just right. Simon knew you too well, or maybe he noticed the small things that others usually would not, such as the neckline of the dress that would look best with the pendant—yeah, maybe he really kept that in mind, and having you show it off for everyone to see that you are not going to be available in the foreseeable future.

Friday morning came around too quickly, waking up in the comfort of your bed to a message from Simon stating he would be back by the evening for your date.

hair up, or down? natural or should you just go bald? your makeup trials seemed to go wrong each time, from too bold of a color for your features, to barely noticeable blush you tried to add. maybe low heels, and maybe a few other jewelries. your head spun from stress, and it wasn't until your heart began to beat a little too faster that you finally took a break. Relax. you scolded yourself, your own reflection looking back at you as this time you managed to make your eyeliner even on both sides.

it was almost ridiculous, you told yourself, to fret this badly over a date. this isn't just a date, is it? it's the man you claimed to your father you would marry way back then, when you were just a child and caught a glimpse of the man wearing those dad-glasses you quietly make fun of. glancing over at the wall, you cursed when the time was past noon and almost evening. you had to finish now.

in the end, you decided to go for something a little outside of what your usual is, but nonetheless you kept getting complimented by your father as you walked back and forth on the living room. "a doll" he called you, and called Simon a bastard under his breath just in case he fucks up tonight. he gave you a reassuring smile and hid in the kitchen when the door was knocked. with sweaty hands and a heartbeat way above the normal speed, you opened the door to Simon with a smile on your face.

"love," he breathed out, his deep eyes roaming up and down how gorgeous you looked—as always. his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his lips just grazing your lips with a smile. "gorgeous, lovely." he all but purred, making your skin tingle and your face grow hot. you smiled in response, just about to close the gap when you remembered that your father was right there, hidden but there.

Well, the make out could wait until the date.

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

AUGHHH part two is finally here, everyone do a standing ovation

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.5

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 wordcount: 2039

The Monaco paddock was a chaotic mess of media, team personnel, and VIPs swarming every corner. You were supposed to be here—dropping off something personally for Lando. It wasn’t just something, it was the Richard Mille x Louis Vuitton Monaco release watch. You were holding almost a million dollars in your hand. You walked through McLaren hospitality, everyone eyeing you eagerly. Lando had texted you he was in his driver’s room.

You walked in, the door clicking shut behind you.

Lando stood by the small counter, shirtless, toweling off his damp hair from the post-qualifying sweat. His race suit was tied low around his hips, the fireproofs clinging to his torso in a way that was frankly unfair.

His eyes flicked up when he noticed you, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. “Special delivery for me, stylist?”

You huffed, trying to keep your gaze above his collarbones. “I have the watch.” You held up the box for emphasis. “I’ll leave now.”

Lando, predictably, didn’t move aside. He leaned back against the counter instead, arms crossing over his chest. “You in a rush?”

Yes.

Very much yes.

Because the way he was looking at you—like he was thinking about Monaco nights and zippers and everything you shouldn’t be doing right now—was making it very hard to breathe.

You tried for casual, gesturing toward the door. “People are around.”

He shrugged. “Door’s locked.”

“Lando.”

He grinned at your warning tone, like he enjoyed hearing his name in your voice a little too much. “Say it like that again, and we’ll have a real problem.”

Your stomach flipped. He was too close now, close enough that if you reached out, you could pull at the fireproofs, drag him forward. You weren’t going to. You were stronger than that.

But then his fingers brushed yours where you still held the box, and your resolve wavered.

His other hand grabbed your waist, pressing your back against the closed door behind you. A sharp inhale was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, urgent and claiming. His hands moved, tracing down your hips, gripping tight as he pressed into you, his body hot and solid against yours. His fireproofs did nothing to hide the way he was pressing into you, hard and wanting, his breath heavy against your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw.

A small sound escaped you when his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, fingertips pressing possessively. He exhaled sharply against your neck. 

Then—three sharp knocks on the door.

“Lando, hurry up! Media’s waiting.”

Max. Of course.

You startled, stepping away quickly. Lando barely blinked, just exhaled sharply, muttering, “Fucking timing.”

You shot him a look. “Maybe don’t try to feel up your stylist in the middle of the paddock.”

He just smirked, grabbing a fresh shirt from the garment bag. “I wasn’t trying. If I was trying, you wouldn’t have left.”

You opened the door before you could react to that, nearly running into Max, who took one look at your flustered state, then at Lando’s smug expression, and sighed.

“Seriously?”

‘’Thanks for the watch, I’ll find a way to repay you another time’’ he smirked.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

That’s when the sneaking around officially started. You felt bad about it, to Flo, professionally. But you couldn’t stop. It was so easy. Fitting rooms, toilets, hotel rooms. It was an unspoken agreement. 

-

You were back in London after the Monaco chaos. The texts continued, you dreaded telling Flo, but you knew you had to.

You were supposed to catch up.

But you weren’t listening. Not really.

Flo was mid-sentence about a horse-riding competition, when she suddenly narrowed her eyes at you. “Okay,” she said, setting her cup down with a little too much force. “What’s up with you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She tilted her head. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“You’re stirring your coffee like it personally offended you.”

You glanced down at the spoon in your hand, realizing you’d been absentmindedly spinning it in circles for the last five minutes. You dropped it with a sigh.

Flo’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, God. It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

Your silence was all the confirmation she needed. She leaned forward, eyes lighting up with interest. “Wait. Who? Do I know him?”

You hesitated, then exhaled sharply, looking away. “Flo… I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to say it so I’m just going to say it. It’s... Lando.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Flo burst out laughing.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she wheezed, trying and failing to hold it together. “It’s just—you hated him.”

“I did not hate him,” you muttered.

Flo gave you a look. “When you were at Quadrant, you once said, and I quote, ‘If I have to hear him interfere about the designs one more time, I will throw myself into oncoming traffic.’”

You winced. “Okay, fine. But it was different working together at LV, things changed.”

Flo smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, I’ll bet they did.”

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the table. “I really hope you’re not mad. It’s nothing... serious. Just something casual..”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it. It’s just—fun. That’s all.”

Flo raised an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

You hesitated for a second too long, glaring at her. You weren’t worried about a famous F1 driver, but for her, of course it was still her brother. 

Flo’s smirk faded slightly. “Oh, babe.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “No, don’t ‘oh, babe’ me. It’s fine. We’re clearly just messing around. It’s not a thing.”

Flo watched you carefully, like she was picking apart every single word. “Okay.. As long as I don’t have to hear any details about it and I’m still your favorite Norris”

You could finally let out a laugh. ‘’You will always be my favorite Norris’’

‘’Thought F1 wasn’t really your scene’’ she want back to teasing. ‘’Who would’ve thought’’

You buried your face in your arms on the table. ‘’Wouldn’t it have been better to go for Lewis?’’ she continued jokingly when you didn’t reply. 

-

You were working in the London LV office when you got a text. 

Lando: I’m in London. What are you doing?

You frowned at your phone, the message popping up between work emails. He wasn’t at a race weekend, so he was either back in Monaco or in London.

You: Working. Why?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then came back.

Lando: Doesn’t your work involve me?

You rolled your eyes.

Before you could tell him off, another text came through.

Lando: I’ll come help you with that.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, even though you knew you should have expected this by now.

You: You don’t even know where I am.

Lando: I do, actually. Showroom, right?

You didn’t reply.

Lando: See you soon :)

And just like that, you knew you wouldn’t be getting any more work done.

He arrived half an hour later, strolling into the showroom like he belonged there.

You gave him an unimpressed look from your seat behind your laptop. “I knew I should’ve turned off my location sharing after Monaco.”

Lando just grinned. “Too late.” He plopped into the seat across from you, looking far too comfortable. “So, what’s up?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m working”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

You exhaled sharply. “Why are you here?”

Lando hesitated, then smirked. “I was in London and wanted to see you. Shouldn’t we go to your place? I still haven’t seen your apartment.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“And that’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” He tilted his head. “I mean, you’ve seen my place. Seems unfair.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s because you live in Monaco, and I don’t.”

“Still. I think it’s my turn.”

You scoffed. “Why do you even care?”

Lando shrugged, like it didn’t matter. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Maybe I just wanna know where you go when you’re not with me.”

That statement alone made you pause for half a second too long.

Lando didn’t push, just watched you carefully as you exhaled and shut your laptop. “Fine. But only because I need to leave soon anyway.”

“Perfect.” He grinned, standing up. “Lead the way.”

-

Lando followed you into your building like he’d done it a hundred times before, hands in his pockets, an easy smirk on his face.

You, on the other hand, were suddenly hyperaware of everything—of the way your apartment probably wasn’t as put-together as the places he was used to, and how you had left it behind. 

You pushed the thought away as you unlocked the door. “It’s small, so don’t be judgy.”

Lando stepped in first, looking around. “You’re acting like I live in a palace.”

“You do.”

“Okay, fair.” He walked further in, turning in a slow circle as he took everything in. “This is really nice, though.”

You shut the door, crossing your arms. “You sound surprised.”

Lando grinned, plopping onto your couch without hesitation. “I just thought maybe you were hiding something.”

You sighed, dropping your bag. “Yeah, my massive collection of Lando Norris merch.”

“I knew it.” He stretched out, getting comfortable. “So where’s my shrine?”

You rolled your eyes, heading into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Sure. What are my options?”

You opened the fridge. “Water, juice, or the wine I was saving for a night that doesn’t involve you.”

Lando grinned. “I’ll take the wine.”

You huffed but grabbed the bottle anyway, bringing it over with two glasses. Lando took one, watching you as you sat down beside him.

There was a moment of quiet as he sipped, eyes still trailing over your space.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… feels kinda nice.”

You frowned. “My apartment?”

Lando hummed. “Yeah. Feels like you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just took a sip of your wine, letting the warmth settle.

Lando turned to you fully, propping his elbow against the back of the couch. “So, do I get the tour?”

You laughed. “Lando, there’s like two rooms.”

“Yeah, and I wanna see them.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Come on.”

You rolled your eyes but stood up anyway, leading him toward your bedroom. 

Lando grinned as he stepped in, scanning the space. His gaze landed on your nightstand, where a book was sitting, spine cracked. He picked it up, raising a brow. “Didn’t take you for the romance novel type.”

You snatched it back. “It’s not a romance novel.”

“No judgment.” He held up his hands, still smiling. “Just getting to know you better.”

You scoffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Then, as you moved to set the book down, you felt his hands brush your waist, casual and unhurried.

Your breath caught.

Lando leaned in, voice low. “So, how long do I have before you kick me out?”

You swallowed. “That depends.”

He smirked “On?”

“On if you’re actually just here for a tour.”

Lando hummed, fingers grazing your hip. “I think we both know I’m not.”

Your heart pounded as you turned to face him, eyes locking.

Lando leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So?”

You exhaled. Then reached for him first.

The moment your lips met, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth moved against yours, slow at first, teasing, before his grip firmed, deepening the kiss. You felt the warmth of his palms slide beneath your top, fingertips skimming over your lower back. His hands exploring, slipping under fabric, teasing. His fingers curled at your waist, urging you backward step by step until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Lando’s lips found yours again as he guided you down, his weight settling over you in a way that sent a thrill through your spine. His hands roamed, his touch slow but deliberate, exploring like he had all the time in the world.

“You still gonna kick me out?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement against your lips.

You answered by pulling him closer, fingers tangled in his hair, his quiet laugh dissolving into another heated kiss as he pressed you deeper into the sheets.

WN: hahah the whole story seems just them hooking up now, but dont worry mwahahha, love the black suits and testing livery, this new picture in the fireproofs goes perfect with this chapter, pure coincidence because I had already written this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07@n3versatisfied @anayaverse @tvdtw4ever

[gingerteafairy]

Max Cooperman x yandere!reader? I beg🙏

You can choose the plot, I’m good with or without smut!! Thank you so much🫶

oh how i love writing weird yandere reader

𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦

tags n warnings: college!max, max cooperman x reader, yandere!reader, huge joe goldberg vibes, obsession, stalking, jealousy, brief smut to context. word count: 4.6k masterlist

You held the camera in front of your face, fingers pressed firmly against the shutter button, as dozens of expressions from Max Cooperman were captured in the span of just a few moments. It wasn’t your intention to be a stalker—far from it. You’d always had a passion for photography and physical activities. You were at a party, but not exactly to have fun. Not that your dream was to become a photographer—no, that wasn’t the focus of your life—but there was one dream that lingered. A dream that involved a name.

Max Cooperman.

Another click. You were almost hypnotized by the way he posed, effortlessly shifting between expressions, and, in a brief moment of reflection, you found yourself wondering how he could be so perfect and, at the same time, so... mysterious. It was curious how Max always seemed to photograph everyone around him, yet never appeared in the photos of others. He never allowed himself to be captured on camera, but you... you couldn’t look away. Just look at him—how he smiled, how his eyes sparkled, how he became the center of attention without even trying.

He was the type of person who made your heart race in a disorienting way. You’d look at him, and it felt as though your own heartbeat was reflected in his eyes. And no one shares their heart, right? The heart is a precious secret, something kept deep inside, silent, beating only for you. And that’s exactly how you felt: you needed to keep Max to yourself. You didn’t want to share that feeling. You couldn’t. The love letters you sent him weren’t silly—they were your heart.

And there she was, a girl near him, acting like she had some claim over his smile, over the charming gestures that he should reserve only for you. For a moment, a surge of jealousy washed over you, but you swallowed it down. She made him smile, yes. The most beautiful smile you had ever seen—the smile you had mentally captured, the smile that now lived in your heart and mind.

You watched him stand up with the girl, heading toward the back door. Oh no, this was happening—the very thing you feared. Your only option was to follow, carefully, so you wouldn’t get caught. You scanned the club one last time before slipping out, everyone too absorbed in their own lives or drunk enough to notice. Moving quietly through the hallway, you made your way to the alley behind the club. It was too dark for anyone to see you, and perhaps too dark for Max to see anything either. They started talking, and you remained silent.

“C’mon. Hurry up!” She hissed, the sounds of clothing mixing with the air, Max was taking off his pants at this point, since he was the only one you could see, the girl didn’t matter, she was just a blur.

“Okay, here goes,” he muttered, soon grunting afterward. Damn, that went in and from the sound of it, she was wet, so wet. “Shit, man… That feels so good.”

“Shut up and fuck me, shit,” she grunted, meowing as she felt Max increase his speed, the sound of thrusts camouflaging themselves in that dark alley. Your heart was pounding loudly, your mouth was dry as sand as you listened to all of that.

Your insides began to burn, feeling an immense urge to touch yourself as you watched all of that, thinking that you were that girl. You were the one who should be there, not that brainless idiot. You were so much better, you were perfect for him.

“Fuck, the picture,” you muttered to yourself, but no. That moment shouldn't be recorded, just felt. Your hand went to your panties, which were already terribly soaked, moving them aside to touch yourself, imitating the rhythm of Max's thrusts.

“Shit, shit, I'm going to cum,” Max warned, increasing the pace, squeezing the woman's hips, who was moaning so ridiculously loudly, she sounded like a vulgar porn star. She was so fake, so stuck up.

“Yes, yes. Oh, me too,” she moaned, in one last scream, she came undone, breathing loudly. You felt Todd cum at the same time as you. More proof that you were made for each other.

Soon, the sound of clothes moving returned and you shrank your body again, ears attentive to what would happen next.

“It was good, wasn't it, Alex?” He breathed, throwing the condom in the trash that was next to it and putting his belt back on, fixing the hair that was stuck to his forehead. 

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking kill you, loser” she growled, finishing organizing her dress. The clicks of high heels were heard and you despaired, going back into the club and looking for the exit to leave that place. If anyone found out, you were in deep trouble.

Your heart was racing, you grabbed a drink before leaving to quench your thirst and position yourself at the exit. It was empty, almost eerie outside, unlike the internal battle inside you. You looked at the camera that was hanging around your neck. Shit, you should have taken a picture of that Alex, you would have had a really good chat with her later. How dare she feel ashamed of having sex with the best man in the world? Bitch.

The next day, the sound of footsteps and conversations echoed through the college hallways, but everything seemed distant as you watched Max walk away with his friends. His locker stood empty, a silent invitation for another letter. Your hands were sweating as you held the decorated envelope, your heart pounding against your ribs. Every move you made was meticulously planned, from the scent you’d sprayed on the paper to the way you folded the edges to make it look casual, yet intimate.

You held your breath as you slipped the letter through the gap in his locker, as if it were a secret whispered into the air. But before you could pull away, you heard familiar footsteps approaching. Max. Your spine tingled as you realized he was coming back, accompanied by Jake. In a quick reflex, you pressed yourself against the nearest wall, your body rigid, your fingers clutching the cold metal of the nearby locker.

"Hey, remember those letters you were sending me?" Max's voice was light, almost playful. You peeked around the corner, your heart racing as you saw him holding the freshly placed envelope.

Jake grabbed the paper, frowning as he unfolded it. A subtle shimmer of glitter escaped the crease, landing on his fingers.

“Your secret admirer?” Jake murmured, reading the impeccable handwriting. The soft perfume you’d chosen seemed to cling to the air around them.

Max, you're so perfect it hurts. I want to eat your heart to always have you with me. I know it sounds weird, but you're the most perfect person in the world. XOXO, your secret admirer.

"Exactly. It seems like it's getting worse," Max laughed, taking the letter back and spinning it between his fingers. "Before, it was just stuff like ‘you’re so handsome’ or ‘so smell good.’ Now, it’s all this glittery stuff and whatnot. Not that I’m complaining, it’s kinda cute."

Jake raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “It’s creepy.”

Max shrugged, folding the letter carefully before tucking it into his backpack. "I have a feeling. You can’t ignore these things."

"Or it could be a two-meter butcher," Jake shot back, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Heat rushed to your face, your chest constricted by a mix of shame and adrenaline. You had to get out of there before they noticed you. You hurried toward the beginning of the corridor, trying to look casual, your gaze fixed on the floor as though nothing had happened.

"I’d love to have a weirdo to call my own," Max said with a grin, closing his locker.

Jake let out a heavy sigh. “That’s messed up, man.”

And then, out of nowhere—

“Whoa, is that an EOS Rebel?”

The voice came so close that the shock made you freeze mid-step. Your muscles stiffened, your eyes wide before they slowly turned toward the source of the sound.

Max Cooperman.

Talking to you.

The air in your lungs felt heavy, as though they had been emptied and forgotten to refill. He was so close now, you could see the smallest details—the sparkle in his eyes, the nonchalant way he held the strap of his backpack, the half-smile that always seemed a little mischievous.

You pressed the camera against your chest as though it were your only anchor in that moment.

“Ah… yeah,” you managed to murmur, your voice betraying the wave of nervousness spreading through your body.

He smiled, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. “Can I see it?”

Max smiled that little half-smile, as if trying to recall something, his head tilting slightly to the side. “Oh, I knew I’d seen you before,” he said, snapping his fingers as if he’d just connected the dots. “You always sit further back, right?”

You froze. His words felt like a bucket of cold water, making you swallow hard. Your heart raced. He’d seen you somewhere? You’d been so distracted, following him for so long without realizing it—you must have been more obvious than you’d thought. Had he seen you at that ice cream shop? Or at the gym? Did he know how much you watched him?

Your heart skipped a beat. He had noticed. Even if it was just a simple observation, the fact that Max knew where you usually sat sent a wave of heat through your chest.

“Yeah, I like to be somewhere I can observe everything,” you replied, tightening your grip on the camera.

He pointed to the camera with curiosity. “So, you like photography?”

You nodded, trying to steady your breath. “Yeah. I like capturing moments, you know? Things that no one else notices.”

Max tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes glimmering with interest. “That’s pretty cool. Bet you have some insane photos.”

“Ah… a few,” you said, briefly averting your gaze.

His smile widened, full of natural charm. “You know, I’ve always wanted to learn more about photography, but I never had the patience. Maybe you could teach me one day.”

Your legs almost buckled under you at that moment. The idea of spending time with him, being by his side without having to hide in the shadows, made your heart race even faster.

“I… I’d love to,” you responded before your insecurity could stop you.

Max winked at you, amused. “It’s a date, then.”

Before you could reply, Jake called out to him from the other end of the hall. Max gave you one last look before walking away, tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

“See you around, photographer.”

You stood there, holding the camera as if it were a shield against reality. Your face was hot, your heart racing. He had spoken to you. He wanted to learn something from you.

And then, as if he had just remembered something, Max stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned back toward you, his eyes gleaming with recognition.

“Wait,” he said, pointing at you with a smile. “You were in the audience at the fight competition! You posted the photos on the college bulletin board. You have an incredible eye for photography. No one’s ever taken such a good photo of me. In fact, no one’s ever taken a photo of me.”

Your chest tightened with the memory. Max was talking about the photos you took during the competition, the same ones you sent to the college newspaper. That night, you barely took your camera off him. Every movement, every expression of focus and adrenaline, you captured it all, freezing the intensity of that moment.

You smiled, relieved, the weight of the world lifting off your shoulders. “Wow, it’s… thank you so much,” you said, trying to hide your shyness as you tucked the camera away. Even with the compliment, you still felt a bit of anxiety that he might notice some mistake in the photos. “It was just a few photos. A silly hobby, nothing special.”

“Oh, come on,” Max laughed, shaking his head, his mischievous grin making your heart skip. “You’re great. You’re professional, really. I bet if you sold your photos, you’d make some serious cash. Can you give me some tips?”

Your mind went blank. You were so stunned by the request that your body couldn’t react, but your face immediately turned warm. Your brain seemed to short-circuit, and the only thing you managed to do was nod. If you opened your mouth, you’d probably shout and leap into his arms so hard that he’d lose his breath.

“Thanks, then,” Max said, smiling as he held up his hand for a high five. You quickly returned it, his touch burning your skin in a way that made you grin from ear to ear. “You free on Saturday?”

“Saturday?” You repeated, still trying to process what had just happened. The feeling of his touch made your mind spin.

“Yeah, is that good for you to teach me?” He adjusted his voice, focusing entirely on you as if there was no one else in the world. He was speaking just to you.

“Yeah, perfect!” You lit up, your face shining with pure happiness. “How about that ice cream shop that sells pistachio and mint?”

Max’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “I love that place,” he smiled, the surprise mixed with excitement. “I’ll see you there. Be careful on your way home.”

“Thanks… Max...” You waved, watching him walk away with his hands on his backpack. From that moment on, being just a secret admirer wasn’t enough anymore.

On Saturday, the lesson with Max went well, except for a few moments when you found yourself more captivated by his face than the photos he was showing you. Every expression of focus, every laugh when he messed up an adjustment—it all felt too fascinating to look away from. But other than that, everything went smoothly, going wonderfully well.

The lessons started becoming regular—what was once weekly became every three days, until they were daily. The ice cream shop wasn’t always open, so Max’s house became the go-to place. The first time he suggested it, you almost had to hold back from looking too excited. Now, it had become a habit.

While you were organizing some things in the college courtyard, you heard familiar footsteps approaching. Before even looking, a smile was already playing on your lips.

“Hey, Max.”

He returned the smile before pulling you into a hug. You felt the warmth of his body, the firm but relaxed touch, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His face was close enough that you noticed a new detail—the different scent. He had changed soap. It was woodier now, less citrusy, but still perfectly suited to him. You allowed yourself to savor the moment for a second longer than you should have.

“So, how’s it going?” Max asked as he pulled back, still maintaining a close, almost conspiratorial gaze. “Lesson today at my place?”

You nodded, trying not to show too much enthusiasm, even though your mind was racing, imagining the afternoon with him.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you at the usual time.”

“Great, xoxo!” You waved again, holding your backpack and feeling a sparkle in your eyes. As you walked home, your steps felt lighter.

Everything was so perfect. You had truly become friends with him. It was no longer a distant dream, a fantasy fed by secret letters. Now, Max reached out to you, texted you, eagerly awaited the meetups. He even stopped hanging out with other girls, without ever saying anything about it, but the signs were there—his time was spent with you.

He even bought you ice cream from time to time, and that made everything feel even more real, more special. You didn’t even need to change. Max accepted you just as you were, with your quirks, your shyness, your unique way of looking at the world.

It was so perfect. Too perfect.

You rang the doorbell at Max’s house, smiling excitedly. You were wearing your best outfit, your best perfume. You always made an effort when you went to see him, but today you wanted everything to be perfect.

Silence.

You waited a few seconds, but no one answered. You furrowed your brow. He knew you were coming. After all, you weren’t a stranger. With an automatic gesture, you turned the doorknob. The door wasn’t locked. The familiar scent of the place enveloped you as you stepped inside. But before you could call out to him, your eyes caught a sight that made your heart drop. Max was sitting on the couch. 

And he wasn’t alone.

A girl was next to him, terribly close, with his arm draped over her shoulders. The way she fit there made your stomach churn. It was too casual. Too intimate. The sound that echoed through the room didn’t come from the TV or the silly movie playing on the screen. It came from inside you. A silent snap, as if something inside you had broken.

“Max?” Your voice sounded cold, sharp like a gust of wind coming through an open window.

He looked at you with no sign of guilt, no weight in his gaze. He simply smiled, just like he always did. “Hey! Come sit with us.” He lightly patted the empty space beside him, as if nothing was out of place.

The girl adjusted herself, resting her head on his shoulder. As if it was her right. As if that spot belonged to her. Your chest burned. Your blood boiled. Your fingers trembled so much that your camera, your faithful companion, slipped from your hands and hit the floor with a sharp thud.

Your feet began to move. First slow, hesitant. Then, each step became heavier, more determined. You couldn’t tell exactly when your body decided to act on its own, but suddenly, you were standing right next to the couch.

Your fingers gripped in her hair. With a single movement, you threw her to the ground.

“Hey. What the fuck?” Max shouted.

“Let me go, you bitch!” The girl screamed in protest, getting on her knees to get up from the ground, but you pushed her away again.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” You shouted, pulling her hair up, your other hand going to her face so she’d look at you. “Answer me, you motherfucking bitch. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Can someone explain to me what the hell this is?” Max shouted, standing up and seeing that scene that looked more like a horror movie.

“Who are you?” You growled louder, throwing her to the ground so you could climb on top of her, immobilizing her body. “What are you doing with my man?”

“He didn’t say he had a girlfriend!” She defended herself, pushing you and going for you, scratching your arm with her long nails. You managed to turn her back around, your training helped you do it with ease. “Girl?”

Noticing Max’s horror, you got off her, staggering back, catching a glimpse of him hugging the stranger, asking if everything was okay. However, a sharp slap was delivered to Max’s body. The girl hurriedly grabbed her bag and coat, giving one last look of disgust before running out.

“She should’ve told me she had a boyfriend. Asshole.” She hissed, and the door slammed behind her, the sound echoing through the house like thunder.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Max blinked a few times, still trying to process what had just happened. Then, his expression hardened and his voice erupted into the space:

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

He was looking at you as if he was seeing you for the first time—no longer with the familiarity of before, but with something between disbelief and disgust. His eyes scanned your face, then your trembling hands, hugging your own body as if that could stop the tears that were already threatening to spill. “No... why are you crying?”

The question made your chest tighten even more. “Is she your girlfriend?” You sobbed, your lips trembling along with your words. Your voice came out low, fragile, almost inaudible.

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his face before crossing his arms. “No.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his expression growing even harder. “And if she was, what does it have to do with you?”

You felt the floor slip from under you. Your body reacted before your mind could process it. Your arms let go of yourself, your hands shot up into the air in a desperate gesture, and your voice finally found strength to explode: “She doesn’t deserve you!” The shout sliced through the air, hitting the walls like thunder.

Max froze, his mouth opening but no words coming out. “I deserve you!” Your voice wavered, filled with raw emotion. Your eyes were blurred with tears, but you didn’t look away from his. “I’m the only one who deserves you!”

Max took a deep breath, his brows furrowing in confusion. He looked more lost than ever. “And what makes you think you deserve me?”

The question felt like a knife stabbing into your chest. The silence lasted a second, maybe two. Then, without hesitation, you said the words that had been burning inside you for so long:

“Because I love you!”

The confession fell into the space between you like an impossible weight to ignore. Max froze. His relaxed posture disappeared completely, his shoulders tensing. His hands, once restless, were now still at his sides. You saw when the air caught in his throat. You saw his expression change from surprise to something undefinable.

You scared him.

The thought hit you like a punch to the stomach.

But there was no stopping now.

Breathing deeply, you took a hesitant step forward. Then another. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest. “I love you, Max.” Your voice came out softer now, more vulnerable. “I really do.”

Your hands found his. Cold as ice.

“I’ve taken the best pictures for you.” Your fingers tightened around his with tenderness, almost pleading for him to feel what you felt. “I helped you with the class. Remember that assignment you couldn’t do, and the professor let you off the hook? I convinced him. None of those girls did that for you. That bitch Alex? I made her apologize to you. I did that!”

Max was still unresponsive, his eyes locked on yours but distant, as if he was trying to understand what was happening.

“Oh my God…” he murmured, almost to himself. You took another step closer, your eyes shining with expectation, your tears wetting your face. Max remained frozen, his cold hands in yours, his eyes wide as if trying to figure out if this was real or some kind of nightmare. The way he looked at you wasn’t the usual playful, carefree look. It was different.

It was fear.

Your chest tightened. This wasn’t how he should be looking at you. He should be happy. Surprised, maybe, but in the end, he would understand that you were the only one who truly loved him.

“My God,” he murmured again, running a hand over his face as if trying to wake up from a trance. “Shit… shit!”

You tightened your grip on his hands, trying to bring him back. “I’ve been sending you letters all year, Max.” Your voice trembled, but not from weakness— from emotion. “I’ve been by your side when no one else was. I’ve done everything for you.”

He pulled his hands back, stepping away a pace. Your heart shattered at the gesture.

“You…” Max took a deep breath, blinking several times as if trying to process your words. “You’re my secret admirer?”

You nodded frantically, a smile forming through the tears. “Yes! It’s always been me! And now I don’t have to hide anymore, Max. Now you know. Now we can—”

“That’s not normal,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “That’s unhealthy.”

Your insides twisted. Unhealthy? Everything you did was for love. His love. How could he say something so cruel?

The tears came back with full force, your chest rising and falling unevenly. “Max…” You took a step forward, but he stepped away again, as if running. “Please… you didn’t mean that… I understand.”

The silence between you two weighed heavily again, like a storm about to break. Max continued to stare at you, his brow furrowed, his breath quickening. You braced yourself for the worst— expecting him to yell, to throw you out, to tell you he never wanted to see you again. But, to your surprise, he only sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking lost.

“You did all of this for me?” His voice was softer now, almost wavering.

You nodded quickly, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand. “Yes, Max. I’d do anything for you.”

He fell silent for a moment, looking at you in a way you couldn’t decipher. Then, something in his eyes softened.

“That’s… kind of crazy.” He gave a nervous laugh, but without any aggression. “But at the same time… I don’t know.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Don’t know what?” You took a step forward, hopeful.

He sighed again, looking away for a moment before meeting your eyes. “I don’t know. You’ve always been around, always helped me. And… I admit, I like having you around.”

Your stomach flipped with anxiety and emotion. Was this a dream?

“I didn’t expect it to be you.” He smiled slightly, almost with amusement. “But I guess I always knew someone was watching out for me. And if someone’s going to like me this way, at least it’s someone who really cares.”

Your eyes shone.

“So… does this mean…?” You held your breath, waiting for the answer that could change everything.

Max hesitated, but then, with a resigned sigh, he gave a small smile. “It means that… maybe we can see where this goes. I’ve always been a weirdo who wanted a stranger to call mine.”

The joy that exploded inside you was uncontrollable. Without thinking, you threw yourself into his arms, feeling his warmth, his scent, the security of finally being where you’d always wanted to be.

Max stood there, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty. Part of him couldn’t fully grasp what was happening—this wasn’t how he expected things to go. But then there was the pull, the warmth between you, something real and undeniable that felt right, even if it didn’t make sense. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find the answers that were still out of reach. And before he could think any more, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that felt both inevitable and new, sealing the moment in a way words never could.

Max’s mind was racing, caught between disbelief and a strange sense of exhilaration. He knew he was screwed, but whatever. He liked it anyway. The feelings he couldn’t quite process swirled inside him, but there was something undeniably magnetic about it all—something that made the confusion feel less like a burden and more like an adventure. For the first time, he stopped trying to figure it out and just let himself be swept away by the moment, a quiet thrill settling in his chest. This was chaos, but it was his one and only chaos, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it any other way.

[iguessitsjustme]

When It Rains It Pours Ep 6 Thoughts

I have had an incredibly weird day. But the good news is that I can finally watch this episode which will most likely shatter my heart to pieces. BUT it's the first week that I'm watching with everyone else then we all get to spend a week thinking about it and talking about it together. What a wonderful little community this show has here on tumblr (you all have been so nice and so smart and so willing to scream with others and you are all the best forever no matter what anyone else says). I wasn't sure I was gonna continue my liveblog, but here I am. Continuing it. Under the cut:

SEI IS BUYING THE COFFEE. I REPEAT SEI IS BUYING THE COFFEE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I have run out of words. Please tell me someone else has talked about this…I'm not even 5 seconds into the show yet god damn I should control myself.

BUT THEN HE COULDN'T PAY? OH SWEET JESUS. There is meaning here. (sirens hurry the fuck up and drive by I am trying to watch a masterpiece)

Baby boy the feelings are reciprocated. He will save you if you let him. And you can save him in turn.

This. Bastard. Is trying to move Sei away. To alienate him further. He doesn't want Sei to have anyone in his life except him. If he hadn't answered that phone call, he wouldn't be considering moving.

Anger.

Anger and hatred and violence.

His job is literally the only place he ever sees people! He doesn't even really interact with them! But he at least has a place where should he need to talk to someone outside of Fujisawa, there are people there. Not just Kazuaki. But other coworkers. Who based on what we've seen, are all friendly and kind enough. And now Fujiisawa is trying to remove the ONE place Sei has that he does not have access to. I am screaming and crying and gonna jump into this show to knee this man in the groin.

The fact that Sei is listening to rain sounds means that Kazuaki remembered and sent him the link to listen to rain sounds when he wanted. It means that Kazuaki remembered. Thought of him and their conversation. Even before they knew about the emails. He remembered.

You ask like you have a right to know.

He doesn't ask like a friend who's curious and cares about his friend being happy and meeting someone. He asks like he is entitled to that information.

Sei's entire confession is so matter of fact. He doesn't sound remorseful or like he's been caught cheating. He just openly admits to it. Because he knows he likes Kazuaki. Or do we as a fandom call him Hagiwara? I'm not sure on that I just went by what the gaga summary called him for an episode. Please let me know. Anyway. Sei said he started catching feelings.

HE THREW THE PHONE I KILL HIM

GET OFF OF HIM I KILL YOU

SHOOTING LASERS AT HIM

SHOOTING MORE LASERS

Look how red Fujisawa's face is. This is some brilliant lighting work. He is literally red like the devil. Dressed in all black. Pinning Sei down as Sei claws for freedom.

GET OFF OF HIM I WILL RIP YOUR ARMS OFF

Get em baby. Tell him he is the least desirable man on earth.

The purposeful dissonance in the soundtrack right now is truly amazing. (Now I just need these fucking sirens to GO AWAY)

Okay. So I know there's a line to push Fujisawa off a cliff, but what if before anyone pushes him, I go to the bottom and I add some fun little spikes. Just as a treat. For us.

Oh so he just apologizes? I'm gonna stab you with broken glass.

It will take me a minute before I'm able to analyze anything because I am so livid. (I also am angry from something specific at work today so I was already primed for anger and then this fucker)

Hissing

He couldn't if he wanted to. He is a good person. And you are in a bad situation. The second he learns how bad it is, he is never gonna ignore you until he knows you are safe. Until he knows you are free.

HE SEES THE BRUISE. HE KNOWS. HE KNOWS.

Omg I'm gonna cry. The music here. The music. The everything.

No baby boy don't walk away!

What in the homophobia…

If you liked him you would have talked to him. Communicated. If you liked him, you would have set him free. You don't like him. You like the idea of him. And I hope you never find anyone else to trap and make miserable the way you trapped him.

GET HER. READ HER ASS.

Now that Kaori is finally talking to Kazuaki, the framing is different. Before, there was a booth creating a physical barrier between them. Now there is nothing. They are sitting at the same table. Open. Communication. This should have happened SO MUCH EARLIER. Girl. I hate you.

The thing that pisses me off the most about Kaori is that her feelings and her relationship towards sex are completely valid. And she has every right to feel the way she feels. But she never once said anything. She never once told her partner how she was feeling. Even though she knew she was hurting him. She knew he was miserable. But instead of talking to him, she let him suffer. Because she liked him. And she knew an outcome of that talk could have led to them breaking up. And she was so incredibly selfish to never let that happen. She would rather he be miserable and hers than be happy and be free. And that I cannot forgive her for.

And she makes him do the dirty work of breaking up with her. Because she never could do the right thing. Honestly, I think even if she hadn't found out, it would not be long before he broke up with her anyway. He found his happiness elsewhere and he would not be able to live with himself knowing he cheated and knowing he was in love with someone else. Anyway. She should have at least had the decency to be the one to end things because she was not capable of doing it when she should have. AN ENTIRE FUCKING YEAR AGO.

There is something to this show being sandwiched by those two getting coffee. One who wasn't able to get it and one who was kept waiting but did get it eventually.

Also our baby boy is free now! No matter what else happened. He is no longer trapped. He can and will find his happiness. Now he just needs to save Sei.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NO PREVIEW. IS THERE NO PREVIEW? HELP????

I will probably need to sit with this episode for at least a day to process it before the thoughts come flooding out.

I have hatred in my heart.

[sturniololuvz]

chris is in love with a girl and he makes a song for her cause he is launching his music career (the song can be something from cigarettes after sex or arctic monkeys) and he shows it to yn and his brothers and it’s basically their reactions to it😭💗

awww! yessss

“For Her”

Chris sturniolo x brothers / sister

Warnings :none

Chris had been acting weird for weeks. Matt, Nick, and Y/N had all noticed. He was quieter, more thoughtful, constantly humming to himself, and disappearing into his room with his guitar. At first, they thought it was just one of his random phases—until the night he called them all together.

“Alright, listen,” Chris said, standing in front of his siblings in the living room, his laptop open. His fingers drummed anxiously on the table. “I’ve been working on something, and I want you guys to hear it first.”

Matt and Nick exchanged glances. Y/N leaned forward on the couch, intrigued.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nick said, smirking. “Are we about to witness Chris Sturniolo, the musician?”

Chris rolled his eyes but grinned. “Something like that.” He hesitated for a second before pressing play.

Soft, dreamy guitar chords filled the room, the kind that instantly made you feel something deep in your chest. The song was slow, almost hypnotic, like something from Cigarettes After Sex—smooth, melancholic, and deeply intimate. Then Chris’s voice came in, low and earnest.

“I see you in the quiet nights, city lights in your eyes…”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this.

“You’re the song that keeps playing, even when I close my eyes…”

Matt blinked, his expression shifting from amused to impressed.

“If I wrote down every moment, it still wouldn’t be enough…”

The song carried on, lyrics painting a picture of late-night drives, stolen glances, and unspoken feelings. It was raw, personal, and undeniably real.

When it ended, there was a moment of silence. Chris looked up, nervous. “So?”

Nick was the first to break. “Dude, what the—when did you get all poetic and shit?”

Matt nodded. “That was actually insane. Like, not even joking, that sounded professional.”

Y/N was still staring at the laptop, stunned. Then, she smirked. “Okay, be real. Who is she?”

Chris groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “I knew you were gonna ask that.”

“So there is a girl,” Matt said, grinning.

Chris hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. And I… I don’t know. I just wanted to make something that said what I can’t.”

Y/N softened. “Chris, that was beautiful. If she hears this and doesn’t completely fall for you, she’s an idiot.”

Chris exhaled, relieved. “You really think so?”

Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “Bro, this is your thing. You gotta keep going with this.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, for real. This is next level.”

Chris grinned, a little embarrassed but undeniably happy. “Guess this is the start of something, huh?”

Y/N smiled. “Yeah. And I can’t wait to see where it takes you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Chris felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

[yep123]

Blue lock headcannons for reader who HATES soccer!?!?

(Authors note~ I was just following the order of the wiki! I know ya’ll wanted yoichi first!)

A/N! I would have posted earlier but I was grounded for a month!

Blue lock 11~

🐻Gin Gagamaru (my fave)🐻

I feel he wouldn’t push you to like it but he will still try to show you trophies or tell you about wins so you can tell him you’re proud of him!!! I think he also pushes the soccer ball in your face and just stares at you…like :-/

💖Jyubei Aryu💖

He’d probably just show you how ✨glam✨ soccer really is. You’re not interested in the slightest but that’s okay! He still loves you. Probably.

👀Ikki Niko👀

I don’t think he’d mind at all! As long as you’re into anime and that sort of thing! Ikki is pretty manipulative though…I think

🐆Hyoma Chigiri🐆

He’s not mad but he’s not happy either….like he tore his dang acl and still plays the game!!!! It would be nice if you still came to his games to cheer him on! Like go to the Blue lock vs. U-20 match please!?!??!! Sit with his mom and sister!

🕶️Kenyu Yukimiya🕶️

I headcannons he could be a bit upset you don’t like soccer…he very passionate about it. He wouldn’t force you to like it but he’d try his best to get you interested! Give it a chance…for him?

🌊Tabito Karasu🌊 (he’s scared of water…idk?)

He’ll be a little confused….I mean what’s not to love!? He probably would force you to like it! He loves you and all but get with the program dude!

🕹️Seishiro Nagi🕹️

He really doesn’t care. He only started playing 6 months ago, he doesn’t care. But try and play some games with him or something…I mean if you don’t even like that then why’re you together?

👹Meguru Bachira👹

Why don’t you like!? I mean who doesn’t like soccer!? Like seriously, what’s not to love!? He might cry when you tell him you don’t like soccer….like my guy is having a full on breakdown…

🥷Eita Otoya🥷

As long as you’re hot he doesn’t care what you like…he’s deeply shallow~ (wicked reference) he’s more interested in your looks and body than what you like…sorry not sorry

⚽️Rin Itoshi⚽️

Yeah he might ghost or avoid you for a while…don’t be mad at him…do you know all he’s been through?

🏟️Yoichi Isagi🏟️

He’s fine with it. He had his respective opinion…and a few words to say….but he, um, how should I put this….? Doesn’t care….he would be a normal boyfriend with a partner who doesn’t really have an interest in the sport. Sounds a little weird, but I’m sure it’s relatable somewhere.

🫏Shoei Baro🫏

He’s confused and angry….ya’ll might not talk for a while….don’t take it personally but he might break up with you….hopefully not but you never know

🤑Reo Mikage🤑

He literally tries to force you into liking it. Like….you probably have to fake being interested because he’s putting so much pressure on you. Toxic right?

👓Zantetsu Tsurugi👓

He doesn’t understand. Jk! He doesn’t really care…he would love if you came to his matches! Like anyone would! He’s pretty easy on that note….but overall….he has his interests. And you have yours

👾Yo Hiori👾

I think he’s relieved. His parents have always pressured him and I think he’s glad that his partner won’t do the same…won’t be counting on him….as long as you like gaming though!

⭐️Nijiro Nanase⭐️

He whines….why don’t you like it again? You tell him it’s not your thing…he slumps…you cheer him up with kisses and cuddles….he’s fine everything’s fine….I hope and pray for you…

💪🏻Aoshi tokimitsu💪🏻

He stares at you blankly for a bit with his huge round eyes then he breaks down in tears. Why? Because he thinks you won’t come to his matches. Will you? Well…possibly

🦁Jingo Raichi🦁

He bold faced yells at you. You punch him. The anime punch. He straitened up, gets in his knees, and apologizes. AS. HE. SHOULD.

🦈Ranze Kurona🦈

He asks you a bunch of questions like why? And if it ties to something else. If it does he listens. If it doesn’t he understands.

[thornsent]

I'm so fucking normal about esdras and perpetva (lying)

[narcopathyfiles]

tweaking over cushion foundation right now we really are in difficult times

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

for the most part I actually don’t see Harry and Draco as being the get married types or at least not the have a wedding types but it’s also fun to just. Have them do it anyway. Weddings are fun and fun to write and read about!

[seilon]

the happiest ive been in any singular moment in probably over a year was a moment last week where my friends and i were driving to a campsite having accidentally taken a tiny insanely long and winding mountain road to get there, somehow i wasn’t carsick, the windows were rolled down, we were surrounded by nothing but woods for miles, and livin la vida loca was playing on the car stereo

[rosesradio]

day 2 of what i call the redneck convention aka a family function

[savanir]

The What Corps?

“we have you now spook! there is nowhere you can run and hide with our new spectral tethers active!”

Danny winces at the small metal clips that have hooked themselves in his leg, some new GIW tech that is messing with his powers.

“oh yeah? I was just dying for you guys to give me a challenge” plan. plan. He's gotta think of a plan to get out of here and fast. He takes a steadying breath and starts to look for anything that can help him.

he can’t get caught here. He just can't. He simply won’t allow himself.

suddenly the two GIW goons in front of him click their earpieces to clearly listen to what someone else is telling them, Danny is very glad for his own enhanced senses.

“Operatives K and O, be advised, there have been sightings of a new ectoplasmic entity near your location. Other operatives report that it’s incredibly small and moves fast. watch your backs, this may be an ambush”

small and fast? it better not be some poor little blob ghost, Danny sort of hopes it’s some manner of ectowasp, at least that could be entertaining to see.

“you better not be hoping for back up, ecto scum”

“I have no idea what you are talking about”

It's then that a small bright green light zips on scene and weaves through crowds in the distance with ease and then speeds up towards the two operatives who do not hesitate to shoot, missing completely like the storm troopers they are.

Whatever it is, it is indeed going very fast but Danny manages to figure out what it looks like and it appears to be a… ring?

“hold it you tiny accessory shaped ecto fiend!”

The ring does a speedy circle around Operative O while K is lining up a shot and ends up blasting the poor guy point blank in his face, “O!”

Danny takes a step forward with an arm outstretched and a “oh damn! Are you alright?” on his lips when the ring takes the chance to slip on his finger. “Daniel Fenton of Earth”

Danny already had a freakout about a ghost jewelry getting on him, his experiences with those so far have been incredibly bad after all, what with the rings and crowns and pendants… now this damn thing is just straight up outing him! 

Thank the ancients the two GIW stooges are too busy with each other right now to pay close attention to what this weird ring is saying.

“You have the ability to overcome great fear” ah so this is related to him steeling himself just now? Maybe? or something??

You have been chosen” never good, we are back to freaking out again.

“Welcome to the green lantern corps” 

… the what?

Danny notices that his usual outfit suddenly has more green going on, and his DP symbol has some sort of… he guess it’s supposed to be a lantern, maybe? shape around it.

He’s somehow even more glowy now, and there is something on his face. Feeling its shape makes him think it’s some sort of mask.

The metal clip things are no longer attached to his legs though so that’s great!

“You’re not getting away so easily ecto scum! sentient ghost paraphernalia coming to your rescue or no!” They both aim their weapons to take a shot.

Danny figures he can now easily hold them back with his usual shields,“you guys realize you just called this weird ring sentient and thereby negate the whole nonsentie-ack!”

“Attacking a corps lantern is punishable offense as of the instatement of the galactic diplomatic immunity as declared by the-” Okay so now Danny is just raising his eyebrow at this weird as fuck ring. Just what is it going on about?

“notifying nearby lanterns and requesting assistance with apprehension of hostiles”

what?

“getting your friends to help you out vile spook? such a thing is useless with the Blackout still very much in place”

Well… the two streaks of green light in the distance is making Danny doubt that statement.

Maybe there is more to this Lantern corps thing than he thought… And something tells him his life is about to get even more complicated than it already is.

[javiscigarette]

Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help. 

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

Part Two

my masterlist

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.  "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp. 

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time” 

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort. 

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out. 

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily. 

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along fabulously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies and you watch movies together almost every Friday night.

 It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea. 

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. 

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. 

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back. 

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm. 

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod. 

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt. 

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing. 

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body. 

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek. 

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.” 

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment. 

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way” 

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't want to, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.” 

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again. 

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.” 

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists. 

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt. 

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing. 

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly. 

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.  

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer. 

“I sure do.” 

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can. 

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath. 

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit. 

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him. 

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again 

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now. 

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically. 

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge. 

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth. 

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again. 

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him. 

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive. 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless. 

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him. 

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans. 

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick. 

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!

[targaryenluvs]

— OPPOSITES ATTRACT

pairings: clarisse la rue x aphrodite!daughter!reader (romantic) percy jackson x reader (platonic)

summary: the one where percy jackson has to wrap his head around the fact that the nicest person he’s met at camp, is dating clarisse.

warnings: kinda crack ficy in my opinion, fluff, smooches, capture the flag, reader is percy’s saving grace, percy sees the reader as a sister

a/n: i just got inspired okay? ✊🏽

percy’s feet were booming, heard from afar as he ran to the creek’s shore. the ares trio hot on his tail as they chased him down. he knew he couldn’t run forever, he’d have to fight, but how on earth was he going to win against three trained teens?

as if clarisse wasn’t frightening enough already, her scream sent literal chills down percy’s back, guess she really likes spears? he thought to himself.

the sounds of cheers and celebration drew the pairs attention as luke planted the opposing teams flag into the floor. they’d lost. percy felt clarisse’s grip falter, only slightly, but not when she saw the flag, clarisse’s eyes were currently trained on something behind him. more bullies? “there you are! i was waiting for you, wanted to show you my new and improved skills.”

clarisse let go of him and he couldn’t believe it, the rage in her eyes seemed to dissipate the second you came around. you, the sweetest person he’d met here, were friends with that thing?

that thing was capable of feelings?

his jaw dropped at the sight of clarisse’s hands on your cheeks, listening to you ramble on about who you’d fought and defeated in the woods, the pretty butterfly you’d seen. percy’s eyes were so close to popping out of his skull as clarisse kissed you, deeply. then he wanted to vomit as hands traveled and tongues met.

at dinner that night you sat by luke and chris, happily eating away as your hand rested on a book infront of you. “hey perce! come sit down.” you patted the space next to you as he accepted. “what’re you reading?” percy stared at the cover you’d flipped over to display to him, well he wasn’t expecting that. “where’d you get it from?” you pointed towards your girlfriend proudly, “she said she knew i’d like it, isn’t that sweet?”

percy’s weird version of a smile caused you to frown, “your smile is scaring me.” he immediately dropped it as you laughed, causing him to nudge you. “don’t be rude, i’m just a baby.” percy hadn’t felt so comfortable with someone since his mother. you pinched his cheeks, “naw, yes you are.” he swatted your hands away as you giggled, percy stared at you, studying you.

shining eyes, a beaming smile and an enchanting personality, truly a daughter of aphrodite, yet you dated clarisse. it didn’t make sense in his head, but from what little scenes he’d seen between the two of you, if you were happy than he was too, “what do you see in clarisse? why are you with someone so—” you turned to look his way, percy was worried you’d be offended.

but of course you weren’t, “because i like her percy, and she likes me. she’s absolutely gorgeous, if she wasn’t already a daughter of ares or i didn’t know? for sure aphrodite. and, people are always misunderstood, just because someone seems like a bad person, doesn’t mean they are. when clarisse and i are together, i see the best parts of her, always. i love her regardless, but there’s obviously things that you don’t tell everybody you just meet, or if you aren’t super comfortable with a person then you won’t show all the parts of yourself. i think, when you love someone you accept all parts of them, the good, the bad, the worst. you love someone despite their flaws. clarisse is good to me, and i like her, that’s all that matters. you’ll understand when you find someone yourself perce.”

he sat still, raking over your words in his head, “if one person can feel that way about someone else, they’d explode.” you laughed at his words, he was still young of course, he’d understand soon, you had a feeling. “i’d happily explode because of how much i love her.” you glanced back at her, only she wasn’t there.

“well i don’t want you to explode, i do want to spend my night with you.” clarisse stood behind you with her arms crossed, you could see percy tense up at her presence. with your hand on his, and your eyes reassuring him, he smiled, “i’m happy for you, but if she try’s anything i’m more than happy to beat her ass for you even if i’m broken in half.”

clarisse couldn’t hear his whispers, thank god. your smile was small, placing a hand on his shoulder, you kissed percy’s forehead, “my protector, now no one can try anything with me huh? thank you perce, if you need anything here at camp, or if you just want to talk and eat those blue foods of yours—” his arms wrapped around your neck tightly as you recovered from the force.

“thank you.”

“any day perce, any time.”

and percy sat back, watching the two of you walk away hand in hand. a clear thought rung through his head.

opposites attract.